Avenger
A/N: For some, it's a quest to prove themselves; a quest for the right to wear the envied rune armor. For him, it's a quest for revenge. Dragon, beware…the last warrior of Crandor is coming. I do not own Jagex, Runescape, or any characters from that game. Geoff, though, is mine, as a character but not a username.
"Who else wants it?" Swinging his battleaxe around his head, the air singing in his ears, Geoff roared his challenge to the helmeted barbarians around him. Any sane man would've quickly backed away from the raging fiend, fire in his eyes and blood on his armor, but these were barbarians, not known for nothing as the scourge of the Civilized World. Three brawny, spear-wielding warriors charged him down the length of the hall, roaring as they ran.
As drunk with the blood on his blade as he was with the ale in his glass, Geoff whirled his weapon down, slamming the head of the axe into the leading warrior's head, blunt edge first, with enough force to crush his skull. The momentum carried him past the falling body, where he had to twist sideways to avoid the spears of the oncoming two barbarians. One of the spears grazed his stomach, and he instinctively leaned forwards, in time to slam into the barbarian himself, who, taken by surprise, was caught momentarily off guard.
They slammed into the table, and rolled over it, with Geoff landing on the ground, the huge spear-wielding man on top of him. Inwardly grateful for the protection of a full-helm, he arched his neck and slammed the forehead of his opponent with all the strength he could muster, just as the third warrior vaulted the long table, his spear angled straight for Geoff's shoulder. The long wooden weapon pierced both sides of his armor, pinning him to the ground, but with his left arm free. He slammed the barbarian again with his forehead, and managed to shift the man off of him, out cold. Just as he did so, he realized why it was a bad move.
Through the visor, the bearded face of a huge barbarian loomed, spear poised, and one foot firmly on his chest. Behind the imposing beard and horned helmet, the man was clearly laughing in triumph as he drew back his weapon for the kill. Geoff flexed his shoulder in a vain attempt to dislodge the spear, which only resulted in a stab of pain throughout the right side of his body.
As the spear came hurtling down towards his neck, Geoff, ignoring the pain in his right shoulder, threw every bit of his remaining strength into his shield arm and thrust his shield upwards, directly at the oncoming metal point. He saw, for just a flash, the barbarian's eyes widen in surprise under his helmet, and then the shield blocked his vision. Again, the momentum of his thrust saved him, as the barbarian was knocked back, and the spear broke off in his shoulder as he rolled over it… painfully.
The shield slipped out of his grasp to hurtle over the table, landing some ten feet away, but he didn't wait to watch it fly. He had already grabbed his battleaxe with his left hand, and pushed himself back to his feet. Snarling, Geoff turned to face off the stunned northern warrior again, now with blood pouring out of his shoulder, around a splintered piece of wood.
The man hefted his spear, the tip somewhat blunted, now, and let out a deep, guttural bellow. Geoff smiled grimly and lifted his axe. "Not done yet?" He turned to one side and spit, leaving a red puddle next to the broken spear.
Then, without warning, the barbarian hurled his spear, directly at his head. Geoff whipped his head to the left, barely leaving a second to spare, as the weapon tore a hole in his helmet and a chunk out of his ear in the process. Seizing his opportunity, he lunged forward, swinging his axe in a downward arc, which chopped the man's head, a piece of his arm, and a substantial part of his chest off of his body.
A heavy silence fell on the hall, as Geoff stood, leaning hard on his axe to stay upright, and those who had not taken part in the brawl looked on. Finally, when it seemed the tension could not stretch any further, he picked his axe up, wiped it carefully on the tunic of his nearest opponent, and limped around the table to retrieve his shield. It took him a few moments to get it onto his back, during which people slowly began to talk again.
As he walked out the hall doors, he paused next to the table where he'd been sitting. There was still an inch of ale in the glass. The man who'd been across from him, and watched the entire fight, stared in disbelief as Geoff picked up the glass, drained the last of his drink, and dropped it back on the table before stalking out of the hall.
Geoff smiled grimly to himself as he walked, head bowed against the stinging wind. It was a fairly short walk out of the barbarians' settlement, and he knew a place where they could fix up this shoulder. He glanced at the sky, and shook his head. Looked about ready to start up with the sleet again. Damn. It'd probably be dark by the time he reached the Monastery, at this rate.
The tattered flags loomed ahead of him, down the street of frozen mud. Lounging around the poles were a handful of guards, man and woman alike, looking bored and irritable. Geoff considered mentioning something about the disappointing lack of challenging fights around here, but his shoulder gave a nasty twinge as he reached the entrance, and he thought better of it. As he cleared the spear wall surrounding the settlement, there was an ominous rumble from the gray skies, and a pellet of ice landed on his arm, splashing tiny drops of blood onto his face. Geoff grimaced and shifted his armor as he stepped off the rough dirt road towards the evergreen forest. The trees had long shed their snow coverings, and the whole landscape stood before him like a shadow over the road, darkly pushing its way into his vision.
There were no paths in this area, at least not to the untrained eye. But the deer tracked their way through the forests, regardless of man's passing, and the barely visible paths of the hunters who followed them were enough for Geoff in the failing light. He paused, under the eaves of the outermost trees to remove his helmet, hooking it beside his shield. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of his own reflection in its clouded surface and almost laughed aloud. He'd forgotten the barbarians' lack of concern for anything resembling hygiene. His face was dark with sweat and dust, and stubble covered most of his chin. His hair had managed to grow down to his shoulders, and had somehow managed to meld to his helmet, giving him a look not unlike the barbarians he'd recently dispatched.
…Except without the blood. The moment of lightness passed, and Geoff picked up his axe again and stepped into the shadows of the forest just as the storm broke, in a furious wave of tumbling ice. The tops of the trees shook wildly, pouring streams of ice down into the lower branches. Geoff hurried his steps, brushing past the undergrowth around his path. He glanced up, and shook his head, as the sky visibly darkened. Shuddering, he hurried still more.
High above his head, the wind rustled the branches into hissing, hissing, whistling sounds. Almost like… the unwelcome thought made its way into his mind. Like wings, in the night, swooping towards you. A sharp crack some way behind him sounded, and Geoff whirled, axe held high.
"Damn it!" He stared at the branch which had just fallen into the path behind him, his grip on the axe slowly loosening. The knot in his chest relaxed, and he turned back north to continue his trek.
Several hours later, with his temper as thin as the ice on his hair was thick, Geoff found himself in a small clearing of fallen trees. He yawned widely, and then, realizing with a cold suddenness how fatigued he was, swore. If he didn't pick up the pace… well, there weren't many humans in these parts to finish off a wounded man, but no one could speak for the beasts, this far north. He glanced down at the bit of wood still sticking out of his shoulder and sighed. For just a moment, he was grateful for the ice storm, keeping the bloodthirsty creatures in their dens.
With a resigned half-shrug, he stretched his arm briefly and continued, back under the trees' relative shelter, towards the distant monastery. Plodding on through the ankle-deep slush of ice and snow, he was aware that his boots had finally succumbed to the will of the North and embraced the ice. He shivered and wished for a tent, a meal, anything… hot. He'd always been derisive of the wizardly arts, but damn, a teleport spell would be really handy right now.
Geoff stifled another yawn and began to consider simply taking the risk of stopping for the night under one of the larger trees, providing there wasn't a bear or unicorn under it. He had actually started to look for lower branches he'd be able to lop off one-armed before he realized that the trees were beginning to thin out.
Barely able to conceal his triumphant grin, Geoff pushed aside the final few branches and emerged from the forest… into a blinding, stinging wall of ice. He quickly backed up a few steps and pulled his helmet back on, shoving it roughly over his head as the ice on his hair crackled under the pressure. As the visor slammed down over his face, he saw the tall stone building off to the West, and this time, did grin widely as he turned away from the ridge and forest.