J the Devil of Reality's Story

Hope seemed lost for Prince Bjorn and his berserkers. In the midst of the fighting, time seemed to slow down for Bjorn Ironside as everything became silent. All the men were still fighting, spears, axes and shields clambering as barbarians and berserkers alike let out their war cries. But to Bjorn, everything just went numb. He couldn't hear all the shouting and screaming, or crying in agony. It was as if he had somehow lost himself in the moment, and for that moment, he looked around at all the carnage they had caused. He could see one of his comrades impaled to the earth in such a way that he had died standing with a javelin through his neck. Bjorn turned and noticed the man beside him, a fellow Iskjerne Berserker whose leg had been injured. The brave warrior put up his best fight, but Bjorn watched as the barbarians quickly surrounded him and overpowered him, killing the wounded berserker without mercy. Now it was just Prince Bjorn himself and two others, outmatched by hundreds upon hundreds of Germanic soldiers. Bodies lay stacked on top of bodies, and the blood ran deep over the battlefield.

It was as if Bjorn Ironside himself was about to have a panic attack. His life flashed before his very eyes, and in the distance beyond the trees, in the midst of that heart reckoning battle, Bjorn saw what appeared to be an old man in Viking armor wearing a hooded cloak, just walking casually along as if nothing was even happening. This is it, Bjorn thought to himself. Odin is here, watching, waiting for me he thought. Bjorn Ironside's blue eyes became brighter and wider, and for a moment, he could almost feel his own warrior spirit leaving his body. He started to feel tired, very tired, and he knew that this would be his very last battle. Or at least he thought. Bjorn started to get the feeling like he was standing on his own grave, and for the first time ever, fear struck him deep inside.

That's when everything changed.

Suddenly, he felt a calm cold breeze on his face. The winds had changed, and as he looked up towards the trees, he watched the branches and leaves sway in the other direction. It was very delightful for some reason, though at the time he didn't understand why. But as he came back to his senses, the old man in the hooded cloak disappeared from his sights, and suddenly Bjorn noticed that the Germanic tribes were retreating, heading back to the Groenbogs from whence they came. It was the Cherusci who were now panicking as they tried to run away from the blazing fire that was engulfing the Great Ellarian Forest behind them. Fate it seemed was not without a sense of irony. Arminius had withdrawn from the valley, along with all his barbarians, and like ghosts in the wind, were now disappearing back into the forest.

The old man he saw in the mist was not Odin after all, and if he was, then it surely wasn't Bjorn he had come to collect. The tide of the battle had suddenly changed, and as the Southern Germanic tribes fled away from the battle, Bjorn Ironside and his Northern Germanic berserkers were now pursuing them over the ridgeline, chasing them towards the Groenbogs like the madmen they were. Bjorn took a deep breath and continued fighting until there was no one left in his sight to kill, placing his axe in the backs of many a fine warrior until alas, the rest had vanished, leaving the 3 remaining berserkers winded and tired, with no more battlecries or voices yelling off in the distance. Everything became silent once again, and all he could hear now was the crackling of the burning trees as the forest fire became visible to him.

As the man disguised as an old Viking in steel armor and a hooded cloak continued to walk through the Great Ellarian Forest amidst the burning flames, his or her face and skin became increasingly hot. J the Devil was distracted from his or her own thoughts by the raging fire as it began to creep ever so slowly towards them. Miniscule little spirits appeared to take shape in the flames, either by some form of strange Gaian magic or hallucination as what looked like tiny fire demons started to dance around J, resembling some sort of pixies or sprites, holding hands in a circle as they danced around the cloaked figure in disguise, leading J ever deeper into the forest and closer to the flames. However, these strange little burning creatures were neither pixies nor demons. For in reality they were ljosálfar; the light elves, mischievous but helpful little creatures who had mistaken J the Devil for the real Odin, and had come to pay their respects. Needless to say, someone else was also watching this so-called Devil from bird's eye view. The raven with the one milky white eye was flying over the Great Ellarian Forest, his own vision relaying back to Mjötviðr, The Realms, being shared by the man with the black wide brimmed hat who sat on his throne Hlidskjalf, not on Gaia but far far away in outer Space, beyond even the reach of this clever Devil in the Gaian forest.

His name... was Wōđanaz.

The one-eyed raven was none other than Muninn himself, one of the fylgjar whom Wōđanaz had sent down from his highseat to explore the realms and relay back everything he saw. Whatever the raven saw, the man with the black hat also could see, and everything he saw, he retained as memory. Wōđanaz contemplated whether or not to intervene with the light elves, but instead he did nothing, only observing the events on Gaia as if peering into a crystal ball. The raven cawled as it flew over the forest, over Bjorn Ironside and his lucky berserkers, over J the Devil, over the Germanic tribes led by Arminius and the equestrian in the iron mask, flapping its wings as it flew between the billows of rising black smoke before heading over the Weargtooth Mountains.