Fetzen — Roleplayer Guild

I think that very greatly depends on how broadly one interprets the description:

𝙷𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚗, 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎, 𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

I think one can safely say that whatever he would do would definitely be intended to weaken, one way or the other. So he probably can't do a thing unless I find some workaround using the environment, maybe.

The elongated black object was dancing precariously in the air, protected by disturbing winds from the high mountain ranges surrounding the area. Admittedly, given the fact that the same mountains were already blocking out the very major portion of sunlight it wasn't exactly difficult for anything to appear dark and mysterious, but the arrangement of seemingly infinitely sharp edges that was Funark still could raise suspicion to go beyond the capabilities of paint and burning-in. It looked as if Oddur's only and favourite weapon could be defined as the abscence of spatial access -- a volume that didn't even allow a ray of light to enter and pass through, that repulsed both substance and energy.

Of course this was complete and utter nonsense -- even though the concept would have been a very promising one for a new kind of weapon. The sleek item had merely been hammered out of a carefully selected piece of raw steel and imbued subsequently, nothing more. If he wouldn't concentrate now it would simply drop off his armored fingertip like anything else and he'd have to restart from scratch again. Trying to balance his sword not on weak flesh that was flatted by the weight and thus provided more stability, but on another piece of rounded steel did not only serve the purpose of clearing his mind, but frankly speaking Oddur had maneuvered himself into quite a loss of his bearings.

"And now tell me where to go!" the man whispered towards his weapon, his voice low enough not to disturb its movements and -- hopefully -- not to attract any unwelcomed guests. Maybe he should have dumped a drop of oil onto his gauntlet before doing this ? Not that the stuff would make any improvement on the cutting action Funark could do, but aside from keeping it polished and free of decay it certainly would have helped to reduce friction even further. Slowly and with a near unnoticeable grinding noise the weapon started turning, aligning itself to one of earth's hidden properties his men had exploited so often at sea, in the old times. Point to the north, hilt to the south, the crossguard to the east and west. He hadn't drifted so hard off course, had he ?

Oddur had crossed the Swiss' border several days ago, one of the few occassions where he had had to stick to more densily frequented roads. Otherwise though he had strictly preferred staying away of those and find his way on his own. One could consider this a foolish approach -- or a wise one. Clearly he himself was convinced of the latter being true. Those caravans and traders, more often than not protected by a skeleton crew of more or less well equipped and trained militia if any at all, would only have helped to attract the evil. The vast majority of wicked things could sense human activity and had an idea of the concept of 'more' and 'less', so a rather helpless, slowly moving bunch of fresh blood was bound to be an attractive target. Also it would not have been the first time for him to be mistaken for a new kind of adversary, his near completely pale skin and red eyes misinterpreted as yet another aberration created by the Purgatory instead of a purely natural mishap. His giant size didn't help improve the situation in those cases either, so staying alone had sounded like a very good alternative to him.

Funark turned. Had the north started moving ? It still turned, now pointing aggressively right at its owner's chest. Oddur turned his head violently, trying to catch the now unbalanced sword out of sight while inspecting what was going on behind him. As the large weapon slid through his fingers and the pommel dug itself into the muddy ground, the abomination landed on Oddur's helmet, immediately trying to punch his sharp beak through the narrow vision slots. The foul, corrupted raven was in a frenzy, its hunger driving it to attack without remorse or respect for its own integrity. Oddur used his other hand to swipe the creature off his face, but that only allowed it to release a screech and come back for the second time. Its body was decored with what looked like some kind of out- and overgrowth that lacked feathers, but not a horrid stench. Oddur now grabbed it, immediately yanking one of its wings out of its joint in the process and threw the entire beast so hard on the ground that one could hear bones cracking.

He couldn't let it pass out of its life this way... Having been raised far from any catholic or otherwise ecclesiastical influence, Oddur still felt the need to avoid unnecessary torment if he could do something about it. As there was still movement in the halfway broken body, Oddur reached for Funark. The inscripted blade missed where he had believed the creature's heart to be, putting even more stress on him to get done with this quickly. With one hand maintaining the pressure on the hilt, he let the other gently touch the blade. His eyesight detached from the ordinary world, his pupils wide open but still telling the observer that Oddur's attention was... somewhere else. Somewhere he could draw power from, or somewhere he could carefully release a tiny fraction of power that had been stored away when the weapon had been fabricated. Then there were clouds forming around the pitch black metal. He had to pull back his other hand now or things would become painful for him, too.

What Oddur held now looked like a miniaturized thunderstorm discharging onto his sword, but with no rain involved. Bolts caused water and blood of the corrupted raven to boil and explode in tiny craters, then there finally was ignition. A fire was one of the last things he had wished for here, but it was the cleanest and safest way to dispose of that... thing. Should he wait here for it ? No... too dangerous now that things on the ground could easily spot him as well. The northman got himself moving again, simply dragging Funark behind him as the carcass disintegrated. How long until he'd reach that monastery ? It looked as if he'd have to go up the mountains, but the thought alone made his hulking body protest in silence.

With the dead body having been disposed of, he could finally try and pick up some speed again. Hours passed by during which he hardly allowed himself any rest. He definitely had already entered the correct valley, but it semmed to be even more foul than before. Those trees were crying for being cut down, but to what avail ? Likely nothing that could be entrusted with one's own health would grow on that soil, raising the question how people had been able to survive for so long here. Maybe things were better further up, but that was still to be found out.

As Oddur was moving along at a rather slow pace, his nose suddenly picked up a wisp of smoke. Something, or someone, had to be nearby. Moving further through the dense forest the abundance of trees momentarily allowed a glimpse of light to pass through between their trunks, revealing the source of it. Torches... Did monsters use torches ? Probably not. He felt drawn to it like a fly, hope rising inside him that there might be other seekers on the same route as he was. Coming closer though he could notice the undead bodies strewn around. What were they called ? He didn't know, but apparently decapitation was the preferred method of getting rid of them. Hopefully those people would notice early enough that he was normal and not yet another adversary, maybe even the hive mind that made its attack now that all its slaves had been disabled...

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