Ragnarok is Come.

Spoiler

I suggest you all read this:
http://www.norron-mytologi.info/diverse ... icEdda.pdf

The year is 2211, and magic has returned. For a century now, Orcs, Trolls, Elves, Dwarves, and even Faeries have been common place, making homes all throughout the earth. Technology is more advanced, and several lines of Biological Augmentations are available for purchase and installation even for middle class citizens of most countries. Governments are, for the most part, being controlled by Dragons. Spirits and creatures of myth have reawakened. This has become the norm.

But the world is darkening quickly, for Ragnarok is come. For 100 days, the doomsayers say, the world will shake until eventually it will be plunged into a sea of darkness, reduced to pieces by an intangible force. The gods fight a battle in Asgard, where a dark army persists. Soon, even gods will perish before Ragnarok.

All that is left now is what to do with those 100 days.

The world is different now. Some have learned to manipulate magic, while others still distrust it. Crime is so rampant that it's become a business. People are quarreling more locally, and tensions between the dragons has never been worse. With 100 days to work with, humanity, and demihumanity, is torn between preventing Ragnarok, or catalizing it.

So, without further dallying, the story.

The Dragons

Spoiler

Bulden
In the year 2173, Bulden the Bronze ran for president of the United states of America. Initially, he lost the race to Amanda Mitchel. However, when Mitchel's term ended with an approval rating of 9%, America was about ready for a Dragon as POTUS.

President Bulden hasn't left office since then, and not for the reason that you'd predict. The country flourished under President Bulden the Bronze. Under President Bulden, or the 'Mericadrake as some have started to call him, America has enjoyed several periods of peace, many as long as five years in length. Even during the Russo-American war of 2194, Bulden was able to make an alliance with the newly powerful country of Drakehem (Unification of Sweden and Norway under the dragon Njord) and eventually make a treaty with Russia, who was under the influence at the time of the dragon Olga.

Bulden is Bronze in color, almost gold, with startling golden eyes.

Njord
Njord shamelessly takes his name from the norse god of the sea. He is very old school, and ate the previous leader of Norway in 2181, and assumed a place of power. Thankfuly, Norway's leader wasn't very well liked. Soon, he made diplomatic relations with the leader of Sweden, Erik Adalstein. It was natural then, when Adalstein died of Lung cancer, that Sweden and Norway Unite, to make Drakehem.

Njord is silvery in color, with two massive horns that jut out like those of a bull, or a viking helmet. His eyes are a startling silver.

Olga
Olga is a female dragon, with a sly sense of humor. She is very easy going, and surprisingly tolerant. Although her takeover of russia was initially hostile, she is now well liked by her citizens. She takes care of her people, instilling pride in her nation with the charisma of a natural leader. She still implements Communism in her style of government, but her most powerful influence is religion, or lack thereof. She enforces strict paganism, demanding occasional sacrifices, which her people have for the most part complied to.

Olga is a ruby shade of red, with three prominent horns. One on each side, and one in the middle, like a sort of frill.

Ryu

Ryu is not his real name. His real name is actual Melvin, and his initial takeover of Japan was purely for the Anime and Manga. He adores it as an art form, and high ranking producers often serve as advisers in his regime. Further than this, he is a shrewd businessman, a corporal genius, and a commercial guru.

Through Japan, Ryu has united most of eastern Asia under the flag of Japan, sometimes called New Japan. With Japan, he's taken China, Taiwan, both of the Koreas, Mongolia, and the Philippines. Parts of Hawaii and California are heavily populated with New Japanese.

Ryu/Melvin is yellow, with dark green eyes, and smooth scales. His head is frilled slightly, and his chin is bearded with thick black hair that goes all the way up his jaw.

Cassius

Cassius is a brutal, violent dragon that now controls Rome. He is strong willed, quick witted, and a masterful strategist. He's the military mastermind behind the Fifth Holy Roman Empire. Don't be fooled, there's no Catholicism here. He rules with an iron fist, with claws of steel and teeth. And fire breath. And alot of guards. And violence. Yeah.

Cassius is the dictator. He controls what is now the most powerful army on the planet. Italy has expanded to take southern germany, all of austria and hungary, and some of eastern france. Rome stands tall as a military might in Europe.

Cassius is golden in color, with deep golden eyes. He bears no horns, but has a mohawk like frill down his head all down his back.

There is significantly less crime in Rome than anywhere else.

Any other dragons you'd like to add, simply PM me.

The Races

Spoiler

Humans
Humans are Humans. Not much has changed. They are mundane, average, usual men and women. Through the years, however, Humans have learned from other races how to use magic to their advantage. This, when combined with their knack for technology and engineering, can make for some pretty dangerous characters. Humans are also notorious for their Self Augmentation Systems (SAS). They have developed cybernetics and bioengineering to boost physical strength, endurance, performance, reaction, you name it. They even have specialized hands that have extra fingers. They tend to be pretty widely excepted by other races.

Elves
Elves live a bit longer then humans, and like to brag about it. Other things they like to brag about are how much better looking they are then most humans, and how much quicker and slimmer they tend to be. Elves can come off as snobbish, elitist, and often times annoying. However, at their best, elves can be very witty, and clever. They're not the best technologically, however. Things seem to malfunction around especially powerful elves. Elves are particularly adept at manipulating the magic energies to form spells.

Elves do not really get along well with other races. The future is not a particularly racist society, but it is no less racist, and radicals do still exist. Elves are particularly disdainful of Orcs, Trolls, and Dwarves, with whom the feeling is mutual. They are fond of Faeries, however.

Dwarves
Dwarves are family people. They are serious, and loyal, some with strict codes of honor.They, although not great at it, have ways of manipulating magic. Further, they can store it in inscribed runes, an art that they perfected with the orcs, for an efficient combination of machine and magic. Dwarves are among the best metalworkers, builders, and stonemasons out there. They are short, stocky, and built tough. Their personality reflects this. They live to be as old as elves do, though this is probably due to the fact that they are often more tactful than elves.

Dwarves usually favor Humans and Orcs to Faeries and Elves.

Orcs
Orcs are brutish, and crude. Their skin is a bit tougher, their senses a bit more sensitive than those of humans. Orcs are violent, and passionate. They are not, however, so uncivilized as some literature would have them portrayed as. They are very wise in their own ways, and many of the best crime syndicates are run by Orcs, Dwarves, and Humans working together. Orcs know how to learn an enemy, and how to hit where it hurts. They are also expert craftsman, like the dwarves, though their style is different. It seems to work for them, though. Orcs, quite simply, look like ugly humans with tusks jutting out from their lower jaws. Even the prettiest orcs are brutish and hard looking.

Orcs get along well with Humans, and Dwarves, and occasionally Trolls.

Trolls
Trolls are not at all like you'd expect. They are large, the shortest of them taller than seven feet. They are strong, and scary, and brutish. Most of them, however, are kind, and docile. They can be very wise, and are gifted in the ways of channeling magical energies into positive energy, with the aide of natural remedies. Unfortunately, most of them are hideous. They look like stone colored humanoids, with deep set features and horns. For this reason, they make easy targets for elves. It is for this reason that Trolls distrust them, though they don't openly hate anyone.

That being said, as with any society, evil trolls do exist. They are just a lot rarer than evil orcs.

Faeries
Faeries live to be about twenty. They are small, the tallest reaching about three feet tall. However, their power over magic is unparalleled. Their wings, when visible, are a manifestation of palpable magical energy. However, the Faeries are few in number, due to their short life span. This also limits just how much they can learn. So, most faeries find places in society as performers, or workers, whose magic is exploited for the brief amount of time that they will be able to work.

Faeries get along well enough with the elves, and humans, but not at all with the "uglier" races. If anything, Faeries are more superficial then elves, though exceptions exist. The typical faerie is childish and naive, though some do accumulate some wisdom.

the Setting.

Spoiler

Ragnarok is coming. The return of magic was just the prologue. Our current predicament, or rather the predicament of the Writers, is that they've got 100 days to either prevent Ragnarok, the end of the world, or Raze as much of it to the ground that the before and after picture will look like the guy just turned the camera around. In this storybook, the characters are thrown headlong into day one of the apocalypse.

The Cult of Ragnarok
Referred to by members as "the Renhet" or "the Purity", this cult is bent on bringing about the occurence of Ragnarok. They believe that, through rituals of death by drowning, they cleanse themselves, and strive to do so on a global scale by bringing about Ragnarok. Some holy symbols for them include sea water, sea weed, and the ocean.

Word of this cult has spread, and as Ragnarok draws nearer, the Renhet gain more and more confidence.


For the sake of Character interaction:
You're all in Rome for some reason.

The Character sheet

Spoiler

CodeSelect all

[b]Name:[/b]
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Race:[/b]
[b]Ethnicity:[/b](there can be black elves and asian trolls.)
[b]Age:[/b]
[b]Gender:[/b]
[b]Sexual Orientation:[/b]
[b]Appearance:[/b]
[b]Personality:[/b]
[b]Character skills, Tallents, and profficiencies:[/b]
[b]Character Quirks, Flaws, and Shortcomings:[/b]
[b]Character Background:[/b]
[b]Any Other Details (Equipment):
[/b]

And Now, Briefly, The rules.

Okay, we get it. It's the end of the world. Your characters are gonna swear, and their gonna do naughty stuff. Utilize the asterisk. It's a powerful tool. Any other... stuffs that would be considered 18 and up, try and avoid it. Don't blatantly write about it.

FURTHERMORE:

No overpowered characters. Naturally I will have to approve all characters, but even so, I've seen non OP characters in the wrong hands become HORRIBLY over powered. Don't be afraid to martyr your character. You can make more than one, if you like, or if it will keep your characters interacting with other peoples characters. (I.E. you can have one character start out in Boston, and another in Texas, so that you can interact with more characters over a broader scope.)

Lastly, you will be writing in dialogue for other characters. Other writers will be doing the same for your characters. Try not to do so too out of character.

Ok, readysetgo!

Mimir

Mimir the Giant’s gaze was fixed on the light coming down the cave. It cast a manlike shadow upon the wall, only half confirming Mimirs guess that Odin had come to drink from his well.

The stump that was Mimirs head, old and grizzled, watched in silence as the strong old form of the allfather made his way to the edge of the well. His arms glinted with many Identical arm rings, and his eye was covered by a black patch. His hair was long and grey, his beard matching. He knelt at the well.

“Mimir, guardian of the well, I have come to drink the well of wisdom.” He pronounced formally.

Mimir responded from where he was, his voice deep and booming. “Go ahead.”

Odin nodded and dipped a horn into the well, recoiling at the sight of the eyeball that floated there still. “I can’t believe you kept that thing…” Odin asked indignantly.

“To gross you out.” Mimir taunted. “Besides, if I were to lose it, I’d probably be more tempted to ask for the other one, which would just be a dick move on my part.”

“Yeah, but it’s in the water…” Odin sipped from his horn and shook his head. “I drink this stuff!”

“Me too.” Mimir said. “Makes it savory.”

“You’re sick.” Odin said.

“Your kin cut off my head.” Mimir said. There was a long pause before the two laughed, a sound that beat back the silence, and bounced off of the stone walls. “C’mon, you’ve had enough. My turn.”

Odin nodded, and finished the horn off. Wiping his mouth, he dipped the horn into the well, and tipped it gingerly into the mouth of the giant head. The water tasted not at all savory. It was untainted by the eye that floated in it, or so it was to Mimir. The water tasted like the cold, and iron. Mimir did not wretch like Odin as he drank it, a feat that Odin was sure to merit every time.

“What do you taste?” Odin asked for the millionth time.

For the millionth time, Mimir answered. “Wisdom.”

Odin nodded. “Heard you anything from the squirrel?”

“Ratatosk? He speaks not to me. He comes down only to deliver messages to the serpent.”

“Nidhogg will never get through that root.” Odin said proudly.

“I do not think that it is from the roots that Yggdrasil will fall.” Mimir said. “And you don’t need me for information. You have your birds. You are the Allseer.”

“I gather my information from others.” Odin shook his head wearily. “Few realize that.”

“Information is much more useful when gathered.” Mimir replied reassuringly. “That way it can be properly analyzed.”

“Information…” Odin said. Than he looked up grimly. “There came a message from Jottunheim.”

“What did it read?” Mimir said.

“I thought you’d be able to make sense of it.” Odin held out a scroll of hide. The symbol on it was similar to a nazi swatzika, but more angular, in a circle surrounded by spears. Mimir did his best to hide his dread.

“You’ll be fine. They’re threatening war, but they’re always doing that.”

“That’s what I thought…” Odin said. “Thank you Mimir.” And Odin left.

Mimir sighed heavily. What odin had shown him was the symbol of Ragnarok. If the Jotun have called upon it, then Asgard was doomed. Hopefully, the shield of Asgard would be able to block Ragnarok. The shield called Midgard.

Midgard had become a world of technology, and the reappearance of magic only confirmed the coming of Ragnarok. Mimir should have seen it coming… And he had grown fond of Odin’s visits. Mimir weighed the options.

In the end, he figured he should warn Midgard. He sent a virus to their computers, flooding it with tell of the prophesy of Ragnarok. No, Mimir thought. It is not from the roots that Yggdrasil will fall... It will fall with Asgard.

Nieven | Day One | Somewhere in Rome

No one in Rome speaks anything but Common. Dozens of different versions of it, but nothing I could understand. I caught little words that everyone always said. Hello, goodbye, bathroom, Friday--not nearly enough to piece anything together. I've been in Rome for almost two weeks and outside of my own village for at least a year, but adjusting to this kind of like hasn't become any easier--how do people do it? Everything is to big, too fast. Everything's machine made and no one will explain to me what kind of magic powers cell phones.

The frustration builds until I'm yelling, "Are you telling me that no one in this place speaks any kind of Elven language?" Whether I said it slowly or screamed it, the man in the marketplace still had no clue what I wanted. No one passing by understood when I asked if anyone spoke anything else. I wasn't going to leave the market, but I wasn't going to resort to piecing together some of the few words I knew. I walked down the aisles, asking the same question over and over and getting no response. It wasn't until I had circled around the place that I realized that I missed someone--an elf--talking and laughing with the man I had been arguing with. When he saw me again, he pointed in my direction, hopefully sending her over to help.

When I see that she's not making any move to come over, I walk in their direction. "Please tell me you're not an elf who can't speak the language."

She turns to look at me, her vibrant eyes cutting towards mine. "Please tell me you're not an Elf who speaks nothing but the language."

"I never needed to speak anything else. Now can you please tell him what I'm trying to say?" I'm not in the mood for anymore arguing; I want to get my things and leave, but I don't know how likely it is that'll happen.

Her eyes assess me as I wait for her answer. She turns the man and says something I don't understand, and the man looks at me for a moment before laughing.

She then turns to me. "What is it that you need?"

Spoiler

I in my post, I used Google translate for the Romanian, so if it's wrong, blame Google xD If there's anyone here who speaks Romanian (I highly doubt it but you never know xD)

Walking along the streets of Rome, I took in the Sun's ray of warmth hugging my body, and the cobblestone beneath my feet as I watch people run about their daily lives. Markets around every corner, streets performers at every corner. I sit at the ledge of a fountain and smile as I watch a little boy pick the pocket of some pompous old man who'd snubbed him. Sitting on the edge of a fountain, I'd just begin to relax, when I realized I had to make a run for a few ingredients. With a resigned sigh, I stood up and headed for the nearest market.





As I near the market I usually visit, I hear someone yelling like they've lost their minds, though I don't pay much mind. As I come to s stop, the owner of the shop, Nikolai, smiles as he sees me. The smiles lines around his aged face were only emphasized by the graying hair at his temples. He was rather fit for his age of 60, not looking a day over 40 with his lean Physique. Nikolai was one of the favorites for a lot of people around this area of Rome. He had this strange warmth that radiated from his Whiskey colored eyes and an inviting smile that seemed to draw people to him. Ever since I'd made my way to Rome several weeks ago, this was actually the first place I came, and he was the first person I met.

"Ah, Constanta. Ce mai faci?" Nikolai asks

[i[How are you?[/i] In Romanian. He didn't speak any Elven languages, and he didn't speak English. Seeing as how he was Romanian, I could understand why. Luckily, I spoke English and Romanian, along with several other languages.

"Fiata de zi," I smile back

Living life.

We talk a little as he rings me up, making jokes and laughing before he turns his head to the left, his gaze focusing on something. I follow his gaze, landing on some guy.

"Ce este?" I look at him.

What is it?

"Unele om nepoliticos nu-mi place." he motioned in his the man's direction. "El a strigat într-o limbă pe care nu am putut înțelege."

Someone he didn't know that yelled in a language he couldn't understand. Hm. I turn to look at the man, who was watching us as we spoke. I made no move towards him, though it didn't seem to matter, since he made his way over. I realized why Nikolai couldn't understand him. The man was Elven.

He came to a stop in front of me. "Please tell me you're not an elf who can't speak the language."

My eyes snap to his. "Don't tell me you're an Elf that speaks nothing but the Language?"

"I never needed to speak anything else. Now can you please tell him what I'm trying to say?" he says irritably.

I look at him for a long moment before turning toward Nikolai. "Bietul om nu a putut vorbi pentru a salva viața lui."

Poor man couldn't speak to save his life. Nikolia looked at the man, then began laughing. I look back at him. "What is it you need?"

"He's selling a black bag- it's in the back. How much does it cost?"

I turn to Nikolai and ask about the bag, though I already know the answer. "You'll have to be more specific than that."

"It's leather, that one-" He points to a bag hanging above Nikolai's head. "How much?"

I turn to Nikolai. "Cât de mult?"

Nikolia looks towards the bag. He lifts his hands to the bag, then pull it down and hands it to the Elf with a smile. "Pentru gratuit."

I raised my brow at Nikolai, but he just shrugs and motions towards the Elf. "Pentru gratuit."

"Take it," I smile. "No charge."

Not that he could pay anyway. If he couldn't speak romanian, chances are he didn't have any [l]Leu[/i] or Romanina currency on him, and Nikolai didn't take debit or credit cards. What was he even doing here? He didn't speak the language, he probably didn't have any form of currency on him, and he probably didn't even know his way around. I was surprised he hadn't been pick pocketed yet, if he hasn't already and just didn't know it.

"Oh." He looks confused, like he doesn't know what to say. "Tell him thank you."

I turn to Nikolai with my smile, and say, "El spune mulțumesc."

Nikaolai waves one of his meaty hands as if it's nothing. "Nici o faptă bună."

No good deed.

I guess what he says is true enough. "He says it's no problem. That's just Nikolai."

He nods slowly and runs a hand back through his long hair, again looking like he's at a bit of a loss. It was actually kind of cute, if everything about the man didn't say he was an ass.

"Multumesc, Nikolai." I nod my head to him.

"Nici o faptă bună." he says simply, like that explains everything.

I begin to take my leave, watching as The Elf looks around like a lost cause, and turn back to him. "Would you like to come with me?"

He glances around, thinking for a minute before saying, "Ah, sure."

It's not like he had much of a choice anyway. When you're in a place where you only speak the language of your people, finding another of your kind is like finding a needle in a hay stack. Especially in a place like Rome, where people are robbed on a daily basis around the clock. Maybe if he know English, he could find someone to help translate for him, but he didn't, and I doubt he would be able to find someone who spoke a lick of Elven language in a city this big. He would have better luck finding a needle in 5 hay stacks. So whether he likes it or not, he was stuck with me.

Morgan's display flashed furiously as digital devices passed him by. Rome was a harem of unprotected IP's, "Smart" phones, and cheap Tech Augments. Huginn was eating them all up. If Morgan so chose, he could break up with the boyfriend of the girl who had just passed her, or transfer the money from the man who just walked into a coffee shop's money to the account of the very angry looking woman on the phone. He could probably do it without disrupting the woman's conversation.

He passed by what appeared to be a thrift store, run by a man who appeared to be about forty, maybe fifty. Inside, he heard an elf cursing loudly, in elvish. His own elvish was not that great, but he made out the words "Black Bag" and "Does anyone here speak the Language?" He could do little but smile.

He made to step off in a direction, but was cut off by another elf, coated in bizzare tattoos. She was fit, and very beautiful. She passed by so closely, that Morgan felt a lock of her long hair slapped against his side. He felt for the inside of his jacket nervously, as if the elf could detect his revolver with her hair.

Get her number, Huginn. he thought. A short profile on her family, and jobs she held over time came up. Nothing terrible, or useful. From photos of her, he noted three scars on her face. He blinked twice in rapid succession, and the screen disappeared. He looked again, and the tattooed elf left with another elf that, shockingly, was even more tattooed. He had so many piercings... Wonder what he does when there's a thunderstorm. He laughed, and then sighed. Mentally, he deleted the elf's number.

Just then, however, his display was overridden completely. What he saw both astounded and disgusted him. Images of death, destruction, and a recurring symbol appeared. It looked similar to the swastika, but sharper, like a four pronged saw blade, or the outline of one of those paper shuriken. Sounds flooded his mind, until suddenly, there was a head. A giant head, aged and grimy, sitting on the stump of its neck on the edge of a well. It spoke, it's mouth moving, and a raspy whisper that echoed in Morgan's mind: "Beware... Ragnarok is come." And then his display died. It rebooted shortly.

"Terribly sorry, sir," Huginn the sprite began. "Systems were overridden. No firewalls were damaged. All systems secure."

"Huginn..." Morgan said aloud. Who could have broken into my sprite like that... Morgan blinked. "Huginn, pull up everything you can about Ragnarok activity. Locations, everything. I don't care who you have to hack. Make a list of important folks..."

Morgan looked again to where the elves had gone. They were nowhere to be seen. Probably for the best. Just then, however, there was a massive explosion. The market where the elves had just left exploded in a ball of fire that seared Morgan's entire left side. He was knocked over by the force of the blast. He looked to the building. What remained of it was on fire. The rest was destroyed. The shop owner, who had been standing outside, crawled away from the burning store, nursing a badly burnt leg. Panic ensued among the onlookers.

"What happened?" Morgan said in his best Romanian. He could hear sirens in the distance.

"You got a better view than I did." said the man weakly.

I was preoccupied with something else, Morgan thought.

Jarl had never liked Italy too much. Since the dawn of civilisation, its inhabitants were inflating themselves. First, they called their nation the Holy Roman Empire and conquered most of Europe, and when the empire collapsed, they called themselves the Papal States. They could still rule Europe that way (though not through force, but through religion) and that time their chances of being overthrown as a major power was much less likely - if you were of a different faith, they ordered a crusade on you, and if you weren't, they excommunicated you or declared you a heretic and had you burned.

It was therefore no surprise that Jarl had only came to the Fifth Holy Roman Empire in order to do business. The nation historically had a few virtues, such as their food and their major influence in western music, but all of those things could be enjoyed outside the nation.

He disembarked from his private jet and entered the black sedan which was waiting for him. He had several safe houses in the empire, and one of them was in the heart of Rome. It was there where he would be staying for the duration of his business trip.

He had heard of a prototype being sold on the black market - a bow enfused with magic, created by Humans, Elves, Dwarves and Faeries. Apparently, you could launch an arrow from the bow with one of four different effects. You could fire it normally, and seeing as it was a recurve, the damage would be high, but the bow could also sense your intentions and then adapt to improve the shot: one, it could make the arrow penetrate deeper into the target, two, it could cause an explosion upon hitting the target, or three, it could give off an EMP, and that, especially in such a technology-dependent world, made it worth investigating. The only drawback was that you had to provide your own arrows, but it certainly saved you the cost of buying all of those expensive and fancy arrows.

The transaction was due in two days, as the arms-dealer would only be arriving then. Of course, everyone who was interested in the bow would trap the meeting location beforehand, so the exact location would only be revealed an hour before the transaction. Jarl had tracked his competition since hearing about the trade. No other noteworthy figures had taken the claim of the bow's powers seriously, and most of the small fries Jarl had had killed. He was certain he could beat any of the remaining competitors' offers, so he wasn't too concerned; in fact, he considered the bow his already.

Jarl looked out of the window. They had just entered a marketplace, and as far as he knew, the safe house was close-ish to one.

"Just a few more blocks, sir, then we're there," the driver said, as if he had read Jarl's thoughts.

Jarl muttered an inaudible response.

The marketplace was filled with the usual figures: pickpockets, stingy traders, less stingy traders, stingy buyers, less stingy buyers, and, of course, the oddballs. That day's one was an elf who was walking around, yelling at almost every person he saw. Jarl's Elvish wasn't that good, but it was sufficient to know that the elf was frustrated that none of the people to whom he spoke understood him. Poor idiot.

The elf then started walking around the fountain, yelling at everyone. Jarl hoped the fool wouldn't knock on his window - the car was moving slower than walking pace, due to the throng of people - as then he'd have to shoot the unfortunate bloke.

"Why'd you decide to enter this place on one of the busiest days in the month?" Jarl enquired of his driver.

"There was an accident two hours ago on the road we'd normally take from the airport to the safe house, sir; this is the fastest alternative."

"Very well, but I want to be out of here as soon as possible. You never know who might be hiding in the crowd..."

Jarl gazed out of his window again. An elfin had finally appeared to the crazy elf's rescue and was talking to a trader on his behalf. The Roman trader fetched a black backpack from the back of his stall and walked with the two elves away from his shop.

Suddenly, the shop exploded and the three were blasted off their feet. A few seconds elapsed before a shop closer to the sedan blew up as well. Burnt corpses were littered all over the marketplace, some having been tossed into the air, and one even flew against Jarl's door. His driver attempted to accelerate, but people were running screaming in every direction, so it was impossible.

Masked figures clad in ocean green appeared and started discharging their weapons in the air, stirring the panic even further.

"The Cult of Ragnarok!" Jarl seethed. "Your DE," he demanded of Andrew, who was sitting beside him. His bodyguard handed him the weapon, and after taking it, Jarl lowered his tinted window. "I hate cultists," Jarl said and emptied the pistol's magazine into seven of the thirteen doombringers.

After hearing shots being fired from the sedan, people did everything in their power to get away from it, leaving the driver free to race from the marketplace. The remaining cultists opened fire on the sedan, but their aim was terrible, so the sedan escaped without a scratch. One of them ran in front of the vehicle and raised his assault rifle, but he disappeared beneath the sedan immediately thereafter. Jarl smiled as they bounced over the corpse and sped into a alley.

The Renhet had made their first appearance in Rome, and Jarl was certain it was not going to be their last.