Staff stood tall in his leaf green magical robes made of a fine, expensive silk. The robes of a mage, although his lacked any vibrant flares of gold or other expensive materials littered upon such clothing, which was otherwise typical for a mage’s attire. Magic required knowledge after all, and knowledge was expensive. In his right hand he held a magical staff unlike any other of its kind before or since. For now, a mysterious haze surrounded it, which had the rather odd effect of diverting one’s gaze away from such an object without you even being aware of the fact. Not quite invisibility, for the object was still certainly visible in the technical sense, it’s just no one’s eyes wanted to look upon it. The same effect was also wrapped around him. An ability called an Administrative Veil which allowed him to travel unseen. As he walked down the busy main street, people parted out of his way as they went about their daily business almost instinctively, unaware of the God walking amongst them.

His Elven hight allowed him to tower over the commonfolk. Elves perhaps diverged the least from a regular human appearance. The pointed ears and the generally taller, longer but thinner build were the main differences between the two races. He pressed onwards like a ship gently parting the unsuspecting river as it flowed against him, unable to alter his course. He was on the short side for an elf, but that had been done on purpose. The closer this body was to his real height, the less disorientating it was whenever he had to switch.

It had been a while since he had last ventured into the Kingdom of Avalon, and he was quickly reminded of how boring it was.  It reminded him of the outside world perhaps a little too much for his liking. As he noticed a particular crowd of people further down the street, he picked up his stride ever so slightly. These fools weren’t exactly doing a good job of being discrete. All of them dressed in the same style of armour. White with a black blade painted onto their chest and on each shoulder guard. A guild emblem, and the one he was looking for. He came to a stop and eyed the rest of the crowded street. A lot of people, not that he cared that much but it did cross his mind. The power hiding his presence subtlety vanished. He watched with some amusement as one of his targets caught a glimpse of him. A simple, regular scan of his surroundings. His eyes passed Staff by only to quickly shift back to lock in his exact direction. The man’s pupils dilated. His chest came to a complete rest as his eye lids double blinked to ensure what he was seeing was the truth. As his fellow companions continued to idly banter amongst themselves, the smile of familiarity quickly vanished from his now red, sweaty face. Another of the group seemed to quietly take notice of their friend’s change in posture and dead stare down the street. He followed his gaze, only for his eyes to find Staff’s tall figure at the dead centre of his vision. From two, more began to notice that something was up. Before long they all turned Staff’s way. Stunned in silence, each riddled with enough fear to shake a giant to its core. The white noise of the crowded street slipped away as they all simply stood perfectly still at his presence. The way a startled dear stood frozen at the sight of oncoming headlights.

Their trance was broken only when the rather uniform flow of the crowd either side of Staff began to turn chaotic and disturbed.

Suddenly the everyday people began to notice the Elf amongst them. Confused at first as to why such a strange figure was stood perfectly still at the centre of such a major street. That was until they slowly began to notice his robes. The expensive robes of a mage, yet the absence of symbols of status and riches, for such a man had use for neither. Those within his arms reach backed away. As the crowd followed his focused gaze towards the group of soldiers less than twenty metres away from him, they parted as to not obstruct his path. Suddenly they began to back away from the group of soldiers as well as they one by one put together that they were his intended target. Men calmly and sheepishly bowed their heads, as mothers quickly caught the hands of their loose children and began to hastily hurry them into the nearest available side streets. As they left Staff’s direct sight, they one by one began to flee. The men rather reluctantly followed suit, with slightly more of a prideful retreat, but a retreat, nonetheless. No honour was to be had here, bravery at such a moment would be seen as foolish instead of valiant. The street became empty. Void of its once vibrant life with the exception of the group of soldiers and Staff himself.

The soldiers finally managed to break free of their jelly legs and churned stomachs. They began to scatter in multiple directions as fast as they possibly could. Not a sword raised, every man for himself. Staff raised a single finger. Subtle sparks of magic filled the air around it for the briefest of seconds. The soldiers found themselves each smacking right into a faintly visible magical barrier. They all backed away from each of their obstructions to find that it was in fact only one. A perfect dome surrounding the lot of them.

Now they each began to draw their blades. In a fit of desperation, they each began to individually hack at the magical barrier. As their swords smacked against the arcane construct, they flexed and bounced as if they were smacking against hardened steel despite its appearance being more glass-like in nature, but with a magical shimmer as the sunlight passed through. They continued to hack. Adrenaline fuelled their every strike as sweat continued to trickle from their brows. Their every attempt made all the more desperate as their ears pricked up at the sound of footsteps calmly approaching them. Thin, light feet wrapped in leather. Two of the soldiers began to hack against the same spot on the shield as one another, yet even their combined attempts failed to make as much as a single scratch upon it. The walls of their prison simply refused to budge. Finally, the footsteps came to a dead stop. They each quietly dropped their weapons and turned to face their now inevitable fate. Staff was now standing just outside the magical barrier. A subtle smirk on his face from watching their futile attempts to flee from him. His thin, sharp lips parted. They all stood still and silent. Their God intended to speak.

“Now then.” Staff began, his sharp and clear tone matching his piecing gaze as his eyes shifted between each of them, “I believe your leader has something for me.” His calm deminer seemed to do little to change each of their dread filled faces. The soldier who’d first spotted him fell to his knees.

“Please…” He begged, “Spare us.” He quivered. The rest quickly followed his lead, falling upon their knees and clasping their hands together in prayer. Staff’s eyes quietly fell upon the man who’d addressed him. His slightly amused smirk vanished from his face.

“The Dragon Sword.” He demanded. His voice echoing though each of them to the point that their bones felt as fragile as dry sand.

“Our leader. Edward Clawson.” The man hastily answered. His head now bowed to the floor, doing everything he possibly could to avoid the terrifying gaze he could somehow instinctively feel bearing down on him and him alone, “He wields the blade you seek.”

“And he is…” Staff pressed. Clear irritation now seeping into his voice. His patience thinning by the second.

“The Black Sword Colosseum.” The soldier quickly spluttered out, desperate to correct Staff’s mood by any means necessary, “It’s ri-”

“I am capable of finding such a place without assistance.” Staff immediately interrupted, forcing the soldier’s voice to become silent, for he wished not interrupt Staff’s words.

Leather against the harsh cobblestone work of the main road. Staff’s heels turned. The single sound of which dwarfed their own collective racing heartbeats. His robes trailed his swift turn almost like an elegant cape before once again conforming to their usual shape as he stepped one foot in front of the other away from them. They gave a collective sigh as utter terror washed from their bodies, leaving them shaken, perhaps even broken inside, but alive. But, as Staff’s light but deafening footsteps drew quieter and quieter, they began to realize that the magical barrier had not yet vanished. The begging soldier slowly got to his feet. His eyes fixed on the Elf as he continued to calmly walk away from them, with his back to them. Without warning, Staff raised his right hand to his side. As he did so, once again the soldier’s eyes widened with fear and despair.

A single snap. More deafening than any footstep. More deafening than any other sound in existence to the ears of the soldier, drowning out the sighs of relief of his fellow soldiers behind him. A red hue sparkled to life. The soldier at first thought it was the magical shield itself that had sparked red, only to realise the red glow was simply reflecting from behind him. Just as his own lungs had remembered how to breathe, the air they desperately swallowed became dry and scorching hot. The soldier kept his quickly boiling eyes trained on Staff as the man continued to casually walk away from them, not even sparing them a glance to view his own handy work. He became aware of his own comrades screaming out in pain only as it came to a stop. The silence making a far louder sound than the screams had themselves. A silence that slowly became consumed by the roaring of an inferno.

“May Clawson be your end.” The soldier quietly cursed as his own flesh began to char and crack from the heat of the air. A pain quickly replaced by the flames themselves that maliciously stripped flesh and melted bone. A single flash, and Staff had vanished. Only then did the magical barrier shatter like glass, only for each fragment to shatter once more to become a glitter-like dust that quietly faded into nothingness as the magic itself faded. The street now lay completely empty. Nothing but a perfectly circular scorch mark on the cobblestone where the soldiers had once stood. A mark. A reminder.

This world was a game. A Gameworld, but that didn’t mean it was what one would consider a fantasy. No, this world was as harsh as the real thing, arguably harsher. A space where gods and mortals tread upon the same dirt. Forged in the minds of two mad geniuses, this world was as real as any other to those who existed within. To them, this was no game. Death was death. Actions brought consequences which often are irreversible. Not even the gods of this world were above such facts… to which they’d soon be reminded.