A Mage’s Guide to Beating the House

At first, all those that were on John’s side in this matter stayed silent. A pin could have been dropped on a pillow and still everyone would have heard it. Then Liftrhasir began to argue in John’s defense. He was soon joined by Frida and Hálfdan, as well as Councillor Dínuson. They all brought up points of a system that was dooming John from the start, and the pointlessness of a vote if they all decided he was to die, and so on and so forth. John, however, just looked down with no reaction. His head was in panic mode, and thus he was in little shape to say anything in his own defence.

‘I… I lost? I… I’m actually going to be put to ****?’ he thought, feeling his palms get sweaty and his mouth go dry. ‘All… All that fighting for my life in Beowulf’s Barrow… Outrunning the skaven, beating the draugr king… managing to find all these runes… It meant nothing in the end? I could have just sat around on my thumbs for three days and I would have had better chances of surviving?!’ Then, a chilling thought hit him, and he could feel tears begin to form at the corners of his eyes. ‘Oh god. I never got to say goodbye to Mom. That phone call will be… Oh god…’ His gaze shifted up to the council members, some of which were arguing with those who were on his side, but there were a few of them who just looked at John like he was a failure. Like he was a patch of flowers that refused to grow, and must be dug up and tossed away to stop making the yard ugly.

‘John, what’s happening? What is…’ Mavis said in his head, before she suddenly went silent. He figured she must have been overlooking his memories quickly, and perhaps telling Talia what was going on. John looked around the room, in a vain attempt to find a way out. Maybe this was going to be like the opening to Skyrim, and a dragon would conveniently show up to interrupt his execution and allow him to escape.

Then again, maybe he was going to get the Call of Duty 4: Modern Warfare treatment and meet Hel a lot sooner than he thought.

Just as he was about to offer prayers to the gods he derived his powers from, in a hope that maybe something would come of that, the doors behind him burst open, causing everyone in the room to shut up and see who interrupted a council meeting.

‘Oh wonderful. It’s Bob,’ John thought, wishing it had been someone actually helpful. The man he met earlier stared back at him, and John was glad he decided to nickname the man Bob considering calling him “The Fry Guy” was annoying. Plus he looked a lot like a Bob.

However, Bob did not come alone. John could only guess that he must have returned to whatever encampment he came out of and told all of his friends to come along to watch John get sentenced to ****. ‘Well, watch or hear in the case of that guy.’ John thought as he looked at the one on the furthest left. All of the newcomers were dressed similarly to Bob, wearing hodgepodges of various garments that they must have gathered from across the worlds. However, this man stood out from his fellow in the fact that he was clearly blind. He had on dark sunglasses, which were clearly cracked, and carried with him a large stick that he kept tapping on the ground. He also had a saxophone strapped to him, so John guessed the man probably was a beggar who played diddies for money.

Next to the blind man was an old woman, who John could best describe as “cringy grandmother.” First off, and the most noticeable thing about her, was the rainbow feather boa she wore wrapped around her neck. It looked like it was pulled from the dumpster behind a Party City, and had clearly been through quite a lot considering it looked like it was held together with flex tape and prayers. Then John noticed the cats. Well, they might have been cats, but they could have also been hairless rats, or the embodiment of the aging of animals. The animals were thin, painfully so, and completely hairless. Their skin was a mixture of pink and grey, and covered in wrinkles, to the point that John couldn’t tell if the area on their faces were mouths, eyes, or just more wrinkles. Next thing that caught John’s eyes were the woman’s glasses. They were… certainly something. They were quite large, with pink pointed frames that were bedazzled with fake rhinestones. However, several of the stones had fallen out, and the left lens was cracked and busted. She gave John a smile, and for a second John wondered if she winked at him ‘Please tell me the 90’s reject grandmother did NOT wink at me…’

After her was Bob himself, who looked to be quite proud about the crew of homeless he just brought to an official governmental hearing. ‘Well, at least one of us is happy about all this,’ John thought. Bob had brought a couple other things with him this time around, now carrying a walking stick that looked like it had been carved from the sickest, saddest tree in the entire forest. His other hand held the end of a leash, which happened to be connected to a dog that was just as sickly and gross looking as the lady’s cats. John honestly couldn’t figure out the breed of the dog, but if he had to guess he would probably say he was…. old. Just... just old.

Next to Bob was a rather strong looking fellow. He wore a jacket similar to Bob’s, but with a few major differences. For one, rather than have his arms in the sleeves it just sat on his back, showing off his buff and quite hairy arms. Secondly, and more obvious, was the fact that the left sleeve had been tied off due to the man having only one hand. The hand that he did have was adjusting his pants, which were held up with a flimsy looking belt sporting a very large combat knife. His face was… a bit hard to describe. What little John could see beneath the man’s thick hair and beard looked to be covered in scars, as if he had pissed off a flock of birds who thought his face was made of corn. However, he seems to be one of the more serious ones there, which could not be said for the final man who had come to see John get executed.

The one handed man was strong, of that there was no question. It looked like he had spent the last 10 years doing nothing but one arm pushups, forgoing any form of unhealthy eating or healthy cleaning in exchange for more exercise. But this final guy? He looked like he had been doing one finger pushups ever since he was BORN. In fact, he looked to be a more exaggerated version of the man standing next to him. While the one armed guy had muscles, this guy had muscles for his muscles. While the one armed guy was pretty hairy, this guy had enough bright red hair to confuse him with a ginger bear. While the other guy looked like he hadn’t washed in months, this guy probably thought showers were of legends. The only thing that was entirely of his own with this new guy was the broken sledgehammer that he carried on his belt, and the fact that he had the biggest smile in the room.

John rubbed the bridge of his nose, thinking that this could not possibly get any worse.

Then Bob spoke.

“My dear council members! First off… Hi! Good to meet all of you!” Bob and his posse waved, and John swore he could feel the disapproving stares of the council burning a hole into him. Even Lifthrasir was giving John a look that was akin to, “Really John? THIS was your backup plan?”

Bob continued his speech, “We come to represent John Newman, in order to ensure that you all do not execute him for the crime of runic magic.”

The blind one spoke up with a voice that sounded vaguely Norwegian, “Yes. The boy has done little wrong, and does not deserve such a harsh punishment.”

The council was clearly not amused. Councillor Grímsson peered down at the five attendees and scoffed. “Really? Really? You have come to act as… what, character witnesses?” He gave out a short bark of a laugh. “A bunch of homeless wanderers are going to represent this human boy?!”

John groaned, trying to sink lower and hide in his podium. ‘Odin,’ John thought to himself. ‘You gave me the rune, and I thank you for that. But could you do me one more solid and smite me? Please? Just get this over and done with now?’

Bob laughed, looking up at Councillor Grímsson with his one eye. A smile crept across his face and slowly he said, “No. A bunch of homeless wanderers are not going to represent this human boy. This runic mage is going to be represented by those who he draws his power from.” At that moment, Bob slammed his stick down, and John could not believe what he saw. John watched as the homeless figures started to grow, their old and gross appearances seeming to melt off their bodies, revealing their true forms.

The blind man’s glasses fell to the ground, shattering into a thousand tiny shards and revealing his bright blue eyes. They were not dulled by a lack of sight, rather quite the contrary. Somehow, John could tell that the man’s eyes could see much better than any man, woman, or child on earth. His tattered clothes melted away, forming into Nordic armor built from metal and fur, colored to be blue and golden. His whole body seemed to go through a powerwash revealing his pale muscle covered form. His walking cane began to grow, the end of a large double ended ax appeared on the end that was previously being tapped on the ground to aid his vision. Finally, his saxophone transitioned to being a large Nordic horn, one used to signal incoming ships as well as call to all members of a village that a meeting was to occur soon. Despite having never seen him in person, John could recognize him based on the mural in Beowulf’s tomb. In addition, he could feel a sort of familiarity to the god, the power radiating off the watchman of the gods similar to one of John’s godly runes. ‘Hiemdallr…’

Next to him, the woman underwent a similar transition. Her cheap tacky boa had all of the color drain away, quickly darkening to become black raven feathers rather than the cheap plastic rainbow feathers of Party City. In addition, the boa grew in size, and in a few moments it had turned into a large cloak that sat upon her back akin to a cape. Her cats quickly grew in size along with her, all while sprouting fur and transitioning to a completely different species. In a few moments, what once were the sickest looking pair of sphynx cats turned into giant polar bear sized lynxes, each one exuding an aura of predatory superiority. Finally, the clothes on the woman began to melt away, being replaced by metal plate armor depicting several images of skulls, powerful warriors, and beautiful women on winged horses. Her tacky pink glasses seemed to peel back, forming into a metal helmet with ornate gems around the crown and a pair of metal wings near the ears of the helmet. Her body quickly de-aged, going from a haggard old crone to that of the most gorgeous woman that John had ever seen. If she had asked John to stab himself on the end of Mavis, John would already be impaled six ways to Sunday before she could finish her request. ‘Freya…’

After John managed to tear his eyes away from Freya, he looked over to the other side of the line to the hairy ginger man. John watched as the man's hair shrank back into his body, kind of like a reverse time lapse video. His beard went from wild and unruly to short and well cropped, and his hair stayed decently long but was now well kept and properly styled. The man’s muscles did not change at all, still showing his strength off, but his clothes changed to that of fur armor and became better fitting to better show off the man’s figure. The man looked down to John, the same grin on his face as he gave John a thumbs up. He lifted his other arm, which John just realized was now holding what was once the broken sledgehammer. Now it was a warhammer, one that oozed the presence of power even amongst these now obvious gods. John could feel the same kind of energy from the man as what John felt whenever he summoned a Thurisaz to strike at his enemies. ‘Thor…’

The man standing next to the god of thunder reminded John a lot of Thor. Both of them, upon the loss of their disguises, gave off the presence of overwhelming strength. However, Thor’s was wild and untamed, akin to that of a lightning bolt. This man’s presence was that of control, kind of like the same presence that Mavis had. He could tell that this man was powerful, but was able to direct it to be quite precise. His clothes transformed to be similar to those of Thor, but while Thor had a head of youthful red hair, this god had black hair with streaks of grey. His eyes were that of a wise man, one who knew what it cost to keep the world secure and what it meant to sacrifice. ‘Tyr…’

Finally, there was Bob himself. John had to admit, he had his suspicions about the strange homeless man after visiting the shrine, but to see them confirmed was something that John could say he was most definitely not ready for. Whereas Tyr’s and Thor’s robes were that of warriors, Odin’s reminded John of a king of warriors. They were colored red and purple, with soft grey wolf fur heming the corners. Around his neck were several chains of gold, as well as the teeth and claws of great monsters that must have fallen to Gungir, which turns out was the true identity of the staff in Odin’s hand. His eyepatch changed from a simple black cloth to one made of gold and steel, looking quite ornate and regal on the eye of the king of the gods. His grey hair quickly became neat and tidy, and his ravens appeared from seemingly nowhere to land on his shoulder. Finally, his dog began to grow and change, revealing to not actually be a dog, but a majestic white eight legged horse. It snorted a few times, stamping its hooves and breaking the silence with a loud whiny. ‘Odin… and his horse Sliepnir…’

Odin looked down at John, a kind smile returning John’s expression of confusion and awe, saying in a booming voice,