ASGARD: PROLOGUE CONTINUED
Asgard. A shining city of polished marble and brass. Towers that stretch to the sky and beyond. Spires that jut into the sky like spears into a blue void. The night sky was a patchwork of diamonds sprinkled across a blue carpet, twinkling across the vast cosmos. Asgard looked like a delicate tiara under this vast blanket. The crowning jewel was Odin's throne room. In the center of the city a massive brass building towered over the rest of the city, ornate columns lined the front gardens, lush green plants dotted it's gardens. The open air throne room showed a single throne made of silver and adamantine. Sitting on the throne was the Allfather himself. Odin Borson was a man befitting the role of king. A well built man, built through the forges of war, his golden breastplate decorated with scars and scratches won through arduous battles through the realms. His regal cape swept the floor, a bright crimson flag that enforced his role as king. His weathered face had a wispy beard, like a mane of snow and steam. His golden crown was delicate and encircled his shocking white kingly locks like a halo. His hands bore a long golden pole, intricately etched with Norse runes and other beautiful designs The spear Gungnir was topped with a razor sharp point forged by the most skilled dwarven metal workers, it struck comfort into the hearts of his subjects and fear into the hearts of those who would challenge his throne. Most striking of all, Odin's weathered face bore his only eye, an electric blue eye that had a faraway look connoting wisdom and a deep sense of power and knowledge. The other eye was covered by a bronze eye patch, a relic of his sacrifice to Mimir for knowledge. Odin stood in front of his throne. His wife, Frigga stood before him, she was stunning, radiating power. Unlike Sigyn's simple and straight liquorice hair, her ginger locks were curled in an Elizabethan fashion. Her dress was large and fancy, fold upon folds ran down, her sharp cheeks and her severe expression oozed with power, like her spouse, she had electric blue eyes. In her strong hands, she held a baby wrapped in golden robes. She knelt before her husband as his humble servant and raised the baby up: "My king, your son. Maximillian Odinson. He will be the greatest of us, stronger than Thor, braver than Tyr, more noble than even our late son Balder. He will be second only to you."
Odin stepped towards Frigga: "My wife, you have borne me a fitting son, he will indeed be the greatest in Asgard, our greatest Maximilian. However, for all my wisdom, I cannot peer further into his future, I sense a great darkness in his path, for that, we must accommodate, we will train him, let no day or night pass where he is not battered from training, he must be our greatest warrior, tis the command of the Allfather. Take him back to his bed Frigga." Frigga nodded. Such was Odin, insensitive at the best of times, but was he not king, clearly he knew best. Odin had never been wrong, Thor was mighty was he not? Tyr was the bravest in the known realms, no? Frey the Reaper lost his sword to the meddlings of his heart, did he not? Odin had seen all these, and he was always right, why did Frigga ever need to question. This would be no exception. And to defy the allfather... Loki had always been a cautionary tale, a bogeyman the children had learned to fear. Where Odin's realm was one of eternal sunshine, Loki was the eclipse that darkened the fields beneath. The Trickster had been served delicious justice for murdering Frigga's beloved Balder, and Frigga had Odin to thank. So naturally she would follow Odin's express command.
The realm of Asgard was awash in light as Sol bathed the realm in another day of glorious sunshine. The brass towers of the realm stabbed into the beautiful blue sky above. The ornate stone walls glinted silver in the bright sunlight. It had been 17 summers since the favorite of Asgard, Maximilian was born. Under the tutelage of Thor, Tyr, and Heimdall, he was muscular, tanned, handsome in an aristocratic way. His wavy golden hair had a single lock of dark hair that he kept braided down the side of his face. Beside the braid, the blond hair was swept fashionably to one side on the top and close cropped on the side. His eyes were piercing blue like a bolt of lightning like his parents. As Odin had prophesied, he was a fine warrior, able to defeat even the best warriors of Asgard at 15 years old. Today he was in the practice pit in the center of Asgard's training facilities with his mentor Tyr. Tyr thrust his sword at Maximilian's face. Maximilian caught it with the edge of his own sword before pushing his blade down and disarming his mentor. He lunged at Tyr's face in the same move Tyr had performed mere moments earlier. Tyr caught the blade with his palms and Tyr's silver plated armor and horned helmet glistening not only with the light of the Asgardian light, but Tyr's own godly sweat.
Tyr laughed: "You've gotten better my young squire. But this is something I doubt you've seen!" and Tyr flipped Maximilian over his own head
Maximilian lands on his feet to see Tyr with his sword in hand: "A fine challenge from my mentor!" he sprinted at Tyr and slid under the God of bravery through the legs. While Tyr was trying to recover from Maximilian's stunt, Maximilian did a flying roundhouse kick and knocked Tyr over. Maximilian caught his sword midair and pointed it at Tyr's throat: "Who's the squire now?"
Tyr groaned and sat back up: "Your wit would do you well if it were a weapon." and took his helmet off. His dark chocolate colored skin and his buzz-cut black hair gleamed with sweat in the Asgardian sun. Maximilian helped Tyr back up: "I need not my wit to best even you, the noble Tyr in single combat."
Afterwards, the two shared some banter with the other warriors of Asgard.
