MIDGARD: MAXIMILiAN
Maximilian crashed down on a pile of boxes in a rainy alley. His silver pauldrons, greaves, and chestplate now splashed with muddy rainwater. He stood up sulkily, he rose to find himself facing a group of large men approaching him, the biggest amongst them had a myriad of tattoos, they all held some form of glassy bottles, or stank of cheap alcohol. "By the cats of Freya,' Maximilian thought, "Eitri the dwarf's mead had more class than the cheap alcohol these men drank" He raised his arms up in diplomacy, knowing that exacting the wrath of the son of Asgard on such pitiable folk for simply looking unpleasant would be considered 'uncivilised'. Maximilian shouted: "I do not want to engage in conflict, come no closer."
The largest, who reeked of something unspeakably foul kept walking forward: "You done crushed our whisky. Now you think we're gonna let a little bastard like you get away with that?" And with that the big lout sucker punched Maximilian in the face
Maximilian fell over: "Blast..." he thought: "Maybe civility isn't the answer here." Maximilian got up and looked the thug in the eyes: "You're going to have to try harder than that." the thugs small piggy eyes shrinked in bewilderment, it quickly turned into anger: "You want harder, little wannabe hero? I'LL GIVE YOU HARDER!" He swung at Maximilian's handsome face and to his surprise Maximilian caught his arm with little more than a knowing smile: "Oh dear, not used to this foolish mortal?" And he flung the thug into the wall at full force. Maximilian turned to the rest of the gang who looked in incredulous fear and fury, and he calmly remarked: "Next?"
The rest of the gang charged. Maximilian's inkling grin cracked wider as he got a manic glint in his eyes. He thrived in combat. He rushed at the rest of the gang and dodged their grimy fists, rusty crowbars, and serrated switchblades. He aimed clean punches at their noses, kicks to their soft stomachs, and well placed knee strikes to the thugs's groins. After a solid 5 minutes of glorious combat, Maximilian stood unscathed (bar the small red fist mark on his cheek) over his groaning and broken opponents. Maximilian fiddled with one of their knives, before tossing it into the pile of agonized thugs: "You boys behave. Lest you desire to face the wrath of the Prince of Asgard again." The response was a colorful assortment of curses and pained grunts.
Maximilian walked off into the rain.
