Hey. Here's a story I thought up one day after doing a match. This is actually based on what happened in the match(Besides the parkour bits.).
Archer drew an arrow from his quiver, leaping confidently from the castle walls. The soles of his boots met with the grass, the wearer grunting as he landed. Several of his fellow Archers joined him, arrows nocked on the bowstrings. Archer follow them, brushing a loose lock of hair out of his field of vision. He jogged past a rock, aimed his bow. And not a second too soon.
Vikings stormed from the hall to the old market, waving around their axes and spears. Archer spotted a shirtless man with a long beard, a Berserker, among the crowd. That was his target. He let his first arrow loose, which implanted itself in Berserker's gut. He roared in pain and anger, breaking the arrow, but leaving the tip in his gut. Archer gritted his teeth, taking aim again. This time, Berserker leaped to the left of the arrow, but exposed Berserker's teammate, a Gestir. Berserker crashed through the crowd, wishing Archer's blood to paint his chest crimson.
Archer turned around and broke into a sprint, preparing another arrow. He ran towards a leaning rock, adrenaline taking him over. He ran up the side of the rock, everything seeming to go into slow motion. He turned and aimed his bow, nocking two extra arrows. He pushed himself off the rock, and while in mid flip, released his trio of arrows.
Each arrow found it's target. The first two, flying faster than the others, embedded themselves in Berserker's arms. He dropped his weapon, trying to yank out the arrows. He cracked the one in his left arm and turned to see the final arrow embed itself in his forehead, through his wolf pelt helmet. He collapsed, his blood starting to pool. Archer landed clumsily on the ground, and looked up, coughing.
Gestir, the viking he previously wounded, was charging towards him, spear extended. Archer rolled onto his stomach, yanked off his crossbow, and rolled onto his back, aiming. Gestir skidded to a halt, but not quick enough. Archer fired the crossbow zealously. The bolt struck with the fury of a god, planting itself in Gestir's heart. Gestir flew backwards, screaming in pure agony. A splash was heard. Archer walked over, and looked at Gestir, floating in the water. He screamed no more.
Archer turned left, expecting more foes. He stood in a field of corpses, both friendly and enemy. He turned back towards the castle. The gate was open, and a new foe, the Pirates, poured through the gates, entering the castle. Archer sprinted in, discarding his empty crossbow for a loaded one from a fallen ally. He skidded on the pavement, sending an arrow into the throne room.
Archer ran into the throne room, preparing another arrow. He fired, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw an old man, a Captain charging towards him, clutching a blunderbuss. Archer ran backwards, leaping out of the room as the Captain pulled the trigger. Archer rose to his feet and reached for his quiver. He grasped open air. He was out of arrows! Captain charged from the throne room, raising his cutlass. Archer quickly grasped the hilt of his sword, yanking it. He raised it to parry.
The resulting metal clang signaled that Archer's blade, powerless against Captain's own blade, folded under itself and snapped in half. Archer discarded his broken blade. Captain's blade was badly dented. He growled, sheathed it, and raised his fist and hook. He swung wildly. Archer yelled out in pain, the hook nearly splitting his stomach open. Archer then stumbled backwards. He turned, and ran. The large wooden gate ran up to meet him. Archer had an idea.
Adrenaline once more flowed through his body. He planted his foot on the base of the gate, holding his bow by it's string. He then ran up the wall, his light body weight assisting him. He kicked off the gate, flipping in mid-air. The nearby fighters stood by, watching him in awe. The whole castle seemed to go silent to watch him. He planted his feet on the stones behind Captain. He then pulled back the string like he would an arrow, and held the bow over Captain's head.
Captain tried to resist, but the string of the bow wrapped around the back of his neck. The wooden stock pressed against the front. Archer grabbed the string and used some of his remaining strength to pull on the string with both hands. The resulting crack meant that his bow had snapped. He looked down at Captain, who was falling, his neck twisted at an odd angle. The string and momentum had snapped his neck.
Archer turned left, drawing his crossbow, his final weapons. The remaining Pirates rushed out of the gates, engaging his allies. A keg with a skull and crossbones hastily painted on front flew over the walls. Archer grabbed Captain's corpse and flung it over himself as he fell. The resulting explosion deafened him. After a moment, he looked up. His entire team and the rest of the Pirates lay dead. The bomber who had tried to jump through as the gate closed lay dying.
Archer walked up to him, holding his crossbow. The wounded Skirmisher looked up at him. Skirmisher was badly hurt, his guts painting the floor. He looked up at Archer. Archer aimed at Skirmisher's forehead. Archer closed his eyes and shook his head as he fired the crossbow. Skirmisher's body thudded against the stone. Archer dropped his crossbow and took a seat on a nearby barrel. He placed his face in his hands, thinking about what just happened.
Archer looked to the sky, the day turning to night. He sighed, thinking he was just a pawn in the colossal game of war. He breathed in and breathed out, and entered the castle, the doors closing behind him. He walked to the throne and sat down on it. He sighed, getting comfortable. He sat in the chair, motionless. He wondered what he would do now, in the lone castle...
"Saint Archer, they will call me!"
-Archer on becoming a Saint.
"Sure, I'm a little young, but I'm not annoying like a good bit of children on the internet."
-Myself on My Age