Excerpt: Brutania

The dark black clouds spat forth fire and powerful bolts from heaven. These bolts shed light across the entire shadowed valley. Thousands of men dressed in blue and white speed across the brilliantly green blades of grass. From somewhere, a horn blasts the war call to rally the bloodlust in every warrior. Their Fat Shields held above their heads, held onto their arms by the leather strap, reflect the intense light from the clouds' attacks onto the other other side of the rolling green hills.
Thousands of men dressed in red and white sprint toward the valley of shadows and death. In their hands were smoccy, long planks of wood, sharpened at one end into a spearing weapon and blunt on the other side with sharp spikes protruding to club their enemies into the afterlife. On their armor sat the portrait of their god, Haddub, an obese man wielding a club too heavy for any other man to lift. In one hand, he held the gargantuan weapon, and with the other hand, he held it palm out. He had a strong, and immovable stance, which prevailed against all onslaught, at least according to legend.
The lightning storm tried to call out to all warriors to cease, or perhaps to persuade the battle into fiendish character. Either way, the warriors evaded each bolt of power from the clouds and continued their straight course toward their target. The warriors were countless on both sides, becoming impossible to decide which side had the advantage in this fight. In the end, it would be last man standing.
Above the valley, the chieftain in red and white and the chieftain of blue and white barked orders to their warriors in voices too boisterous to be silenced. “For Haddub!” one chanted.
“For Magduthia!” the other commanded.
When the two sides finally met, at the very center of the valley, blood splashed in a tidal wave across the front lines. Bolts of fire and power had finally found their mark, decimating hundreds on the front line. Ignoring their fallen tribesmen, each side met the other with their weapon of choice. Wood smacked metal. Metal cut into wood. Smoccy dug deep into tender stomachs. Shields separated heads from bodies.
One warrior from the Fat Shield clan pierced his weapon back and forth, in fluid motion. Countless smoccy attempted to spear his sides. In response, his shield split them in two. Innumerable blunt ends attempted to decapitate, only to find the arms attached to them removed instead. The number of Smoccy Tribal warriors dwindled slowly and surely. Before too long, all warriors of the Fat Shield tribe followed the unknown warrior. Where he stepped, the Smoccy warriors lost courage. This gave even the weaker of the Fat Shield warriors the edge they needed to win any weapon to weapon conflict. Within an hour of the battle's beginning, it appeared that the Smoccy would soon be removed from the earth, completely.
As the unknown warrior prepared to finish the last hundred warriors, attempting to retreat, a voice covered the valley. It overcame the screaming of the chieftain. It turned the storm's threats to cinders. When all turned to the source, it was the wisest and oldest of men, from the Fat Shield tribe. His eyes had traveled back into his head, and the whites of his eyes shone so much brighter than the mid day sun itself. His mouth stood open, and his breathing had ceased. Without pause, without breaking, the voice spoke. It was the voice of Magduthia Thradasa, himself!
“The battle will cease. There is to be no more killing in this fashion. I require all lives to serve me, whether under my true name, Magduthia or under my lower name, Haddub. Therefore, I have decided upon a yearly contest that will entertain me greatly and earn my favor. Once per year, the greatest of warriors from each tribe shall come into my presence and fight at this very spot, at the very circle I have produced.”
Everyone looked in the direction of the middle of the valley, where the lightning had struck. To their astonishment, a circle made from fire had burned into the grass and created a barren place.
“The warrior who defeats the other in honorable battle will have found favor with me. The tribe shall have the prized land for farming and shall not go without. The tribe whose warrior has lost favor with me shall toil on the land of little and shall go without. Thus, shall it be forever and ever.”
Then the old man fell to the ground. He was dead.