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Inamorta's Finest

Inamorta. The Savage Lands of the east.

A Savage equivalent of a Spearton stood atop an edge, revealing the lush, fertile lands of the Savage Tribes. The glowing green gems of his people marked his armour, in the eyes of all the skulls he had on his gear. The helmet almost seemed like his actual head, as he stood guard over his tribe's lands.

They were nomadic, his people. Rarely ever stayed in one specific place for too long but rarely left the Savage Lands. The last time they did was nearly two hundred years ago, when their ancestors aided the Kóran, Order in the Westerners' tongue, in retaking Inamorta.

Unlike their Western allies of legend, however, his people had been fighting the "Deads" since their arrival upon the continent. The beasts of their lands were magical, or so the Clevermen said. Their bones and skulls made for great protection and damage dealing against their undead foes.

The Spearton's gaze softened, remembering his earlier days in these lands. Where his people cheerfully gathered at day, and celebrated at night. It was soon after Medusa's death that they saw a small moment of peace.

However, a mere twenty years ago, they returned. And with them were corrupted Inamortans. Once normal Stickmen, these were corrupted by the dark powers of Chaos and Death. Three tribes had already fallen before the rest could muster a proper defense.

Now, they spent barely any time in one place, enough to harvest and plant again or hunt and gather water before moving again. It was tiring, but necessary.

The tribe leaders had sent envoys to the various nations across the continents. From the Elementals to the north-east to the Ice Warriors and Inamortans to the north and west.

And as the sun finally began to set, the war drums of his tribe began beating behind the trees. The sounds of his people's happy buzzing replaced by sounds of men preparing for war. He heard the bushes behind him move, and turned quickly to see three Swordwrath, wearing fur caps with the skulls of magical beasts and equally magical swords approaching him. An Archer was behind them, with weapons of the same material. He nodded at the group and returned.

As he went through the path back towards the tribe's camp, the Clevermen's chants and summons could be heard, and the miners began their work in mining the gems from veins. Merics made sure they had their proper equipment, his fellow Speartons checking their gear. The Swordwrath pumped themselves up and the Archers took their positions, some going up the trees.

He could see three giants shake their heads as they awoke, the horned skulls on their heads which acted as their protection had their gems glow back to life as they did so. They grabbed the huge clubs beside them, made from wood, fur, and a mammoth skull. They stood up and began to look around for food and to make sure nothing goes wrong.

He'd take a deep breath and close his eyes before opening them again. He could see his fellow warriors on guard duty, making their way to the tents for some sleep. The sounds of the Deads rising up once more could be heard, along with the shouting of the captains.

He went into the tent and went to sleep.

***

Inamorta. The Ice Hills.

Atraeus stretched as he woke up in his chamber, a Spearton of the Frost Hills. That is what he is. A proud warrior of his people. Previously a contingent of Order forces, his people learned how to manipulate the cold environment in more ways than one. They forged powerful ice-based weaponry and armour, even better than the typical steel used by their neighbours.

Their Magikill learned to use their environment as they see fit, the first few who mastered these new techniques managed to freeze their enemies and launch spears of ice.

That was more or less the defining feature of the Frost Hills, their equipment, their ways.

Atraeus put on his gear and grabbed his spear along with his sword. As he got out, he did his daily routine, jogged in his courtyard, and fed his pet Crawlers. Trained Crawlers, mind you, which he valued and raised himself.

As he got out of his home and looked around the city he called home, Atraeus passed by and greeted familiar faces. The thing about being in the Ice Hills is that everyone is a warrior, or a meric. My people have protected these lands for hundreds of years, and they won't be stopping anytime soon, he thought.

***

Inamorta, the lands of Chaos. Home of the Juggerknights.

Mercus dodged a spear strike, turning just enough to dodge his opponent's spear. He held a sword and shield, along with medium Vampiric armour. He moved in for a shield bash as his opponent drew back the spear with speed that could only be gained through a life spent training.

He and his opponent crashed into each other, their rather heavy armour and shields trying to push the other to the ground. His foe pushed his shield forward, making Mercus stumble and nearly impaled by a spear through the head.

He regained his footing and slashed at his foe, the cursed blade chipping off parts of the enemy's armour in a diagonal mark. They continued fighting until Mercus leapt backwards to avoid his opponent's strike. His red eyes glared at his foe's. In silent agreement, they nodded to each other and charged.

The Spear-bearer charged, lunging at Mercus as he got in range. In response, Mercus turned to have the spear slide past his shield, landing and thrusting at his foe who quickly reacted and blocked. They exchanged blows and blocked each other's attacks, and eventually ended up four meters away from each other.. In a throw that was meant to end it all, he threw his spear like a javelin at Mercus, who couldn't dodge and ended up taking the hit with his shield. He staggered, the spear had pierced his own shield and currently stuck through his arm.

Now he had no main defense, and his opponent had no main offense. He threw his sword to the ground, the blade making it stick up as he quickly but carefully unfastened the shield and pulled out the spear. Mercus yelled in pain as he did this, the spear rending more flesh and making blood gush out.

Mercus put his sword-arm's palm under the other, pooling blood in it. He then proceeded to raise and drink it, his helmet's mask opening to reveal his teeth, sharper than most. As he drank his own blood, what was previously a bright blue glow became a bright crimson, his armour also shifting to a sleeker design, but still had the same defensive capabilities. He picked up his sword, the Chaos-infused weapon shifting like his armour.

His opponent flinched and took a step back as Mercus glared at him. Bright, hateful eyes that demanded his blood. He drew a jagged dagger, taking a defensive stance as Mercus charged. Silently this time, with not even a growl as he moved faster with his wounded arm slowly stopping to bleed.

Mercus went in for a downwards slash, his opponent dodging and going in for a bash. He avoided it, and thrust his sword at his foe who went in for a dagger thrust. Unfortunately for his foe, the dagger had a much shorter length than the sword.

All but the tiniest drops of blood that came out as the sword seemed to be absorbed into it instead of spurting out, and Mercus closed his eyes as his opponent's armour seemed to begin loosening, the dead man's dagger falling out of his hand and to the arena ground.

Homhonhon

These three were amongst Inamorta's finest, and they would soon find themselves force to work together to survive.

*** HONHONHON ***

So. This was an older draft of mine from a few months ago. Idk, might possibly use these for another story or something. I'll see if I can get my two Bretonnian chapters inspired by a match against AI in TT:WH2 finished soon, along with a chapter of 'The Alliance in Remnant', my Idoneth Deepkin/RWBY Crossover thingamajig, and maybe that old draft of mine involving Cadians and GATE: Jietai.

Peace.

And yes, I'm still technically in a writing comatose state due to writer's block.