Chapter Text
The sharp clang of metal swords and shields filled the large camp, each soldier preparing for the battle ahead in their own unique way. Some prepared by testing each other, others beating on straw dummies, all intensely focused as their leader, the tyrannical Grand Wizard King Cartman, watched over them with intense stoicism, shouting orders and demands relentlessly.
“Is that all you got?!” He shouted, pacing in front of them, staff waving wildly in the air. “You are the worst group of warriors I have ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on! Work harder you fucks or I’ll exile you all!”
“Well I think we’re all doing just fine!” Said Butters with a dopey smile, an overly chipper bright eyed boy who wielded a large hammer with great strength and equal clumsiness.“Especially under your command Grand Wizard!”
“No one fucking asked you Butters! Get back to training or else you’re sleeping outside again!”
As empty threats fell from his mouth, the army continued to train, a noticeable heaviness in the air with the impending battle. The Wizard King claimed there had been a lead to The Stick of Truth, an all powerful tool that would grant the beholder limitless universal power, near The Elves territory, a battle was all but guaranteed. There was only a few hours before they would set off, and everyone was scurrying for last minute preparations, including the three best warriors.
Tolkien Black, an extremely powerful and experienced healer, with expert knife wielding skills, was busy away at prepping supplies, helped by his unofficial assistant Scott, filling bags full of potions and herb concoctions.
“Scott!” Tolkien practically barked, looking into an empty crate. “Where have the rest of the healing potions gone? We’re short a few!”
“I, I don’t know Tolkien,” Scott stuttered, lisp heavy on his words as he looked away nervously. “I swear we had enough!”
This hadn’t been the first time they had been missing supplies, and it most likely wouldn’t be the last. Whether it had been due to Scott’s incompetence or Tolkien recording incorrect inventory, it was just adding to more stress. Tolkien had taken the brunt of said stress, more pressure being on him not only being the head healer but also one of the big three, Cartman bore down on him harder than he could handle, and it was starting to take its toll.
Tolkien sighed, dropping to rest on one of the cots, rubbing his temples, and looking out of the tent to Feldspar and Tweek, training together as always. A twinge of jealousy raked through his heart, an aching reminder of his own loneliness, but their chemistry was infectious, and he couldn’t help but grin.
“It’s fine, we’ll figure it out, let’s get back to work before Cartman gets here.”
Tweek and Craig continued their idle chatter, taking no notice of the medic tent, continuing to half train, and half flirt. Tweek was loading another arrow into his bow as Craig fiddled with a dagger, leaning against the very dummy Tweek took aim at. Tweek let the arrow fly, embedding itself solidly into the side of the dummies face, close to Craigs own. Craig smirked, and side eyed the arrow, continuing to spin his dagger idly in a loose grip.
“Getting awfully close there Tweek.” Craig said, grinning, taking a step away from the arrow embedded dummy, letting out a dry laugh. “If I didn’t know any better I would think you were trying to shoot me.”
“Oops.” Tweek said sarcastically, rolling his eyes and grinning as he notched another arrow, twitched, then shot; this time having his arrow land straight in the dummy's chest, his quiver now empty. “If I wanted to shoot you, I would’ve!”
Craig faked a gasp, placing a hand over his heart as he walked toward Tweek, voice dripping with dry sarcasm that mixed well with his monotone voice.
“Tweek, i’m hurt. I can’t even believe you thought of shooting me.”
“Trust me, I've thought about doing more than just shooting you.”
Craig grinned and stood next to Tweek, looking at him with a quick side eye, before swiftly throwing his dagger. It sailed through the air effortlessly, and hit the dummy with a dull thunk, right next to Tweek's many arrows. The dummy now lay completely desecrated, littered with arrows and daggers, practically falling apart as it sagged to the left.
“Wanna elaborate?”
“Agh, no!”
Without another word, Tweek hurried towards the dummy, beginning to take the arrows from the collapsing straw corpse, watching it fall apart slowly as each arrow was removed. Craig followed close behind, also removing his daggers, placing them back into their various leather sheaths, some hidden, some in plain view. When they had finished, the dummy slumped over, a completely unrecognizable pile of straw and sticks. Craig kicked the pile, and Tweek kicked it too, this had been the third dummy this week they had destroyed.
“Feldspar! Tweek!” A shrill squeaky voice arose behind them, and they turned to see their leader waving manically at him. Tolkien even poked his head out of the medial tent, knowing that Cartman would get him next. “Stop fucking flirting and get your asses over here! You too Tolkien!”
Craig's smile dropped instantly, turning into a scowl and eye roll, while Tweek twitched again, body stiffening as he clutched his bow tightly. They moved in unison, Tolkien appearing behind them as they made their way to their pig shaped leader, who was red in the face and had heavy eye bags, eyes practically blazing with anger.
“Tolkien! Are we set on supplies? We’re all waiting on you!”
“Yes my king.” Tolkien sighed, meeting Cartman's look of contempt with one of his own. “We are once again short on supplies but we can make do. Scott has everything now, it's ready to be handed out.”
“We’re short? Again? How the fuck are we short again?! If this keeps happening I'm going to exile you and that worthless nobody!”
Another worthless threat, his favorite, and it was met with the same sigh, and eye roll.
“Get back to the tent and start handing them out, we’re due to set out soon. Tweek! Feldspar! You know the drill, stay away from each other on the battlefield, I don’t want any of your gay shit spreading. Feldspar on the left, Tweek right, kick ass and get in formation!”
With one final glance at one another, Tweek and Craig were off, falling into their place at the already formed ranks, taking the packs that Scott and Tolkien handed out. Craig checked his person, tightening leather straps, checking his daggers, busying himself as he waited for them to leave, thoughts wandering to Tweek. Tweek himself was doing the same, checking his gear, mentally hyping himself up, thoughts clouded with Craig, and a blush blossomed on his pale face.
“Troops!” Cartman bellowed from the gate before the sea of armor clad men, raising his staff and waving it at them. “We are about to set off for The Stick of Truth! We will have an encounter with the shitty elves, who no doubt will be there for the same reason. But we will win and beat them!”
It was all the same song and dance, Cartman would catch wind of the stick, prematurely jump to action and lead them into a senseless battle that would result in no stick and only bloodshed, and he would always give a shitty speech for motivation. His words were met with less than enthusiastic cheers and applause, causing his face to go red and him to scowl.
“Follow!”
And with that final word they were off, all marching in unison behind Cartman as he led them from the safe concrete walls of their kingdom, into the enemy territory of the forest. As they went deeper, it got darker, thick trees clouding the sky above them, casting shadow onto the thundering army below. Craig looked around, face hidden by his mask, eyeing each rustle of leaves with suspicion, caution creeping up his spine.
Where once there was calm, now there was chaos, and in a split second the army once diligently organized now turned into a sea of bodies, all ramming together with flashes of metal and leather. The elves leaped from the trees, overtaking the army with great precision, their own shouts of battle mixing together as they attacked.
Out of habit Craig looked for Tweek, catching a glimpse of disheveled golden hair mixed with black ink effortlessly swimming through the bodies, and his nerves were put to ease, ready to get down to business. He pulled out a dagger, before lodging it into an elves chest, red sputtering from his mouth as he was quickly carried away from the battle, being replaced by another faceless elf. Craig slashed his way through, expertly planting his daggers into the bodies of their attackers, blood soaking his leather armor as he left a trail of bodies in his wake, body moving with precision, but the feeling of boredom weighing heavy on his limbs.
“KAHL!” Cartman's shrill voice cut through the air like one of Craig's daggers, looking around wildly as Butters whacked elves away sloppily, body falling over itself with each heavy swing. “Show yourself you coward! Fight me!”
It was a rare occasion for the Elf King himself to show his face in battle, much to Cartman's annoyance, and it looked like this time would be no different. Instead, it was often led by Stand, an ex-member to Kuppa Keep, a traitor, someone who had left their ranks nearly a year ago and who had become the Elf King's right hand man. He used to be one of the greats, up there with Craig, Tweek, and Tolkien, but he had ruthlessly betrayed them, giving secrets and supplies to the elves before abandoning Kuppa Keep completely, leaving them severely crippled. While Craig had never liked the guy, even pleased to see him go, it was a brutal betrayal, and something that still hung heavy between them whenever they met in battle.
Stan went directly against Butters, his expert swordsmanship allowing him to easily circumvent the hammer wielding softy, aiming occasional strikes directly at Cartman. Butters tried his best, but he couldn’t help but go easy on Stan, their friendship still having meaning in his eyes, and Stan seemed to almost return the sentiment, his focus mainly being on Cartman.
As the fight wore on, and Cartman continued to whine uselessly, it was clear of the elves' victory, as the army of Kuppa Keep began to get pushed back, numbers quickly dwindling. Craig sensed their looming retreat, and was ready to make his own, quickly examining the group for signs of Tweek.
But before he could even register the many faces around him, his chest heaved, and Craig collapsed, bringing a hand to his chest and seeing a smear of blood across his palm. Warm blood bled from the arrow lodged in his chest, soaking through his leather armor in seconds, and the world around him blurred, voices turning to static. Through the muffled voices he heard Cartman's cry for retreat, and watched as his fellow men in arms ran through the forest, away from the elf army, leaving him behind. With a pained breath Craig rolled himself onto his back, watching the deep orange seep through the trees above, washing his body in the warm light.
Through blurry eyes he watched as the world faded away, and in his last moments a blur of deep red and bright green encompassed his vision, leaning down to him before his vision faded away into the inky void.