Hans Otrygg bolted upright, startled by the shout and the sounds of chaos outside his dwelling. His blanket falling from him as he stood up, the viking walked over to his tent's flap. Stepping through, he was greeted by terror. Everyone from camp was running, grabbing whatever they could carry that would not slow their hasty evacuation.
A man in full captain's armor rushed to Hans' side, his lips moving as fast as the legs that carried his fellow man away, "Hans! The great sky dragons have returned! Our sentry on the hill spotted them coming this way." Captain Leif shoved Hans forward, "We cannot stand here waiting for them to pour their flames upon our heads. We must go! Forget your clothes. It is too late for that. We mus---"
The sky dragons' coming roar drowned out Leif's remaining words. The two viking warriors turned their gaze skywards, watching as the great winged shapes screamed overhead. Their grey scales glistened in the sun like the steel of a blade rushing for the kill. Hans and Leif could only stand in horror and watch as fireball after fireball struck down their friends who had hoped they would fair better against the terrors of the Black Forest than the sky dragons.
Of their own volition, Leif and Hans' legs began to take them in the opposite direction of the Forest. Their friends were dead, but they had died in battle against a mighty foe. Such a death would likely gain them entrance to Valhalla's halls. However, these two warriors were not ready to join them.
The pair reached the far side of the camp when another dragon crept down from the clouds above. Hans began whispering prayers for safety, courage, strength - anything to let him survive. A flash of light and a stream of fire stopped his whispers. Leif fell to the ground beside him, body smoking and charred. Hans fell to his knees beside him, slowly coming to accept his fate.
The broken man looked up at the beast which hovered before him. His brow furrowed in confusion as three shapes dropped from what seemed to be the dragon's belly. Cloaked in black, their eyes blazing red, Hans knew these were the faces of evil. He listened to them speak to each other in harsh words. He couldn't understand their dark language. Unable to take any more, Hans grabbed Leif's sword from the ground and charged the demons; screaming, brave, dead.
Chris let go of the trigger as the native fell to the ground. His hysterical laughter echoed through the empty camp as he pulled off his mask and kicked the viking's corpse. "No one ever told me I'd get to kill bloody naked vikings! This safari was the best birthday gift ever!" He pulled the trigger again, pumping more lead into Hans' body.
Adam could only shake his head at his friend's bloodlust, "Take it easy, Chris. Don't let this go to your head."
Darkness crept across Chris's face as he turned to his friend, gun nearly pointed at Adam's torso. His finger twitched on the trigger until his mind made the connection that this particular kill would have consequences. Instead, he grinned and playfully raised his middle finger to his friend. "Screw you, man. I know this is just a game. Can only get away with it because we're on a different timeline."
"Precisely," the third man, an agent of HistoricalSafaris Inc. replied. He made a mental note to fire whoever had done Chris's mental evaluation before clearing him for the trip.
"So Mr. Tour Guide Man, where does this little hunt take us next?"
Something glistened in Chris's eyes, "Remind me what the rules are on spoils of war. I always liked geisha's..."