Six figures stood in a semi-circle around the dead bear and the dying and oddly dressed person in the snow. They all wore heavy furs while some wore chainmail and others thick woolen dresses. All of them wore the odd runic medallion or bracelet. One was a mountain of a man, with long, braided hair. He leaned down, to check the young warrior's pulse. When he found it faint but still beating, he nodded.
“They're alive. Ordan. Start a fire. And get Vetra here. We need her healing. Ingrid set up a pyre. We have many dead warriors here, we need to send them to the gods the proper way.”
The one refereed to as Ordan was a dark-skinned, raven-haired young man who unslung his backpack as soon as the large mountain of a man spoke. He began fishing out a few pieces of relatively dry tinder and firewood, stacking them between some rocks. Putting a stone with a rune in it in the middle, he spoke softly. “Burn bright, Spirit of fire.”
The stone cracked and sparks of white-hot flame lit the wood underneath, instantly drying the wood that was still cold and wet with snow. As the fire took hold of the rest of the wood, the man named Ordan rose and turned towards the dark wood. “No need.” He said, as a woman, taller than all of them, with pale blue skin and pointy ears, strode into the clearing. She stood before the crippled young warrior her retinue had found. Worry etched on her face. “This one has died before. They are marked.” She knelt, brushing some of Sagas' hair out of their face. It was bloody and bruised.
“Marked by Death herself. You have a difficult life ahead of you. Young Warrior.” She spoke as she placed a hand over Saga's ribs.
“Life manifests itself, pour from me to this broken vessel, so they may be whole once more.” As she spoke, blue and green light manifested from her palm, flowing into Saga. It filled them up from within, as slowly, Saga's breath grew more steady.
“They’ll live. The damage was not as extensive as I feared. This one’ a sturdy one.”
Saga was floating in a strange, dark space. They somehow knew it was their mind. All manners of text flowed before them. Focusing on it, information flooded past their vision. Saga focused on the parts that mentioned them directly.
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Name: Saga Ljungborg
Path:
Undecided.
Level 1.
Attributes:
Brawn: 10
Mind: 6
Spirit: 8
Grace: 8
Unique Traits:
Twice Risen:
Having already passed through the realm of Death before reincarnation, you have a natural affinity with Death. Your touch and presence unsettle the undead as a result.
Raging Spirit:
Your spirit is wild and untamed, when you are pushed to your limit, your power is raised exponentially as you enter a [Rage] State. When exiting Rage, you gain the Exhaustion state.
Boon of the Death Goddess.
Marked by the Goddess of Death, you are anathema to the Undead. All your abilities and attacks deal a moderate amount of extra damage to the undead. You cannot be turned upon death by undead creatures or necromancy.
Rage: Condition, Temporary: Rage heightens your pain tolerance and makes you immune to mind control and similar mental attacks. Rage does not break preexisting mind-altering states. }
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The text soon faded out of view as Saga stopped focusing on the odd letters.
"Figures my bad temper would factor into whatever all this is. Well. I am dead soon, this is my brain shutting down, trying to make sense of it all. So I guess I don’t have to care…” Saga sighed only to feel a tingling sensation spread through them. Warmth spread within their very soul, and the dark began to burn away in blue and green flames. Then, they awoke.
Sagas shot up eyes wide, only to stare into the face of a very tall woman, with blue skin and a concerned look. Next to her was a man with handsome, sharp features and dark skin. Behind the man stood another man who looked like he had been lifted from a Viking show. All red beard and hair in braids, with what were very Norse-like armaments in an ax and a shield, both covered in runes. Looking around, they realized they were in a large tent, made of hides. And next to a large fire.
In the dim light, they could see more figures. One stocky lady, with similar garbs as the taller, blue-skinned one. All furs and thick woven wool. It looked extremely comfy yet somehow intimidating. All of them wore clothes that looked very Norse inspired from what Saga could see. All of them returned her gaze in silence.
“Where am I?” They spoke and the big man groaned, seemingly disappointed. Saga found this oddly rude. Had he been hoping they were dead?
“Dammit.” The man grunted, reaching for something in his belt.
“Excuse me?” Saga asked, confused and scared. “Did I do something wrong?” The handsome man simply laughed and hunched down to be level with them. At the same time, the large man dropped a small pouch into his hand. From the clinking noise it made, It sounded like it contained coins.
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“Worry not, Warrior. I and Olaf had a bet about what your first words would be. It is usually ‘Where am I?’ or ‘Who are you?’" He laughed as the large man just nodded, clearly sour over losing the bet. "My bet was on you asking where you are. His that you asked who we are. I won.” The man tossed them a purple, apple-like fruit. He had an easy smile and his eyes were strange in that they had small motes of light floating around inside them. Like tiny embers.
“Eat.” He instructed as Saga's stomach rumbled. Taking a bite, they found it sweet and delicious. It was more the taste of very sweet plum, but it had the crunchiness of an apple. Saga devoured it like it was their last meal. The toast had been a poor excuse for a meal after all.
“Ok. So. Where am I?” Saga inquired. ”You lot saved me I wager, and I am very happy that you did. But I have no idea where this is.”
“The far northern regions of the world. More specifically in The Everfrozen Wilds within the Jarldom of Hardenhall. I am Ordan. Behind me Is Olaf. The tall, half-giant woman next to him is our healer and leader, Vetra. The dwarven lady over there is Ingrid.” The dwarven lady in question looked up from a book and waved.
“The two silent ones in the shadows are our scouts, Lenera and Gothwald." Saga looked to the two who were mentioned last as they stepped out of the shadows like two specters. Both wore grey and white tunics and had bows slung across their backs. One bow, the one the man wore, was some sort of ornate longbow. While the woman's weapon was more of a horn-bow.
Lenara was tall and slender, not as tall as Vetra, but about as tall as Saga was, which was unusual in Sagas' experience. She had pale skin with visible scars across one cheek that seemed to loop around into the darkness of her hood, where Saga could not see. The hood was reinforced with fur, reminding Saga that their clothes were less than ideal for the deep winter. Her green eyes seemed to read Sagas' every movement. Judging them.
The other one, Gothwald, had an easy smile on his lips. His brown hair was long and ragged, and his outfit had all manners of branches and small pieces of undergrowth stuck to it. His hood was down, and the young man appeared to not be fully human. His eyes were a startling red and had slit pupils like a cat. Saga reminded themselves to ask what he was at a later date.
Saga tried to take it all in. If they weren't dead, they had somehow ended up in some buck-wild hallucination or they had truly ended up in a different world entirely. The latter sounded so outlandish they almost laughed. But there was a giant blue lady in front of them. And a man with cat eyes. And the whole undead bear attack. Back home, you only heard about bear attacks when someone was out walking their dog. Also, the bear was undead.
“What is your affinity? '' The tall half-giantess asked suddenly, starling Saga out of their little spiral of disbelief. Blinking in confusion, they looked up at Vetra. She was tall, even hunched over. And her hands were massive compared to Saga's own. Vetra's eyes were a pale, light blue, to the point of almost being white. But the icy blue eyes only held compassion and warmth.
“Affinity? Wait. Do you mean my Spirit Affinity or whatever? Uh. Death?” Saga answered, remembering their status screen before.
“Death? Did you die before coming here?” Olaf spoke, stroking his impressive beard.
“I… Yes. You make it sound as if it is common.” Saga narrowed their eyes. ”Dying and traveling to some weird alternate universe isn’t like taking the bus to work is it?.”
“Death is common. Usually, it's the result of almost dying as a kid or similar. Or if you are simply born in a place where death is an unfortunate reality, such as during a siege, plague, or famine.”
“What's a bus?” Astrid asked from her spot by the fire. Not looking up from her book. Saga threw them a confused look.
“As for traveling between worlds. No. It is not common. But we were sent up here by a vision of Vetra’. Given to her by one of the Gods of this land. It spoke of an arrival. We feared it would be some sort of Demon or the like.” Ordan spoke up before Saga could complain about a vehicle that only came by once an hour and had shoddy suspension.
“Hold on. A demon?” Saga asked. “There are demons?”
“There are demons, yes. Exactly what a demon depends on your definition. But generally, we use the term for purely malevolent, magical creatures who can travel between worlds. They are always bad news.” Astrid filled in. Still not looking up from her book.
“Worlds, plural?” Saga was trying not to gawk. But it was becoming something of a sensory overload for them.
“Many worlds are hanging from the branches of Yggdrasil” Vetra spoke, trying to calm the increasingly panicking Saga. It wasn't entirely working. Her efforts were then torpedoed by a seemingly impatient Olaf.
“ So. Did you die?” He said it so casually. But it was enough. Saga suddenly had a faraway stare, as if calling on a memory far back in their mind. The look they have all seen on survivors of trauma before. Olaf seemed to wince at his lack of tact.
“Yes. A strange man. All sickly and dead-eyed. Cut my throat but I did not see…” Saga went still. They had died. They knew they had died. They touched upon the scar. It throbbed in her head as if it was still healing. Their heart began beating faster, in a panic. They were dead. Dead! Saga felt how they began breathing heavily as their panic rose within them. Dead! They were dead!
“You're not dead any longer” A voice cut through the panic. As Vetra knelt and put a hand on their shoulder, Saga felt the panic wash away. “You are not dead. Your soul. Your spirit. That was never shattered, it never passed. I wager It was given a new chance after death. Perhaps by a woman in black, with skin like snow?” She inquired further, prying Saga out of the clutches of her memories. Saga had a feeling she had done this before.
“Yes?” Saga said, hesitantly. “You know who that is?”
“Yes. We all do. That is Moribia. The Rose of Death. Her Divine Domain is Death.” Vetra spoke softly, keeping her hand on Sagas' shoulder. “It was she who gifted me a vision, although I am not a priestess of her order, she is a sister to my Goddess.”
“Makes sense it was her. Moribia handles the dead and hunts the undead. And the gods can travel between worlds, unlike us mortals.” Astrid chimed in.
”They do so rarely, however. And usually only to worlds with no Gods of their own. Mostly it is to prune those worlds of irregularities, such as magical entities who found themselves in a world with no means to defend themselves from it. ” Ordan explained, never one to be left out of a conversation.
“The thing that killed me. It looked dead. Like a zombie? Are Zombies a thing?” Saga said, remembering the strange dead eyes. The group around her looked unhappily at one another.
“They are. The Undead are numerous. In the southwest, across the Frothing Seas, there is a continent, half of which is completely overrun. Ruled by undying abominations.” Ordans voice dropped low as he spoke.
“Here in the north, we deal with Draugr” Olaf spat the word as if it was somehow poisonous. ”Defiled corpses of once-proud warriors, forced to slay the living to slake their thirst of blood.”
“Undead fauna like bears and wolves tend to be the result of a greater undead. Meaning we have to come back here later to root it out. When we are equipped for such a task.” Vetra said.
“You're certainly better equipped than me.” They said, peering out of the tent to where a pile of smoldering bear bones lay. “You burned it?”
“I did, yes,” Ordan spoke. A bit of flame sparked up between two fingers. Dancing around a glowing red rune. “You have to burn the undead. It purifies the flesh, lets the spirit or soul be free.”
Saga peered at the group. Trying to collect their thoughts. Saga had died. They had then been resurrected. But in a different world. Yet everyone in the tent looked at them like it was no big deal.
“How often do people like me appear? Am I like some chosen one?” Saga asked, tentatively. The group seemed to all raise their eyebrows in an almost comedic display of unified doubt. Saga had a feeling they were not the first person who had asked if they were a chosen one after arriving in this world. Suddenly they felt incredibly self-centered and shrank into the furs they lay under.
“Not often” Vetra spoke. “The Divine and greater planar beings are the only ones who can move a spirit from one mortal vessel to another. At least between realms. But it is not so uncommon as to have your presence raise any alarm. You are the third reborn, not from this world we’ve met. One of the merchants we trade with the most was also plucked from a different world. So no. You are not, strictly speaking, the chosen one. You may or may not be one of many that the Goddess of Death has picked to aid this world over the years. Or maybe she just felt bad. Who knows how a Divine being thinks.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a bone-chilling howl from not too far away from the camp.
“Ah. They found us.” Olaf said as he craned his neck to peer out of the tent.
“Took them long enough,” Ingrid said with a scoff. She put her book away and grabbed a wicked-looking ax in one hand and a symbol of some sort in the other.
“Would you like to see what it is we do?” Ordan spoke, offering Saga a hand. Saga, still mulling over the realization they were in a world different than their own, took the hand and rose to their feet.
“Mom always said to face life head-on.” Saga said as they peered at the darkness, seeing nothing, but hearing the screeching, unholy sounds grow closer and closer.
“Your mom never fought a troll then.”
Olaf said with a grin. "But I like that. I always fight things head-on." With that, he and the others strode out of the tent, Saga following after them.