With the battle concluded in the brutal and swift victory of the living, the group began picking up old equipment among the dead. Saga took another look at their level-up message while others began to load up whatever they could salvage into piles.
----------------------------------------
Name: Saga Ljungborg
Path, Undecided.
Level 1.
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 Debuff.
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.
Active Skills:
Battle Cry, Level 1. Unleash a battle cry to rally your allies and disrupt sonic attacks and skills. All Allies within a 4-meter radius gain a small boost to Physical Attack and Defense.
Passive Skills.
Slayer of Undead, 1 out of 10. You deal 1 percent more damage to the undead.
Proficiency:
Spears (Novice), Experience to rank up 983.
Short Swords (Novice) Experience to rank up: 1000.
----------------------------------------
Scratching the back of their head, they reread the thing again and again. This was a character sheet of some kind. And apparently, brawn was their highest attribute. This struck Saga as odd. Saga only really worked out to keep themselves decently healthy, but they had never built that much muscle. Sure, they had gotten a bit more definition but they didn’t have any bulk.
“Ordan?” Saga asked, moving over to where the fire mage was burning one of the dead draugr. The fire flowed from his hand down to the corpse, setting it alight like it was nothing but tinder. It was odd, seeing a corpse so close, and feeling very little. Perhaps it would all come crashing down once they tried to sleep or got somewhere more civilized.
“Yes?” He looked over at Saga, one eyebrow raised. He snapped his fingers, snuffing out the fire before turning to Saga fully.
“I have messages. Screens of text pop up in my mind and front of my eyes. Text that floats in front of my face. And I have Levels?” They asked, the confusion written plain on their face.
“Ah,” Ordan said, with a knowing nod. “While I am unsure what a screen is, I believe it is the magic of your soul, trying to parse as best as it can into your mind how this world works. Magic is a living, evolving thing. It anchors to each person differently. The whole level aspect is a measurement of your current overall strength and mastery. Magic quantifies and puts your experiences into neat pieces for your mind to utilize. It makes things like training with a spear or a sword far more efficient. This goes for pretty much any skill, from farming to conjuring fire.”
“Huh. So what do you see?” Saga asked, curiously.
“I see letters in my mothers' language, on an ethereal scroll that shows diagrams of my current abilities and strengths. It is similar to how my mothers' people write their scholarly papers and documents. Since my mother was adamant I learned how to read and write early, it's the best way for my brain to parse the intricacies of magic.” Ordan said.
“So. I assume after the bear you have to at least be level 1, yes?” Ordan motioned to the spear in Sagas' hand. “And I reckon the first thing you acquired was a proficiency in spears?”
“I kind of found it. But yeah, I seem to know how to wield a spear. Well, at least not trip over it. It feels natural in my hands. Like I trained with it before.” Saga mused as they weighed the spear in their hand.
"That's what the magical connection does. As you fought in a mad scramble to survive, you pushed your limited understanding of the weapon to the point where the magic could consolidate the experience to give you an edge."
"Wow. I wish I had magic when I studied for my math exams."
“Magic helps. But it does not replace hard work.” Olafs' voice called out from behind them. As they turned around, the redheaded man gave both a grin. “Make sure you always practice with whatever weapon or spells you choose to make your specialty.” He patted the large shield on his left arm. “I've been practicing with a shield since I was a Lil whelp.”
Saga gave it some thought. The entire thing was like a fever dream. Monsters. Magic. Half-giant women and suave, fire-throwing mages. And top of it all, their entire existence was gamified, because apparently, that's how Saga's brain could best understand what was going on. They sighed and shook their heads, they didn't play a lot of games anymore. Adult life was too hectic and they were often too tired to try and play through anything that took more than a few hours to beat.
“Then what about Paths?” Saga asked. “Mine says undecided.”
“Ah. The Path.” Vetra spoke up, seemingly getting in on the whole “‘Teach the confused stranger from another world’ conversation. “That is who you are, or rather who you are striving to be.” The half-giant spoke in that soft, mentorlike voice of hers.
“So. That's why mine is undecided. I have no idea where I am and where I am going from here.”
“Just so. Most don't reach their first path until they are around 16 to 19. You who just arrived here may be an adult. But you still have no idea what you are going to do just as you said.”
“My path is called ‘Herald of The Thorn’. As I serve the Goddess of Growth as a priestess, my path has been rather set for a long time. Ordans path is that of a Runic Fire Mage, but he started as a skald, believe it or not. Olafs' path is that of the Rune Warden. Like me, his path was set early. In his case, his entire family are warriors and many are shield specialists.”
“A path opens up for you when you are moving in a certain direction: how you train your skills, what you dedicate your life to doing, and who you chose to be. As such, Paths morph and change to incorporate new skills and goals. The Path, in turn, helps your magic grow and develop new abilities and talents in a certain direction. We can explain more, once we are somewhere a little less cold and hostile.” Ordan continued the explanation as he fiddled with some small stones. He appeared to be carving runes into them. Each rune is no bigger than a nail.
“We are setting off home then?” Ingrid's voice rang out, as the dwarven woman came trotting over on top of a massive reindeer-like creature. It was pulling a small sled that had all the looted weapons and armor, as well as the bones of the bear stacked onto it. Saga was staring up at the massive reindeer, with a grin on their face. They had seen reindeer before, part of their heritage was that of Sami, and as a kid, they had visited some of the extended family ways up north. But this reindeer was twice the size of the ones back in their world.
“Not much of a haul. But it’s not like we came here to loot. And we can bring our new warrior friend here to the Hall of Gods. Speaking of which. We got interrupted before we could learn your name.” Ingrid spoke as she looked somewhat amused.
“Its Saga,” Saga said. Still staring at the massive creature.
“You lot don’t have Renn where you come from?” Ingrid inquired.
“We have something similar. Called a reindeer.” Saga replied. Snapping out of their childlike wonder, they gave Ingrid a curious look. “What is a ‘Hall of Gods?’”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
“A place of worship and communion with the gods,” Ingrid said as she reached down to pat the side of the giant animal's neck.
“So. Like a temple?”
“In a way. The Hall of Good is more of a shared space between worshippers of different gods to talk and help one another, or sort out disputes between different followers.” Vetra explained as she walked up to the two.
“I think I get it. ” Saga said, with a look that told the group that Saga did in fact, not get it. “Another, unrelated question. Do you all have cool animals to ride?”
“Most of us just walk,” Olaf said with a chuckle. “Ingrid raised that one herself. And she hates trudging through snow.”
“Some of us don't have tall tree trunks for legs, Olaf.” Ingrid shot back. The tall warrior laughed softly then motioned for the others to follow him as they began to leave the now packed up camp. Most of it was carried by Vetra and Olaf, who were the muscle of the party while Ingrid's beast dragged the sled. It was mostly packed with things too large to carry, such as old chainmail, bundles of weapons, and some pelts that Saga assumed the group's two scouts had hunted for on the way here.
The two scouts would scout ahead. Hopping from branch to branch with such speed and agility that they were a blur. Every so often, the rest of the group would come across a draugr or some undead variant of the local wildlife, with several arrows protruding from the corpse.
“So what are their Paths. Archers?” Saga inquired, wondering how they manages to keep from slipping and falling off the snow-covered upper branches.
“Lenera is on the Path of the Hunter. Gothwald is on the Path of the Stalker. They are similar in that they are all about surviving in the wild while using a bow. But there are some key differences." She pointed to Lenera, who every so often stopped and peered into the darkness.
"Hunter variant is more about precision and taking down big targets. Stalkers on the other hand are survivalists and usually go at it alone. Once we are back home, we won’t see him for a while. He only followed us because he heard talk of undead bears. I dare say you beat him to the punch.”
Saga laughed nervously at that. “About that. I have no idea how I survived that. It body-checked me across the entire clearing and into a tree. I should be dead. But instead, I just got so angry. I just started to boil inside and I kept fighting even though every part of me was screaming in pain.”
“Battle Rage.” Olaf mused. “I did not take you for a berserker.”
“It takes all sorts,” Ordan said with a grin. “That explains how you took down the bear but was knocked out immediately afterward.” As he spoke, Saga noticed the trees became more and more sparse around them. Eventually, the trees stopped altogether as they exited the forest to a rocky area by some sort of gorge or ridge. Saga could see that the two scouts had stopped, now standing at a ridge, looking down below. They looked focused, clearly observing something. Ordan stopped, motioning for the others to do the same.
“What is it?” Saga asked, suddenly nervous.
“A farm,” Lenara spoke. “It's on fire.”
“On fire?” Saga's eyes widened. “Shouldn’t we help?”
“It's too late,” Gothwald spoke. “I see four bodies. All adults. Looks like the farmhand and the husband. Hopefully, the rest of the family got away. All the livestock is gone.”
“Raiders,” Olaf said grimly. “They likely came up the river.”
“Raiders?” Saga looked from one face to another. Whatever joviality and warmth there was before had fled the scene. Everyone looked worried or angry.
“The local powers are in a bit of a scrap right now,” Vetra said as she joined the others at the ridge, looking down. The farmhouse was large and the pens must have held at least twenty animals. A narrow river ran slowly past it. It had a wooden bridge that had been demolished as well. Saga could not make out the bodies but for some blotchy spots in the distance by one of the buildings. They quietly wondered just how good the scouts' eyesight was.
“Destroyed the bridge. Likely sent some of their numbers around to scare them towards the river. Killed them and dragged their bodies back towards the buildings.” Lenara spoke. “Likely long gone by now.”
“Aye. If it were Ainars men, they would have used one of his faster river ships. This was planned well ahead.” Olaf said, his voice a low, angry growl. “I’ll tell the Jarl personally when we arrive.”
“What good will that do?” Ordan asked. “Just tell one of the guards. Or are you trying to get us roped into their little power struggle?”
“Ordans right. You see him personally, and he is gonna somehow put in on you to find the culprits. Better to just report it an underling.” Ingrid said as they set off along the ridge, away from the farm. The landscape here was mostly flat, frozen ground and the odd rock outcropping. Large fields that likely held wheat or similar crops during the rest of the year. Along the way, they saw two more burned-down farms. At one, a small homestead, they saw three armed men, slumped on the ground, arrows buried deep into each one. One of them was a brute of a man, frozen in pain and shock at the arrow that buried right into his chest. All three of them wore ragged leather armor and shabby clothes that would imply they were brigands in Saga’s eyes. The others weren’t so convinced.
"Their comrades took the weapons and shields with them. It's Likely the one who did this got word the other places were being raided. Seasoned bandits would know not to hit too many places at once."
“This place put up more of a fight,” Ordan spoke, tone subdued. Olaf began searching for the archer who put the arrows in the three brigands. Saga felt queasy, this was the second time within a day they had to witness corpses just lying about. Even if these three were bad, awful people.
“Found them” Ingrid's voice shouted out. The others soon rushed to see. Hoping for the best, but expecting the worst. Saga was feeling increasingly out of its depth again. That's when they saw the two Ingrid had found.
Propped up against the wall was an old man. From the look of him, it was obvious he was a farmer. He had that weathered, slightly tanned skin Saga associated with people working outdoors for their entire life. He wasn’t breathing and his hands clutched a sturdy bow in his hands while a single stab wound to the chest appears to have done him in. Next to him was an older woman. She seemed to be alive but was breathing laboriously. Her skin was pale, and her eyes unfocused. She didn't respond to being shaken or spoken to. Just clutching a wound in her abdomen.
“There is nothing I can do for this one,” Vetra said, with a solemn voice. “She has bled out too much and at her advanced age, my magic is too strenuous when she is so close to death's door.”
Saga gripped their spear. Staring down at the older woman. The thrill of the battle before, where their saviors had so easily dispatched a bunch of undead, was suddenly a vague memory, overshadowed by the awful situation before them.
“How come I could take so many hits. I am just level 1. But the old man seems to have died from a single hit.” Saga's voice trembled. They stared at the old couple, stabbed, and left to die. And for what? Cattle? Grain? How much grain could buy a life?
“Because they weren't on any combat paths. They were only farmers. I reckon the old man had been a hunter or trained as an archer as a youth. But he was no warrior.” Olaf spoke, his voice dark with rage. “They don’t have much in the way of negating damage. Their brawn attribute might be decent. But a warrior's specialized skills would be too much.”
“Olaf.” Vetra put a hand on his shoulder. “There is nothing we can do here.”
Saga had an inkling they were feeling much like Olaf was right now. A simmering, boiling rage rose through them. Ordan looked at them and flinched at the look in Saga's eyes. The young warriors' entire frame seemed to shake with it. Like a fire was burning and being fed a mountain of coal.
“Let's go.” Olaf snarled. “I am talking to the Jarl. And no arguments”
“Agreed,” Ingrid spoke, voice quiet. She closed the woman's eyes and said a soft prayer as light winds swept around the dying woman. “Sleep now.” She said, her voice full of pain. Pain for these strangers she never met. As she stood up and looked at Saga, her eyes bore into theirs.
“It’s not all magic and mystery.” She said as she turned to walk after the others. Saga stood there. Looking at the two. The image seared into the back of their mind like a firebrand. Within them, a fire began to burn even brighter.
–
The next leg of the journey was mostly silent. None of them wanted to talk after seeing the old couple laid out against the wall like that. It was Ordan who broke the silence. Not with words, but with a humming sound. His voice was deep, and the humming tones were as deep as his voice ever went. It more rumbled than anything, yet it was melodic. It reminded Saga of the way some barbershop quartets did it, with a baritone to set the underlying tone. Then Vetis began to hum in a slightly different tone, subdued at first, more ethereal and sad, adding a layer to the deep, growly tone of Olaf. Saga watched as one by one, the group began to hum only for Lenara to break out in song. Her voice was tinged with great, terrible sadness. It started as low as to be but a whisper but rose into a defiant, challenging song that carried on the wind easily.
“Can you hear, the howling wind? Can you see The Northern Light? Green veils, over dark blue skies. Oh, see. The Beauty of the cold and unforgiving, these are the land we were given. See our mountains tall, defiant against the heavens.”
Saga felt their entire body shift, almost uncomfortably as the song painted a gorgeous but deadly landscape. They could picture the peaks, defiantly jutting upwards from the ground below.
“Oh see. The Northern Light. Green Veils, over dark blue skies. See our people, Giant, Man and all. No Axe, No Hex, No God can ever have us fall. By the fire, we bring them home, to the halls of warriors and to the songs that remember us.”
Soon, all of them were singing but Saga. Together their voices melded into a heartfelt, defiant, and mourning choir. Saga just listened. A stranger in a strange land, there was still one thing that would always be true to them. Music was the language of the soul. When the song died down, Saga approached Lelandra, not having had the opportunity to talk with either of the scouts up until now.
“What was that song?” Saga asked.
“The Northern lights? We all learn it as children. My mother used to say it's to remember that while our home is not as abundant and evergreen as some across the sea. Ours is a dangerous beauty that breeds a defiant, strong people.” As they spoke, they talked some more about music and about what it meant to them. The group trudged on, the snow falling lightly onto their heads and shoulders.
They later set up camp by a small manmade shelter, put there to help wanderers like themselves. As they started to divvy up the food, Saga could feel their stomach growl with need. Ordan started the fire with a flick of his wrist, tossing a burning stone with a rune on it. It cracked open as the white-hot flames spread from the stone to the wood like someone had poured gasoline on top of it.
The mood was slowly returning to something less subdued, as Ordan stoked the fire and the others began to eat. Ingrid appeared to have brought a large wineskin, that seemed almost comically oversized compared to the dwarven woman herself. She only stood about 4’3, a solid 2 feet shorter than Saga. But she was stocky, to say the least, with a frame that looked like it wouldn't budge anything short of a canon. Her blonde hair was singed tight in a bun as she sat down with her book.
Ordan passed a bowl of some sort of stew over to Saga, who gratefully began to eat. It was savory, with a taste of smoked meat and potatoes mostly. Similar to some of the things Saga's mother would make. The thought made them pause. Saga was lucky in that they left little family behind to mourn them. They didn't have to worry about leaving their parents to mourn their only child. Saga's mother had passed away only a year prior, due to a sudden heart failure. She had been a heavy smoker, and it had caught up with her. And their father had died when Saga was 8. He had been in a car accident, some trucker having fallen asleep at the wheel due to unreasonable hours and demands of his employers. It had been a big thing on the news.
Saga friends would likely be devastated however and that was their biggest regret. Especially Tim, one of Saga's closest friends. Tim was a gentle soul, and had been the only other queer kid Saga had known at school growing up. But Tim was not the kind to let his life be ruined by the loss of a good friend. Especially because Tim knew Saga would kick his ass if he let their death ruin all the things he had going. Saga smiled at the thought. Only to realize their vision was blurry with tears.
The other watched in silence, as Saga softly cried into the soup. Not speaking Saga just sat there for a few minutes. Quietly coming to terms once more with their situation.
“You need something to stiffen that spirit?” Ingrid's voice rang out as a hand pushed a large wineskin between Saga's face and the bowl of soup that was now colder and a bit saltier than before.
“Thanks.” Saga mumbled, uncorked it, and heaved a large mouthful of the liquid. Ingrid and Olafs' eyes grew wide as Saga downed what was a considerable amount of the warm, earthy liquor. Saga swallowed it and felt the rush of it enter their system. When they gave it back, everyone stared at them.
“Wow,” Vetra said, a smile on her lips that turned into a sympathetic wince as Saga wobbled a little.
“Yeah. That was uh. Brave” Ordan said.
“What?” Saga asked. “I’m Swedish. And this much is nothing.” Saga stopped. Staring into space as the warmth spread through their body. “Oh.” Saga said with a soft wince. “Wow. This shit is pretty strong, huh.”
“I wouldn't try to stand up If I were you” Oglaf mused.”That’s Giantsbrew you just drank. We usually take it in little cups or just a sip. To strengthen our courage before a big fight, or help get rid of the worst of the post-battle jitters.”
“I think I am gonna just. Lean over here.” Saga said, face red and eyes unfocused. The booze was hitting them like the angry fist of a god, and they felt very warm. They allowed themselves to be lulled asleep by the feeling and soon they were sound asleep.
“I like ‘em” Gothwald spoke, grinning. His catlike eyes were half-lidded as he was close to going to sleep. He cradled a small bottle of his own, one containing something far less potent.
“Aye,” Olaf said. “Spirit of a warrior. Drinks like they have a death wish.”
“Let's hope they survive the first few levels then,” Ingrid said. “There are dangerous times ahead of us.”
None of them argued. They just looked at the young warrior they rescued, cozy in a pile of furs and passed out drunk.
"Let's hope they survive the hangover first." Vetra mused.