“What the hell was that?! A god damned troll?! It had to be a troll! It was a god damn hairy hedgehog rock throwing trees and shit! Fuck that! Fuck that to hell!” I ranted. “First a god damn man eating friggen weirdo and now a god damned troll, is this what Loki meant with that ominous ass update talk?!”
Pest danced around me, sopping wet and not caring, his tail was puffed out like a damn hairbrush and he pranced around like he was battling ghosts.
“Dude!” I said to him, “Don’t be pissing off shit bigger than us!”
‘Bad rival!’ He said back to me.
“No shit!” I agreed completely. “Screw this place, we aren’t getting off this raft until we find civilization or a new damn biome!”
Eventually we were able to calm down and I just kept poling us down river and ignored the ominous forest on both sides. I sure as shit wasn’t going to go visiting the woods. We shared some dried meat, my portion being subsidized with some carrot as the forest kept passing us by.
It wasn’t until late afternoon that it finally broke up into something new. It changed to open lands, much like the grasslands above, but more open and cleared. It almost looked like fields that had gone fallow, it was so open and flat. Devoid of any tall grass or copse of trees like I had seen previously. But there weren’t any crops or evidence of it being worked land. Just short grass you’d see out in a cow farm, or horse field back home. I didn’t see any field animals either, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t an open range for something.
That changed though as after an hour or so of this I saw my first signs of civilization. Right up to the edge of the river a short wall was built. It was made of unmortared stones that had been cleared from fields and reminded me of the walls you’d see in the pictures of Scottish sheep country. It went off into the distance on the left side of the river and encased a large field that had something growing in it. I think it was wheat, but it was hard to see, and my Herbalist wouldn’t trigger at the distance. Either way it was some form of grain. I got excited as I saw people in the field working at it and waved like a maniac. But they either didn’t see me or didn’t care about the raft hobo.
In the far distance was a large building, like what I’d always thought Viking longhouses would look like. A curved roof, that almost looked like a upside down ship keel, covered the entire thing and logs tilted into the walls to help hold it up. I never understood the need to the logs, bracing the walls, was it aesthetics, or were the walls at threat of falling supporting such a massive roof? It must have had multiple floors inside too, it seemed too tall to not have a second floor. Smoke trailed out from the center of it.
Ahead of us a bridge spanned the river. It was constructed out of stone too and a large arch allowed the water to pass beneath it. We would fit nicely underneath it, but I didn’t want to pass it and pushed my raft to the river’s edge to make land fall. The bank beside the bridge had a wide and worn path, as if livestock or horses or something was made to water there often. I used my shovel to drive a steak into the earth and secured the raft to it. I tried to freshen up my appearance as well as a quick dip in the water would allow, but my clothes were starting to show their wear and tear. I’d had to discard the leaf boots days ago, only using the starting sandals now.
I grabbed my rucksack, Pest resting within, and a few samples of my herb collection before making way up the bank. A dirt road went from the bridge and alongside the crops before ending at the longhouse. This would be my first interaction with the denizens of this place, and I was excited to see what sort of interaction a tower citizen had for me. As we made way down the dirt road the fields stretched out to the right. I was close enough to recognize the crop as barley, not much in the ways of medicinal, but a staple crop with lots of uses. Most notably to my current state of mind beer and bread. Both currently sounded amazing.
None of the workers in the field made any sign that I was passing by. They didn’t move like automatons. But they relentlessly toiled away. One fellow was on his hands and knees plucking weeds. He wore plain simple pants and a shirt. It looked like the same sort of thing I spawned wearing, but a lot more threadbare, some rough patches on the knees of his pants. His hair was dark and unevenly trimmed close to his head. He was dirty from his labors and bore deep sweat stains on his clothing. Another man was trudging along another row and emptying a bucket of something as he went. He wore pretty much the same thing as the other and sported the same rough look. Honestly if it wasn’t for the mismatching dirt stains, I might have taken them for the same person, like when you find a matching set of NPC’s in a game because they were generic extras.
I plodded down the road and approached a gate that blocked my path, a sign board was suspended across the road with something carved into it in runic lettering.
A chime that I hadn’t heard for a while sounded and a screen opened itself for me.
[Quest Updated]
[Quest: Explore Floor 1: Midgard]
[Subquest: Explore Midgard and find civilization. – Partially Complete]
Partially complete? Why did it even bother to tell me. Wasn’t this civilization civilized enough for it? Whatever, broken ass alpha System.
A very blond man waited at the gate as I approached. He was a young and strapping sort, large muscles bulging as he crossed his arms. He wore much finer clothing than the others who were in the field. His short-sleeved tunic was of a vibrant red that was embroidered with depictions of ships and shields in yellow thread. Counterpoint his pants were a pale yellow and had stripes of red stitching up the outside.
None of that took away from the large axe that was slung to his hip, or the round shield that was propped against the fence post he was learning against. His blonde beard was well manicured and split with a smile. I had a feeling I was going to see a lot of blond haired, blue eyed, white dudes here. How exciting. Granted I was a blue-eyed white guy myself, but I was used to a little bit more diversity in my life than this place was starting to show me. At least the dudes in the fields were brunette. Or dirty. Whichever.
“Howdy,” I greeted the man jovially.
He gave me an odd look and then unloaded a sentence on me that may have been more than one word but was such a rush of constant and vowels whipping out so fast I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.
“Sorry, didn’t catch that.” I responded a little hesitantly. “Don’t suppose you speak this language?”
“Oh, language of the angles,” The man responded in a Scandinavian-like accent, his smile withering and a glare staring to crease his features.
“Yes, yes thank you!” I nodded vigorously, noticing just how sharp that axe looked, and how big his arms were, tight muscles twitching as if restraining themselves from using it.
“What are you doing on my lands, friend?” He didn’t wait for pleasantries as he put some serious shade on the word friend.
“Hello, I am Viktor. I am new here, and I’m a bit lost. I was hoping you could help me out on finding my way to a town, or settlement where I could do some trade.” I nervously rattled out. This guy was giving me some serious anxiety. I was having trouble talking to such a large person. With a very sharp looking axe. “Or maybe you could trade with me.” I smiled and waved a sample of some herbs I had carried along.
“I have no need of flowers, anglesman.” He said simply and his eyes bore into me.
“Oh… I’m not an angleman. I’m not from here I’m… Uhh... Erm… A Chosen. I think you call them.” I stumbled over my words. Jesus. I felt like a dolt, why was I having such trouble talking to this guy. I felt as if I could bullshit with anyone back home, it was one of my skills in life. Why the hell couldn’t I chill out and talk to this guy like I wasn’t a teenager trying to talk to a girl for the first time?
“Oh!” His eyes lit up and his smile returned. “Chosen.” He nodded to himself and acted like this had given him an epiphany he had been waiting for. His large hand gripped the gate and effortlessly opened it enough so he could pass though. I mention the effortlessly, because the beams that made it seemed more like something with which one would use to fortify a structure, big and thick, then build a fence and gate out of.
“Yes, yes.” I stammered and took an involuntary step back. I frowned. Something wasn’t right. This was a lifelike game world, wasn’t it? I was acting not myself, so that meant something was influencing me. My frown deepened. I didn’t like that, which started to make me annoyed rather than anxious. I was being influenced by something.
My irritation started to build. I didn’t like being under any influence. Hell, I didn’t even drink real liquor back home because I hated the loss of self-control it brought. I quickly was starting to get real pissed off, and I think the man noticed. He stopped midway through his gate and paused there. I felt my anger starting to take over. A real loss of self-control starting to bubble to the surface. The rage that needed to be constantly suppressed and veneered over with a goofy exterior, lest people know just how angry I always was. I grit my teeth.
[Your skill Berserker has unlocked a hidden talent.]
[Resist Intimidation - This talent lets you ignore most intimidation skills and tactics.]
And just like that, it clicked. My ‘I Don’t Give Any Fucks’ switch, I called it in my head. I didn’t give a shit if this dude was stacked like The Rock and had an axe that could cleave the world in two. I wasn’t going to take his or anyone else’s bullshit.
“Listen here, motherfucker.” I said through gritted teeth, barely restraining myself. “I don’t give a shit if you own this entire fucking world. If you don’t stop trying to fuck with me, I will burn this farm to the ground, no matter how many fucking lives I need to spend to do it.”
He went pale.
[Congratulations! You have unlocked the Intimidation skill!]
[Congratulations! You have gained one stat point to allocate!]
I ignored the notification for now, my eyes boring into his. His smile got nervous as the blood drained away from him.
“Pe… peace Chosen.” He stammered out, the hotseat being moved to his side of things now. “I apologize for my misuse of the skill. These are trying times… The anglesmen are serpents, always ready to strike when we are not looking. And you speak their language.” He made excuses and soothing motions with his hands, keeping them well and clear of his axe. “I will help you find your way, do you have a map?” He smiled nervously as he avoided eye contact.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
I let out a long and regretful sigh. It was never good to lose your temper so quickly.
“Yes, I have Map” I said simply and kept my eyes locked onto his face. “And you speak the language too.”
He let out a nervous laugh.
“So I do, yes, as most Norsemen do, so to better keep ahead of our enemies.” He made an odd gesture in the air and a rolled parchment manifested itself in his hand. He offered it to me. “Here, this will show you the quickest path to the closest settlement. It is called Volstad. Many of your people call that place home.”
“My people?! What do you mean my people?!” My dying anger became lined with amusement. I always wanted to say that.
“Loki’s Chosen.” He said with a wan smile.
I took the parchment from him and slipped it under my belt. These damn pants needed pockets. If it was another exploding map, I didn’t feel like getting covered in ash in front of this guy.
“I assume from your flowers comment you don’t have interest in herbs or vegetables?” I waved the small sample of herbs I had at him. It did look a bit like a poor man’s bouquet.
“Ah, no,” He gestured to a small, fenced area to the side of the long house. “My wife grows that for us here.”
I sighed, tension releasing from me and a wave of tiredness gripping me. It took a lot of energy to keep that anger going, and I don’t think I meant normal energy, but whatever energy this place seemed to use for the magical things it did.
“Damn, that the most of what I have to trade.” I confessed. “And I have a lot of it.”
“Do you?” He eyed me, and the road behind me.
“Yes, I left it at the river, I floated down on a raft.”
“You floated down the Skogvatn?” He said with an odd look on his face and gestured down the road.
“If you mean that river there, then yes. I made a camp far up it, three or so days travel.” This seemed to delight him and he laughed and advanced on me quickly to cuff me on the shoulder with a large hand. Our small pissing match seemingly completely forgotten. “Come into my longhouse, you must be tired. You have to tell me of your travels…” He started to guide me through the gate.
“Welcome to my home, I am Harold Hafranson, and this is Haroldstadir.” He announced as he led me to his house, gesturing vaguely at the household. It wasn’t as large as I took it originally. Maybe it was just its weird construction, but getting closer to it just showed it to be something around the size of a single wide trailer. A little wider, but not much. Chickens lazily clucked and tore at the ground before it. Other people were around and working, but none engaged us in any way. They all had the same dour look as the ones I spotted in the fields.
As we entered a large door, seeming more like a barn door than a proper house door, I was assaulted by the smell of animals. Directly across from the door were a handful of penned off sections full of recently used animal stalls. Smelled of goats and pigs, if I was guessing correctly. My best experience on the matter coming from visits to the county fair, so I could be wrong.
There weren’t multiple floors like I had assumed, just open rafters that served secondary as storage for a variety of plants and herbs much like my own. A fire pit dominated the open floor and burned away merrily, smoke funneling up and out a hole in the peak of the roof. The far section was walled off with a doorless entryway going deeper into the building. I didn’t imagine there was much space left back there, so it must have been sleeping quarters, as the only thing I didn’t see in the large room were beds. A blonde woman with a long braid toiled away at what looked like some sort of dough on a table. Upon seeing us she wiped her hands on her apron-like dress and came over to kiss her husband. She was massively pregnant and did a little waddle as she walked. Reminded me of my wife when she was a few weeks from giving birth. It was adorable.
She said something to him I didn’t understand in the language of their people, and he replied kindly. Her eyes went wide as she forced a smile onto her face. The only words I caught from their exchange was Loki and Chosen. They talked so fast.
She made a sort of deep nod, not quite a bow towards me and hustled back to her kitchen area. Harold plastered his face with a wide smile and guided me to a bench next to the fire, we sat as he smiled. Pleased as punch, his wife brought over large wooden mugs filled with a brimming frothy liquid. He took a deep pull from his mug that left a frothy mess on his beard, as he wiped it away and flung the offending foam at the fire, I took a sip.
It was thick, and tasted like some hipster’s chunky home brew, which was a real plague in the Pacific Northwest where I hailed from. I forced myself to drink a few swallows. It wasn’t good, but it wasn’t water. Hell, it was so thick it might be considered a meal. A soup even. Soup reminded me of my last night camping.
“Harold. I am new here. Very new, can I ask you some questions?”
“Yes, Chosen. Ask and I will try to part the wisdom of Odin unto you.” He said with a formal sound to his recitation. I was a fan of the Vikings, but I wasn’t sure if I would get used to this god-worship that seemed to lace their very beings. Even if I had met one of them.
“Well, I came into this place to the north, by my reckoning, and spent many days in the woods. I only saw a few things, all animals, and one more Chosen who was mad.”
“Yes,” He beamed, “The great Loki saw fit to bless us with animals of the forest recently. It is a great boon to our household.” He said and gestured to a half deer that was hanging in the far corner of the kitchen. “Chosen… They are rare here, more common towards Volstad.” He hedged his answer, not committing one way or another to an opinion on the mad Chosen.
“This one, he was mad and kept trying to slay me. I gather he intended to eat me.” I informed him. He frowned and his wife brought us a platter of cold meats and a half-eaten loaf of bread. Harold took up a large piece of meat and cut a chunk off it as he considered my words. He bit into it and chewed for a moment before gesturing to the simple meal. I didn’t need much encouragement and helped myself to the bread. It was different from the bread I was used to, but it was delicious, even stale from sitting out. I loved bread, be it on a sandwich or by itself. Bread was the reason my dad bod existed.
“Some Chosen are not well,” he risked. “Some do strange things. And since they rise with each morning sun by the power of the gods. We regular folk are somewhat powerless to suppress them in a permanent way. Even other Chosen should be cautious when dealing with them. It is folly to anger a Chosen. Even you, being new, know how to raise a threat that would bring ruin to a household.”
I flushed as his words.
“I apologize, my anger got the better of me.” I said quickly around a mouthful of bread.
“Do not worry Viktor. It was my fault for using a bit of the gods skills to try to intimidate a stranger. I should have known better, even the gods hide in the guise of strangers.”
“Speaking of strangers, there is someone else I met on the road…” I went on to describe the dark stranger I met but glossed over the meal we shared. Not willing to reveal the delicacies he had fed me.
Harold blanched at my words and made a T shaped gesture on his chest. It almost looked like the sign of the cross but was missing the head piece. He muttered a sentence in his language as he did. Familiar but surreal at the same time.
“Dokkalfar,” he said. “Dark elves. And only a day’s journey by river from here? This is an ill omen indeed. Their kind is rare in Midgard, but not unheard of. They can be cruel and mischievous. It is good you didn’t offend him in your interaction.”
“What makes you think I didn’t?” I asked curiously.
“Because you still breath and can function. They can smite those that displease them, making them only function on one half of the body.” He gestured at half his face as he described it. I took that in and continued with my discoveries.
“I also found one more creature...” I described the rock creature with bristly hair that Pest has woke me up for. “I think it was a troll.”
“Yes. I think you have the right of it.” He confirmed my suspicion. “Another ill-tiding. I’m afraid they are right about what they say about you Chosen. You bring ill-wind by steel or story no matter where you tread.” He said and I just nodded.
“I’m sorry. I’m just travelling. Trying to survive and learn about where I now find myself.”
“No need for apologize on these points.” He said and suddenly whistled. It startled me and a thin boy slunk out from behind the sectioned off part of the long house. He was dirty and ill dressed. His hair was dark like those outside. He must have been around twelve or so, all limbs and growth spurts but still sporting acne-free baby face. He gave the boy a series of orders and sent him off.
“This is my thrall Oskar, he will go with you to Volstad and meet with the Earl.” He said in the way of explanation. I frowned at the word thrall. In my home it was used to often describe something at the service of a monster. Like a vampire’s thrall. But I had a feeling here, the word meant slave. My definition wasn’t far off. Anyone that owned someone else was a monster. This was not a culture shock I was not happy with.
“Do you mean that you own this boy?” I asked, not able to not.
“Yes, him and those who beget him. He is a good boy and will see you through to the town.” I frowned at his words, and he wasn’t inclined to take the hint that I was displeased.
“I need a cart to carry my good, will you sell me one?” I asked curtly.
“Sale? No, I will not. You may borrow one that the boy can return to me on his way back.” He nodded firmly and rose from his seat. I looked around again as I stood to. Before it seemed quaint, a farmhouse where function was above comfort. But as I took in the barley straw next to the animal styes, and my suspicions about the workers outside were confirmed, it looked like a shit hole. This man owned people. And it was so normal for him that he talked about the boy like his favorite goat. And this crappy house was the best he could do with such power. Power over life and death of other human beings. Or replica human beings, I supposed and hoped. What a waste of lives and effort, for a moral cost too high to pay.
I had coins. I could probably buy his slaves. And set them free to do with their lives as they would. But the issue wasn’t here on this farm. It would be with the entire culture. History had proven that the Norse would trade slaves just like someone would pick up a pair of jeans at a store at home. Give them a fit and if they don’t work, toss them away or trade them in for a different pair.
If anything were to change, it could only come from a place of power or epic diplomacy. I sure as shit wasn’t in a place to claim either. I eyed my available stat points but was loath to put them into Charisma. I knew I didn’t want to be a politician. Conniving and convincing people to go against their ways. But it was hard to rectify that thought with something I saw as deeply wrong.
Some people were superior elitist assholes, some were poor unhappy shmucks. But no matter if you used a golden toilet on a private jet or an outhouse in the woods. Everyone still had to take a shit the same way.
As my mind chewed up the situation, he led me back outside and to the gate. He yelled at the boy who had gathered a small bag of supplies and he ran off behind the longhouse to return with a cart. It was a simple thing with two large wheels and a square box positioned between them, two long poles coming out the front and connected with a handle to be pulled by. It reminded me of those rickshaw things you’d see taxi people around. It smelled of manure.
“Have a good journey, Chosen Viktor.” He wished me farewell from his lands.
I nodded mutely and started down the path. I was too irritated to speak, afraid I’d go off if I started. Oskar quietly followed me, pulling the cart with him.
“Oskar,” I said as the kid huffed and puffed. “Let me pull that.” He just stared at me. I don’t think he understood my words. I pantomimed him giving me the cart handles, but he didn’t. So, I just pushed him to the side, he fought a little bit, but gave up quickly as I forced the handles out of his hands. I stubbornly finished hauling the cart to the riverside. Once we reached the river, I got it as close to the water as I could and made an attempt to clean it out. I’d rather not be hauling my herbs and vegetables in something that smelled like shit.
The boy was affable, if uncommunicative, and helped me wash it out with river water. Once it was as clean as we could get it, I loaded it up with everything from my raft. I plopped the rucksack onto the top, which made Pest stir and poke out. Oskar was shocked at first but quickly resigned himself to Pest’s investigation. Pest went over everything with his nose, the boy included, before hoping down and sniffing around my feet.
I pulled out the map and opened it up, clamping my mouth closed and squinting at it through slit eyes. It did not explode. Instead, it simply disintegrated away with a system prompt.
[Map Updated]
Apparently non-Loki variants didn’t explode. The prat. Oskar was giving me a strange look.
“Don’t judge me,” I told him, and he looked away sharply. Timid thing. I guess he would be. Being treated no better than a favored goat.
I opened my map. The revealed portion was simple. It followed the road, which had other roads leave and join it on the journey until it hit a coastline of some sort. Then shortly after the coast it entered a circle with a simple mark of Volstad. No other notes or notations were added to the new portions of the map. Apparently, I didn’t rate names or details for things. I did notice the river I had traveled down now had the indicator of Skogvatn, whatever the hell that meant.
Seemed a straightforward journey. The biome seemed to be this mellow meadowlike situation all the way until Volstad. Good, I was getting a little tired of things that go bump in the forest.
After the cart was loaded up, Oskar beat me to the handle and tried to pull it up the hill back up to the road. Didn’t work out for him, the firewood added a bit more weight than he was expecting, I think. I laughed and shooed him away from the handles and gave it a pull myself. It was a little more effort than I had thought getting it unmired from the muddy spot we had made cleaning it up. He gave me a look that was universal to all pre-teens dealing with idiot adults. My daughter had perfected it to the sharpness of a weapon. I gave him a smile and quickly slipped into my stats, dumping both points into Strength. This had an immediate effect on my muscles. I suddenly looked like I may have worked out occasionally. His eyes got very big at the change, and I put some flex into my arms as I gripped the cart and dragged it up the hill with little effort.
My shirt strained as my muscles flexed now. I felt like a Jean Claude Vann God Damned badass. It was great. We easily crossed the bridge, and I chuckled as he, and I, kept glancing at my new muscles.