The next morning, I felt refreshed and renewed, the System healing my wounds. I only wish my clothes were as lucky. Slits and cuts ruined my pants and boots, and the shirt was torn where the zombie had ripped at its front. New scars adorned me under the dried poultice that I rubbed off my skin. I wish I could take a bath, I felt crusty and gross, but I didn’t desire the dive off the cliff that would entail, so it would have to wait.
I took some time foraging in the fields, specifically looking for pain-relief and blood clotting plants. I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s helplessness at the bottom of the cliff. If it had been any worse, I would have bled out down there. I knew that wouldn’t be the end, but the return trip and trials would not be welcome a second time around.
I found a yellow flower called henbane, the leaves could be smoked to be used as a pain-reliever. I wasn’t a fan of the smoked aspect. But I could burn some of it and waft it in my face if needed or maybe chew it. I managed to collect a decent patch of them and stuffed my hip bag full of them.
Home: Flower
Species: Henbane
FLAGS: SEDATIVE, ANALGESIC
I went into the rune-code and recorded the flags. I didn’t have as much luck finding anything to help with bleeding and the day was dragging on, so I gave up the herb hunt and started on with the journey. I caved in and let Oskar ride with us again, Finley gave a large sigh of exasperation at the added weight. We plodded along the road as it wound along the cliffs, each heavy burst of wind that tugged at me bringing to mind my fall yesterday. Lucky my ass. Damn near died getting pitched off that cliff. After a bit of riding the land of rolling hills descended and the cliffs faded away to short sparse beaches. They were full of driftwood and stones, not something I would want to ride Finley onto, for fear of her taking a tumble. The tide was out, and birds squawked and feasted on crabs that skittered and hid amongst the rocks. After that the first signs of civilization started to appear. The unworked grasslands suddenly became used, long furrows of barley made massive fields. People dotted the fields as they toiled at the fields in tattered clothing. I inspected one.
Name: Field Thrall
Race: Human
Type: Resident
Allegiance: Earl Uhtred (owner)
FLAGS: COGNITION_0, IS_THRALL
Health: Healthy
Energy: Reduced
They were all variations of the same thing, not even deserving a name. I sighed and continued onward. The road increased in quality with wooden boards lining them like a very large deck. A lot of lumber had been put down for this road alone and I started to suspect this sort of thing was the reason that all these grasslands were devoid of trees. As the city came into view it only confirmed those suspicions.
The walls were huge, starting with a large ramp of earth that was as tall as a two-story building and crowned with a log palisade. Each beam of the palisade was an entire tree, making the entire wall truly massive. The road bore straight into the earth wall and had its own tunnel as it entered the city. A large wooden watchtower was perched above it and I could see people up in it staring at me as I approached. The wall extended some distance into the water along the coast as if they had hit the edge and stubbornly kept building just to spite the waters.
I approached the gatehouse tunnel and made my way inside.
The quest update chime triggered as I crossed the threshold of the gate, forcing itself into my vision. I really hoped this wouldn’t happen in the middle of a fight or something.
[Quest Updated]
[Quest: Explore Floor 1: Midgard]
[Subquest: Explore Midgard and find civilization. – Complete]
Apparently, this place was civilized enough to be considered a civilization in the System’s reckoning. A new subquest took over the spot of the old one.
[Subquest: Find companionship.]
I glared at the System. What, I got my little buddy! He isn’t good enough for you or something? I thought at the biased System.
Surprisingly, it chimed again, and brought the quest prompt back into my vision.
[Quest Updated]
[Quest: Explore Floor 1: Midgard]
[Subquest: Find Chosen companionship.]
The thing had changed and elaborated! Was it sick or something?! It never gave me extra information! This was new. I need to find loot and treasure! I thought at it really hard, but it failed to respond in anyway. I tried a few more thoughts before a guard from above me started shouting at me. I assume to keep moving. I couldn’t understand him. I need to learn the language! I thought, focusing on the system again. Nothing. With a sigh at lost opportunities, I kept moving into the city.
The tunnel was braced with wood, like a mineshaft. Large beams held up the weight of the earth and the watchtower above it. Along the ceiling vent-like murder holes could be seen. I gazed up one as we passed under it, and though it was a long shaft, I could see a face peering at me from above. Near both exits large wooden doors were resting open against the walls, ready to be closed in the case of hostile invasion.
Nobody paid us any attention beyond the watchtower guards and their bored gazes. As we exited the tunnel a town was inside of the earthen walls. A large straight road paved with wooden boards went ahead of us. Small houses lined the roads, they had small, fenced yards with livestock mostly filled with goats and chicken. The houses were single floors with peaked roofs, smoke trailing out of a small missing section in the peak of the walls. They were low buildings, half dug into the earth like the hut I had made back at my base camp. The walls were woven together sticks that I didn’t know the proper name for. The roofs were thatched together with plants or reeds of some sort.
A communal area was built amongst a cluster of the huts and had an open kitchen with a stone oven, a fire blazing merrily under it. People milled about tending to chores and animals. They dressed simply but had small things that accented their outfits. Belts and ribbons, or an occasional brightly colored tunic. These folks were the working class, but freemen, not the enslaved thralls. I passed a well that had a line of people waiting their turn to bring water up and dump into wooden buckets they carried. A road went off to my left and I glanced at Oskar over my shoulder, he gestured down the road we were already travelling.
The mass of humanity surprised me, after the lack of it leading to the town. The people seemed crammed together, I feared for the medieval sanitation as the smell of animal and fertilizer assaulted me. Eventually we came to a wooden bridge that spanned a small river that flowed through the town. People washed laundry and bathed in it from a wooden boardwalk that ran along portions of the water. The other side of the bridge transitioned to a different sort of home. Larger and taking more space, both for the buildings and the yards that joined with them.
These homes looked more like the classic rendition of a Viking longhouse, upright pillars supporting a curved thatched roof that ran the entire building, walls made of proper lumber and boards. The large beams along the outside of the walls supporting the roof were carved with runic designs and abstract animals in ornate decorations.
More stick walls, like those used for the huts, were used as fencing to delineate borders and keep livestock contained. Horses were seen corralled and the people loitering in these areas wore armor and held mean looking weapons. Others, that were toiling at menial tasks resembled the poorly dressed thralls I was getting more used to seeing. I shook my head at the thought that seeing enslaved people could become so easily normalized. The rich, the poor and the property, what a social hierarchy. Some people would spout that modern times were just as bad. But the fact that they could say that out loud and live to keep spouting it showed that it wasn’t the case. An unruly slave could be ended.
We came to another intersection and this one was what can only be described as chaos. Behind me were long houses on both sides of the roads, the corners ahead of me were very different, on the right side of the street stood some sort of fortification, small limbed palisades making a small fort. A large white banner, which looked like a repurposed bed sheet had a crudely drawn handprint on it. It dripped with red paint or ink, and I half expected it to say ‘We Know’ on the bottom, but it didn’t. A large gate was thrown open and a group of people left the fortifications to cross the street. A woman wore a green timed dark purple robe which had a large hood that hid her features. She gripped a gnarled wooden staff. A large muscular guy had a large fur covering his shoulders and leather belts crossing his muscular torso, a dead to rights Conan the Barbarian rip off. I swore the third guy in their group had a chest piece from a set of samurai armor, but more noticeable was his severe scowl and intense eyebrows. He stomped at the ground like it owed him money. Their outfits were out of place, it was a mess of fantasy and dash of anachronism. I think I found the Chosen from this city, and it seemed like they holed up in the fortress with the red hand.
The left side of the street was a large open market. Booths and stalls full of quite an assortment of goods surrounded a large fountain. Just from my vantage from atop Finley at the intersection I could see weapons, armors and sundry supplies. People argued and bartered at loud volume as coin and merchandise switched hands. The fountain was a large statue with a smug smiling face. Loki stood in dark stone, wearing a very fine set of Norse clothing. He held a large round shield engraved with his eight-legged steed motif. It was the only time I saw him dressed in something not resembling douchery. Or so I thought until I saw the belt buckle holding the tunic closed. It wasn’t his normal large LOKI belt buckle, this one had another line on it. LOKI RULZ it read. I gave a sigh. My benefactor was a twat.
I decided to dismount Finley and Oskar followed me off. I looked at him and he pointed down the intersection that led to the water, glancing that way I saw a massive longhouse that dwarfed the others. The earl’s hall I assumed. I shook my head and pointed a thumb at the fortification. He shrugged and wandered off towards the hall. Well, I didn’t have any business with the earl, so I guess Oskar and I were done. No big loss on my side.
I decided to investigate my afterlife brethren. I walked up to the gate of the fortification, nobody seemed to care so I led Finley inside. Pest was roused with the excitement and poked his head out of the rucksack watching the new environment with weary eyes. It made me aware that he had probably never been within a city. I’d have to keep a keen eye on him, make sure nothing happened.
“Hey, keep an eye on the loot bag, let me know if anyone tried to mess with the coins.” I gave him a mission that I hoped would keep him in place.
‘Pest will keep property secure,’ he confirmed with a hard stare. I nodded at him with a smile and checked out the fort. It was a large chunk of space, it had multiple buildings and a stable that was teeming with animals. I walked over to it and tied Finley’s reigns to a hitching post. I slung my rucksack on my shoulder and Pest poked out a bit to lean on my shoulder as he gazed around.
As I turned to look around the other buildings I peeked into the stable, and resting deep in the back was a large shadowy figure. It looked like a bear. And if that wasn’t enough, it was wearing a hat. I think it was a wide brimmed fedora.
“What the hell?” I muttered under my breath and Inspected it.
Name: Bogart
Race: Bear
Type: Creature
Allegiance: Donald Higgs (bond)
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
FLAGS: COGNITION_1, IS_BOUND (Donald Higgs), DETECTIVE, ADAPTABLE
Health: Healthy
Energy: Full
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I kept talking to myself. Another bound creature, and this one was ADAPTABLE like Pest. I smirked at the name and the fedora. A sleuth bear, who would have thought?
I continued my exploration of the fort. The buildings weren’t constructed in the Norse fashion. They were boxy and multifloored, more like the Fat Pig. A more modern European aesthetic. I hadn’t realized it back at the Fat Pig, but they fell more in line with what I would expect of a medieval setting. Also, they had windows, the Vikings seemed to avoid windows in their buildings. The glass in them wasn’t crystal clear like I was used to, more a rough and cloudy glaze like an old bottle.
A group of the buildings were long, and utilitarian all set next to each other in an orderly row. They had simple doors with small windows along the top, and a crude stone chimney poked out of the roofs opposite the door. I got a peek inside of one as someone came out and the wall, I saw looked to be filled with bunk beds, like a cabin at a summer camp. There were symbols on the door of the three that faced me. A green bull with large horns, a red wolf head that howled at the sky, and a single blue star. The largest building in the fort seemed to be my best bet. A huge sign hung over a set of doors.
The sign prominently displayed the large red hand that was on the rough flag on the outside of the fortress. This hand was grabbing however, instead of just splayed out showing all five fingers, and was picking up a man. In block letters below it ‘Chosen Tavern’ was written in English. I pushed on a door, and it swung in easily. Inside were an arrangement of tables and chairs set out like a restaurant with a long bar that extended out into the room like a peninsula. Behind the bar there was a window that looked in to a kitchen.
The place was at low capacity, with around thirteen or so people. I peered around and decided to take a small table in the corner of the room. I set down the rucksack on a chair that I scooted close to myself and gazed around the tavern. The walls had nick-knacks and trophies of various sorts mounted to them. Broken weapons and animal pelts and horns. Crude drawings were on the wall displaying a number of creatures. A bulletin board next to the door I came in had papers sprawled across it. I couldn’t read any of them from where I was sitting.
A chalk board was on the wall behind and above the bar listing food and drink with a price. A middle-aged woman approached my table and drew my attention. She had hair that might had once been red but had faded to straw blonde and gray. Her face showed deep crow’s feet and scowl lines amongst a weathered face. She used something like charcoal to give herself darkened eyebrows and an eyeshadow. She may have once been beautiful. She didn’t quite smile at me.
“What can I get for you?” She asked straight forward without kindness or malice. Her voice was deep and husky like a chronic smoker.
“I have no idea!” I announced with a large grin. “I’m new here.”
“Here,” she asked pointing at the ground, “Or here?” She gestured at everything.
“Both.” I said with another grin. She let out a long-suffering sigh and walked away. My smile slipped as she walked away. She wore nothing special, a slightly better cut version of my own tattered and abused oversized basic clothing. She walked to the bulletin board, snatched a pamphlet that was stacked at the base of it and came back to me.
“Read this. But if you plan on doing that here, you need to buy something.” She gestured over her shoulder at the bar. I took a quick glance at the board.
“Mead and a lamb plate.” I picked off the board. The other options of fish or ‘mystery special’ didn’t seem like great choices. “Oh, and some bread if you got it.” I asked politely.
“Four pennies.” She said shortly. I dug around in the rucksack, getting attacked by an annoyed little dragon ferret for pillaging his hoard. I pulled out a few coins and handed her what I assumed she wanted. She left without another word after glaring at the coins, as if they held secrets. There folks sure were friendly. I pursued the pamphlet she gave me.
‘WELCOME TO MIDGARD!’ Was written in large block letters. It read like a late night coked out infomercial salesman.
‘Find yourself in the afterlife without a clue as to what is going on?’ There was a drawing of a guy with question marks around his head. ‘Lost? Alone? Need help?’
‘Don’t worry! With my RISK FREE and MONEY BACK guarantee, I will show you three simple steps to mastering your afterlife!’
‘My name is Clifford Riley, and I can show you how to succeed! When I showed up penniless and only a scratchy shirt on my back, did I give up? No, I went forth and formulated this method of success that had brought me fame and fortune!’ There was another drawing of a longhouse with horses and sheep surrounding it.
‘But you don’t need to listen to me! Here are some testimonials of my previous clients!’
‘Clifford and his three-step program took me from a thrall to an earl in under a year! – Ragnar Lothbrok’
‘These three simple steps blew my mind that I didn’t think of them before, so easy yet profound. Clifford opened my eyes and helped me make my kingdom the best! – King Cnut’
‘Clifford Riley can pillage my village anytime – Brunehilde’
‘As you can see, with my simple program anyone can go from…’ A drawing of a sad face that was smeared with dirt and had tear marks. It even had some stink lines wafting from it.
‘To this!’ A drawing of a grinning face, wearing a crown and surrounded by gold coins and women.
‘You don’t have the time to lose! I will only be providing this service for a limited time!’
‘Invest in yourself today! Sign up for my class right now, and you will receive a free gift!’
‘A one hundred percent authentic, priest ordained, hand crafted pendant of Thor’s hammer, the mighty Mjolnir!’
‘Worth its weight in pure silver, this valuable object will bestow the god of thunder’s blessings upon you! ***’
‘Come find me in Volstad now! Look for the second biggest longhouse in the city, right across the river from the earl himself!’
‘New arrivals get a limited additional 20% discount!’
Way down at the bottom of the last page in small lettering there was one last line.
***Blood sacrifice required to activate Thor’s favor. Results may vary. Money back guarantee only applicable to participants who have yet to take their first session.
I laughed to myself a bit. I just got served an infomercial via pamphlet. Sometime while I was reading it the waitress had snuck up and delivered my order. This pamphlet was garbage. I’m sure Clifford’s first step was trick suckers into paying you for shit you didn’t need or deliver on. But then again, being an immortal and making bad deals probably had a way of getting back at you. It was a lot harder to hide from someone you screwed over who never died. She must have given it to me just to shut me up. I sipped at the mead. It was dark and cool and didn’t taste great. I took a bite of the lamb, using my handy knife as a utensil since she didn’t provide me with any. It was pretty good. A little plain compared to how I normally spiced things, but I chalked that up to a lack of available spices rather than a lack of skills in the kitchen. A quarter of a cabbage head came with the plate, and it all sat in a pool of rich gravy. She had brought by a crust of stale bread as well, and I sopped it in the gravy to soften it up. As I ate, sharing some meat with Pest, I took in the others in the room.
They ignored me for the most part with an occasional glance. It seemed to be segregated into two decent sized groups and a scattering of individuals dining like me. One group was made of Latinos, laughing to themselves, and having a good time. I saw that most had the green bull symbol from the cabin outside in miniature on their shoulders. It looked like a badge, maybe a gang or guild thing. They spoke in Spanish that was too fast for me to follow. I knew a few words and could bumble through foods in Spanish, but that was about it. My wife was fluent, but I had never taken it up. I regretted not learning it each time I thought about it, but never felt smart enough to make a serious attempt at it.
The other group looked like Norsemen for the most part. White skinned with close cropped hair or shaved heads. They all sported a blue star tattooed somewhere visible on their persons. I frowned as I caught sight of some of their more unsavory tattoos, I tried not to judge, knowing that a swastika meant something different in ancient times. But modern sensibilities had a completely different opinion of that symbol and usually it meant that person was filth. The other tattoos ranged from stylized flags of various origin to the tackiest one could imagine. They looked like they belonged in a stereotypical prison movie. One of them saw me looking and gave a friendly nod and smile though. So maybe they were just idiots with a very unsavory cosplay style.
I finished my meal by giving Pest the last bit of meat I had and leaned back to pat my belly. After the stuff I had been eating since entering the tower, this made me feel downright civilized. I tried to get the waitresses attention, but she studiously ignored me, and I sighed, getting to my feet. Pest flopped to the floor like a sack of potatoes and skittered around my feet smelling things.
I walked over to the bull group.
“Howdy,” I said friendly. They went silent as I had been approaching and now gave me weary looks. None of them seemed keen on taking up the other side of the conversation. “I was wondering if you guys knew where I could find some lodgings?”
“Este pendejo… El único hospedaje que el va a encrontrar es el suelo.”A serious looking man said in rapid fire Spanish. A few of his friends chuckled.
“Sorry, I don’t speak Spanish that well. Uhm. Un poquito español,” I tried to say and held up two fingers close together. I smiled nervously.
“Yo creo que el está hablando de su pinga. Es chiqita.” He added, making my same gesture. His friends guffawed at this. Only one in the group wasn’t laughing, and he just sat looking at my sullenly.
I didn’t really know how to advance the conversation at this point, but a hand fell on my shoulder. I looked over to see one of the skin-heads.
“Don’t even bother, the Toros don’t deal with anyone who isn’t a Mexican.” He said in an unexpectedly alto voice. He was a scrawny guy, nervous and jittery. His teeth were missing about half their number, the rest worn and darkly stained. At the word Mexican, some in the Spanish group bristled. I gathered that they were not all Mexican. I knew for a fact if you called a Cuban or Puerto Rican a Mexican, they would get mighty offended. I assumed the same for a Spaniard applied.
“Este hijo de la gran puta!” the talkative Latino said as they all glared at us.
He pulled at my shoulder and made to guide me towards his table.
“Why don’t you come over here to some more sensible people.” He said as we made our way over to his group. There were three of them, not counting toothless here. One even had love and hate across his knuckles to match the spider tattoo on his neck. I mean, not to disparage people and their creative body art. But these looked like they were inked by a five year old with Parkinson’s. Thick and ugly unsteady lines. The poster children for an internet ‘Worst Tattoo’s top ten list. They had worse spelling than I did. I’m pretty sure Aryan wasn’t supposed to be spelled with an I.
“Okay, let me ask this right now. You guys are some neo-nazi racists skin heads, aren’t you?” I asked point blank. I had no respect for idiots, and I wasn’t about to play out this most cliché of setups. One of them bristled at my words, but another one answered as I shrugged toothless nazis hand off my shoulder.
“No, we are the Vinlanders. Texas chapter,” he pointed a thumb at the blue star on his peck, it had a laurel surrounding it and a american flag behind it. Since he wasn’t wearing a shirt, it was easily seen. Why wasn’t he wearing a shirt? I assumed to show off the tattoos that covered his entire torso. The tattoos were so packed in it was hard to really tell what they were individually, they all blend together in an abstract tableau of overtly racist slogans and logos mixed with national pride. The guy was big too, not swole like a body builder, but thick like a jacked overweight Pitbull.
“We believe in the strength of purity and individual freedoms.” He rattled off from the politically correct racist’s handbook. “With the strength of Odin, we will rally against the dilution of freedoms and forced integration that are the downfall of western civilization.”
“Oookay,” I drew out the word and nodded. “And how did such a group find its way here, together?”
“Prison riot.” Toothless answered and Fat Pitbull scowled at him.
“Terry,” he chastised, “we aren’t supposed to reveal that part.”
“Sorry cousin.” He nervously stammered.
I found it interesting that this whole group ended up here together. It must have been a huge benefit to come into the tower as a group. I guess the racists had all the luck. As I mused, I heard a squeak from under the table.
One of the guys was holding Pest up by his neck. Pest was trying to bite the guy and held one paw close to his body. My quick guess what the guy had stepped on it while Pest was investigating down there.
“Hey!” I yelled at him. “Put him down.” I demanded and reached for Pest.
“What is this?” The guy got up and backed away from me hissing. “What is this rat doing here?”
“He is no rat! He is my little buddy!” I snapped at him.
“This rat isn’t a proper companion, it’s not like it’s a dog or something,” he chuckled. “Hell, it’s in the same league as a cat. Nothing.” He tossed Pest who bounced off the wall with a screech. I flashed red. I didn’t have any control, my Berserker skill triggered, and I lashed out with a Bullrush. I smashed into him, having to half jump over the table the group sat at. My head connected with his face as I lead with a Headbutt, blood streamed out as we went down into a pile of limbs.
I locked my hands together and smashed my fists into his face. I only got two hits before I got kicked in the side and grappled. His friends hauled me to my feet and dragged me away from him. He wasn’t getting up, but Fat Pitbull gave me a few vicious punches to my sides as his buddies held me. I raged against the guys holding me and managed to break free enough to strike at the side of the unexpecting Fat Pitbull’s head. It was an open-handed slap.
[Congratulations. You have unlocked the Bitch-slap skill!]
“Hold him you idiots!” He yelled at his crew. They grabbed me again and he punched me in the face. I saw a flash of white and flare of pain significant enough to break my unintentional Berserker state. I blew out the blood that was filling my nose and splattered us with it.
“You don’t come after a Vinlander and walk away,” he said and drew a knife from his belt. It wasn’t a utility knife like mine, it was a mean looking half-machete thing that idiot survivalists tote around in their kits. It looked mean and menacing but wouldn’t be able to chop wood to save its owner’s life. But he wanted to carve me, not wood, and it would probably manage to do that. He approached me, aiming the knife at my face, directly at my eye. I struggled against my captors. I could heal, I knew it, but it always left scars. Could I grow back lost limbs or eyes?
“You assholes started it! Don’t fuck with my little buddy!” I shouted in the face of his threat. As if summoned Pest tore out from under the table and leapt at Fat Pitbull. He bit down on the back of the bastard’s knee and thrashed like when he was killing a snake. The boss let out a yell and struck down with his over-sized knife. Pest dropped back and twisted around in a war stance. The idiot man had cut into his own leg with the big knife and fell to the ground knocking into me and my captors. We all went down in a heap as a table we were pressed against flipped. Pest climbed the pile as we struggle there and bit into Fat Pitbull’s ear, he twist and tore as the man reared back, flinging him off.
I pushed up from the pile as Fat Pitbull got off me and slipped out of their grip. I bolted for the door, snatching the rucksack from where I had dropped it when I charged the asshole that threw Pest. We dashed to the door, and I opened it. I had brief eye-contact with one of the Latinos, the sullen one. He gave me a slight head tilt. The man nod.
“Adios motherfuckers,” I shouted to the room and rushed out as Pest bolted out the door. I saw the Toros smile and start to chuckle as I ducked out.
I made my way to Finley. By the time I had her untied and Pest in the rucksack the door burst open and the Vinlanders were out, The Fat Pitbull hobbling along. He had one hand gripping the side of his head as blood ran between his fingers.
“You are dead! Fucking dead!” He shouted at me.
“We already are, you dumb asshole!” I shouted back as I mounted Finley and gave her heels. She bolted forward as two of the jerks got within grabbing distance. They reached out to stop her, grabbing onto her harness, but Finley gave zero fucks and bulled through them like a warhorse. They fell to the sides like a set of bowling pins and Finley dashed out the gate. We ended up slamming down the board lined street towards the water. That probably meant that we would come to a dead end, but I didn’t really care. I just wanted to get away. I risked a glance behind me, but they were not an organized bunch...