You fade out in front of the hospital,and some indefinable time later, you see a mob of marching penguins come stomping through downtown, use a goalpost catapult to drop the Exxon Valdez supertanker on top of the hospital which it bounces off of, and bounds away like a rubber ball, and then the herd of quacking penguins reaches over to you to offer you a Coke.

When you refuse, they roars out their wrath, and cold attacks everything in sight, melting it all away so that you are left laying on a rock, and even the penguins are gone.

And you realize that you really are laying on a rock, and its a bit on the cool side, but not bad, and sunlight is beating down on your face.

PT
OOC: And for those following this adventure, this picks up from "McCallister's Mansion."

"Arrrggghhh....", I grimace, "sunlight!" Where's my sunglasses when I need 'em? Oh yeah, I think I left them a couple worlds ago....

I feel a littel sick, and a lotta hungover at the moment. DiVars hadn't prepared me for how bad that feels sometimes. It was comparable to being a two dimensional creature and then suddenly being pumped full of air, like a balloon and then squashed back into two dimensions again. Pretty much sucks...though the March Of The Penguins was interesting....

I shake my head to clear it of the cobwebs, open my eyes as wide as they would go. There was still some weight in there that seemed to be attached to all the nerves in my head. Consequently shaking didn't help all that much.

Squinting, in the bright sun light I try to pick myself up off of the rock and get a better idea of where I am. Scan the area for evil teens first....MY PACK! WHERE WAS THE PACK!? It was my lifeline and the only things that seemed to go with me when I 'Versed".

You are in a hilly region of rocks, and heather which is in bloom, and mosses, and eye-startlingly green miniature pastures dotted with sheep.  You sense something to the right and to the left of you.  To the right is your pack, and it has fallen a few feet from the rock you lay on.  To your left is the pistol you were last using.

You check it all out, and it seems fine.

The sky is almost cloudless, and the air smells...clean, not like the muggy, almost smog of that other world.  And a limitless joy seems to build in your chest as if some opressive madness in the air, and soaked into the rocks, and infiltrated into the water was gone away.

PT

I smiled, the feeling of wanting a Pepsi instead of a coke was fading as I hopped off of the rocks I was balanced on. I bounced in the boots that I had only bought a month ago...they were awesome. I couldn't help but hum a little tune as I scooped up my pack and the pistol. Which in retrospect wasn't all that helpful...

It was the old A-team theme song. I didn't even look for the ibuprophen this time...I went to find the highest hilltop in the area. For the first time in quite a while....I feel good.

You climb to the top of the largest nearby hill about several hundred feet above the others, and find an old nest, about three feet wide, and poop dotted here and there in rather large quantities, and sizes.  Perhaps the size of that Pepsi can...

In the distance, you see a bright red square box moving slightly.  Its so far away that its hard to make out what it is.

Down below you, and about a mile away, you see little dots that should be sheep, and what might be a human. Its a line.

In your sight, is perhaps fifty sheep, twenty hills, and plentiful small valleys, and a pine forrest that stretches from horizon to horizon (its on the far side of the Viewing Hill from where you landed.)

You also see a small string of smoke going up in the air toward the forest.

PT

The final effects of the trip had begun to wear off, replaced with my usual curiosity and the newfound goodness. The scene before me reminded him of "Heidi", which was still a good thing. This huge nest on the other hand...had some interesting implications. Keep an eye on the sky, Mac, I told myself.

I began to walk towards the herder, to see what the natives were like. Hopefully not so terribly mad as the last. I could only hope and keep my fingers crossed. So not to alarm anyone I cross paths with, I stuck my pistol into a pocket on my framepack as I walked.

Scramble down the hill, and then up the next hill, and over some shale rock, and down across a two acre sized pasture empty of anything except a rabbit that looks at you inquisitively before darting away, and you continue on.  Another hill, leap across a stream gushing down the side of the hill, and down another hill and your legs are burning a bit, just getting up to a good warm rush, and you come down to see a herd of twenty sheep, and a shepherd who stands with a spear in his hand.

He is tall, fair of skin, and red-haired.  His hair reaches down to his shoulders.  He is wearing a tunic that comes to mid-thigh, a belt, and is shod in sandals.

"Ho....mjdkjlokasjlkfgjal;jglagjal;jgl;sdj"  He calls out in a wary voice, and you think you recognize the first word, but thats about it.

I pause, not wanting to attract that spear. I wave an open hand at the herder in good nature, with a smile on my face, hopefully that wasn't a demeaning gesture out here...

"I don't understand you," I call back hesitantly.

I raise the other hand to show him I have no spears or knives to poke him with. Then slowly I walk forward, watching for any sign of treachery.

He studies you, and then nods.  The shepherd waves you over to a small flat rock, and goes back to a sack which he opens slowly.  He brings out a loaf of black bread, some white cheese, and a leg of lamb.  He places this on the rock, and cuts off a chunk of each for him and for you.  And then he goes back, and gets a waterskin.

He drinks some, and then offers it to you.  You can smell the wine.

PT

Mmmm....wine.
I take a small drink, swish it around in my mouth abit. "Not bad," I say with a smile, "...here, I have something you might like."

I go into my pack, and pull out the last two strips of beef jerky, and offer him a strip. I eat happily. Black bread, while not a favorite, sure does sound good, since I feel like I haven't had anything real to eat in quite a while. Oh man, actual lamb leg, wow, what year did I fall back to anyway...I hadn't tasted lamb since I was a kid growing up on my parents farm. I have to say in a way, I had missed it. I munched on our makeshift lunch smiling and wiping the dribbling bits from my mouth.

Once we had established a reportoire, just like in all business, it was time to find out some information. The way to do that was through open ended questions...which was going to be more difficult than I cared to think about. Language barriers were always a problem in the business world...

I point out the highest hill where I saw him from, then I do my best to imitate the flapping of a bird, with my hands....to see if charades would work.

He tries the beef jerky, and he is a bit surprised by it, but not completely.  And by the way he eats it, you can tell he's had jerky before.  But he definitely enjoys it with it bringing a big smile, and a stinging clap on the shoulder driven by his well-muscled arm.

He nods, and replies.

"Widfloga. Widfloga."  He then gets up, and spreads his arms as wide as he can, and then dances back and forth to the right and the left with his arms out stretched.

Then he flaps them and bends low. Points at a sheep. Reaches down with his hands as if he is grasping something. And then makes small hands flutter together like the symbol for a bird, and raises it above his head.  Then he grabs his spear, and waves it at the hill angrily.

PT

"Okay, now we're getting somewhere," I say casually nodding, "Widfloga. Right, big bird on PCP. Eats your sheep. That's not happy."

Hhhhmmmm.....I think it might be time to give this guy a helping hand. That might get me in with the locals too. Perhaps the pistol will come in handy after all.

"Widfloga, is going down," I say overdramatically, then point to my eyes, "Widfloga."

I then follow that up with a gesture to the hill and a sweeping gesture at the sun.

Of course you only have a pistol, versus a huge thing, sounds like a Roc. Doubt it will do much to it....it's worth a try though. Or maybe you'll just get munched...

I feel like Bruce Cambell right now, yep, almost deja'vu. If only I had a grenade.

You and him sit and "talk" for a while.  He teaches you words in his language, starting with his name.

"Boric" He slaps his chest, and then runs his right hand over his left hand to show himself minus a finger.

He teaches you more words, by pointing at rocks and trees, sheep, grass, and the sun..

"Woruldkandle." He says as he points at the sun.  After that, it starts to get easier.  His language is somewhat similiar to yours, and its very direct and descriptive.  And there are a number of words that you almost recognize.

"Widfloga." He points at the sun which is about two o'clock and then measures two fingerwidths above the horizon. "Widfloga." And he points toward the empty horizon.

PT

"Got it, Widfloga's gonna be back alittle later closer to dusk," already begining going through some of the animal traps I'd heard of, "Mac."

I slap myself on the chest, and gesture to the air in a one-handed whirling gesture. "Verser."

It even sounded a bit strange in my own ears...

You spend the rest of the day learning words, and helping him with his sheep (who seem to have a perverse fascination for the cliff side of the pasture, and you're convinced the silly things would have had several fall off if not for your shooing them back up the pasture).

You have picked up about a hundred words.  Basic stuff, and its heavy on the consonants.  It sounds Germanic somewhat.

And then he yells.

"Widfloga!" And he points.  You follow the line of sight, and your first thought is....thats a big vulture, and then it gets closer, and you realize its too big for that.  Happily it only seems to be about fifteen feet in wingspan, and not a Roc.

And then it swoops down from up high, and you recognize it.

Pterosaur.

PT

"Whoa!"

"Okay, lets not panic Boric," I say hearing my own pulse rising, "if he comes this way we will do what we can...."

I drop my pack, and begin to go through it, digging out anything at all that would help in this situation. Compass(No), Signal Mirror(No!), Hatchet(YESS!), Collapsible shovel(YESSSS!), and last but not to be overlooked was a canister of lantern fuel, a scrubby teeshirt and some duct tape(Oh Yeah!); grabbing the five items items I kneel by them in a heap and begin assembling, aware of the shadow darting overhead.

I grab the shovel and begin to tape the canister of fuel to it. Next adding the teeshirt, carefully entwining it around the canister and fixing it in place with a bit strung out for a makeshift wick. The next thing was to pour a bit of the fuel onto the cloth to make sure it stayed lit. Judging carefully I try to give myself about ten seconds worth of time on that wick.

The next part would be the hardest part. Getting the creature to do what I needed it to, which was come down and get me. I pull out my zippo and move towards the center of the sheep...
This message was last edited by the player at 03:53, Sat 24 Dec 2005.

The sheep are baa-ing nervously, and are packed into a tight mass which you have to shove your way into with many a bump and thud.  You find that sheep are willing to stand on your feet, and have poor manners, and stink as well.

You see Boric take a position up hill of the herd with his spear, and the pterosaur just circles around about fifty feet up.  It circles once more, sussing the situation out, without warning, it folds its leathery wings, and the creature plummets.

Its wings snap out, and suddenly its hurtling toward you across the ground at perhaps forty miles per hour, and fifteen feet in the air.  Boric casts, it sideslips, and the spear goes above it while it lets out a mocking caw....

Eighteen feet of wingspan shoots toward you like an onrushing car.

PT

I perform a quick flip of the shovel locking it into place, and spin it so that the one serrated edge of the shovel is facing the predator. Another quick flip of the zippo sets the wick alight...

I ready myself depending on the creatures choice, indicated by its movement. It would either go for one of the sheep, or me. If it was close enough, I plan to jump onto the sheep as it is caught. If it wasn't close enough to jump on it would be my shovel stuck in it's wing, possibly the weakest part of the creature. I readied to jump for either eventuality.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6...........

It hooks a sheep on the outer edge of the herd, and you leap, grabbing the madly ba-aaing creature as its yanked skyward.  Your extra weight drags the dinosaur down, and you ski on your back across a half-dozen sheep, and then the full weight is brought down on the widfloga.

You slam on your back on the pasture land, and almost lose your grip on the sheep as the widfloga on the rebound strives mightily to get airborne, and lifts you and the sheep five feet in the air.

PT
OOC: I'm assuming you dropped your shovel...

I wrap my legs around the creature the best I can to gain some leverage and pull myself to a better vantage. If I finally do gain some leverage on the beast, I will attempt to grab ahold of a leg or wing.


(OOC-I was trying not to drop it, so that I could use it on the creature...it just wouldn't do to kill the sheep by dropping it. :P)

OOC: Okay, this is a strength check, and a pretty difficult one at that. Well, you made it. Kewl.

IC: You wrap your leg around the sheep, still hanging on to the shovel with one hand high on the handle, and burying those fingers into its wool, and re-grasping with your other arm around its head, and beginning to loop your foot around the back of the sheep.

And the widfloga comes down to earth, not able to carry  a full-grown sheep, and a man at the same time.  You bounce twice on your back, both times driving the air out of your lungs.

And then the widfloga and you and the sheep stop.  It backs up a step, ruffling its wings, and eyeing you uncertainly.  You have a sheep laying across your legs, and you are close to the edge of the cliff side of the pasture.

On that last bounce, your shovel fell from your grasp, and you can hear it clatter down the cliff behind you.

PT

Fear rises in my gullet as I stare uncertainly at the Widfloga. For a second I flail around catching my breath from the fall. There was only one thing that I could see to do now....

The gun...

I almost scream from the raging panic as I dig to grab the gun in my pack. My fingers fly over the contents and find the handgrip, I snatch it out bringing it to bare on the scaled avian's head preparing to unload.

You rip the gun out of your backpack even as it lunges its huge beaked head past yours, and the stench of rotted meat fills your nostrils, and you come back to fire, but the shot is rushed, and it goes off into the dirt near the widfloga's taloned feet.

It hops back, and then jabs again as you bring the gun up.  Your left arm registers a stunning impact, and then your bullet clips it in its wing material.  It twists its head to study the wing, and then with uncanny studying glance it looks at you, and then at your gun.

The sheep has leapt off your legs, and staggered to the side.  The widfloga spreads its wings so they fill your personal sky, and hisses at you in preparation for a strike.

PT

I grimace at the thought of what my left arm looks like, not daring to avert my eyes even for a fleeting moment. This time I take that warning from it as a time to strike back, it might be the only chance it gives me. Even as I shoot at the mouth of the hissing beast, I get a leg ready to roll if I miss. I don't want it to hit anywhere near my right arm; I can see that the creature is working out the connection between my gun and it's wing wound...

You first shot just barely misses, and it jerks its head to the side, and you find yourself shooting again without thinking.  Its a Zen moment, an unplanned shot.  It rips into its mouth, and into the back of its throat.

The creature stumbles, and puts one talon on your side as you roll, and you feel a raking spur carve your side and back, and then the beast collapses on top of you.

It gives one sobbing breath, and dies.

You hear a sound like a knife chopping meat, a couple times, and then a sad voice from the shepherd.

"Hero is dead. Very brave. I kinda liked him. Thor take him to Valhalla for he did not die the alkdlfjklsdf death."

PT

Unsure of what is happening, I try to open my eyes, try to get a look at the shepard. Valhala rings a bell though, Norse mythos....the reward for a warrior who has fallen in battle; being half Norwegian has it's uses apparently....I can't be dead, if I can hear him???

I struggle to move under the dead weight of the creature. The words of the Boric are starting to overtake my exhaustion.

You pull yourself out from underneath the monster, and Boric leaps back, and then he comes forward to very gently clasp you about the shoulders.

"Ah, you live. Guten."  He then leads you over to a rock to sit upon, and draws a knife which he uses to take your shirt off you.

You have a puncture wound down to the bone in your left arm, and another gash high on the same arm which travels over to your back.  You can feel some skin flap loose.  There doesn't seem to be any arterial bleeding since you're still alive.

He starts the fire going hotter, and puts his blade into the fire.  He then gives you the wineskin and encourages you to drink it all.

"Very great hero. Very great. Mighty magics."

PT

As he does all this, I start to understand about what he was getting ready to do. I take a last look at the reddening blade and tip the wineskin high. I drink a few long draughts from it and then ready myself for the pain, and find myself already grimacing. The wound looked much more serious than it was but that didn't mean I wanted to leave it to heal on it's own. Not only that but I was sure that I didn't have a lot of medical supplies left for bandaing myself. Boric's way would do the trick, stop any bleeding and seal the wound up pretty well, if not leaving a scar to remember that monster by. Besides, I might need that stuff for a less hospitable place.

I nod to Boric, to signal that I was as ready as ever, "Not magic, luck of the gods."

He takes your shirt, and wraps it around the knife handle, and then walks behind you.  He asks you some question which you don't quite understand and as you search for the answer the blade comes down on the flat side on your back.

"Aaaaaagghhhh!"

You wake up later, stiff, sore, and your skin on your back and arm aching and tight.  You passed out, and he finished up the job while you slept thankfully.

There's another man there, dressed similiarly to the first, and he has a mule with him. The head of the pterosaur is wrapped up in cloth, and attached to the mule on one side.

"Ride?"  He asks with some other words tossed on top.  But his gestures convey the meaning close enough.

"Boric sent me. Boric take sheep to fence house. I take you to lord house. I Jarl Harald."

PT

"Greetings Jarl Herald," I say with a aching smile and a rising urge to laugh, "I McCallister."

I wonder briefly if they had noticed the larger tatoo on my back, which was of a celtic cross. The other might not be there anymore, at was the spiderman symbol, just behind my left shoulderblade. Seven hours of work, to them it would look incredibly detailed and intricate, I supposed. Without further thought I hop onto the mule, greatful for anything which might help keep me from tearing up the scalded scab on my back.

My thoughts move back to what Jarl had said, "What Lord?"

"You in Lord Demric land. Good lord. Strong."

It takes most of an hour to slowly work your way down to a river which is low, and the stony dry bottom is used as a highway to the sea.  Another hour, and you pass a couple of people.  One, a shepherd with a small flock, and another looks to be a worker who is leading his mule and cart full of cut up chunks of bog toward the sea as well.

Soon you hear the shushing of waves, and you come out to see a fjord, decorated on both its legs with primeval pine forests, and only near the harbor is the land cleared.

"Got half a day's ride cleared, all directions. Demric work hard. Many slaves."

You can see a small village with perhaps a dozen huts, and one longhouse, a well, and two Viking longboats. One is pulled up on the beach, and is being worked on, and the other is the red square you saw bobbing in the distance.  For some reason, its sail is still up, even as it sits at anchor.

PT

For a few moments I forget my pains and stare out across the lands to the fjord. The raw beauty is almost too much for me, I can't help but be awed by the scene. There had been something bothering me since I landed here, and I finally understood what it was. There was no urban sounds, no latent noise, no ultra high frequency tech to make that disturbing ring that accompanies modern life. No radio or microwaves to permeate the air. It was virgin lands....true silence.

I broke from my reverie, "why do we go to Lord Demric?"

"You are in his lands. And, you are hero. Reward you, feast you. Tell the tale to the skjalds who will begin your edda."

He looks at you as if you were a bit brain damaged. Of course you go see the local lord, why would you not attitude.

He takes you to the longhouse, and inside past some blonde-haired ladies who give you openly appraising glances as you step inside.  The air smells with lard, and a fire pit runs down the center of the room.

Your guide talks to a lady with her hair bound up in tresses who calls a black-haired servant to go fetch the lord.  Then the lady gets you a bench stool, and horn full of honey mead.

About ten minutes later, the Lord Demric steps in.  You can see he is far better dressed than anyone else you've met, and the weight of the gold band about his head, and the coil about his neck must be pretty heavy, but not as heavy as the steel longsword at his waist.

He looks to be a man who has fought hard to judge by his scars, and while still strong, past his prime by fifteen years or so.

"Well met. Tell me about yourself, and what you want in my land, hero."  He sits down on another bench across from you.  His language is easier to understand.

PT

I suddenly realized, I may have backed myself against a wall. These people thought of me as a hero. I didn't think it was so, it was luck that had granted me the day, luck and a gun. A gun that I wouldn't be able to get more rounds for...Well, I would be willing to play it by ear and see how it all worked out. This place was starting to grow on me already, and I couldn't help but take it in stride, it was like finding my people.

I stood and bowed to the Lord, I didn't want to upset him and a show of polite respect would go a long ways. Trying my best to sound genuine and simple enough to be understood, "Greetins Lord. I am McCallister, and I am lost and have come to your lands by accident. I am truly gracious of your hospitality though and I don't require much. If you wish it, I could work for you to earn my keep."

I definitely wait for him to begin eating or drinking  first unless prompted otherwise, before I myself begin.

He claps you on the shoulder, or is about to and then stops before he hurts your arm.

"Modest. You have to learn to brag and boast, but except for those faults, I like you. I could always use another brave warrior. Do you have sword, shield, and metal cap? If not, I give them to you. You can sleep as the warriors do. On the floor of my long hall. Plus....I see no woman."

He whistles, and a line of about a dozen serving girls comes into the room.  He tells them to line up, and then offers you one.

PT

I pause, not sure how to take that. To my bachelor mind they all looked rather tempting, but I definitely didn't want to force any of them, even so far as just to accompany me. No doubt my views would be looked on as a sign of weakness. I take my time though, getting an eyeful, and composing myself and words carefully. "Lord, I am honored, though in my lands it is custom for a woman to seek a man by choice rather than force."

Hopefully that wouldn't be taken too badly. "I can be of use to you in many ways Lord Demric. I am not the best warrior, though I have more skill in healing, and trading. Perhaps I could be of more use to you in those matters?"

"You perplex me. These are not free Viking women, but slaves. Good Irish and English, and even one Scots that I've bought or even captured myself.  But, I shall accustom myself to your ways, this time.  I shall let any of them who wish to go with you, and you accept...they shall be yours."  He pauses, and then nods.

"Certainly. A Viking does many things. Trading is good, and if you have some healing arts, this is well too."

He leans back, and the girls whisper and argue among themselves. And then four of them walk over to you, and bow to you.

At this, the lord laughs.

"Ah, I see what you were after. Very clever. You got yourself four slave women instead of one. Very sneaky."

PT

I turn to the Lord, eyes wide. In this world luck must flow from a veritable cornucopia. If I wasn't careful I would get too big for my britches too. This was almost too much for me to handle, but I would be sure to keep that to myself. So I smile and look to the women, bow, played at a decent boast. "I meant no deception Lord. However seeing that the women have chosen, I cannot deny them."

If the Lord has taken a drink, then I'd be abliged to follow him in a drink of the honey mead at this point....

He drinks, and smiles.

"They think you are a soft touch, and a hero. Which is a good combination for a woman.  Me, I make my slaves work hard."

You drink, and soon you and he are chatting about his land, and steadily getting more alcohol brought to you.  He tells you of the widfloga, and the flying lizards, the kraken, the wyrms that infest the land, and the sea, sometimes pulling whole ships underneath in one attack.  He shudders as he tells you how when he was twelve, he saw a giant beaked mouth rise from the fjord out there, and pull a ship down.

"We try to hunt them. My father killed that one. Took a hundred men armed with spears, and pushed a herd of goats into the water to bait the water.  He said the thing took a whole day to die, but sadly I did not see it. I was at my uncle's home. Now my fjord is free of Devil Wyrms, but even still to go out to sea, its dangerous.

Warriors begin to show up as the meal is put out, and more drinking ensues.  It looks like the plan is for everyone to get dead drunk.

PT

I smile and laugh mirthfully at his first statement. "I will work hard for you Lord Demric."

I listen to Demric tell the history of his land and his father's role in it carefully. Thinking it over and extracting as much information as possible from the conversation. I grimace at the telling of the great sea wyrms. No sea travel for me....

"May I ask where did the evil come from or have they always been? In my lands, there are none at all, so you see why I would be curious..."

I eat hungrily all the while, and feel the honey mead working it's way through my veins. Once I reach the point where it would be beneficial to slow down, I do so, having never enjoyed hangovers and the associated nausea.

Its a problem slowing down, as you are the hero of the hour, and the crowd of warriors and others seems to feel that the objective of the feast is for everyone to get drunk.  So whenever your cup gets a little empty, one of your girls comes by and refills it, and then someone yells out a toast to the widfloga or to you, or even to the sheep which you grabbed onto.  And then you're supposed to drink up.

"Yes, in fact, in the time when the father of my grandfather came to this land, he wrote that no man was safe who did not carry a spear, and walk with another man likewise.  So numerous were the beasts of darkness upon the land.  He said at times they would smash down huts, and eat whole families.  That is until we learned to make strong huts of stone and solid wood.  It is part of a lord's duty to kill these beasts wherever he may, and so you have lightened my load.  Now when I go on hunt, I can be cautious, and wait for a good chance instead of forcing it like last year, and getting good men hurt.  Now when I go to the All-Thing, I will have your head to display.  And I hope perhaps another. I was going to go hunt in a week's time, but I will let that wait until you are healthy."  He gives you a grim smile.  "Now you must have lived in blessed lands then. Even the monks in their holy book tell of giant beasts.  I did not know a land that did not have them.  If I was not so settled here, I would want to move to your land."

I pause and look down into the goblet of mead thoughtfully. "It is small matter though since I can only achieve my former lands through death..." I am way too close to wasted after only a couple of hours at this table......how did I get into this mindframe again?

I put it off for the moment and throw back another drink, no time like the present. I am in the mood for a game....something that ought to cheer me up. "Lord Demric can I match wits against you in a game of cards? The game is called Spades..."

It takes Demric a while to get into the game, but as his and your head clears a bit since he starts drinking water, and thus so does everyone else, he shows some genuine talent.  He's a thoughtful, but hard-charging player, inclined to after careful consideration, take the more risky but more lucrative play.

At first the others are a bit irritated at you for killing the party, but then since what they really want is something to dull the boredom, why there's nothing like a brand-new game for that.

Your girls pout a bit since you're not paying so much attention to them now, and at one point Demric says softly...

"If you intend to bed all four of them, you will have to find a way to maintain order in your house. Either bribe them, or dazzle them, or beat them, or set one of them over the others to do such for you.  Or they will fight each other and you for you, and cause all manner of troubles in your house and my village.  I don't care if you beat them with a stick, but I want peace in my village."  He pauses, and smiles. "Gin."

PT

I was a little taken aback by his statements, hadn't thought about having a house with all of these beauties. Was this like marriage? Whatever the case might be I turn to look at all of the barbarian woman and sigh. I could hardly believe what had transpired, let alone the concept of primitive Ozzy and Hariets' life. I smiled at the Lord and said, "well then, I might as well turn in for the night. I see I will have quite the task ahead of me. May I take my leave Lord Demric?"

I won't stand to leave until he gives the go ahead, but I ready myself and pick up my cards pack and whatever else I've gathered. IF he allows me to take off, I first raise a glass to the Widfloga myself letting the others toast as well, "he fought valiantly, though in the end I shot out his brains!"

OOC: Its like polygamy, which despite being the typical male fantasy has a lot of problems of its own.  One big one is jealousy, which the Lord Demric mentioned.

IC: Lord Demric raises an eyebrow.

"As a warrior, you sleep here, on the floor.  Your women can sleep with you. Actually, your chosen one can, the rest can sleep in the slaves' quarters."

Everyone cheers your toast to the pterosaur, and joins in.  They like the style of it.  You glance over at your four beauties, and you can see them all eager to join you on the floor in the big longhouse where all the warriors and their women sleep, and that you have the problem of Achilles who was asked by three goddesses who was the most beautiful.  Except you have four goddesses, which means three are going to be sincerely irritated with you.

Suddenly, you don't feel sober enough to navigate these cultural waters....

PT

I swipe at my brow as I move away from the table and make my way to the women, if not a little slower than I would if normally faced with this situation. I sit down among them and ask them to take a look at them no doubt eager to be set apart from the others. It already feels like an interview from my point of view, as if to say, tell me about why you want this position and what your qualifications are. My goal in all this is to divine the leader among them and perhaps allow her to take on the other three as head woman of the house. "Hello my fair Seasons...I say with a wink at them. Please allow me to introduce myself, you can call me Mac. I will try to be fair but the lord has asked that I choose only one of you to stay with me this evening. Tell me about yourselves and so that I might be fair in my choosing. Now, first of all, there will be no fighting amongst yourselves in our house. If I see that you are, you will be cast away from me. I pride myself on being a kind man, but such is a disrespect to me and I won't allow it. So please fair maidens tell me of yourselves."

It was always best to be up front about things....

"You would sell us?"  One asks.  The others look amongst each other, and you get the feeling they are working on how to manipulate you.

One then grins a bit tentatively.  She's blonde, blue-eyed, and probably the youngest.

"I am Astrid. Swedish. Sold for debts of my father.  The others are Maeve, Ingrid, and Yorvalda.  You can call me Spring, my lord.  I will be very good and loyal. I am never sad, and I sing while I work."

PT

I look at them with a very serious face, "I don't want to do such a thing and it would be only the most hardy punishment. I reserve that for any of you who would cause such chaos. I want my house to be free of <strife>. Am I understood?"

Then when Ingrid comes forward, I smile and listen. She seems sweet, but not likely to be a good leader among them. She sounds very good and gentle though, and a work ethic like that would not go unrewarded. I smile more inwardly at her words, I knew she would likely be my favorite already. "Thank you Astrid, I would happily have you in my house," I say as I lean forward to kiss her on the cheek, "and tell me of yourself Maeve."

"I am Maeve, a daughter of the Irish, and a Christian unlike these pagan devils."  She flounces her red hair, and gives you a green-eyed look that promises...

"You can call me Summer."  She seems composed of passion, both anger and otherwise.

"I am Ingrid, born of the Smarbrdcian Tribes who live south of the Russe.  They could not speak my name, so they gave me one of theirs."  Her accent is difficult, and her face and eyes borrow from Eastern Europe, and even perhaps the Gypsies.  "I was sold by my tribe for they feared I would take after my grandmother, and be a witch woman."  She smiles leaving you in doubt as to whether that was wise or unwise.

"You can call me Autumn."  She says hiding her eyes as she looks down.

The last, Yorvalda studies you for a bit.  Her hair is black, and her nose almost Roman, and her eyes gray.

"That would make me Winter. Which is fitting for I am under a geas to always tell the truth. Which I like since I find tactfulness to be a bore.  You're cute. You have all your teeth, and although your muscles look soft, still you killed a widfloga.  I and the rest of us would like new dresses, one for each, and some pretty things."

PT

I blink at Winter's response, unsure of how to take it. "You shall be the head of the house my winter vision. I'll see what I can do about the dresses, but for now I do have a few things which you may like...I like the truth and I can always spot a liar. As my first wife, I'll have you lay with me tonight."

I look through my bag, seeing if I can find any items which could be considered 'pretty things', though on the outset nothing is coming to mind. Seeing something that screams to be used, I withdraw my camera and focus it on my....errr...dates.>click< It's a kodak moment.

I put it away, thinking that it could be years before I can get those developed.

They are fascinated by the device, and pose quite prettily while you take a couple more pics.

The night continues with drinking, but Winter tells you that if you want to enjoy your night, you should take your drink watered like the Lord does.  Now you know Demric's secret for drinking like the kids, and being effective the next day.

Yorvalda bathes you with a cloth and water to get the blood off, and as the light from the fires goes down each of the girls gives you a kiss, and is off to their own bed, and Winter joins you in yours.  She's gentle for the sake of your injuries, but the Norse weren't known for their repressed behavior, which you can tell by the noises of a number of the other warriors in the big hall sharing their blankets.

On the next morning, you wake earlier than everyone else.  Partially your wound which made sleep restless, and partially the fact that you didn't drink yourself into a stupor.

PT

Before business gets started, I take a power bar from my pack and munch on it, sharing a bite with Yorvalda if I awaken her. Then figuring that I'll need to beef up if I want to be anywhere near competitive with the rest of the vikings, I go for a jog through the town. Afterwords I do some excercises to try and limber up. Hopefully after getting into a daily regiment I can become more tone, and maybe feel a little more respectable next to the 'warriors'.

As I jog the village I try to get a sense of the landscape and layout of the village, it also provides me some exposure to the people of the place. I reason that if they see me often I may become more of a likable guy to them, a friendly face. In all business, connections are vital. To those who I pass a will nod and smile, learning the faces.

Afterwords I return, do some pullups on the rafters of the lodge and return to Yorvalda until the others awaken, and then I can figure out what and where I'm supposed to fit into this town.

The people who pass give you small nods to be polite, but mostly they are just staring at you as if you were flying or running with a chicken on your head.  One fellow in his brown undershirt comes blinking out of his hut, and stares at you with open mouth, and then just reaches back a long arm to drag out his wife.  Who while holding a baby stares at you with a dumbfounded look as well.

Its a small town, almost a village, with well spaced out huts.  The whole thing is between two ridges that go out into the sea to become the fjord walls, and on a tilted land of rock that faces the sea.  One road, the one you took, leads into town.  None leads out again.

You do less pullups than you'd like, but then your arm is terribly bruised, and hurts quite a bit.  In fact, you stop after five.

By this time, the warriors are waking up, and they greet you with grumbles, and you fall in as this seems expected.  They all troop down to the shoreline, and muster up their courage, strip, and charge into the near freezing sea for a quick dip.

After that, its off to the sauna to sit for an hour and breathe fog in an almost blistering hot steambath.

PT

I curtly nod asking one of the warriors during that sauna, "So do we live in the lodge?"

I lean back when I ask, wincing a little at the tender shoulder, breathing in the nearly smoldering vapors. Sitting between two of these guys, I am instantly reminded of a Halls commercial I once saw, "Breath my pasty white friend, Breathe!", it rang in my head. It was one of the things that had been too deeply ingrained in my psyche, pop culture references, it would be a very long time before I forgot them.

He looks strangely at you.

"Of course."

After the sauna and getting dressed, Lord Demric comes over to you.

"While you're getting well, you claimed skill at merchanting. Want to ride with me to the Scith Islands, and go to their faire?"

PT

While at first I had thought that the idea of travel by water was a bad thing, already worse things had happened to me then being eaten by a Nessy. Why not, I thought to myself. This would be a rare chance to learn more of this world and it's inhabitants and get a view of all this scenery. Not only that, but I could do what I'm best at, selling things. I could stretch my business legs, plying my many skills of merchandizing and fast talking. It would be interesting to find out how the exchanges would work out, hopefully for the better. "I'd be glad to help out in any way I can, Lord Demric."

"Good, we leave tommorrow."  He claps you on the shoulder, and then you are apparently free for the day.

There are warriors practising their sword work, and some people are carting the head of the dinosaur down to the beach to be loaded into a boat.  Women sit outside their cottages, and keep half and eye on children, and use the other half to work on spinning thread.

PT

A friend of mine had aquired a pair of bokken and shinai in highschool for sword play and such. Which had been interesting and difficult to get any proficiency at but I had picked up the basics at least and the sword practice had caught my eye a bit. So I went to join them, watch their styles and moves, and perhaps emulate them after a while.

They practise, and you can see that there is a definite style to their fighting, which is very dissimiliar from what you have known.  Its a very lethal, and rough and tumble style with different moves practised for various situations....ranging from a one on one fight to fighting in a line of battle to shipboard combat.

They hack, they slash, pierce, and hilt-bash, and shield bash, and the slamming of their weapons echoes up and down the fjord.  Its very vigorous, and totally without any Marquis of Queensberry notions.

Its also totally different than your bokken double weapons figthing since they use shield and a long blade or shield and an axe.

You begin practising with them, and after a bit you realize they are surprised at how little you know about sword-fighting, especially with a straight blade.  However, they are more than willing to teach you, and in a way this increased their respect for you because despite this disadvantage, you did kill a flying dinosaur which all acknowledge as quite the challenge. All it requires from you to join in is a willingness to get occasionally slashed or have a nose broken in training...

PT
OOC: At least half these guys, or twenty would qualify as black belts if they were martial artists.  They are professional swordsmen. And the best couple are downright scary/beautiful.

I liked the movie Time Cop except the part where kicker guy dances all over the bare knuckle boxer who had sparred with a world-class heavyweight.  Sorry, our hero would have likely gotten his head handed to him.  Not that Tae Kwon Do is inferior to Bare knuckle Boxing, but there is a lot to be said for a good straight jab, and an almost inhuman ability to soak up punishment.

I am willing, since as one man put it not so long ago or lifetimes ago depending on your perspective, "If the going ever gets too bad, remember: in essence, you are immortal: you're not going to get any older."

I begin putting myself into the fighting fully, letting the teeachings absorb me. I do what I can to learn from them, because I know, somewhere inside me, that I will need it in the time ahead. The gun, after all won't last forever...in fact I hadn't checked on that in a while....<smack>, okay focus McCallister, don't lose an arm over a tangiential thought.

OOC: Sorry for the prolonged absence. I've been woefully busy and having a hard time spending the little free time I've had, online. I'm stil about though, so don't worry.

You spend the next couple hours on the field.  The best part of your previous training is the falls that you were starting to learn.

You catch one guy off-guard after he knocks you to the ground with a shield-bash, and he rushes in to finish you off, but you've already rolled to your feet.

The next day you find that the meet is postponed because of a sea serpent moved into the area.  So instead, over the next two weeks you concentrate on getting better in health and in skill.  And the girls look for ways to twist you around their fingers.

Its pleasant.  You feel healthier than ever what with the clean air, solid food, and extremely vigorous exercise.  The daily dunkings in the ice carrying fjord followed by the steaming sauna seems almost reasonable now.  And the girls regard you as a soft touch, which is in general good thing, although you have had to yell at them a couple times when they got out of hand with their sniping at each other.

PT

I relish the experience and take what I can from the lessons. I do what I can, where I can in an attempt to gain as much from it all as is possible. My goal is to bring myself to their level, which would be difficult, as they had their entire lives to accomplish the feat. So I feel I have to catch up. I maintain an excercise schedule, making sure to change my bandages regularly. I take small trips to the surrounding area to scope out the foliage and see if I can use any of it to stock up my medkit, using my herbal guidebook. At night when we aren't drinking ourselves into oblivion, I take the opportunity to read the novel of the Stand, as sort of a nighttime amusement. I talk with Lord Demric about the wares for sale and I see what the economic situation of the town entails, to help him formulate a strategy.

You find a few things that seem to match your pictures, but they are stunted in size compared to what is listed.  And the local wisewoman comes upon you one time as you are gathering.

"Aye, I knew there was ought strange about you when I first laid eyes on you, Man of the Knotted Cord.  You can use this flower, if taken in the morning for healing, and after noon, for hurting, if you say the proper spells."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You heal fast.  The water and air are clear, and viruses are few since there are so few of their hosts (humanity) in the world.  So within a week, you no longer need the bandages.

The skin still itches, and you'll have some gorgeous scars, but you're fine.

The town is mostly self-sufficient, but it has an excess of wool from shepherds such as the one you met which is its primary trade good, well that, and some pottery that the high-born women decorate.  Pretty much everything else gets used in the village.

PT

I decided to visit some of the herders to see what could be done to make my venture more profitable. I had to see what they were doing with the wool that was gathered; to find out if anyone in the village made more of it than just bundles to be sold later. On my way to tour, I stopped to find some of the flowers that the woman had showed me.

As the days went on, I had decided to put storytelling into my portfoio. I told them the story of Carrie, Crime and Punishment, the Grimm's fairytales that I could remember and Star Wars. All modified for their period of course. It had always been something I was good at, something that I missed, my daughter had loved it.

As I kept with the routine I was developing, I put alot of thought into what the Wisewoman had said. It was strange because I had never put much stock into things like that before. It started to nag at me though, and within a few days, curiosity had gotten the better of me. So I went to visit her, by now I had learned the lay of the land and those that dwelled within.

Your stories and your games make you very popular.  It gets to be a routine.  A story at night, and then some cards, and then some discussion with Lord Demric, which drifts into drinking.

All told, the people here are drinking far less than before, and its making them more productive which Lord Demric likes.  You realize that you are being included in his smaller circle of confidants.

The wise woman, the smith, the two boat captains, a couple of the toughest warriors, and you are his close circle.  And while a few grumble at your elevation, most like you for your gifts, and courage, and willingness to learn.

On the downside?? You're considered a Hero.

You go visit the wise woman, and she asks what you want as she gets tea for both of you in her small hut.

I didn't really know why I was here, curiosity, questions about those flowers, I honestly didn't know. There was a time when this would've made me look at the woman with a funny face, trying to figure out what had driven her to this point. Now I was taking a seat in front of her, digging for the right words. All that had happened since falling from the cliff face...

"I was just wondering about what you had said...about the flowers. Spells you said..."

"I am not a priestess of the gods,  I make no sacrifices by my own hands.  What I do is work magic.  Potions, charms, and the like.  I cast runestones to see the future.  I've travelled on the wind, and seen into the heart of my adversary, and cast fear into the heart of raiders, and woke the wolf in a quiet man, and soothed pain, and calmed fevers."

She begins to show you her stuff.  Some you recognize. Some is herbalism.  She demonstrates how to make a potion of speed, and while it involves chants, much involves steeping flowers which after one taste you can tell have a significant stimulant in them.  That potion she is making is a crude and probably very powerful variant of 'speed'.  But still, as you listen to her chant, you feel the hair on your arms rise, and a wind swirls through the room seemingly in time with the rhythm of her chants.

She finishes, and melts some wax to seal it.

"Now what spell do you want?" She cackles. "I don't think you need a love spell."

PT

Well, I thought, what sort of spell do I want? I didn't actually come for a spell at all, I realized.

There was an odd mix of feelings running through me at that time. It was strange, but I got the feeling that there could be other powers at work other than the ones that I had conventionally been taught of chemistry and physics. "I came to see what you can do, and perhaps to learn about your craft. Would you be so kind as to show me the ways in which you may accomplish those tasks you spoke of?"

She nods thoughtfully.

"You seek wisdom. Very well."

She tosses a collection of runestones down on the table before you.

"Each rune is a word, but properly used, its also a spell. Odin sacrificed his eye to learn nine runes.  But I'm not as harsh.  Still, you may expect pain in your learning.  And fear.  Are you still interested in wisdom, Man of the Knotted Cord?"

PT

I suppressed a smile, realizing she was refering to my tatoo, but I knew she was serious and I didn't want to offend. "I am."

I was sure that this would play out in my mind like an eighties montage of wax-on, wax-off sort of exercises. Of course I had been wrong before and this was likely to be one of those times. If she agreed to teach me what she knew that is. If not it would be learning a new craft, creating cloth from wool....it didn't seem as appealing somehow.

She shows you a cord with knots in it.

"When you first arrived, you interested me, so I cast your fate by weaving your life line as the Norns would."

She pauses.

"Never have I seen one with more than one knot in it, and that was a boy who drowned, but then came back to life after he was pulled from the water, the Lord Demric."

And then she reveals that the cord is a circle.

"This I have not seen, nor heard tell of.  Not even the gods have cords of fate that circle on themselves.  You are something new in the world."

Nope, not your tattoo.

First things first, you learn to read in the Nordic fashion, that is Runic.  It takes a while, and more than anything else it reminds you of some elderly English schoolteachers you had.

PT

Ahhh....she somehow knows I'm a Verser....I have to give her credit there.

I feign some ignorance of this however, "What do you mean? 'Cords of Fate'?"

There was something else here at work, and I tried to skew my questions to find out exactly what it was that she used to find me out. Was it some psionic power or perhaps something else? The answers were almost too broad in their implications to speculate.

"The three Norns spin, measure, and cut the threads of Fate.  With my magic, I am able to peek at what they do, and crudely replicate it on my loom."

Then she gives you a sharp-eyed look.

"How is it that you do not know of the Fates, which drive every man, and decide all his breaths and his thoughts for him?  From what far land might you have come?  I wonder, are you a worshipper of the White Christ, like the monks who fetch a good ransom price? Or from further still?"

PT

Perhaps I spoke too soon...

"I have heard them in passing, but the technique and words you use is foreign to me. I apologize for my ignorance."

I hoped that would temporarily get me off the hook. This was after all a new concept, and I had heard of the three fates from mythology, I wasn't lying by saying that in the slightest. This was new to me, but I didn't want it to hamper my learning of these things, since I honestly wanted to know how she could divine such things.

She takes out her runestones, lays them in order, and then takes a bottle out.

She then has you stand, without speaking, and ushers you to the fjord.  Its evidently time for another dunking.  You get dunked, and your head scrubbed with soap, and then dried in the sauna which is more bearable during this time of the day since the embers are dying down.

The whole while, she urges you with a finger to the lips to remain silent.

Once back, she makes some odd smelling tea.

She opens the bottle, and paints the runestones red.  You're familiar with the smell of blood from your work.

Then she gives you a tiny spoonful of the tea, and herself one as she takes up her ball of thread, and her loom.  By the great care with the tea, you can tell its dangerous...

Do you want to drink, or alter anything, or give her a message....

PT

I take the offered spoon looking into it questioningly, but I remain silent. I hadn't bet on peyote tea today but what could it hurt...right?

I drink it up and see if I can identify it's nature, though it will probably tastes very badly. The copper smell of the blood and tea mixing makes me feel like I spent a summer with my Unitarian friends. They were always doing things like this. I wondered briefly, will this kill me? It was a thought I'd had more than once when I'd visited my friends too.

You sip the bitter mixture, and while its not peyote, its definitely something.  You feel your tongue numb instantly.

And then you sag in the chair as she begins to chant in a repetitious way using words you don't understand.

And then you find yourself reaching for the runestones, and rearranging them.  You feel warmth and certainty flow up your arms as you touch the stones, and you can feel your own lungs fill, and a voice that is unwilled by you come from your lips.

"Tommorrow is my from
My life a multi-parted sum
It is good
Peace and full of food
Then spark
And Hark!
I, like Odin's Raven
Am always Leavin'
Worlds below
Far behind me they go
The ice hills I know
Where cold winds blow
So too the straining land
Which quivers under Entropy's hand
Now I know
Land of hero
Soon I see
The wolf who is a bee
And there we stand,
Axe and hand
Against the eater of the band."

You sag, and shudder, and the witch woman gets you some clear water to drink.  Perhaps twenty minutes later, a bit light-headed, but you feel mostly yourself again.

pt

Feeling the mixture work upon my conciousness was an altogether strange thing. I was used to being in control of myself and the weird shift was unsettling to say the least, though also strangely relaxing. The fact that I had uttered a poem that I had no part in making was equally disturbing, it was, to say the least, terrifying. It made me think of my subconcious, was it what had loosed the verses of rhyme on my mouth? And by extension, was this some kind of hypnosis?

These questions began to swim through my brain as it defuzzed. I absently wring my hands as if I were trying to feel that warmth and certainty once again. Perhaps the best part about this suddenly strange event. Then again, what had been normal since the company retreat, which seemed now like so long ago...

OOC: Its good to be back, and playing alongside all of you again.

The wise woman sits down in front of you, and offers you some lamb and barley porridge with honey and milk.

"Eat, it will center you back into your body."

As you start, and she does on her plate as well, she talks.

"What happened to you is that you touched your Greater Self.  There is a part of you that lives outside Time.  This self can hardly communicate with your Daily Self since the Daily Self is so noisy.  This Greater Self stands, among other places, in the Cave of the Norns, and so it sees them weaving your life threads, and it communicates to you in rhyme and riddle once you are quieted, and the thread of connection is made stronger."

She looks to see if you have any questions.

"Now, we need to try to understand this saying, for such things are invariably of importance."

PT
OOC: I'm pretty sure Nordic Vikings wouldn't have peyote, but I'm not sure what hallucinogens they would have.  Any ideas?

I shiver again at the thought of the words that I had spoken. It was only too clear what a good portion of that was. It echoed of the life that I had been leading lately, what DiVar's had called Versing. It often seemed that time itself had been fluid in his travels, had it really only been a few days since he had died and left that world and two others behind?

"I would like to learn what the ice hills are, and the straining land. I believe this is the land of the heroes. Though I cannot tell who the Eater of the Band is..."

My face contorts into confusion for a moment, because it sounded just like something Steven King would write. Curse you Stephen King and your influence on my mind!
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 19:21, Fri 08 Dec 2006.

She nods. And then she begin to make up another potion.

Imbibing it takes you back in memory to the ice mountain, and you see it before you.

But then you feel yourself falling through the snow and plunging downward.

You stop in front of a guy who despite the lack of light, you can see clearly.

He's long dead, and wearing a 'Save the Whales' t-shirt.

PT

In reality I shake my head, eyes closed, wondering if this was a real memory or some kind of vision. "The ice hills...but I've never been anywhere like that...that I can remember."

My mind feels some confusion at the memory of the guy who wore a 'Save the Whales' t-shirt. Could my mind be making this up, could it be something I once saw on TV or something equally ridiculous? This all seemed so strange and foreign, where did this image come from?

You stare at him for a long while as you mumble.  In the distance, you hear an old woman's voice descend down to you.

"You see your past, the veil of time is twisted aside for you, and you fall deeper into the well..."

You see the man in what seems to be the blink of an eye, be covered with snow, die, fall and stagger, and then you see him standing with a small group of people.

All of them are dressed rather inappropriately for the snow and ice around them.  Modern clothes..t-shirts, tennis shoes, a pair of cut-off jeans.

You see a woman speak to the man, and suddenly with a wrench you understand her words, and you're heading forward in time now.

"We have to burn something.  Even burn the city if we have too.  We need heat."

"No. Greenhouse gasses will doom us.  Burning is wrong." Your 'host' says.

"Icebergs are coming down the Napa Valley, man." One of the others, a guy with a goatee and a LA Raiders ballcap says.  "Get real."

"We cleaned up the Earth, got rid of industry, and now at the first sign of a problem you want to turn your back on the Mother?"  In disgust, your 'host' turns and hikes alone up into the ice.

PT

My Past?!......

I try to hold onto the image and maybe get something more from it. My mind wants to reject this strange not-my-memory, but I hold fast knowing that things seem to happen for a reason, cause and effect. This had to be something important to me, or else it wouldn't have come up, even if it was an abstraction of my mind. I could try to make sense of it later, but for now I just needed a bit more, to see what the link to me was, how these things were my 'past'. If in fact the woman was right at all...

The thought struck me then, was this the story of this land? I felt my body far away shift a bit uncomfortably as these things came to mind.

In a sudden blur, you watch the man walk up into the hills of ice, and die all over again.  He's covered by ice, and suddenly you're rising to the surface.

You see Michael arrive with his Imperial Canadian Humvee.

He looks up.

"Whoever you are, I don't like being spied on."

He waves a hand, and suddenly you're looking down on an antebellum mansion.  You see a car speeding away.  It gets attacked, and eventually goes over the edge into the river.

You see yourself take a fatal injury. And suddenly disappear.

But your viewpoint just speeds up.  Decay and chaos flower, and you can see the smoke from the city burn over the horizon.  Hundreds of deaths occur at that turn in the road as you watch the years speed by.

Until finally there is a bright flash.

And the landscape is barren.

And you see below you a figure in a black cloak and hood.

Its walking about the ruined mansion.

The figure looks at you, and grins a skeletal smile inside its shadow filled hood.

"Well, worldwalker, you wanted answers.  The traditional method is to play me a game.  Chess is most popular."

He waves a hand, and  a board on a table appears.

"Black for the endless night, or white for bone, I care not. In the end, Entropy always wins, even over such as you."

PT

Suddenly I was putting it all together. Almost stark terror gripped me as I realized that this was in fact reality, existent within my mind, really happening. I was staring at the face of death, it was The Reaper. I'd thought all of that old wive's tales, myth and legend, storybook stuff. In a moment of absurdity I recalled the meeting between Bill and Ted with Death...

The Man who died in the ice was in fact, the man who had fallen from the mountain, whom I had tried to help in my original time and place, on the company retreat, my first Verser encounter. Michael the second verser I had met, and finally the nightmarish mansion world as well where I had met my own end trying to save Bill's life after he'd been shot. Entropy...yes, entropy doesn't affect me does it, no matter what happens I just get bumped to the next world...

After my initial revelations, and my horror had died down, I finally ponied up the guts to make my voice speak. I've never been good at chess, as seeing moves ahead of time was never one of my stronger points. I was however pretty good at less abstract games of strategy. I took a note from Bill and Ted, "How about a game of Risk?"

I had played the game with my older brothers and friends, and always came out on top or in stalemate in the end, having learned from my brother Jason, who was very knowledgeable about military tactics.

"Risk. Interesting." He waves a bony hand, and a board of Risk replaces the chess board.  The only two colors for armies are black and white.

You choose a side, and begin to lay out your pieces.

"You know Worldwalker, you were supposed to foil me once back in 1973." Suddenly its the mansion again, and you're in a meadow overlooking it, but the Reaper still stands in front of you.  "You failed then. Entropy still spills out of the hole the voodoo priestess tore in the world.  What makes you think you can beat me now?"

He chuckles. It sounds like a dying man's last breath.

PT
OOC: Whats your general strategy for Risk?  I know enough of the game to have a preferred strategy for it.  Actually last time I played it was this Christmas vacation.  So, I'd like to evaluate your battle plan, and then roll the dice with that plan in mind before telling you what happens.

I'm still not sure at what I'm seeing, but it seems that this face of death is just what it says it is. I'm not going to be the one to test the boundaries of that particular notion either. As Risk replaces the chess board I shift a bit unsettled by the ease in which the being takes it all in. I did however feel somewhat justified in the actions that I did take that day at the mansion, "I may not have fixed the world, but I saved Bill's life. I think that counts against you, Mr.Entropy...and that answers something that's been plaguing me. Thank you. I kind of thought there was something guiding me to these times and places. Now I know."

I begin placing my starting white armies after drawing my cards each turn. Then it began...

OOC: I usually start by taking Australia and fortifying at the Philipines. Taking and keeping Asia is a pipedream unless you're playing against some really silly folks or unlucky. So I'd settle for the Eastern part to keep my supply lines into North America. If I can take both of those rather quickly then the game will be mine (Though I would be rather cautious not to overextend myself in those places). The other random places I will take and hold if possible, but mainly for harrying larger forces and keeping my opponent from taking whole continents.

He puts down a piece with unneccessary firmness, and you continue to follow your strategy.  He's angered, and it shows in his tactical choices with him trying to conquer Europe even though you've got it held too strongly.

You're able to build your link to North Africa just ahead of  him finally wiping you out in Europe, and then its a clear trajectory forward with you always pushing him back just before he' sready to push you.

There is a moment when he turns in his Risk cards and takes an army of twenty-five and ravages Europe and North Africa, and for a second, you think he might take both continents from you, and you would be broken, but his attack stalls with four dice rolls of "1" in a row.

And then you turn in your cards for thirty, and repair the damage and wipe him from the board.

"Well then, ask me your questions, if you dare."

PT
OOC: Hmmh. I agree that Asia is a sucker's play except if you get really lucky.  However, I find that Australia is too isolated having too few links and only Asia in front of it, and that two additional armies per turn is not enough to keep you in the running.  However, your link to North Africa might remedy that defect.  It would be interesting to see how it worked out.

My preferred technique is to set up in South America and try to expand slowly toward Africa, and perhaps America with a nicely cautious building up of forces.

It almost surprizes me when I do finally win, but there is something to be said for some sound experiece and good lessons. Could it be that death is rather limited in his strategies or is it that I have angered him so much? Hard to tell, but now I've done it, time to try and focus on the task at hand. I had craft my question carefully. I'd heard stories of crafty beings, that would get out of a question or wish by purposely and subtly misunderstanding it. It all lay in the wording.

Once I was convinced that I had my questions I began carefully. "Why am I in my current world and why do people 'verse'?"

It was a couple questions that I hadn't had the presence of mind to ask DiVars way back in my first jump. That and the information that Entropy had revealed to me before the game had lead me to come up with it as well.

"You've already been told the first one, and for the second, you ask the Reaper what is the Purpose of Life? Why death, of course.  There is no purpose to life or to versing."

He chuckles cruelly.

PT

My brow knotted as my anger rose a bit, but I'm hard to anger, even in moments like this. I felt my cheeks blush with it's hash laugh. I hadn't made them specific enough, not as watertight as I should've. Think Mac, think, "Okay, let's try this again. Is the entropy hole in my current world...this world where dinosaurs and humans coexist? And what makes us 'Versers'?"

I hoped it would be enough, that it couldn't circle this revised set of questions.

The Reaper stares for a long time, and you begin to suspect that he's trying to come up with a way to mess with you.  Finally, he replies in short.

"No."

And then another wait, and he replies.

"A verser is infiltrated with scriff.  This scriff sets up a pattern memory when certain conditions are met so that when your pattern is sufficiently disrupted, the scriff seeks its natural home.  However, your matter is not at home there, and expels itself with the attached scriff into a new universe, and the pattern asserts itself, thus re-integrating you, and cheating me."

Suddenly, you're waking from the 'dream', and you see the Nordic sorceress fanning you in the face with some pungent herb.

PT

Ripped out of the situation and still so much to try to figure out. At least I had gained some valuable information. The death figure, Mr.Entropy, was interesting, but it also provided me with the necessary intel I needed to continue more effectively, now I knew I was here for a reason, that all of this wasn't as random as DiVars had lead me to believe, but like he had said..."not a vacation."

I blinked at the old woman and wrinkled my nose at the strong smells. I looked at her wizened face and wondered, How did she do that?

"Old woman has powers, Man of the Knotted Cord.  I have been places that would shrivel your soul, and talked to creatures best not mentioned even at high noon. I have learned languages, and herbs, and incantations.  You too can continue your study with me, but you might not ever sleep peaceful again."

She cackles with grim enthusiasm.

PT

My brow furrowed with determination. This was it, this was what I had come to this woman for in the first place. It was time to get down to business. I looked up at her again this time I had some knowledge to go off of, even if none of it seemed to fit the rules of my old life, all of this seemed to break the rules of my old life. None of it fit within those confines of 'normal' any longer, and the more I fought it, the more likely I would go insane.

It was time to accept my new life, with new rules.

"Okay, I'm ready. I don't think I'll sleep peacefully ever again anyway."

"Very well.  I shall teach you your first charm."  She begins to mix further potions, and in a few minutes has a drink for you.

It smells like blood.

You drink down its bitter taste, and shudder as it hits your stomach.  And then you feel like you're falling, and falling, and plunging through the ground, and through the center of the Earth, and still falling.

Until, you crash into a sloped hill covered with exquisite white tulips set on whippy, and intertwining vines bedecked with inch long thorns.

You move slightly, and they pierce your skin.

"All you have to do is walk to the base of the hill."  You hear whispered in your ear.

PT

I grimace when the thorns begin to pierce and scratch watching as they draw blood along my arms, legs, torso and catching on my clothing. I hear the words but cannot fathom how to move through these beautiful yet seemingly deadly plants. "How can I ignore the pain of the thorns?"

Then it comes to me, a concept from the old movie Dune. A trap for Muadieb, the pain box. It was designed to bring the illusion of tremendous pain, of agonizing flesh being seared off the bone. I gathered that this was my own pain box.

So I closed my eyes and began to focus on all of this as illusion. To attempt to conquer my fear. I will not fear, fear is the mindkiller....I will not fear..."

The pain fades, and despite its hammering presence outside, inside you're calm even as the thorns slice your flesh as you progress down the hill.

And there at the base of the hill, you see a rune inscribed a foot high in the granite of the world.  You study it, and as you do, all your bleeding stops.  As long as you hold it in your mind, your bleeding stops.

And then you're ripped back into the world.

"Well done. You've learned the Rune to Stop Bloodloss."  The old woman says over you as she pats your head with a damp natural sponge.  But you realize you've learned more than expected.

"Now, my fine young magician, I have to say that I think you should rest. Recover, give the body other things to worry itself on.  You could press on, but then you might kill yourself.  Each test is a strain, and each test requires you to drink some crazy old woman's idea of a potion, so....?"

PT
OOC: 1@1 Stop Bloodloss--Nordic Runic Magic.  1@1 Through Concentration Ignore Pain--Psionic Skill.

OOC: Glad to see you back!

I take that as a compliment but nod in response, obediently. "Many thanks old woman. I also saw an evil figure in my vision."

I was feeling strained as she had said, not to mention a bit woozy, however it felt as though I'd won some kind of victory today. I also knew that this was only the tip of the iceberg.

After I leave, I'll be going back to the village and taking in the sights along the way. Keeping careful note of things which might be used in surplus and taken to the market.

Since the locals know what you're planning, you have several crafters bring out some of their best crafts.  A bit of silverwork, a brass cloak pin, some decorated pottery with your victory over the widfloga inscribed on the outside (although it shows you as Thor, and Mjolnir as your gun...).

You're still tired the next day, and you receive complaints from your sword brothers who want you at your best when you fight, and from your wives who want you alert for, ahem, other activities.  But, the magic took a huge amount of energy out of you.

"Another week." Lord Demeter says as he passes you on the way to the long house, and dinner.  You quickly realize he means to ship for the market faire in a week or a bit more, and he's telling you so.

PT

Then as the next few days go by, I take to sleep a bit early and continue to try to get my keel even again. However I do not stop my visits to the Old woman, she is my only concrete link to what is happening to me and the strange situations I find myself in. So I try my best to please all parties including myself. The one thing that I do curb is the amount of drink that I take in at night, good as that honey mead is, I can do without.

I figure that the only way to improve my ability to handle this 'magic' is to continue to excercise it. Like any muscle, it is the sort of thing that should only grow stronger as you use it, I reasoned.

I also make a list of the best that the village has to offer in so far as food and goods to take to the market faire. This should help me to decide what will be best and what can be bargained with to sweeten a deal. I try to write it in the same kind of runic script that I've seen here after having been around a while.

You develop more resistance, but its still vastly tiring. Perhaps if you keep working at it you will develop more. However, part of it is simply taking odd potions which is going to be hard on you (although you can build up your tolerance for that too.)

The week passes, and with much yelling you set forth on a dragonboat.

Two days later, you see a flipper come out of the water, and sweep the helmsman into the water.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:12, Sat 02 June 2007.

"Holy cow!" I exclaim, "what was that?"

I immediately grab some rigging and look toward the water for any sign of the man. My heart began to race, and my sword finds it's way almost instinctively to my hands. I thankfully realize that the gun will have little if any effect after it hits water, so that won't be of any use in this situation (not to mention I'm sure I don't have much ammo left).

There's some babbling of words like "Sea Monster!" as weapons and shields are readied.  You hear shouts, and then the lord hollers at a few to get properly in line, and wait.  You join them and wait nervously.

But it did not look like a sea serpent or sea dragon to you.  It looked like a picture you'd seen in a childrens' book on dinosaurs.

Plesiosaur.

It breaches from the water twenty feet away.  Its as long as your boat, and its mouth is easily big enough to bite from the top rail to the keel of the boat.

The men shout and scream at it in a mixture of total terror and trying to intimidate it as a lion might roar at a rival.

PT

My mind began to race. There was only one thing I could think of in this moment. It was the sound that the pterodactyl had made as it had descended to finish me off.

Not yet!

I shouted to the men, the only solution that made any sense. "We have to trap it's head! Nets! Rope! Something, Lord!"

Where was Lord Demric? I looked across the boat to see what he was doing. Suddenly, I felt more calm than I had since arriving here. Like this was the eye of the storm. All the others were no doubt crazed and ready to fight with brute force, so I looked for a line of rope, something that could be tied into a snare, perhaps two snares to hold equally apart.

Lord Demric is standing near the new helmsman with his sword out, and using it as a pointer to keep order.

You grab rope, and with cool, almost calm focus begin to loop it into two separated knots.  And then you feel a jolt under the ship as the plesiosaur smashes into the keel.

You hear a long creakkkkkkkkkkk like doom, and then the boat shudders back down into the water, and everyone is covered by gallons of spray.  The boat still floats.  Its keel is unbroken.

PT

As I finish the first huge slip knot, I grab one of my sword brothers and pull him to me. I yell over the commotion, handing the loop to him "we have to trap it! Tie this off to the mast and make ready to throw it over the creature's head!"

Then I glance at Lord Demric, nodding and taking the second rope into my hands, moving swiftly toward the second mast as I tie the new slip knot. I yell at the top of my lungs, "We're going to take it's head to market! Some one tie this off to the second mast!"

If the creature doesn't tear this boat apart first...I did it once, can I do it a second time?

The knot gets tied to a crosstie in the bottom of the dragonboat, and then the loop is thrown.  It slides off the nose of the creature, and the plesiosaur slides up alongside the railing, and lurches upwards spray soaking everyone as the boat keels over on its side, and starts taking water.

The railing crunches, and the men fall back, but strike with their swords and spears as they do, and you see blood is drawn.  Its enough to make the plesiosaur back off for another try.

No human lost their life on this attempt.

The man you gave the loop too retrieves it and hands it back to you.

"You are the gods-blessed hero, may Thor guide your arm."

PT

I take the loop knowing that there was scant time.

For some reason I thought about the time on my families farm as a youngster. I had learned to ride horse there and even competed in the county rodeo as a kid. The big event of the day was calf roping. Which was pretty hard for youngsters, but easy fair for a practiced adult, like my dad. There it was though, the loop in my hands, it was calf roping all over again.

I sheathed my sword. Can I do it?

There was no time to delve into that question. I grabbed tightly to the slack and began to swing the rope over my head. I was waiting for the moment when the long necked creature snaked it's head above rail for a another bite. It would probably be the last chance we'd get.

Your first loop is on its way, and then an errant blast of water smacks it and closes the loop.  The monster bites down, getting of chunk of deck lodged sideways in its mouth, and someone lunges forward and stabs near its eye.

You shake out the now wet rope, and give it another try as the thrashing of the irritated monster shakes the boat.

It settles like a feather dropping right upon the spot you wanted.

PT
OOC:  I'll call that a new skill use, and you gain a mark, since I doubt too many Texan cowboys ever roped a Plesiosaur from the deck of a Viking longboat.

One down!

I pull it as tighhtly as I can muster, trying to close the loop around it's neck quick. Hopefully quicker than it can wriggle itself free.

I try to contain my total surprise. The danger was now more dangerous now. We had to kill it before it killed us. If I manage to keep it steady for a moment or two, I will take the opportunity to lunge with my sword. My target is the beasts temple. Most creatures have relatively little protection at the temple. I knew for instance, that it took only three pounds of pressure to kill a person if you hit the right spot on the temple. It seemed the logical choice.

You tighten, and it dives.  The boat shudders, and then the rails go under the water, and ocean pours in over the rails as you struggle forward against the ton weight of water battering you from in front and behind.

You hear screams of terror as men are swept overboard, and curses even as some retain their calm and try for a shot at the beast.

And then it breaches, yanking the boat skyward.  The mast cracks.  You feel a truly disconcerting second of freefall as you stand up to your waist in water in the boat.

And then a bonejarring hit as you land.

A second passes, and your brain just records that you're still alive, and then suddenly you're alert again....however, you can't see the beast although the line is still taut over the edge of the shattered railing.

PT

No...such a called shot would certainly miss. I had to hit it at the base of the skull. For a second I envision what that would look like...a ton of reptile squirming like a chicken with it's head cut-off...

It's a bad thought. I hope it slides back into the water afterword...

With my hand on the rope and the other on a sword, I start to see if I can close the distance between myself and the creature. Before he tears us apart, I needed to swing with the power and confidence that I had shown to my sword-brothers.

You pull yourself forward, and come close enough for a quarter of a second to see its eye, and it see you.  Its a weird moment of communion.  Both of you want to live, and for that to happen one of you has to die.

And then it thrashes away shaking the boat, and you've got your strike.  You swing, and hack at its neck, and your footing slips.  Not much, just an inch, but enough to rob your strike of that extra bit of power.

Still you rip open its neck, and with a cheer other men take heart and surge forward as well.

PT

For a moment, I feel a pang of regret. It did not have the luxury of moving on to another world. No second chance for it, perhaps this is the only world with dinosaurs that reached this age...or was it? Could it be that this creature could also have another life ahead of it, something that I was not privy to understanding? Maybe we would meet again.

"Till we meet again beast!"

I find my footing, leaning on the rope as heavily as I could. Then I readied myself for another strike, this time I was a bit more careful of my footing. No more pain for the miraculous creature. I swing, as hard as I can, using every ounce of power within my arm. Using the rope to guide my shot towards the beast's neck...

You bury your sword into its neck, and there is a pause, and then the blood jets in a great gush out of it to cover you from head to toe, and blind you.  Suddenly you're moving, and you're not sure how.

Plunging.  Surrounded by water.

Your eyes clear, and you see the boat above you, and the light of the surface growing distant.

The plesiosaur is diving down, straight down, streaming a thick plume of blood, and mortally wounded.  You're thirty feet from its head, and being hauled downward by the rope attached to its face, and wrapped twice about your right ankle, and right calf.

PT

I struggle against the current of water and the rope pulling me deeper. I spoke too soon...

With whatever I have left, I try to bend my body on itself, reaching for the rope twisted around my leg. I've definitely never been a great swimmer but this was life and death...well mostly life. If I can get the rope off of my leg, there's a good chance that I'll be able to get back to the boat.

There weren't many options at this point. I could of course try to take the beast with me, but what would that actually accomplish for me? Nothing, that's what. If I had a knife I might be able to cut the rope, but my pack was stowed with the other cargo. So that's why they call it a survival knife...it's a moment of brutal hilarity.

You jerk yourself up to your ankle as the water shoves at your body, and you spin counterclockwise.  You seem to hear the harsh laughter of Mr. Entropy in your ear as you struggle with the tightly bound rope, and spikes of pain chase themselves down your imprisoned calf.

You rip at the rope, and loose only a fingernail.  This hardly slows you.  Another jerk at the rope, and you're free of one loop.  Another jerk, and you feel like you've ripped a muscle in your back, but with hope you see only the ankle loop left to go.

You start to reach up the last six inches for it, and become aware that the surface has gotten a lot further away, and you're feeling compressed.  Your head aches.

You pull yourself clear, and...

PT

I can do nothing but try to get myself up there to the dot of the longboat at the surface. I try not to struggle, but instinct is a hard thing to fight. I let out a few bubbles of air in the hope that it will stave off carbon dioxide poisoning. My head swirls with all the strange refractive colors that seem to surround me. Only a little bit more...Music of all things begins to play just inside my ears.

There's got to be some way out of this. I can't get no release. There's too much con-fusion...
This message was last edited by the player at 16:41, Sat 16 June 2007.

OOC: Well, lets see if the dice like you or not.  On something like this, I tend to defer to the dice. +18+--good, but not great. +25+ Better.+33+ The dice just like you.

IC: You're free of the rope, and the plesiosaur is diving for the bottom where it will die.  But you're deep in the water, and wearing clothing, and you're deep enough that the pressure is starting to effect you.

You set out swimming for the surface, expelling a few bubbles, and it just does not seem to get closer.

You continue to force your achingly weary body to pull, and pull again, even as you fight off the sweet temptation to just open your mouth and let the water in.  And you can now see, when your vision is not blurred, some details of the ship's hull.

Encouraged, you spend the last drop of your strength and strike for the surface.  Once there, you flop like a dying fish, and then you feel strong arms around you, and hear Lord Demric shouting.

"Pull, now, you puling maggots! Pull!"

And a rope tightens around your chest, and things go black.
===========================================================
You wake on a bed in a small hut with sweet smelling rushes on the floor, and a very nice longsword at your right hand.  Its got a double dragon, or dinosaur head for the counterweight on its hilt.

PT

Somewhere in my head klaxon alarms were going off. Had I versed...no, this is still the same world, my shoulder still hurts.

I wearily sit up, trying to regain some awareness of my surroundings. Was this Lord Demric's holdings again or had we made it to the far shore? My head was burning with questions. The ship hadn't sunk, which means that we must've made it limping. Almost panicked I look around quickly for my belongings. Then my eyes alight upon the sword, and I pause for a moment to appreciate it's beautiful craftsmanship.

That's right....I killed another dinosaur.

A young lady comes in with a bowl of water and a cloth.  She reminds you of Spring, except lacking Spring's exuberance.  She looks startled, and then bows.

"You wake, Hero.  I have been your nurse, along with my cousins.  You are on the isle where the Market is held, and many here are envious of your great deeds, but there will be rejoicing tonight, a great feast, that you have come back from the land of sleep after two days.  Shall I get your Lord Demric? Water? Food? Perhaps such a hero as yourself need drink no water, but beer?"

PT

I nodded wearily.

That answered at least a few questions I had hoped to figure out. Demric was here, good, he hadn't been washed off the boat. We made it to another land holding though. I wonder what's here....

Then I realise that I hadn't told her what I wanted.

"I'll see Lord Demric when he's ready and some water, and come to think of it, I'll eat some food too."

I eased myself to my feet to take a look outside the room I'm in, and see if I can find my backpack. I take the sword with me.

"Yes, Hero."

She bows and scurries off.

Wincing, you get to your feet.  You don't feel that badly damaged except for some torn muscles in your leg, back, and arm.  The deep rope burn on your leg is almost healed, but your'e looking to be having an impressive scar on your calf.

Your backpack looks a bit water-damaged, and as if someone tried to clean it off not that successfully of some blood.

The room is a small circle with little personality, but it seems pleasant.  There is a couple baskets, a table, two chairs, a jug, a shelf.

Lord Demric steps in.

"The tenderest cuts of beef, gruel with cream and expensive sugar, and a bowl of red berries.  One might almost think you saved a lord's life and his dragonboat."  Lord Demric smiles faintly, and puts the platter down on the small table.  Then he reaches out and very gently gives you a hug.

"I thought we were dead, and then we live, but you died.  And then you rose from the depths with your enemy fallen. 'Twas a glorious victory."

PT

I put a hand on the impressively built man's shoulders, and look into his face for a serious moment. "You're a good man Lord Demric, and I'm proud to have helped to save you and the men. I was a stranger and you allowed me into your home, it is a small price to pay for such hospitality."

The moment over, I grab a handful of berries, suddenly feeling my stomach's incessant murmurings. I start popping them into my mouth almost as quickly as can, eying the steaks with a daring look. Forgetting one's manners in this place would be easy; I begin with a mouthful of food, "did any of our supplies survive the journey for the Faire?"

"You have the Christian modesty. We will teach you better."

He laughs, and then sobers.

"Not many supplies survived, but fame is a powerful inducement.  The Sea Wyrm of Straken Island has terrorized the area for as far back as a grandfather's grandfather say the poets.  Now, to have part of the fame, we have recieved many gifts from all over.  My rivals have come to me, and pledged treaties of peace, and given me many gifts."

He looks shrewdly at you.

"With a good story, we might reap more from this than we lost.  Especially if it was told by the man of the day."

PT

"Then the man of the day shall tell it...," I heard myself say, "I'm glad that this has worked to help our causes."

If nothing else, the men had liked my tales from before. The star wars chronicle had been a great one. I'd do it because it wouldn't only help Lord Demric, although I owed him for his hospitality, it would also help me in this world. I'd be able to live here a bit longer, learn a bit more. I could help improve the village and show them some tricks that I knew. Perhaps even alter their way of life for the better.

Though in the end I'd have to leave. They'd expect me to do more, to produce sons and fight more creatures. I wouldn't mind fighting, that was the only way to improve myself in that aspect. I knew deep down that there would be many more worlds that would have a more violent way of life. Best be ready for those and fight Entropy where ever possible.

Later that night, you and the Lord Demric walk slowly to the feast.  Its being held outdoors because so many wish to come and hear the story.  The great lords are sitting on your right and your left, and Demric points out what each has given so that they could have the honor of sitting at the high table with you, and sharing the glory.

Amused, you realize its rather like a modern day fundraising dinner.  Its also the way for the society as a whole to gather the rewards to pay the heroes who on an intermittent basis benefit the society by wiping out a monster here and there.

Before your speech, a long line of people gather to shake your hand, and say a few words to you.  The four at the front of the line interest you the most when you are introduced to them.

"Ingmar Kraken Eater."  A jarl shouts out.  A one-eyed man with a flashing smile swaggers up to you, and shows his teeth.

"Well met, Mac the Diver, you're a bold man, and I'd be happy to have you on a hunt."

The next two come up as well, both having signs of having endured terrific injuries, and then the last, a young fellow with no wounds who towers over seven foot stumbles up to you with some low laughter from the watching crowd.

His faces turns red, and he glares to his right and left.

"The untried, but sworn to Hero work, young ah ...." The jarl seems to have forgotten the name.

"I'm Beowulf, Mac the Diver.  And I have killed one monster, but the storm swept it away."

PT

I was stunned.
Beowulf. A flesh and blood hero right in front of me. The stuff of legend.

I clapped the man on the shoulder and gave him a winning smile, "Well met Beowulf. I have heard your tale even in the land of my birth."

I clap each on the back in turn, telling each that they have been well met. When everyone had come to their places with food and drink brought to us, I begin somewhat dramatically. "The longboat swayed in the waters, waves crashing around us..."

I retell the entire story, and try not to embellish much, because in my own mind at least, the real story was dramatic and amazing enough. The truth was stranger than fiction. If prompted I'd retell my battle with the 'Widfloga' as well.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:14, Fri 13 July 2007.

There is some laughter at your comment to Beowulf, and he turns red in the face again, but at your smile he bows.

"Thank you."  He awkwardly steps aside, and you launch into your story.  About twenty minutes later, and you're done, and everyone is quite enthralled.  There is a wide variety of questions, but a surprising number of them are technical issues which open up good natured arguements about the most effective way to deal with sea monsters.  Its actually a very geeky in its way talk with Ingmar holding forth on the virtues of a harpoon attached to a rope and a floating log.

"No offense to the hero of the day, but a harpoon is better than a loop of rope."  He booms out.

The rest of the nobles take this time to shake your hand, and say a few words to you, usually along the line of 'come visit me anytime'.

Then its food, and entertainment which consists of dancers hauling out a giant wicker sea monster and replaying your story with embellishments, and then setting the whole thing on fire in the midst of the camp which since half the lot are drunk is rather interesting as some of the drunks are having fun tossing mugs of ale onto the fire.

PT

"As I found out Ingmar!" I say at his comment gesturing to my still aching leg and laugh.

I laugh at some of the drunken antics of the others too, keenly aware of how much this was like a portion of my own childhood. How far I'd come since leaving my home. Not as far as one would think, because here was a high school kegger. It had been years since I'd been to a party like this, only the style of dress and language were different. I use the opportunity to learn a bit about the structure of power and the lay of the land. Trying to understand how profit is earned in these lands, if there are great thinkers and so on.

I can do this with the age old technique of asking some subtle probing questions. To them it should sound like I'm just interested in their lives and holdings. I try not to ask any questions that could be answered with a yes or no, that way they will talk to me and most likely gush about their lives and so on.
This message was last edited by the player at 18:39, Sat 14 July 2007.

Profit is earned from trade with various centers of primitive crafts, and the harvesting of natural resources trading back and forth often over vast distances.  Also, going a-viking is great fun, and an intermittent source of loot, and ransom for the captives of the nobles and the clerics, and slaves for the common captive.

Their language is very literal, with a strong descriptive force.  Beowulf's name comes from his resemblance to a bear with his huge size and his jutting features as a bear is known for raiding honey as a 'bee wolf'.  Their thinking follows the same pattern.  Its direct, plain, no-nonsense or flummery, and it has considerable logical strength behind it.  Its very masculine and muscular in nature.  They also have a practical, hard-minded approach to life and the great questions of life.  They have a great store of common sense, and bold ideals, and a solid faith which sees logical speculation about the nature of the gods as something that fits in alongside logical speculation about the customs of foreign lands.  They see the their multiverse as one thing.  Of course, they also see the universe as failing, that Surtur and the giants will one day succeed when the virtue of courage is all but gone from the world.

You end up conversing until the sun rises in the sky with your head buzzing with new thoughts.

PT

As dawn approaches I call it a night and find my way to my former holding and pass out cold....

When I awaken the next day, I find myself looking for my pack once again, almost out of habit. It had become akin to a security blanket in the absence of anything else that seemed solid enough to travel with me to other worlds....and there was that beautiful sword again. Since I wanted to try to maintain my newfound vigor, I decided to take it out for a spin, test it in my hands, or test my hands on it's grip, I reminded myself chidingly.

Though my recent close calls had given me a new kind of confidence, I didn't want to let it erode my actual skills too. So I began to train myself once again, working out and carrying that sword as I jogged down to the water for a dip.

There is a number of others in the water already when you reach the shoreline.  A few others are latewakers like you, and they walk to the shore.  You're the only runner.

The lot in the water cheer when you show up.

A nice bracing dip in the very cold waters, and its off to the sauna for those who want to.  Others go straight to sword training.  You see Beowulf training with a sword that looks like a toy in his giant hands.

He's...not very good.  And you can see he's not respected like the other heroes are.  You and the other three (Ingmar included) receive a natural deference as the warriors just naturally step out of your way, and you find yourself ushered to the front of any line.

PT

With a dawning realization, I knew what I had to do now in this place. Beowulf was not turning out as history had intended, perhaps my presence here was changing that, somehow stealing glory that was properly his. The erosion of such a hero would certainly create a sort of rift in which many would be deprived of their legend in a dark time. Not only that, but his most historic battle would never happen(or if it did, he might fail) if he didn't feel he could do it. That would be a great blow to the courage of a people, as well as a definite loss to Mr.Entropy....Something I wasn't prepared to do again.

So I began to train with him. If he was willing I would invite him to spar in the countryside and run with me, where he might not be embarrassed. My goal was to give him the attention he deserved in the short time I might have here in this world. I wanted to befriend him, talk with him of his plans, and see what he was missing from his life that might have lead to this different Beowulf.

He is almost embarrassingly eager to train with you.  You're struck again by how young he is at age seventeen.

But, you find that he does not run well (seven feet tall and three hundred twenty pounds with a pot belly), and that he is naturally clumsy.  However, when he 'pats' you on the back in his enthusiasm, he almost knocks you down.  He's very apologetic.

PT

So in the idea of giving him the edge that he might need later in life, I began to think of ways in which a man might increase his dexterity and nimbleness. The best ways, of course would be to practice them as often as possible, to hone the latent muscles and neural pathways which would result in greater ability.

So with Lord Demric's permission I invite Beowulf into the countryside to spend as many days as possible in training this way. I too would be honing myself at the same time, something that I felt almost a compulsion to do at this point to keep myself at my expected level of competence.

The exercises would be simple. Sparring for a few hours in the mornings after a vigorous run. Running across an intermittent rock path through a pond or stream(without falling into the water), and some of the toning exercises I'd learned in high school for flexibility. Playing catch with small rocks for a while in the early evening and perhaps a hunt before dark with a bow or spear(something that I wanted to learn quite badly).

When Lord Demric said it would be time to return, we would, this time we might be better equipped to spar with the other heroes.

Four days pass quickly...

At first Beowulf appears hopeless, but as he develops a little confidence he gets better. He continues to practise with a kind of bull-headed determination that frightens you a few times.

He is a very poor hunter, and you realize its not just his innate clumsiness.  He's also near-sighted.

You start weak, and then rapidly regain your strength to full.  The practise with spear is your own work, and its a matter of trial and error.  However, you find yourself able to make a spear cast that occasionally hits the target at the more than 'gutting range' as Beowulf calls the ten foot range for a toss.  At twenty-five feet you hit perhaps half the time.

You've seen people throw spears a hundred feet, and hit, repeatedly.  Neither of you is ready for the 'game of spears' Beowulf says ruefully.

PT

It was nice to get to know Beowulf, he seemed like a good kid. I hoped that by helping him, we might both benefit. During the course of our time I try to find out more about the kid, where he was from and if he was pledged to one of the lords or not. If he wasn't I would make a case to Lord Demric on his behalf.

On our walk back to the village I ask him if he's ever heard of the Grendel and it's mother. I was interested in knowing all I could, hopefully I would not let anything slip that would be beneficial later. I couldn't recall the legend exactly, but I remember that he would slay the beast and it's mother, somehow.

Suddenly you remember a bit of poetry...

Now I know
Land of hero
Soon I see
The wolf who is a bee
And there we stand,
Axe and hand
Against the eater of the band.

You're standing next to Beowulf, and he smiles his somewhat goofy grin.

"I've heard of a Grendel in my father's father's father's time. They burned the hut it crept into as the sun rose. They say they have the power of enchantment to make men sleep.  They are rare monsters, like the sea wyrms and the widfloga.  Anyone who could slay a Grendel would be famed for...well...a long time."

PT

"So, how are you with an axe?"

Those lines, I remember them from somewhere. Snap! I've heard it from the old woman. Was there to be some greater threat that we would face, the two of us? I couldn't tell, it would certainly be a great trick to figure that out. Or...perhaps there was an old witchwoman here too, who might cast our runes...

All these thoughts washed over me until we got back.

"Never used an axe. Well, I did once, and I almost cut off my foot. Buri the Yellow-Haired said some men just were born able to use an axe and some weren't.  He said it wasn't like the sword, any man could use the sword or spear."
Beowulf replies calmly as you slog over the high meadow.

Once back at the Market Faire, ten days have passed with travel and training.  Most of the visitors have left, but Demric and a few others are still there.  He's happy to see you.

Among the permanent residents of Straken Isle there is an old witchwoman.

There is also, with Demric, a nobleman who looks distressed as if in grief he had lost twenty pounds.

PT

After the long training, I really felt that urge for a Pepsi welling up inside me.

It didn't help that here was someone in need or worried to death.

"What seems to be the trouble sir?" I say to the man after shaking Lord Demric's hand and clapping him on the back in greeting.

I glanced at Beowulf and back to Lord Demric's face before looking back at the man, who seemed positively stricken.

"My hold is toward the far southern end of the lands of the Vikings.  Some of my neighbours are Finn and Laplander colonists.  Not bad folk for all that they are strange."

He pauses and tries to refocus.

"The thing is, I don't feel comfortable asking them for their help.  But here, I am among my brethren.  We have a Grendel, a bane of men, that is making terror and death in the night.  He casts an enchanted sleep, and sneaks in, and devours a man whole.  No sword can pierce his hide, although one of my bravest warriors tried after he was awoken by the death screams of a friend.  He died too, with a broken sword in his hand."

PT

My mind was swimming with the possibilities. I must have been on to something! Maybe I was starting to get this whole mess that I had come to call life. First things first though...

"I will help you good sir. I think that my friend Beowulf would tackle this task as well, for he is far braver than I. Tell me, how long is it to travel there? Is it true that the Grendel hates the light of the sun? Also, if we are to do this, then we must see the witchwoman of this village, for she might be able to help us against the sleep enchantment...With your leave Lord Demric, of course."

I clapped Beowulf on the back, turning to him. "Now we can test our mettle and courage. Are you with me?"

I was beginning to feel like I might need a smoke....This would be bigger than anything else I'd had to face thus far in my travels. What would happen to Beowulf if I failed?

"YES!! To the ends of the earth, and the gates of Hel!"  Beowulf whoops for sheer joy.  You get the feeling you'd have to tie him up to keep him from coming.

"Brave heroes, it is a week's travel if the wind is helpful.  Two to three weeks if it is contrary.  Yes, the Grendel, the son of Cain, he hates the light.  He only goes to hunt in the night." The man says. "I am Jarl Mardin."

Lord Demric nods his approval.

"You should be well by the time you arrive."  He twists off a ring on his hand.  The heavy gold ring has a black stone with an axe engraved into the stone.  "Show this to whom you have need. Others will know that you are my man by it, and have the power to give my word to them."

Lord Demric, who is evidently one step above Jarl Mardin in the social order, leads the way to the witchwoman.  He commands her to come out, and 'assist these brave heroes.' He then tosses her a bag of silver to recompense her 'for any troubles.'

She agrees, and then takes you both into her hut.  Beowulf looks nervously at the magic things about her.

PT

I smiled at Beowulf's response, and shook Jarl's arm in greeting. "Well met Jarl Mardin, I am they call me Mac."

After we met the old woman, I knelt down next to Beowulf and faced her. I had felt sure that this was the woman depicted in Nausica of the Valley of the Wind. The old wise woman who crooned over the death of the King. It was time, I thought. "Thank you for seeing us. We have need of your skills. What can you offer in the way of protective magics against a beast called Grendel? Can you tell us what might hurt this beast as it turns blades upon it's hide?"

"I can offer you naught but questions, Man of the Knotted Cord and Hero of the Millenium to Come."

Beowulf looks confused.

"How am I related to a Knotted Cord?"

The woman smiles.

"Man, if some brave warrior wished to stay awake at night, what should he do, and what should he not do?

Man, if the Fates had condescended to one to tell one the weapons needed to destroy the beast, should not one listen to them?

Man, I can tell you this. If you do well, then the Legend shall live.  A few devout readers and scholars will know of you, but the Legend will always be until Odin strides forth to battle.  And the Shadow of Loki will howl at the pain you inflict on him.

Man, would you take this? It bears a curse on it. Power and strength for a day, and then death to he who wields it. Would you bear it, and open it on the dark and glorious day?  If you take it not, you may well succeed.  If you do take it, glory shall attend you."

She holds out a long, slender package tightly wrapped in leather.

I look at Beowulf slyly. I was on the right track, but this was obviously before the time depicted in the 13th Warrior...

There would be others then. Perhaps many more. Beowulf would be there with the skills and experience necessary to accomplish his task. Only if I took the cursed blade. I didn't feel ready to leave this world, I was only now becoming a part of it. However, I was able to live beyond this mortal coil, beyond this knot in the cord. And she'd said that I would be able to strike a blow to Loki's shadow...It was worth it.

"I will take it. I understand your answers old woman. Thank you for your advice...and your gifts."

It was the one thing that I'd been lacking, real confidence in myself, the way that a hero should be. I turned to Beowulf a grin spreading across my face, "the Hero of the Millennium to Come and I will take our leave then. Unless he would like a taste of your potions of wakefullness?"

Beowulf looks confused, and pleased, and uncertain as if he can't quite believe he is the Hero of the Millenium to Come.  He nods, and takes a bit of the potion of wakefulness.

His eyes widen.

"I do not believe I would ever sleep with this in my stomach."

You and he take your leave, and Jarl Mardin takes you down to his dragonboat.  Its not as fine as Lord Demric's, and its short on crew.  Jarl Mardin bitterly explains that the Grendel has eaten many of his best boatmen.

The day is fair, and the winds are good which is explained as spaecraft or spells cast by the Straken Isle wisewoman.

PT

I nod in response to what Jarl tells me of the witchwoman. I didn't know if that were possbible, but it seemed that anything was possible any more. I was readying myself for the real voyage that I knew would be coming soon. I kept my frame pack nearby me and the tightly wrapped leather package in my tunic as we went. It was something else that I didn't want to lose. It was both my key to defeating the Grendel and the ticket outta this world, a truly double edged weapon. Not to a verser though. Not to me....

I talk with Beowulf and tell him that what is in the package will put me in Odin's hands after. I tell him to practice and make himself such a fighter as the world had never seen since the coming of Thor.

Sometime when I have a moment to speak with Jarl, I ask him if he has sturdy axes and metal pins. The pins would be to keep me awake...the axes would be for us to use on the beast.

Above that I try to live the last few days of my life well in this place. I had no idea what might lay beyond this world, and so it would be good to try to

Jarl Mardin is puzzled, but he keeps it to himself.  Shortly thereafter you have a selection of several axes to choose from and a handful of copper pins.

The day goes by, and another.

On the third day, black storm clouds rise in the west toward the Atlantic.  They begin closing.

Jarl Mardin and his helmsman confer with you and Beowulf.  The young hero is aware he knows little about boats, and so says nothing.  Mardin speaks.

"We can lay over, in Stritzel Fjord, for a few days.  Wait out the storm.  Or we can try to press ahead of it, and catch its leading edge of wind.  If it works right, we get there very fast.  If it works bad, we find ourselves in the midst of a gale in an open boat."

PT

"I looked at the Atlantic winds blowing from the west and nodded in agreement. It would be close if we tried to hurry things along, perhaps even deadly. I thought it might be better to moor in Stritzel Fjord.

Then we can rest before we get there, as well Beowulf and I can find any news from Jarl's lands.


OOC: I'll be gone until Friday so there's no hurry to update this.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:18, Wed 01 Aug 2007.

The pine covered walls slide past your right and left as the glass smooth water is sliced by your prow.  Now that you are in the fjord, its another world.  The threatening storm is merely a darkness in the far-distant sky.

You get up to the beach, and see a few hundred square feet which has been cut back, and a couple of old campfires.  They drag the dragonboat up on to the beach, and the men pile off into the ancient stillness.

PT

"How far away are we from your lands Jarl?" I ask to break the silence as we began to set up camp, "I ask so that we might be prepared to deal with it, if it is near enough."

Of course now was also a good time to practice as we had been doing. This time we might be able to make use of the axes that Jarl had afforded us. This may if we were lucky be able to help us to defeat the grendel. Of course, I did have my pick axe with me as well....which I was much more skilled with. Not as a weapon mind you but something a bit more useful, say climbing a mountainside. Also I had the very fine blade with me, which had yet to see battle.

I asked Beowulf if he would accompany me into the woods for a hunt...This time it would be also training. We would make believe that the hunting that we were doing was against the grendel and that these were our tactics.

"Its on a separate island." Jarl Mardin replies.  "Its several days away at best, by boat."

Beowulf does not want to use an axe.  But he's eager to go hunting.  He has a sword.

About a quarter mile into the pine forrest, and not entirely sure of the way back, you spot a three-pointed footprint that is seven inches from toe to heel.

PT

My hatchet at best had a slight pick-like extension on it, not really meant for climbing rocks at all. Boy, had it been that long since I'd looked into my own frickin' pack. I knelt down to examine the tracks. Definitely avian, but way huge. If it was a bird, there would be random scratchings at the end of the toes...So of course I checked that out.

My first thoughts were that this was some kind of veloceraptor. Of course that was borne of a paranoid feeling that I'd stepped into Jurassic Park. I wondered where the brontosaurus' were....why do I find all the carnivores? It was just my luck, I told myself. "It's one of the monsters...this one is no doubt fast and cunning. It has to be with a shape like that of a bird....Let's head back. They might be too much for us to handle needlessly. The Jarl's men are depending on us...."

Yep, you guessed it, I was turning a little bit of cowardice into reason...

There is the toe scracthing.

Beowulf looks disapointed, but he cheers himself up with the thought that the smell of cooking food at the camp might draw the monsters.

You slip on back, and come up on more tracks.  Its a herd.

They seem to be heading in the general direction of the camp.

PT

I finally found a use for my plastic whistle, beyond the normal emergency situations. I quickly dug it out and began to blow loudly enough to: A.)signal the others of danger; or B.) confuse the scavenging beasts.

I remembered my biology texts concerning beasts of the early age of mammals. There was one ground bird that was supposedly large enough to eat cows. I couldn't remember the name to save my life. I raced back blowing on my whistle, sword drawn.

You charge back through the woods, and the tree branches lash your face while Beowulf yells in joy and terror right behind you.  You crash through the last line of trees, and see the men with spears and shields waiting for you in a shieldline.

They give you and Beowulf a 'what on Earth is going on?' expression.

Beowulf is panting behind you.  Full tilt sprinting is not his thing.

PT

I too was feeling it a little bit. "We found great bird-like tracks, in a herd formation, heading this way. If they were dangerous, we didn't want the camp to be caught off it's guard," I said gasping to catch my breath,"I had hoped to confuse or startle them with the whistle, while alerting you as well. I need to get me one of those real horns."

The ploy must've worked though, which was what mattered. The danger might still be present, although grouped in numbers as we were, it was less likely that they would attack us openly. "Watch yourselves if you leave the camp, if they are what I thought they were, they may try to attack cunningly with numbers. We may want to keep the fire going all night too."

I was relying on my knowledge gained from Jurassic Park once again. Who knew what they might be capable of or what behaviors they would truly use. "So much for the hunt, eh Beowulf?"

I slumped down against a log catching my breath. I sarcastically wondered to myself if bug-repellent might keep the beasts away.

I stood once again and decided to do some exercising, the fight ahead was on my mind and I knew that many of the men here were much stronger than I, but fell against the Grendel. I ask Jarl if any of his men might teach me to use this axe as a weapon...

The Jarl starts you training with his weaponsmaster.  The man takes you through the beginning steps with care, and then nods.

"You'll do."

He then picks up speed with his training.

You're working new muscles in your arms and back, and in your thighs when you see a large head push its way out of the foilage.

Its a 'bird' shaped dinosaur, like an ostrich.  Its an easy eight feet tall.  It has a duck bill on the front.  Its short arms in the front do have small claws.  Its stomach and chest area is huge being about four foot tall and five foot wide.

It makes a fluting noise.

There are other fluting noises from in the woods.

PT

At that moment, I froze, nearly letting go of my bladder in the process. I realized then that it was not likely to attack unless threatened. I lowered my weapon and backed away slowly. "You all, put another log on the fire. They don't mean to hurt us, but they're like a herd of oxen. Likely the smoke will drive them away."

The first part of me wanted to see if I could take it down for the hunt, but then again, why risk it if we were trying to save people's lives. We were being sent to help Jarl's people, who were in much more danger than we were here. Then the thought of some meat...I'd never tasted dinosaur before. I might not ever have the chance again...

I picked up one of the spears the others had used before, and nodded to Beowulf to join me. I swear I will write up a dissertation on Intelligent Design after this...

After setting my feet as I was taught, assuming that the creature would stay still for us, I launch the spear at it's neck.

The log is tossed on the fire, and there is some smoke, but little of it reaches the forrest as a bit of wind springs up and carries it down the coastline.  The men are cursing mischievous wind sprites.

You fling the spear, and it goes in your excitement high.  It shatters against a tree trunk.  Bits of it fall down, and startle the herd.

Five of them dodge out of the woods edge, falter, and look befuddled at you and yours.  The men howl, and you see one and then two and three break off to your right flinging sand into the air behind them.  In front of you about twenty feet away, the fourth one is looking curiously at everyone.  Behind him, the fifth is starting to think about chasing after its departing brethren.

PT

I quickly grabbed another spear hoping to catch the curious one before it took off. It was highly possible that the spear would no penetrate a dinosaur hide, but at the same time I was reminded that even dinosaurs were plagued by mosquitoes...

When I had gotten into a position to do so properly and hoping that the creature wouldn't flinch and dart away. I launch this final spear at the beast, ready to grab my sword to finish it off should the spear do it's work...

You throw, and slam it into the beast's chest.  The spear breaks from the impact, and the men rush it screaming.  The beast tries and succeeds in biting off most of the rest of the spear.

You and the rest of the men swarm it.

In the fight, you see that most spear strikes slide off its scales.  A strike has to be firmly set, and held on course in order to hurt it.  However, it does have certain sensitive spots.  Its nose for one.

But the best damage comes from heavy axes which are able to cleave its armor, and from Beowulf who leaps onto its neck, and dangles in the air as he crushes its windpipe with his vast strength.

The beast staggers and falls, as does a gasping Beowulf.  It is quickly finished.

The men whoop with relief from fear and exhilaration.

PT

I grin at beowulf, "that was some show you gave us there and now we'll eat tonight after all."

I was troubled though because the smoke did not drive off the beasts. Hopefully the critters wouldn't return after having been attacked. The knowledge that the axe was useful was a great relief. I would definitely continue working with the weapon master. I also see if we can cure and dry some of the meat to take with us, of course after we cook some of it. Although I suspect it will taste like chicken...

It tastes vaguely like chicken and venison.  It has a strong, gamey taste.  But once you get used to the oddity of it, it tastes better than most of the meat you were used to back home.

No animals bother you in the night other than some small scrambling creatures.  The next morning, one of the men is being teased because he tossed a spear at a raccoon who was investigating the carcass.  He missed, raccoons being apparently as clever in the Viking Age as the Age of Computers.

Breakfast is some gathered eggs, a small handful of underripe and tart berries, and smoked dino.

You can see choppy waves at the opening of the fjord, and the sky is dreadful oceanward.  Although it is clear above you.

PT

Having grown up on the west coast I really didn't like the look of that water. It meant that it was windy out there and the storm was likely the cause. I leave it to the others though to decide, since they are the expert seamen, not me. Until then though I'm continuing my work with the axe. This time I'm tying a handkerchief around my face and whacking the carcass. In this manner I'll be able to understand what it will take to cut through the average dino-skin. It might be just my luck though that the grendel isn't even a dinosaur, but rather some version of bigfoot. In either case though I think to myself that it will be useful to know how to wield this weapon comfortably.

It takes a lot of force to get through the skin and scales.  It looks as if mosquitoes did bother dinos it was primarily in sensitive spots.

You practise and get some idea of how to do it.

Beowulf joins you, and studies the creature.

Anatomy of Grazer Dinosaur 1@3.

You've picked up a good bit from your study, and the men with laughter, but seriously meant chase you and Beowulf into the sea until you both have thorougly scrubbed off the stink.

The storm breaks outside the fjord,and treats you to a breathtaking display of wrath while you sit under a clear sky.  Lightning bolts raindown on the ride between you and the storm,and the noise of howling winds makes it so one has to shout.  But no more than some disturbed breezes gets to you down at the bottom of the fjord.

The men that night tell a tale of a Dwarf who defied Thor, and hid for safety from Thor's wrath in a deep hole.  It took a while, but eventually Thor got boredk, and left the dwarf alone.

Two days later, the dawn is translucent and colored brightly, and ...peaceful.

Your crew sets out into the ocean.  The long waves are the only reminder of the Atlantic storm.

PT

The feeling I have as we get closer to our final destination was fear. It was a crazy feeling, very akin to excitement. I knew it was fear though, because whenever the destination came up in conversation I felt my stomach do a little flip-flop. I tried not to let it show however, because these people believed in us. I had always believed that a little fear was healthy. Since versing however, my opinion had changed somewhat. Fear was a decent part of survival.

So it had come to that. "Why though?", I thought to myself. I trust in the magic that the old wisewomen had given me, so I believed that the gift would grant me this greater ability, if only to last a day. So that was what I was really coming to terms with, "what will this death be like?"

The thoughts were wrestling through my mind as we continued our journey. I tried to interact with everyone though, especially Beowulf to find out how he was faring on this trip, and perhaps how he felt about their destination. I still felt that he was more than the fascade that he showed, and perhaps great wisdom was beneath his brutish attitude.

His quick and cunning reactions in the attack on the duck-billed dino was evidence of that.

You talk to Beowulf, and you realize he has a fair bit of cunning.  He's also quite smart, but its mostly untrained.  However, he's observant.  He notitces how people do things, thinks to himself if thats the best way to do it, and then experiments.

However, he's also just a young man of seventeen, and he gets frustrated and irate although he doesn't show that.  And he's still very clumsy, but that seems to be because he's growing into control of his huge body.  You've already seen some part of his clumsiness go away due to the practise with you, and due to the reassurance you've given him. (He'd been a joke before you came along.  Although a cautious joke because no one wanted to get in a fist fight with him.)

He yearns for glory with ferocious passion. When he says...'better a death in battle, than a straw death' he really means it.

As he takes his turn on the helm, holding with one casual hand what takes a normal man two straining hands in heavy seas, he confides some of his thinking to you, quietly.

"Mac, you know this Grendel. He comes at night.  He gobbles up people.  He can't be hurt by a brave man with a sword. And they say he can cast a spell on people that they sleep."  He pauses to make sure you're not laughing at him.  "Ok. If we could track him back to his cave during the day, that'd be good. Problem is, the land is really rocky where we are going, and Im no tracker.  Now gobbling people--I think he has a big mouth, huge even. We've already seen from those monsters in Straken Fjord how our swords don't have enough power to cut through. Now you have your cursed axe--except I'd rather you live through this if it is honorably possible.  You're my first real friend since I was ten years old.  Idiots always make a big deal about how I knock over chairs.  Now, the spell...." He laughs.  "I have magic, but I bet its simpler than that. I bet these guys are getting drunk at night.  So when we go there, we drink only watered beer.  And one of us stays awake at all times."

PT

This was essentially what I'd been thinking. I'd been betting that Beowulf was a smarter lad than he showed to the rest, if not a bit shy. However with him reiterating what I'd been thinking, it seemed to give me a moments respite.

I respond after mulling it over with him, "I haven't found many friends since I've come to these lands either, so however things end up, be sure to take care of yourself and learn what you need to become as great as I know you can be."

That evening and for the next few I retell the Star Wars saga again for Jarl's men. I even spice up the original movies to incorporate the angles that Lucas had missed out on capitalizing on. Especially the confrontation of Boba Fett and Mace Windu...

The men love the story, although they argue with you about the whole 'hate leads to the dark side' business.

"Hatred of your enemies is good. Makes you strong. Fear, if you don't let it unman you, makes you sharp.  Anger gives vitality to your muscles when you charge into battle."  The Jarl says as the boat floats through the night.

Regardless, they enjoyed the story.

One of them asks you if thats your religon--Jedi.

The next two days go by quickly, with more tales, some fishing, and axe practise.  And toward late evening, you find yourself riding into a small fjord.  A great hall is situated uphill from the water.  The doors of the hall seem to have suffered damage and been repaired.  The number of people walking down to the pier doesn't seem as much as the houses would support.

"Glory, we win glory." Beowulf hisses.

PT

I smiled at the thought of Jedi as a religion, but didn't have the heart to tell them about how it had originated in Lucas' mind. Though it was a startling idea which had taken me off-guard. I had been raised Lutheran, but became disenchanted with the dogma inherent in their teachings. I'd been introduced to Unitarianism in highschool, and had attended several youth retreats sponsored by them. Most were hippies to a greater or lesser degree, and I was attracted to the simple statement that provided the foundational principles of the organization: 'find your own truth'. I believe in God and Jesus, so I'm a Christian. Though leaping through Universes had necessarily put that into question for me.

To the man I simply shrugged my shoulders and said that fear can cause one to act out of character, and that anger can be harnessed in that way, but it is much harder to prevent it from dominating oneself. Gaining mastery of these things can lead you to greater possibilities. Jesus had been angry, but he didn't do anything that was against God or against his own principles.

I was almost relieved when we crossed into the fjord. I could almost feel the despair that fairly leaked over the place. They had suffered some hardships in recent days and weeks. I nodded to Beowulf and jumped into the shallows as we gained landfall, securing my pack and weapons. Making sure that none were missing and better yet, that the little package that the wisewoman had given me was safe.

There is a good deal of weeping, and heartbreaking news that is given for the first few minutes, and then you and Beowulf are introduced.  The hope and trust in their eyes shines.

You will save them, they are confident.

Later, Beowulf tells you that when they looked at him that way..."I had thought it was going to be the greatest thing in the world.  But now I feel my stomach falling. What if I fail?  They trust me."  But even as he says these words, he's ripping up strips of linen to wrap tightly around his forearms. "And, ...it is glory.  I just never figured glory would have such a sting in it. I'm ready to die if need be, but not to fail."

Later, the women of the area come to you and ask what you would for supper, and later still the warriors, a pale shambling group come by as well to make themselves available.  They look almost broken.

PT

I understood exactly what Beowulf was saying, and for a verser it made even more sense. However I also knew that the two of us would prevail, we had to, not for glory, but for the common good of these people and for history. People needed to know Beowulf's story, he would come to inspire thousands in his mythic quest to destroy the Grendel and it's mother. "It's alright Beowulf, that's the fear talking. Don't dwell on it, I believe in you and they believe in us. That gives us strength to make our stand. However, we can do some things to help our own cause. We can set traps for the beast..."

I talked over my plan with Beowulf and I grew more confident at each turn. We would gather the people into one of the lodges, preferably one with several rooms attached, for emergency escape routes. When the Grendel came it would have no choice but to go there where people were. I would tell the Jarl's people to leave by ship and to float in safety for the night even if that was only at the opening of the fjord, but make sure one man was on watch during the night as the others slept, and they must be quiet.

If there was oil or pitch available we would need to keep the hearth going within the lodge, and also spread the pitch or oil around the lodge especially around the windows and doors of the place. Beowulf would cover ourselves in mud before dusk as the people shipped out taking also our magic. The men in the lodge must feign sleep, no mead this evening and have a torch ready but not lit. When the beast comes into the lodge the men would escape and join the people in the ships, after first lighting the pitch or oil. So the flameable must line the room so it would all catch the Grendel in a circle of fire. Beowulf and I will drop through the roof, a way made ready before hand, and do battle with the trapped beast. If we are successful he will die within and we may escape being burned by the mud that we have covered ourselves in. If any part of your is lit on fire, you drop and roll on it to put it out.

I look at Beowulf to see what he thought of the plan, if it made sense to him.

Beowulf gives you a big face-splitting grin, and claps you on the shoulder with an open hand almost knocking you over.

"I like it!"

Your plans proceed apace, and the Jarl and his people renew hope in the face of such a detailed plan, and the determined optimism of Beowulf and Mac the Diver.

The boat sets off near nightfall, and the warriors gather as you said in an off-side space in the main hall.  Night comes, and with it a chill wafting off the sea.  The mud helps a bit protecting from gusts of wind.

You have to tell Beowulf to chill out once as he'stoo excited to sit still.  You tell him the second time a few minutes later, and he raises his right hand in a 'I'm innocent' gesture that transcends cultures.

Its then you realize that you can hear the warriors song from their space.  And there is a slur in their words.

Beowulf grabs your arm like a vice, and points to the horizon being careful not to skyline himself.

"I thought I saw something move." He murmurs.

PT

I squint my eyes to attempt to make out what the movement was. Without other distracting lights to blur my vision it would be much easier to see at night. I give the signal to the men through the rooftop that movement has been seen. If they haven't ignored our words completely, they would be making themselves ready to initiate the plan. I hope to god that they have understood what we told them. Their lives hang in the balance.

Staying low I unwrap the package that the wisewoman gave me. It was time to be ready. I nod to Beowulf, in a look that said good luck Beowulf. I also felt into my pocket for the zippo, thinking I'd have to act fast if I needed to light this place up myself.

It stands on two legs, but its giantish.  Perhaps its ten or twenty feet tall, you'd guess.  Its shape is not quite human when its face on in the dark.  And then it hesitantly steps to the side and you catch a glimps of a long tail, and oddly twisted legs.

"Head is big enough to swallow us."  Beowulf mutters.

You slip the leather off, and inhale the pungent aroma of the wood.  Your skin prickles where it touches the axe handle, and suddenly fear flees away leaving behind a crystalline clarity bottomed by an exhilaration.  Your muscles feel loose, and strong.  You're breathing deep and slow like thunder, and you can hear your own heartbeat thudding strongly.  Confidence grips you.

And suddenly you see two figures made of mist on the rooftop with you and an unawares Beowulf.  Thor and Loki.

"McCallister, the amphetamines in the witch's mix enable you to see past the mortal world even as they make you fast and strong within it.  But you know you've overdosed.  Never fear tho', I am the Protector of Men.  I will stand with you."  Thor says.

"The idiots below you snuck in bottles of mead under their shirts." Loki giggles.  "They don't hear you.  Men certainly need a Protector cause they sure are dumb."

My eyes widen in astonishment..."Thor and Loki," I mumble in a stammered hiss nodding to Thor's words, unsure if they are real or imagined. Never thought that hallucinations could be so real though.

Loki echoed what I already had begun to figure out. I edge closer to Beowulf, my eyes never tearing away from the misty forms of the gods. I lean over, saying under my breath, "Beo...Beowulf, the men are unaware of my words, they won't be able to escape and set the pitch to light. I must go in to do it."

I begin moving before he can answer in protest, climbing to the ceiling door to slip into the building.

Beowulf's mouth slowly opens to protest, but you're gone before he can get a word out.  You slip into the door with liquid ease, and see a circle of men with small bottles of mead in their hands.  They look half-buzzed.

In the center of them is a tiny torch made of bits of hay which just gives enough light to see the jugs you would think, but you find you can see relatively clearly as if it was several large torches in the room.

**Witch's brew** The words pop into the back of your mind.

The men seem to be moving sluggishly, and you see a couple looking ashamed and startled as they see you, one looks beligerent in his disobedience, and the other half aren't aware of you yet.  But none has had the time to raise his voice.

PT

My brow furrowed in annoyance, but now was not a time for confrontation, "quickly, to your beds, it's time to feign sleep, but please do not fall sleep. After tonight the beast will plague you no more and you can enjoy all that life and sleep has to offer. This will not work unless we whom your Jarl has asked here, have your cooperation."

I didn't want to give them the word that the grendel was nearly here just yet. It wouldn't do to have half of them running for the moorings before the beast had entered the trap. "Quickly, we must lure the creature into our trap that it will not escape from."

With any luck those who were ashamed of their actions would be majority, and thus the one belligerent one would simply go along with the rest of them.

Then I grab some furs and lay down next to one of the painted pitch lines opposite the warrior's planned escape route. I heap them up over me and clear a line of site from under the cover of the furs, making sure to shade my face and I focus on breathing, centering myself for what was to come.

They shuffle into place with some quiet grumbling from a couple of them.  The others are stone-faced.

You lay down, and you can hear your heart thundering in your chest.

There is noise outside.

You hear a crashing of wood off in the direction of one of the buildings closer to the sea.

There is some noise, heavy thuds outside the building.  A snuffling sound from the seaward wall of your own building.  A low moan of fear comes through the throat of one man.  You hear others loosening their swords.

The creature steps back. THUD. Thud.

Time seems to stop.

It knows something is odd.  There are strange smells in the wind.  And then there is a crack of thunder in the sky, and the sound drives other thoughts from the creature's tiny brain.  You don't know how you know this, but its a fierce certainty.

The creature plods around, sniffs at the front door, and thud, thump, crash, rippppppppp!  The front door is open.

A young male, about fourteen feet tall, of species tyranosaurus rex enters the hall.  His spear-like teeth glisten, and drip with drool.  His breath sounds like doom.

PT

Whispering loud enough so the men nearest me can hear, I say, "set the fire and escape!"

My zippo flicks in my hands and I put the flame to the pitch with my off hand, the axe clutched in my right. I rise as the saurian beast enters, marveling at the horrific sight of it.

It was time to test whether they had been right in Jurassic Park, was the T-Rex drawn to movement? Taking a note from Beowulf, I first try to circle around behind it. If it's attention doesn't stay on me, I will set fire to the doorway to block it's escape. Otherwise I'll have to meet it head on, dodging it's meat-grinder of a mouth.

The fire lights, and spreads about the circle at what seems a snail's pace.  But the men seem to be moving slowly as well as they turn to flee.  The T-Rex roars rattling your skull, setting up vibrations in your stomach, and penetrating with a sharp stab through the witch's brew bred fearlessness.

The T-Rex wheels with you.  He's quick on his feet, but he has little room to maneuver.  His mouth is large enough to swallow you from the waist up.

His mouth opens a fraction which is all the warning you get, and then it dives down on you intending to do exactly that.

You dive to the side, and his nose collides with your rib cage, snapping something there.  Angrily he snaps his head, and you fly the length of the hall to come crashing down on top a pile of leather straw filled blankets.

Dazed, you blink.

He's thirty feet away, and surrounded by flames, and not liking it one bit.

In seeming slow motion, Beowulf drops through the roof, and tries to repeat his strangling trick.  He's on the beast's back, but even his arms are not long enough to circle the T-Rex's neck unlike the much smaller grazer.  Still, he's clinging on, and he's safe for the moment.  And he's definitely got the dino's attention.

You shake off being dazed....one of your ribs still hurts, but its not a big deal, just a pang.

PT

I scramble for my zippo trying to regain my composure. When I find it again I set the pitch near the door to light. A fire this big will cook that thing for sure.

I bring my battle axe to bear muttering a thanks to Thor beneath my breath. Then I charge in feeling the invigorating strength and speed in my limbs. I had to be careful though, I remembered, because it's not real strength, it's magic.

I'll try going after the thing's leg first to hamper it's mobility. If it's can't run, it can't escape the fire for sure. I'm aiming for the joints I tell myself, the weak spots on the things bird-like frame.

I dive in to bring the axe home.

The pitch burns fiercely after you light it, and you lope toward the Grendel with easy strides, the axe light and easy in your hands.

You swing as Grendel turns back to you, but you're faster.

You hit the rock-like limb dead on the knee, and bury it up to the axe handle in the knee.  Grendel roars, and you try to retrieve your axe, but its fixed firmly in Grendel's knee.

He turns his head to bite you, and you see Beowulf reach up and grab one of his tiny arms.  And then plant his feet against the creatures hide, and pull...

Grendel topples toward you, and you back up almost to safety.  His great head crashes into your legs as he is off balance.  He struggles to get back up, roaring into your face with a determination to live that knows no bounds.

To your terror, you think he's actually going to succeed in standing with a half-severed knee. You try to pull back but that catches his attention, and you freeze.

=Pop!= Beowulf pulls his arm out of its socket.  The beast tries to reach Beowulf, but his head won't bend that far.  So, he bites at the nearest thing he can.

You're minus a leg.

Grendel is masticating it even as Beowulf rips off the creature's left arm.

"Well done." You hear, but its hard to hear over the shrieks of pain and curses from Loki...

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