Chapter 17: Vikings

Our entrance into the town was the farthest thing from peaceful.

It was reminiscent of one of those staple scenes in books really - an entrance filled with blades and weapons pointed on our way the moment we came into the view of the locals. And if anybody ever said Vikings never used bows and arrows, then they haven't met these ones. With just a look, I knew that it would be impossible for me to block their numbers, even with my Skills.

The second we came into their sights, there were only two choices: move on confidently or die.

Thankfully, Rain was beside me then. He, unlike me, managed to act flippant and uncaring of the hundreds of bladed weapons and barbed arrows that were pointed to us instead of shaking at the knees like I was.

"Don't shoot!" Rain shouted, with a easy-going smile on his face. "We come in peace!"

He then murmured something to me, softly as to not be heard by those in front of us. "Myrddin, if I were you, I would simply stare ahead and keep a straight face as possible. Act as if you're looking at something behind their eyes, and imagine that they're simply not there. I'll be the one talking for you."

Freezing up at the thought of pretending not to see all those pointy tips and edges, I managed to croak out a "Yes."

Then I put my words into action.

Pretend that you are a voiceless statue. Stare ahead like nobody's there. I can do that. Rain could, and he did it practically everyday. Well, when he was being Brian at least.

For some reason, the moment I did so, the Vikings in front of us took a step back.

Slowly, the two of us waited in turn. The Vikings that we could see were talking amongst themselves, and who were we to argue against people who could kill us at any moment? Rain kept close to me, his arm hung over my shoulder almost lackadaisically, but I knew he was carefully watching ahead of us. And calming me down in the same time too, thank god for that.

Finally, a spokesperson came forward.

He was a rather tall, gruff sort of man, though I should've expected it, considering who he was. With a rich full beard in braids on his chin, and his red hair hidden underneath his helmet, he looked at us warily with a pair of sharp peregrine eyes that told 'mess with me if you dare!'

"We don't get visitors 'ften in this area..." He started carefully, his rich heavily accented voice easily sounding through the open space we were in. I tried to keep face at the fact that while he spoke, his arm dangerously hovered over his waist, where a sword hung in its scabbard, ready to be unsheathed at any moment. "Who are you people?"

"Friends." Rain replied easily with nary a shiver at the heavy look on us. "Friends of Grimm Locke of the Grimm Orphanage. Travelers too, but we are mostly friends and allies of Grimm."

The man before us widened his eyes. The tense air around him dissipated into nothing as he visibly relaxed at the mention of the orphanage caretaker's name. "Odin bless, Grimm? Grimm Locke? He's still alive 'fter all these years?"

Was that awe in his voice? And judging from Rain's miniature jolt of surprise, he too didn't know the reason for such a reaction from such a large man.

"He has built an orphanage across the river from here." Rain said softly. I supposed it was to hide his own shock. "He told me to tell one Brandt Svenson of his continued existence, and he also wants to know the current state of this town."

"Brandt Svenson has been dead for eleven years." A note of sorrow entered the man's accent. "My brother would've celebrated in the name of Thor about this joyful news, had he not already died of disease."

Rain's face went blank.

"My condolences." More warily, he then continued, "So, you are his brother?"

"Brynjar Svenson, the Chief of this tribe, at your 'ervice." For a second, the man in front of us closed his eyes in a moment of solemnity, no doubt in the middle of remembering his dead brother. But then, he gave a short chuckle that soon turned into a guffaw, and sure enough, he was positively roaring with joy.

I quickly mentally classified him as 'slightly bipolar at minimum'.

"Enough with the small talk!" He guffawed, suddenly jovial as a proud smile ran across his face. With a large wave of his arm over his head, all the weapons pointed at us came down. "Friends of Grimm, you say? You shall be welcomed with food and mead! Welcome to our town of Thordinn!"

At that point, one of the buildings that had finally been put out collapsed. Ashes went everywhere, and dozens of men went flying as their perch suddenly broke apart beneath their feet. Thankfully, they also seemed hardy enough to walk away their falls as soon as they landed.

Brynjar's smile became a little forced.

"After 'eh bit of rebuilding." He amended. "We shall do the celebrations in due time."

I exchanged looks with Rain. He gave me an affirmative nod.

"We'll help."

If there was one thing I've learned about Vikings in the following hours, it was that they were amazing builders.

Me and Rain? We were only slightly experienced at reconstruction, having learnt a bit of the trade during our short stay inside the Grimm Orphanage. You could only take so long with a large bunch of over-energetic kids without something breaking after all, and Grimm really loved making us do his work while we were around.

But in the face of the Vikings, we were toddlers playing with toy hammers and putty cement.

When they built their buildings, they did it quickly, professionally, and without problems. Nobody spoke, simple gestures and handwaves worked enough for them to understand that 'ah, you should replace the foundation here' and 'has anybody chopped down the wood for the next supporting pillar yet'.

I supposed they had to, after some thinking. With how casual they took the destruction of their homes, one could easily infer that it usually happened. And if your house gets frequently decimated, then wouldn't it be logical that you would quickly learn to rebuild it?

"Rain..." I ended up whispering to my friend, voicing my thoughts. "I'm not really sure that we are actually helping them here."

"Helping them was never the aim, Myrddin." Rain answered back to me offhandedly, his focus seeming to be on something else other than the roof we were finishing up on. "Really... Did you really think four more hands could do much? No. All we're doing right now is something else."

"Like what?"

Both of us jumped in surprise, as Brynjar suddenly appeared beside us.

His brow was furrowed, and judging from the veritable stack of wood that he was carrying over his shoulder, even the Chief helped in the rebuilding efforts.

"Young lads, what are 'alking about?"

"About our mission from Grimm." Rain answered quickly, looking nonchalant to the eye of anyone who didn't know him. Only I noticed the slight built of anger that remained in his eyes, or the lilt in his voice that was there whenever he became emotional. "Observing the situation."

"Ah is 'hat so?" Brynjar made a small frown. "Meet me later then, inside one of the pubs that 'till stand. On 'econd thought, you may not know 'here it is, so..."

He turned to a different direction, where a group of more Vikings were removing the ruins that used to be buildings from the road. It was going quickly, it seemed, as I recalled that the pile they were working on used to be much larger a few minutes ago. Truly, they were construction machinery in human form.

"Svaltr!" Brynjar barked, and suddenly one of the men jumped up in attention. "Help the two visitors here with their work, instead of 'oitering over there! And act as their guide for their 'ime in Thordinn!"

And so, minutes later, Rain and I had a guide in the form of a Viking. This one though, was a rather strange one compared to those I was starting to get used to seeing during our still-short stay inside Viking territory. Instead of the large build the other Vikings had, our new guide was rather thin and lanky. Almost like a weed, really.

He had the same red hair as Brynjar, but not the same kind of awe-inducing presence. Not to say that he looked weak, per se... more like he was out of place between all the rough and gruff men that were his people.

Then he slipped and fell as he tried to climb to the roof we were on and I realized that we were stuck with the runt of Vikingland.

Brynjar looked like he wanted to be somewhere else.

"Svaltr!" His face went red with anger. "Fix your manners, boy! Do you want to shame the 'eputation of Thordinn with your actions?"

The Viking runt - Svaltr - shouted back a few apologies, and soon enough he was with us. Muttering a few more orders beneath his breath, Brynjar sent us a tired smile a few minutes later and left us alone with our new guide.

Rain was the first to speak.

"So. You are our guide for today?"

The Viking gave us an apologetic look. "Yes, I suppose. My name is Svaltr, of the Thordinn Tribe."

I blinked at his first words. They were... different. "Wait... why don't you have an accent? Like the Chief?"

"Accent?" Svaltr tilted his head at the question. "I don't get what you mean."

"He means that odd lilt in phrasing and pronunciation Brynjar uses." Rain answered for me to the side, his eyes wandering over the town contemplatively. I could practically hear the gears of his mind work. "I think it would be called Scandinavian from we are from, but I also think it's strange that out of all people, we get a person like you as our guide."

Svaltr looked a bit uncomfortable. "Oh... Is that so?"

"Yes." Rain answered, his voice strangely sharp as he turned his gaze at our guide. "Is there any reason as to why you are so different?"

Svaltr kept quiet, directly looking at the roof we were fixing. At such silence, Rain released a sigh but let the question drop.

I felt a bit out of place, so I tried to change the subject that had apparently gone sore.

"A-Alright." At my voice, both people with me turned at my direction. Rain's look was unreadable, and Svaltr's was... rejudging? I didn't know what the Viking was thinking, but I had a feeling it wasn't good. "I had a question. It's about this place, really... I mean, what do Vikings do?"

At what probably was a safe question, Svaltr immediately perked up.

"Vikings are the naval fighters of the Human race." He started slowly and quietly, his voice becoming stronger with every word. "We are amazing at making weapons, ships, and a variety of tools, but we are primarily a warrior race. In the times of War, we Vikings held the frontlines for Trevignon, and we fought with fury and might!"

A smile started to cover his face. "Truly, Vikings and Valkyries of those days were amazing. Nobody dared to fight us back then..." It then started to fade. "Or at least, until the War ended and we Vikings got banished into the mountains."

I winced. I just stepped into another conversational landmine.

"About that, yes." Rain pushed on, for the meantime ignoring social nuances. "I've heard about Valkyries... and that they are supposed to be in this town. Where are they now? Where are all the women of this town?"

I blinked. Now that Rain mentioned it, I didn't recall seeing anybody that weren't male.

At his question, Svaltr's eyes widened. "H-How did you notice-!"

Rain cut him off. "I've been looking for them all this time."

"In a town where the only possible cause of conflict is its people, this degree of destruction could only mean that a significant split happened in the past. Thus, it would only be logical that a group of people would likely have left this town sometime ago and become the very enemies that had attacked these buildings. Not only that, this group of people would have to bear some kind of similarity to banner over one goal."

"That's why I'm asking this now. Tell me, in this land of Vikings, where are the Valkyries?"

At his last, nail-driving question, there I noticed it all.

Silence. Sweet blissful silence... wherein people were supposed to be working and rebuilding, with hammers making loud clacks over wood and stone.

People- no, Vikings, all around us, had stopped a long time ago in order to listen to Rain's words.

"So I see that Svaltr's incompetence won't keep you from noticing." Brynjar's accented voice rumbled loudly as the three of us turned to see him there, standing over the center of the square and surrounded by his men. "I should've realized that 'othing would have stopped whoever that Grimm Locke sent from finding out our shameful secret."

"From the moment I saw the town up close, I already knew." Rain calmly answered him back. "I was just waiting for you to tell it upfront, but it seemed that it would've gone nowhere that way."

Brynjar said nothing at those words, instead turning on his feet. His people split apart like the Red Sea to let him pass.

"Get 'own from there and follow me. I have a story to 'ell to you two."

We were led into a large hall. Had it been any other time, I would've been in awe at the strange architecture that was far different from the modern one that I was used to. Sure, Grimm's orphanage was made out of wood, but it was made with a slight medieval touch that wasn't really that different from current Western ideals.

The Viking Hall, on the other hand, was far more bestial in theme.

All around us, working traps and sharp weapons were displayed, all of them ready for use at any time. Above us in turn was a large steel cage, where several large wooden figurines in shape of dragons and monsters were hung and displayed.

For a moment, the sight of them made me recall my days inside Akkandia, and I shivered at the memories of way too many close calls as I tried to escape the veritable Land of Darkness.

"So, 'ell me. What do you two specialize in?"

Rain shared a look at me, telling me to 'keep quiet, I'll handle this'.

"I'm a storyteller." He then answered back to the chief, his voice unreadable as he half-lied, half-told the truth. "Myrddin over here is a swordsman, but he's my partner in telling tales - acting as a singer sometimes, other times keeping things from getting rowdy when people get bored..."

At that, Brynjar pointedly looked over our heads, where I knew our titles were. Rain had indeed changed his title into Storyteller a while ago, so there wasn't any way that the Viking could see that he lied. On the other hand, he then turned to me in particular, as if he was measuring me and judging me.

By now, my hand went automatically over my sword as I felt a slight surge of danger. Strange that, now that I think of it, that I had started to think of my weapon as some kind of comfort object...

Rain slapped my hold away with his right hand. "Ah, sorry about that."

He grinned at Brynjar, and if the expression was a bit evil I didn't make a comment. "He's also a bit twitchy."

That was the point that I realized what Rain was doing. He was making me out to be a terrifying monster in battle, his bodyguard of sorts underneath his cover as a mere 'storyteller'. I almost paled at the thought, but just in time I managed to stay with what Rain told me to do: keep face, and stare ahead.

I mentally wept as I realized it was Rain using me as intimidation to keep away attackers.

"I see then." If Rain's words had any effect, Brynjar didn't make it obvious. On the other hand though, Svaltr, who had followed along his chief even as everyone else gave us privacy, turned to me with wary eyes. "So, you two aren't warriors?"

"We've picked up some skills here and there, but no, not really. Like I've said, we're merely friends and travelers."

At that, Brynjar heaved a sigh.

"Is that so?" The chief muttered tiredly, even as he kept his face rigid and stiff in an effort to save his image in amongst three other people. "So there is 'othing to be even gained in keeping you here. But such is Odin's wish, I suppose... who are we Vikings to 'rgue and ask for help even in 'ime of crisis?"

"We never planned on helping in the first place." Rain answered coolly, but not unkindly. "We are just here to hear the state of this location and report it to Grimm. Nothing more, nothing less, as we want to keep things neutral."

"Very 'ell." Brynjar acquiesced. "Here, sit 'ith me. Svaltr, bring us three mugs and 'er pool of malt."

With a stiff nod, the other Viking in the room left the two of us alone with his chief.

Rain took the moment to ask, "Pool of malt?"

"Mead." Brynjar answered dryly, "We make it 'ith honey of course, but it's Viking tradition to call things 'ith other names."

With those words, Rain gave me a troubled look, and I understood. It wasn't that we had to worry of getting drunk in real life - virtual alcohol remained virtual alcohol after all - but it didn't change the fact that there was such thing as a 'Drunk' mental debuff status.

Who knows what our lips could spill under the influence?

"I think we should not be drinking while talking." Rain tried for a way out. "We aren't even that thirsty anyways..."

"Not drinking mead while talking!" Brynjar bellowed, his eyes going wide. I had a feeling what Rain was saying sounded like child murder in his ears. "Nonsense! Real men drink 'hen telling tales, and you are 'oing to drink! In fact, 'e are going to drink lots!"

That was the moment Svaltr returned, with a veritable tub filled with sweet-smelling alcohol. Dipped inside it were three dark, wooden mugs that were obviously not made with apple cider in mind.

Rain and I exchanged one final glance of desperation before, finally, we settled down in acceptance for the situation.

I didn't mention anything about the fact I never drank alcohol before in my life, virtual or not.

My memories of the following hours were murky at best, and inscrutable at worst.

Rain wouldn't ever tell me about what exactly happened while I was drunk, other than saying I didn't spill anything, but he made sure to pass on to me later on the tale as to what exactly happened that put the Vikings that placed them in such dire straits with their distaff counterparts the Valkyries. I had a feeling Rain was purposely hiding away some details of the story, but I received the gist of it all.

To put it simply, their current situation was because of a spat and several remarks of the sexist variety.

It apparently started almost exactly ten years ago, after the death of Brynjar's brother who used to be the chief at the time. His death was instrumental to how it occurred - without the presence of a stiff leader like Brandt Svenson, the population of the town was all kinds of restless.

Fights occurred day in and day out, from the most minor of reasons to the birth of blood feuds. But since not of it was too major, there was no real hurry to push for a new chief - after all, who were Vikings if they weren't used to fighting?

But then, the trigger happened.

One of the newest and best upcoming Valkyries of the time got into a fight with one of the Vikings. It would have been like any other minor conflict, if it weren't for the fact that at some point the Viking in question sent his opponent a rather sexist slur.

"Stay in the kitchen, meyla!"

It didn't end well. Soon, the argument ended up gaining more participants on both sides, the normally obscene curses turning more and more unforgivable, and in mere days the conflict ended up spreading all over the town.

On one side was the Vikings. On the other was the Valkyries.

Husbands turned against wives. Sisters turned against their brothers, lovers fought with their lovers. Both Vikings and Valkyries were stubborn folk - nobody wanted to admit they were in the wrong, and to both of them they were struck where it hurt the most.

Their pride.

Soon, the argument got worse, and what used to be minor conflicts here and there became full-blown grudge matches between groups of men and women.

And when the Brynjar ended up becoming the chief, it all exploded into mayhem.

The town split up in two - Vikings and Valkyries. The original name of the clan was lost, and the Valkyries left to start their own town somewhere else while the Vikings stayed in their houses and declared it Thordinn. The Valkyries, on the other hand, settled somewhere they named Freylin.

Now, that was the state of the affairs. Thordinn, the town of the Vikings, remained constant while Freylin stayed hidden, its location only known to the Valkyries. Every other day, invasions happened, causing chaos and mass destruction - and the Vikings felt truly disadvantaged as they couldn't even counterattack.

But for the time, I didn't care for the situation.

For now, I wasn't going to be scared, or terrified, or feeling the sudden urge to run far, far away from the entire mountainous region.

Why?

You have gained 9 levels! You are now level 66!

You have gained the title "Terror-monger!"

Because when you wake up, bruised and battered in the middle of the wilderness with your friend, and with new levels and a damn title to match, all you would feel is:

"WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED!"

As for the last-minute infodump of a plot background in this chapter... it would all be clarified soon enough. Rain's POV would work on showing the actual action, as this chapter is more for planting seeds for future plot elements. Don't worry about the themes being too vocal though - this is a story after all, not a philosophical essay!