“You are Arvida’s.”

25 Dmg!
Draugr Killed
+25xp

John gave a small grin as the last of the draugr fell, its body slowly burning away from the flames of Kenaz that his blade was currently covered in. Talia and Frida had come to the conclusion that Talia needed some time away from her mother, time to think about what she had just learned and the impact that it would have on her life. Frida had lamented about the cruel things she had said to her parents in her youth when her own emotions were running hot, and figured Talia could use the time to think and cool off. However, with John’s impending council hearing still hanging over their heads, they had come to the conclusion that Talia and John would continue deeper into the barrow while Frida watched the entrance. She had given the two of them a small journal that she and Hálfdan had put together the previous night to help her remember all the puzzles and traps. She did warn them that with the Thor and Tyr statue room as damaged as it was, they should still keep their wits about them as other puzzles and traps could have broken down over time as well.

Also, she had mentioned that some of the rooms had draugr in them. Back when the rebellion lived in the tomb, they would use spells to ensure the draugr would stay asleep when the rebellion members walked through the halls. The person who could cast said spells had been dead for the past 25 years, so she warned them that they would be fighting off Nordic zombies in some rooms. At first, John was quite excited. He would have a great chance to try out his combat skills and runes. Plus, he had killed hundreds of draugr in Skyrim, so he figured as long as there were no dreadlords that somehow knew how to use the Thu’um, he would be fine.

Then he met his first draugr in combat.

The first thing that scared him was the reality of the situation. There was something fundamentally different between having to fight off undead warriors on his computer screen and having a corpse of an ancient Nordic warrior come charging at him sword drawn. Secondly, unlike zombies in most popular culture, these draugr made little to no noise. When he and Talia had walked into the draugr’s chambers, the only sound they heard was the rattling of helmets and quiet footsteps of the dead men walking, along with the soft hiss of the swords being pulled from their sheaths. Third was the terrifying look of some of the draugr. Rotten yellow teeth, skin slipping off the grey bones of the corpses, the milky white eyes that seemed to give a thousand yard stare while also looking straight at John like a predator stalking its prey… John offered silent thanks to Hálfdan for gifting him with the blade in his hands, otherwise he was sure he would have not been able to muster the courage to fight off the zombie warriors.

Thankfully, he and Talia were certainly no pushovers. While neither of them were sword fighting masters, both had at least the basics down. In addition, there were only 4 draugr in the whole room, and they were not exactly the best fighters in the state they were in. The one John had just finished off was missing both his jaw and left arm, depriving him of the shield that lay where he had come from. Additionally, they could only withstand a couple of John’s attacks with Firebite before collapsing in a heap. Talia also was holding her own, dealing similar amounts of damage to the draugr. However, while John focused on deflecting any attacks coming at him (and not that well, as he would still take a couple points of damage from the sheer **** these zombies were striking with), Talia seemed more focused on dodging and weaving, almost like she was dancing across the battlefield.

Speaking of Talia, she had been laser focused ever since her talk with Frida. She had barely exchanged four words with John since they had gone on their own, and was fighting off the draugr with such ferocity that John was certain if draugr could feel fear, they would be running for the high hills by now. And while John understood that Talia needed her space and time to figure this out, he also knew that communication would be key if they were going to stay alive in this **** trap of a tomb. He wiped his sword off with a small rag, before putting it back in its sheath. He slowly approached Talia and carefully placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Talia… I… Um…”

“John, if you are gonna say something, just spit it out already,” Talia interjected, her gaze not moving to meet John’s.

“I… I just wanted to say that… when you wanna talk, I am here to listen.”

“Huh, that's pretty pretentious of you. ‘When I wanna talk.’ Who says I need to talk, Johnathan?”

“I know you need to talk, Talia. You just had a bombshell dropped on you, and probably have no idea what to do right now. “

“Oh really? Well, smart ass, if you know so much about what I need, then how about you just tell me what I am supposed to say and do!” Talia turned on her heel and glared at John, spitting out her phrases as if John were an enemy.

John tried his best to remain calm. “Talia… Look, I don’t know what it is like to learn what you did. I just know that when you learn things like this, you need to talk to someone. Please, don’t get mad at me, I just wanna help you.”

Talia’s gaze softened as her shoulders slumped, her defensive posture falling. “I… I’m sorry, John. I just… I have no idea what I am doing or who I am or... “

John walked over to a small bench, pushed a dead warrior off it, sat down and patted the seat next to him. “How about you take a seat and talk to me about it? We can work through it together.” He gave her a kind smile, and she returned it, albeit hers was a bit weaker.

Talia quickly sat next to John, her sword resting at her side as she placed her head on his shoulder. “I just… You’ve noticed our last names. We Ljósálfr are big on parentage and lineages as we think it is part of who we are.”

“How so?”

She adjusted her seating and slowly began to play with the end of her shirt. “Well, you know how you are half your dad and half your mom? And how they are half your grandpa and half your grandma, thus kinda making you a fourth of each of your grandparents? Ljósálfr believe that has a greater effect on you than you would think. Not only does it affect things like your looks, but it affects things like your skills and magic, as well as your place in the afterlife and who you will become as a person.”

“Wait, so according to the Ljósálfr if my dad was a deadbeat…”

“Then you are more likely to be a deadbeat just because of who he was. Now with my mom being a revolutionary criminal… I don’t know what that means for me.”

“But aren’t you your own person, no matter what?”

“Sure, but things like what your parents are like will always affect you, as you have part of their DNA, Magic, and spirit inside of you. In Ljósálfr culture, we can never escape our lineage, no matter what. And now I am frightened of what mine means for me.”

That statement caused John to grow silent. He too had nagging fears about who he would be based upon his lineage, but at least his fears were not created and exacerbated by the culture he lived in. Plus, his father being a deadbeat was nothing compared to one’s mother being a terrorist rebel.

He then recalled the many times he overheard his mother talking with other parents in the neighborhood, and on more than one occasion hearing the phrase “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” The memory of this killed any words he was going to say, as he didn't want to be hypocritical.

They both shared a moment of silence, Talia trapped in the idea of a doomed future based on a poor past and John desperately grasping for something to say to improve her mindset. After a few minutes, John finally broke the silence, softly saying, “You know, maybe it’s not as bad as you think.”

Talia turned, giving him a slightly annoyed expression. “Oh really? Tell me, Newman, how is it not that bad?”

John swallowed his fear and turned to address her. “Well, your mom did not do the best job at instating change. But she did cause change, and those changes were needed. You have technology, pop culture, and some of the wonderful conveniences of human creation.” John gestured to Talia’s sword. “Maybe you will pick up her mantle of change and run with it, but this time using it in a less deadly way. I saw you fighting with your sword, you are absolutely amazing. Maybe through you the other Ljósálfr will understand that these sorts of skills shouldn’t be gendered.”

John leaned back and looked to the ceiling, not sure how his next statement would go over with her. “And… And if they can’t see how great having you here would be and they only see you as a daughter of a rebel… You will always be welcome to come back with me to Midgard. I assure you, I will do whatever needs to be done to help you become the woman you wish to be, not the one others wish for you to become.”

Silence followed his statement, and he was nervous he overstepped his bounds. Slowly he turned his head, expecting to see her face contorted in anger, or at worst, not see her there. Instead, she had a small smile and the buds of tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She gave a small sniffle and dried her eyes. “T-thanks, John. Maybe you’re right.” She slowly stood up, rolling her shoulders and picking up her blade. “I am the daughter of a terrorist, and that may influence who I am, but it is my decision if I let that control who I will become.”

She turned and offered John a hand. “And with you standing beside me, I think I will become someone to be envied by my current self.”

John gave a small blush, grabbing her hand and rising to his feet. Once he did, she quickly wrapped her arms around his body and kissed him. As she did so, the barrow faded from John’s sight and mind as fireworks went off in his head. He returned the kiss, his own arms going around her sides and pulling her closer.

After a few shared moments of passion, she pulled away and gave him a seductive smile. “Plus, I think we have some unfinished exploration of each other we will have to do at some point. I’m looking forward to that.”

John blushed, again, and tried to return the seductive glance. However, her reaction showed it was not a good one, as she burst into a fit of giggles. He laughed as well, and grabbed her hand.

“C’mon. Onto the next room. We have a barrow to explore.”

Lifthrasir slammed the door behind him shut, grumbling once again about the various council members beneath him. “...bunch of stuck up old asshats… so **** to hold onto what little power they have they…” He sighed and rubbed his tired eyes. Being the head of the Council would be tiring enough, had he not had his additional duties of being the leader of his guild atop that. He had many days where he would wonder if it was worth all of this, the playing of two sides of the game, the added stress, the danger of either finding out what he was doing. However, on the days that he would see the fruits of his labors, and the enticing promise of the big final payoff when all was said and done, he knew it would be worth it in the end. There were many bodies left in the wake of his life, and there would be countless more, but when one wants to ascend to rival the gods, there are going to be some graves filled by your actions.

Speaking of, it had been a while since he spoke with the man who set him on this path; it would be good to check in with him and tell him the progress of their plans. He reached up and pulled off the necklace hidden beneath his clothes. He looked to the amulet attached to the string, the familiar symbol of S shaped snakes intertwining shining back at him. He was born under this symbol, and now worshiped and aided the god of this symbol. He held the necklace up to a small carving in the wall of his office, the matching symbols glowing for a quick moment. Then, a door appeared next to the symbol, revealing a staircase that led a far way down into the depths of a world Lifthrasir did not know. However, he knew who was at the end of those steps, and who he would tell of the play of his grand plans. Lifthrasir smiled, climbing his way down into the secret chamber he discovered all those years ago.

At the bottom of the steps lay his master, awaiting Lifthrasir.

“Good evening, Master.”

“... Skip the formalities, Lifthrasir. You have news?”

Lifthrasir cowered in fear. There was no denying how monstrous and terrifying his master was, and Lifthrasir knew if the bindings were removed and it was not through the aid of Lifthrasir, he was sure that his master would destroy him without a second thought. “Y-yes, Master. It is as you said, the young boy came to me the other day, and I have sent him to that old barrow. As we speak, he is probably looking for the runes to free you.”

“Good.” His master’s weight shifted, and Lifthrasir could tell he was being stared at by his master. “Remember, when he has at least one rune of each of the gods who aided in my imprisonment, you will bring him here. Only with his power may I be freed.” Lifthrasir looked up to see his master’s terrifying grin. “Do that, and you shall be spared in Ragnarok.”

Lifthrasir smiled despite himself. There it was, the ultimate prize, worth every killing, betrayal, and crime he committed along the way. He bowed his head.