Windfall, part six

(continued from here)

 

Meanwhile, Sven had made his way from the trading stalls with a new shield. Though originally a Swede, the merchant Jarvik Korrison had been an old friend of his in Norway who had made his way to England to avoid a rather messy trial for a crime that he "may or may not have committed." He had practically given the shield to Sven, asking only that he helped save the town from a draugr plague.

"These people, this village," Jarvik said with an expansive hand gesture, "are my family now. Much better than that thrice cursed Baerni Bjornson, who may or may not have framed me... uh, sorry, where was I?"

Sven grinned. "These people, this village, are your family now..." he said, imitating Jarvik's hand gestures.

"Aha. Always the joker, Sven! Well, they have been upset of late by undead. It seems that a local tomb was upset somehow... now draugr come out and attack by night, and our dead rise by day. You were always a joker, ja, but also always an adventurer. I'm sure you can help them! Do it for an old friend... or at least do it for this shield, uh? High quality steel, and an enchantment as well, a sort of protection from fire."

Sven grinned again and clasped the merchant's arm. "It's a deal, old friend. A legion of draugr, what's that to Sven Anderson?"

 

Sven, however, was starting to regret his promise. "What on earth am I thinking?" he muttered to himself in Norse. "I can't fight a horde of undead..." He looked up at the rumble of a cart. There was a chained coffin in it. Not good. Not good at all... if he died, then there would be an undead Viking with a Snaketooth longsword and a +1 shield of fire protection running around. Perhaps the best way to help this village would be to stay as far away from it as possible. Yes, that was the way. He would not break his oath, and the undead would not break his body. "Or my mind," he thought, shuddering at the prospect of undeath.

 

Then again... what was a legion of Draugr to Sven Anderson? Surely they would be slow and fragile from the years of rotting in a musty tomb. If he destroyed whatever was raising them, surely they would no longer be held to fight. He would not be the only one fighting them... surely he would not die with a whole adventuring party around him. Yes. Surely. Whoever she was...

 

He turned again at familiar voices. The fiery haired girl and the dragon cloaked warrior. They had been on the road to Sandford only a few minutes behind him, entering the town just as he was talking to Jarvik.

What were they saying? He couldn't hear them over the noise of the cart.

"I suppose it's not my business... still, I should like to know more about them..." he thought, and turned back to the path.

"Godan... uh, hello." he called to a sandy haired mercenary walking ahead of him.

"Hey! You here for the mummies too? Well, maybe I'll leave a few for you then." The man seemed a trifle arrogant, and perhaps not too bright.

"Uh... yes..." Sven said hesitantly. "You mean the undead? Yes."

"Yeah! What else?"

"Right, of course. Say, do you know anything about those warriors over there? He gestured across the road. The cart had visually vacated the immediate area, but the sound was still more than enough to block the speech of the adventurers.

"Nope! That girl's nice on the eyes though, huh?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Well, looks like I have to get going! See you at the town hall! Hope you're ready to beat down some mummies!"

"Indeed." said Sven blandly.

 

(continued here)

Done