Zoltraak: Ragnarok- Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Monica Sternburg had a feeling this was going to be a good day.

Sure, some of her fellow guards were nervous, what with Graf Granat entertaining Demons in his palace, supposedly trying to make peace with Aura the Gulliotine, but that was way above her paygrade and far outside her role as a gate guard.

And in her opinion as a gate guard, the day was beautiful, the travelers were polite and seemed to have their paperwork in order, and Desmond had managed to finish the lining repairs of her shin guards and cuises; no more chafing!

So, her pleasant smile was easy to maintain as she met with the travelers at the gates, inspecting their carts and wares for contraband when needed, and examining the entry authorizations and special grants and permissions where warranted.

Donnel, her partner for the day, was all business: not exactly dour and sullen, but not exactly thrilled either. Just a blank, neutral tone behind a helmet to drolly address the arrivals.

As the sun rose high into the sky, birds sang, and the scent of wildflowers from the nearby fields wafted close- and then an elf, of all things, dropped right into her lap.

Well, not literally of course. She came in a cart, with old merchant Harold, a girl and a boy riding alongside her and- Oh…

“Bloody hell.” Monica couldn’t help but gawp like a fish out of water.

The man, if it was a man and not a shaved bear, towered over her. Over everyone. She’d never seen a man so tall. A mountain of muscle.

“Oi, Donnel!” She called with a far too happy voice. “I’ll get the elf, how bout you-”

Donnel’s head turned to her, not saying a single word very loudly with his notepad and writing pencil already in hand as he began to process the elf and old merchant Harlod.

Bastard!

She turned back to look at the giant, laughing somewhat nervously.

“Hey,” one of the boys prompted - the red headed one with the axe - because both boys had red hair. Huh. Odd. Anyway, the axe wielding red head waved her over. “Uh, yeah, they’re with us. But they’re foreign, they don't speak the language well!”

Fighting to mask her relief, she turned towards the boy. “Oh, I see. I suppose you can translate for them?”

“Ehhh-” the axe wielder looked a little more unsure at that.

“Not exactly,” the girl chimed in. “We know their names.” She pointed at the other red headed boy with a bow. “This is Atreus. We believe he’s sir Kratos’ son. And this of course is sir Kratos.”

“And no one else,” the boy laughed nervously for some mysterious reason as the girl smacked him on the arm. 

Must’ve been some kind of inside joke. “I see,” Monica nodded. “Well, if those are their names, let's just get you all registered and you can be on your way!”

She pulled free the registry tablet, its sheaf of paper already littered with a list of arrivals and their effects. 

“Okay so-” She looked to the big man, then turned her eyes towards the red head that could speak the language. “Mr. Kratos. Any idea how we spell that?”

“Not a clue- We haven’t exactly been writing on the road.”

There was a tap on her arm.

“Atreus!” 

She didn’t quite jump at the voice, but it was a close thing and her eyes sort of panic darted between the shaved bear that was the man and the boy tapping at her arm. 

“Hygg ek at hon vill vita nöfn vár, faðir.” Ok yea, that was definitely a language she did not understand; still the boy smiled at her when he turned away from his father, and gestured for the pencil in her hand. 

“You want to write your name?” She asked, and the boy seemed to nod. Maybe he understood her?

Hoping she wasn’t about to give him a pencil for the strange mountain boy to run off with, she handed it over.

The mountain boy looked at the clipboard, his eyes scanning over the ledger, squinting and seemingly reading, or at least looking at the script.

His brow knit together, thinking. It was almost a cute look for a boy his age to be concentrating so. 

Then, with pencil in hand, he scribbled.

It actually took a long couple of seconds for him to finish whatever he was doing. 

She hoped he didn’t ruin her registry. 

She wondered what she’d see when he turned it to her. Whatever it was, her imagination couldn’t have conjured up what she saw.

If she were to guess, they looked almost like the runes some fancy mages used in the big cities. But then, right next to the two lines of runes, letters. Legible ones. 

Atreus Kratoson

Kratos Callistoson

Monica felt her eyebrows hike up to her hairline. Not only at the fact that the boy could write, but seemingly read as well.

The surnames, if that’s even what they were, were odd. How the hell were you supposed to identify family members? After just a generation or two you'd have way too many mixups, especially with multiple people being called the same thing if you had a particularly popular name, like Himmel had been for her grandparents and grand uncles.

Still, contemplations for another time. She smiled at the boy, he smiled back, pleased with himself. “Thank you,” he said. His accent was thick, but she could understand him well enough. 

“When did he learn ‘thank you’?” She heard the girl mutter to the other boy beside them. Monica paid it no mind.

“You’re welcome,” she answered. “I’ll just take note of your personal effects here, and once I’m done, the town’s all yours. Please, enjoy the festival while you’re here!”

At the word, the boy squinted, his confused, thinking frown returning. “Festival,” he repeated, seemingly tasting the word, before turning to the other two. “Stark, Fern. ‘Festival’. What?”

The other boy - Stark, she assumed - was the one who answered. “A festival is… like a celebration? Everyone in town gathers together and just… has a good time.”

Atreus still looked confused, as if he was struggling with the concept.

“Oh, you don't know what a festival is?” She smiled. “You’re in for a treat. It’s the festival that honors the party of the heroes that defeated the Demon King eighty years ago,” she nodded. “My brothers always liked to play Himmel when we were kids, and I always ended up being Frieren. You know, because I'm a girl.”

The boy's eyes suddenly widened in something approximating recognition. “Frieren,” he said.

“Yeah, Friere-Huh?” Suddenly, the boy turned, marching away towards Donnely and the Elf lady.

Grasping the elf by the arm, he pulled her over, with the placid, calm woman allowing herself to be pulled. 

“Frieren,” Atreus pointed at the woman.. “Festival.”

“Hmm? A festival?” The elf commented. “Humans throw them all the time.”

“I think I confused the boy,” she laughed. “He must think Frieren is our word for elf.” She shook her head. “I was just telling him that-”

The words died on her tongue as she looked at the woman. Really looked at her.

And she was staring at a flesh and blood image of the statue at the center of the town square.

Her head whipped over to Donnely, who had the audacity to protest her snatching the clipboard out of his hand and reading over the latest names in the registry.

Right there, just below old Merchant Harold and above Fern and Stark was-

Frieren

She looked at the elf, then the clipboard, and then back to the elf. 

“Hey, can I have that ba-ACK!”

The clipboard smacked against Donnely’s helmet as she threw it at him and rushed over to shake the now fairly alarmed elf's hands vigorously. 

“Oh! Lady Frieren I am such a fan!” She wasn’t gushing, she wasn’t!

Meanwhile, beside the two of them, she never noticed Atreus mouthing a new word to himself. 

‘Elf’

—

“It’s quite alright, really.”

It wasn’t often Stark saw Frieren nervous or uncomfortable. Who knew that having fans would accomplish both quite handily?

Monica, the guard, had been pretty much ready to throw a parade for them, offering to do everything between informing the Graf they were here, to securing accommodations in the finest inn, to announcing her presence at the town square.

It reminded Stark a bit of how the townsfolk treated him after he faced down the red Dragon, now that he thought about it.

“Are you certain, Lady Frieren?” Monica asked with a look Stark would almost liken to an eager puppy. 

The elf in question put up both hands to try and wave her eager fan down. “Yes, yes, quite certain! I’d prefer if everything stayed perfectly quiet, please.”

Stark doubted it would. Even if Monica didn’t say anything, everyone at the gate had surely heard everything, so news would spread very, very rapidly, if it hadn’t already.

“Before we settle in-” Fern mused “-we should probably head to the markets: do some shopping before things get too crowded because of the Festival.”

“That sounds like a good idea, actually,” Stark nodded, before looking to Frieren. “You book us in while we head out to buy?”

She nodded, and he got the impression she’d appreciate the seclusion, hopeful that the hullabaloo of her presence being known would just blow over. 

“I could provide an escort!” Monica offered enthusiastically.

Fern almost jumped in surprise. “Oh! That’s very kind, but- we wouldn’t want to impose on your normal duties-”

“It's not a problem!” The gate guard interjected with a wide, beaming grin, almost bouncing on her feet with excitement before she suddenly stiffened. “... Probably. But, I’m happy to do it!” She declared, her happy energy returning like it never left, almost bounce and all.

While the two were having that conversation, Stark turned to Atreus. Less scary than Kratos- and he was getting a surprisingly fast grasp of the language. “Hey, Atreus.” The younger boy looked at him, turning away from his conversation with his father.

Honestly, he seemed almost overwhelmed by it all. Granat wasn’t the largest city Stark had ever seen or been in, but looking at Atreus, the boy probably hadn’t seen anything larger than a village. 

He spoke slowly. “Frieren. Stay. Here,” he pointed to the inn. “We-” Now he gestured to himself, Fern and, well, Monica. “Go.” He now gestured down the road. “Market. Buy Food. You Stay with Frieren? Or come with us?”

The kid smiled back, and with an accent that was much less prominent than it had been just that morning, spoke. “I go. See, city.”

Honestly, he was really getting a hold of the language ridiculously fast. Was that part of his magic?

Atreus turned to Kratos and started speaking in their own language, probably explaining things. Kratos frowned, either thinking, or displeased, or angry. Stark really couldn’t tell. But then he reached behind him, pulling free the bundle of bandages that was Mimir’s head.

What they were talking about, Stark was even less sure of, but it got cleared up a bit when Kratos handed the bundle that was the head to Frieren.

It made sense. If Frieren was staying here at the inn, then there was less chance that Mimir would be seen and discovered, especially with a crowded marketplace where there might be pickpockets. 

The elf held the bundle with both arms, forming a cradle for the neck stump. Peeking between the bandages, Stark could see the glimmer of Mimir’s golden left eye.

She nodded to Kratos, he nodded back.

Then, she turned to the Inn to get them rooms, and the others left towards the market. 

—

Mimir could say that, as far as inns went, this was one of the nicer ones he’d ever stepped into.

Well… figuratively stepped into at least…

The floors didn’t creak when Lady Frieren walked over them, the roof was solid and didn’t leak (no spots of mold or horrible water stains in sight), the air smelled of freshly baked bread, and perhaps the hint of ale and beeswax for the candles. 

It even had a nice window to let in sunlight.

Granted, the view out of said window wasn’t anything remarkable: just staring into the solid stone slab face of the neighboring building.

But sunlight was always nice.

And the window had glass, too. The more he saw, the more convinced he was they were nowhere near the Midgard that he knew. Glass panes like these would cost a king's ransom. 

And yet, here they were. At an inn. 

Maybe they could take some back with them. The boy and Brother’s house was functional, but dark and dreary by necessity. Couldn’t have an open hole with the freezing cold of Midgard sweeping in.

But a window with glass. That could keep the cold out and let the sun inside, too. Best of both!

Oh, if only they could speak.

“Ahh, here it is.”

He heard the lady’s voice, and not for the first time Mimir lamented his lack of mobility. She’d placed him facing the window once she noticed his fascination with it, even placed him in a nice spot where he could sunbathe under the afternoon warmth. 

But still, hearing her speak, and beginning to walk across the room, even if he didn’t understand, piqued his curiosity. 

But then, he felt her slender hand atop his skull, before she gently pulled him free of his place and turned him around to face her.

“Hello my lady,” he said. Just because she couldn’t understand didn’t mean he shouldn’t be polite. “How can the Smartest Man Alive help you?”

But the elf didn't answer. Instead, her other hand gently touched his forehead, eyes closing.

Mimir wasn’t the most magically attuned, but he’d been around enough Aesir, Vanir, and Sedir magic to detect when someone pulled on the flows of magical energies.

Hello.

“Oh!” He gasped. “I can understand ye!”

The elf’s eyes remained closed, but a faint hint of a smile tugged at her lips. 

“An old folk spell. I'd almost forgotten it. A mage once had a child that was born as a deaf mute. He created this spell to finally hear and be heard by his child. I’m glad it works for us as well.”

“Oh that is fascinating!” The Celtic Fae gushed. “I’ve heard of some esoteric magics, but not one that can allow people to speak like this!”

“It’s more sharing thoughts,” she explained, and now that he took a moment to get over his fascination, he realized her lips weren’t moving. “And speaking of esoteric magics, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen magic that can keep a head functioning.”

“Aye.” He would have nodded if he could. “It's rare even where I’m from- only person I know of that could do it was Freja, and perhaps her Valkyries. Vanir Goddess, knowing of all their Magical know-how.”

“Goddess? Interesting. We’re traveling in search of a Goddess ourselves though we're not sure if she exists..”

That made Mimir pause. Unlike Kratos, he wouldn’t say that all Gods were cruel. Freja, Kratos and Atreus themselves were proof of the contrary, but… “Searching for Gods can be dangerous, my lady.”

“Perhaps,” she conceded, before sitting down on the bed and placing him on her lap, fingers maintaining contact with his skull. “Still, now that we can speak, I imagine we both have many questions.”

“Oh absolutely,” he smiled. “Trade for Trade, then? You ask one, I ask one?”

“That sounds fair. Where are you three from?”

“Oh, far from here,” he said. “A place known as Midgard, one of the Nine Realms. We were traveling between the realms through the World Tree when something went slightly awry, and ended up here.”

“None of those names or terms mean anything to me. How strange. It must be very far indeed.”

“Now, forgive me if I’m rude with this question lass, but, what are ye? You’re not human, clearly.”

“An elf.”

“An elf?” He hummed. “You look nothing like the light or dark elves from Aelfheim.”  

“I’m not. But the fact that there are elves where you come from is interesting. Our own race is very sparse here… perhaps experiencing a quiet extinction, even with our long lives.”

“Extinction!?”

The woman shrugged. “Now, its only fair I ask, what are the three of you? I don't believe you’re quite human either.”

“I’m just a humble head,” he deflected. “Brother and the boy… they’re not human, you’re right, but it's not my place to say lass. I hope you’ll respect that.”

“I understand-”

And so the questions continued. They spoke of everything. From the history of this world, the Nine Realms, the World Tree, and of Sedir and Aesir magic.

The hours drifted by, the sun passing from the brightness of high noon to the orange of sundown.

“Serie?”

“A mage. An elf, like me. A very powerful one. If there’s anyone who would know how to find you a way home, it would be her. Her knowledge is far more extensive than even my own.”

Hmmm. That was useful to know. Mimir had no doubt the World Tree connected to this realm somehow, and before too long, Brok or Sindri might find a way to contact them. The dwarf brothers were always intuitive and resourceful, but someone from this realm possibly knowing a path would be useful, if she did know.

Besides, its not like he had a better plan. 

Smartest Man Alive had a bit less actionable information in a world that was completely alien.

Then, the door opened.

Frieren’s eyes finally opened, and she turned away from Mimir to look towards the doorway, her voice finally reaching his ears again, but the words were once more foreign. “Welcome back-”

She considerately turned Mimir’s head towards the door.

And Fern and Stark looked like they’d been run over by an ox cart. Atreus looked quite apologetic.

But it was his brother’s face that would have made Mimir pale if he had any blood left to drain from his head.

His brother had just the barest hint of a pleased smile on his face. 

‘Oh bloody hell,’ the head thought. ‘He’s murdered half the town, hasn’t he!?’

“What happened?”

“We weren’t allowed to leave,” Stark groaned, his words unintelligible to Mimir, but the exhausted misery they were delivered with was unmistakable.

The Giant of a God lumbered into the room, a jar of something Mimir had never seen in his meaty hand.

He plonked it down on the table beside the bed, sat his great bulk down on the groaning furniture, undid the lid, took one of the… pickled? -Was it pickled?- whatever it was, and placed it in his mouth, chewing on it like a snack.

It was bizarre.

“Mr. Kratos-” Fern spoke up, and dangit! He needed to understand!

What had happened!?

What had gone wrong!?

How many people were dead!?

“He really… wanted those olives.” She finished miserably.

—

Far beyond the walls of the inn, the Demon known as Draght kept to the shadows. He’d stalked the group as long as he could, but there was a mage in the inn. A fairly strong one, judging by the mana he’d sensed, and for how long he’d sensed it. He wouldn’t risk drawing close and being detected.

But still, now he knew their odd collection of targets. The large warrior looked formidable- but he was human. Nothing that couldn’t be dealt with easily enough.

But it was the boy, the one with the bow... His Mana is the one they’d sensed.

He was their target.

He had to report to lord Lügner.

(X)(X)(X)

Hello everyone. Welcome to the next project.

As you can see we're in full swing, next chapter is where we start kicking off a bit of canon divergences, if all goes well it should hopefully be dropping next week along with a new chapter for three houses of Westeros for those who follow that story.

Happy new year to all and lets have a fun time with new stories :)