《Valheim》


 Preface: Valkyrie

    August 12, 2087 A.D.


    A man emerged from the operating room, squinting as he stepped out into the harsh brightness of the hospital hallway. Dressed in a ruffled and wrinkled slate gray suit with a slate gray tie, and holding an oversized charcoal briefcase, this man''s only adornment was a pin on his collar; a vibrant green world with silver wings sprouting from either side. As the door closed behind him, he breathed out an exhausted sigh. There were no new applicants in his ward, so he turned right down the immaculately white hallway, walking slowly back towards his corner office.


    He passed by closed doors and darkened rooms. This night was a slow night, and for that he was grateful. Nothing but himself, the nurses, and the smell of antiseptics. As he came to the end of the hallway, he couldn''t help but let out a dark chuckle at the name plate on his door, "Valkyries office" it read. But he knew the truth, and he knew what he was. He stumbled into the room, and fell onto his cot, suit and all.


    Three days on, three days off. For half the week he lived in this room and this wing, the other half his partner did. There was always a Valkyrie on call. They couldn''t afford to miss out on any new clients, or so he was told. The fatigue of two years of sleepless nights washed over him, and he quickly began to succumb to his exhaustion. He hoped he wouldn''t dream about the man he just-beeeeep beeeeep beeeeep- his tablet blared, rudely depriving him of his rest.


    He pulled it from his nightstand, and silenced the alarm. As soon as he saw the message, he knew it would be another sleepless night. "Two new potential clients on route to floor 14, east ward trauma center. One is urgent. Please proceed to N1403 immediately." He sighed, and struggled to gather the strength to leave his warm, soft bed so soon after arriving. But still he rose, slowly but surely; grabbed his briefcase, and began to stumble out into the hall.


    He arrived at room 1403, still exhausted. He mustered what strength he could, straightened his tie, tried to flatten his suit jacket, and stepped into the operating room.


    The quiet world suddenly shattered. The surgeon was quickly barking orders to the nurses, frantically trying to patch up his patient. But the Valkyrie knew, she wouldn''t live. His tablet held a detailed report of her injuries; multiple bullet wounds to her torso, one through her throat. Her stomach, liver, intestines, and a kidney has all been ruptured. She shouldn''t be alive now, but it wouldn''t take long. Her pulse grew weaker and weaker, and the Valkyrie walked around the table to the surgeon. He waited, it took 15 minutes, but soon she was almost gone.


    The Valkyrie put his hand on the surgeon''s shoulder. "Paul, I''m sorry. It''s time."


    Paul turned, and choked out a few words, "She''s one of yours, is she?"


    "Yes Paul, she''s one of mine. You did what you could. Go take a break. You''ve earned it."


    Paul let his head sag, waved to the nurses, and shambled out of the room. He was new, he hadn''t gotten used to failure. In time, the grief would fade. He would harden his heart, and save many lives. But now, it was time to work.


    The Valkyrie hefted his briefcase onto a cart next to the bed, he opened it up and removed a thick metal crown. A large band of silver, adorned with wires and straps. He turned to the client, and truly saw her for the first time. She was pretty, and young, far too young to be here. Her long and blood stained brown hair framed a face drained to the palid color of death. He quickly rushed to complete his work, before she passed and before he lost his nerve. He gently raised her head, and slipped the crown down to her brow, setting and tightening the straps around her chin and around the top of her head. He took a step back and browsed his tablet. All the boxes were checked and all the lights were green. The crown was ready. "Goodbye Alexandra" He softly whispered to the woman in front of him. Then he tapped a button on his tablet.


    There was a horrid popping noise, as a thousand needles punched through her skull, each directed at its designated cluster of gray matter. Memories, thoughts, feelings, desires, instincts, fears, tastes, and more. Everything that defined this woman, her entire soul was ripped from her body. Her green eyes opened wide, every muscle in her body contracted. And then the last light died in her eyes, and her body went limp. "Transfer complete." his tablet announced, in a heartlessly happy voice.


    He skimmed over the data, still unsettled by how easily a person''s personality could be quantified. He attempted to wake her, but the option was gray, with a notation that her husband was named her executor in the event of her death.


    "Another housecall... Victoria, send a message to Charlie in family services, let him know we have another one for him."


    "No, this one isn''t for Charlie." his tablet AI responded.


    "Fuck... he''s here isn''t he?"


    "He just came out of 1404, next door. He is down the hall in the recovery ward. He will regain consciousness soon."


    "Damn... fine. Page the coroner to retrieve this body... I''ll go see to the husband."


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    A man awoke in a bed in an unfamiliar place. Bright lights, white walls, and a sparsely decorated room greet him. However it was not a peaceful wakening from a restful sleep. The first sensation to enter his consciousness was one of unfathomable pain. And he announced his presence to the world with an anguished scream, only to find it a muffled groan. A tube was blocking his throat, his body wrapped and bound. He tried to flail, to free himself, to rise, but he soon grew weak. Still panicked, and terrified, his arms could no longer continue their struggle.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    He finally truly saw the room, and its sole occupant. A man wearing a gray suit and a shiny pin on his collar stood calmly at the side of his bed. With a strained smile and sunken eyes from a thousand sleepless nights, this stranger had waited over an hour for this feeble man to awaken.


    The patient froze in his bed, his eyes wide with fear. One word echoing in his mind, "Reaper". Then, another horrifying realization washed over him. Someone was missing. This reaper stood where another should, had she been able. He remembered laying in a pool of blood, but he hadn''t been alone. Terror racked his consciousness, and he began his struggles anew, this time more frantic, more determined. He clawed and fought to right himself on the bed, but only managed to lean on his side. Unbearable agony coursed through his body, but still he reached a hand, covered in bloody gauze out to the reaper.


    The reaper accepted the outstretched arm, clasping it in a gentle grip by the forearm to support the dying man''s weight. With his other arm, he gently but forcefully returned him to his original position on the bed. Still clasping arms, the Reaper finally spoke. "Please relax. I will remove the tube if you let me." The man weakly nodded in reply, and allowed the Reaper to remove his tube. Although not a doctor, he had long since learned how to take it out himself. Adding in a doctor to these negotiations always proved troublesome.


    "It won''t be comfortable, but you can speak now." Said the reaper as he reached for his tablet which rested on the bedside table.


    Before he could continue the man cut in. "Where is she? Where is my wife?"


    "Sir, I''m sorry. She-"


    "No, where the hell is she?"


    "She died."


    "No. no..."


    "Sir, I don''t mean to be rude, but we don''t have much time. do you know who I am?"


    "You''re a fucking reaper."


    "I am the Valkyrie assigned to this wing. But yes, you would call me a reaper."


    "You killed her didn''t you?"


    "Her file said she gave consent for her soul to be preserved."


    "Don''t fuck with me."


    "Sir, she was shot 8 ti-"


    "Did. You. Kill. Her?"


    "Yes. But she still-"


    "Bastard. You love this don''t you."


    The reaper hefted his tablet, "ENOUGH. What is left of your wife is in this tablet. You have to decide what happens to her, since neither of you took the time to arrange death insurance or write a proper will. Do I have your attention now?"


    "...yes"


    The reaper sighed. "I''m sorry. I know this is hard. But this is important. It''s not just your wife. You are dying as well. I''m sure you''ve guessed as much by now."


    "I feel my body failing... How long do I have?"


    "Minutes. 20 at most."


    "What happened? We were attacked? Who did this to us?"


    "I don''t know. It wasn''t in the report. But it''s time we got to business. Both you and your wife are in need of rebirth."


    "Two of us... It''s too expensive. We don''t have enough. I can''t join her can I?"


    "That isn''t necessarily true. If you agree to sign over all of your assets our estimates value you just over $200,000."


    "That barely covers the lowest rebirth... You take everything from us but we will have nothing! We won''t even be together!"


    "Sir, there is a group discount. It takes off enough to cover two basic transfers, a linked start, and about 3 Aurels, if your actual assets prove more than estimated, you will receive a bonus equal to its worth."


    "I don''t know... isn''t there something else we can do? Anything? We can''t just start over with nothing."


    "The stimulants and transfusions the doctors here have given you will only keep you alive for a few minutes. You either take the offer I''m giving you, or you take your chances with with the automated system. I promise this is the best offer you can get in your situation."


    "I don''t have much choice... do I?


    "No, not unless you wish to die."


    "Will it hurt?"


    "Yes, terribly. But only for a moment."


    "Hell... just get it over with."


    "For the record, you wish to sign over your assets to the Aesir Corporation, purchase two class 20 rebirths, a linked start, and for the remainder of your assets to be converted into Aurels?."


    "Yes."


    "Relax, this will only take a moment."


    The dying man watched the reaper bend down to retrieve something from below the bed. It was a metal ring, the device which would be his end. They called it a gateway, the tool of the Valkyrie to bring you into the next life. But everyone knew, it was a scythe, and its wielder. the Reaper. They roamed the halls of the hospitals, visited the terminally ill, sold afterlife insurance, and profited from death and despair. Everywhere they walked, death followed.


    He smelled the harsh clean of antiseptics, this helmet had been sterilized recently. Was this the same helmet that had ended the life of his wife? Did she feel this same terror as it was slowly placed on her head? He would see her soon at least... but he didn''t think he would ever ask. He winced as the reaper adjusted the helmet, and tightened the straps. The reaper spoke to him one final time. "Goodbye Marcus." In an instant his mind was on fire, searing pain rushing through is brain, but before he could scream, his world went black.

 Chapter One: Rebirth

    19 years ago, Aesir corporation unveiled the gateway project. They had finally discovered a method to fully upload the human conciousness into a machine. The first few to enter were hailed as the first immortals, and the VR world they lived in was perfect, and catered to their every need. Adventure, romance, thrills, games, this world had it all. But soon the trial participants grew bored.


    Their lives were too perfect. They had nothing to strive for, nothing to fear, nothing to lose. The machine simulated a full thousand years in this world in the time it took the rest of us to live through one. And noone was more frustrated than the project lead. He proposed that the afterlife wasn''t truly worth living unless there was challenge, diversity, fear and achievement. And the board of directors agreed. The bored, weary husks who wished for death weren''t exactly a good advertisement for their product. And so the game was born.


    Project gateway was renamed Valheim, and it became the greatest undertaking of mankind; a new world, larger and more fantastical than any we could have imagined. The greatest game designers, geologists, physicists, architects, biologists, every revered specialist in a field that had anything to do with the planet, life, or virtual world creation was interviewed. Those deemed to be among the best in their field were offered something never heard of before, the chance to be a god in a new world. Volcanologists who had spent their entire lives studying volcanoes, always observing, were suddenly offered the chance to bring them to life. They had been consulted of course for many VR games in the past, but the chance to build it with their own hands was entirely unheard of. Biologists were tasked with creating new life, limits on genetic experimentation, cloning, and environmental protection were erased. A truly limitless opportunity for science. Dungeon designers were sent to wander the world, seeding the wilderness with all manner of caves, ruins and lairs. Architects were given mountains of concept art, and commissioned to build wonders of nature and craftsmanship. And the participants thrived. Continents were formed, cities raised, and the world populated with the best AI technology could create. But still it wasn''t enough.


    A few hundred volunteers were admitted to the program, but as time flew past, they each departed. Always by choice. After a few hundred years, they grew weary and chose to pass on. They didn''t feel truly alive. And so began the second revolution of Valheim. Aesir developed a gateway which didn''t require the destruction of the original brain. Hundreds of people were scanned in an attempt to build up a library of human consciousness. These minds were duplicated many times, and thrust into the world. The NPC''s were NPC''s no longer, now no different than the human participants. But because they were "artificially" created, the creator was able to give them natural lives, and the ability to die. The natural human lifespan was doubled, but they still aged and died. At first there was anger, and rebellion from the residents. They didn''t believe that they were copies. Not at first. But a few generations passed, and new minds were born, a mixture of genetics of the parents and infant minds from the library were used to allow birth. And the people thrived. Their lives were hard at times, but many were able to find true happiness. And Aesir discovered the secret of a life with purpose. There could be no happiness without sadness, no life without death. And so all participants in the study were given mortal lives. All of this took less than two years. But again, the creator grew bored. He took the name of Odin, and the real game began.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    In an instant color returned to the world, but not the whole world. Just a blue box in the middle of his sight.


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''2''>Welcome to Valheim, your party is waiting. Do you wish to join them, or proceed alone?</td></tr><tr><td>Join party</td><td>Proceed alone.</td></tr></tbody></table>


    "Join party!"


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''2''>Transferring</td></tr></tbody></table>


    He felt something shift, it wasn''t something that could be quantified, but he felt in his gut that he had moved, but nothing had changed. That is until he turned and saw someone next to him.


    "Alex!" He cried out


    The woman jumped, and turned towards him, "Mark! Mark what happened! Why did it say welcome to Valheim? We can''t be dead!"


    "Alex... that man..."


    "Who? What? You mean that guy from the bar? We were just talking to him, where did he go?"


    "I don''t know... we stopped to ask if he needed help, then some other men showed up, and just started shooting. We ended up in the hospital... and I made a deal with the reaper... I''m so sorry... This is our life now..."


    "No... Mark..." She began to cry, and Marcus finally cried as well. They had died, horrible deaths, and suddenly were thrust back to life, in a way. They were left to their grief for a few minutes, and as their sobs began to subside, a room materialized around them. It was a sizable corner office on the top floor of a high rise building with a view of New York City from the beginning of the 21st century. Bookshelves and metal file cabinets lined the walls, and a dark leather couch appeared behind them. Ahead was a refined man in a fine blue suit with neatly parted brown hair, purple eyes, and just enough stubble to be noticeable. He was seated at an old but well cared for birch desk. He quietly gestured for the recovering couple to take a seat on the couch. They slowly settled into the couch, finding it far more comfortable than they expected. The man in the suit spoke out, in a calm friendly voice. "Welcome to Valheim. My name is Charon, and I will be handling your admission and rebirth today. Do you have any questions?"


    Two solemn faces and the slightest head shaking was his only reply


    "Splendid. Alexandra and Marcus, right? It seems we have two Class 20 tickets, and a small sum of 3 Aurels. Is that correct?"


    Mark nodded slowly, while Alex grimaced as she realized their situation.


    "Wonderful. Now you have a few decisions to make before I send you on your way. You may choose between the following races; Human, Lesser Undead, Moleman, and Marshil. Do you already have one in mind or would you like me to describe your options."


    "Human, definitely human." Alex replied meekly.


    "A bit disappointing, but predictable. That is the popular choice at tier 20. Next up is your appearance. The default is for you to appear the same as you did in your previous life. For 1 Aurel per alteration, you may change your appearance. Would you like to make any changes?"


    Marcus answered after a brief moment of regret, "No... We can''t afford to."


    "One final choice, the only places currently accepting tier 20 applicants are mining and lumber towns, fishing, farming and pioneer villages, militaries, and guard outposts. Of course, you may also start in the wilderness, but you don''t have enough Aurels to buy citizenship in a major city."


    "Where should we go Alex? I don''t know how to fight... and I don''t want to be a miner."


    "the coast, or a farming village I think... Do you know how to fish?"


    "You know I never learned to swim. I''ve never been out on the water."


    "A farming village then. I''m sure we can learn."


    "Not a bad choice. A farming village offers the chance of a peaceful life and honest work. We do have a few to choose from; Andersville in the north. It is in the middle of a fertile plain, but the surrounding area is infested with Gnolls. Mirfield from the South-East, the land is hard but they have fended off the local Ogres quite well. The final village is Chilton in the Eastern highlands, at the edge of Human civilization. They have not yet encountered any large groups of sentient monsters, but it was recently founded, and only has 37 residents."


    "Gnolls... ogres... how could anyone survive like that? What do we do Mark?"


    "We go to Chilton. We work hard, save up, and move to a city, where it''s safe."


    "There aren''t many people there... do you think we can do it?"


    "We have to... I can''t imagine being attacked by monsters every day. At least there we have a chance to live in peace."


    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it."Ok. Chilton it is."


    "Very well. Two basic Humans, 3 Aurels, and starting in Chilton, a frontier village on the outskirts of the Toren Kingdom. Our business is complete. Best of luck in your new lives."


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    March 23, 5319 A.A.


    As soon as the last syllable had reached their ears, the high-rise office melted around them. In its place, twelve small buildings sprung up around them. They were simple cabins, recently built from the nearby pine trees. They stood in what seemed to be the center of the small village. Feet, now covered in simple leather shoes, stood upon a thin dirt road running through the center of the settlement. The settlement was built on a small mesa, just above the mouth of a river which opened up into a pristine lake. A sturdy palisade wall hedged in the cluster of buildings. The great green forest loomed, massive ancient pines filled the horizon above the wall, but majestic, snow capped mountains towered over the green giants. Most were distant, but their titanic scale left him awestruck. Sheer cliffs and dangerously steep mountainsides rose thousands of feet to surround the valley. The clean mountain air rushed into Mark''s lungs with each breath, a sensation foreign to a man who had lived his whole life in a congested city. There was a repetitive hammering noise coming from one of the closest buildings, a sound of metal pounding metal over and over again. Birds chirped, the distinctive roar of rushing water reached his ears. As he tried to take in the sudden change in scenery, Mark noticed a man in front of one of the houses. He was not simply large, he was huge, and his well muscled body was wet with sweat. The man, wearing only loose brown pants and boots, leaned on a long axe as he stared at the new arrivals. The sizable stockpile of firewood nearby showed he had been busily chopping wood until the disruption of their arrival. The sturdy villager sighed as he realized he had been spotted. Resting the formidable axe on his pile of wood, he strode down the short walk from his home. "All the rest are working, so i guess it''s up to me to greet you. Welcome to the ass end of nowhere. You must be some of the new bodies the old man requested."


    "Yeah... I guess we are. This valley is beautiful, I''ve never seen anything like it." Mark replied.


    "Sure looks nice, but you''ll be missing the city when you see what''s out in those woods."


    "It can''t be that bad. Charon said this village didn''t have monsters." Mark confidently argued.


    "There isn''t a single inch of this damn world that doesn''t have a monster lurking just out of sight. You''ve been lied to boy."


    "Mark... He only said they hadn''t found any large groups of intelligent monsters... that leaves small groups and lesser monsters..." Alex meekly corrected


    "Well, he was right about that I suppose. Though I wouldn''t call those wolves stupid. You had best learn to take care of yourselves. This valley is no place for the weak."


    "We will manage. Not much choice now.." Mark mumbled.


    "You don''t get it, do you? You are weak. You know nothing of this world. You are both going to die here."


    Mark could only respond with silence, and a look of terrible realization. He had made a mistake. They were in a tiny outpost, far from any semblance of civilization, and with only a few dozen people around them. Life here would be hard, if they could survive at all.


    "Damnit Liam. Don''t be such an ass. You should know better than anyone how terrible dying can be. Back off." An old man had come upon them while they had been busy speaking with the first man.


    "What does it matter? They wont last long. He doesn''t know a damn thing about surviving in the wild, and neither of them has never worked a single day in their entire lives. Even your old rotting eyes could see that much. Why did you waste our obols on these outlanders?"


    "You know damn well why Liam. We barely survived this winter, and ate through all of the supplies we brought with us. We need the help. There aren''t enough of us. Now go back to your wood, and leave them to me."


    Liam glared at the old man, but did as he was told. He turned and trudged back to his lumber pile. Mark could only stare. It was all overwhelming. He had died less than 30 minutes ago, but it seemed the old man wasn''t about to give him a reprieve just yet. "I am sorry about Liam, but this winter was hard on us all. We nearly starved, and Liam''s best friend was devoured by wolves during one of their hunts. We had plenty of obols, so we brought his friend back, but agony like that leaves scars on the mind."


    "Brought him back? How..." Mark stammered, more confused than ever.


    "They really don''t tell you outsiders much about this world do they? Obols are our most valuable currency. One coin is worth one life. You can restore yourself to youth, revive a fallen friend, or summon new villagers, such as yourselves. Also, just having one in your possession guaranties you will be revived if you should perish. Regardless, they are nearly priceless."


    "How... How do we get these coins?"


    "There are a few ways. The first method depends on your class. A warrior must kill, a hunter must hunt, and and blacksmith must craft. It''s daunting, but if you dedicate yourself to your task, you should be able to make one. The higher the risk involved in the profession, the easier they are to get. You will also receive one for mastering your class. The final methods I know of are being the leader of a town, or gifts from a god. A leader receives obols as part of his tax budget, depending on the prosperity of the village. As for the last one, normally receiving obols from a god is very difficult, but we founded this village under the guidance of a lesser god, and his avatar resides here. He is expending all of his power to ensure the success of our village in exchange for our loyalty and protection. That is how we were able to summon you, and there will be several more outlanders arriving."


    "I don''t have a class... but why does a god need your protection? And who are you?" Mark demanded.


    "I am responsible for every man, woman and child here. I am the founder qnd leader of this village, Dorian Riler. As for Vidar, our god, that is a bit complicated. Gods are no different than you or I. They might have far more power, but they are either wealthy outlanders or ascended residents. Their power depends on the number of followers they have, and they have a mortal avatar who resides here amongst us. Some gods crave power, and kill weaker gods to gain strength. By making a pact with the village, we are able to gain unimaginable divine aid in return for making him the patron saint of our village. Out in the wilderness he can grow in power along with us. Right now, his avatar is weak, barely stronger than a group of our best hunters. So we protect him for the sake of our future, and his."


    "This world is insane."


    "I''m inclined to agree, yet we live here. So theres not much else to do but get used to it. Enough of that, we must decide on your class. What did you do in your past life, on Earth? What skills do you have?"


    "I was a telephone customer service representative. As for my skills, I did some construction work building houses when I was younger. It''s been a long time, but I still know my way around a hammer."


    "Customer service... on a phone? We have phones, but I''ve never heard of someone commissioning an enchanter to make one just to talk to customers. Regardless, such skills are useless here. Now a craftsman, that we can use."


    "It''s been a long time... but I guess I''ll do the best I can."


    "Alright then, give me a moment. Open citizen menu, Marcus" As Dorian spoke, he began to quickly navigate the window, although invisible to Mark he had some idea what was going on. Suddenly, another window appeared.


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''2''>New Class</td></tr><tr><td colspan=''2''>The Craftsman class has been offered to you by Dorian Riler, lord of Chilton village. The cratsman class requires patience and fiesse to turn raw materials into useful items. Would you like to accept the Craftsman class?</td></tr><tr><td>Yes</td><td>No</td></tr></tbody></table>

 Chapter Two: Assignment

    March 23, 5319 A.A.


    "Yeah" Mark answered, "I guess I''ll be a craftsman"


    <table><tbody><tr><td>Please select your two starting class skills.</td></tr><tr><td>Architect


    Armorer


    Blacksmith


    Bowyer


    Carpenter


    Cartwright


    Cobbler


    Engineer


    Engraver


    Goldsmith


    Jeweler


    Leatherworker


    Mason


    Shipwright


    Silversmith


    Tailor</td></tr></tbody></table>


    "Woah, ok. what now? What skills should I take?"


    "You don''t have to speak to the menus, you can touch them and it''s generally preferred for privacy. We need a carpenter, we have quite a few houses that need building and not much time to do it in. As for a second, we don''t have a Bowyer and you will already be working with wood, so you should take that on as well."


    "Carpentry I might be able to figure out, with alot of help, but I don''t know a damn thing about bows... how the hell am I supposed to make one?


    "Liam learned the basics in case he ever had the chance to take to the craft, but I also have a book on the subject. However this isn''t a discussion Marcus, a carpenter and bowyer is what we need."


    "Alright, I guess." Mark clumsily tapped on the Bowyer and Carpentry options, surprised at how the semi-transparent window was solid to the touch. As soon as he finished, two new windows appeared in its place.


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''4''>Player Menu</td></tr><tr><td>Name</td><td>Marcus</td><td>Race</td><td>Human</td></tr><tr><td>Primary Class</td><td>Craftsman</td><td>Title</td><td></td></tr><tr><td>Secondary Class</td><td></td><td>Faction</td><td>Chilton Village</td></tr><tr><td colspan=''4''>Stats</td></tr><tr><td>Level</td><td>1</td><td>Age</td><td>28</td></tr><tr><td>Health</td><td>10</td><td>Defense</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Regeneration</td><td>10</td><td>Resistance</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Endurance</td><td>10</td><td>Mana</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td>Strength</td><td>10</td><td>Agility</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Intelligence</td><td>10</td><td>Wisdom</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Charisma</td><td>10</td><td>Leadership</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Craftsmanship</td><td>10</td><td></td><td></td></tr></tbody></table>


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''5''>Skill Menu</td></tr><tr><td>Class</td><td>Skills</td><td>Level</td><td>Stat</td><td>Bonus</td></tr><tr><td>Craftsman</td><td></td><td>0</td><td>H/E/S/I/Cr</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td></td><td>Bowyer</td><td>0</td><td>Endurance</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td></td><td>Carpenter</td><td>0</td><td>Strength</td><td>0</td></tr></tbody></table>


    "Alright... so level 1, 10 points in everything except mana, and all skills at zero." Marcus glumly observed.


    "Alright, off with you. Liam is our craftsman. He might be an ass, but he''s a damn good carpenter and mason. Now it''s miss Alexandra''s turn."


    "I''m not leaving. She''s my wife."


    "Do as you wish. Just be quiet, this is for her to decide. Alexandra, what did you use to do, and what skills do you have? Can you cook? Sew?"


    "I AM a nurse, dead or not that hasn''t changed. And I''ve never sewn a single stitch in my entire life. I don''t intend to start now." Alex huffed.


    "That''s unfortunate. A nurse... maybe. How would you feel about being a cleric? Our god doesn''t have much magic power to spare, so a holy healer who knows her way around wounds would be far more practical."


    "I''m not religious, my parents always tried to drag me to church as a girl, but it never took."


    "Hah! How about a god you can touch, and speak to? In Valheim, our gods are very, very real. Regardless it will be more a contract than anything else. Are you willing to represent Vidar in exchange for the power to heal?"


    "Maybe. Is it really that simple?"


    "It is, he is in the small chapel, just ahead" Dorian spoke as he pointed to a larger cabin than the rest, situated near the center of the settlement. "You may go and speak with him yourself. Just let Loretta know you are there to strike a deal with Vidar." Both Mark and Alex began to walk towards the chapel, however Mark was stopped by Dorian''s hand planted firmly on his chest. "Not you. No one meets with Vidar except myself, and his priests. You have loitered long enough, it is time to get to work."


    "I''m not leaving my wife!"


    "Mark, it''s alright. I can take care of myself. I''ll be fine. Have fun with Liam." Alexandra teased.


    "I... Alright. I''ll see you soon."


    Alexandra continued her steady stride to the plain chapel, and Mark was herded back towards Liam, who was back at work chopping logs. As he watched, he realized that Liam was not merely chopping firewood. The handle of the axe was nearly two thirds of his height, but that was all that was normal. The axe head was nearly four times as large as it should have been, the blade must have measured 14 inches along the edge. Mark couldn''t imagine hefting such a monster, but the shirtless craftsman swung it in a seemingly effortless motion. The wood he was chopping was three foot tall sections of trunks sawn from the nearby monolithic trees. He lifted each massive cylinder of hard wood onto the chopping block with practiced ease, then swung his brutal axe to cleave his target. The wood gave way cleanly under the mighty blow, splitting perfectly along the line of his cut. The lumber almost looked as if it had been passed through a sawmill. He shifted his stance around the chopping block, and brought the axe down again, splitting one of the halves. He continued chopping until he was left with about two dozen boards, rough 4x4s, all three feet in length. At this point, Liam couldn''t pretend to ignore Mark''s presence any longer. "What the hell do you want outlander? I made myself clear. The old man might have summoned you, but you are not welcome here."


    "I am a new craftsman. Mr. Riles said I am to learn from you. What are you doing? How do you swing such a large axe so easily?"


    "You know nothing of this world. You think this axe is impressive?"


    "Of course. I couldn''t lift one half that size, let alone use it!"


    "I am not strong. You are simply weak."


    "Oh... Sorry."


    "You think you can be a craftsman? You want to learn from me?"


    "If you will teach me, yes. It''s been a long time... but I used to enjoy the feeling of making something with my own hands."


    "What skills did the old man assign you?"


    "Carpenter and Bowyer."


    "The work will be hard. We don''t have time for days off. And weak or not, I won''t go easy on you. This is a matter of survival. What you do after dark is your business, but from dawn till dusk you are mine. If you don''t pull your weight, you will have your rations cut, or be banished from the village"


    "Damn, you''re serious aren''t you?"


    "Very. We barely survived this winter, and even the craftsman like myself had to go hunting. We have no food to spare on dead weight. Even our children work. A six year old is stronger than you are now, and eats far less. Decide now, are you determined?"


    "There''s no choice. It''s work or die. I''m in." Mark sighed as he resigned himself. He wanted to give up, to cry. This was insane. But he couldn''t abandon Alex. They were here together, and he had chosen this place because he was a coward. He was weak, but for her, he could endure.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    As the sun dipped low over the western mountains, Mark collapsed for the seventh time. For his first days training Liam had shown no mercy. As the experienced craftsman continued to cut the lumber down, he had Mark chop the scraps for firewood, stack the rough boards in an orderly pile, and the rest of his day was spent sawing through much larger sections of trunk to be made into planks. Liam allowed no breaks except for a light lunch of coarse bread and dried meat or when Mark collapsed from exhaustion. No words of comfort or concern, and no aid was ever given. Liam merely checked to make sure he had truly worked till he dropped, and then ignored him until he had rested just barely long enough to recover before driving him on. If he didn''t immediately rise, Liam bombarded him with verbal abuse and threats. After the first time, he learned that Liam knew exactly when he was strong enough to stand again. As mark lay limp in a pile of sawdust, focused only on the sun which teased him as it kissed a mountain with its blazing edge, Liam walked over to inspect him. "You are weak, but that will change with time. If you check your status windows, you will understand. If you work like this every day, I might be able to make use of you. Finish chopping the rest of this scrap into firewood you are free to go. I need to speak with the loggers about what we need now that I have you to deal with." Leaving him with that, Liam fetched a gray linen shirt from his house, and walked off towards the south gate. After regaining his breath, Mark lay down and enjoyed the break Liam''s absence allowed him. When he finally felt at ease, he pushed himself up, and slouched against his chopping block.


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!"Show status window?" Mark mumbled, not sure of the command


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''4''>Player Menu</td></tr><tr><td>Name</td><td>Marcus</td><td>Race</td><td>Human</td></tr><tr><td>Primary Class</td><td>Craftsman</td><td>Title</td><td></td></tr><tr><td>Secondary Class</td><td></td><td>Faction</td><td>Chilton Village</td></tr><tr><td colspan=''4''>Stats</td></tr><tr><td>Level</td><td>1.08</td><td>Age</td><td>28</td></tr><tr><td>Health</td><td>10.3</td><td>Defense</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Regeneration</td><td>10</td><td>Resistance</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Endurance</td><td>10.3</td><td>Mana</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td>Strength</td><td>10.35</td><td>Agility</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Intelligence</td><td>10.3</td><td>Wisdom</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Charisma</td><td>10</td><td>Leadership</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Craftsmanship</td><td>10.3</td><td></td><td></td></tr></tbody></table>


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''5''>Skill Menu</td></tr><tr><td>Class</td><td>Skills</td><td>Level</td><td>Stat</td><td>Bonus</td></tr><tr><td>Craftsman</td><td></td><td>3</td><td>H/E/S/I/Cr</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td></td><td>Bowyer</td><td>0</td><td>Endurance</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td></td><td>Carpenter</td><td>5</td><td>Strength</td><td>0</td></tr></tbody></table>


    It took him a moment to notice in his exhausted state, but his stats had risen, ever so slightly. His skill skill remained at zero, but his carpentry and craftsman levels had risen, and their stat attributes had increased along with them. He understood exactly why he was so weak now, and why Liam claimed a child would be stronger. All his stats were at zero, but a child who grew up in this world could have chosen a profession and even if they only worked on it occasionally, their stats would still rise over time. He had a late start, and the only way to overcome this shortcoming was hard labor. As he sat staring at the village around him, another outlander appeared in the town center, in the exact same spot he had arrived. This new arrival wasn''t the first. They had been arriving throughout the day. This man was the twelfth including himself and Alex. Mr. Riler was sitting on a wooden chair nearby, and rose and began his practiced speech. He was some distance away, and so couldn''t hear everything, but this new arrival apparently had experience in virtual reality games, and wished to be a hunter. The old man was gleeful that he had a volunteer for a risky combat role, and failed to mention the terrible monsters lurking in the woods. Liam had told him enough throughout the day. He didn''t speak much, but seemed almost gleeful to tell Mark about how horrible this world could be. Dire wolves, iron bears and gremlins were the most common around here, but worse lurked off in the shadow of the hills. As he watched the one-sided conversation, a woman with auburn hair in a white robe wandered down the road from the chapel. In his exhaustion, he didn''t recognize her at first, but as she came closer, he snapped out of his detached trance.


    He rushed to rise, but got up too quickly for his fatigued body, and immediately collapsed again, drawing a laugh from the new arrival. His wife rushed to his side, her face wrought with worry. He got up as quickly as he could to reassure her, "I''m fine, I''m fine. Just exhausted."


    "What happened to you? you look dreadful."


    "Hah, thanks. Really though, Liam is just a tough teacher. Reminds me of your stories of Coach Lennard from your track days in high school."


    "That''s horrible. We just got here, and after everything we''ve been through..."


    "Enough about me, that''s just how it is. Tell me about the chapel, but I better get back to chopping while I still have some strength left." Mark tried to redirect the conversation back to happier things as he picked up his axe again.


    "What! You just collapsed and you still aren''t done!"


    "I just have to finish this last pile... please just tell me about your day. I''ll be done soon enough."


    "Alright, just be careful." Alex pleaded "First I guess there''s Loretta. She''s nice, but she is used to being the only cleric and doesn''t seem to appreciate the competition. A village this small having their own patron deity is very rare apparently, and as Vidar''s only representative she has quite a bit of power here. Luckily, it wasn''t her decision. Vidar is interesting. He looks almost human, but his eyes are gold and his skin has a faint glow. I''m not sure what I was expecting, but he is a very kind man- well, I guess he is a god not a man. Either way, he was kind. Most of his questions were about how I could help the village, and what I would do with his power if he gave it. I could feel that he would know if I lied, but apparently he liked my answers. He was also very curious about Earth, and asked alot about my experience as an ER nurse. Then he asked me to teach Loretta what I know, which I still haven''t gotten around to telling her because I know she''s going to HATE having to let me show her something. After that he made me a Cleric, I took triage and blessing as my skills, and the system gave me adept Nursing because of my experience, with subskills caretaker and healing hands."


    "What?" Mark stopped his chopping mid-swing. "You started with an extra skill at 500? Liam said that takes YEARS to get to adept, not to mention the subskills!"


    "Yeah, it''s called nursing school, 5 years experience, and night classes at medschool. Already did the work."


    "I never thought that might work... Why did my craftsman skills all start at zero then?"


    "Because you were awful at it, only did it for a few months, and were fired?"


    "Oh... yeah... maybe." Mark glumly replied, before hefting his axe once more, and laying back into the wood.


    "Anyway, after that Loretta made me start memorizing a whole book of prayers. Each blessing requires a prayer to convey the power from Vidar to the targeted patient. Then she showed me the basic blessings which consumed the least amount of his power so I could practice without draining his energy. Until he gets more followers, he won''t be able to spare much after helping the village and saving for aurels. So we walked among the farms and used minor blessings on the land to help the wheat grow. And then we..." Mark loved listening to Alex babble on about her day. He knew she loved going on and on about it, and he adored listening to her voice, happily rambling, gossiping. By the time he had finished his pile, the sun had already set, and he knew ALL about how much Loretta hated Dianne, the tailor. Apparently Dianne had sold her a robe with weak seams and paid one of the few town children to run up and pull on the back of the robe, causing it to tear away in the middle of town. All that because they were best friends, and Dianne had told Loretta about the man she wanted to court, only for Loretta to steal him away. It was all silly and useless. But he loved it all the same.


    "That''s the last of it!" Mark shouted, drawing stares from a couple walking down the nearby road.


    "Wonderful, let''s go get you cleaned up before we go to bed."


    "Ohhh, that sounds amazing. I could use a hot shower right now."


    "I''m afraid you will be horribly disappointed. No showers and with a river so close by, no baths either."


    "Wait, it''s spring here isn''t it. And didn''t they say the snows had just melted?"


    "Yes."


    "That river is going to be colder than a snowman''s balls isn''t it?"


    "Yes."


    "Damn... Wait a second. Where are we staying? There''s no way all these people fit into just 12 houses."


    "Ah, well... that''s why they needed a second craftsman."


    "I don''t like the sound of that."


    "With the twelve of us new arrivals, there are 49 people in this village. And there are 11 houses, not counting the temple, but Loretta does sleep there. So everyone is packed in 4 or 5 to a house right now. Luckily, being a cleric has it''s perks. So we get to stay in a second bedroom built into the chapel instead of on the floor of someone''s two-room cabin."


    "Don''t scare me like that. I can survive a frozen bath, but I need a damn bed." Mark rested his axe on the chopping block, and followed his wife to the river. He had survived his first day.

 Chapter Three: Apprentice

    August 15, 2087 A.D.


    The convention center ballroom was packed full with reporters, journalists, bloggers, and anyone who could talk their way into a press pass. The Aesir public relations team wanted it that way. Anyone with at least a few thousand viewers, readers or followers were let in. They wanted this to explode across all forms of media, to reach every last corner of the world. Row upon row of cameras were pointed at the podium on the stage. The arrangement was simple, a stage, a podium, and one huge banner covering the wall. The banner was of course, the mega corporation''s emblem, a vibrant green world with majestic silver wings. The sound in the vast room was a cacophony of excited babbling as every person present tried to guess what the huge announcement would be. This would only be the second press conference of the worlds largest corporation. The first of course was to announce the release of Valheim, an afterlife of eternal adventure, the astounding breakthrough of uploading countless human consciousness into a machine to create a new world. What could possibly be bigger than that? Without warning, all the lights in the room went black, as if they had lost power. The crowd had just enough time to erupt in chaos before blinding spotlights illuminated a man on the stage.


    His attire was all too familiar to the onlookers. He was dressed as a Valkyrie. Dour slate gray suit with that iconic pin and briefcase. They were the boogie men who roamed the halls of hospitals, the dealers of death who came door to door to offer you eternal life, for a price. Despite the great gift they offered, their work left them with a grim reputation. But even more recognizable than the regalia of the reaper, was the person who wore it. The face of Aesir, the sole owner of the largest corporation on the planet, Charles Holbrook. A lean, stern man in his fifties. He was austerity incarnate. There was not a hair out of place, and not a single wasted movement. The audience was quickly hushed, as every mind in the room was intensely focused on the stage.


    Charles Holbrook began his speech in a monotone drawl which contrasted fiercely with the excitement in the room and the significance of his speech. "Thank you all for coming, and welcome to the unveiling of the greatest achievement since the founding of Valheim. Our engineers here at Aesir are the best in their fields, and they have made yet another earth-shattering breakthrough. We have created a gateway which can connect a living mind to Valheim in real time. Valheim will be open to the public."


    There was an immediate response of chaotic uproar as the significance of his statement washed over the audience. Every reporter in the room was franticly clamoring to have their question heard, however Mr. Holbrook made no effort to answer their questions or respond. He simply stared at the crowd, patiently waiting. Soon the clamor died down, slowly at first but then it came to an abrupt halt as guests shushed their neighbors, eager to hear what came next. As soon as every last voice in the hall had been silenced, he began his speech again as if it had never been interrupted, in that same depressing drone.


    "As all of you are aware, up until now we have had two ways to connect people to Valheim. The first is a non-intrusive brain scan, which allows us to make a copy of a person to upload into Valheim. This allows us to hire certain individuals who we feel would benefit the growth of our world, as well as allow people to make a backup of their consciousness, just in case a Valkyrie isn''t nearby in their final moments. The other option is a direct and nearly instantaneous upload used in the event of a client''s recent or impending death. Neither of these methods allows a currently living person to interact with Valheim directly. Of course our development team and administrators can view the world, and communicate with the gods inside but as I am sure you can imagine, that is not nearly the same as being there yourself.


    This new invention of ours changes everything. It is larger than our previous gateways, and covers the entire back of the skull. It taps into the spinal cord right at the the base of the skull as well dozens of other connections all over the skull; tapping into the optic nerve and cochlear nerve among a multitude of other vital brain functions. Essentially, rather than uploading the mind it taps into the nervous system and replaces the clients sensory intake with that of Valheim, and the user''s actions are intercepted and redirected into the Valheim servers while the body remains in a state of of muscle atonia. With modern networking technology, all of this can be done with a latency time of less than one-hundredth of a second. In addition to that, it can be done during the client''s sleep without any major effects on the body. However there is still the small matter of time dilation. Valheim has already been slowed to 10 times the speed at which our world experiences it, and the processing power of the gateway is able to tap into the user''s consciousness to accelerate the human mind to these speeds safely. The cost of all of this, will be two-thousand dollars for each life. If you should die, you will need to pay again.


    Now before all of you go and accuse us of price gouging, let me explain exactly what Valheim is. Valheim is the sum of decades of research and the most powerful computers known to man. Our servers are the size of cities. Valheim is a free world. There are nearly no limitations placed upon the gods or players, except those which have evolved naturally or are a vital part of a races identity. You can do anything, be anyone, kill, steal, rape, plunder, all of it is possible and allowed. However these are real people. The residents of Valheim are as real as myself standing here before you. They are all either dearly departed loved ones, clients whose minds we have paid to have uploaded, or their descendants. Even the monsters are real. They have memories. They have children. They feel pain. What this means is that although we have not placed many limitations on the game, the societies that have evolved have made their own laws.


    If you walk down the street of a major city and attack someone unprovoked, the guards will arrest you. If you pillage a village, the army will come after you. If you wage war against a kingdom and win you may rule as a king until another nation challenges your rule, or peasants rise up in rebellion. These people are real and experience real death, same as all of us do in this world. So to level the playing field, we will sell Obols, the game''s currency of lives for two thousand dollars. One obol, one life. Death cannot be cheap in a world where lives are at stake. Even if it is a full week of your wages or government aid, it is a pitiful sum compared to the lives of the residents.


    However if that was all of it, we would not be able to attract many clients given the desolate job market we find ourselves in. So we have partnered with the American Union to make Valheim open to a much wider audience. Anyone receiving government aid of any kind including unemployment, welfare, automated industry settlements, or anyone living in a national welfare city will receive a free gateway, and one obol per month. This is to allow as many people as possible to experience the vast world of Valheim. You may visit with your departed loved ones, or begin your own adventure. The possibilities are endless, however should you die in that month you will have to buy an additional Obol, or use one you have saved up.


    Valheim will officially open to the public one year from now on March 16th, 2087. Further game details will be provided at a later date. If anyone wishes to purchase a gateway, or inquire on the status of your government issued device, please contact our service department. That will be all."


    Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    The crowd once again exploded with excitement. However Mr. Holbrook had no intentions of pandering to them. The spotlights went out, and when the hall lights were re-lit moments later, he was gone.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    April 23, 5319 A.A.


    Mark''s first month in Valheim had been absolutely brutal. Each day no less demanding than the last. His endurance and strength had finally risen enough that he didn''t collapse from the daily toil, but Liam always seemed to know exactly how far he could be pushed. He had, however learned a great deal about carpentry. He had carved tool handles, cut doors, built simple cabinets, made chairs and beds, whatever was needed for the village was his lesson for the day. His creations were crude, and far more fragile than anything Liam could craft but over time Liam had eased up on his scathing insults, and more and more Liam trusted Mark to complete his tasks for the day while the master craftsman worked outside the walls. Mark occasionally tried to ask what he was doing, but Liam never bothered to answer, he just grabbed his mighty axe and strode out of the village while Mark slaved away. One day, mark had made the mistake of slacking off. He didn''t see why he should be killing himself when Liam wasn''t around. But he soon learned better. Liam was no fool, and when he returned that evening saw that only half the work had been completed. Mark was denied rations for the next three days. It was a harsh, but sobering lesson.


    Alex had fared far better, and despite himself Mark was envious. Her knowledge of non-magical wound treatment was essential to the village. By not tapping into Vidar''s reserves, he was able to save more for obols after important blessings such as fertility or crop production. Alex spent her days treating the wounds of the hunters, blessing the land, and memorizing more and more complex blessings. He knew her work was far more vital to the survival of the village than his, but he was still bitter that her labors seemed so much easier. In spite of his secret jealousy, and his arduous work, they were happy. As absurd as it was, their lives had more meaning and purpose here than ever. Each day he made something new, and held the fruits of his labors in his hands. Each day he felt stronger, his craft improved. His progress was visible in his work and quantifiable thanks to the menus. In his past life, he had answered calls from customers of a retail chain.


    In the late twenty first century, the world was in decline. Machines had replaced nearly every job they could, and only the wealthy and corrupt politicians benefited from the fruits of their labors. The American Union had a thirty percent employment rate. The rest of the population were either living on government aid, homeless, militant rebels, or in gangs. Luckily for him, he had gotten a job at a call center. One thing that hadn''t changed in the last hundred years was that people always preferred to yell at a live person when they were angry. Most people were not so lucky. Organized crime had swelled to an unprecedented scale. Entire cities were given over to their rule, the Union tanks would roll through the streets every now and then as a show of force, but everyone knew who really owned the city. He had lived in a small apartment on the 172nd floor of an urban center tower in the San FranDiego megacity which dominated what was left of the old Californian coastline. Being out here, in the fresh clean air with purposeful work, doing something that mattered made all his labor and toil worthwhile.


    The sun was high in the sky, warming Mark''s back with its rays. He had long since stopped wearing his shirt while working outside as he was constantly sweating from the exertion of his work. Today he was instructed to craft shafts for spears by the dozen. Apparently he and the other new arrivals were expected to complete basic training in a few days, as in the event of a major attack everyone in the village was expected to be ready to fight. Most all of them had been cut into rough blocks, hewn from yet another softwood pine, and about half had been trimmed into spears on his pedal powered lathe. As he was trimming yet another block into a spear shaft, Liam returned early with a small basket in hand. In the past he had stayed out until late after dark, later at least than Mark had stayed to work the wood. Liam walked up to the lathe amongst the other tools on the side of his house, and paused to inspect Mark''s finished work. "Not bad, they are a bit long but I am sure you plan to trim them. That''s enough for today. Have you eaten yet?"


    "No, I was just about to."


    Liam roughly cleared the workbench, casting the scraps and sawdust onto the ground "Let me guess, hard bread and dried meat?"


    "Is there anything else around here?"


    Liam hefted his basket onto the workbench "Fresh bread from Ellen, goat cheese from Erik, and a pair of nice juicy wolf steaks from my hunter friends."


    Mark stared at the basket, he hadn''t noticed before but the smell emanating from it was divine. He hadn''t eaten anything but old stale bread and dried meat all month. He was quickly disappointed, realizing of course that Liam would never share it. But he was surprised when Liam pulled up a second chair, and pulled out a second plate.


    "What the hell are you waiting for? Sit down you sloth brained oaf!"


    Shocked, Mark blurted out "Are you sure?"


    "Very. Now sit your ass down. We have quite a bit to talk about and I''m in a good mood. So eat it while you still can."


    As Mark bit in to each simple delicacy, he was moved by how delicious something so simple could taste. The wolf steak in particular was a treat, it was tender, juicy and tasted better than he ever believed meat could. When Liam saw Mark''s face, he chuckled "Highland Direwolf. Tough bastard. Our hunters nearly lost a man bringing it down." Knowing it was such a difficult beast only made the flavor better, as Mark knew he would likely never get the chance to eat it again.


    "What is this going to cost me?" Mark asked meekly as he finished his last bite.


    Liam sighed "You''ve been doing well, but I''m going to be asking a lot more of you from now on. Come with me."


    Liam rose, leaving their mess on the table, and walked off to the northern gate as he always did. Mark quickly followed, it seemed his questions about Liam''s daytime activities would finally be answered. As they passed through the gate, the posted guard gave Liam a polite nod and then for the first time, Mark was outside the wooden wall. He had known that the trees in the forest were impossibly huge, but he never could have imagined just how massive they were. Seeing the trees towering over the wall was one thing, but seeing how far away they were, from where they met the ground to their tallest heights made them more real somehow. Around the settlement was a few hundred yards of farmland. They were crudely fenced in, but there were obvious places where monsters had broken through. There was a pasture of goats on his right, and what seemed to be a wheat field on his left. But as he looked, the closest sections of field to the walls had been intentionally cleared. Large stone rocks mixed with gravel and mortar formed multiple square slabs, almost twice the size of the houses inside the palisade.


    "What the hell is all of that" Mark asked, bewildered by the strange slabs rising from the fields.


    "That, is what I''ve been doing for the last month. That, is our new project."

 Chapter Four: Some assembly required

    April 23, 5319 A.A.


    "I don''t understand." Mark stammered, "What are we doing?"


    "Those are foundations. Foundations for houses. We have 11 houses, and 49 people. That sound like good math to you?"


    "No. I guess it doesn''t."


    "I had two friends staying with me before, and that was bad enough, but now I have two random assholes that came here with you on top of that. Now the only way to fix that, is to build more houses. So while you''ve been learning the basics, I''ve been learning how the hell I''m supposed to build proper foundations without cut stone. Best I could figure was large stones and a slurry of pebbles and mortar to fill the gaps, and that will have to do. So now, you and I are gonna build some cabins. First few we will do together, but after you have it figured out you''ll be on your own as I lay the next foundations. We need about twenty more houses to make everyone comfortable again, and we need it done soon before people get angry about the cramped quarters."


    "Wow, alright. Where do we start?"


    "See that pile of logs?"


    "Yeah?" Mark questioned as he noticed a large stack of logs piled against the palisade wall, each was about two feet thick, and 16 long.


    "We need one of those cut in half, to lay along the short sides. Once those are set down, we bring over four logs. Two for each of the long sides. Lay them along the edge, and the ends will be resting on those first half logs we''ve already laid down. All we need to do is cut out a round notch halfway into the new logs where they cross the ones below from the short side so they will reach the ground. Doesn''t need to be perfect, we can fill in any gaps later. We will have a rectangular building twice as long as it is wide, and we can worry about the doors and windows later. Get the walls up high enough and I''ll show you the roof."


    "I''m not sure I understand..."


    "Dammit Mark, it''s not complicated. We got logs, we need walls. So we stack them on top of each other. But we need to support them, so we alternate which sides were stacking on so they hold each-other up instead of just falling over. But now there''s gaps because one log is sitting atop another at the corner, but they go to different walls. So the way we fix that, is we cut big notches in the top logs so they settle down on the ones below. Now we''ve got fast, simple, sturdy, thick walls. Now get going!"


    "You said I was done!" Mark blurted out in his surprise.


    "Done with the spears, yes. Not done working. Now get to it, now."


    "Alright, alright. I get it. I''ll get started." Mark grumbled as he walked over to the pile. Then he stopped, as he realized just how huge these logs were. "How the hell are we supposed to move these!?"


    Liam glared at Mark, strode over to the pile, and picked up a log. There was no huffing or heaving. No planning or straining. he simply picked up the log, walked towards the closest foundation, and set it on a pair of sturdy saw horses.


    "Showoff..." Mark grumbled at Liam''s display of strength


    "Really Mark I thought we were past this. When was the last time you looked at your status?" Liam groaned disappointedly


    "Last night."


    "Open it again."


    "Show status windows." Mark spoke while waving his arms in front of him sarcastically. He had gained three levels in carpentry and two in craftsman, nothing else had changed.


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''4''>Player Menu</td></tr><tr><td>Name</td><td>Marcus</td><td>Race</td><td>Human</td></tr><tr><td>Primary Class</td><td>Craftsman</td><td>Title</td><td></td></tr><tr><td>Secondary Class</td><td></td><td>Faction</td><td>Chilton Village</td></tr><tr><td colspan=''4''>Stats</td></tr><tr><td>Level</td><td>3.3</td><td>Age</td><td>28</td></tr><tr><td>Health</td><td>20.3</td><td>Defense</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Regeneration</td><td>10</td><td>Resistance</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Endurance</td><td>20.3</td><td>Mana</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td>Strength</td><td>21.57</td><td>Agility</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Intelligence</td><td>20.3</td><td>Wisdom</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Charisma</td><td>10</td><td>Leadership</td><td>10</td></tr><tr><td>Craftsmanship</td><td>20.3</td><td></td><td></td></tr></tbody></table>


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''5''>Skill Menu</td></tr><tr><td>Class</td><td>Skills</td><td>Level</td><td>Stat</td><td>Bonus</td></tr><tr><td>Craftsman</td><td></td><td>103</td><td>H/E/S/I/Cr</td><td>10.3</td></tr><tr><td></td><td>Bowyer</td><td>0</td><td>Endurance</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td></td><td>Carpenter</td><td>127</td><td>Strength</td><td>1.27</td></tr></tbody></table>


    "It''s open, what am I supposed to be seeing?" Mark asked, his voice filled with condescension as he was filled with indignant arrogance.


    "Don''t you take that tone with me boy." Liam menaced.


    "I''m sorry... I just don''t understand." Mark quibbled, his short-lived confidence wilted under Liam''s glare.


    "Look at the number next to your strength. What is it?"


    "22" Mark answered, rounding the overly precise number.


    "Do you have any idea what that means?"


    "I''m stronger?"


    "Yes, but do you have any idea how much stronger?"


    "The axe is easier to use, and I guess moving around the heavier cabinets and cut logs is easier as well."


    "The average person in your world has 10 strength, what you started with here. You now have 22. You are more than twice as strong as you were when you arrived. Move that log" Liam gestured to the next massive log in the pile.


    "I can''t-" Mark tried to object.


    "NOW!" Liam roared.


    Shocked into action by the angry roar of his mentor, Mark grabbed the log and heaved. The log lifted, albeit slightly from the pile before he dropped it suddenly, startled that it worked. "How?" Mark blurted out, stunned.


    "You are stronger now. You won''t be able to lift it, not properly. But you can heave it off the pile and roll it to the foundation. Cut the log I put on the saw horses, lay the halves down, then heave this full log into place, one side at a time. Do what ever you need to do to get it there. When the wall rises we will use two thinner logs as a ramp to roll it up to the height we need. You are pathetic, but you can at least do this."


    "Ok..." Mark sighed, and picked up a hefty rip saw. He climbed atop the log and began to saw the massive tree down the middle. He had to shift it a few times to avoid sawing through the trestles. The whole time he sawed through the 16 foot long monster, Liam carried log after log to the foundation, laying them on each side to be ready as soon as Mark finished the cut. When he passed the halfway point, Liam brought straps and tied the log "Can''t let it break on its own. Need a clean cut." He then resumed carting the logs back and forth, only returning when Mark neared the end to add more straps. Mark finally cut through the last of it, and stumbled off the top, exhausted from the arduous process. Managing to complete it without a break was a testament to the rise of his endurance.


    Liam removed the straps and the halves crashed to the ground on either side of the trestles. He hefted one, and gestured to Mark for the other. It was half, so he was able to drag it along slowly. By the time he made the short journey, Liam was already well ahead of him. His log had been positioned along the western side, leaving Mark the east. They were set right at the edge of the foundations, and Liam hefted the first full log onto the northern side, resting one end on the half-log and the other in the middle of the foundation. He hefted his axe, and carved out a deep notch before grabbing his chisel and rounding out the cut. Then he rolled the log into place, and it settled in a tight grip. While Liam mirrored the same on the second half of the northern side while Mark fumbled with the first half of the south. He managed to round the cut, and when he rolled the log into place, it landed loosely. "Sloppy work, but we can patch it later. Keep going." As Liam finished his, he pulled out massive steel nails, which he drove in at an angle into the logs where they met in the middle of the north wall, binding them together solidly. Next came the first full log on the east and west, with notches cut to fit the logs on the north and south. Back and forth they went, and by the time the last of the sun vanished behind the mountains, they had built the wall up four logs high, a full eight feet. "Tomorrow we will start the roof, but you are finished for the day. Good work."


    Finally released from his toils, Mark staggered off back towards the village, though he was not the only one doing so. Working from dawn till sunset was the norm in the village, and he saw farmers and hunters all making their way back towards the safety of the palisades. The only ones who worked at night were the guards, who took up their stations in their crude watchtower and in front of the gates, ready to ward off any of the forest dwellers who wandered too close to the village. As he was stumbling back along the road, he caught sight of a familiar white robe ahead of him. He sped up and grabbed her around the waist from behind, embracing his dear Alexandra. However, rather than a soft hello, he was swiftly kicked in the groin and collapsed to the ground in pain. "How dare you! Loretta screeched, as all the villagers making their way back inside stopped to laugh. It wasn''t his Alexandra, it was Loretta, the single most ornery woman in the village.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


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    April 24, 5319 A.A.


    The next morning as the first rays of light pierced the vale, Jothan had led his hunters through the forest east of Chilton. They had left before dawn and were about five miles from the village. This nowhere near the furthest they had been, but it was a good distance to start their hunt. They were here to track the fierce umber bears. Dianne had made the request, they had brought back the hide to her on a previous hunt, and it had so far proven to be the softest, warmest fur and most durable leather she had worked with. She promised to outfit the hunters with new cloaks and leathers from the marvelous material if they brought some back. The beasts dwelled in caves in the craggy hills and mountain range that jutted out into the valley from the north. There were six in the group, four old hands and two new recruits. Jothan, Maric and Aaron were rangers, Adam and Douglass were protectors, and Giles was their trapper. Aaron and Adam were the two new recruits, but both had done well for themselves. Jothan had no complaints with the hardworking pair. Aaron led the two pack horses, and Adam did well as a second for Douglass, stepping in when needed to keep their prey away from the archers.


    The spot they had arrived at was their first encounter with he umber bear, and the base of a large hill. Ever since the first kill, they had spied the large black beasts roaming the hills from afar but now it was an entirely different situation where they were tracking one of the fiercest beasts, a fair match for even the highland direwolves which roamed this same highland range. Luckily, their immense size meant the beasts left an easy trail to follow. Jothan called out to his trapper, "Giles, take the lead. See what you can find." The old creaky trapper nodded, and wandered along the base of the hill with the party and pack horses in tow. He paced back and forth, examining the ground. Adam found a bear track he thought Giles had missed, and called out to him. Giles quickly brushed him off, pointing out that the track was over a week old and likely led to nowhere. They continued their search until the sun escaped the mountain''s reaching heights, finally Giles stopped. "This one, can''t be older than a few hours. Its not moving too quick, we can catch it without too much trouble."


    "Well done Giles, lead the way! All of you, keep an eye out. Last thing we want is to blunder into a pack of direwolves." Giles broke into a run along the unmistakable trail, they were searching for bears at the edge of their territory for a reason. The deeper they wandered into the hills, the more dangerous it became. The weakest bears and wolves were forced out to the lowlands, and often roamed alone. If the bear wandered higher before they caught up, they risked a serious battle. They raced along the base of the hill, the trail cut around the jutting corner of a rocky cliff and Giles skidded to a stop as soon as he rounded the corner.


    Three blood soaked creatures stood over the mutilated corpse of an umber bear. They each stood six feet tall, their slouched, deformed bodies bulged with both muscle and fat. Their skin was a sickly gray and hung off their large bodies in unsightly bunches. The creature''s faces were utterly hideous, a jutting brow accented beady, black eyes and far too many jagged teeth were packed into their wide maws framed by jutting tusks. What was left of their faces were covered in scars. These monsters standing over the umber bear were orcs, some of the fiercest warriors that roamed the vast wilds of Valheim.


    The rest of the party raced around the corner, oblivious to the surprise guests, and stumbled into Giles almost comically. The closest and largest orc was the first to react, hefting its massive crude battle axe and charging forwards. The other orcs quickly followed suit, brandishing their cudgels. Giles bolted to the side, drawing the attention of the orcs just long enough for Douglass to recover from his shock. Douglass charged forwards, his sturdy shield leading the charge. He slammed into the side of the axe wielding monster with his full weight, but was only able to stagger the beast. Jothan quickly barked out orders "Douglass, keep that big bastard busy! Adam, take the one on the right! Giles, slow down the other one! Maric, Aaron focus on Giles target, he won''t be able to hold it back forever but if you get a clear shot on the others, take it!" Adam flinched, but rushed in to do his job all the same. He was weaker than the rest, but his shield, spear, and skills still left him the best for the job. Giles groaned, but he was experienced enough with his daggers that he could hold his own. Aaron rushed to tie the horses, and the battle was in full swing.


    Orcs were stupid, and the axe wielding brute was no exception. He heaved his battle axe with all his might, but was slow in the action of the swing. Douglass hid behind his shield, rushing forward to jab the the orc''s chest with his spear. The orc''s fur clothing was simple but tough, and the light wounds only served to further enrage the brute, who swung down his axe with ferocious abandon. Only Douglass'' experience and skill saved him from the brutal blows as he dodged the brunt of the attacks, reducing them to glancing strikes against his shield. Despite his efforts, the absurd strength behind the blows made even a glancing hit difficult to receive. However he held his ground, confident in his group''s ability to bring down the others and come to his aid.


    Despite his moaning, Giles was excited by the intense battle. So much of his time was spent scouting and sneaking that a direct confrontation was a delightful diversion. He did not fear this orc. His trained eye assessed the beast with the aid of his insight skill, and despite its impressive strength the orc was not agile in the slightest. It was the perfect opponent for Giles, who prided himself on his speed and finesse. Jothan might underestimate him because of his age, but he was likely to be the last person in need of help. He welcomed each blow as he danced around the clumsy movements and delicately slipped his daggers between the folds of the orc''s insufficient protection. Fur cloaks and loosely draped furs were decent protection when made from the hides of tough beasts, but left gaping openings that were impossible for Giles to miss. Even as he circled the engaged beast, the three archers wasted no time at all peppering its back with barbed arrows. The orc made the mistake of turning to roar at its new attackers, and Giles dashed in behind it to embed his daggers to the hilt on its neck and through its ribs. The orc''s tough hide demanded a hard thrust, but the keen edges of the dagger slid effortlessly into its carotid artery and heart. The orc reeled and staggered, hands desperately grasping for Gile''s neck, but as it bled out the strength had left its arms. Giles cruelly kicked its leg, toppling the warrior to the ground where it died in a pool of dark red blood.


    All attention was turned to the remaining orcs, and despite his ability Douglass was hard pressed to fend off the mighty orc. The long reach of Adam''s spear was plenty to ward off the cudgel wielding orc, but the battleaxe combined with heraclean strength raining down blows upon Douglass had quickly battered him down. As he recovered from a narrowly missed blow, the brute surprised him by crashing forward with its shoulder. He fell backwards, recovering as best he could with an awkward roll hampered by his shield and spear. It was all he could do to raise his shield to receive the rapidly descending axe, but there was no strength behind it. The axe blow slammed his shield down, and a sickening crunch echoed off the cliff wall, followed by screams. The axe had glanced off the shield just enough to divert it from a fatal blow, but it had instead cleaved through his spear arm, severing it just below the shoulder. Arrows slammed into the chest of the victorious orc and Giles leapt onto its back, frantically slashing at any skin he could reach around its fur mantle. The orc dropped its axe as it tried to throw Giles from its back. He stumbled around comically, completely defenseless roaring the whole time as daggers bit into gray flesh. This orcs skin was far tougher and many cuts were required to break through in any significant way. Unable to fire with Giles attached, the archers drew their short swords and advanced.


    As the three archers got into position around the orc, Giles leapt from its back. The wounded brute quickly succumbed under the flurry of blows from all sides, but not before it had landed a few hard blows on Aaron, breaking his ribs. The party turned on the final orc, only to see it sprinting away with only minor wounds, running further into the gorge they stood at the mouth of. "Giles, take care of Douglass. The rest of you, with me! Don''t let that bastard escape! We can''t risk him getting back to his tribe!" The four men charged after him, firing arrows when they had a clear shot.

 Chapter Five: A not so peaceful day

    April 24, 5319 A.A.


    Mark rose early as he did every day, kissed his still sleeping wife goodbye, and walked out of the temple entrance into the frigid mountain air. The moons still dominated the sky, alien stars cast their gaze upon this peculiar world. Gone was the milky way galaxy he had seen in pictures, but what he saw here was no less grand. This world had two moons. One seemed to be the same size as Luna, though it gleamed blue like a sapphire. The other was far larger, more a planet than a moon, and radiated a strange light. The moon was as black as the night''s sky, none of its light reached the ground, but it shined in the night sky all the same. He hugged his fur coat close, trying to preserve his warmth as he wandered down the road to the gates. He was not the first to wake and make the journey. A half dozen others walked with him, two of which had the same dead shamble as himself, two that arrived the same day he had. The beds were stiff, and their back''s creaked. Even if these bodies had never felt the soft comfort of a mattress, their minds remembered the soft, welcoming embrace of soft linen sheets and a well stuffed pillow. Still, it was a beautiful pre-dawn morning.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    Jothan and Adam led the charge, they raced along the rocky bottom of the gorge after the orc. A solid shot from Maric impaled its leg, and the brute was bleeding out as he charged onwards. Despite a slight limp, the beast did not slow. The gorge sloped steeply uphill, it served as a runoff from the nearby mountains. The hunters breathed haggard breaths at the rapid chase after such a brutal battle, yet still they pressed on. The orc could not be allowed to report back to its village. They weren''t ready for a war.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    Mark strode down towards the log cabin they had started the day before, admiring his handiwork. The walls rose high, taller even than Liam could possibly need. Of course, Liam was already there, waiting for Mark to arrive. Mark had woken up an hour early one morning to try and beat Liam to work. Of course, all that came of that was losing an hours sleep and waiting out in the cold for almost an hour for Liam to open his door. Still, confirming that Liam wasn''t an inhuman golem who never slept wasn''t an entirely wasted effort. "Good morning Liam!" Mark called out, brimming with optimism at the change of pace.


    "You''re almost late. Let''s start on the door." Liam gruffed. Gone was yesterday''s momentary kindness. Liam was back to his usual self.


    "Alright, how do we cut a door?"


    "Already started." Liam pointed to a rectangular chalk outline on the front side of the cabin. He had hacked out the center. He handed Mark the crosscut saw and moved off to start trimming the roof frame.


    "Ugh..." Mark groaned. Today was going to be a long day...


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    Two more arrows pierced the orc''s torso. The gray beast stumbled, and screamed a fierce, pained cry that echoed off the rocky walls of the gorge. Jothan and Adam gained on him, but the brute quickly rose and charged on. The slope of the gorge lessened as they ran, and they neared the end. The gorge widened out onto a mountain plateau, and just before the orc reached the plains, Adam finally caught the wounded brute and impaled him with his spear. The beast roared with crimson fury, and spun around, spear still embedded in his back. He grabbed Adam by his boiled leather chestplate and threw him at Jothan, who did his best to catch the flying protector. The orc used what strength he had left to stumble out onto the plateau. He gazed upon his tribe''s camp and his jagged maw broke into a grin despite his pain, and roared "HUMAN! HUMAN HERE!"


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    Mark finished sawing through the doorway, despite the thickness of the logs he finished fairly quickly. He had plenty of experience with a saw at this point, and his strength and endurance only continued to climb. "No windows?" He asked?


    "No time, and no glass." Liam answered "These are the simplest, quickest houses we can make. I wouldn''t have even bothered laying foundations if the old man hadn''t insisted on it."


    "Fair enough. What''s next?"


    "We need to frame the roof, and cut boards to use as slats. Then it''s just shingles."


    "Alright, what do you want me to do?"


    "Start sawing the slats, you know what to do by now. Keep your cuts straight." Liam gestured over to a separate pile of logs, these were far thicker, and not suitable for the walls of the cabin.


    Of course he got stuck with the saw work instead of the framing, but that''s just the nature of being an apprentice, or so he was told. He walked over to the pile of massive logs, just like what Liam had been chopping the day he arrived. The loggers had been kind enough to cut them into six foot sections, and he got to work sawing the rounded log into a clean block.


    The special rip saw they used to trim the blocks was a monster never seen in his old world, back when logs had been sawn by hand, this would have required a two man whipsaw. He sawed off each side of the log, then used all his might to tip it over so he could saw what had been the top and bottom. Once he finally had a clean six foot block, it was time to cut it down into sheets. It was immensely difficult to saw an even sheet by hand, but it was something he had been forced to practice this last month. He hoped he could get it right, these would be the biggest sheets he had ever cut by far.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    "No!" Jothan cried in dismay, as he reached the mouth of the gorge, his worst fears were realized. A band of orcs had made camp in the mountain plain. The orcs they had fought were just a small hunting party. "Run Adam! Tell Giles to take Douglass and the horses, tell him theres a war party in the vale!"


    Adam didn''t need any further urging, and raced back down the gorge. Giles took a moment to ready his bow, and fired a precise shot through the throat of the beast they had chased all the way here. The barbed arrow pierced through the back, near the spine and jutted out from the front. The tough bastard would live, but wouldn''t be able to tell them anything and wouldn''t be able to lead the orcs in their hunt. Then he too turn and fled. Adam had caught the other rangers, and they were sprinting back as well. All of them were exhausted, but now it was run or die. Their short lived head start was ended with roars and excited hollering from the camp behind them. The orcs dropped everything to charge after them. A few had been sleeping, and didn''t bother grabbing their furs. Others forgot their axes, but all of them came. Dozens of bloodthirsty beasts charged down the gorge after them, their jowls quivering in anticipation of the feast.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    "You done with those sheets yet?" Liam asked as he climbed down from the top of the cabin.


    "This log at least, not sure how many you''re gonna need to cover the whole thing though." It took some time, but Mark had cut 25 decent sheets from the block. The rest were unusable so he tossed them aside. As he looked back at the cabin though, he saw that Liam had been far more productive. The roof framing was finished, large timbers ran the length of the unfinished house, with many small boards filling the gaps between them. It was a sturdy A shaped frame, solidly built to bear the weight of snow and stand tall against winter storms. "How did you get so good at raising houses? You could do one of these in a day if you weren''t trying to show me how it''s done."


    Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!"You see that wall, and all those houses inside it?"


    "Yeah..." Mark mumbled, realizing how obvious the answer was.


    "Who do you think built all of that when we first arrived. When everyone was sleeping in cheap tents, desperately trying to ward off the cold nights and praying that a pack of wolves wouldn''t tear them all apart in their sleep, who do you think it was that had to put all of this up around them?"


    "You..."


    "You''re goddamn right. But now, the old man wants foundations, and I''m stuck with you. So keep sawing those logs, hurry up and learn, and maybe I''ll be able to make a proper craftsman out of you."


    "Yes sir." Mark affirmed, the smallest spec of pride seeping into his voice. Liam was moody and abrasive, but Mark was slowly learning how to understand the man. Part of that understanding was that this was the closest he would ever get to a compliment."


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    Jothan reached the bottom of the gorge just as Giles and the others finished strapping Douglass into the saddle of one of their horses. All of the supplies they had brought were cast aside, speed was all that mattered now. "Giles!" Jothan called out, and the trapper turned, his face grim. "You know how important this is, you know what you have to do. Ride hard back to the village. Warn them." Giles nodded, mounted his horse and galloped back towards town on his dappled gray mare, Douglass ponied behind him. Jothan only paused to glance up the ravine at the raging orcs thundering down upon them before he turned and ran after Giles along with the rest of his men.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    With Liam''s help, all the sheets they would need had been cut. Liam was back on the roof, nailing down the sheets onto the sturdy frame. Mark thought he would be done cutting for awhile at least, but they needed shingles to finish off the construction. Due to the lack of variety in the forest, the shingles would be cut from pine just like the rest of the house and for lack of proper tools, they had to be sawed as well. Large timbers had been already cut, so all he had to do was saw off the end, one thin shingle at a time. It was easy compared to trying to cut a full sheet evenly, but they would need hundreds of shingles. He glared at Liam''s back as he cut through yet another shingle. Gone was his moment of pride, a half-assed compliment could only last him so long before he was back to bitterly grumbling about the repetitive and menial tasks.


    Liam of course knew the resentment he was building in his apprentice, but he truly didn''t care one way or the other. As long as Mark did his work, he would do well. If he couldn''t handle it and quit, there would be another to replace him. He hoped Mark would succeed, but only because of the time he had already wasted training him.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    The hunters had only made it halfway through the forest, and the new recruits were at their limit. Jothan and Maric had the benefit of their high endurance and agility but the others were barely level four. Aaron was wheezing badly, his broken ribs racked his body with terrible pain with every breath. But there was no time to stop, the orcs were right behind them, hooting and hollering as they chased their exhausted prey. "Please, please stop." Adam begged, "He won''t last much longer."


    "No, we keep running. Aaron, when you can''t run any longer, do everything you can to slow them down." Jothan ordered.


    "How can you say that! He''ll die!"


    "And if we all stop, we all die. Do you have any idea how many obols old man Dorian has left?"


    "No..."


    "Well neither do I! If he has four, we can all die happy. But what if he doesn''t have four. What if he has one, and we stay here to help him. Who do you think the old man would pick? He would revive me and Maric, not you or Aaron. We are worth more to the village. It''s that simple. The best way for all of us to make it is for as many of us to make it back alive. So Aaron, if you want to be revived, slow them down.


    "Fuck that, we can''t just leave him!" Adam cried out, but Aaron merely nodded, before turning to face the slavering horde.


    His lungs were on the verge of collapse, and he had no strength left in them for speech. He drew his sword and his dagger, and within moments the orcs were upon him. The vanguard paused to circle him, confused at his challenge. Aaron charged the largest orc, a titanic brute nearly eight feet tall. As he strode forwards, the orc raised its impossibly huge warhammer. And as Aaron neared his foe, the hammer crashed down upon his head.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    They were halfway through nailing down the shingles on the roof. The cabin truly looked like it would be a home by the end of the day. Mark was carting handfuls of shingles up and down their makeshift ladder, helping Liam nail down each row before going back down for more. He was just getting ready to go back down the ladder, when a huge commotion exploded from inside the walls. "What is all that?" Mark wondered aloud.


    "I don''t know, but I don''t like it." Liam answered. "Let''s get down. See what it is." Both men got down the ladder just as the gates burst open.


    "Everyone inside! Get everyone inside the walls!" Alexandra came rushing out of the gates, followed by all nine of the town guardsmen and many of the original villagers, all well armed.


    "What''s going on?" Liam bellowed.


    "Orcs! Orcs are attacking Jothan''s party! Aaron is dead! Vidar felt his loss, and Dorian received the respawn window! The hunters are returning but are being chased by a pack of orcs. They should be heading to the north gate. We need to get everyone inside the walls!"


    Liam immediately took charge. "Marcus, grab a horse. The foresters are about a mile to the north, they found of grove of pines that would be perfect for our cabins. Follow the road, and look for fresh wagon tracks on the right. They haven''t worked anywhere else along that road since the last rain."


    "Me?" Mark blurted out in his surprise.


    "Yes you. We don''t have time for this, hurry and bring them back. They don''t know what''s coming."


    Mark was terrified, but he knew they couldn''t abandon the foresters. He rushed to the stable just outside the gates. It was more a barn than anything else, but Frank kept a horse saddled and ready to go at all times. He had heard the commotion and before Mark had run to the barn door Frank was holding the horse next to a wooden mounting block. "You know how to handle a horse?" The old stableman asked.


    "Not in the slightest."


    "Hell, just look where you want to go and if she isn''t sure gently direct her with the reins. Tap her sides with your heels, smooch or just say faster and she''ll pick up the pace. Annie here is a good girl, she''ll take care of you. I''d go but someone has to round up the cows before the Orcs get here."


    "I could do that, and you could go to the foresters."


    "Son, you can''t even ride a horse and you want to drive a bull through those gates and all those people? You''ll be fine, just hold on."


    "Alright..." Mark conceded and climbed atop his horse.


    "You all set?"


    "I think so..."


    "What are you waiting for? Get the hell out of here!"


    In his urgency, Mark kicked the horse hard just as he had seen in an old movie, and Annie responded. The horse bolted forwards, from a standstill to a gallop in a heartbeat. "Hold on tight!" Frank cried out, as Mark was nearly thrown from the horse with every step. He grabbed onto the horse''s neck and held on for dear life.

 Chapter Six: Greeting the neighbors

    April 24, 5319 A.A.


    Mark raced along the narrow road. Despite his inexperience his mount carried him faithfully and he was truly grateful. He hadn''t the faintest idea of how to sit in the saddle on a galloping horse, and every stride ended with harsh pain as he was bounced around, but he held on and powered through. He rode through an ocean of titanic pine trees, each the equal of a redwood giant that used to dominate the northern coast of California before the quake. Despite the majestic forest around him, his eyes were glued to the road. The only hope he had of finding the foresters were the ruts from their wagon as it branched off to their latest site. He almost missed it, as he slipped and scrambled to balance atop the galloping horse but he saw it in the corner of his eye. He pulled the right rein to the side far too harshly in his panic, and the mare cut and turned on a dime, throwing him from his seat. She halted as soon as she felt his weight lifted, and walked back to him with a snort and a look of exasperation so blatant it crossed the species barrier.


    He cried out as pain erupted in his arm. He had landed on a root, and his wrist had broken from the impact. His right hand now hung limp at his side. As the waves of pain washed over him, he sat, and wallowed in self pity until the horse shoved him over with its nose. She didn''t know what was going on, but she felt the urgency in her master and the other villagers. She knew she had a job to do, and wasn''t going to let Mark stop her. He rose, grudgingly, and she led him to a rock large enough to let him climb up even with one hand. He pointed her in the direction of the wagon ruts, and she took off again, her stride just a bit softer as Mark whimpered with every step.


    Luckily, the loggers weren''t far from the road. They were grouped around a pair of trees at the edge of an artificial clearing of their own making. They turned as he cleared the tree line, and he cried out "Orcs are attacking! We need to get back to the village!".


    The foresters froze, but the leader Ivar quickly snapped them out of it. "Toss those logs off the carriage! We''re getting out of here, now!" The men all ran to the carriage, and heaved the few logs they had already loaded onto he forest floor. Mark dismounted as best he could, and handed off Annie to Ivar as he told the lumberman everything he knew. Within two minutes Mark and all the men were on the cart and Ivar led the way atop Annie. The cart driver pushed the four mighty draft horses to their limit, they all knew what would happen if they were caught outside the palisade, and they prayed.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    Alexandra watched the orderly chaos that had erupted outside the village, the frontiersmen all carried themselves with a determined resolve that proved their experience. The new arrivals were panicking as any normal person would be, but the veterans kept their heads and focused on what needed to be done. The livestock were all rounded up and riders sent to the foresters and the other hunting group. All the farmers had been accounted for, and as she led one of the last goats through the gate the men were planting stakes and spears in a defensible arc outside and inside the gate. Sigmund was scattering wicked caltrops all over the area in front of the gate with only a narrow path straight down the middle. Liam was rushing to piece together spiked barricades. As she handed off the goat to Frank, two riders broke through the tree line.


    The horses were frothing at the mouth from the exertion, their chests heaving with every breath. Still Giles drove them on, the village had to be warned. But as he broke through the trees, he saw the front gate was heavily fortified, and the new priestess was rushing towards them with Frank and the new stableboy. He looked back at Douglass, strapped to the horse like a prisoner. They had feared he would collapse and so had strapped him to his horse, but despite his grievous wound he had lasted the journey. As the villagers neared him, he brought his horse to a halt and shouted "Orcs in the mountains! We were attacked, I don''t know if anyone else made it! Douglass lost his arm!"


    Alex calmly responded "We know, Vidar saw it all. Frank will take your horse, get some rest." She spoke as the stableboy helped her remove Douglass'' bindings, and they carried him through the gates as Frank took the reins of both of the courageous mounts.


    "Perks of having our own god!" Frank chipped in "We are ready for them."


    "The others, are they alright?" Giles franticly demanded.


    "They are ahead of the pack last we heard, but Aaron... Aaron didn''t make it."


    "Damn..." Giles sighed.


    "You saved Douglass. You did all you could. Go get some rest while you can. We don''t have much time."


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    Mark almost made it to the village, they almost made it to the safety of the walls before the orcs broke through the tree line. Almost. The farmland and pastures as well as lumber harvesting left a two-thousand foot clearing between the forest and the settlement They were within sight of the gate when three of the hunters ran out of the forest, the warband less than thirty feet behind them. "Fuck!" Shouted one of the loggers, and Mark was inclined to agree. Ivar called them to a stop, the orcs were between them and the gate.


    "We will have to circle around, make for one of the southern gates. Drive as close to the beasts as you can. If the orcs try to give chase, we can ride away faster than they can run and it will distract some of them." Ivar ordered, Mark thought it was a solid plan, as long as nothing went wrong. As they made their way around the edge of the forest, the villagers charged out.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    "There''s no way they can make it..." Sigmund groaned. If the hunters could just make it to the gate, the villagers would be able to fend off the orcs from a favorable position.


    Liam was the first to action, "There''s no time. Guardsmen with me! Hit them hard and fast, then retreat. It won''t be easy, but we need to save those men!" The craftsman hefted his oversized axe, and charged out through the gap in the fortifications. The guardsmen honored Liam''s charge, unlike the hunters they had proper steel armor, and all were armed with heavy shields, spears, and swords. These were men trained to hold the line against all manner of beasts, but there were only nine of them. The villagers steeled themselves for the coming fight, the stronger among them bore shields and spears, to help the guardsmen hold the line when they returned but the rest were weak, they had a few extra bows to pass around, but not nearly enough for all of them.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    "What is he doing?" Mark cried out. "He''s a craftsman. He isn''t even wearing any armor... they will tear him apart!" Despite his harshness, Mark had grown to respect his teacher. He couldn''t bear to watch him die so foolishly.


    "You mean Liam?" chuckled the bearded lumberman sitting next to him.


    "Of course, what can he do?"


    "You have no idea." Another lumberman cut in.


    "What do you mean?" Mark demanded, frustration setting in.


    The whole forester crew stared at him incredulously for a moment. "You really don''t know?" Asked the first lumberman. "You spend every day with the man, and you don''t know?"


    "KNOW WHAT!?" Mark yelled, getting even more frantic as Liam closed the gap with the bloodthirsty orcs.


    "Liam is the strongest man in the village. Craftsman isn''t his first class. Hell, its not even his second."


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement."What?" Mark asked again, dumbly.


    "That man is a berserker."


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    Jothan was two thirds of the way across the field. Liam was thundering towards him at a monstrous pace. They were almost safe. But then he heard a garbled scream. The orcs had caught Adam. He was the slowest of the hunters, and he fell behind in their desperate flight. A crude spear was thrown, and was now jutting from his chest, as he coughed blood. He stumbled a few more steps before tumbling forwards. Jothan slowed, he couldn''t lose another one. Not so close to the walls. Maric saw him stop, and immediately drew and fired his bow to provide cover. It was a futile effort, but he would stand by Jothan to the end. In the time it took Jothan to pick up Adam, the orcs were on them. At the last moment, when their death seemed certain, a monstrous battle cry rocked the field.


    Orc and human alike were stunned by the noise, but all except the strongest orcs were paralyzed with an unnatural terror. In that moment where the battle field froze, Liam reached the hunters and with a sweep of his mighty axe, cleaved clean through the three closest orcs still stunned by the blast. Maric rushed forwards and helped Jothan carry Adam as quickly as they could as Liam pushed his advantage and butchered three more orcs before the battle cry wore off. Even as they regained their senses, profound terror racked the simple minds of the orcs. As his next victim raised its axe to block the coming strike, Liam only swung harder, cleaving through wood, flesh, and bone as easily as he chopped firewood. Before he could finish off any more, a ferocious brute even larger than Liam stepped forwards. The orc leader was a long lived orc, every inch of his body was covered in scars. The brute matched Liam''s ferocity with a fierce blow of his colossal iron warhammer. Liam received the blow with the shaft of his axe, and with impossible strength the blow was stopped hard by the iron oak wood. The mightiest blow the orc could muster couldn''t budge the axe, or the man. The orc growled before throwing himself below Liam''s counter as Liam rushed forwards with reckless abandon.


    As he pressed deeper into the orc warriors, he found himself surrounded by the hideous gray monsters. They jumped at him, laughing like a pack of hyenas who had found a wounded gazelle. They all swung their axes and clubs at his exposed back, but their weak blows were useless against his hardened flesh. A few of the axes drew blood, but left no more than a scratch. They continued to rain down blows on their prey, but their efforts were futile and only served to enrage the craftsman who turned on them and cleaved through their ranks with furious blows before the orc chief scored a brutal blow on his back with the rusty warhammer.


    As Liam stumbled a single step, he roared and charged the massive brute once again just as the guardsmen rushed into the fray. They quickly formed a battle line, and the guard captain Fredrick shouted to Liam "Keep your head! We need to get out of here!" Liam merely grunted in reply, his mind ran red, but he gave ground to the monstrous orc. The guardsmen were slowly retreating backwards, fending off the orcs with their spears as Liam traded vicious blows with the brute, but the other orcs pushed forwards, a seething mass of slavering beasts. There were just too many, and the guardsmen would be encircled on the open field. Just then, Rorik''s party charged out of the forest, flanking the orc warband.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    Ivar spoke to his men as he saw the hunters charge into the fray. "Liam could use a hand. Are you ready men?"


    "Of course!" Torig the driver replied as soon as the words had left Ivar''s mouth


    "Should be more fun than chopping trees!"


    "Not much choice, they''ll be overrun if we don''t."


    Mark was shocked at the eagerness of the lumbermen to charge into battle, but it looked like that''s where they were headed. "I have no weapon, and my arm is useless..." Mark croaked out, ashamed.


    "Take the reins from me when we''re close then." Torig replied. "Get to the rangers from Rorik''s party, give them a shooting platform. This thing isn''t too hard to drive, the horses are smart beasts. Ignore all the other straps, just pull the left horses left rein to go left, and the right horses right rein to go right. It''s not ideal, and they won''t like it, but it will do in a pinch."


    "My wrist..." Mark began to splutter.


    "Son, this is war. It''s going to hurt, badly, but suck it up. Those men sitting with you are about to charge into battle without any armor, and lives will depend on those bowmen having a good shot."


    "Right. Sorry."


    "Come up here and watch while I get into position. It won''t be much but it''ll give you some idea what you''re gonna be doing.


    With the carriage and Ivar on horseback, they cleared the gap in seconds. Ivar gave the order, "Everyone out boys, we''ve got work to do!" The men bailed out of the cart, and charged in at the orcs trying to get in behind the battle line, trapping them between guardsmen spears and logging axes.


    Mark urged the horses on, to the hunters racing across the field. His mind screamed with pain from his wrist, but he had to keep going. Rorik''s hunters had rushed to return as soon as the rider had reached them, their bows were badly needed and their two defenders ran to join the battle line. As he picked up Rorik and his rangers, he saw 12 more villagers charging out from the fortified gate. They must have come to the same conclusion that Ivar had, now was the time to fight. Rorik stepped up to the driver''s seat, and even as he fired his bow he directed Mark to drive them closer. Mark pulled up less than 40 feet from the backs of the embattled orcs, and Rorik''s men rained hell upon them.


    Liam stood tall at the head of the guardsmen. He snarled and roared, fending off the two largest orcs all on his own. He was lost in his bloodlust. As a veteran berserker, he knew his allies from his enemies, but everything else ran red. With a mighty blow, he buried his axe in the collar of one of his opponents. The orc was cleaved clean through its body down to its naval but the axe held firm, caught between flesh and bone. The warhammer wielding monster rushed in on the defenseless craftsman, finally spared from Liam''s furious offensive, and brought down his hammer with all his might. Liam moved even faster than the beast, and tackled him to the ground mid-swing. With his bare hands, he pummeled the monstrous orc. A hurricane of heavy blows rained down upon the the orc''s face, and in moments the orc leader was dead. The other orcs tried to rush the craftsman while he tore apart their leader, but their axes again made only insignificant scratches on his blood soaked skin. Distracted from his mutilated foe, he charged back into the orc pack armed only with fists and teeth.


    The combined force of loggers, guardsmen, villagers and hunters encircled and slaughtered the remaining orcs, fending them off with shields while they were cut down from behind. As the last orc fell, the men stopped to survey the field around them, but Liam was still beating what was left of an orc''s corpse, now only a bloody mess of flesh and bone. His mind was gone. One of the new guardsmen reached out to stop him, but Fredrick roughly grabbed him and jerked him back. "Leave him. He is lost, he will burn out soon enough. We have to tend to our dead." The harsh words forced the realization that not everyone had survived, and they turned their gaze to the mutilated bodies of their friends. The battle was won, but not without cost.

 Chapter Seven: Moving Forward

    April 24, 5319 A.A.


    Mark sat in a wooden chair outside the doors of the barn, staring at the horrific aftermath of the battle. Frank had taken the lumber cart from him, and they had used it to ferry the gravely wounded to the barn which had become a makeshift hospital. His wife was desperately trying to sew Torig''s chest shut. An orc axe had cleaved through his sternum, and as it was torn out it left a gaping wound in its place. Alexandra had worked as an ER nurse, she handled the horrors of the battlefield with a determined calm born from experience. Mark however, was weak. He had stared at the wound which no longer gushed blood, she had already sutured the arteries she could, and the rest she had clamped shut. Torig was a veteran, and his healing factor would see him through if she could just get him patched up. All mark saw was a man who had shown him how to drive a carriage drenched in his own blood, his skin far too pale. He was horrified. He had picked up his chair in his good hand, and left the barn.


    His wrist still burned with pain, but he knew better than to whine. His wife and Loretta had for more to worry about than a broken wrist. He hoped getting outside would allow him to escape the horror of the dying men inside, but as he surveyed the blood stained fields he knew it wasn''t something he was meant to escape. Good men were dead, and yet he was too much of a coward to even look at the bodies that had been loaded onto the lumber cart. His eyes were irresistibly drawn to his mentor, Liam. The large man''s entire body was wet with blood that was not his own as he rested amongst the corpses of their foes. He had finally ceased his mad rampage and sat limply next to the corpse of his final victim, now little more than a mess of meaty pulp. Fredrick stood at his side, no words passed between them but he rested a reassuring hand on the craftsman''s shoulder. Mark couldn''t believe what he had seen, but he knew Liam had slaughtered a full third of their enemies. And many of those had been with his bare hands.


    Liam, a berserker? Mark wondered. He knew the term well, at least as it was portrayed in fantasy and games. A wild and bloodthirsty warrior who grew drunk at the smell of blood. A man who abandoned all reason and thoughts of defending himself and dedicated their entire soul to tearing his enemies apart. He had never imagined a real person like that existing, but here he was. Why was he here? Why did such a strong man spend his days carving wood and chopping logs? What would happen now? But as he watched Fredrick and Liam, he felt like he was intruding on something, something private. He gazed around, trying to see what else was going on, and saw the hunters moving off.


    Now that their own were all accounted for, Jothan led Rorik''s hunters to recover Aaron''s corpse. A body wasn''t needed for a revival, but no one would be revived until the villagers gathered after dusk. Jothan didn''t feel right leaving him to the wolves till then and he still didn''t know how many obols Dorian had. He had argued loudly until Dorian approved the venture, on the condition they moved cautiously and fell back if they ran into any more orcs.


    As he watched them leave, a huge commotion erupted amongst the men who had begun to gather the orc corpses.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    "It''s gone!" Sigmund roared.


    "What are you raving about old man? Loose your teeth?" One of the new guardsmen quipped, only to be smacked harshly by his comrade Brenda.


    "Sorry for this ass Sigmund. He hasn''t learned respect yet, but I promise he will" She apologized "What have you lost?"


    "Not what, who..." Sigmund moaned. "Their leader. The brute. He''s gone."


    "No..." Brenda whispered. "Are you sure? Absolutely sure?"


    "Yes, he was here. Right next to his hammer. I turned around to move this other orc... and when I turned back he was gone."


    "What the hell are you two on about? Liam tore the bastard apart. He''s not going anywhere!" The novice guardsmen argued, completely oblivious to the horror in front of him.


    Dorian answered, his voice grave. "He revived you idiot. That ugly monster will revive at his home this time tomorrow, only now he is humiliated and enraged. It means an entire orc tribe of unknown size knows exactly where we are. It means we will have to fight hard for our homes, and many more of our friends will die."


    "Oh..." Was the only reply the novice guardsmen could muster. Dark days were ahead.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    That night, everyone gathered in the village center. The sun had just disappeared behind the western mountains, but the radiant blue moon illuminated the the gathering better than torches ever could. The wounded had all either perished or stabilized, and even those still laid up in bed had been carried to the gathering. Everyone brought their own chairs, and sat in a large circle, except for Dorian who stood in the center. Around him rested five veiled corpses. Dorian saw that all those still living had gathered, and he began the morbid meeting.


    "We were taken unawares today, something that will never happen again. We have paid the price of our complacency. Five good men are dead. But we over extended ourselves, we summoned too many new people and we only have three Obols left. After the burden of saving our wounded from the brink of death, Vidar can only offer us one more. It was my failure for not keeping more in reserve, but regardless, we are faced with a terrible decision.


    Luke, the young Shepard who has watched over our herds. He joined the guardsmen to hold the line when the orcs were pressing in. His youthful vigor and awful jokes have brightened our days the last year.


    Cyrus, a stalwart guardsmen. He held the line at Liam''s side as long as he could. He has stood watch at the gates, ever vigilant to the dangers of the world.


    Daren, a dedicated lumberman. He joined us only recently, but he charged into battle alongside our brothers all the same. Without his sacrifice and the efforts of the other foresters, the orcs would have likely encircled our guardsmen. He has done his job well, and shows great promise.


    Aaron, a Ranger. Another new addition to our village, he showed immense bravery, wounded and exhausted, unwilling to drag down his party with him, he stood alone against the raging horde and bought time for his friends to escape. He has served Jothan, and our village well.


    Adam, the new protector for Jothan''s party. He survived the flight from the orcs, enduring the grueling journey despite his low level, keeping up with his party through sheer force of will, but he fell within sight of the walls. Despite the danger of his job, he performed admirably, standing shoulder to shoulder with Douglass.


    These are our five fallen brothers, all fine men, but we must choose. Only four may walk amongst us again. In these dark times we cannot be without one of our best guardsmen. Luke had no apprentice, and if we are to be besieged by these brutes, we must make full use of our livestock. There can be no doubt, Luke and Cyrus must be revived, but the final three must be decided. Ivar, and Jothan will speak for their men, then we will hear from the rest of you. Ivar, come forward."


    The stern lumberman rose from his seat. All eyes were upon him, his chest was wrapped in blood soaked bandages and he limped as he walked towards the veiled corpse of Daren. "Daren took to his work like a fish to water." Grief was plain in his voice, but he didn''t falter. "Our work is hard, especially for a new arrival, weak as he was. But he never complained. He thrived, enjoying the long and hard days. Hard work was happiness for Daren, and I''ve never quite seen anything like it before. He had the soul of a pioneer, just like the rest of us. Chilton was his home, and he did his best to serve the village, to contribute. And... When I gave the order, when I sent him to his death. He didn''t hesitate for even a moment before charging to the aid of the guardsmen. He was one of us, and gave his life for us." Ivar finished, but remained standing at the head of his comrade''s body.


    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    "Thank you, Ivar. Jothan, come forward."


    The weary ranger came to stand between the bodies of his hunters. He had changed into plain clothes, Adam''s blood washed from his hands. "Today, I have failed you. In my rush to catch up to our pray, I threw caution to the wind. I charged blindly ahead, confident in our strength. We stumbled into a small group of orcs, but we were more than a match for them. The first two went down, but the third got away. Rather than escape while we could, I chose to pursue him. And in so doing, I led the orcs back to us. Our two new recruits, Aaron and Adam served well.


    Adam was as good a protector as anyone could ask for. He had no experience with fighting, but he was willing to learn. Douglass taught him well, and he grew stronger every day. Aaron was brave, and kept his head even at the worst of times. As we were racing back, he could have begged us to carry him. He could have limped along till he collapsed. But I asked him to buy us time, and he not only held his ground, he charged at the strongest among them. He bought us the precious time we needed.


    Both were good men, and should not be punished for my failure. We will need all the fighters we can get in the coming days." He finished with his eyes on the ground in shame.


    Ivar shot Jothan a dark look. His words plainly showed that even if they were responsible, he believed a fighter''s life more valuable than a worker. He yelled, "We have no lumbermen to spare, why should Daren be sacrificed after we risked our lives to clean up your mess! Why should their lives be worth more than his!" Jothan''s shame quickly turned to anger.


    Dorian interjected before Jothan could reply, his voice both menacing and powerful despite his aged appearance. "ENOUGH! You know the rules Ivar. We do not argue, we do not speak ill of the dead. We speak only of their achievements and their importance to the village. Does anyone else wish to speak?" Both Jothan and Ivar looked as if they would continue arguing, but a harsh glare from Dorian silenced them both.


    Maric, the other surviving ranger in Jothan''s party stood up. "I would speak for Aaron." He spoke loudly as he strode to stand at Jothan''s side. "We hunted together, side by side. Despite his inexperience, he was a reliable man. And I owe him my life. You have all heard it, but you cannot imagine the bravery it took him to face his death, and slow down those beasts! Without him, you would have two more veiled corpses here tonight."


    "Thank you Maric. Anyone else?" Dorian asked the crowd.


    "I would speak!" Liam announced as he rose from his chair, an edge to his voice. He hadn''t spoken since the battle had begun, and as he walked out towards the middle of the gathering, it was plainly apparent he hadn''t changed clothes or washed since the battle. Half-dried blood covered his entire body, both his clothes and his skin. Franklin had only just managed to pull him from the battlefield in time for the gathering. "All of these men are good men. But we must decide what is best for the village. Our village must expand, we are far too cramped inside this palisade. We are building houses yes, but first we must build a wall. We must protect our farmlands, our pastures and our people. We must build a great wall, of the largest trees this forest has to offer us. And for that, we will sorely need all the foresters we have, they are stretched thin as it is. I can raise a wall as fast as they can haul trees, and we must have it finished before the next raid. I am sorry, Jothan. But we need that wall."


    Jothan turned on Dorian, "Does he speak for us all now? Is that to be the final word?"


    "No, he does not. But I value his opinion as you should. And he is right. We must have a wall, and we need all four of our foresters if we are to do it."


    "And what of my men?" Jothan cried out. "What of them?"


    "That is up to you, you must choose one."


    "One... Why one?"


    "Because we over extended ourselves, we spent too many obols on new citizens, and didn''t save enough for the dangers to come. That is our failure, but this is how it will be. I have decided. Daren will be revived, you must choose. Aaron or Adam. If you cannot choose, I will decide for you."


    "Aaron... Revive Aaron." Jothan sighed, overtaken by his grief. He was a seasoned hunter. He had buried far too many friends, but this was something else. This was a rare occurrence. He had always either had no obols, and the dead were simply dead or he had enough to raise the people he lost. It had only happened twice in his life that he had to choose. This was the first time that he had been asked to make his case to someone else, the first time he had been asked to beg for the lives of his men.


    "I am truly sorry Jothan. He will be remembered." After giving his condolences, he quietly gave the system command. "Show Lord Menu: Inactive Souls"


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''6''>Inactive Souls</td></tr><tr><td>Villager</td><td>Level</td><td>Class</td><td>Cost</td><td>Time Remaining</td><td>Action</td></tr><tr><td>Aaron Rivers</td><td>4.24</td><td>Ranger</td><td>1 Obol</td><td>11 hours, 27 minutes remaining</td><td>[Revive]</td></tr><tr><td>Adam Edwards</td><td>3.17</td><td>Protector</td><td>1 Obol</td><td>11 hours, 52 minutes remaining</td><td>[Revive]</td></tr><tr><td>Luke Duncan</td><td>41.58</td><td>Herdsman</td><td>1 Obol</td><td>11 hours, 57 minutes remaining</td><td>[Revive]</td></tr><tr><td>Cyrus Olver</td><td>69.82</td><td>Guardsman</td><td>1 Obol</td><td>12 hours, 5 minutes remining</td><td>[Revive]</td></tr><tr><td>Daren Boyle</td><td>2.63</td><td>Harvester</td><td>1 Obol</td><td>13 hours, 24 minutes remaining</td><td>[Revive]</td></tr><tr><td colspan=''4''></td><td>Obol''s remaining:</td><td>4</td></tr></tbody></table>


    Dorian quickly tapped the revive option for Aaron, Luke, Cyrus and Daren. As he made to close the window, a confirmation window appeared.


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''2''>Are you sure you want to revive the following subordinates?


    Aaron Rivers


    Luke Duncan


    Cyrus Olver


    Daren Boyle</td></tr><tr><td>[Yes]</td><td>[No]</td></tr></tbody></table>


    He pressed yes, and as he did four of the five bodies vanished. Their veils sank to the ground, the shapes they rested upon having ceased to exist. The only sign anything had ever been under them, were the lumps of their shoes and the faint outline of the clothes they had worn as the veils settled.


    "And now we must prepare for Adam''s funeral. Loretta, will you tend to him?"


    "I will." The white priestess spoke as she rose.


    "Then our meeting is completed. All of you get some sleep, we have much work to do come morning." With that, the meeting slowly dissolved, the villagers picking up their chairs, and wandering back to their homes. Soon all that remained were four empty veils, Loretta, Adam and Jothan.

 Chapter Eight: The Wall

    May 10, 5319 A.A.


    Mark sighed as he and the four loggers heaved yet another massive trunk off the lumber carriage, rolling it off and onto the ground next to the dug foundation of the new wall. It slammed into the ground with a terrible, crashing thud. He stared at what they were doing, and was awestruck by the titanic scale of the operation. Ancient pines which had stood for countless millennia were felled by the thousand to build a wall nearly four miles long. What they were building was technically just another palisade, but that word betrayed the impossible reality of the wall. Each "stake" of the palisade wall was a fourteen foot long section of a five foot diameter tree. Every tree the men felled felt like an earthquake, and without the two master harvesters, there is no way they could have rolled a single cut log onto the cart.


    Torig drove the draft horses on to the work site, his adept carting skill allowing the majestic beasts to haul beyond their strength. Mark was assigned to help the foresters however he could, adding his meager strength to theirs. He had taken over sawing the felled giants into sections, but still felt useless. As they dropped their load at the wall, Liam gave them a slight nod before climbing from the ditch. He had dug out the foundations four feet down all by himself. Mark watched as he easily rolled the massive log into place, and then slid one end over the edge of the ditch. Every muscle in his heraclean body tensed and bulged as he heaved one end of the log up into the air, the other taken by gravity down into the ditch.


    In less than ten seconds, the craftsman had set a six ton tree on its end, adding another five feet to the wall. "Ivar." He called out to the head forester. "Do you still have need of Mark? I''m sure your boys levels are rising rapidly with all this work."


    "It would slow us down, but not by much. Most of the heavy work is up to Torig and I. Take him if you can make use of him."


    "Good man! I''ve got the foundations dug for the next quarter mile, so I''ve got time to get him started on a special project. Now get down here boy. Don''t act like you weren''t listening.


    "Coming!" Mark shouted as he jumped down from the cart, delighted to be off of logging duty. "What do I do?"


    "Show me your skills. Let''s see where you''re at."


    "Display all: Skill menu." The window appeared, this time visible to everyone.


    <table><tbody><tr><td colspan=''5''>Skill Menu</td></tr><tr><td>Class</td><td>Skills</td><td>Level</td><td>Stat</td><td>Bonus</td></tr><tr><td>Craftsman</td><td></td><td>120</td><td>H/E/S/I/Cr</td><td>12</td></tr><tr><td></td><td>Bowyer</td><td>0</td><td>Endurance</td><td>0</td></tr><tr><td></td><td>Carpenter</td><td>145</td><td>Strength</td><td>1.45</td></tr></tbody></table>


    "Not bad. You''ve been growing quickly despite your complete lack of confidence."


    "Thanks, I think... What do you want me to do now?"


    "Sit there and watch, I need to set the post and pack in the dirt."


    "Can I help?" Mark asked as he reached out to help push the post.


    "No!" Liam shouted, causing Mark to stumble and nearly fall into the foundation trench.


    "What the hell?"


    "Don''t touch the wall! This isn''t a house, or a chair. The level and skill of the craftsman strengthens the finished product. This finished product this time is a wall. A wall that stands between us and this god forsaken world. There can be no weak points.


    "I can''t even help?"


    "If you help in a small way, you leave a small impact on the integrity of the wall. Not worth it. So enjoy the break while you can boy."


    Mark watched as Liam brought a mighty sledgehammer with a broad, flat head to bear and slammed the bottom of the log hard, smashing it tight against the next post in the wall. He did the same all the way up the log from top to bottom, using sturdy wooden scaffolding to reach the top of the wall. Once he was finally satisfied, he pulled out massive, two foot long nails, and drove them at an angle through the new log into the other at the joint. Next came the dirt as he filled the sides of the foundation trench, packing it down as best he could. There was a massive pile of leftover dirt from the excavation now filled with wood, and it was all piled against the inside edge of the wall to brace it.


    "That it?" Mark asked as Liam put down his hammer and patted the wall, seemingly contented with the results of his work.


    "Yeah, that''s it. Now follow me, you can help me carry the equipment."


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    As they arrived back at Liam''s house, for the first time Mark was invited in. It was a single room cabin with one bed in the corner and four bedrolls laid out on the floor. One side of the house held a simple kitchen and cabinets and the other was a total mess of tools and compact workbenches. Liam walked straight over to a cluttered workbench with a very large book and a bow on top of the mess. "It''s time you learned how to craft a bow. Once we have a proper wall up, we can set some basic ramparts atop it. We will need good bows so every man and woman can man the walls when the time comes." He pick up the bow, and held it out to Mark. "Take a look, it''s the best I can do. I''m hoping you will be able to do better."


    "I doubt it..." Mark said as he took the bow. From what little he knew, it looked like a bow. "Looks fine to me."


    "Inspect it, don''t use your eyes. I know I made it right."


    "Inspect?" Mark asked, and a window immediately filled his vision.


    <table><tbody><tr><td>Simple bow</td></tr><tr><td>Durability: 60


    Draw Weight: 95 lbs


    Weight: 5 lbs


    Material: Ironwood Pine</td></tr><tr><td>Made from Ironwod by an unskilled craftsman</td></tr></tbody></table>


    "Wow!" Mark exclaimed at the window.


    "Have you really not been inspecting any of your work?"


    "I had no idea I could."


    "You idiot. I forget how little you know about this world."


    "I''m sorry. But what is this about unskilled craftsman? Didn''t you make this? It looks flawless!"


    "I don''t have the Bowyer skill. So while my craftsman skill allows me to make a working bow, even from ironwood, it will never be as good as someone who takes the Bowyer skill and levels it. So our only option is for you to learn what you are doing, and quickly." Liam lectured as he picked up the book and handed it to Mark, taking the bow back and resting it on the work bench. "Read this and learn it well. All our lives will depend on it."


    "The Art of the Bow. Really? I''m supposed to learn how to make a bow from a book?"


    "Is that a problem?"


    "No, I just don''t know I''ll be able to make sense of it."


    "You know your way around a block of wood and all my tools. It''s time you quit acting stupid boy."


    "It''s just a book."


    "It has diagrams and instructions. Everything you need. When you finish reading, I''ll show you how to make one. After that, you are on your own. Now help me with these tools."


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    Mark watched as Liam raised, settled, secured, and buried yet another post in the rapidly growing wall. He was halfway through a chapter on the best types of wood to use for a bowstave. Pine was not on the list. Mark groaned, overwhelmed by the technical jargon and exacting detail of the text. "Hell with this. If I read one more line about how amazing silverbough yew is I''m going to go stand underneath one of those giant trees they are felling."


    "Then what do you plan to do?" Liam demanded of his young apprentice?


    "I''m going to make a damn bow. We only have one type of wood around here, and most of the stuff written here is way beyond me. If I screw up, I''ll figure it out."


    "Good man!" Liam exclaimed.


    "What? You wanted me to get mad and give up?"


    "The opposite. I wanted to see some damned initiative out of you. That''s the first time you''ve decided to do something on your own since you arrived here. Took you nearly two hours though."


    "So this book is useless? You just want me to start making it and sort it out later?"


    "Far from it. That book has everything a master bowyer needs to now. Thing is, you are far from a master bowyer and you learn best through practice and failure. Read that book every night, every chance you get."


    "Alright, I guess I''ll get to it."


    "None of that boy. This was your decision. Own it."


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator."Alright boss." Mark chipped as he walked over to the makeshift workbench Liam had prepared for him.


    "Boss huh? I like it."


    "So I''m guessing these trees are where you want me to start?" Mark asked as he gazed at a large pile of small pine trees piled up near the workbench.


    "Trees? Gods no, those are just some branches from the trees they are felling for the wall. Perfect scraps for you to play with."


    "Branches... Damn." Mark took a moment to appreciate that the trees he had been felling were so huge that its branches were the size of small trees.


    Mark selected the smallest one, an eight foot branch, maybe eight inches wide at the base. He grabbed a machete and quickly went about cutting off all the stray branches. Then he cut off the top half of the tree, preferring to work with a four foot section for his first try. Next he clamped it to a sawing frame, making a clean cut along one side. He rotated it, braced it again to get a square cut for another cut. After the next two cuts he had a four foot long four by four, and that was sawed in half, leaving two identical boards.


    Now came the knife work. He pulled up a chair and sat overlooking Liam''s work as he began to whittle down the bow. Massive logs continued to arrive, and the wall continued its rapid growth. As two hours passed, he had whittled it down into a flat bow shape. Now was time for it to be steamed and pressed. The steamer was a simple contraption, a metal pot filled with water held over a fire with a sealed box atop it. The whittled bow was laid in the box, but it would take over an hour for the steam to make it properly flexible. He sat down with his second plank, and started whittling again.


    "Liam. Are we ever going to tell me about what happened in the battle?"


    "You did well. You did your job."


    "I mean about you. How did you do that. Where did you come from? What did you do?"


    "No."


    "No what?"


    "We aren''t going to talk about it."


    After another hour, he removed the first bow, and replaced it with the second. He grabbed a premade bow frame, and using clamps he slowly pressed it down onto the curve. The heat and steam loosened the lignin, a plant protein which is responsible for the rigidity and integrity of wood. Once the wood was fully pressed into the frame, perfectly matching the curve of the bow frame, he began trimming yet another branch down to a workable size. In yet another hour, he pulled out the second bow, and clamped it to another frame, replacing it with yet another bow shaped strip of wood in the steamer. As the sun began to set, he had been forced to build a second makeshift workbench, and two extra frames. He had four bows clamped down, slowly drying out.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    May 12, 5319 A.A.


    <table><tbody><tr><td>Crude Bow</td></tr><tr><td>Durability: 5


    Draw Weight: 20 lbs


    Weight: 2 lbs


    Material: Eastern highland pine</td></tr><tr><td>Made roughly from an ancient pine tree by a novice craftsman</td></tr></tbody></table>


    "I spent hours on these, took a whole day to dry, and it comes out like this?"


    "What did you expect? You are a novice craftsman, novice carpenter, novice bowyer, and it was your first bow. It was rough, shape was wrong, wood was cheap, and the string was badly wound from even cheaper material."


    "Damn, that was a bit harsh wasn''t it?"


    "No. You did well. Keep at it."


    "What now?"


    "You test them. You fire one until it breaks. Then fire the others, try to feel the differences in each. You can see the numerical difference in the inspection window, but to find out why one is better than the other, you have to fire it yourself. Feel where the bow gives, feel what breaks it. It''s the only way to learn."


    "I''ve never fired a bow before in my life. Can you teach me?"


    "I''ll ask Fredrick. I know how to fire one, but he has far more experience using one in battle. But first, I think you need to make some arrows. You remember making those spear shafts?"


    "Yeah?"


    "Same thing, just do it smaller."


    "So I''ll need to use the lathe then?"


    "If you want them well made, yeah. You do."


    Mark had slowly moved a full quarter of Liam''s tools out to the wall work site, even if he had to move everything to catch up to Liam every morning. Splitting wood and trimming it down to half inch squared stick didn''t take long, it was something he had practiced a thousand times by this point. The only time consuming part would be the lathe, it was pedal powered but very effective. Each stick was stripped down to an almost perfect 3/8ths inch thick dowel. Mark suddenly realized he had no idea what to next. "What do I do for arrowheads? Feathers?."


    Liam sighed as he set down his giant hammer. "Don''t worry about arrowheads for now, you just need practice arrows. Sharpen them to a point, then round it off so it doesn''t break. You can learn fire hardening another day."


    "And the feathers?"


    "The bag, to the left of your lathe table. I had Sigmund drop them off. He''s been doing the best he can at fletching this last year."


    "How do they go on?"


    "You read the book. Get glue, feathers, string soaked in glue. Set feathers, add glue, loosely bind it, set them exactly where you want them, wrap the soaked string around both ends of the feathers and use it again to reinforce the nock on the back. Skip the string for the first two dozen, you need some to test with for now. Any more questions, read that book."


    Mark did as instructed, sharpened the arrows and glued on the feathers as best he could. While the glue was drying, Liam had him set up a straw target. Liam used red dye to paint a small circle in the middle of the target. After that, Liam wandered back to town while the glue was drying and he waited for the next log for the wall. Just as the glue was drying, Mark spotted Liam on his way back, with Fredrick in tow.


    "I hear you have no idea how to use a bow." Fredrick chided in a gruff greeting.


    "Unfortunately not. Earth hasn''t used bows for warfare in hundreds of years."


    "Rather silly, nothing better for fighting at range. Can I see your bows?"


    "Sure." Mark turned and gestured to his workbench.


    The first thing Fredrick did, was pick up a bow, draw it gently only for it to shatter under his strength. "Hell, I should have guessed. Inspect." He spoke the command over a second bow as Mark cried out in shock at his first bow being broken like a toothpick. "Not bad for your first try. I trust you understand you are going to have to work hard to improve these, or else we won''t be able to use them."


    "I''ll do my best. It would be hard to do worse."


    "That''s the spirit, now lets see about teaching you to shoot. Bear in mind even you can''t put your full strength into this bow. It will only take twenty pounds of force before it starts to give out. You work with your right hand right?"


    "Yes, I do."


    "How about your eyes?"


    "My eye?"


    "Just point at my right eye with one finger."


    "Alright..." Mark spoke as he pointed his index finger at Fredrick''s right eye.


    "You''re a righty through and through."


    "How the hell..."


    "When you point at a distant object, your finger will be out of focus. You will naturally point from the perspective of your dominant eye."


    "Ok... what next?"


    "Spread your legs, shoulders width apart. Hold the bow in your left hand, outstretched. No, don''t lock the elbow. Now nock the arrow... little higher on the string. Rest it on your index finger. Aim at your target. Now draw back. Normally you would draw all the way back to your ear, but this time just draw it till you feel the wood straining. Steady the shot. Hold your breath. Perfect, now release!"


    Mark loosed the arrow, which sped towards their straw target. It flew straight and true, his arrow was well made, but his aim wasn''t as good. The arrow flew clear over the target, sailing off into the field beyond. "Damn" Mark groaned.


    "What, you expected to hit on your first try, with your first bow?" Liam chuckled.


    "What did I do wrong...?" Mark sighed.


    "Nothing. Nothing at all." Fredrick answered. "You just need practice. Lots and lots of practice."


    "It will have to wait." Liam cut in, his voice suddenly cold.


    "Why?" Mark asked as he turned, seeing Liam staring off at the northern road.


    "We have guests."

 Chapter Nine: Visitors

    Apologies for the long wait between posts, a great tragedy has interrupted my life. My best friend took his own life, and while I do not ask for your sympathy, I urge any of you who may be suffering from depression or addiction, please reach out. Talk to your friends, your family. Seek professional help if you need it. For those of you who feel you have no one, you may contact me at any time.


    May 12, 5319 A.A.


    "Orcs?" Mark gasped, "So soon?"


    "No, it''s a trade caravan." Liam replied, in an annoyed drawl.


    "What? What''s wrong with that? Isn''t that a good thing?"


    "It is." Fredrick cut in, "But we aren''t ready for them. We thought it would take another month for the Londar pass to thaw enough for traders."


    "Ready? For what?" Mark continued to question as Liam stomped off towards the road, following the foundations where the wall would be.


    "Supplies first off. We''ve gathered quite a stockpile of pelts, teeth, claws, and pretty much anything else useful from the local wildlife. Then we have some rare wood to trade, the old growth ironwood especially. Monster loot and wood. That''s really it, so we need to get as much of it rounded up as we can before the caravan leaves. The other problem is we haven''t had time to warn all of you new arrivals. They can''t find out about Vidar."


    "Vidar? Why?"


    "He is a young god. An infant really. He can do a few tricks, and help our settlement grow, but he is dangerously weak. If the Toren pantheon or a rogue deity discover him, they will devour him."


    "Why? What has he done?"


    "Nothing. Nothing at all. But devouring other gods is the fastest way for a god to grow in power. It''s the only shortcut they have. That combined with the fear that he could one day rise to challenge them leaves little room for doubt. Young gods must hide or be hunted down and destroyed. Didn''t you ever wonder why a god would live out in the wilderness like this?"


    "That''s insane. What do we do?" Mark began to panic, as he saw the caravan of 14 very large wagons and carts pull up to a halt in front of Liam who was blocking the road. He could tell they were arguing, the lead driver gesturing angrily while Liam quietly blocked their path.


    "We keep him a secret until he matures. As the city grows around him, and he grows in strength he will be less and less vulnerable until he is no longer worth the effort to hunt, and they will pass over him for easier prey. But that''s enough talking for now, we''ve wasted enough time. We have to warn the village."


    Fredrick ended the conversation as he set off back towards the settlement at a brisk walk, Mark half-jogging to keep up. Mark kept glancing over his shoulder, and the slowly escalating confrontation behind him on the road. Just as he thought the lead driver would be angry enough to attack his mentor an older, lean woman walked up from one of the waiting wagons and single word ended the driver''s tirade. The seemingly calm discussion between her and Liam only made Mark even more nervous as he passed through the village gate.


    As he and Fredrick stumbled through the gate, the village was already a flurry of commotion. Fredrick called out, confused "There''s a-"


    "Trade caravan. We know captain." Brenda cut him off.


    "How-"


    "Vidar. Saw them coming through the trees a mile off. He''s been keeping an eye out ever since the battle."


    "Of course he did." Fredrick sighed. Having your own personal god with only one village to worry about was a convenience he had never experienced before. "Well, we came all the way back here, what can we do lieutenant?"


    "Runners were dispatched to the loggers, hunters, and farmers. Dorian is just about to leave with a welcoming party, the priestesses have torn down and hidden all the temple decorations, and everyone else is gathering all the trade goods we have together. I suppose it would be best if you joined Dorian, as captain of the guard. As for Mark there..." Lieutenant Brenda paused for a moment, "I can''t think of anything in particular, it would probably be best if you got back to work on the wall. Not even the traders are more important than that."


    "Liam took me off wall duty days ago, I''m making bows now." Mark said with a hint of pride in his voice.


    "Ooh, awesome! Ever since I broke my last bow I''ve been wanting a new one. I thought I''d have to blow my wages on the first caravan to come through, but now maybe I won''t have to!" Brenda cheered at the news.


    "He''s a long way off from that. It was pretty good for a first try, draw weight was only 20 pounds. A kids toy." Fredrick warned, before his face lit up. "Mark! That''s it! Those first bows aren''t a waste after all!"


    "Wow, thanks..." Mark sighed as his pride quickly evaporated.


    "Sorry, I know that was harsh, but you can actually give those bows to the kids. A 20 pound draw weight is perfect for Ivar''s 6 year old. If your next batch is a bit stronger, the older two kids can use them!"


    "Kids toys... I''m making kids toys..." Mark sighed, completely defeated.


    "Cheer up Mark." Brenda chuckled, "Nothing is wasted around here if we can avoid it. Those kids will grow up to be better marksmen because of you, and you are only just starting. You think I was as amazing as I am now on my first week of guard duty?"


    "No, I guess not..." Mark agreed.


    "Hah, you can bet she wasn''t!" Fredrick started to chuckle, "She was doing sword drills on her first day and was so smitten with her instructor that she forgot to pick up her sword from the armory because he was talking. He made her act out all the drills empty handed!"


    "Hey! No fair telling embarrassing stories!" Brenda cried out. "At least it''s not as bad as-"


    *Cough!* A very, very loud and patronizing cough echoed out from behind the distracted trio. Dorian was standing right behind them. "If it''s alright with you, I would like to pass through the gate you are all blocking."


    "Sorry boss!" Brenda cried out. "We got distracted..."


    "Mark" Fredrick turned towards him, "It would be best if you got back to work, Brenda and I will be going with Dorian."


    Mark slowly strolled back to his workbenches and bows, watching as Dorian and his honor guard rode to greet the traders on horseback. He could only imagine the excuses Dorian would use to justify the delay, but if he knew anything about the old man, it was that he was far more crafty than he appeared to be. As Mark finally reached his work station, the convoy was finally allowed to pass Liam''s roadblock, the craftsman returning to work as the wagons trundled towards the village. Rather than entering the gates, the convoy formed a wagon circle just outside, across from the stable. As the wagons pulled into their positions, three wagons full of nothing but people were immediately vacated as soon as they stopped. Ten people piled out of each, about half were armed and armored, probably bodyguards, and the other half were workers. Everyone involved was a whirlwind of activity as they rushed to unpack their supplies, raise stall-like tables and awnings, and arrange their merchandise. About half of the goods being unloaded were simply piled up near the gates, presumably a prearranged order for the village. Even as their friends were setting up a fully fledged market, the caravan guards were digging trenches.


    Some of the villagers carried out a large assortment of stakes and barricades which had been stockpiled next to the guard post inside the gates ever since the attack, and the caravan guards immediately put them to use. Soon, the entire laager was surrounded with a ring of barricades, then a ring of stakes jutting outwards over a pit encircling the entire formation with only a single gap. That gap made for a road straight towards the settlement gate. All of this was completed in the span of two hours, and mark was awed by their efficiency. "How the hell do they do that?" He called out to Liam.


    "Practice. They usually don''t have the barricades, but they spend a whole two hours fortifying their position when they stop for the night, every night. Especially on the open road. A surprise attack by monsters, bandits or orcs could prove fatal to a trade caravan. They always space them out so they can make use of the same campsite every trip. Each time adding another layer of defenses, felling trees, sharpening stakes. If you ever make the trip through the pass, some of them will already be looking like a military fortress. In fact, it''s how most forts get started. We only broke down their old one here over the winter, one of the horses impaled itself when they were hidden by snow and we needed the space."


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon."Are the roads really so dangerous? And when was the last time monsters attacked the village?"


    "Yes, they are. And have you forgotten the orcs so soon? Our activity here and our fierce hunters have driven off most of the large predators, but you set foot in those woods alone as you are now, and you wont walk out. As for the last attack, it was about a month before you arrived. We lost a third of our sheep to the yetis before the guards drove them off."


    "This world is insane."


    "I''ve known no other, but I agree whole heartedly."


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    May 13, 5319 A.A.


    A trade caravan for a small frontier village would stay for only three days. The first day they arrived was spent unloading, unpacking, and allowed for the village to finish their tasks and round up everything they had to trade. The ordered shipment Dorian had arranged on the last trip were unpacked, inspected, stocked, and paid for. The traders would inspect the payment, as it was very rarely paid in Aurels. With a small village there wasn''t much currency to go around, so they would exchange it for whatever goods they could acquire. After the goods were assessed and appraised, any difference would be paid in currency, or parts of the order would be withheld. This worked both ways, and if the village had a surplus or some particularly valuable merchandise, the caravans would often pay the difference if they had room to carry the excess. The village badly needed iron, salt, medicine, herbs, mead, ale, tools, bows, and arrows. The most valuable items they had to trade were direwolf pelts, jackalope horns, and ironwood boards. There were many other miscellaneous goods mixed in, but this was the core of Chilton''s economy.


    It appeared as if the village was going to come up short on goods to trade, but the loggers brought out a small stockpile of ancient ironwood sentinel heartwood. Scattered in the vast pine forests surrounding them were large groves of ironwood sentinels, distant relatives of the redwood trees of earth. Each tree was tens of thousands of years old, and the heartwood was the very center of the tree, the oldest and strongest ironwood in the world. The loggers had felled a single tree over the long winter, and had spent a whole month cutting into the tough fallen tree to recover the heartwood. Even after all of that, they only recovered ten thin logs worth before they were forced to go back to their regular duties to supply the village with wood. It was well worth it however, as those ten logs were worth more than everything else the village had to offer. All told, the village made out with a surplus of about 9 aurels worth of trade goods which would be saved and distributed according to Dorian''s judgment.


    The second day was market day, and the whole village took a day off from their endless toils. Mark woke up late, having slept in for the first time since he arrived, and he awoke to the deliciously greasy smell of pan fried meat. It was a scent he had nearly forgotten, but his eyes went wide as his groggy mind grasped the significance of the smell. "Bacon!" Mark shouted, leaping from the bed, only to tumble to the ground in a mess of blankets and furs. As he tried to recover from his graceless awakening, he heard sweet joyful laughter filling the room. His wife was seated at the small table in their tiny, cramped room, barely keeping her seat as her body trembled with mirth. Mark''s embarrassment only lasted for a brief moment before he remembered why he was on the floor to begin with. "Is that really bacon?" Mark gasped, eying the heaping tray of food on the table.


    "Yes, yes it is." His wife replied, her eyes wet with tears from laughing so hard at his antics.


    "How did you get it?" Mark spoke, awe in his voice as he sat across from her, simply staring at the massive stack of hot, glistening bacon in front of him next to a tray of still sizzling sausages. The meats were surrounded by a large bowl of fluffy scrambled eggs, and piles of golden brown pancakes, hash browns, and french toast. A pitcher of hot, thick maple syrup, and slab of rich creamy butter, and a jar of powdered sugar accented the decadent arrangement. It was a breakfast feast fit for a king.


    "The traders. An entire wagon was full of nothing but fresh meat and food, and they have set up a restaurant of sorts. It cost 5 krones for all of this. I didn''t think you''d mind."


    "I don''t care how much it cost! There is no better way for a man to wake up than to delicious food and a loving wife. Besides... Real bacon..." Mark was nearly moved to tears by the decadent spread laid out before him.


    As the bacon deprived couple tore into their food, they spoke of what they would do with their day off. It was the first morning they had spent together since their arrival. The endless work of the village meant Mark only enjoyed his wife''s company by moonlight, if he had the energy left in him after his days work.


    "How about a picnic on the beach?" Alex suggested, "We could go for a swim."


    "The beach would be great! But you know I can''t swim."


    "Nonsense Mark, I''ll teach you. We won''t go in deep and the lake current is very gentle."


    "Alright... I''ll try." Mark sighed. Living next to a lake he would have to learn someday.


    "But let''s hit the market first, or else all the good stuff will be gone!"


    The happily married couple continued to talk, gossip and bicker as they slowly gorged themselves on the impossibly delicious food. As they reached their limit, Mark groaned. His stomach was bulging, but there was no way he could eat any more.


    "It mustn''t go to waste..." Mark moaned as he tried to cram yet another slice of delicious crispy bacon into his mouth, only for his wife to chide him.


    "We will pack it in with whatever else we get for our picnic at the beach." She spoke in a condescending voice. "No need to eat the whole plate."


    "You ate more than I did!" Mark exclaimed, endlessly infuriated at how his stomach bulged and strained in an unsightly manner at the amount of food he had forced into it, but Alex''s petite figure was completely untouched.


    "Come now, I''m a lady. I would never!" She chuckled at the exasperation on her husband''s face. "Now hurry up. We will be late!" She shouted as she raced out the door.


    "Some things never change..." Mark chuckled as he smiled, and waddled out the door after her.


    They arrived at the market, only to see it nearly picked clean. Dorian stood in the middle of the laager market, and called out to them as they approached, paying the two their wages. Alex earned 5 shills, and Mark earned two, a shill being worth a tenth of an aurel or 10 krones. It seemed a paltry sum for their work, but they didn''t have too much to spend it on.


    Alex bought sandwiches for their picnic, and a few books, mostly fantasy novels but she found a medical tome. It was expensive, it cost an aurel, but it covered many plants and herbs unique to this world, and the Emerald Spine mountains in which they resided.


    Mark bought a simple bow, something he could compare to and learn from as well as a quiver of arrows and some tools. All together it cost him 5 shills, but it would help with his work. Just as they were about to leave, Alex screeched.


    Mark whirled around, frantically searching for what had scared her, only to be confronted with the second miracle he would witness today. First bacon, and now...


    "Underwear..." Mark sighed. "Real, modern underwear..." Loretta tried her best, but after spending your whole life in cotton briefs and boxers, wool was just wrong, no matter how well it fit. The itching hadn''t stopped since he arrived. Today was a good day.

 Chapter Ten: The Horde

    Two months ago in a valley east of Chilton:


    April 24, 5319 A.A.


    Deep in the range of hills jutting out into the vale, there was a beautiful valley. This valley had once been a green and lush grassland. One among a thousand just like it. The hillsides around it were covered with noble pines, a vibrant green backdrop to the great peaceful meadow of the valley. A calm, river flowed through the valley, its pure waters flowed down from the mountains, a mix of spring water and snow melt. The air was fresh, and the valley was alive with the sounds of nature. Birds tweeted and chirped, bees buzzed, and wolves howled. Wild animals and beasts of all kind called the valley home. Deer, goats, wolves, bears, rabbits, and kobolds all shared this beautiful landscape. It was a picturesque valley, something everyone born after 2060 could only imagine. And now, it was all gone. Orcs had come to the valley.


    The grass was trampled, the wildlife slaughtered, the trees felled, the air full of smoke and stench, and the waterways polluted and choked with ash. The orc horde ate everything they could find. There was nothing living left in the valley that wasn''t an orc. They piled their fires high to char their food, they had no concept of moderation. Countless forests and ecosystems had fallen by their hands. An orc never wandered more than 10 feet from wherever they were standing to relieve themselves. There were no pit latrines, no order, they just went wherever they were. The entire valley was choked full of bodies. Most orcs slept on the ground, a pile of furs their bed and blanket. A few made crude shelters from the trees nearby, but only the smartest tried, and only the strongest could scare off their neighbors from tearing it apart for firewood. The ground in the valley was completely covered in furs, refuse, and excrement. To walk from one side to the other, your foot would land in something each and every step. The horde had only arrived two weeks ago, this valley was pristine by their standards.


    In the midst of this filth and chaos, was the most beautiful tent in the world. It was a crude and misshapen excuse for a yurt. It leaned heavily to one side, and on the other the tent wall didn''t quite reach the ground, but the magnificent material wouldn''t allow your eyes to notice. It glimmered like emeralds in the ash filtered sunlight, as if someone had wound threads from the very essence of the green jewel. The tent walls would seem fragile, yet they were made from the strongest leather in the world. It was the hide of an emerald dragon. The most coveted leather in the world, the finest material for armor, and this orc had made it into a tent. Of course, he had a good reason. He had already taken black dragon leather armor from the corpse of a rival chief, what else could he do with all that leather. It was lightweight, and sturdy and the dragon bones made good lightweight poles. Any other race would have sold the leather, or had it made into armor for their subordinates, but not an orc. Orcs do not share.


    The owner of the extravagant yurt was Gruthuk Dragoncrusher, warlord of a mighty orc horde. He was a giant, even for an orc. When he stood he towered at a full nine feet in height, and his colossal form was the essence of power and gluttony. His brutally scarred and burned flesh hung loosely over obscenely bulging muscles. Two hundred years of constant warfare had honed his body into the ultimate weapon, but that only enabled his gluttonous nature. No beast could outrun him, and no orc would dare refuse his demands for tribute. As he grew in strength and girth, the shackles on his mind were slowly released. An orc was born stupid, but the longer they lived and he stronger they grew, the smarted they would become. His strength was only matched by his cunning and cruelty. He sat upon a rough throne hewn from the trunk of a bloodgrove keeper. Even decades after he felled the guardian of the sacred grove, the rich dark wood wept a red bloody sap which slowly pooled around his feet. His throne sat on a raised platform in front of his tent overlooking a large clearing in the center of the nomadic horde. It was the only clear space in the valley, kept that way only though his threats and brutality.


    The clearing was surrounded by countless orcs, all shouting and jeering at the lone naked orc standing before their warlord. All noise ceased the moment the warlord raised his meaty fist. Then the great orc released a fierce guttural roar, his jowls shaking with fury. "Burbuk! Where are my sons?" Burbuk could only cower and whimper. This proud orc, who had traded blows with the mightiest human in the vale, was now reduced to the semblance of a cowering child. "Speak!" Gruthuk roared, impossibly louder and more menacing than before.


    "Dead boss." The terrified orc spluttered. "They dead."


    "How dare you!" The warlord continued his tirade as Burbuk shuddered with every syllable. "You had no Obols when you left! You must have killed another orc to gain it. My sons are dead, and you are reborn!"


    "No boss! No!" Burbuk sobbed. "They was humans!"


    "Don''t you dare deceive me! There are no humans in the vale!"


    "No boss! No lie! The river! They a clan at the great river!"


    "You dare continue to lie to me, you decrepit swine? You were to hunt in the mountains. You expect me to believe a few adventurous humans were enough to bring down you and a war party of my sons?"


    "No boss! We caught some. Chased them. They had a trap! They was lead by a giant! They had walls and horses!"


    "Led by a giant? They had walls?" The warlord mumbled, as if to himself. He was furious at Burbuk. Burbuk was a weak orc. He might be strong, but his mind was weak. No cunning, and far too servile. But he couldn''t allow a human settlement in his territory. "Burbuk." Gruthuk spoke, his voice quiet, but no less menacing.


    "Yes boss?" Burbuk blurted, shocked but hopeful at the change.


    "Could you lead a warband to this settlement?"


    "Yes boss!"


    "Good. Torgar!" Another mighty orc stepped forwards, armored in sturdy but misfit and worn plate, he strode forwards to the center, and stood in front of the pathetic mess that was Burbuk. "Take a warband of unblooded. Give half to that meat sack behind you. Test them against the wilds. When they prove ready, destroy this village. Leave nothing behind."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it."Yes, warlord!" Torgar shouted as he stood at attention. Burbuk''s first born son was a fine orc, if a bit thin. His stomach barely sagged at all. Torgar turned, off to gather the young unproven orcs.


    "Torgar!" The great orc atop the bleeding throne shouted once more. "If the meat sack fails again, or tries to flee, tear him apart." Torgar turned to the limp mass of flesh on the ground that was Burbuk. And as their eyes met, he smiled, all of his jagged teeth displayed. Burbuk could only muster a a fearful whimper, before he lowered his head.


    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


    An excerpt from Hormund''s Bestiary, Book two: The gray warriors


    A proud warrior, the Orc is characterized by its brutish strength, ferocity in battle, passions for violence, and stubborn determination. If not for their crippling stupidity and limitless greed, the orc would dominate the world of Valheim. From sparse tundra to lush jungles overflowing with life, the Orc thrives in the wilds of the world. While purely carnivorous and possessing a monstrous appetite, a strong orc is never hungry. They kill anything they find, and anything that can bleed can and will be eaten. Their nomadic tribes constantly thrust themselves into the heat of battle, roaming the world, chasing herds of monsters fierce enough to terrify any sane man, ever seeking more powerful foes to prove their strength. Every day, countless orcs fall in battle against the monsters of the wilds, in skirmishes and wars, but just as many are murdered by their jealous brothers, or slain in conflicts of honor or rage.


    The horrific mortality rate of these exotic people is supported only by their even more prolific birth rates. The fertility of the Orc female is impossibly efficient. As long as there is food, she may bear children and the more a female eats, the faster the unborn children grow, and the larger her litter becomes. The vast majority of infant orcs are male, however by adulthood the females will outnumber the surviving males. This characteristic has defined the orc culture, as there must be constant warfare. Whether it be against monsters or armies, or amongst themselves for the affections of the limited number of women, the male orcs must always grow and fight. Rather than curtailing the orc population, this is their greatest strength. An orc''s only desire is glory in battle, and to grow in strength, there can be nothing else. While tens of thousands of his brothers may die, each orc who survives grows only stronger.


    Most races have the freedom to pursue any profession that strikes their fancy, and the system rewards the toils of the hard working and dedicated with Obols. Though each race has specialties, and penalties, even a goblin farmer could receive one, assuming he lived long enough and had some meager skill at tending his crops. The orcs ore one of very few exceptions to this. An orc may be granted an obol only for killing 10 sentient beings, and devouring their hearts. While barbaric, it suits them. There is one final limitation placed upon them, and that is that they may not give or receive these precious tokens, not that an orc would ever give one away. These limitations only serve to further drive the selfish and brutal nature of the orc.


    The flesh of the common orc is an ashen gray, however color variations dependent on their environment are common. A strongly prominent brow and an oversized lower jaw unevenly populated with jagged teeth leaves the the orc with one of the ugliest faces seen in Valheim. Over time, the tribes have embraced the grotesque as beauty, orcs are known to intentionally allow their faces to be mauled while fighting, as scars are both honored and attractive. Chronic laziness and gluttony often leaves unnatural bulges of extra flesh, swollen stomachs and meaty limbs. Any that mistake their slovenly appearance as weakness would be sorely mistaken. A thirst for blood and constant battles leave no room for weakness amongst the tribes. An orc can only grow fat if he is strong enough to catch his prey quickly, or take it from another.


    Orcs are amongst the oldest races of Valheim, they were the second sentient race after humans, and Aesir''s first attempt at corrupting the human soul to mold it to their purposes. The first true orcs were felons sentenced to die. When approached by the Valkyries, thousands of inmates accepted without a second thought. The same cruelty which had landed them in prison was not only allowed in this new world, but as Orcs it was encouraged. They were soon followed by men facing a life sentence. Some who longed to return to their cruel ways, and many others who simply wished to see the sun again and be free to walk the earth. All were thrust into the cruel crucible of battle in the wilds of the world, until those who remained were more beast than man.


    Then the creators cursed this tribe with the simplest minds. Each generation after the founding had their intellectual capacity decreased until they reached the most basic level of sentience. A wise orc is identified by one without a mess of scars on his palm, for he always picks up his axe by the handle. The only way for an orc to surpass this crippling stupidity, is to grow stronger. As an orc grows in strength, the limits on its intelligence are slowly broken, but only the most venerable orc is incapable of using magic. This does nothing to deter orc shamans who swear by their rituals and the truth of their power, but even without true power, shamans are revered and respected by the highly superstitious people, often with entire tribes bowing to the whims of a simple deranged or manipulative orc.


    The orc is a truly magnificent creature despite it''s flaws. Should the hordes ever unite, all civilization would be doomed.


    -


    Author''s note:


    To my readers, I am truly sorry for the delay. Life has not been kind, but this story is not a fickle fancy. It will not be dropped.