Post by Locke on Aug 20, 2020 13:37:58 GMT
What the! Locke thought as he stepped through the archway. The floor disappeared from beneath him and soon he was falling, scrambling in a free fall, as he looked to and fro for something… for anything… to stop his fall. There was no sight of Heimdall in front of him. No sign of him behind him. No sign of him. Just as the thought finally entered his mind that he had fallen for a trap into a prison of neverending fall, he saw dust and dirt as the end of the wormhole bent outwards until he came to a thumping crash.
Dirt flew up around his body from the impact. He just laid flat on his stomach, his face buried into the dirt, as he just wondered what he had gotten himself into…
“Heimdall…” his voice struggled to escape and call for whom he thought had become his ally. His companion. But there was no answer. “Heimdall!” he managed to shout out louder. He dug his fingertips into the dirt, unable to get a good grasp, so balled his hands into fists and began to push himself up by his knuckles. Although a long fall, he seemed unscathed for the exception of dirt and some minor scrapes from his palms and fingers hitting rocks hidden in the dirt. Locke surveyed as much as he could; the sun was down, but there was a moon… albeit closer than the moon he knew from Earth, or what he perceived as Midgard in what will be referred to as “Earth-1”. There were mountains in the distance. The rest of the land seemed barren; as if it had been the center of a nuclear blast a millenia ago. Over a millenia.
Locke finally got to his knees and eventually to his feet, looking around him as he got up. He snickered. “Of course…” he said aloud to himself, for there was no one around him. Heimdall was nowhere to be seen. He turned in a full circle until he saw specks of light -- from the distance, he could have sworn they were just fireflies buzzing around him, but with a squint he could determine that it looked more like lights coming from a small town. Quite a distance away.
“Well,” he said, and leaned down to dust his boots off, “Not gon’ get anywhere by jus’ standin’ here…” Locke said. He now seemed confused. “I don’t even know why I’m talkin’, ain’t nobody here but myself. No better company.” he said, this time with a sigh, and just began the trek toward the lights he could see. On the positive side, he was a deity. A God. A Giant. He knew that he had the strength to make it without the need for too much food or water, but what he wouldn’t give for just a few drops of water at this point.
It took several hours for Locke to reach the town. The sun was beginning to creep from over the horizon revealing the dust to be just as unwelcoming as where he woke, questioning how there could possibly be a habitable town on this soil. Nonetheless, the buildings stood and seemed well constructed. Locke could have sworn that he had traveled back in time into a Midwestern town in the United States. The only thing that would complete the image would be a band of outlaws being chased down by the local law.
Locke stumbled down the street, looking back and forth… some of the townsfolk were beginning to emerge from their homes but their eyes were weary of the stranger. Their gazes caused Locke to lower his head, pulling the brim of his hat down to hide his eyes. He peered from under the hat periodically to see signs, and was baffled when he looked at the writing: it was in the ancient runic writing that has long since been forgotten in the modern era of Earth. Locke had no problem reading them, and went into the building marked as the saloon.
Upon going through the doors, he looked to see that there were a few people drinking coffee from their mugs. They appeared well-rested, ready to start the day on a good note. However, there were also people scattered around the saloon looking like they had not gotten a wink of sleep and were still drunk from the previous evening.
Locke walked up to the bar, and tipped his hat to the barkeep who had not taken his eyes off the stranger. It was strange. Everyone had their eyes on him.
“Mornin,” Locke struck up the nerve to speak. He tried to maintain his focus on the barkeep, but the intruding glares were still on his mind, and not one to fear, he spoke, “You folk ne’er seen a wandering wanderer. Your eyes stuck?” he said in a more aggressive tone, and glared back at the people that kept looking. They finally averted their eyes upon the acknowledgement.
“I’m sorry, mistuh, we just don’t get many visitors. Y’see, I’m sure you could tell, we’re out in the middle a’nowhere.” the barkeep said while grabbing a mug and pouring hot coffee into it before setting it down on the bar in front of Locke almost as an apology.
“That’s ah’right,” Locke said, and sat at the bar letting his fingers fumble with the handle.
“Where you comin’ in from?” the barkeep asked.
“Jus’ out in the valley. Woke up there.” Locke said and sipped the coffee. He nodded his head in approval. Whether the coffee was actually good, or he was just happy to have something other than dust grace his tongue was the question left to be answered.
“Trollheim?” the barkeep persisted.
“Sure,” Locke did not know how else to answer.
“Pity. We heard the news… even way out here, we heard ‘em.” the barkeep said.
“What ‘ave you heard?” Locke said, almost trying to question the barkeep himself. As if to play him a fool. But Locke had not heard, and was just interested in getting more answers.
“Well…” the barkeep began, “Trolls. Their numbers have been dwindling, an’ they get more aggressive… more territorial… it’s no wonder you look like a downright mess. Outta jus’ put them outta their misery.”
Locke took another long drink from his coffee. This is all interesting… very interesting… Locke thought, But I really must find out where Heimdall went.
“So… you say you don’t get many wanderers comin’ through here, but have you had any others recently?”
“Jus’ you an’ the courier.” replied the barkeep.
“The courier… care to describe him?” Locke inquired.
“Big guy. You gotta be to get into that line of work, ensurin’ we all get our supplies and whatnot… golden eyes on ‘im. Some people ‘round here believe he’s part Straggler.”
“That’s ‘im. Straggler, though? Like… someone fallin’ behind?”
“Yeah. Them deities,” the barkeep replied in a mocking tone and spat to the ground, “It’s their fault that we live in this dump! Half’a Midgard is just barren now, an’ it’s all on them. Bringin’ their damn war to us. Expectin’ us to fight it for them. Fuckin’ savages.”
“You talkin’ ‘bout the Æsir?”
“We call them Stragglers now because they’re as good as dead. The Courier is the only one we let live, an’ that’s just ‘cause we can’t prove he is what we think he is. An’ he does his part to help us all out.” the barkeep said and shrugged.
I thought he was yanking my chain, but it really is pretty bad here… But Stragglers. That means that there is a chance that I can figure out more about what happened here. “Can you tell me which way he went an’ how long since you last seen ‘im?”
“Hmm,” the barkeep stared up to ponder the question, “Three days, maybe. Headin’ North. Toward the Mountain. That’s his route, Wanderer.”
“How long does it take him to come back ‘round?” Locke asked.
“Could be weeks… could be months… he doesn’t exactly have a set schedule.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
“Well, listen, we may not get many wanderers ‘round here, but we still our charitable people… why don’t you go upstairs… this place is also our inn... get ch’yourself some clean clothes, an’ maybe head out tomorrow? We’ll get you a mule.”
“What ‘bout a weapon?”
The barkeep laughs, “We can’t help ya out with that one, son, ‘fraid not. But you should be fine… the Courier usually cleans up a path real good.”
Locke just nods his head and finishes the last of his coffee before setting the mug down in more of a slam. Not an aggressive one, just an indication that he is done.
“I do thank you, an’ I’ll take you up on that offer. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Go get some rest, mistuh.” the barkeep said and slapped his hand down on the bar, then took the mug to wash it behind the bar.
Locke looked toward the staircase and went up it before retreating to the room that was offered to him.
Dirt flew up around his body from the impact. He just laid flat on his stomach, his face buried into the dirt, as he just wondered what he had gotten himself into…
“Heimdall…” his voice struggled to escape and call for whom he thought had become his ally. His companion. But there was no answer. “Heimdall!” he managed to shout out louder. He dug his fingertips into the dirt, unable to get a good grasp, so balled his hands into fists and began to push himself up by his knuckles. Although a long fall, he seemed unscathed for the exception of dirt and some minor scrapes from his palms and fingers hitting rocks hidden in the dirt. Locke surveyed as much as he could; the sun was down, but there was a moon… albeit closer than the moon he knew from Earth, or what he perceived as Midgard in what will be referred to as “Earth-1”. There were mountains in the distance. The rest of the land seemed barren; as if it had been the center of a nuclear blast a millenia ago. Over a millenia.
Locke finally got to his knees and eventually to his feet, looking around him as he got up. He snickered. “Of course…” he said aloud to himself, for there was no one around him. Heimdall was nowhere to be seen. He turned in a full circle until he saw specks of light -- from the distance, he could have sworn they were just fireflies buzzing around him, but with a squint he could determine that it looked more like lights coming from a small town. Quite a distance away.
“Well,” he said, and leaned down to dust his boots off, “Not gon’ get anywhere by jus’ standin’ here…” Locke said. He now seemed confused. “I don’t even know why I’m talkin’, ain’t nobody here but myself. No better company.” he said, this time with a sigh, and just began the trek toward the lights he could see. On the positive side, he was a deity. A God. A Giant. He knew that he had the strength to make it without the need for too much food or water, but what he wouldn’t give for just a few drops of water at this point.
It took several hours for Locke to reach the town. The sun was beginning to creep from over the horizon revealing the dust to be just as unwelcoming as where he woke, questioning how there could possibly be a habitable town on this soil. Nonetheless, the buildings stood and seemed well constructed. Locke could have sworn that he had traveled back in time into a Midwestern town in the United States. The only thing that would complete the image would be a band of outlaws being chased down by the local law.
Locke stumbled down the street, looking back and forth… some of the townsfolk were beginning to emerge from their homes but their eyes were weary of the stranger. Their gazes caused Locke to lower his head, pulling the brim of his hat down to hide his eyes. He peered from under the hat periodically to see signs, and was baffled when he looked at the writing: it was in the ancient runic writing that has long since been forgotten in the modern era of Earth. Locke had no problem reading them, and went into the building marked as the saloon.
Upon going through the doors, he looked to see that there were a few people drinking coffee from their mugs. They appeared well-rested, ready to start the day on a good note. However, there were also people scattered around the saloon looking like they had not gotten a wink of sleep and were still drunk from the previous evening.
Locke walked up to the bar, and tipped his hat to the barkeep who had not taken his eyes off the stranger. It was strange. Everyone had their eyes on him.
“Mornin,” Locke struck up the nerve to speak. He tried to maintain his focus on the barkeep, but the intruding glares were still on his mind, and not one to fear, he spoke, “You folk ne’er seen a wandering wanderer. Your eyes stuck?” he said in a more aggressive tone, and glared back at the people that kept looking. They finally averted their eyes upon the acknowledgement.
“I’m sorry, mistuh, we just don’t get many visitors. Y’see, I’m sure you could tell, we’re out in the middle a’nowhere.” the barkeep said while grabbing a mug and pouring hot coffee into it before setting it down on the bar in front of Locke almost as an apology.
“That’s ah’right,” Locke said, and sat at the bar letting his fingers fumble with the handle.
“Where you comin’ in from?” the barkeep asked.
“Jus’ out in the valley. Woke up there.” Locke said and sipped the coffee. He nodded his head in approval. Whether the coffee was actually good, or he was just happy to have something other than dust grace his tongue was the question left to be answered.
“Trollheim?” the barkeep persisted.
“Sure,” Locke did not know how else to answer.
“Pity. We heard the news… even way out here, we heard ‘em.” the barkeep said.
“What ‘ave you heard?” Locke said, almost trying to question the barkeep himself. As if to play him a fool. But Locke had not heard, and was just interested in getting more answers.
“Well…” the barkeep began, “Trolls. Their numbers have been dwindling, an’ they get more aggressive… more territorial… it’s no wonder you look like a downright mess. Outta jus’ put them outta their misery.”
Locke took another long drink from his coffee. This is all interesting… very interesting… Locke thought, But I really must find out where Heimdall went.
“So… you say you don’t get many wanderers comin’ through here, but have you had any others recently?”
“Jus’ you an’ the courier.” replied the barkeep.
“The courier… care to describe him?” Locke inquired.
“Big guy. You gotta be to get into that line of work, ensurin’ we all get our supplies and whatnot… golden eyes on ‘im. Some people ‘round here believe he’s part Straggler.”
“That’s ‘im. Straggler, though? Like… someone fallin’ behind?”
“Yeah. Them deities,” the barkeep replied in a mocking tone and spat to the ground, “It’s their fault that we live in this dump! Half’a Midgard is just barren now, an’ it’s all on them. Bringin’ their damn war to us. Expectin’ us to fight it for them. Fuckin’ savages.”
“You talkin’ ‘bout the Æsir?”
“We call them Stragglers now because they’re as good as dead. The Courier is the only one we let live, an’ that’s just ‘cause we can’t prove he is what we think he is. An’ he does his part to help us all out.” the barkeep said and shrugged.
I thought he was yanking my chain, but it really is pretty bad here… But Stragglers. That means that there is a chance that I can figure out more about what happened here. “Can you tell me which way he went an’ how long since you last seen ‘im?”
“Hmm,” the barkeep stared up to ponder the question, “Three days, maybe. Headin’ North. Toward the Mountain. That’s his route, Wanderer.”
“How long does it take him to come back ‘round?” Locke asked.
“Could be weeks… could be months… he doesn’t exactly have a set schedule.”
“I can’t wait that long.”
“Well, listen, we may not get many wanderers ‘round here, but we still our charitable people… why don’t you go upstairs… this place is also our inn... get ch’yourself some clean clothes, an’ maybe head out tomorrow? We’ll get you a mule.”
“What ‘bout a weapon?”
The barkeep laughs, “We can’t help ya out with that one, son, ‘fraid not. But you should be fine… the Courier usually cleans up a path real good.”
Locke just nods his head and finishes the last of his coffee before setting the mug down in more of a slam. Not an aggressive one, just an indication that he is done.
“I do thank you, an’ I’ll take you up on that offer. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. Go get some rest, mistuh.” the barkeep said and slapped his hand down on the bar, then took the mug to wash it behind the bar.
Locke looked toward the staircase and went up it before retreating to the room that was offered to him.
Well howdy there pardner.