"You couldn't find anything?"
"Yes, that is correct. When I arrived, there were indeed traces of the spirits and something was certainly there. But unfortunately, the storm had hidden any tracks."
The room they were in was dark and lit only by a small fireplace and candles. The furniture was fashioned from old cedar wood which gave off an earthy smell. The man, either a servant or messenger, was kneeling with his head low towards the woman. Their clothing had a similar style but the difference of social standing was evident as the woman's was mainly fur while the man's clothing was made with darkened leather. Both had pale white skin, which was the common feature of their race with varying hair colors ranging from brown to blonde, and red. With the latter being the rarest and belonged mostly to the chief families as well as the priestess.
"That light was no doubt an intervention." She stood up and walked towards an effigy riddled with circular markings. "The Eternal."
She motioned her hand towards the man and said "Find whatever was there. No matter what."
"Yes, priestess." To which he got up and left the room. The room was silent and only the crackle of burning wood could be heard.
"Father…" she murmured while looking at a specific engraving on the effigy; a circular engraving with multiple strokes through a tree.
>
"No matter what," the man repeated to himself as he walked through the torch-lit stone halls. There were definitely tracks where the light came from. Whatever it was, it moved too fast through the snow. Such a feat could only be done by a fully-grown bear, but the tracks were too narrow. Which brings him to the conclusion that it was either one of them or someone like them.
The priestess' orders were absolute, as her word carries the weight of their ancestors who bore the offspring of gods and spirits into flesh. Munterria, they were called. The proof of that was their vitality and strength, the first gift. There were also cases in which some of them gain the favor of spirits and possess different abilities, the second gift. But most importantly were those with the third gift, which is proof of the Eternal's favor. Much more than the other gifts, the third gift strengthens its owner beyond the first and any second gift is further improved. Any holder of the third gift is immediately given the highest status as they stand as inheritors of the Eternal's will. A being beyond understanding, older than all of the lights in the sky, and the entity they can only call god of gods. Only the Father Elder and the Priestess can even hope to understand the Eternal's will.
All that hold a gift receive a mark from birth, which can change during the course of their life depending on their actions. They can only assume they were watched over and judged for their worth. This was further made evident as one receives a higher gift, the mark they bear becomes more pronounced or change. Thus, the descendants of the Munterria follow and respect those with the marks.
Upon walking outside, he noticed that the patrol had once again encountered invaders that had trespassed into their territory. They were being welcomed back by the guards and some of the townsfolk came out to greet them. As conversation was being thrown around and the loot were being handed over and prisoners being escorted, two of the patrol members remained silent and seemed dejected.
Their leader, a woman with dark red hair, casually walked up and greeted him, "Pleasant evening Guardian Maxon, how is the priestess?"
"She completed her convent shortly after your departure which brings me to enlist your help, Leader Cassandra."
"Anything for the priestess," she replied. Maxon once again glanced towards two of the patrol members wondering what brought on their behavior. "If you're wondering about the kids, they let one get away. They're down because they messed up on their first patrol."
"What? A trespasser got away? In this snow? From two of us?" He asked, visibly confused. "That's impossible."
"Exactly. I can only assume they let their guard down or played around too much but they kept insisting that they were serious." She then turned towards the gathering. "If that were true, it would have to be one of us, a Mun but the nearest of our kin hold the territories several climbs through the Hills of Ice."
A stroke of realization came upon Maxon. It matched his assumption. The Interference had brought them a being like them but different. And by chance, this being, having the same human form and lost in the storm met the invaders first. Most likely oblivious about the situation, he was attacked and forced to flee.
Maxson approached the two with haste and grabbed the shoulders of one of them. "Where did you lose the man?!" he demanded.
The boy, shocked and stricken with fear due to the hostility from the usually calm Maxon, couldn't answer.
"H-he jumped off the cliff!" answered the other one, a young blonde-haired girl.
"Cliff? What cliff?!" Maxon exclaimed.
"The one by the forest in the lower hunting area, Guardian Maxson!" the boy answered.
Maxon let go of the boy and began to think. That cliff had a name, the Fall of Heart. During spring when the snow has thawed, it becomes a famous dare spot for the youth. Children and adolescents alike show their bravery or prove their love to their person of affection by jumping in and coming back to the top in less than a day. Below it is a river that flows downwards towards the lower lands and into the Emawa Basin. During spring, jumping off the cliff is deadly to people other than of their clan but it's currently the middle of winter. Not even a second mark holder is guaranteed to live through the experience.
"To all available troops, ready the horses and a passenger sled each."
"Maxon? What is it?" Cassandra asked.
"By the authority of the Priestess, we will now perform a search and rescue mission. Each second matters." Maxon announced. As soon as he finished his command, the quiet stillness of the town suddenly burst into activity as preparations began. He faced the two young patrolmen and ordered them. "You two, provide a proper description of the man to each of the parties involved." To which they quickly scrambled and spoke to each designated leader.
"Each squad must bring two healers and as much salve you can carry," he announced.
"Maxon, what's going on?" Cassandra asked.
"I'll explain on the way." Maxon then ran off towards the mobilizing squads to give detailed orders with Cassandra following him. "We have to find that man. No matter what."
>
"We are pleased to inform you that your application for the position of Editorial Chief has been accepted. We would like to invite you for a meeting tomorrow to further discuss the terms of your employment."
He was so relieved to see the message that he read it out loud in the middle of the bustling café. The e-mail was legit. He couldn't believe it. By that point, he couldn't stop himself from smiling. He had a chance of redemption now.
"Good news then, I presume?"
He looked up to see Angela holding a fresh pot of coffee.
"Yeah, I finally landed one." He replied.
"A congratulation is in order then. But first, do you want a refill, sir?" she said with her bright smile.
"Yes, definitely." As soon as she poured the coffee, he suddenly felt a chill in the air. "Isn't it a bit too cold in the café today?"
When he reached for the cup, he noticed that it had water in it instead of coffee. "Umm… Angela? This is water." He looked up to find that not only Angela, but everyone else in the café disappeared.
Then he heard her whisper in his ear, "Time to wake up, Mr. Writer."
The water in the cup suddenly burst and filled the entire room.
Cold and wet. That was the first feeling he had. Next was the sensation of moist earth and rocks on his face. For a moment, he thought that he had dreamt of being sent into an unknown world and that he finally got a job. But that was immediately crushed. Now, he was most definitely not dreaming.
He got up and looked around him. He had washed up at a riverside by thick forest life. Looking further up the river he could see the cliff he had jumped from, fully visible from the light of the noon sun permeating the clouds.
From what he could see, the jump was easily around 50 feet tall. He survived that. He did not know what was real anymore. But he could not deny the reality he is in. Though as he remembered its existence, his laptop though would probably be in bad shape.
"Oh no," he muttered to himself as he hurried to inspect it. When he put his hand on the bag, he was surprised to find that not only was it dry, it was also without a scratch. He was sure that he fell on his back once the night before, but the contents were completely unharmed. Granted, the bag cost a lot and was advertised as the best laptop bag in the market for its cushions and highly resistant material but this was too much. As if time has frozen its condition. Upon reaching that possibility, his mind was suddenly filled with the word 'Unchanging'. He realized it late, but his clothes were dry as well.
His chest felt warm again and his attention diverted to it. He opened up the shirt to find that some kind of engraving was definitely embedded into his chest. However, it didn't feel unnatural as if it was always there. He couldn't see it well enough but it seemed to be made of some kind of crystal while the symbol appeared to consist of a spear or arrow shape and several other shapes he couldn't distinguish. It was like a jumbled mess with no coherence or specific symbol.
Whatever it was, the power he gained from it is most likely what saved him from that fall. Otherwise he'd had been sleeping with the fishes.
He checked his belongings to find that each and every item he had on him was dry and unscathed.
"The Unchanging, huh? Neat." He checked his phone again to find that there was no signal, not even on roaming status. "If I'm still on Earth, I must be so far out the boonies."
He placed his items out on a flat area by some rocks to inspect them when his phone rang.
"What the f*ck?"
He checked to see that he received a message from a contact with somewhat a long series of error symbols. Curious, he opened up the message that consists of a single line: FIND ANCIENT ELDER, nothing else.
"What the hell is the ANCIENT ELDER?" he wondered and how did he even receive a message. He tried replying and calling the sender but to no avail.
He continued to inspect each of his belongings saving the laptop and notebook for last. As he was about to open the device, he felt a change which prompted him to stop and close it again. He thought it was his imagination and he opened it up once more to have the same feeling once more. "Is this the Unchanging?"
He wondered whether opening the device disabled the odd attribute so he decided to test it on a pen. Upon taking off its cap, the same feeling occurred. As another stroke of curiosity, he bent the pen's metal pin with ease. Too much in fact that he accidentally broke it off. "Ah, dammit. This is an expensive pen."
When he put the cap back on, the pin came back as well. 'Is this how the Unchanging works?', he thought. At the same time, his chest felt warm again and another word came up in his head. This time it was 'Return State'.
"Wait… that's overpowered," he thought. If 'Unchanging' and 'Return State' did exactly what he thought, then he can be unstoppable. Especially with the power from the night before, which he now knows as 'Guidance' and its variant, 'Clarity', his safety in this unknown environment was guaranteed.
It had to have a limit though. But that's for another time. He was still in unknown land with no food or water. The only possessions he had other than his clothes were his phone, laptop, the two chargers, a spare wire connector, wallet, a flash drive, bandages, a handkerchief, two pens, his notebook, and one opened small pack of biscuits. With the "Unchanging", he could probably use his bag as an indestructible shield and a stick as a really tough baton if the situation called for it.
Then he thought of another idea. Could 'Return State' refill his pack of biscuits? But after trying for a few minutes, nothing happened. Most likely one of the power's limitations.
He packed up to move out when he realized that it was rather easy for him to carry the bag with just one arm. Despite the lack of other items, it should still be decently heavy for him to carry. Perhaps he also gained better strength, he thought.
There was galloping in the distance. It sounded bigger and heavier compared to the horses of the group he encountered the night before. "That sounds like a really big horse," was his only comment before heading into the forest before him.
After encountering the group last night, he crossed out the possibility that he was in another world. The flora around him reminded him of the countryside from his childhood as well. But their manner of clothing, as well as the attackers then made it a strong possibility that he got hit by a truck so hard he crossed dimensions into another world. Either that or he was sedated very hard and sent to the wilderness so far up north that civilization receded. But once again, that is a very small possibility compared to the earlier proposal.
He walked through the forest for about 15 minutes before reaching a dirt path. Footprints were abundant both ways but the traffic seemed to be heavier towards the south, so he decided to follow the path south. After about two hours of walking, he found a village. The houses that lined it up were shabby wooden shacks. The architecture was pitifully backwards even by medieval standards, as if it was made in a hurry and without care for aesthetics. "It's better than nothing, I guess…" he thought.
The village had no walls or fences. Not even guards or lookouts. Just a sorry arrangement of what seems like houses. Most did not seem to have inhabitants as lighting was only seen from a few and even windows were scarce. Upon walking further, there was a larger stone building which showed the possibility of life. There was no sign at the front, but only a couple symbols carved on the door that seemed to be familiar.
"Are these Nordic runes?" he asked himself. As soon as he did, he became able to interpret its meaning as "rest" and "tavern". No name for the ability came when he thought of it, so he decided to just call the ability "Translate".
"So, this must be an inn of sorts?" he asked to himself as he opened the door. There were two burly men that looked like Viking cosplayers at a table and an elderly woman with a mean look at what seemed to be a counter. Dirt was strewn about and the personage also embodied that word. He absolutely did not want to stay there long.
He walked up to the counter and asked the woman, "Do you have a map?"
The woman returned a confused look and said, "What is a map? We only have mead."
"Umm… no. I'm not interested in drinking." As soon as he said that, the woman slammed down a wooden jug and began to pour a suspiciously brown liquid he could only assume was "mead".
"Only mead." The woman said.
He began to chuckle nervously as he began to doubt that this will end well for him. "Only mead, huh? Sorry, but no."
As soon as he rejected the drink, the woman slammed an axe on the counter. "Drink."
He flinched for a bit and backed off towards the door, he quickly said "Okay then, excuse me I'll be going."
Glancing towards the two Vikings as he opened the door, they got up and followed him. As he turned around and wanted to run, he found himself surrounded by more people. Some looked like Vikings as well. Complete with the torches, axes, and horned helms.
"Oookkayyy, this has definitely turned into a horror flick very fast," he said under his breath.
"He doesn't look vampyr," said one of them.
"But he came from the forest and wear strange clothes," said another.
"If he is, the village is done for," said one elderly.
"The hunting party hasn't even returned yet," said another one.
The situation was very bad and he imagined his head flying off from one of the axes. He looked for a possible escape but found no option to do so.
He then heard a man's scream from behind him. He turned around just in time to see that one of the villagers had taken the initiative to attack with the axe about to strike his head in mere moments. Through mere reflex, he put his arms up and immediately knew it would get chopped off with his head included. He closed his eyes for his impending death and felt the axe hit his arms.
One, two, three. Three seconds have passed. He was alive. When he opened his eyes, he was confused by the shocked faces of the villagers. The axe that had struck him had instead been shattered with the face of the axeman completely blank in disbelief.
He was unscathed. The axe hit his jacket's sleeves. His theory was correct. Any item under the effect of "Unchanging" is most likely immune to, most probably, any type of damage and whatever strength improvement he had was more than enough to absorb the impact.
The villagers were shocked enough that they started retreating away. The woman from the inn was cowering in fear and left a rolled parchment made with animal skin before retreating as well. Other villagers started offering other items as well such as jugs of mead, dried meat, and a rolled tent made out of leather. He went to leave the opposite way, when he heard one of the older villagers say, "Please accept our offerings and spare us from your wrath, o God of Asgard."
Seeing his chance, he picked up the parchment and tent and left the rest. "I'm no God," he said before he ran back towards the forest.