Host Stories
THE LEECH – A RED SAIL’s TALE
My World Has Been Ending Slowly for a Year Now
Step by step, I have been pushed closer to the edge by events beyond my control. My clan was my life, my everything. I went to battle with them, always ready to defend them with both my blade and my skill. I sailed as far as the Mediterranean Sea with them, saw the endless deserts, and smelled the spices at the markets in Morocco. For fifteen years, I followed my Jarl with unwavering loyalty, supporting even the decisions I did not agree with. Yet he exiled me solely for political reasons.
When I earned my freedom again and returned, everyone acted like nothing had happened. It hurt, more than I wanted to show, more than I dared to admit. When I look back, I see many failures, a long line of dead faces. Yet they seem more frequent in the past year. Or is it my broken heart that is more unforgiving now than before?
But the people around me see it too. Some of them resent me, and they may be right to do so. Everything is falling apart. I feel lost when I see my Jarl leading in a direction I am unable to follow. I feel anger when I watch my clan struggling to be allies to those who are determined to treat us like foes. I feel nothing but relief when I look down my friend’s blade at my chest, all but begging him to end it right there and then.
When the attack comes, it is no surprise. Njal, who owes me a life; Ubbe, who owes me a death; and Hogg, whom I owe a decade-old secret; they all storm off to meet the enemy before the gates. I am unable to follow, held back by people I hardly know, who shouldn’t care or get involved. I hate them. I am doomed to watch as they fight and fall.
When they carry them back, Hogg bleeding out before my eyes, I realize that it is finally time for us to leave. I take his hand, still clutching his blade, and add my blood to his. All of a sudden, they are there, pulling me back, begging me not to give up. My stubborn sister Unnr, fierce Arnví, my apprentice Verda, Folkor, Sverrir, Varg, and all the others. Even Ubbe, who should hate me and somehow doesn’t. And iron-willed Njal. He will not let go, and I know how strong he is. I give in. I will trust them to be my life for just a little longer.
© Valdis | 2024
NEITHER HERE NOR THERE
The path the priesthood and their guards took to Ulfbjarg wasn’t anything special, if you set aside the veil of seidr they traveled through and the constant shifting of light and mist at the corners of their vision. Perhaps encountering Hela upon entering Helheim could be considered a highlight for some, but apart from the curse she cast upon them, Mast, Mouse, and the two Leifs could only think about one statement in particular.
“The dead don’t shoot arrows,” one of the volvas told them. They are dead; honor is the only currency they possess now. They will attack with swords, axes, and shields, taking lives while looking their enemies in the eye.
“It’s an awfully good spot for an archer to ambush us,” Leif of Blue Whales remarked as they descended the Yggdrasil. Now, on their way back through this mystical land, the question stood: Would they be shot or charged? It didn’t take long for both things to happen, of course. It was a prime location for an ambush, after all.
“Archer!” Leif yelled, guarding the middle.
Soon, a group of Black Ships charged from his location. Mast had a quick thought: We came here thanks to the knowledge of the Godi. If Black Ships are here without one, they must have managed to enter through the gate to Helheim in Blue Whale lands. And if that is so, the gates aren’t about to burst open; they ARE wide open!
He stabbed the first Black Ship with his spear. Leif of the Silver Wolves had already circled around and killed the archer by the time the second Black Ship dove headfirst into an early grave. Then the hands holding the axe next to him moved away in an arcing motion. Mast knew to keep a low stance and that Leif of Blue Whales was next to him, so he ducked to avoid getting killed by his ally’s axe. Leif of Blue Whales ran into them, going into his fury. Mast thought as he looked onwards at Mouse, the fourth guard, jumping at an enemy ill-prepared for the slashing they were about to receive.
“That went rather well for a small ambush,” Mast thought, a man of few words. Shame it wasn’t a larger attack, or better fighters. He would have found it useful to learn their fighting style, which foot they leaned on before striking, where their gaze stuck while fighting. Disappointing, he thought. Or would have thought, before a screeching scream burst through the air as one of the priests yelled, “They’re coming back to life! They are rising back up!”
As the horror of the group increased, Mast had already stabbed the nearest Black Ship who got up. “More,” Mast said, enjoying the idea of experiencing Valhalla far sooner than expected. “Let’s have some fun!” he declared as the enemies rose back to full force.
© Mast | 2024
STRIKE
“You aren’t going easy, are you?” Mouse said jokingly.
No comment came from Mast.
Strike
“Okay, this is serious,” Mouse concluded.
No comment came from Mast.
Strike
“Oh, you’re good,” Mouse said.
“She’s better,” Mast retorted.
“Who’s she?” Mouse asked, fully knowing who Mast referred to.
“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I’m talking about,” Mast said, slashing and thrusting so Mouse could just barely parry.
“Why does she matter?” Mouse managed to say.
“She.” **Strike** “Was.” **Strike** “Your.” **Strike** “Teacher.” Mast spoke through hits. “And you quit being her apprentice.”
“Oh yeah? Well, what’s it to you?” Mouse protested.
“I would have given everything to have a teacher like that,” Mast said, anger rising in his voice. “Instead, they tortured a move set into me so I could banish creatures that spilled from the gate to Helheim away from our settlements and sent me into the tundra.” Mast spat through gritted teeth. “I was taught to survive and sent to try my damndest.”
“You survived! You’re the best!” Mouse spoke slowly, parrying hits with more frequency.
“Look at me! Listen to me! Your teacher is! Sigfrit is!” Mast said and then threw the spear on the floor. “You think I can take you in a fight with a hatchet and knife?”
Mouse stood baffled. “What?”
“I can’t!” Mast said, sitting down. “I saw you fight the undead, Mouse. I finish this lesson, and tomorrow or a week later, you will beat me. You want to be the best? Go apologize to her and swallow that damn pride.”
“I will dishonor my word!” Mouse protested.
“See if Odin cares! He can take an honorable warrior tomorrow. Or one that realized his mistake, went back on his word, and became the best warrior this side of Midgard. Who do you think he would pick? Who would you pick?” Mast said, his voice calming down.
“I… You literally have me speechless,” Mouse managed to say.
“Finally! The jokester has been outworded!” Mast laughed. “Now use this silence to think of an excuse and go apologize and ask her to take you back.”
“Why do you care?” Mouse asked.
“This is an alliance. You’re good, just young. I’m not allowing it to go to your head, is all. She said you were damn good too.”
“She? Sigfrit said that?” Mouse laughed. “Why would she open up to you? She hasn’t opened up to anyone ever. And you aren’t even our clan.”
“Because I keep my mouth shut and listen, Mouse,” Mast said sternly.
The boy fell silent for a long while before finally speaking again: “She’ll kill me if I do it now.”
“Then do it tomorrow, do it the day after, just do it,” Mast said and picked up both spears. “You have no idea how much it will mean to her.” He left Mouse to face his teacher alone.
© Mast | 2024
THE WEAVER
Eydis spins the thread slowly, drops of blood silently falling from her fingers onto the ritual circle. This is not the first time the volva has found herself in a place with no clear way out. Nor is it the first time she’s about to undertake something risky and dangerous for her people.
“If the curse is not lifted, twelve souls will end in the frozen lands of Helheim.” Vigdis’s voice echoes in Eydis’s ears. The Grey Boar warrior is right, and the volva knows it. This is the price of defying the goddess of the underworld. Hel would certainly demand retribution from someone so reckless—she would want blood and souls. And she did ask for them.
Eydis presses her lips together and spins the thread stubbornly.
She will not give in. She will not sacrifice her children. She will not bow to Hel’s will. Not now, not when it is not only her life and luck at stake. She will do it her way, as a volva, as someone who has paid her price as a wielder of Seidr, as a weaver of fate.
Eydis spins the thread.
Altering fate is considered a dark practice, a dangerous path that only the most arrogant or desperate dare to tread. And here, the volva is both. She is about to change the destiny of twelve people, lifting Hel’s curse from their past, present, and future. This is not an easy path—the goddess will not take kindly to being deceived.
Eydis spins the thread again, her brow furrowed in pain.
“There’s one thing where we, the mortals, are more powerful than the gods. We can change our fates.”
The volva gives a crooked smile to Sune and Agnar—the goðies are there, watching her with disapproval. She specifically asked them not to interfere. She just hopes they trust her enough to stay away from the circle.
She spins the thread, blood seeping from her hands, sweat from her forehead. Her legs are shaking, every step a pain. Something is wrong—Eydis knows it. But she will not stop, not now, not when she’s come this far.
Just one more step, and it will be over. She will sit in the shade, share laughs with the Blue Whales, hug her sisters in Seidr, and get scolded by Leif. Everything will be just fine. She will endure. She just needs to take one more step…
Eydis spins the thread again.
And again.
And then she screams.
© Eydis | 2024
JIEN WEN’s UNEXPECTED JOURNEY
The sun rose high in the village, and all was calm again. The Red Sails were having another meeting — another meeting that Jien Wen couldn’t be a part of. A meeting he was too ashamed to be a part of. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he was dismissed and set free, though it was just yesterday that the life-changing event occurred. *What do I do now?* thought Jien Wen. His whole life’s purpose sifted and shifted like sand through filters. A life dedicated to serving Trygvi and his clan was now stripped. A life of being the finest warrior, ruined with a recently lamed arm. Who will want a crippled warrior, an incomprehensible foreign advisor, an expelled… not thrall…
“Worry not about being known, be worth knowing…”
Confucius’s words of wisdom seemed to be lacking in these times. *”A lion chased me up a tree and I enjoyed the view.”* Jien Wen’s doctrines, often cryptic to others, felt equally inaccessible to him. *”To fight and win is not supreme excellence, but to win without fighting.”* Some of Master Sun Zu’s teachings were equally unhelpful to Jien Wen. What now?
“Jien Wen! Come with us!” boomed a grand voice. Leif, one of the Blue Whales’ grandest warriors, gestured his hands over. Leif the Shirtless, Leif the Mountain, Leif the Brick. Someone needs to give this man a proper title; there are too many Leifs in this damn village.
“Come, on this walk with me!” Leif boomed again.
Jien Wen snapped out of his thoughts and followed along. Before, he would have worried about whether Trygvi needed anything, any task to be done. It seems like being free does have its benefits.
“Where we go?” asked Jien Wen.
“I don’t know, I don’t ask questions; we’re protecting the volvas and godi,” replied Leif. Jien Wen wasn’t sure who he could protect in his condition, but maybe Leif knew that and was being generous, or maybe Leif was being the Brick at the moment.
Jien Wen found himself in a group of fifteen trekking through the forest. Turns out, someone messed up — someone didn’t offer a proper sacrifice to Hel, the Norse God of the underworld, and now the volvas must make a trip to the Valhiem to do… something. Jien Wen had been with the Vikings for years, but there’s always something new, something that this outsider just doesn’t understand. As the party trekked, incense was burned, mystery parcels were eaten, and prayers were said. As hours passed and the sun burned, the forest felt more and more unfamiliar, the fog grew thicker and thicker. The world felt a little less stable, but that may have been the dehydration talking, or maybe it was the aching lame arm.
“Stop!” proclaimed the godi.
Jien Wen hadn’t realized how thick the mist was. He could barely see twenty feet in front of them. Out of the mist, a figure slowly started to emerge: a woman, in tattered white with black streaks streaming and staining her face.
“Kneel!” shouted the godi.
Everyone dropped to their knees. Jien Wen knew this was no time to disrespect a god.
Hel cursed and yelled, and the Norse cowered. She made proclamations, exacted curses, and filled her ego and the Norse cowered. Jien Wen turned to observe the others, and Leif the Brick stood there, perhaps not understanding the weight of the situation. The Oakenshield volva crawled forward, offered mead, and shrank away; others followed suit. With their heads bowed low, Hel disappeared back into the mist.
“Back!” yelled the godi. *”We must go back before we are trapped here!”
As little as Jien Wen understood how they arrived, he was equally confused as the group fled. All Jien Wen knew was that this was a long walk. A very long walk. On the trek back, Jien Wen couldn’t help but think, *”All that way to have an angry white lady yell at you for five minutes for her to then just walk away. Red Sails adventures were always more exciting. I wish someone would just attack us.”
“Archers!”* someone yelled.
Yells and hollers erupted as swords and axes charged the group. Jien Wen needed to learn to daydream less. Over the ridge, a dark warrior emerged, axe swinging like a feral beast. Jien Wen was unarmed; he didn’t expect to fight, but he was still ready. Fortunately, Leif and another warrior stepped in and slew the raider. The raider lay face down, axe still in hand.
“This work.”
Jien Wen went to grab the axe, but he couldn’t. The body wouldn’t let go. It had a very firm grip. With a guttural scream, the body erupted forth and swung unnaturally. Jien Wen, caught off guard, was hit squarely on the arm. Jien Wen struck back with little effect on the berserker. Another swing, but Jien Wen dodged, no longer caught off guard. Then the raider’s head fell.
A Silver Wolf warrior wiped off the blood on his axe and ran off to fight the next raider.
“Hold down!” yelled Jien Wen to a bleeding Blue Whale girl next to him. Jien Wen held the body down with an arm lock.
“Hold!”* commanded Jien Wen, and the Blue Whale girl crawled over and held the arm. There was still screaming and carnage. Jien Wen dashed off towards the sounds.
Another berserker wielding double axes was fending off Lief the Brick and two others. The raider attacked with abandon, hell-bent on death. Jien Wen realized again that he didn’t have a weapon, but now was not the time to hesitate. He ran parallel to the combat, taking off his turban. The berserker was fully occupied with the warriors. Jien Wen cut through the bushes and emerged, enveloping the raider with his turban.
“Get! Get now!” cried Jien Wen, and with one great swoop, Lief knocked the head clean off. A calm settled over the area; the fight was over. It was determined that the raiders were Black Ships, and besides the fact that the men didn’t stop until the heads were cut off, the godi said there was only one path to Valhalla and one way out. More things that were way above Jien Wen’s pay grade, which was currently zero.
There were many wounded, but luckily no casualties. The hike back would be longer and slower now. Lief and Jien assisted the wounded Blue Whale girl to her feet.
“Lief, you fight well,” said Jien Wen.
“Of course I do,” proclaimed Lief. *”But you know what is even more impressive? You didn’t even have a weapon!”
That night, as news spread of the Black Ships raiders and the mystical powers, so too did Lief spread the news of Jien’s prowess in battle even without a weapon.
Maybe someone will find use for a crippled, foreign, expelled warrior, even if he’s a bit confused.
© Jien Wen | 2024
© 2024 by Host Viking Larp