Over A Pint, Tag: Sigurd

[Guy Parnell]

The beer was warm. Guy preferred it that way: warmed or cooled to match his basic body temperature. People claimed that beer was supposed to help cool you down, or that it needed to be warm in order for the flavor to come out. Guy knew better. Beer was meant to addle your brain, to relax you. The best way to get it to do that faster was to drink it when it was roughly the same temperature as your body. Best way to do that? Hold it for a while.

Guy took another sip of his drink, looking around the bar. Most of the usual crowd was there, the miscreants and neredowells who knew that the Puking Goat generally let more things slide. The problem was that this was the only place in town to actually get a drink, unless you lifted something from one of the stores. Guy was firmly against lifting, so here he was.

Actually, he worked here, from time to time. And he drank here, a lot. So he usually knew the usual crowd. However, someone else was here, someone new, someone different. They weren't female, more's the pity, but they were still different, and around here, different could be very good, or very bad. Even if this was just some guy that Guy hadn't had the chance to have an encounter yet.

"Well, best way to get to know somebody," he muttered. He waved for the bartender to prepare a few more drinks, waving toward the lone man, then Guy sauntered over. Times like this, he wished he still wore his spurs or carried his gun. Sounded much more impressive while walking. But this would have to do. Besides, Guy was already smiling and saluting with his half-filled glass, and more drinks were appearing.

Count on the universal language of alcohol.

[Sigurd Vittfarne]

(((I assume it happens after registering, in the same day. If you think it should be before, I am ready to edit the part mentioning this.))).


The town he got in was strange and noisy, far noisier than at home. Sigurd was frightened, but trying not to show it. And as if being in a new world hadn’t been scary enough, fighting a shadowy ghost and talking to a wise cat topped them all. A cat who wanted to send him to school… Couldn’t it see that he was far too old for school, already a man for ten years? Well, deep in his soul, he had to admit that he needed to learn far too many things here, if he wanted to survive and to be closer to the others’ level.

And his head was turning. He was hungry, thirsty and in need of some comfort, when suddenly a sign with a goat and with a glass appeared in front of his eyes: a tavern! Exactly what he needed: company, good drinks and a good meal too. He entered the tavern, not worrying about how he would pay for the drinks. He didn’t have the coins of the country, but he had silver rings with precious stones, and where he came from, innkeepers and tavern keepers received them too – at spoliating prices, of course.


He found almost the same noises he had heard outside, smoke, lots of people not ressembling one to another… Sigurd started to understand that this was a magical place where people like him, from everywhere, were brought for an unknown purpose. And those who were nice with you, were worth to be treated nicely in exchange, too.


One of the men, looking a bit like one of his own country, only dressed in the style so common here, smiled at him and saluted with a half-filled glass, waving towards him to come closer.


Sigurd came, and suddenly a glass of warm beer appeared in his hand. He raised it to meet the other’s, with the traditional:


“Skoll.”


Then, it crossed his mind that he should have introduced himself. And damn, how were those translating devices functioning?


“Hello. I am Sigurd Vittfarne, from Froj. I think you understand me. Can you open this device so that I understand you too? I am new and I don’t know much here,” he handed the new man the translating device.

[Guy Parnell]

There hadn't been any guns, swords, tasers, or tentacles pulled out yet, so Guy was betting that he'd done fairly good here. the other man seemed grateful for the drink, with what sounded like a toast. Guy raised his own glass in response, repeating "Skoll" and hoping that he wasn't saluting some kind of pagan god. Muttering a small prayer under his breath, Guy took a deep swig, and let the translator handle Sigud's introduction.

"Well, hell," Guy said, lowering his glass to the table. He looked at the translation device, frowning deeply. "You're askin' the wrong guy to fix this thing up. Didn't they just stick it in your ear at the office or somethin'? How the hell you managin' anyway."

Guy sighed again, rubbing at the back of his head. Sure, he had his own translator in, most people did. You couldn't communicate with many people here if you didn't, unless you just happened to have that specific gift. Still, that didn't mean that Guy actually understood how it worked. He reached up to his own ear, feeling around for a while, till he located his own device.

With a nod, Guy turned, showing his ear to Sigurd. "You wanna stick it in like this," he explained, miming sticking the ear into his head. "An' it translates for ya or something. Just don't expect me to know how."

With that, he handed the translator back in, again miming the placing. Pausing for a second, he turned so that his translator was visible, without realizing that they more or less blended in with the body and were quite hidden unless you knew exactly what you were looking for. Again: not exactly an expert at technology here.

[Sigurd Vittfarne]

Sigurd smiled at the man who returned the toast, then he took a sip. The beer was good, somehow different as taste than the one he was accustomed to, nevertheless good. He wouldn’t mind drinking it all the time he was in this strange new world.


By the man’s strange look and frown, the warrior understood that the other man wasn’t too familiar with those things either. Maybe he was new too. And no, nobody did stick the translation device in his ear when registering, They simply gave it to him… as he was one on a long list of new arrivals. That blonde fairy included. No wonder the locals got rid of him quickly, when she was a more interesting sight.


But he looked at the man how he showed him exactly what to do with that damn device. Trembling hands imitated what the other showed him. He had to learn how to be like all the others. So he stuck it in his ear and said again:


“Thank you for your help. And for the beer too, you have a good beer here. What kind of coins do you have?”


A question like any other, and time to see if that damn device really functioned. But he had barely asked it, when something else the man had with him attracted his attention.


“What is it?” he pointed at the guitar. “Can I see it a bit closer?”


He somehow felt it was something meant for playing. It was different than his rotta at home, but not too different not to realise what it was for.

[Guy Parnell]

Guy chuckled, shaking his head and rubbing the back again. "You think the beer's good here? Damn, they must have had some swill where you came from. I've drank piss that tasted better than this.'

Another chuckle, and Guy made his way to a seat, trying to get comfortable. Turns out that bar stools were fairly universal though, even if the ones here were made to accommodate a wide variety of rears. You just had to look around to find that out. Really, Guy and Sigurd were two of the most "normal" people in the place, given the sparkling purple guy a few seats over, having a pint with what had to be a minotaur of some kind.

"Hmm?" asked Guy, pulling his attention away from the various customers toward his current companion. Sigurd was pointing at something, and Guy followed the finger, momentarily forgetting that he'd been carrying his guitar the whole time. When he saw it, he chuckled, slinging it off his back and getting it more or less in front of him. His fingers found the strings, easily tracing paths. A quick little tune, something with what many would consider a "Latin" taste came from it.

Guy nodded. "It's a guitar. What we like to use to play music and stuff. Tryin' to make my living off it, 'stead of---other things," he shrugged, then handed the instrument over to the warrior. "Careful with it. Thing came over with me, and I'm not sure I got enough credit to get another one."

Guy wasn't even sure why he was handing it over now, except he had a feeling that he was meeting a kindred spirit here: another warrior who wouldn't mind putting fingers to strings more than steel. Times and worlds might change, but people only came in so many shapes, when you broke it down.

[Sigurd Vittfarne]

The man was nice, even if he thought that the beer wasn’t good. Or, who knows what magical waters they had where he came from? Because, as Sigurd was looking around, if he had any doubt that here was a place for people arrived from anywhere, he just got his confirmation that it was true: tails, tentacles, horns, purple, green and other strange skin colours…


The man called “guitar” his instrument, and he played a little. It sounded different than his rotta, but pleasant. There were words he used that the warrior didn’t understand, like “credit”, for example, however Sigurd forgot to ask about their meaning, once he got handed the guitar:


“I know I have to be careful. I had an instrument with chords at home, too. Usually played with my fingers, but it had… something to play it with too. I liked your song. Now if I succeed to understand how your thing sounds, I might try to play and sing something from our parties.”


Now that both of them had translating devices, the songs were no difficulty. Neither the conversation was.


“Please, would you tell me again your name? I am not familiar with the language here and I can’t remember it,” he asked diplomatically.


Actually, with all the chaos of information, he couldn’t remember if the man had introduced himself or not. Meanwhile waiting for the answer, his fingers caressed the guitar delicately, paying attention to each sound. He kept it on the table, not daring to take it on his knees, but he tried and tried until the tune he wanted got life. Well, not exactly how he wanted it to sound, more a tentative imitation, however who would find fault to a man and an instrument which were just getting acquainted with each other?


His voice was ready to make up for the faults of the accompaniment:


“Less good there lies | than most believe
In ale for mortal men;
For the more he drinks | the less does man
Of his mind the mastery hold.


Over beer the bird | of forgetfulness broods,
And steals the minds of men;
With the heron's feathers | fettered I lay
And in Gunnloth's house was held.


Drunk I was, | I was dead-drunk,
When with Fjalar wise I was;
'Tis the best of drinking | if back one brings
His wisdom with him home.”


What was more appropriate in a tavern, than a drinking song?


((Note: The verses are from Poetic Edda – Havamal))

[Guy Parnell]

Even before Sigurd told him, Guy figured the other man would handle the instrument well. He cradled it like someone who was used to such things. Guy had figured the guy for some kind of warrior. Looked kinda like one of them viking sorts, all rape and pillage. But instead, this guy seemed to be caressing the instrument like it was an old friend.

Then again, surely vikings needed musicians too?

"Go for it. Love to hear somethin' new," said Guy, half meaning it. Most new music sounded... bad. People around here seemed to think that thumping noise and random talking could count for music. Not to mention some of the stuff that sounded like it had been thrown in a blender and spun for a few times. Just thinking about it could make a musician shudder. however, he had faith in the Viking coming up with something.

Like an interesting question, for example. "Don't think I gave it. Parnell; Guy Parnell. Folks call me Guy, mostly, when they're being friendly-like. You can give me your name after you get with the singin' or whatever," he waved for Sigurd to make with the music.

Not that the bard needed any encouragement, apparently. The lyrics only made the littlest bit of sense to Guy, but he got the gist. Some kind of drinking song. Couldn't fault the tune, and it seemed easy enough. Sigurd could play decent. Few mistakes, most likely from the new instrument more than anything else, if Guy had to guess.

So Guy shut up and listen, and yelled at other patrons to do the same. Damn heathens needed a little culture anyway.

[Sigurd Vittfarne]

The man encouraged him to play and sing, curious to hear how their songs sounded. Then he answered his question, giving his name.

“Guy,” he repeated the best he could. “Glad to meet you, Guy Parnell.”

He had introduced himself since he had asked Guy to open his translating device, but then the man was probably too focused on the damn translator to realize a name had been pronounced.

“I am Sigurd Vittfarne,” he said before starting to sing and play.

He smiled pleased at the man’s authority display, requesting the ones around to listen. In Froj, at any party Rholf Jarl was giving, he was the most sought bard, so he was a little conceited for this.

When he finished the drinking song, he smiled again at Guy:

“How are things here? I mean… yes, obviously it is my first day and I have a lot to learn and understand. Have you been born here? If not, when did you arrive?”

[Guy Parnell]

{OoC: whoops; sorry about that. Forgot.}

Guy nodded, and as the viking repeated his name, he realized that it sounded familiar... he'd probably heard it said a few minutes ago or something. he'd been busy with stuff, and the song had made him forget a lot of other things. Music and booze had a tendency to do that to a brain, even when that brain was fully functioning in every other manner.

Guy listened to the rest of the song, humming along after a few rounds, and joining in when he finally figured enough of it out. His accent definitely wasn't right for the song, but he did fair enough. Few slipped words, slightly off beat, but that's what one expected out of a good drinking song, even if the person singing actually had some skill in music.

"Things are hectic," said Guy. He took a swig out of his drink, almost smiling at the temperature: as warm as the room. That was the way to drink. He took another sip before continuing. "You drop so many people from so many places, and you gotta expect things to happen, things that ain't normal, right?"

he shifted, looking over at the bard and raising a brow. "But we do alright, i guess. Anyway, I ain't from here, though you'd hardly tell, eh? I'm from a world that was a lot more backward than this. We were just figurin' out how to get steam to power stuff. Big deal when they started connectin' railroads an' stuff. Still never got to ride one," he sounded distant, and a little depressed by the fact, but he shook it off with a chuckle soon enough. "Got to ride in one of them cars though. Probably better. What about you, Sigurd? You said you just got here. So you from some kinda sword slicin' world or somethin'?"

[Sigurd Vittfarne]

Sigurd liked that Guy was humming the song too. It meant that he liked it. Then, he started telling how things were strange with so many people brought from so many places. The warrior nodded approvingly. He remembered how it was in a big city, the capital of a big empire, where he had served as a guard in his youth.


“Our arrival here first of all is anything else but normal,” he confirmed.


When Guy started telling about steam, Sigurd made big eyes:


“Steam to power? How is it possible? And railroads… I am trying to imagine and I can’t. What is it, or how is it?”


But then he got asked how things were where he came from.


“My town is called Froj. The country is Mithiclor. My cousin Rholf is the count of Froj. I am his vassal. I have a beautiful ship, and I was aboard when the storm started and a wave swept me overboard… until here.”


He didn’t tell about the welcome mauling he had received from a shadow-like being.


“You are friendly, there was a friendly girl too… and that cat is… strange. Let’s see what my new life brings. For the moment being, these were enough events for one day!” he laughed.

[Guy Parnell]

Guy nodded. The trip had been like something out a warped faerie tale or one of those dime store novels. Just thinking about it made Guy's head hurt, and he wasn't about to claim he understood the whole process. Something about being in his home one time, and here the next.

"Weird what Fate's cooked up for us, eh?" he said, chuckling and shaking his head. Time for another swish and another drink, then on with the conversation, hitting steam power now. The other man's reaction made Guy chuckle, and he waved a hand toward the exit of the bar. "You think that's somethin', you oughta see what they got here. Hell, the POD they gave you makes anythin' I'm used to look like crap."

Another pause. Sigurd filled the silence with information about his homeland and situation. Some place called Mithiclor, which sounded vaguely familiar to the cowboy. Counts, vassals, ships, all familiar words, though they were all concepts that were wait out of Guy's usual ken. He nodded anyway. Seemed like the guy was some kinda fancy man, a noble or something, though you wouldn't know by looking. Storms and warping sounded worse than Guy's own journey though.

"Least I was just on Horse," said Guy. "Was just travelin' between town to town, an' next thing I know, I'm gallopin' on in here. Worked out, I guess. Keep meetin' people like yourself."

Who was apparently having a hell of a day. "yeah, I know what that's like. They made ya talk to the damn cat, didn't they? happens all the time."

Guy took another swig, before reaching for his guitar again, beckoning for it, should Sigurd be a little slow in handing it over. As soon as he had it in his hands, he'd be playing again. Though he kept looking over the crowd, remembering how rough this place usually was. bit odd that there hadn't been a fight yet, especially since somebody new was in the room. Maybe if they just kept low and quiet. Wasn't but a few people looking this way.

"Picked a bad place to relax," Guy said without looking up. "People here are usually lookin' for a fight. Lotta people frustrated with the whole Folding thing, an' a lot of people just plain mean. Gotta watch out."

Hopefully music would help settle things though...

[Sigurd Vittfarne]

Sigurd drank and listened to Guy. Strange twist of fate, indeed!


“Yes, it is weird. But honestly I prefer more being alive and here than dead on the bottom of the sea in my country, as I was.”


Then he said some strange things… probably about the translating device. What could he answer?


“It is good to hear that I am not alone here. And how nice that you have your horse with you. I had horses at home too, I can ride, but I love ships more.


Sigurd didn’t need much in order to understand that the man wanted his instrument back. This meant more songs. And he liked listening to music. Maybe he’d sing along too, exactly like Guy had done before.


“Yes, tell me about watching out…” Sigurd grinned at the cowboy’s warning. The first moment I arrived … here, I got attacked by a… ghost, shadow, something invisible or barely guessable. “But who is looking for a fight… I can’t disappoint them, I am a warrior! I can’t act cowardly, I must keep my honour.”


Which brought him to the work related aspect. That cat had told him something about work too.


“They registered me and they said I should work, which is something perfectly natural. They asked me what I can do and they put me on a list. But I am a soldier, so I guess only if anybody needs a guard… What are you working here?”

[Guy Parnell]

More nodding from Guy. He'd heard a few stories from people who were much better off here than they ever would have been back home, and it sounds like Sigurd wasn't far off from those. Plus, it always did people good to know they weren't alone, especially in a place as crazy as this.

"Sounds like you've had a rough time already," said Guy. His chuckled, but his eyes flicked aside too. He'd hoped that his presence would prevent anyone from testing the poor new arrival's mettle, but if the man spoke too loudly about his prowess, no amount of presence would help. For not the first time, Guy wished he kept his guns on him.

Speaking of his old tools of the trade... "Sure you could get a job as a guard. Depends on who exactly you wanna guard," said Guy. He reached for his drink, but stopped short of drinking it. He wanted to keep a clear head, at least for the next few moments. "I used to do stuff like that, back before I got here. now I live by this," he patted the guitar, which had made its way back to its owner, mostly thanks to the gentle hands of the fellow musician. "Still, I know of a few places. You ought to try applyin' for the Knights. They're the official type police force, an' I'm sure they could use the help."

They could probably use Guy's help too, but he didn't want to live that life anymore. Just thinking about it made him uneasy, and he settled into a mopey silence. It sent him fidgeting, his fingers plucking out an old tune from home from the familiar instrument. Words weren't coming though, just a melody out of a nearly forgotten place.

[Sigurd Vittfarne]

This Guy was a nice and friendly man.


“Well, storms are a rough time indeed. Wars… are more of a man’s destiny,” Sigurd shrugged.


At least, the man brought him good news. There were people who needed guards.


“I am not picky, I guess somebody in my situation can’t be. I’m looking for employment.”


When he heard about the knights, his eyes started brightening, even if the part with “police” wasn’t anything he could understand. He was sort of a knight, or rather this is what he was before he returned to Froj. There had been tournaments and such in the Great City… and he was wearing Evanthia’s colours then…


“Knights? It is a great honour for me. I would like being a knight again.”


”Maybe this time, getting not a princess’s eyes on me, but a more attainable girl’s,” he thought, remembering about the bitter circumstances of his desire to return home from the Great City.


“I am glad to hear that you are both a fellow musician and a fellow former soldier,” Sigurd said, with a friendly smile. “Maybe after working a while I might be able to buy an instrument like yours and you’ll teach me to play it. I think an evening would be enough for teaching, given that I have played something more or less similar.”


”But would my songs have any success here? Or should I learn yours? Which wouldn’t be bad at all…”


“I would appreciate if you introduce me to the right people who can help me getting a job. I will be giving not only a beer, but a whole party from my first wage, I promise you!” he said later, after hearing the man’s intriguing, sad song.


”Yes, I definitely should learn, in time, some of his beautiful songs,” he decided.

[Guy Parnell]

Wars. Guy nearly shivered at that. He'd been lucky enough to miss most of the major wars in Coronado. Nothing bigger than a turf war, and those happened all too frequently. That, at least, was one advantage of his position. Still, he knew enough about them. As far as he was concerned, the only good they did was creating decent songs, and even that was debatable. Then again, he supposed it did create an atmosphere for fighting, and he could certainly use some of that from time to time.

Apparently Sigurd had better memories of that, or at least of fighting. The brightening at the mention of Knights made Guy chuckle. "Figured that would be right up your alley. These are different though. They're like, you know, lawmen or somethin' like that. Marshalls. Whatever the hell they call the people that arrest people back home for you."

Guy was probably giving the translators one tough workout with that ramble, but he figured that's what they were made for. He tapped his glass again, before moving his fidgeting hands back to the guitar. About this time of night the natives got restless, which meant that a fight was likely to start brewing.

Fellow musician, fellow soldier, and future plans. Guy found himself nodding, even as he started playing another jaunty little tune. More upbeat, friendlier. Because that was where their conversation was going, even if the atmosphere around them spoke otherwise.

"Don't worry 'bout rewardin' me that much!" Guy finally said, laughing. "Ain't like someone else wouldn't have put you in the right place. I can escort you to the Knights' headquarters sometime. Hell, we can even go tomorrow, if you want. Been there a time or two."

Mostly to drop off people he'd found breaking the law. Though he'd be lying if he didn't admit to having been there a time or two himself. Usually for fighting. Like about now, when he could see a smaller individual getting picked on by larger. Guy felt himself bristling, but kept to his conversation for the moment. You couldn't judge by opinions, not in this place.

"Better get ready for a fight. The natives are gettin' restless."