Draugr Hunt

Katya crouched on a wet heap of earth at the base of a gnarled, ancient tree. She used the butt of her spear as a prop to help keep her balance, and wretched into the fetid water below. It wasn’t the water itself that caused her nausea, but it definitely didn’t help. The swamp reeked of death. She spat the bile, and thick, mucus like saliva from her mouth and cursed. Any brazen ideas she’d had the night before, or even that morning before she left the longhouse, were gone from her mind completely.

“Gods, how did I get myself into this mess?” She spoke aloud to no one in particular. Truthfully, she knew how; she had single handedly taken down a troll in the Black Forest, and her boastful words at the feast table earned her the attention of Jarl Thorfson himself. She recounted the tale, brandishing a sausage the same way she had brandished her axe at the brutish beast that dared to approach her. Of course, that was an embellishment. In reality, the troll had somehow snuck up right behind her while she was collecting firewood. As she chopped, the troll’s footsteps matched the rhythm of her swings, and by the time she realized the very earth was shaking, it was upon her. She ran, and by darting around trees and hacking away with opportunistic strikes, she felled the giant as it pursued her, nearly a kilometer away from the original site of her task. Of course, even such a desperate tactic deserves some recognition. And recognition she received. 

Jarl Thorfson approached her after the feast, and poured a tankard of tasty mead.

“Katya, isn’t it. You joined our clan recently, yes? One of Odin’s newly chosen warriors.”

“Yes, my jarl.”

“Oh, no need for such formalities. Thorfson will do. You know, I’d hoped to be free of my mantle in the afterlife, relishing freedom in Valhalla. For in Odin’s hall, Jarls and Drengr sit side by side with stable boys and shield maidens, all proven by an honorable death in battle. Rank and title pale in comparison to the company of heroes. Alas, it seems the gods still require my station.” He drained his cup.

“Aye.”

“Your bravery in particular, is commendable. I wanted to thank you personally for your contributions to the clan. I’ve had my eye on you for a time, and I’ve seen your toils. Some warriors, even chosen, do not understand the value of many hands.” He said. Katya raised her drinking horn.

“Skal,” she said. “Of course. We are stronger together, especially in this forsaken land.” Katya spoke from experience. Thorfson nodded. 

“I thought as much. Which is why, I have something to ask of you.”

“Anything.” Katya sat forward in anticipation. A personal assignment from the jarl was a great honor.  Thorfson smiled warmly.

“It is time we begin to venture further. Odin’s path beckons, and for that, we need heartier supplies, and more of them. I need you to scout the swamp lands to the south east. Get the lay of the land, see if you can find a lock for the Elder’s key, and most importantly, slay any draugr in your path.” Thorfson’s words carried the scent of alcohol, though they were not slurred. 

“Draugr, jarl- I mean, Thorfson?” 

“Yes. Bring me their entrails. Collecting them is crucial.” Throfson stood and raised his tankard in salute. “Set out at first light.”

“I will.” Katya said as Thorfson turned and beckoned to Gunni and Brynhilda with open arms. Katya finished the mead in her horn, and looked on with a feeling of kinship. At day’s light, she donned her bronze armor; a shirt of segmented plates, bracers, and leggings with metal greaves. She stowed her axe at her side, and grabbed her weapons of choice; a bronze buckler and spear. The spear kept most of Valheim's creatures at a comfortable distance, and if they did manage to get too close, the buckler was an excellent shield. Though smaller than the wooden round shields others used, it was much more versatile, and Katya found that her movements were less encumbered by it. The morning trek to the coast was pleasant. She cut through a swath of Black Forest she knew well, avoiding the Gray Dwarves that lurked therein. The swampland the clam had discovered was a thin strip of coastline southeast of their settlement. It climbed north from there, and previous expeditions determined the swamp broadened the farther north it travelled, eventually separating mountain and sea. This uncharted territory is where she found herself now.  

As Katya knelt in the mud, her single braid of long black hair fell from over her shoulder, dangling just above the rancid bog. She tossed her head up and the braid flicked itself back into place. She took a shuddering breath and stood, scanning her surroundings. As of yet, she had not sighted any Draugr, though plenty of leeches and poisonous blobs had hounded her. Though it was midday, the sunlight was obscured by immense bare branched trees, clawing at a sickly cloud-laden sky. For most of her journey thus far, she could make out the sea to the east, only a few meters away, but now her path turned north, and the swamp spread vast before her. Until now, an ocean breeze mitigated the swamps' putrid smell, making it bearable, but soon that boon would cease. Katya steeled her stomach, and marched on. 

She tread over the snaking tendrils of sodden soil when she could, and waded through the knee-deep, plague-ridden water when her path forced her to. She ducked under the arching roots of the ancient trees, and paid no heed to the ominous effigies that dotted the landscape. What were they? She put speculation out of her mind. She needed to focus. Soon she spied a light ahead, a pale green glow that danced in the encroaching fog. She felt compelled towards it, and as she drew near, another light appeared. Katya felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. Whatever was ahead, it was more than likely dangerous, and the absence of Draugr had made her tense. Gunni had said he spied at least half a dozen of the wretched things only a few days ago when he and Brynhilda had discovered the swampy coast. Katya tread carefully, spear poised and kept her head up. Soon she realized the lights were standing torches flanking a stone structure. It resembled a crypt, and the entrance was barred with an iron gate. Katya ducked behind a massive tree trunk and watched and listened. At first, she heard nothing out of the ordinary, but as she stood to advance on the crypt, a twig snapped somewhere on her right. She gripped her spear in both hands and turned, leveling the point towards the sound. As she laid her eyes on the culprit, her blood ran cold; a humanoid figure, hunched and brandishing a rusted axe stood before her. Its eyes glowed the same pale green as the torch light, and it made a guttural howl as it charged with its weapon raised. Katya’s muscle memory took over, and she braced herself for combat. She planted her feet and held her spear aloft, thrusting as the draugr rushed within impaling distance. The spear thrust true, and struck the draugr where its heart should have been. The creature stumbled back, but without hesitation rushed forward again, unbothered by its wound. Katya shrugged her buckler off her shoulder and raised it just in time for the draugr’s axe to fall. It glanced off her shield with a CLANG. The draugr staggered, and that gave Katya the opening she needed. She lunged and thrust her spear through the draugr’s neck, severing its head. 

The shambling corpse fell in a heap at her feet. The stench of death and decay assaulted her nostrils tenfold, and whatever was left of her lunch surged up from her stomach. She involuntarily vomited again. As she spat and cursed, she knew what she had to do, and mustered the strength to do it. She planted the tip of her spear in the earth, and drew her axe, using its blade to split the belly of her foe. She was overwhelmed with another wave of pungent odor, but she managed to stifle her gut. That was a little easier now that her stomach was empty. She disemboweled the draugr, and stored its entrails in her pack, which she intentionally left empty before her journey. She vowed to burn the sack when she returned to the hearth. With that most unpleasant task complete, Katya fixed her eyes on the crypt. She approached the iron gate and withdrew the Elder’s key from her pocket. It fit the lock perfectly, and as the gate swung open, the earth let out a mournful sigh from deep within. Katya’s spine tingled, and she thought better of wandering inside alone. Exploring the depths of the crypt would be a task for another day. Her path home was only slightly more fraught, as she encountered a few more draugr. Each hurled itself aggressively towards her, swinging blades with abandon, and each fell to her dancing polearm. She dutifully collected entrails from each draugr she faced, and soon her sack was full. She returned to the coast as dusk fell, and the moon had barely risen by the time she tread her muddy boots across the threshold of the longhouse. Her return was met by the hearty cheers of her companions. 

“Go on, give us the tale.” They cried, spying her gut-filled pack. Katya smiled as she felt the soreness in her muscles and the weariness in her heart melt away. She was home. She strode to the feast table, grabbed a turnip by its top holding it aloft and carved a grotesque face into it with a knife as she regaled the clan with her heroic deeds; decapitating draugr left and right as she resolutely marched into the unknown. At her last word, she skewered the turnip with her spear and held it above her head triumphantly. This was met with a resounding cheer, and she joined her friends.

“That was a saga fit for Valhall! Henceforth, this is Katya Skaldottir!” roared Gunni. The Vikingr banged on the table in unanimous agreement, and Katya felt her chest swell with pride. The feast resumed, and Katya felt her stomach grumble in anticipation of a good meal. Afterwards, Thorfson approached her.

“So, let's see those entrails then.” He rested his hands on his hips. 

“Of course.” Katya retrieved her pack and held it up. 

“Follow me.” Throfson said as he turned towards the cauldron on the hearth. Katya followed, and watched as Thorfson prepared a few ingredients. He took some raw boar and chopped it up into finely ground chunks then seasoned it with thistle. He held out his hand. 

“The entrails.” He didn’t look up from the preparation table. Katya handed him the bag, a pit forming in her stomach. Thorfson took the pack and withdrew a length of draugr entrails. He rinsed it in water, then stuffed the fleshy tube with the boar and thistle. He tied it off at equal intersections, then tossed the freshly prepared sausages into the cauldron to boil. Katya felt her dinner rising from her stomach in revolt, and vowed never to eat a sausage again.