The Origin of the Origin

If you were expecting a post in the tone of my usual writings, then leave.

This is not a pleasant memory.

This is not an opinion.

This is not happy.

I was not born Olaf the Bald.

I was born Olaf Henderson, son of Hender the Family Man.

I had a sister and a mother.

We all lived in a small cottage off the coast of Norway.

This was during the time that I secretly wanted to be a Ninja, as talked about in the post 'Ranged Weapons.'

One day, while out practicing my slingshot, I heard a large explosion.

Running back to my home, I found it exploded.

I will not describe the images I saw.

I found a note that read, "This is a message to those who might not do what I want."

"-From Ninja Joe."

Overwhelmed with grief, I began to run.

I ran distances that I now don't remember running.

But I must have, because when I finally became aware of where I was, I was in one of the medical bays of Central Viking University, being watched over by Leif the Armless, Dean of CVU himself.

I was over 700 miles away from my home, most of them I don't remembner traveling to this day.

Laying on the sick bed, with only a few ragged tatters of my clothes, my dad's Battleax, and my slingshot (tucked away in its secret compartment), I vowed to find this "Ninja Joe" and end his life.

I knew that there was only one way to do that.

I had to take up the mantle my father left.

I had to become a Viking.

HENDER THE FAMILY-MAAAAAN!

In memory of my father.

-Olaf Henderson