Soren's Story (end never here)

Written by Soren the Hard-of-Hearing Scribe on September 26, 2009

I was suddenly ripped from the beautiful world that I had entered, landing with a squelch into a marsh. I knew the dangers of marshes, and I began to wildly thrash my way out onto a less mucky part, as I knew that if I stayed for too long, I would be stuck forever.

Gasping, I pulled myself up onto drier land. Once I had caught my breath, I sat up and looked around.

Dark, dangerous trees hung over me like a dark, dangerous forest. Vines hung over everything, and strange sounds echoed ominously over all. I saw that I was alone. Before I could contemplate what my next move would be, however, there was a pop, and George fell screaming into the marsh. He quickly pulled himself out, and looked helplessly around.

"Where are we?" he moaned. "And where is everyone else?"

"I don't know," I solemnly replied. "I don't know." George stood.

"What do we do?" he asked.

"Well, let's get out of this place before we do anything else," I said, turning and walking toward one of the less misty areas of the marsh.

If we had not been Vikings, we never would have made it out of the marsh. As it was, it took us four hours to trudge through mud and grime and other junk. When we finally collapsed ten feet away from the edge, George was crying, and I was more sore than a... well, I was more sore than anything else.

I'm pretty sure that we passed out, because when we awoke, it was light outside; it had been dark in the marsh. Rolling onto my back, I suddenly became aware of a dark figure standing over me.

"AHHHH!" George shrieked.

"AHHHHH!" the dark figure shrieked, running away from us and hiding behind a rock.

"Good job," I said, getting to my feet. "Now he ran away."

"Where are we?" George asked, looking around. I looked up and saw, for the first time, that we had walked right into a well-developed town, complete with internet connection. Some people were walking around, and they were all wearing the same things.

"Carpenter aprons," I breathed. "We've walked into a town of carpenters."

"Is that a good thing?" George warily asked.

"I'm not sure," I said. "Vikings and them have never really gotten along, since we steal their boat-making industry. Be on your guard, and don't let them get too close."

The next thing I knew, we were tied upside down to a support beam that had just been built before our very eyes. The dark figure that we had seen turned out to be a short, bearded carpenter, who was the one who had tied us up and built the beam in the first place.

"HAR HAR HAR!" he cried, spinning around in a grotesque circle. "I has got you!"

The town suddenly emptied, as all the remaining carpenters had decided to gather around our dangling bodies. Something seemed strange about the Carpenter who had captured us, so I decided to wait and see what was happening. The carpenter made a swift movement with his arm, and a newly-built box appeared. Standing on the box, he cried, "I has catch Vikings! What I do?"

"Kill them!" All the carpenters roared. My theory about the Carpenter I deemed correct, since he had just pulled out a huge hammer that was three times his height. The Carpenter raised it above his head, just a few inches away from George's face.

"WILL I!" The Carpenter roared, pulling the hammer behind his head. George fainted; his pants suddenly became wet. The carpenters gasped. The Carpenter did not notice, and began to swing his axe toward my friend.

"You're a Dwarf, aren't you?" I asked.

The Dwarfish Carpenter completely missed George, slamming the Hammer into his supports and inadvertantly setting us free. As I dropped to my feet, George slammed into the ground headfirst. Before I could move, the carpenters had surrounded George, pointing at his pants.

"It is the prophecy!" One of the carpenters yelled. "The man who cannot control his bowel movements will lead us to the promised land!"

"Get ready to leave!" another one yelled. They all quickly ran to the town. I heard strange hammering and drilling sounds.

"'Ow 'id ye know I twas a Dwarf, Lad?" The Dwarfish carpenter asked, threateningly raising his hammer over his head. "If'n ye give me an answer, I twon't smash yo' head in."

"The size of your hammer," I said. "and your height, and your beard." The dwarf raised his hammer a little higher. "'is 'arpenter clan 'as been waitin' fo' this un'" hepointed at George, "'or a long toime. Ye, on da udder hand ..." he raised his hammer a few inches higher. "... 'ive me un reason why I shouldn't kill ye."

One thing I knew about dwarfs, they love their families. "My friend has a theory that Dwarves are related to Vikings," I said. "His name is Olaf the Bald."

"Prove it," he growled.

AFter we had used his internet connection and I had shown him this post that Olaf had written, he was all smiles. "Pleasure to meet you," he said. "My name is Ilmig the Dwarfish Carpenter, but you can call me IDC."

To be continued....