Eric Olafson Neo Viking Vol 1 Chapter 3 Union school
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Eric Olafson, Neo Viking (Vol 1)Prelude Part 4: Volund free porn video
Prelude Part 4: Volund
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The crumbling walls of Olafson Burg were no longer on his mind. Volund was now the steward of Ragnarsson Rock. Erik Gustav had kept his word and had given him the stewardship and rule of all that was Ragnarsson on this world.
There were tanneries in the extensive basements, several Nubhir farms on the permanent ice of the southern polar region, and large Fangsnapper herds. Best of all, there were five modern and well-kept fishing boats and three hunting subs in the cave-like, voluminous submarine pen.
Volund was once more doing what he loved best. He commanded the hunting subs, harassed the boats of the clans of the East, and returned to the XChange at Halstaad Fjord with Three-Fins and Tyrannos in tow. Life was good and the name Olafson was once again spoken with respect at the XChange Cafe and in the Taverns.
He had just returned from another long trip to the Uhim grounds and decided to have a few tankards at Hogun’s Inn.
His second-born had also married, in a small and far less spectacular ceremony, to a daughter of an Eastern clan no one of the Western clans knew much about. Hogun’s wife, a Bredeberg, was given an Inn as part of her dowry. Her father had won it in a gambling venture.
So, it came that Hogun was an innkeeper now. It was clear to everyone that this was his true calling. Hogun’s Inn became one of the most popular Inns of Halstaad Fjord, not in the least due to the cooking and grilling skills of Hogun and the collection of local and Off World beers and ales he offered.
It was the very Inn where he had met the Ragnarsson chief and where his fortune and the fate of the Olafson clan changed forever. Fights and brawls were a thing of the past, at least in Hogun’s Inn. No one in his right mind wanted to make Hogun angry. It had not taken very long before Hogun’s almost inhuman body strength became the source of many tales and stories.
Volund greeted his second born and grabbed his underarm in the traditional greeting. “The hunt was good, my son. Let me celebrate with my men under thy roof and bring good ale and hearty food. The boats are fine indeed, but the cooking skills of my men are much to be desired.”
While Hogun went into the kitchen to personally fry a few Tyranno steaks for his father and the boat crew, Pit, one of the Freemen working for Hogun, served tankards of mead and ale.
The mood was merry, and the food was good. The hours went on and Oddløg, celebrated for his expert harpooning that killed a Tri Halfer, was comfortably drunk as he staggered into the back to relieve himself.
While Hogun had spent considerable money to install modern Union grade recycler bathroom stalls and urinals, he had a hard time making the long-time patrons use it. The old Vikings much rather went out in the back as they had done for so many years before.
During Shortsummer it stank horribly despite the Gong Farmers, Lowmen paid by the Innkeepers to remove the disgusting mess left behind. Until recently the Lowmen had to use pickaxes to break the frozen mess from the old Sea Wall that began right behind the row of Inns and Taverns, of which Hogun’s Inn was one.
Hogun however, paid one of his employees to clean a good section every day with a high-pressure washer to keep the mess managed and placed big signs everywhere inviting them to use his modern toilets.
All this was of no concern to Oddløg, he had pissed against that Sea Wall behind the inn for as long as he could remember, and he would do so tonight.
He was just about to relieve himself as a movement just out of his field of view made him turn his head. He laughed roughly, “Aye the spears and harpoons of Olafson warriors are legendary in size and length, are you ashamed of yours, or why do you hide in the shadows?”
A woman, of all things, stepped into the yellowish light of the age-old Lumi-plate glued to the back of the building. “Oh, I remember the spears of the Olafsons, yours is rather pathetic.”
The back of the Inns were frequented by the harlots and prostitutes of the lowest kind; seeking to earn a coin or two to support their usually fatherless families living on the outskirts of town. The Circle of Elders tried to prohibit it, but it was an open secret among the Freemen and the clan-born alike. However, she didn’t talk like one.
Oddløg growled out, “After I am done you better be gone or I tan your hide, harlot.”
“Of course, you one-eyed bastard don’t even remember who I am.” She raised a small pen-like device and something sharp pierced Oddløg’s skin right underneath his chin.
She came closer. Now he recognized the woman, it was Gretel.
She wore a red dress underneath her cloak and said, “What a fitting place for you to die. I had to hide in a barrel of piss to survive your master’s rage, now you going to drown in it.”
Oddløg tried to reach for what stung him but he could not.
Gretel laughed and waved to someone behind her, “Go get him, boys, he is all yours.”
A gang of ragged looking Lowmen peeled from the shadows, armed with clubs and pickaxes.
They would have never dared attack a clan warrior in command of his strength. Yet Oddløg could not even lift a hand, his muscles felt like blubber, as the four Lowmen started to hit him.
He could not even yell for help or raise an alarm before he fell face-first into the yellow snow and ice and soon saw his blood flow and freeze. The last thing he heard was Gretel’s cold laugh, “You are only the first.”
No one could tell Volund where Oddløg was, even after almost a week, no one had seen his right-hand man. Now crime and murder were rare but not entirely uncommon. The Olafson’s had a fair share of enemies among the clans of the West and then of course there were the clans of the East, the pirates of the Black clan and of course, there was Oddløg’s temper. He never could stay out of a fight, pass a brawl, or not get mixed up in a duel. Volund was sure his friend had met his fate, or he would have shown up by now.
There were no police or anything like that on Nilfeheim except at the spaceport, but the spaceport security could not and would not enforce the law beyond Union ground. Volund only noticed Oddløg missing after almost three days, as he had a serious hangover and suspected Oddløg to sleep his off in the bed of a Lowmen wench.
He did call the Union Clinic, but Oddløg had not been there and had not been treated recently.
Volund felt the loss deeply and was sad that he could not give his friend a decent burial.
But then the new burg had many warriors and Volund hoped that wherever Oddløg found his fate, he did it fighting and would be welcomed at the table of the Aesir.
What distraught him more were the reports that his son was no longer spending much time with Ilva but was seen almost daily flying to town and returning late.
That a man of his strength had a few concubines on the side was understandable, even though it was neither traditional nor proper. Volund himself had cheated a few times on his beloved wife while she was alive, a fact he regretted now.
But the good news was that Ilva was now pregnant. Hogun’s wife, who was also a midwife, told him the good news after nature took its course and in about eight months there would be twins and if the midwife were right, one of the twins would be a boy.
While he was sure the Union Clinic could determine that for sure, there was no need to involve the Off-Worlders.
Volund had just left the Inn after talking to Hogun. He was hoping that his sone had news of Oddløg simply being sick or still drunk or perhaps nursing the bruises of a fight he lost.
Hogun, never known to be drunk, recalled the night and remembered Oddløg going for a piss, but could not recall seeing the old warrior coming back.
Hogun watched his father leave.
He remembered Oddløg well, from the time before he had left. Oddløg had a mean streak as wide as the behind of a pregnant Fangsnapper, but Hogun remembered him as being smarter than most, with a keen sense for trouble and very quick reflexes. True, Oddløg was drunk, but not more than at any other time. If he would have died in a fight, there would be others wounded or injured as well.
He put his fur cape around his shoulders and said to Pit, one of his employees, “Take care of the place. I will be back in a few hours.”
Pit simply nodded, but Pit never spoke unless absolutely necessary.
He went out the back, past the modern bathroom facilities, and proceeded to the so-called sea wall.
This was a tall dike kind of structure, erected by the first colonists that arrived on this, the largest open landmass on Nilfeheim. They did that bone-breaking labor to protect the then small and only settlement on Bifrost, as they called this about Ireland-sized island, from flooding.
Hogun, who had visited Earth and knew what the Ireland reference meant, smiled at the simple minds of his ancestors. Nilfeheim had no moons and no tides. The ice that came in the long winter came from the existing water, the water level did not raise a single centimeter in Shortsummer.
There was no need for a seawall, millions of tons of rock and concrete were used to build this great defense against, well, against nothing.
Halstaad Fjord and the entire region from the most northern tip of the island called Ice Jättens Näsa where the small village of Honningsvåg was, all the way to Mount Asgard and the Mehir field was the land that Lars Erikson had claimed for himself and his family. No clan, no family of Nilfeheim had ever dared to claim this region, not even during the many clan wars.
An old burg-like structure North of the city, now mostly a big pile of rubble, had been erected not long after Lars Erikson had died. Deep underneath that crumbled structure they had placed the stone coffin of the first and still the only leader of all Nilfeheim. Above, in the sealed hall, sat the legendary throne of Lars Erikson.
Hogun knew the history of Nilfeheim well, perhaps even better than the Elders themselves who suppressed and ignored much of it.
As strange as it might sound, he had learned more about Nilfeheim while he was away than he ever could on Nilfeheim itself. The Central Archive of the Union held every piece of information ever written or recorded about Nilfeheim – and every other Union world. While here on their world, there was no one except perhaps the elusive and almost forgotten Keepers of Hasvik who kept an unbiased record of history.
Hogun loved this world but he no longer saw it as only a Neo Viking, but also as Union Citizen.
The seawall section here on the western side of the island separated the actual town of Halstaad Fjord from the sea harbor and the ocean port facilities.
Halstaad Fjord had grown much, even in the almost fifteen years he had spent in his self-chosen exile. Over a million Freemen and an uncounted number of Lowmen lived here. Hogun was certain at least another million were living in the small villages and towns dotting the planet’s surface.
While Halstaad Fjord and Isen Lansby, the two largest settlements had something akin to a town council, there was no actual government for the entire planet other than the Circle of Elders. There were no social services, no police, and no one ever asking for a census to find out how many people lived on the planet.
Hogun was convinced that none of the Elders or clan Lords ever wanted a count to be done.
Such a result could technically make it to the Assembly or a Union Court, carried there by a member of the Lowmen, and maybe show that there were far more Lowmen than there were clan Families. Something that might put the so-called Nilfeheim Exception in jeopardy.
Of course, Nilfeheim was not the only Union member society with certain exceptions, almost every society had some local conditions that did not entirely fit Union law. He understood concessions had to be made to make this magnificent multi-cultural society work.
Hogun sighed as he watched four men dressed in rags working with pickaxes, hammers, and shovels to remove the disgusting mess the patrons of the many Inns left behind.
Here on the sea-facing side of the big wall were many fishing and hunting-related businesses. This part of town was called Harbor’s Row, offering shops and stores that offered tackle, nets, harpoons, ropes, and all the many things seafaring Vikings needed. Nearby were many of the traditional inns, taverns, guesthouses, and pubs that catered to the tastes and needs of this rough clientele.
As far as Hogun knew, he was the only business on Harbor’s Row featuring indoor plumbing and bathrooms.
He walked up to the men. He recognized two of them and they knew him. They were called Gong Farmers but also much worse.
One of them removed the filthy piece of fur he had before his nose and mouth against the cold, now that Longnight was here. The temperatures thankfully reduced the usual stench to a minimum. The thin man bowed, “Lord Olafson!!
“Dietmar, did I not tell you to simply call me Hogun? Why are you cleaning this by hand? Have I not purchased a modern pulse washer?”
“Yes, Hogun you have, but we are cleaning this section for Arnhilf’s Tavern, he doesn’t have one.”
Hogun put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Go get the pressure cleaner anytime you need it. Didn’t I give you money to buy real boots, an apron, and a good filter mask?”
“Yes, you did, but I used the money to feed my family. It lasted almost an entire month and we ate well.”
“Loki curse that stubborn council of Elders, these conditions are as bad as in the slums of N’Ger.”
Hogun dug a handful of Iridium coins out of his pocket, while the man asked, “The slums of what?”
“A place beyond Union Space with conditions that should not exist here on my homeworld.”
Hogun handed the man a sizable sum of money. He knew that he made no sense to the man, as he would have made no sense to anyone local. “Here, you and your friends go to Friesenheim’s or Silverhawk’s and buy the things I asked you to get before. Then you get my power cleaner and clean the whole stinking wall from up there, all the way down to Messmer’s restaurant. You will work for me and I will pay you each the usual hourly wages. That should keep you guys busy for the foreseeable future and your families fed. The deal is off if I see you without the gear I want you to have, understood?”
Dietmar grinned broadly. “You are the only Lord who cares about us for sure.”
“What I came out here for is to ask if you have seen a fight or someone asked you to take away a dead body?”
“Not a fight Sir, and we haven’t removed any dead bodies since Eklund the Barber asked us to dispose of one, but that was still during Shortsummer.”
One of his still partially masked companions spoke, his voice muffled behind the piece of fur, “There was a lot of frozen blood right behind your Inn just a few days ago.” He leaned forward. “The Nubhir gang gave us half a bit to clean it up. I found this.”
The man held up a brass clap, it featured the Olafson wolf’s head engraved into it.
Hogun was not entirely surprised by that. He somehow expected to hear Oddløg had been killed right behind his tavern. The question was, why was it done in an ambush and not in an open fight. He thanked the men and urged them to do what he asked them to do.
He was just contemplating what to do when a big-bellied Neo Viking stepped before him. The man was Arnhilf, the proprietor of the tavern with the same name and technically competition to Hogun.
Arnhilf gestured to the Lowmen walking off the job and said with an angry tone, “I hired that vermin to clean that stinky mess.”
“And I hired them to clean the whole damn wall with proper tools and gear. These are Nilfeheimers just as you and me and not vermin!”
“You must have lost your mind while you were gone, those are Lowmen.”
“Do you know where Freemen and Lowmen come from? Do you know none of your ancestors came to this world aboard the colonist arks? No my friend, your roots, and theirs are from the slaves and hostages our pirating ancestors brought back from all the colonies they raided.”
Arnhilf shrugged. “Makes no difference to me. They are Lowmen, I am not. However, since you pay them to clean the entire wall, let me get in on some of the cost. I am thinking of getting toilets as you do, have you figured out yet how to make them use them?”
Hogun sighed, “No, not yet. Did you know the Nubhir Gang are back doing shady business back here?”
Arnhilf shook his head. “Didn’t the Elders send warriors last year to stomp out that gang?”
“Apparently it didn’t work. This is the problem with our society. No police.”
“This is what is good about our society. We don’t need Off World law, but we should simply put a torch to the entire South Side of Halstaad.”
Hogun knew how difficult it was to eliminate groups like the Nubhir Gang. Jobs like that were the bread and butter of Rathuur’s Brigands, eliminating such elements from fringe world colonies.
Here on Nilfeheim, it would be almost impossible, as the Nubhir gang usually preyed only on the Lowmen and only occasionally bothered the Freemen. Why they attacked and killed an armed warrior was disturbing, but Oddløg was drunk and maybe he was clubbed before he could defend himself or raise alarm. His gear was most likely already sold, and the body dumped somewhere.
It wasn’t a big or very influential gang but, as much as the Elders tried to cover it up and deny it existed, there was prostitution, and with it came the usual element of pimps and shady characters.
Since there were no police or anything like that, he decided to go to the South End himself. It was a long shot of course but if Oddløg got murdered behind his Inn, he wanted to make sure nothing like it happened again.
Until recently, going to town used to be a long trip with an ice skimmer boat, but the Ragnarsson Burg had three expensive Arti-Grav Skimmers and Volund loved using the expensive and luxurious Volvo. All the rich clan Chiefs had fliers and usually the expensive kind.
As he landed in the burg’s spacious courtyard, he noticed the big GM flier Isegrim his son more or less had made his own.
Near the big General Motors flier lingered a man, all dressed in gray. There were many faces he didn’t know but Volund remembered seeing the man several times in the company of Isegrim.
“Servant speak quick, have you seen my son?”
“Aye Sire, he is down at the submarine pen, most likely using the bunk of the lead boat with his guest.”
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