For our RS homework, we had to do something like a poster or a mindmap or whatever on a religious conversion. But being a writing kind of person, I decided to write about two Viking being converted by some rather smooth talking monks. I liked the characters, and decided that this would work as an Elder Scrolls story. My knowledge of Nord religious beliefs and their idea of life after death is extremely sketchy, so I’m sticking to the traditional Valhalla and Valkyries and hoping they work.
Engar and Ulf-A tale of two Nords
It had, all in all, been a rather good day, Engar decided as he hauled a sack of loot onto the ground by the campfire. Golden cups, old books and fine crockery rolled out, or in the case of the crockery, fell out and broke. He muttered a curse, but decided that’s what you got for hauling around an abbey’s fine china in sacks.
“Good haul there,” Ulf commented as he sharpened his battleaxe, his second favourite activity. His absolute favourite had to be using it, and he did so as often as possible. “I got fifteen monks. I’m sure that’s a record, you know.”
“You can only count to fifteen,” Engar pointed out. “And you always miss out a few when you get excited.”
“That’s not true,” Ulf said. “I was being careful with my counting. I used all my fingers doing it, so I couldn’t go wrong.”
“You only have ten fingers Ulf,” Engar said.
“You sure?”
“Yes, Ulf. I’m sure that you only have ten fingers.”
Ulf looked disappointed, and despondently went back to sharpening his axe. In Engar’s opinion, Ulf had an unhealthy obsession with the weapon. Whenever he wasn’t using it, he was putting a razor edge on with his lucky whetstone, and when he wasn’t sharpening it he was practising with it. He even shaved with the damn thing, and with Ulf’s inaccurate enthusiasm, Engar was still surprised he hadn’t accidentally decapitated himself with it.
Engar sat down on a tree stump, looking thoughtful.
“Ulf?” he asked. “Do you ever wonder if there’s more to life that this?”
His companion looked up from his task, giving Engar a look that said ‘I’m really not sure why you’re asking this and I don’t think I actually want to know.’ However, Ulf did what he usually did and asked anyway.
“More to life than what?”
“To looting chapels and things,” Engar said. “I mean, what’ll happen to us when we die?”
“We go to Valhalla,” Ulf replied with a certainty born of the fact he had never thought of anything this complicated. “A Valkyrie comes down from the sky and carries us off, and then we can drink and fight and eat all the time.”
“Yeah but that’s only if we die in battle,” Engar pointed out. “And against these monks I doubt we ever will. Anyway, we’re berserkers, social outcasts. Ysmir doesn’t accept us lot anyway.”
“Oh yeah, forgot that,” Ulf said. “Bloody high and mighty Ysmir, thinking he’s too good for us. When have they done a good honest day’s looting, hmm? You tell me. It’s all about this ‘War with the Giants’. I’ve never seen a bloody giant in my life and I’ve been further North than almost anyone.”
“All that’ll happen to us is we’ll go to Helheim,” Engar said. “Hardly fair if you ask me. We’ve done more than our fair share of looting, pillaging and burning, and what do we get for it? Cheek, that’s what.”
“Hardly fair,” Ulf agreed. “It’s an…what’s the word…enjistice, that’s what.”
“I think you mean injustice.”
“Probably. Look, my point is…”
Engar held up his hand for silence.
“There’s someone coming,” he said quietly.
“Can I battleaxe them?” Ulf asked eagerly.
“Probably,” Engar answered.
Ulf grinned a predatory grin.
The pair of them crept forwards through the bush towards the nearby path, and crouched in the ferns, weapons held ready. Ulf flexed his bare shoulders, the muscles having to move into position before rippling due to their sheer numbers. For a moment, the path was empty, before a pair of men dressed in the simple brown robes of a monk rounded a corner. Engar nudged Ulf and pointed out the backpack one of them was carrying, before motioning quickly and quietly for his companion to get behind them. Ulf crept away, surprisingly silent for a six foot seven man, before reaching a good spot.
The pair of monks walked by the bushes, completely unaware of the ambush about to take place.
A few moments later, the were alerted by Engar jumping out from his hiding place and roaring, followed almost immediately by Ulf appearing behind them and shouting even more noisily.
Most times, the victim would scream in terror, soil themselves and run back the way they came, only to be decapitated by Ulf. Instead, the monks did completely the opposite.
“Peace, my brothers,” he said, raising his hands. It was sufficient to confuse both Engar and Ulf, and buy the two men a little time. “We come with no treasures, save the word of our lord Akatosh.”
“Does that mean I can battleaxe them?” Ulf asked eagerly.
“No!” the monk other said, sounding rather panicked.
“What brother Zacharius means to say is that by, um, battleaxing us, his soul would be damned,” the monk said. “Along with yours.”
“We’re damned souls anyway,” Ulf said, wanting to get on with the business of murder. “So can I battleaxe them?”
“Hang on,” Engar said. “You mean there’s a way we can un-damn our souls?”
“Of course,” the unnamed monk replied. “You simply need to join the Imperial Church and pray to the Nine for forgiveness for your sins.”
“You mean you just have to say sorry and then it’s alright?”
“Roundabout. But there’s a bit more to it…”
“Hang on, hang on,” Ulf interrupted. “Can you still battleaxe people?”
“Not really, no,” Zacharius said.
“That’s rubbish,” Ulf said. “You can’t have a good religion if there’s no battleaxing people.”
The other monk once again demonstrated his skill as a smooth talker and stepped in before his companion ended up dead.
“You can,” he said. “But only if they’re heretics who refuse to repent their sins and embrace the light of the Nine.”
“How can you prove that your gods are any more real than, say, Thor or Odin?” Engar asked.
“The Nine have gifted their followers with many visions of their angels,” Zacharius said. “Indeed, did not the Grand Commander of the Knights of the Nine use the blessing of the Nine to defeat Umaril the Unfeathered?. How many visions of their followers have your gods sent to you of their servants?”
“I saw a Valkyrie once,” Ulf volunteered.
“Yes Ulf, but you’d drunk two barrels of mead,” Engar pointed out. “Sorry, but with Ulf around your God might have to send his son down to die for us again. And anyway, how do your know about Jesus anyway?”
“You see,” the monk said. “We have it all written down in our holy book.”
At this, he pulled out a large tome, its edges lined with gold leaf.
“This,” he said. “Is the Holy Book of Akatosh. It is a detailed account of the Empire’s history, about the Nine’s s and also contains a great deal of history about the Nine’s prophets.”
“I though you lot didn’t like cash,” Ulf said.
“No, not profits, prophets,” the monk said. “They’re men who have been contacted by our Nine and told to spread their word. Though greed is generally frowned upon.”
At this he frowned disapprovingly at the golden cup Engar had strapped to his belt.
“Well, that isn’t a problem,” he said. “Our lifestyle can really be quite pricy. There’s food, clothes that need replacing, horses that need replacing…”
“Wear and tear on battleaxes,” Ulf added.
“Well then,” the monk said. “Indeed it won’t be a problem for you gentlemen.”
“So how do we join?” Engar asked.
“Hang on, hang on,” Ulf said. “When did we agree to become Imperials?”
“Ulf,” Engar said. “You need to look at the bigger picture here. When we go before some god when we die, what are we going to say? No-one really believes in Ysmir any more-most of the Thanes in the Southern Skyrim are accepting the Nine now. And I’ve heard about things, you know. Miracles-lepers being cured, the blind being made able to see, the lame being allowed to walk once again. The way I see it, so many people can’t be wrong, can they?”
“Yes, but I really want to battleaxe something,” Ulf said. “I haven’t all day.”
“You got a rabbit this morning,” Engar said, determined to lever his friend out of his mental groove of murder and grievous bodily harm.
“A rabbit doesn’t count,” Ulf said, making a threatening swing at the monk called Zacharius and causing the poor man to yelp and leap back. “And the way I see it, there are a lot less people to battleaxe if do become Imperial.”
“Yes,” Zacharius pointed out. “But it’s alright if you battleaxe them.”
“You mean no-one will mind?” Ulf asked. “Whatsoever?”
“No-one at all,” the other monk pointed out. “You’ll even get rewarded for killing heretics in the afterlife.”
Ulf weighed up the advantages of his murderous habit being condoned and the fact that he could kill someone right now.
“Sounds good to me,” he said eventually.
“Brilliant,” the monk said. “All you need to do is go to a chapel and pray at the Altar for forgiveness.”
“We’ll do that then,” Engar said.
“Good, good,” the monk said. “Could we continue then?”
“Alright then, off you go,” Engar answered.
The two men fled up the path with speed that would impress an Olympic athlete. Ulf and Engar stood where they were for a short while, thinking through their decision.
“Bloody hell,” Ulf announced. “Those must be the smoothest talking monks I’ve ever met.”
FIN