Doug in Asgard, part 2

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The first appearance of Doug Ramsey, Bardic Skald. "Aron" does a decent job, and Jorundr grudgingly gives Hugaldr a bigger room and the smaller one to Doug. Then things start to go downhill when Doug notices a burly warrior trying to force himself on one of the bar wenches. Insults are traded, Doug puts the big guy in an armbar, and a bar brawl ensues.



Doug plucked nervously at the lute he had helped Hugaldr repair and tune and attempted to stop scratching at his beard. At least, after three weeks, it was finally getting to the point where it _was_ a beard, and most of the people he came across had stopped calling him 'boy'. This was the first night that Hugaldr was actually letting him do some work on his own, although Hugaldr was going to be watching the whole thing from the back, and he was to stick to the pre-made script and not do any improvising. He plucked the opening notes and began with the first tale Hugaldr had taught him.

The meadhall was relatively quiet at the moment - early in the evening, before a great many customers arrived. A few long tables had men at them already, tankards already full of ale, or cups of mead at the ready, and already the stir of clattering cups and booted feet could be heard.

Hugalrd leaned against the doorway seperating the main hall from the storage room. "He'll be fine. Kid learns fast, and he listens." he said, looking over one shoulder at Jorundr. "Get a little full of himself every once in a while, but what boy doesn't."

"I still think you are putting your feet in the coals taking that one on as an apprentice. No boy that small can shout over a full meadhall of drunken warriors." Jorundr said, between bangs of the hammer he was using to sink a tap into a new barrel. "I'll grant you that he grew a beard fast enough, but he's still a boy."

Doug indeed struggled a bit at the beginning to be heard over the clatter of the meadhall, and there were a few raucous calls from the audience, but Hugaldr had been working with Doug on how to best project his voice above the noise. Once he got over his initial jitters, he settled into his performance. He wasn't a virtuoso, of course, but at least they weren't booing him out of the hall, so it was a start.

As Doug reached the end of his tale, Hugalrd again looked over his shoulder at Jorundr. "You owe me a bigger room, porskabitr. Aron is a fine bard."

Jorundr scowled. Codfish biter. Really. "Gloating is only going to get you the attention of Loki, and then we will see who is biting codfish, old man." He scratched his beard and listened to the young bard finish his story. "You let me borrow him from time to time to run messages and I'll give you the spare room, and I'll let him keep yours."

Doug finished another tale as the hall began to fill up, and a rumble of empty tankards against tables sounded, showing the customers' appreciation for his tale. He stood up gracefully and handed the lute to Hugaldr as the crowd called for the older skald to tell a story. Jorundr dropped a tankard in front of Doug as he sat down at a side table and gave him a gruff clasp on the back. "Not bad, young Aron. That's watered, but mind you sip it still. Wouldn't want you getting too drunk to sing." Doug nodded thankfully and took a slow sip, watching the bustle of the hall. Suddenly, his eyes narrowed as one of the wenches' voices began to rise as she slapped at a burly warrior's hands. It was Rannveig, who occasionally poked fun at him as he had grown his beard out, but overall had been very nice to him. Doug pushed his tankard to one side and began to move slowly toward the pair.

"Wench. I said I would pay you. What more do you want?" The large, in both the muscular sense, and the "had one too many meals" sense, man grabbed at the girl's arm. "Greedy bitch. I'll double my first offer." He stood, and set his tankard down with the overcare of someone who had drunk just a little more than he should.

Doug tapped the man on the shoulder. "What?" the warrior growled as he turned to see the young apprentice skald. "What do you want, mjóbeinn? I'm a little busy right now." Doug folded his arms as the warrior loomed over him. This was probably a staggeringly bad idea, but he just couldn't sit idly by and watch. "Well, knarrarbringa, I believe the lady has made it clear that she's not interested."

"Wenches are for leg-spreading, boy. I give her gold, she gives me what I want. She's just trying to get more out of me." He turned, and grinned at the wench. "And I just don't have any more than what I already offered her, so she's going to have to take it."

Rannvieg shook her head. "I have tables to clear. Please let me alone." She took a step back and picked up an empty tankard, as if to demonstrate that she did have work to do.

At the warrior's attempt to grab Rannveig by the shoulder and keep her from moving away, Doug tapped him on the shoulder again. "I don't think you should do that." The warrior, his patience and false good humor disappearing, growled. "Or what, skegglauss?" Doug snorted and raised a disdainful eyebrow. "Feel like finding out, körtr?" The customers surrouding the confrontation winced at the imprecation, and roaring, the warrior threw a gigantic fist toward Doug's face. Suddenly, Doug sprang into action, using one hand to brush the clumsy punch away over his shoulder, then using the other hand to force the warrior into an armbar. "I _said_ you shouldn't do that, neighbor," Doug grinned as he twisted the warrior's arm a little farther.

"Vanir brat!" A yell came from behind Doug, along with a splash of ale on the back of his tunic. The expected -thump- on the back of his head from a tankard did not, and as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw a grinning young man, tall and muscular, holding back the arm of a smaller, but less cheerful warrior.

"You're -stupid-. Brave, and noble, but -stupid-." The young man said. "I am called Arnbjorn, I hear you are Aron, and you insult idiots far too well for me to let them kill you."

There was a yell from nearby table as someone _did_ manage to hit someone else with a tankard, and that was the cue for the entire mead hall to degenerate into a brawl, with Doug doing his best to defend himself, and Arnbjorn doing his best to keep Doug from getting killed.

Translations:
mjóbeinn - slim leg, girlish
knarrabringa - big tits
skegglauss - beardless
körtr - very very short (penis)


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After the brawl, Hugaldr bawls out Doug and Arnbjorn, and Rannveig is all gooey and in love.



"What in Thor's name did you think you were -doing-, Aron?" Hugaldr bellowed. "You are -barely- half the size of any man here. I thought you had a brain in that head of yours." He folded his arms, waiting for an explanation.

Doug leaned forward with his head between his hands and spit a gobbet of blood out. "That was one of my more spectacularly bad ideas, all told," he managed around a split lip. Rannveig hovered nearby with a wet cloth, a smitten look on her face.

"One of? You have more bad ideas?" Arnbjorn said, grinning. "I like your bad ideas. That was -fun-." He rubbed the back of his head - someone had very rudely punched him there, and would probably have done so again if he hadn't punched them in the ear first.

"Don't. Encourage. Him." Hugaldr glared at Arnbjorn. "It is possible that you have even -fewer- brains than he does. "

Arnbjorn shrugged goodnaturedly and grinned irrepressibly. "So?" he replied.

Hugaldr shook his head. "You, I would expect it from. Aron, on the other hand, I expected a little more sense from you!"

Doug's eyes narrowed slightly. "It wasn't right, what that warrior was trying to do."

Hugaldr threw his hands skyward in reply. "The All-father save me from heroic idiots! You realize that you could have been _killed_, Aron?"

Arnbjorn grinned. "And he would feast and drink and fight in the halls of Valhalla for it. You should have seen him. Aron moves like a ... .. well, I don't know what he moves like, but it was like he knew that Ulfr was going to hit him and then he just pushed his hand away." The young man gestured wildly with his hands, trying to reproduce the fight in gesture form.

Hugaldr pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. "Yes, and then he would have been hit in the back of the head with a mead tankard if you hadn't been there to stop it!" He looked at Rannveig, who continued to stare raptly at Doug from the side where he couldn't notice. He shook his head. "The problem with dead heroes is that they're _dead_! Can't I get that through either of your thick skulls?"

"Then I'll just be there to stop it again the next time!" Arnbjorn said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He looked over at Doug and clapped him on the shoulder. "I owe you a tankard. Perhaps several. I haven't had a chance to be in a good fight in a while."

Hugaldr sighed. "Fine. I give up. And when you poor idiots get yourselves killed, I'll speak your funeral and tell everyone how very brave you were and gloss over the stupid part."