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Chapter 1

Snap Wilson

Sergeant
59 Badges
Apr 6, 2012
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I wake up, freezing, cold air burning my lungs, bleary-eyed and hung over, staring up at snow-covered trees and a grey, cloudy morning sky. I sit up, my body aching from lying on hard, naked forest floor and wait, why the hell am I waking up outside? And where am I?

As much as it hurts, I try to recall what happened last night. I met some friends at Sparky's, our local watering hole. I talked to a cute girl, we had a couple of drinks... everything after that is foggy. I look around. Nothing but giant fir trees... are these fir trees? I don't know, I'm not a tree expert. They look like the biggest Christmas trees I've ever seen.

1600663522616.png

Pictured: some kind of trees.

I figure I passed out at some point and Bruce and Toby are playing some kind of prank on me, hiding somewhere a few yards away.

"Hello?" I shout, annoyed, and my head rings at the sound of my own yelling. "Ha ha, very funny, good joke, guys."

But it doesn't snow in Santa Monica, so they, what, drove four hours out to Mammoth? And then dragged me out into the middle of the woods? Those guys aren't that motivated or in any kind of shape to carry me more than a few yards, but I don't see a road nearby.

I check the back pocket of my jeans for my phone, thankfully still there, to look at GPS and see where the heck I am. It's battery life is at 15% and there's no signal, so I shut it off in case I need to use it later.

"Hello?" I shout again, and I can hear the fear ringing at my own voice. I have no idea where I am, I feel like crap, I'm nauseous, I'm dehydrated, I'm wearing nothing but a Sonic Youth t-shirt and jeans and it's so cold my teeth won't stop chattering and I might die of hypothermia because my friends decided to play a stupid joke on me. I check my pockets for anything that might be useful. Wallet, check, ID, credit cards and the spare cash I carry around accounted for. Car keys, check. Leatherman tool looped around my belt like a dork, check. I fish in my front pockets and find something crumpled up, a bar napkin with some writing on it.

"Welcome to your new life, Dan. Make the most of it. -- Sasha"

I stare stupidly at the cocktail napkin before stuffing it back in my pocket. Sasha, wasn't that the girl last night? A sharp pain splits my head as I try to remember, and survival instinct and rising panic kick in and spur me forward.

"HELLO? HELLO?" I start yelling despite the pain, walking forward, looking for signs of anything but trees and mountains and snow. If I stay here, I'm going to die. I need shelter, and food, and water. Is it safe to eat snow for the water? I think it's safe.

I hear a muffled shout in the distance, definitely human. Oh Jesus, oh thank God, I repeat to myself even though I'm the opposite of religious. I start heading towards the voices and hear the echo of multiple somethings trampling through the forest from a ways off.

"HELLO? HELLO? I NEED HELP!" I keep yelling. I break into a run, keeping waves of nausea at bay. I swear, I'm going to kill Bruce and Toby when I see them. More shouting in return, closer this time, although I can't make out what they're saying, and I hear the increased sound of trampling heading quickly towards me. That sounds like... horses? They ride horses out here? I come to a clearing when I see them come out of the trees.

1600666598474.png

Like these guys, but they're real and not actors on A&E and it's snowing and they're on horses. Look, use your imagination.

What the f**k.
 
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Well, Dan's found himself in a bad situation.
 
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Chapter 2
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Okay, let me back up. I'm Dan Hanson, 25-year old tech support analyst at a law firm in West Los Angeles. Hi, nice to meet you. I like fiddling around with computers, listening to rock music that was released before I was born, and playing pickup basketball. Go Clippers! We got Kawhi, we got PG, I really think we can win it all this year. (Ed. note: Dan disappeared a few weeks ago. Nobody tell him what happened.) That's me in the picture, but let's be real, I'm not anyone's Champion. If Snap didn't click that button I'm wearing some stupid cap and there's no way I was taking a picture in that cap. I'm no warrior, but I have to admit I look pretty dope in this armor. What else? "Analytic Atheist," heh, sure. I'm not French, though, but "Californian" wasn't an option and this is pretty close to what I look like anyway. I got a two-year degree in Computer Engineering at Cal Poly, not Stewardship, but I'm pretty good at math, so close enough. And yeah, no wife or girlfriend for that matter, thanks for pointing that out. Anyway, I spend most of the first part of this story pretty rattled and I'm not always like that, so I just wanted to step out, break the fourth wall a bit and say hey. Back to the story.

Note from Snap: This story will not be historically accurate. Just think of it as an alternate universe or something and go with it. Thanks!

-----------------------------------------------------------------

This is weird. This is very weird. They have to be shooting a movie out here, that's the only explanation.

"Hey guys, I'm really sorry to interrupt, but I'm lost out here and I can't get any service. Can you guys direct me to a phone?"

They're all staring at me in confusion, when one turns to the other and says something I don't understand. It's definitely not English. Maybe it's a foreign film crew? One guy reaches over his shoulder and pulls out a spear that definitely looks like more than a movie prop and suddenly there's a debate going on between them. What language is that? They seem tense, and suddenly I'm worried.

"Uh, does anyone speak English? Can anyone tell me where I am?"

They're ignoring me, arguing amongst themselves and the leader(?) suddenly says Carl over and over again. Who is Carl? I'm starting to think I might not be in California any more. They've arrived at a decision, and one of them gets down from their horse and draws his sword. Holy sh**.

"American!" I shout, not being able to think of anything else to say. "I'm American!" I hold my hands up in the universal pose of surrender, and sword guy starts yelling at me in The Language I Don't Understand, so I get down on my knees and he moves around behind me and kicks me, hard, down to my stomach and I suddenly realize these guys are not actors. He kneels down on my back and sheathes his sword, to my relief. Someone throws him some rope and he binds my wrists so hard I can feel the blood rush out of my hands. My adrenaline is spiking to the point I've forgotten that I'm freezing and hung over and everything else other than that I'm being arrested by Viking cops.

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Some images are really fun to look up in Google.

The terror comes out as a hysterical giggle. This apparently makes Sword Guy angry, because he says something that sounds angry and punches me in the back of the head, and now I'm seeing stars and I feel like I'm going to throw up again. He pats me down and digs through my pockets, pulling out my phone, wallet, keys, looking at each item quizzically before tossing them to another guy who puts everything in the satchel. He pulls out the napkin with writing and brings it to the leader to show him.

"Aangle?" Sword guy asks and the leader mutters something about Carl again and they stuff it into the satchel with the rest of my stuff. Maybe Carl speaks English? He binds my leg and they throw me over the back of one of the horses and we're off. To see Carl, I hope.

A long and painful trip through the forest and we've arrived at wherever. There's one big long building that looks entirely made out of wood and a couple of smaller buildings that look like barns or something and men and women milling around doing chores, and some kids running around playing, swinging tiny wooden swords at each other and babbling, unsurprisingly at this point, in a language I don't understand. And there are goats. I hear a lot of dogs barking from somewhere, and it makes me nervous (I'm not a dog guy). Where am I? What is this place? Is this like the Viking version of an Amish community or something? Despite the rough treatment, I hope Carl can sort this out and I can make a call and charge my phone and maybe get some food and aspirin.

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Only $525 a night on Valhalla B&B!

We approach the main building and Spear Guy pushes me off the horse and I slam into the ground, knocking the wind out of me. Buddy, wait until Carl hears about this. He cuts through the rope around my legs and hoists me up, pushing me roughly towards the main building. I can feel everyone staring at me. We head inside the door of the building and the rush of activity inside, men and women sweeping the expansive wooden floor, wiping down tables, cleaning armor, sharpening swords, etc. grinds to a halt as everyone stares at me. Everyone watches as we head towards one end of the hall towards a group of men talking quietly around a table. They all look up towards me, including one guy who I instinctively know must be the leader, mostly because he's dressed a little better than everyone else. This must be Carl.

1600673272852.png

You probably already guessed that his name isn't Carl.

"Hello, sir, do you speak English? I think there's been some sort of misunderstan--" One of my escorts punches me hard in my stomach and for the second time in ten minutes I feel all the air go out of me and the vomit that's been threatening to come out all morning expels on to the wooden floor. The guys I rode in with chat with the leader (who I will discover later is not named Carl) like nothing happened. They empty the satchel with my stuff onto the table (my cell phone screen cracks and I briefly wonder if AppleCare covers anything like this) and start pouring over everything. They seem uninterested in my phone, keys and wallet, moderately more interested in my driver's license with my picture on it and the bit of paper money I have, and entirely fascinated with my Leatherman tool. It takes Not Carl a bit to figure out how it works, but when he pulls out the small knife attachment and mimics stabbing motions, everyone breaks out in raucous laughter, and I now I know for sure he's the boss, because over-laughing at your boss's joke is something that transcends culture. Everyone gets serious when he looks at the note, and the words "spion" gets said more than once. Spy? They think I'm a spy? Do they think America is going to attack Viking Cosplay Land?

I must be on the right track because everyone is agitated now, yelling "spion" and I feel a dagger at my throat.

"No! No spion! I'm not a spy!" I say, closing my eyes, preparing for the worst.

Not Carl says the Viking version of "hold up" and then says something about Godi. The dogs outside start barking up a storm and I immediately stiffen up. Not Carl seems to notice, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. He says something about "hunds" and two of the men start dragging me off outside. Oh god, they're going to feed me to the hounds. That son of a b*tch. He realized I'm scared of dogs and thinks it's funny to kill me this way, being torn to pieces. Sure enough, we're headed towards a small structure that's basically a pen with a roof over it, and the barking coming from within gets more excited the closer we come to it. At this point, I wonder I start asking them to show some mercy and just run me through with a sword. One of the men opens the door and the other shoves me inside with a laugh. I hit the ground, the odor of dog crap filling my nostrils and making me want to heave all over again. The barking is insanely loud, bouncing off of everything. I look up, and the barks are replaced by growls and snarls. A dozen sets of fangs are bared at me. A dozen jaws leap forward to attack.

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The fuzzy faces of terror!
 
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A pretty pickle to be landed in.
 
A modern day character thrown into universe fanfic plotline? In ck3?

Ok. But these norse guys are all going to die of modern viruses in a few days or so...
 
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A pretty pickle to be landed in.

The prettiest.

A modern day character thrown into universe fanfic plotline? In ck3?

Ok. But these norse guys are all going to die of modern viruses in a few days or so...

Or Dan could die of any of the microbes our modern bodies aren't accustomed to. Time travel movies should be a lot shorter!

Thanks for commenting, folks, update coming soon.
 
Or Dan could die of any of the microbes our modern bodies aren't accustomed to. Time travel movies should be a lot shorter!

First time he eats something, yeah.
 
I feel bad for Dan...

Ah, whatever... I'm sure he'll be fine...
 
Chapter 3
Okay, so "attack" might be something of an exaggeration. The dogs growl and snap a bit but when I do nothing more but lie petrified on the ground trying not to piss myself, they give me a sniff and decide I'm not a threat, going back to milling about the kennel. I crawl to the corner with the least amount of poop and huddle up against the cold, eventually passing out from sheer exhaustion.

I wake up to the sound of the dogs going crazy again as two of Not Carl's soldiers approached the kennels.

"Hundesviller!" One of them calls out with a laugh, and I discern correctly he's talking to me. He gestures me out. It will take me a while to find out what "Hundsviller" means. Have to be honest, I don't like it.

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It took me like half an hour to figure out to put in a custom nickname, please clap.

We trek up again into the main hall, and this time I'm not such a subject of interest. The crazy, dirty American is just part of the scenery now. I'm ushered into the Viking hall equivalent of an office, a place with some chairs and a table that has a giant map of what looks like Western Europe laid on top of it. There's some writing across each of the land masses and some of the oceans, and it looks faintly like the alphabet I recognize, but I can't understand any of it. A guy I don't recognize sits at one chair facing the entrance, with my stuff scattered in front of him, judging me carefully as I walk in, and I'm shoved into a chair opposite him. Not Carl, whose name turns out to be Gudmundr, is there as well, staring at me impassively. He speaks to the other man, whose name I interpret to be Klas.

1600742920655.png


Klas is looking at my ID with my picture. He gingerly faces it towards me and points to my picture, and points to me.

"Yeah, that's me," I nod, and he seems to grasp the affirmative. "Dan. Dan Hanson."

"Hansson?" Gudmundr looks to his two men. "Hans?" They both shrug and shake their heads.

Klas looks at me again, running his fingers along the lines of text, looking at me inquiringly.

I snatch my ID from him, feeling the guards flinch behind me before Klas stops them with an upraised palm. I turn it toward him, drawing my finger along each line. "Dan Hanson. Date of birth, January 25, 1995. Address: 2482 West Montclair Drive, Santa Monica, California. Driver's license!" I slap it down in front of him. I pick up the dollar bills. "Dollars... money!" I rub my fingers together to try to get the message across.

A light bulb goes off in his head as he stares at the paper. "Gelt?"

"Yes! Gelt!" That sounds right. "I give you gelt!" I yell, gesturing my meaning. "I just need... a phone." These people have never heard of a phone. "American! American?" Blank stares. I point to the Western end of the map, west of France and trail my finger off west a ways, off the table before stabbing the air. "America!" I point to myself. "American!"

That did it. They're all staring at me with wide eyes. They get it now. Then they start laughing. I don't get it. Gudmundr picks up a little wooden boat figurine and pushes it along the map, retracing my path and let's the boat clatter to the floor. He looks at me expectantly and crosses his arms.

It takes me a minute. These idiots think the world is flat. A sinking feeling starts to rise up from the pit of my stomach.

"Where..." I gesture all around us. "Where are we?" I point at the map. Klas understands. He points to the middle of the land mass near the top. Scandinavia. His finger puts us somewhere in Sweden, I think. I curse myself for not knowing geography better. It's impossible that I've wound up in Sweden overnight, but I've stopped questioning the impossibility of things.

Gudmundr shakes his head and tells Klas something, gesturing at me dismissively. He thinks I'm crazy. He wants to take me behind the Viking woodshed and put an axe through my skull. Klas is arguing for my life, gesturing at my stuff. He pulls apart the leathermen. That's right, a crazy person doesn't have stuff like this. Klas is practically begging now, gesturing at the map, pointing to England, at the writing scrawled on it and looking at me expectantly.

"I can't read..." I start to look around at them hopelessly and then I see it. Klas's eyes wide, full of hope. Gudmundr, anger rising like a volcano. No, not anger. Frustration. And I get it now. They can't read it either. This isn't their map! They took it. Stole it. Pillaged it, whatever. And they don't care about the map, they care about the words. They can't read the words. And they have a bunch of other things with those words.

Well, I can't read the words either, but they don't need to know that.

"ENGLAND!" I shout, slapping my hand on Great Britain.

"Aangl..." whispers Klas wondrously. He looks like a kid who's discovered fireflies.

I pretend to study the words further. "France," I say, pointing to the words where France is.

"Frank," Gudmundr nods.

"Germany." I say pointing at the mass to the right of it. They look at each other questioningly. They know it as something else entirely. "Germany," I repeat, sounding very certain. They don't correct me.

I do a few more countries that are obvious to me before my geographical knowledge starts to get less certain and then feign collapse, gesturing that I need food and water. Gudmundr is of a mind to beat further productivity out of me, but Klas talks him out of it.

And that's how I , Dan Hanson, tech support analyst, became Assistant Godi of Neeric. My story is just beginning.

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It took me like half an hour to figure out to put in a custom nickname, please clap

How you do that?

It takes me a minute. These idiots think the world is flat. A sinking feeling starts to rise up from the pit of my stomach.

If there's one group of people who know the earth isn't flat, its the vikings. If this is the earliest start possible so far, they are just about to discover Iceland for the first time and a few decades away from sailing across the Atlantic. But most people thought it was a globe of some kind, since it's a self-evident bit of logic to watch ships dissappear over the horizon and then come back, and the Greeks figured it out mathematically a thousand years prior. Everyone touched by the Romans and with an education thus knew the basic shape of the planet, and though Scandinavia doesn't fit that bill, most of the maps of the time demonstrate this knowledge (being a circle with the 'world' as they knew it drawn on).

That being said, everyone 'knew' that the sea that connected asia to Europe was huge (Pacific and Atlantic put together) so Dan claiming to be a sea person from that region, probably an island of some kind, might be believed (eventually). After all, the vikings did keep finding new islands out there...

I'm enjoying this so far. He's still in denial over it all, but begining to see he's not just stuck there, but this isn't modern times either.
 
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Well he surely possess unknown knowledge :)
 
How you do that?

[Crusader Kings III\game\common\nicknames\00_nicknames.txt]

add

nick_the_dogsleeper = {}

[Crusader Kings III\game\localization\english\nicknames_l_english.yml]

Open with a text editor (I used Notepad++)

add

nick_the_dogsleeper:0 "the Dog-sleeper"

https://ck3.paradoxwikis.com/Console_commands should get you the rest of the way.

If there's one group of people who know the earth isn't flat, its the vikings. If this is the earliest start possible so far, they are just about to discover Iceland for the first time and a few decades away from sailing across the Atlantic. But most people thought it was a globe of some kind, since it's a self-evident bit of logic to watch ships dissappear over the horizon and then come back, and the Greeks figured it out mathematically a thousand years prior. Everyone touched by the Romans and with an education thus knew the basic shape of the planet, and though Scandinavia doesn't fit that bill, most of the maps of the time demonstrate this knowledge (being a circle with the 'world' as they knew it drawn on).

That being said, everyone 'knew' that the sea that connected asia to Europe was huge (Pacific and Atlantic put together) so Dan claiming to be a sea person from that region, probably an island of some kind, might be believed (eventually). After all, the vikings did keep finding new islands out there...

Interesting! Leif Erikson crossed my mind but then I checked the date and saw that he was a good century out. This will not be the last thing I get wrong. Hopefully, it doesn't diminish overall enjoyment of the story.

I'm enjoying this so far. He's still in denial over it all, but begining to see he's not just stuck there, but this isn't modern times either.

Glad to hear it.

Well he surely possess unknown knowledge :)

Wait until he tells these guys about the internet. They may change their minds about killing him.

Thanks for the comments, folks! Thread feedback is the mana of life.
 
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[Crusader Kings III\game\common\nicknames\00_nicknames.txt]

add

nick_the_dogsleeper = {}

[Crusader Kings III\game\localization\english\nicknames_l_english.yml]

Open with a text editor (I used Notepad++)

add

nick_the_dogsleeper:0 "the Dog-sleeper"

https://ck3.paradoxwikis.com/Console_commands should get you the rest of the way.

Yeah, same as ck2 console commands. Was just wondering if there was an ingame method, since family mottos and such are now customisable.

Interesting! Leif Erikson crossed my mind but then I checked the date and saw that he was a good century out. This will not be the last thing I get wrong. Hopefully, it doesn't diminish overall enjoyment of the story.

In general, if the idea is purely observational or simple logic, people have always had at least some inkling of it. Heart beats, blood pumps, thus tornique a wound. Bad smells = rot = sickness. Sanitation and cleanliness = good. World is obviously round etc.

People aren't idiots (usually) but the written record of, for example, medical 'thought' and the strange beliefs of later monarchs make the dark ages and medieval periods as completely batshit. Only exceptions were cities and specific places like Royal courts where tech really didn't allow for clean living. But even towns were pretty strict with hygiene. No dumping upstream of the town river for example.

Its not really a dampner on the story but just noticeable for those interested in history.
 
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The "Dog-sleeper"? Lol...

Dan seems to be settling in nicely...
 
Dan needs to try and put a new spin on his nickname, try to get them to call him the Sleeping Dog, so he sounds a little more dangerous, someone to leave alone.
 
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The "Dog-sleeper"? Lol...

Dan seems to be settling in nicely...

Those Vikings with their sick burns. Dan's doing pretty well, all things considered.

Dan needs to try and put a new spin on his nickname, try to get them to call him the Sleeping Dog, so he sounds a little more dangerous, someone to leave alone.

Ohhhh hmmmmmmmm....
 
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Chapter 4
So "Assistant Godi of Neeric" intially meant "slave" with a few extra chores. The moment we left the room, a bruiser named Thorvik grabbed me and hauled me back outside. I briefly thought Gudmundr had changed his mind and he was going to have me killed anyway, but no, we walked about 50 yards down to the shore of a lake where there was a collection of buckets waiting.

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Drone shot of settlement next to lake.

There were other dudes (I discovered they were called huscarls) grabbing buckets, filling them with the lake water, and hauling them two at a time on poles laid across their shoulders back to the Viking mansion and Thorvik indicated he wanted me to do the same thing. Well, I wound up disappointing him, because that sh** is harder than it looks. I mean, I'm in decent shape, I go to the gym three times a week and play basketball five times a week, but those buckets had to weigh 40 pounds each and trying to carry them across uneven, occasionally slippery ground caused me to faceplant more than once. To Thorvik's credit, he didn't hit me, which seemed to be the usual Viking way of expressing disappointment, he would just haul me back to my feet while all the other huscarls snickered and we'd try again. I managed to get eight buckets total back to base camp before nightfall. Then the threw me into a storeroom, gave me a bowl with some kind of meat (goat, I think) and vegetables in a brown stew and a blanket made out of coarse hair that was really itchy, and locked the door until morning.

My clothes didn't survive the second day. Apparently Astrid, Gudmundr's wife, thought I looked too weird if I was going to stick around and demanded my clothes be burned. She provided me with some clothes that used to belong to one of their people who was killed by an animal. Okay, okay, you guys can see the stupid cap now. Ugh.

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-21 fashion sense

And that was my life for the next few weeks. Thorvik dragging me around to do stuff: Carry buckets of water, sweep floors, feed the dogs (I got over my fear of dogs). Every few nights, Klas would give me a new book or scroll written in the same scrawl that was on the map and I'd try to make heads or tails of it. The surprising thing was I started to really get into it. I picked up the alphabet and even some common words. I wanted to take notes, but they didn't have pen and paper lying around. They did have some charcoal and I set aside one corner of my storeroom prison to write notes down on the walls and floors. Thorvik saw them one day when he went to wake me up and showed Gudmundr, and I guess he was impressed, because I stopped being on junior huscarl duty.

Even if I was starting to grasp at least the basic concepts of the stuff I was reading, I still had to communicate it to Klas, and that was an ordeal in itself. They decided to get me a Viking tutor. Klas was too busy for that, so they assigned me a girl named Elisabet to teach me.


1600926584022.png


I like Betty. She's a tiny girl, but she doesn't take crap from anyone, plus she's always been nice to me. And she's a good teacher as well. I'm starting to pick up on the basics of the language, as well as the lay of the land. This place is called Neeric. Gudmundr is a Karl (not Carl, geez, I'm an idiot) which is kind of like a Viking tribal chief and he works for a Jarl, which is like the upgraded version of a Karl, named Bjorn or "Ironside" which is a pretty badass name for a Viking to have.

1600927293957.png


In a few weeks Jormundr and a bunch of other Karls are meeting up for a big powwow with Jarl Bjorn to pay respects and kiss the ring and whatever else Vikings do at big meetups, and I'm tagging along so Gudmundr can show me off or something.

During one of my late night sessions with Klas, I have my first existential freakout. He's explaining to me in Viking, along with accompanying charcoal drawings, how Jarl Bjorn and his brothers are all at war with some guy named Aella, who killed their dad. He's explaining who everyone is, and something starts to gnaw at me. Ragnarr Lodbrok, Ivar the Boneless, Halfdan Whiteshirt, I've heard this story before.

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This is some well-known Viking shit, I'm almost positive these dudes are in Wikipedia, where do I know them from? Toby would know, he's the big history nerd. And then it hits me. That stupid game he was always trying to get me to try, some medieval ruler game where you could make your kids have sex. I couldn't make sense of it and the battles were just little dudes on a map, so I didn't spend much time trying, but I'm pretty sure the character I played was that Whiteshirt guy. But that can't be right, that was like Middle Ages, right? Are these guys recreating the story?

I try to ask Klas what year it is, but you try to translate "year" or "time" in another language to a guy who doesn't have a calendar handy and has never seen a wristwatch, and probably keeps track of time in an entirely different way than you do. Anyway, he doesn't get it, so I give up, but I'm officially freaked out. I read that Cracked article on time travel. I've been eating food and drinking water here for weeks now, I should be dead or at least really sick, so what gives? Either I'm still in the present or else I'm really lucky, so what gives?

I eventually calm down. There's no sense in freaking out about it since I can't do anything about it anyway. Later that night in my storeroom, I think about the cocktail napkins Sasha left in my pocket.

"Welcome to your new life, Dan. Make the most of it."

What did she mean by that? And why me?
 
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Its all about to kick off then, with several invasions of England. He'll be genuinely useful for some of it too, if he remembered history or geography.
 
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