That night, in a tavern located near the town hall.
"Hmmm..." Ruvic held the sheet of paper on the table, gouging himself with a slice of dried meat in his other hand.
"I see a pretty lady with fish fins for legs?"
"Do you not see anything weird?" asked a fat man who was across him.
"What do you mean?" Ruvic replied, confused.
"Take a look at this picture." The man pulls out a picture of an orc, displaying the overwhelming savagery of its nature.
"This one kinda looks like you."
Ruvic raised an eyebrow. He was clearly offended, comparing him to that of an orc, even though it has a lot of muscle and a large battleaxe. The tooth on the other hand was too large to even fit in the mouth.
"I only jest." The man sipped from his mug.
"These drawings are from that child? I must say, these are really better than the women could knit together. But what does it have to do with me?"
"Weren't you a pagan before you were baptized? Surely these creatures are familiar to you?"
"Siiiiiigghhh... Then what does it have to do with you, Cuthbard?" Ruvic could only guess why.
"Well... Father Donavic asked me. It was the least I could do." Cuthbard answered.
He knew Father Donavic and Ruvic didn't get along. Despite Father Donavic's virtuous devotion to cleanse the soul, Ruvic was a pagan at one point... A raiding Viking who arrived on the British Isle to pillage. Somehow, he still feels that Father Donavic still mistrusts him despite renouncing his gods.
"Of all the people he is asking for help, he's looking if this former pagan over some children's drawing. You Angles sure are weird."
"Well, thanks for helping anyway. At least you provide some reassurance for Father Donavic."
"Yeah well, the priest should be the one thanking me." Ruvic jugged his mug.
As Cuthbard tried to sort the papers, one picture caught Ruvic's eye.
"Hold." Ruvic held Cuthbard's wrist as he took one of the papers.
He rubbed his eyes as he stared down at the drawing.
"What is it?"
"...."
"Ruvic? I know the boy's drawing is pretty, but please don't jerk off to it."
"....."
"Ruvic?"
"This drawing I recognize."
"Shite Ruvic, you scared me. What is it? The long ear one?"
"It has a name."
"Huh?"
"Dökkálfar... No... Ljósálfar?"
---------------------------------------------
"Fuck it, if you want to get shit done, you gotta do it yourself," I told myself.
The embarrassing spanking shred off whatever dignity I had, especially the stinging pain that old wench could muster.
Sneaking out of the dorm in the dread of night, I decided to perform a reconnaissance around the village. If I want to lift myself out of serfdom, I must make profits. What better way to make profits than to scout out strategic resources available to me?
It wasn't easy. Each rugged plank I step could squeak, each door I opened could creek, but most importantly, each room I pass is just a ticking time bomb, ready to spring out that vile witch with a belt.
Nevertheless, I managed to escape and begin my search.
The entire village was enshrouded in darkness, with the only light sources being the stars and the moon. At least some torches are lit near the village's walls, though fortunately, there are fewer patrols. I could only guess that these men were more concerned about what was outside the walls than within.
The wilderness isn't the only thing a person should worry about. In this period, bandits and criminals were far more common than they would be in developing areas.
Unfortunately, the village didn't particularly produce anything of value. Other than the livestock and vegetation, I garner that the lord in charge of the village wasn't keen on development.
Thus, I decided to take my chances outside.
The makeshift walls looked shagged and rugged that I might loosen them to squeeze through them. Then again, someone is bound to check from time to time and such consequences are far more devastating than necessary.
I couldn't be any more grateful to have a small stature. However, after contemplating my situation, the only thing useful this body can muster is the black hair sticking out my head. Sure, short means small enough to hide behind some crates, however, it isn't useful when I'm trying to exit out the front door.
While thinking about my option of escape, I noticed a wagon rolling toward the gates. The coach must have been dropping off his wares and heading back to his abode. I don't know if the owner lives either on the outskirts or in another village, but I decided to hide in it.
I scurry quickly behind the cart before the gate's torchlight can reveal my presence.
Luckily, there was a blanket, making it easier to hide myself.
"Oi, open the gates, I want to leave before first sunlight."
"Leaving during this night? Can't you just stay in the taverns? Bloody bandits will make a fine picking out of you."
"Which is why I must head home this time. The night is just as dark for me as it is for them. Besides, there haven't been raids for some time."
"That, I will not concur. Very well, safe travels."
It was hard to determine if I had left through the gates. I didn't want to peek out and jinx myself.
Though I could feel the wheels moving off after that exchange, I had to bide my time until I was sure I gained some distance from the vicinity.
Sure enough, after seeing the lights dimmed through the blanket, I quietly revealed myself. It seems the coach hasn't noticed, thus I quickly crawl off the wagon.
Looking around my surroundings, I can see the village in the distance. It seemed much larger than I expected, given that I lived there.
Enough of that, I need to continue to make my survey around this land.
Despite being unprepared, you think I should've known better than to head outside unarmed. Well, if I had to 'borrow' some dandy weapon, or if any other items that might help, I'd find my head on a chopping board.
You think I would be overexaggerating, but these Europeans will literally tear my hands apart the moment I touch unpurchased merchandise. Even during the Enlightenment era, such practices remain common, if not by hanging.
Besides, I'm dirt poor.
I begin to mark my pathway as I travel through the forest off-road by leaving a trail of straws I kept in my makeshift bag.
Though I may not have experience in foraging plants and identifying their properties, nor do I have any knowledge of excavating ore veins, I only need to gather a mere sample of them and record after.
Thus, I begin to set in motion.
----------------------------
*Knock* *Knock* *Knock*
The sound came from the door.
Father Donavic opened the door, revealing Ruvic and Cuthbard.
Of course, as it is dictated by the clergy law, no weapons are allowed inside the holy chapel, so Ruvic reluctantly left his sword beside the door.
"Ah, come in. It is a cold and quiet night and I would not wish for others to be awake at our expense."
As they entered the church, Father Donavic gestured them to sit at the pews. The three men sit down, while Cuthbard pulls out the papers and sets them on the chair.
"So... Is there anything that you recognized?" Donavic inquisitive gaze stared at Ruvic.
"Hmm? The children's drawings? They are very nice." He darted back.
Something didn't sit right in Cuthbard's gut, but he couldn't help the tension between the zealous priest and the redeemed Norseman.
"Is that so? Nothing in particular that stands out?"
"Yeah, the women are far too pretty. Where did the boy see them?"
"That's not the question at stake."
.....
"Well... I better head back home. My wife is probably wondering where I ran off to"
"Sit down." "Sit down."
Cuthbard knew when to shut his trap, but why must he be involved?
"If you haven't told your petty grievances to this lard, I'd still be drinking."
"What of it? It is every man's virtuous duty to save his fellow man's woes. I have need of his assistance to help mend the poor boy's soul before hell could get its grasp upon him."
"Over mere drawings? You Anglo-Saxons are petty enough to be more like the French! Unlike them, at least they're smug enough to flaunt their coins. Your's are a poor imitation."
"How dare you sir! I'll have you know that the Vatican and the Pope properly bless each and every church built by our king Æthelstan."
"Hmmph! It still doesn't explain why a priest like you should be bugging into a kid's imagination."
"You of all people should know that."
...
"So umm... What was the question again?" Cuthbard nervously smiled.
It took a moment for the two to vent their frustrations, but eventually, Donavic finally broke the silence.
"Ruvic. Do you recognize any of these drawings?"
"... A few."
"Jesus, have mercy." Donavic gestures a cross sign.
"Couldn't it be a coincidence? Surely the boy isn't a heretic if he has been living in the church?"
"It's complicated. Nothelm had a fever, and the physician from that time before couldn't cure the child. But by the graceful miracle, he stood up."
"I heard about that. The physician that time rambled about how the kid wasn't going to survive at least a week."
"That's not the full story."
....
"What do you mean?" Asked Ruvic.
Father Donavic took a deep breath as he ready himself.
"After Nothelm's recovery, he spoke a different language."
"Father Donavic, you don't suggest that the boy is being possessed?"
"I have already performed the basic requirement of exorcism. After that, we had to educate him once more of our common tongue. His accent remains to be seen."
Father Donavic stood up as he walked toward the statue of Jesus hanging on the cross.
"No demons can enter the church, as decree by the holy father and by his holiness the pope. But those pictures that Nothelm drew, I fear the worst."
Ruvic remains silent as he contemplates his mind. He then took two pictures from the stack.
"Before I became a Christian, we had two mythologies."
Ruvic shows a picture of a giant and an elf.
"The Jötunn I show here are compared as demons to your religion, giant monsters of ice and fire that will one day fight in the final battle of Ragnarök against the Æsir."
"However, this picture I show here... I remain unsure, but I believe it must be Ljósálfar. Even today, the Ljósálfar remains a mystery as the Vanir and Æsir weren't on the best of terms until the marriage between Freya and Odin."
"So, in other words, the boy has embraced pagans?" Cuthbard questioned.
Father Donavic remains silent. He knew it was his duty to the boy and god that he must do what needed to be done, but something didn't add up.
"If that was the case, he wouldn't draw an angel." The priest reveals two papers from his sleeve as he stands and walks towards them.
It was the only two drawings that Nothelm had drawn, depicting a demon and an angel.
"Oh ho? So that little runt taste forbidden fruit?" Ruvic took a closer look at the demoness.
"Jesus Christ, he's in heaven. How can someone draw an angel with grace?" Cuthbard gleefully said.
"If these art are the work of Satan, then I will see to it the boy repents for his sins."
Father Donavic turned his head back to the altar.
"The holy spirits are testing us, to see which path the boy will take, be it the love of heaven, or the damnation of hell. Which is why I would like to send him somewhere else."
The two men looked at the priest as he spoke his idea.
-----------------------------
"What the hell!?" I gasped.
I found myself in front of a carcass, with my hand raised in the direction where the trees were destroyed. Even still, my hand brimmed a faint blue glow.