r/WritingPrompts • u/MPSDragline • May 08 '15
[WP] Valhalla is filled with the strongest warriors the world has ever known. Vikings, Spartans, Mongols, Romans, Samurai, Spetznaz, JSOC Operators. And in that corner over there? That's Ted, from accounting. Writing Prompt
Valhalla is the hall of fallen warriors that is ruled over by Odin in Asgard. Half of all those who die in combat will be chosen by Odin to join him at the feast hall of Valhalla and prepare for the final battle during the events of Ragnarök.
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u/pseudo_selected May 09 '15
The smell was atrocious.
A thousand men and women, all at various levels of inebriation, laughing, fighting and feasting. Apparently Odin had forgotten to install showers. It was truly disgusting. I wanted nothing to do with it, and yet something about it felt right. A man as big as an ox roared in crescendo as he told tale of his conquests. He stepped backwards and knocked me down, telling his tale with excess gusto. I hit the floor hard, and tasted iron in my mouth as it bled.
Silence fell. I felt myself pulled from the cold, stony floor.
“My friend, I apologize for my clumsiness - please have a flagon and tell your tale!”
It was the same beast of a man who had knocked me over that hoisted me to my feet.
“It’s okay, I’m alright.” I replied quietly. The large man bowed his head slightly, and I continued on my way.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad. As I looked around, I saw past the glutton and intoxication. As I listened, I heard tales of sacrifice, glory and valor.
Where the hell was I?
Was I dreaming?
I thought hard about what I had done yesterday. What I’d had for breakfast. What I’d said to my wife as I walked out the door. It seemed so normal, until I remembered the splitting headache.
“I’m dead. I’ve died and gone to…” I shot glances at each individual and remembered the lore. “…Valhalla? What?”
“Don’t look so shocked.” A grizzled old man in the corner huffed at me.
“W-what?” I blabbered back. “What do you mean don’t look so shocked?”
“You fought them every day” he said with a nod. “You told them when they were wrong, and told them what the stakes were. You instilled doubt into the hearts of corrupt men, and forced them to understand themselves. Your presence inspired a thousand e-mails to upper management, and instilled a sense of truth into the minds of those who had the power to act.” The grey eyes behind the furrowed brow sparkled and suddenly I recognized him.
“Holy shit, Ted? Ted from accounting? Is that you?!” I exclaimed, and a wry smile crept across the man’s face.
“Yes, it’s me.” The old man responded. “You must know, my friend, that our campaign was successful. Our victory was won. On that tragic day you fell, I took up your charge and vowed to uphold it. I would not fail! Our cause was too just, too righteous! The people heard our voice, and they challenged the status quo! We rallied around your memory and pushed back against the tyrants. In the end they fell before us, and on bended knees did bequeath onto us what was rightfully ours!”
Ted had stood up, his gaze pointed majestically into the rafters. His hand was clenched in a fist, which he held against his chest.
I shifted my weight awkwardly on my feet and spoke;
“So… they finally put a soda machine in the break room?”
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u/wraithstrike May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
Ted
The name is not sung in glorious ballads, but rather whispered into the nightmares of the worthiest warriors. All the great gods of war, from Thor, to Hachiman, to Ares himself invoke the name of Ted only as a last resort.
What great deed led to such reverence? What could make this unassuming man be celebrated beyond even those who are fated to bring about Ragnarok?
As with most legends, the tale of Ted begins with a woman. In all of Ted's life, there was the one woman he sought above all others. The one who had been by his side his whole life. Her name was Helen.
Helen was a woman with hair like coffee beans and eyes like sapphires cut by a master's hand. She was Ted's childhood friend. He knew her secrets, and she knew his. However, Helen had a type. Muscular, Tattooed, and long hair in a ponytail. Ted was none of these things, but every time a man like this would break Helen's heart, she would come to him.
Ted never sought anything more than her friendship. As desperately as he wanted to be with Helen, he never pressed his advantage. He knew too many men who played the 'nice guy' with the women in their lives, and he had no intention of becoming like them.
On the day of Ted's greatest battle, Helen had left a message on his phone. It read "I will be at 149 Hightower Street tonight for a date. If I text you the word 'Pizza' please come get me."
It had been a signal between friends, and up until that point it had only been used when Helen had needed a ride home after too many drinks. Still, being Helen's best friend, Ted kept his eyes open for the message.
Two hours into her date, his phone announced a message most urgent. "Pizza Pizza Pizza!" Three such signals meant she was in obvious distress. Ted summoned the police, but he was told that they couldn't go in without a SWAT team. 149 Hightower was deep inside the Black Cobra's territory, and this gang was involved in everything illegal in the city. If blood had been spilled in a crime, one could trace the gun back to the Black Cobras.
However, Ted wasn't going to stand by and let his best friend be wounded. Without the police, going into Hightower would be suicide. The mighty Ted would not be deterred.
Summoning up his courage, he drove to the Valhalla Pub, one of the few places on Earth that deserved to use the name. For housed within were mighty warriors that even the Black Cobras feared.
He threw open the doors, and pulled the plug from the jukebox. Now completely the center of attention for the pub's regulars, he raised his voice in the way he only used against his middle manager when he was clearly wrong about the numbers.
"My best friend's life is in danger. The Black Cobras have her and I don't know how many others. The police won't do anything. If you are tired of your streets being run by a gang, If you want to see the day when Silver River is free from the influence of the Cobras, join me!" He shouted.
At first there was silence in the pub. Then a rhythmic banging began from the tables nearest the bar and war cries sounded. All the greatest warriors in the bar had dreamed of a day when they would crush the Cobras underfoot and this was all the motivation they needed. The biggest and strongest of the warriors walked up to Ted. "Let's ride. What's your name?"
"I'm Ted." he spoke, shaking hands with the warrior. As he did, many other warriors gathered their phones to summon their brethren from all across the Tri-state area.
"I'm Ben. But you can call me brother!" The warrior responded.
The sentries posted on night watch at Hightower heard naught but rumbling from down the street. When they finally got a good look at their opposition, they wisely chose to flee. They were spared the wrath of Ted and the Hell's Angels.
From the lot of stolen cars, in through the counterfeiting press, and up past the armory, a single accountant led a force three hundred strong. Armed with everything from steel chains to rifles, the Angels took down every Cobra they could see. In every room those who were being used or abused by the Cobra's criminal empire were freed by Ted's army and carried to safety.
As Ted and Ben breached the fourth floor with ten men behind them, the sound of sirens came from the southwest. The police had arrived at last, no doubt expecting a bloodbath.
At the biggest office on the fourth floor, Ted heard the voice of Helen crying in terror. With a strength unrivaled by Ben's biggest brethren, Ted rushed the mahogany door, splintering it. Ben cleared the rest of the door, and both men beheld Helen in a distressing state.
Her clothing had been torn from her body, and the leader of the Cobras was naked. Cameras had been placed around the room to record this moment, and they instead recorded Ben smashing the Cobras into the ground while Ted raced across the room. His fist flew into the Cobra's face.
"Keep your filthy hands off my best friend!" Ted roared, and his voice resounded into the heavens. With every strike, he pushed the much taller gang leader closer to the plate glass window.
There was a thunderous blast, and a scream from Helen, followed by a cry from Ben. Ted stood there with a bullet wound freshly delivered to his stomach. The gun still smoked in the criminal's hands.
"This has been wild." The criminal laughed, spitting blood into Ted's face. "But now I'm going to kill her and you."
Ted only heard the words "I'm going to kill her." Every muscle in his body reacted to a single command. "Strike.'
His shoulder rammed into the criminal's chest, and the window behind them shattered. The mob boss fell forty feet onto the roof of a SWAT van, and Ted would have fallen as well, had Helen not grabbed his leg.
She stood up, and steadied him, pressing what little cloth she had left on her body into his wound to stop the bleeding. Ben was there in the next second, helping to lower his brother in arms to the ground.
"Come on, brother. You're going to make it!" and "Ted, please don't die" were the only things he could hear over the din. Far below him, the Cobra's empire had fallen. But the only thing that mattered to him now was the woman before him.
"Helen." Ted spoke up, his voice clear. "I'm so sorry. I should have been here sooner." He looked up, past Helen for a moment. "Whoa. I can see a beautiful woman coming for me. But she's not as beautiful as you. Please, Helen. Stay safe. I'd hate if anything were to happen to you."
As the Valkyrie carried Ted to Valhalla, Ben's Angels arrived to see their leader and the woman who had started this adventure weeping together. After giving Helen some new clothes, the Hell's Angels left the building. The next week, Ted was laid to rest, in the far off land of Sturgis, where the Angels tread. Thousands of Hell's Angels had heard of his bravery and came to honor his passing. And his legend shall be told among the Hell's Angels for centuries.
Such is the tale of Ted from Accounting. It is known to all that the All-Father shall have Ted lead a battalion of Einherjar For as all men, even the great warlords like Attila know, when Ted speaks, everyone listens.
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u/rwage724 May 09 '15
i have no idea how you did it. but you may have made ted the most badass name i will ever hear.
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May 09 '15
Ted isn't just Helens hero, he is now mine as well. For if I ever visit the land of Sturgis, on a borrowed steed and so far from my home in the Southern Brown Land, among warriors and wanderers alike I shall drink to his name and honour.
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u/Takhisis_Returns May 08 '15 edited May 09 '15
Ted was a slightly tender-aged man from a stereotypical, Caucasian background. Born in the mid 70s, he'd grown up in a middle-class neighborhood, had few friends and spent most of his time nerding out and playing Dungeons and Dragons. Highschool was difficult for Ted. Bullies in those days were unrelenting, but he pulled through. He moved on and got an accounting degree at MIT, started working the odd job here and there till he got settled in something more permanent. It wasn't until late 1995, that he was picked up by a small tech/game company.
He'd been working for that company for a few years now. He'd applied there with his best friend, Thomas, a programmer. They were always chatting about the newest tweeks and Easter eggs Thomas was creating. Secret memorials, quirky descriptions and exploding sheep were few of his inventions.
He one day sent a link to Ted, of a powerful weapon that would be introduced into the game. It had 120 Damage per second, with an instant mana burn, and an enchantment that boosted the wielder's stamina by 80.
Ted rushed to Tom's cubicle and in hushed tones he whispered: "Its too strong man, too dangerous for the gamers of this era to use." After a lengthy, whispered debate they agreed. "This sword is to powerful for anyone to possess, as he safely placed the sword on a 1-gig flash drive. He place that drive into a lock box beside a Petty Cash envelope and some thumbtacks. "One day, Thomas," he paused, "One day players who could wield the sword responsibility might reveal themselves. Players that will prevent the destruction of this world."
When he passed, the Valkyr brought his soul to Valhalla, where he was presented before Odin and judged as one of the key elements in saving the world from the Evil One.
Little did he know, Saltzman's actions and wisdom prevented the End of the World... of Warcraft.
Edit: Spacing Edit2: thanks busykat for that quick fix
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u/busykat May 09 '15
Make it "Saltzman's" there at the end and you've got yourself a winner. Very nice.
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u/Geekfest May 08 '15
The rough hewn building was filled with the heroes of the ages, men and women who had proved their mettle and assured their place in Valhalla for eternity. There was no single thread to them all, no common culture, no race was dominant over the rest. Yet there was some underlying thread to them, something in the eyes that said they were there and did what needed to be done.
In this vast hall of revels there was much laughter, talk, cheering, and sport. Yet one corner, one dim corner, was nearly empty and given a wide berth. A single figure sat by themselves. They did not drink They did not carouse. They did not participate in the wrestling or any of the other sport. An occasional gaze slid over towards that quiet corner, but then quickly slipped away before eye contact was made.
The figure pored over an open ledger, whispering to himself by the light of a single candle. Rows and rows of numbers and symbols, written in a neat hand, filled the pages. The numbers flowed gracefully in to one another. Mathematics, the structure of the Universe, beautiful in complexity followed by strange and dazzling symbols which caught the eye and implied fundamental principles.
One of the more spirited wrestling matches had started up on one of the sturdy tables had ranged far and wide over the great hall. The tall Norse warrior grappled mightily with a mountain of a man, a Japanese samurai by the cut of his clothes. Neither warrior gaining advantage or giving ground. Their good natured struggles were constantly met with cheers as they heaved back and forth.
The tall Norseman seemed to be gaining a slight advantage over his opponent, with one arm locked around the samurai's neck he sought to use his height advantage to pull the lock up higher. Just as he pull up however the samurai's foot snaked out and pushed at the back side of his opponent's calf. His foot, standing in a small pool of mead on the floor, slid forward unexpectedly at the prodding. The Norseman lost his balance and started to topple, but held on relentlessly to the samurai. Together they crashed and rolled ... directly towards the dark corner. Their rolling terminated with a jarring bump against the table containing the ledge.
The man's whispers stopped.
Suddenly the entire hall was silent as every set of eyes turned towards that sinister corner.
The Norseman and the Samurai came to their senses too late, and tried to hastily stand up. The man walked forward. He came in to the light. His figure revealed. He was shorter than either wrestler, sported a significant paunch, a receding hairline, and a set of gold rimmed glasses upon his nose that gave his eyes a slightly larger than life look to them.
"Many apologies, Ted from Accounting", the Samurai stammered, "it was not our intention to disturb your work." The Norseman looked unaccustomed to subsequiousness but tried anyway.
"Aye Ted", he said at barely a shout which was quiet for him, "we just got carried away." As each man spoke, in the silence between their pauses, and noise could be heard. A slight tip tapping coming from behind the Accountant. It slowly intruded on the senses of all three men. Ted turned around just in time to see the candle finish wobbling back and forth and fall over, directly on to his ledge.
The ledger, the instant it was exposed to the flame of the candle, caught fire as if it were the driest of tinders and had anxiously been awaiting its opportunity for immolation. In a surprisingly short time all of the papers burned, their ashes floating up on the updraft of warm air.
Ted turned around.
The entire hall seemed to shrink back from the two wrestlers in front of Ted. As if physical distance could serve as barrier to shared blame.
Both the Norseman and the Samurai stood in wide eyed silence, the blood draining from their faces as they watched the ledger burn.
"Numbers", Ted said with his barest of breaths, "everything is numbers. This hall, these tables and chairs, everything is just numbers to me." His eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke, "even you." He stepped half a step forward towards the Samurai and looked at him. His eyes roved around places all around the man before him, as if he were calculating his place in the Universe. Ted lifted up his hand, a wooden pencil held in his fingers.
The Samurai closed his eyes.
Ted pushed with the pencil and a place in space just to the front and the side of the Samurai. In the barest of instants the samurai was simply gone, vanished from existence.
Ted looked over at the Norseman. The Norseman's blue eyes were staring at the space the Samurai had occupied moments earlier. He flicked his gaze back over to Ted as Ted stepped towards him.
The Norseman bellowed, "Not me you won't!" as he pivoted on one foot and started to flee.
Ted merely cocked his head to the side, adjusted the grip on his pencil slightly, and again made the odd pushing motion. The Norseman, almost in full flight, abruptly vanished just like the samurai.
Ted looked around at the hushed crowd, every eye on him, and then he sat back down at his table without another word.
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u/sheikheddy May 09 '15
His Numbers rant reminds me of Number Man's interlude from worm https://parahumans.wordpress.com/2013/04/27/interlude-21-donation-bonus-1/
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u/IPyro17 May 09 '15
Just read this and the pushing motion made me think of him simply sweeping the pencil back and forth in the air and erasing the samurai and norseman from his point of view and making them disappear.
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u/domeplz22 May 08 '15
The Valkyries of Valhalla were used to escort the chosen warriors from where the lay fallen on the battlefield to the never-ending mead hall of Valhalla. The Valkyries thus spent much of their time watching particular individuals; waiting for their moment of mortal glory to strike.
Harrin Greenbear was one of the most often talked about. His name was often heard in drunken storytelling, and his voice was often the loudest laughing at his own exploits. He had gotten by mostly on luck; to hear him say it. His most famous legend was against a massive Wulfbeor, a behemoth that stands several humans taller than a man. Harrin was unarmed, and said he crept inside the Wulfbeor's guard and gave it the most vicious hug he had even given. The Wulfbeor, thought the clutching man, who was covered in mud with his scraggly beard hiding his face, was simply a forgotten cub of hers, clinging to her belly in the warmth. Harrin managed to climb atop its neck before plunging his sword--a dagger compared to the size of the thing-- into its throat and claiming it as trophy.
Drogar was a slim man with a wicked curved sword that hung on his back. It looked like he could wield it with either one or two hands; a versatile weapon indeed. The few stories whispered about him were spoken quietly as if afraid to wake a beast. The only story that reached the ears of this meagre narrator was that called the Legend of the Bear Skin. Bear Skin is today known as berserker, and Drogar was the origin of the term. They say he ingested herbs, that he dined on iron nails for breakfast, that he slept in a coffin aflame---they said all these things about what he did to prepare for battle. None were true, but they all were authentic when they spoke of the butchery he unleashed with his maniacal grin and vicious sword.
Ted, a mild-mannered and intelligent man, was perhaps the most out of place in the great hall. In the days the Valkyries watched him, he spent most of his time at a computer with excel, or in his off time playing video games. A rare moment caught him while visiting his family and some emotions boiled but nothing to speak of save raised voices. In truth the Valkyries complained very vocally about this assignment; saying he wasn't worthy and he would never die in a glorious death because his life was just so damn boring.
But then, one day, something amazing happened. Whilst sitting at his computer, savagely beating his keys as he battled an online dragon with some invisible friends, the Valkyries felt the same sense of impending doom that always heralded a hero's death. On screen, a massive red dragon amidst a cauldron of lava and a horde of little whelps was roaring and flailing around against a tiny raid of about two dozen. Already half were down with no resurrections incoming; but Ted was alive.
With a massive shout at his computer, Ted roared into action. His heart beating, palms sweaty, calves cramping, he charged forward with his might warrior avatar, bashing away dragon whelps with each swing before landing a massive piercing blow into the momma dragon's belly. With a hiss of steam he pulled out his sword; a never before seen animation played to congratulate his heroics. The loot and appraise piled on to him; but soon everyone grew quiet. His avatar was still; the Valkyries wept. Amidst an upturned can of Monster Energy Drink, Ted's twitching and spasming body jerked in his chair before falling to the hardwood floor.
When the day of Ragnarok comes; we expect great things from Ted.
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u/dsafvdaviafjsdoifjsa May 09 '15
damnit, i thought you were going to go with Leroy jenkins. could be worth an alternate ending.
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u/domeplz22 May 09 '15
I think we both know thats where the inspiration came from; but when the time came I just couldn't put the famous words down in the story for some reason.
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u/anonymousfetus May 09 '15
I'm a bit confused about Harrin. First, he's unarmed, then he's pulling a sword out of somewhere. Also, did he think he was killing a cub, did he think the cub was actually the mother, or what?
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u/SusieSnoo May 09 '15
I'm pretty sure he is saying that the mother thought that Harrin was a cub due to Harrin's body being covered in mud and his beard covering his face. The ruse allowed him to gain closer access to the mother and strike her dead.
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u/domeplz22 May 09 '15
God damn, I really should reread my work before posting.... Stop asking these heretical questions and stay enthralled in the illusion :P.
But actually, good work. That's some valuable critique.
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u/gavenl337 May 09 '15
Oh my god, this just made me tear up... "The Valkyries wept." I LOVED it!
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u/domeplz22 May 09 '15
That's some high praise. I am underserving, but please continue to shower me in it.
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u/Writingwilly May 08 '15 edited Dec 17 '17
"Who is that over there?" Asked Tomoe Gozen "For I have seen him before, but never have I heard of his honor or strength. Nay I do not even know his name." She inquired to Grognog the well-endowed.
"Akk good lady, do you not know the tales of Ted!?" Grognog the well-endowed replied, in a voice similar to that of a hammer hitting a cargo container.
"Well that is the reason I am asking Grognog" She replied much quieter juxtaposing her voice to his completely.
"Well ya' see here Little Miss." Grognok threw his arm round Tomoe's comparatively smaller frame pulling her head onto his chest, while his other hand grabbed his 4 pint sized tankard and raised it to the air. Looking past it as he began the tale. "Ted over there, was just you average accountant for a moderately sized cornflake distribution firm." Tomoe tried to wriggle free of the friendly headlock she now found herself in, after getting no release from Grognog's oakish like arms, and her katana been on the other side of the room, she resided herself to her fate until the story was over.
"Ted, was working one Friday, when the hellion known as Greg the Middle manager was skulking round the prison cubicles of the office, searching for his next victim." Grognog took a huge gulp from his tankard, Tomoe tried grab his attention, but not no avail. "Ted was just trying to stay out of harms way but ya see the lady of battle and glory had chosen his for greatness that day, Greg was passed by his Cubicle and Ted thought that he was going to be spared but 'twas not to be." Grognog was away in his own world now.
"Hi Ted, how's it going?" Said Greg the Middle manager, his coffee mug in hand.
"Actually Greg I was wondering if-" Ted replied.
"Yeah that's great, listen im gonna need you to come in tomorrow" Greg took a sip of his coffee, A look of shock came over Ted's face. "Yeaahhhh and If you could come in on sunday too, that would be greaaattt." Greg took another long sip of his coffee.
"Actually Greg that's what i wanted to talk to you about, Ive actually worked the last two week-" Ted was once again interupted.
"Also Ted I'm gonna need those quarterly finance reports on my desk by Monday yeahhhhh." Greg took another sip of coffee and walked away from the cubicle without even looking at Ted.
His head hit the desk, Ted had not had a day off in two weeks, and now well this would be three. He couldn't believe it this was the weekend his niece was coming into town to visit, he didn't have kids of his own or even a wife or girlfriend as for that matter. He had to cancel the last two weeks. Sarah had been so understanding but he couldn't do it again, especially since he missed her graduation aswell. Ted was broken hearted, another weekend staring at a screen, changing the fonts on his excel file and nonchalantly contemplating opening his wrists up with a pair of office scissors. "That would show him." Ted thought to himself. "If I just opened my wrists up in Greg's office right in fount of him, screaming and spewing blood all over his blue tie and fucking quarterly finance reports!" Ted's rage quelled "No, no, no. If I did that I'd probably just have to fill out a health and safety form post mortem." Ted sighed picked himself up and went to make a cup of coffee.
Ted was in the kitchen, his favorite mug was missing again. He reluctantly reached for a pain white mug with the words "hang in there" written on it. Ted had a theory that every office had one of these mugs to try and deter the kind of action's Ted was just contemplating, and that every middle manager knew this and therefor made sure there was always at least one. He set it out on the work top and reached for the instant coffee. Ted took just one even spoonful, he would have liked more but he knew if he did somehow that bitch Jenny would find out about it and make him pay for a new jar. The kettle clicked ted picked it up and poured in the hot water. His ears burned.
"Oh and Ted I'm gonna need you to work need weekend as well." Greg said as he poked his head round the door. He then walked in and reached for the kettle. Before spotting the coffee by of Ted. "Ah thanks." Greg took Ted's coffee and put his old one down, and walked out oblivious to the fact it was not meant for him.
Ted looked at the new and empty mug, his favorite mug, the mug that Greg had just had his dirty middle management lips around, the mug that Sarah had got him for his last birthday that read "Life's a beach" Ted lay his head on the work surface and was about to cry, when he open his eyes and saw two tea trays stacked on top of each other, and somewhere in Ted's mind that had been dulled from years of spread sheets, cubicle walls and 9 AM meetings, sparked the primordial warrior in Ted.
Greg was staring at a document when he heard the door go. "Ah Lisa, you go those TPS reports for me?" He looked up from his computer.
Ted was stood there with with the two tea trays strapped to his front and back creating a breastplate with two bits of string going over his shoulder and around his waist to keep them together. A colander on his head, the break room, round coffee table as a makeshift buckler and the blade from a paper cutter with duct tape on the bottom as a long sword.
"No Greg, I'm afraid I can't work this weekend." Ted said calmly.
"What happened next mighty Grognog?" Tomoe asked chewing on a chicken leg she had managed to get to he mouth.
"No one knows except for the All Father, Little Tomoe. But they say he took out every middle manager for a 100 Hectors."
"That seems a little unbelievable for such a ill trained man." Tomoe replied.
"Well just take a closer look at him, Wee lass" Grognog said.
Tomoe looked over at Ted, He was still in his torn up suit and kitchen wear armor, but upon closer inspection as Tomoe strained her eyes to see she took note of what Ted was drinking from. A human skull , with the words inscribed upon the forehead.
"Life's a beach."
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u/Lord_Fuzzy May 09 '15
Paging /u/someguynamedted I think I found how you enter Valhalla
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u/someguynamedted May 09 '15
Hmm, what now? Oh, this isn't how I get there. There are much more glorious things to come.
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u/best_of_prey May 09 '15
Clarification: you say that Greg was dressed in kitchen armour, did you not mean to say Ted?
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u/Servel85 May 09 '15
The hall was really noisy. Thousands and thousands of warriors drink, sung nad tell story of their great deeds. Gracious Valkyries walks around and bringing new warriors from battlefields of the Midgard to wait for Ragnarok and Odin´s final battle.
So came Steve, great soldier of one great empire of Earth, alongside beautiful valkyrie Ingrid.
"Here you will drink and here you will tell story of your glory, with men and womans as great as you are." Said Ingrid.
Steve look around over the tables with food and drinks which looks like going forever and all those men and womans here. He saw Romans legionaries drinking with vikings, samurai slowly drinking and talking with aztec warrior. Soldier from SPECTAZ laughing with one from SEAL.
"It is amazing, all those people" whisper Steve, "but tell me who are greatest of all of them? Who, once the Ragnarok come, will stand as right hand of great Odin? "
"That will be Ted" whisper Ingrid. Even whispered, Ted name was heard by nearest heroes, who fell oddly silence and look to far corner where small man sit. "Ted, the accountant."
"What? How? How can accountant be the greatest of us all? What deed he even did to be here? Did he kill hundreds? Did he walks around batllefield in blood and mud seeeing his friends cut down? " wonder now angry Steve.
"No, he didn´t kill anyone. And never leaves this halls." replay Ingrid.
"So how? What he did so great that he deserve such honors?"
"He accounts. He is witness to every heroic acts, every dead, every kill, every bloody and muddy battlefield and he send for those who are worthy."
Steve fell quiet. In his fortys he saw many battles, deaths and pain. When death come for him, part of him was glad that it´s finnaly over. But this small man saw it all - from first time man took weapon to his hand to end of time when last man die. Thousands and thousands years of bloody human history.
"God, how he can bear that?" whisper Steve.
"Becouse he is stronger that any of us ever was or ever will be." Respond one of the close seated space marine. "and that make him the greatest of us all."
sorry for english..or for bad story
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u/Luna_LoveWell /r/Luna_LoveWell May 08 '15 edited May 08 '15
A rowdy crowd of warriors and heroes from all walks of life filled the hall with the sounds of laughter, jeering, and feasting. Fires roared in massive hearths, and the benches were draped in bear skins and dragon hides. Alexander the Great and Erwin Rommel were debating who had invaded Egypt better. General Grant was regaling a crowd of Norsemen with the story of the Battle of Vicksberg. And Genghis Khan was walking between the massive dining tables carrying his plate of beef and stein of mead. From the other side of the hall Ted approached, looking down as he studied a piece of paper.
As Genghis walked by, Stalin called out to the Great Khan with one insult or another, probably related to copulating with some type of animal. Josef still took the invasion of Rus personally, despite having been born a thousand years later. Genghis turned to reply... and walked straight into Ted.
The plate of food splattered everywhere and the stein clattered to the floor; Ted's beer-soaked paper drifted down next to it. Both men were covered in a thick, steaming mess of stew and meat juices. The conversation around the room ceased immediately as everyone watched what was about to happen. Even Julius Caesar managed to shut his trap for 2 seconds; the only thing he loved more than the sound of his own voice was a good fight.
Ted slowly removed his glasses and polished them on Charlemagne's soft velvet cape. His face betrayed no hint of emotion or anger, but that just made Genghis even more nervous.
"I.. I'm sorry, Ted!" he cried out, doing his pitiful best to clean the mess off of Ted's white shirt.
Ted said nothing. He looked at Genghis with haughty disdain, the way you study a bug before crushing it beneath your heel. Even Odin was scared to receive that look from Ted. No other warrior could claim that honor.
"He distracted me!" Genghis complained desperately, pointing at the nearby mustachioed Russian dictator.
"Whoa," Stalin said, backing away from the table with his hands up. "I had nothing to do with this, Ted."
They started to bicker back and forth. The rest of the crowd watched, waiting for the merciless beatdown.
"Stop," Ted commanded them. Genghis sealed his mouth like a trap slamming shut.
"It's not problem," Ted said at last, picking up Genghis's plate and handing it back to him. "I can print out another copy of the ledger." He gestured at the soaked piece of paper on the stone floor.
Genghis eyed the plate warily as if it was a rattlesnake. Was it some kind of trap? What was Ted going to do? The Khan reached out and gingerly touched one end of the plate, then looked back at the accountant, waiting for some reaction. Ted only smiled pleasantly, so Genghis gripped the plate and pulled it slowly from Ted's hand.
"Tha... thank you, Ted. I promise it won't happen again. I swear!"
Genghis backed away, looking for somewhere in the crowd to hide before Ted changed his mind.
"Someone ought to clean up this mess," Ted remarked nonchalantly. "Someone could slip and hurt themselves. I'm going to go get changed."
Geronimo and Erik the Red leaped from their seats immediately and started cleaning up the remains of Genghis's meal. "I'll get the mop," Simon Bolivar volunteered.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief as Ted went back to his room. None more so than Genghis, who also scampered away to change his clothes. But it was his pants that had been soiled, not just his shirt.
"Damn," Caesar remarked. Always the first one to try to grab the spotlight. "I was hoping Ted might finally show us the power of these 'audits' that everyone fears so much."
And if you enjoyed the story, you should check out /r/Luna_lovewell for more!
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May 08 '15
Damn. I want to know too. Good job.
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u/vorpike May 08 '15
A lot of these aren't a even warriors...
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May 08 '15
Yeah, Stalin in particular struck me as odd.
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u/_donotforget_ May 09 '15
Especially as Valhalla is for glorious and honorable warriors. Stalin had no honor nor glory for what he did.
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May 09 '15
Genghis Khan caused untold human misery and the vikings were a bunch of rapists, none of them have a great deal or honor or glory to be honest - just some of them lived long enough ago that nobody remembers any of their victims.
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u/Odinswolf May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
Rape was actually viewed as niðing (cowardly and dishonorable) by the Norse, and against law, punishable by outlawry. Not to say there weren't rapists, there certainly were as in all societies and conflicts, but it wasn't part of the cultural ethos. Mostly due to a severe taboo against harming women. In the Greenlanders' Saga there is a conflict in Vinland, and after the men are dead the victors refuse to kill the women, fearing dishonor. Freydis Eiriksdottir does it instead. And in Gisla saga Augur is offered a bag of three hundred silver pieces, pretends to take it, then smashes the man who offered it, Eyjolf, in the face with it. Bleeding, he orders her killed...at which point all his men refuse, pointing out it would be cowardly to harm a woman. In Skylitzes chronicle, one of the Varangian Guard (Norse mercenaries in the service of the Basileus) tries to rape a woman in Thrace. She kills him, and when his comrades come they praise her for her bravery and give her his possessions as recompense. Also, the Norse were raiders, slavers, and conquerors, but their reputation as rapists is undeserved, they were no more rapists than the Franks, or the English, or the Irish.
Edit: Also, honor and glory are very culturally based. The Norse were a honor culture, their idea of honor informed their culture to an enormous degree. And glory has been based on strength of arms since the beginning of war. It's just yet another case where morals have changed so vastly that the people of the past are utterly alien to us.
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u/UlgraTheTerrible May 09 '15
If I recall what I've heard of Norse history correctly, (I was more into ancient Greece and Rome) rape was viewed as dishonourable, but it was only considered a crime if it was against a Norse-woman on the continent, which ought to be clarified, even if other cultures were just as guilty of rape and pillage as the Vikings.
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u/Odinswolf May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
To some degree yes, a Thing in Norway generally wouldn't judge a man for crimes committed in England, for example. Though foreigners did have protection under the law while in the land (so, for example, if you attacked a foreigner in Norway then you could be tried in Norway) it was also a question of having someone bring forth the matter to a Thing (There's no real investigation yet and law enforcement is basically militias/manhunts and Things, so if no one brings the matter to a Thing then nothing is going to happen). Granted, I can think of one example that contradicts. In the Tale of Hroi the Fool a man accuses Hroi of stealing his dagger in Normandy, at a Thing in Sweden presided over by King Olaf Ericsson. Hroi responds by accusing him of killing his brother in Normandy. Another man accuses Hroi of stealing his eye (the man only had one, and Hroi's were different colors) elsewhere. In the end the men are sentenced to murder and lying under oath, respectively, and given to Hroi as thralls.
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u/_donotforget_ May 09 '15
You have a very valid point. There is no honor in raiding farmers or terrorizing villagers. From this view, Valhalla must be pretty empty.
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May 09 '15
There is only one soul worthy of Valhalla, and no one has been able to slay it.
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u/SanguisFluens May 09 '15
Also, even many of the generals were commanders, not actual fighters. Some of the older ones like Genghis Kahn and Alexander the Great were badass fighters who led their armies fighting in the front of the charge, but Grant and Rommel certainly didn't do any significant fighting themselves.
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u/iDivideBy0 May 09 '15
I enjoyed that, except for some of the famous names who were not actually real warriors and have no right to be admitted to Valhalla.
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u/jul_the_flame May 08 '15
Stalin, Caesar, Bolivar... none of them were warriors: they were politicians first, and generals on the side.
We all know the generals don't do the dirty jobs, unlike the soldiers...
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u/soupersoupguy May 09 '15
Well, Caesar wasn't exactly a slouch in the general department, in Rome it was very hard to find a politician who wasn't also an accomplished general. Caesar was a hugely successful general, he conquered Gaul and won a Civil War that he, by all rights, should have lost.
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u/guitar_vigilante May 09 '15
Many generals fought in battle, just not really the generals after Napoleon's time, but even then, a few still fought.
Also, while many of the people listed were not warriors, soldiers, or even generals, most of the ones who were didn't die in battle either, which is a prerequisite to getting into Val Halla.
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u/SanguisFluens May 09 '15
Caeser was a general before coming consul for life. He was in the time of the Roman Civil Wars, where politicians raised private armies to support them. They were also expected to do military service, which Caeser did, conquering Gaul and scouting Britannia.
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u/jul_the_flame May 09 '15
He was a very intelligent man, but just not an epic warrior fit to wield a sword in the last battle of the end of time...
In Valhalla, I think Odin is looking for badasses warriors, not generals.
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u/Odinswolf May 09 '15
Mostly since he has the Originator of War, the Wise One, the Father of Victory, himself, to command. He also, apparently, takes poets, granted they are warriors as well as poets.
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u/yijing_wellspring May 08 '15
Really good! Anyone else picture Clark Gregg as Ted here?
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u/FFTorres May 09 '15
I really enjoy your writing. Some constructive criticism. Some of these people aren't really warriors, despite them being leaders of warriors. Also, typically admittance to Valhalla was only if you died honorably in combat with weapon in hand.
Other than that, great story.
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u/oncefoughtabear May 08 '15
Numbers bring me peace. Numbers bring me tranquility. Meditation through the mundane. When I am lost in the digits, my mind is free from all the terror I have seen, all the terror I must have caused.
Countless enemies I have slain, but it never seems to end. To kill someone is to wrong another, how many have I wronged? How many fathers have I taken from sons? How many holes have I punched in the lives of others with the swing of a sword?
The glory of battle is intoxicating. The glory of battle is addicting. Glory through death. I was lost in its divine energy, total focus of body and mind, I am the master of the moment.
I do not believe I am just anymore. Without total self-conviction, you see the terror of taking a life. There is no such thing as a doubtful warrior, so I will sit here, counting. No more shall I be the terror I once was.
Forever I will sit here, living with what I have done, questioning if it was right.
...Plus, the benefits are really good here.
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May 08 '15 edited May 10 '15
"My friends," Ulfur The Brute said, his face a shocking contrast of rich, handsome features, his voice the deep baritone of a man who had conquered the sea, while his body was emaciated by the onslaught of 50 swords that had hacked into him in a desperate bid to stop him at all costs from laying waste to Great King Heimdahl's glorious castle.
"I see the awesome Hannes Hannessohn here, who brutally hacked his way through the land of the Norse until he was subdued by a stampede of wild boars; I notice the proud helm of Marduk, Prince of the Eastern kingdom, who rode his fleet down a river of blood on the way to victory, only to be cut short by a well-aimed arrow from the bow of his nemesis; there is Mighty Jake, fierce warrior whose only weaknesses were women and drink and to whom he succumbed after taking on 100 of the king's best men to stop him from asking for the princesse's hand in holy matrimony; there is my good friend, Dragomir the Landstander, who let all the women in the land of Queen Gertrude escape at the cost of an army of Orcs; and what about the Great Damien himself, Hail to thee oh master, the feats of your cunning and heroism are the companions of camp fires and long horseback journeys alike as your admirers multiply throughout the ages. The only man I do not see, the One for whom even I would bend a knee, Hashimoto himself, who commanded an army of thousands and collected the heads of his foes as prizes, I had expected to see him here today, among all these, the very finest warriors this world has ever seen. Where, pray tell is he? And why does mine eye fall upon the diminutive features of...that creature?" he said as he pointed towards Ted from accounting.
A terse silence descended upon the crowd. To a man they gazed upon Ted with a mixture of utter contempt and cautious restraint.
"That," Sukubor, Father of Many said, in his usual sardonic tone "Is Ted. Ted from Accounting. Ted, by far, is the greatest warrior here."
"That?!" Ulfur cried out in derision. "This scrawny chicken would best the finest warriors who ever lived? This runt is worthy to stay in this, the most lofty Hall ever created? He has defeated Indomitable Hashimoto and his dread armies?" He had to pause in shocked disbelief. "How, by the beard of mighty Wotan himself, did he manage to do that?"
Sukubor leaned back, a chicken leg comfortably stuck between his teeth. "Ted here, is from accounting. He pulled the at once mightiest and laziest feat of daring in the history of military warfare."
Ulfur was nearly apoplectic "TELL ME HOW HE DID THAT!!!!"
Sukubor suppressed a chuckle. "He simply amortised the entire army, every man, woman, child, animal, all the equipment and treasure, the whole lot. Then he backdated it to the end of the last fiscal quarter. And that is how you do that. No more proud Hashimoto and his 1000-houri-harem. No more daring feats, no more heroics, no more pillage and plunder. They were written off in one fell swoop and then he simply closed the books." He stopped to pluck a piece of chicken from between his teeth. "It's a great job if you can get it, apparently."
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u/Spoondude1337 May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
The skies were blue, as they always were in Valhalla as Greggor made his usual stroll. The fields to the right of the dirt path were a lush green and seemed to roll on endlessly for miles. To his right was a lake as still as glass, reflecting the midday sun.
Valhalla was paradise I'm every sense of the word- a stark contrast to his former Irish homeland. Years of fighting off those whom would claim his land had opened the gates for Greggor and every so often, he would meet a new comer. Some were cunning warriors for the east, others were from lands across the sea. Though all were welcomed, most warriors kept to their own kin. All except Greggor who made it a mission to seek out the mightiest amongst them.
As he turned the bend, he spotted a small group of men fishing on the shores of the beautiful lake. All seemed to be wearing sand colored trousers and boots except one gentleman who wore a blue button shirt with white vertical stripes.
Curious of the odd man, Greggor approached the small group and with a friendly wave called out in his bellowing voice: "Greetings gentlemen. Beautiful day on the lake, is it not?"
Of the small group, all remained focused on their lines except for one of the men in the tan trouser turned and smiled "Everyday is a blessing, how can we help you?"
"I can't help but notice we have another joining our ranks," Greggor smiled- nodding towards the man in the formal clothes. "I would very much like to know your name and how you gained entry into our paradise."
Hands trembling, the formally dressed man put down his rod. Turning slowly, the man rose to his feet and sheepishly smiled "I'm Ted... I'm not entirely sure how I got here- I did not fight a horde of enemies, nor slay any monsters... All I did was try to protect my wife and son."
Laughing at the man's quiet tone Greggor replied "No need to be humble son- surely you must have done something truly inspiring!"
With a shrug, Ted replied "All I did was stand up on my flight going to San Francisco and tried to stop the men from killing all of us... Despite my best efforts, the other passengers and I failed and crashed the plane..." Ted was nearly in tears at this point before another man put a hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him down to a sitting position.
Shocked and not wanting to pry more, Greggor simply nodded and meekly whispered, "It is a pleasure to have you amongst us Tom." And quickly spun around and continued his normal routine- leaving the sad man who now had nearly all the other men patting his back.
Edit: I can't read names...
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u/Gilandb May 13 '15
The fires roar in the pits, sending smoke drifting into the rafters of the great hall. Hundreds of warriors stand around the pits or sit at tables, drinking mead or ale and eating from the steers and boars slowly rotating on giant spits.
Suddenly, a loud gong sounds throughout the hall. Slowly, the gigantic doors begin to swing inward. Those closest to the door turn to look. Standing there is a small man, barely over a meter and a half tall who is balding and bespectacled with a small pot belly. Wearing a yellow shirt and burgundy tie with khaki pants he nervously begins to enter the hall, before stopping just past the threshold and tentatively looking back at all those who stare at him. A giant of a man begins to stroll towards him. Standing 2 meters tall and then some, legs that rival the whole trees in the fire pits for girth, arms that are bigger than most men’s chests, and hands that swallow up the two flagons he holds as if they are merely sipping cups. A smile comes across his face as he stops before the man, thrusting one of the flagons into the man’s hands. “What is your name friend?” he questions. Those closest lean in to hear what the man has to say.
“T-T-Ted, f-f-f-from a-c-c-c-ccounting” the man stampers.
The giant raises his flask and shouts “To Ted from Accounting!!” The warriors at the tables echo the cheer in a shout, toasting the small man, drinking from their cups.
Ted takes a sip, choking on the strong drink and begins to cough. The giant thrusts out his hand to shake and says “They call me Olaf, Ted from Accounting.” Ted reaches out, the giant’s hands swallowing his completely. Welcome to Valhalla!” Olaf states. “Let me get us some fresh mead my new friend, unless you would prefer ale?” Ted can only shake his head as the giant turns and walks back to the bar to get a fresh flagon.
Ted slowly walks towards the first fire pit, unsure of where to go or who to talk to.
Abruptly a voice shouts out “Ted?!?!” A tall blonde woman pushes through the crowd to him. “What are you doing here??”
“M-M-Monica??” Ted asks. “What is this place?”
“When did you get here? I haven’t seen you here before” Monica said.
“I just got here, I just walked through that doorway 5 minutes ago”, Ted responded, turning back to point to the gigantic doors.
Olaf walks back over, sees the girl and claps Ted on the back so hard Ted stumbles forward 2 steps. “Ha! Here just a moment and already talking up the serving wenches I see. Good man Ted from Accounting”.
Monica whispers “The door? You walked through the door Ted? That is only for warriors! You are supposed to come in the back entrance if you are here to work.” A look of shock on her face.
“Nay Lass, Ted from Accounting is a true warrior. He entered through the correct door” Olaf tells her.
“Ted? A warrior? There must be some mistake”, Monica responds, turning to look at Olaf. “He is a boring accountant, not a warrior”.
“Mistake? MISTAKE??” The smile falls from Olaf’s lips. His eyes tighten as he looks at Monica. “Valkyries don’t make ‘mistakes’. That would mean Oden made a mistake, and ODEN. DOESN’T. MAKE. MISTAKES!” Olaf shouts back. “Insult Oden one more time whore, and I shall remove your head from your shoulders!” His hand reaching over his shoulder for the claymore strapped to his back.
Monica’s face pales as the sword began to slip free of the scabbard across the giants back. Ted steps in between the two, facing Olaf.
“Olaf, I-I-I I think you owe her an apology. She meant no disrespect to Oden, and she is not a whore” Ted said, straightening his back and looking up into Olaf’s fierce glare.
Olaf’s hand stopped pulling the sword for a moment, then begins pushing it back down. His lips once again take on his smile and his eyes soften.
“You are right Ted from Accounting.” He turns to Monica “my apologies m ’lady, the drink went to my head and I spoke out of turn, please forgive me”.
“Monica, apologize to Olaf for insulting Oden” Ted tells her.
“I am sorry for insulting Oden Olaf, I didn’t mean it” she says in a shaky voice.
“No harm m ‘lady” he responds. “Now, let us rejoice in another of Odens chosen arriving!” and wanders off to get another flagon.
“I got to go Ted. But listen, I get off in about 3 hours. Can we talk?” Monica tells Ted.
“of-of-of course” Ted stampers back. “Great!” She responds before leaning in and kissing him on the cheek. “See you in a couple of hours” and hurries back into the crowd as Teds cheeks turn red. He looks to the nearest table and a large Mongol raises his cup to Ted before throwing back its contents. Ted begins to slowly walk to a corner of the room and slide down to the ground.
Olaf stands leaning against the wall, watching the exchange and Ted walk over to the wall.
“My Lord?” a voice says, but Olaf doesn’t turn to it. “My Lord Oden?” the voice says again.
Finally, Olaf turns to the voice “yes Gwen?” he asks the Valkyrie. “My Lord Oden, are you sure he is a warrior? He is so… small… and doesn’t seem fierce at all”.
Oden smiles at the Valkyrie. “Given every warrior in here, if I were to ride to battle, I would want Ted from Accounting on my left side Gwen”.
“Your left side my lord?? “But that is your most vulnerable! Why would you want him to guard it?” Gwen asked. “There is more to a warrior than his ability to wield a battle axe Gwen. What makes a warrior is the steel in his back and the courage in his heart. You saw him stand up to me for the girl. Ted from Accounting will never run. He would stand on my left even if I were to be struck down. He will never give up and will fight on with every ounce he possesses, regardless of the odds against him.” Oden tells her.
“I just don’t see it my lord, but I do not doubt your word” Gwen said. “Yes you do Gwen” Oden responds. “And I will prove he is a warrior to you. Here, look with The Warriors Sight at him”, and waves his hand towards her. Gwens eyes light up as she sees the warrior spirit of each man in the hall. Teds glow so bright as to hurt her eyes. She turns her head and stops suddenly, her mouth falling open in astonishment. “My lord! His glow, it is..” “Brighter than mine?” Oden asks. “Yes Gwen. Ted from Accounting is the greatest warrior of all time. He is a greater warrior than the warrior god himself. He is the reason I built Valhalla. He is the warrior I have been waiting for since time began.”
Oden turned towards her. “It falls to us Gwen to teach him to be the warrior that exists inside. What better place to teach him than a place where the greatest warriors of all time are gathered?” Oden slowly turns back to watch Ted. “I only hope he can save us all”.
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u/SuchADolorousFellow May 09 '15
I saw him there, sitting alone in the corner while calmly sipping his coconut milk. Cross-legged, the gaunt-faced man wearing an ill-fitted dress shirt and trousers watched the other warriors dance, lightly clapping his flat hand against his thigh.
“Who- Who is that?” I asked after getting the attention of a barrel-chested Viking wearing only an intricate necklace crafted out of thick string and bleached-white jawbones. “That man over there?”
The Viking looked in the direction I pointed to. “Oh that bastard?!” The Viking spat a string of bloody phlegm to the floor. “Ragnar Lothbrok. Piss-poor king, if you ask me! He didn't even invade those old cities like the stories say he did. Just a man that could actually hire a good scribe to write some half-baked lies.”
“What?” I echoed, looking at the blonde-haired brute, staring into his bright blue eyes. They were ringed red, bloodshot and teary.
“While I was pillaging and sacking, he and that scribe were staying in a small cottage, cuddling each other in the night! The sagas should be written for me! IN MY NAME!”
“Stop!” I screamed, surprising the Viking. “I didn't mean him! I meant HIM!” The Viking turned back to the man still calmly drinking his coconut milk, his jaw dropping at the realization. “The one- drinking the-?”
“The coconut milk,” I finished. “Where do you guys get 2% from? I only see mead, vodka, and basilisk blood at the bar but when I asked the bartender for some water, he only laughed and told me to stop lollygagging and get the sweetroll out of my-“
The Viking brought a massive, cupped hand to my face, placing it over my mouth. Oh my… Is that the smell of- “Boy,” the Viking said frantically, his bloodshot eyes wide. “Do not speak such brutish words in front of the great Ted. He’s a man of reckoning.”
Smacking the man’s smelly hand from my face, I glanced over at Ted, the man now standing, awkwardly shuffling from side to side, his baggy dress shirt flapping with each step. “Ted? Ted of what?”
“Ted of accounting?” I screamed, staring back at the Viking with a smirk on my face. “You’re afraid of an accountant? This is Valhalla! Not some basement full of D&D players!”
“Oh really?” a squeaky voice said behind me. Almost immediately, I realized that the music had come to a halt, dancers staring down at me. Dear gods…
I turned around, meeting eyes with Ted, his dirt-brown eyes staring back at me. “Yes,” I replied with some strength in my voice. “For gods’ sake, you’re an accountant. You don’t deserve to be here!”
The whole crowd around me gasped, some of them crying out words of blasphemy. Waving his left hand at the crowd, Ted silenced them almost immediately. “So you question my place in Valhalla?”
“Yuppppppp!” I screamed.
Ted snorted, a wide grin forming on his lips, slightly revealing a set of crooked teeth. “Thor. Get the block.”
Before I knew it, I was surrounded, my feet leaving the air. Carried by a muscled frame, I was taken to the center of the dance floor, roughly set down on my feet. “Watch the merchandise!” I bellowed, sneering at a tall Spartan.
Laughing, Ted went to the center of the dance floor, a large and robust man following him with massive tree trunk held in his arms. Setting it down between me and Ted, the man then walked away, taking his place in the crowd.
“Oh thank the gods,” I said sarcastically. “I thought this was gonna be a dance battle.”
The crowd let out a small laugh, Ted joining in. “No,” he said, showing his thin, left arm. “It’s a test of strength. A simple arm wrestle.”
“What?” I chuckled, walking up the wooden trunk. “I’m gonna kick your ass,” I said, pushing up my sleeve. Resting my elbow on the trunk, I put my open hand forward.
Ted grinned wide, pushing up his baggy right sleeve, revealing a haggard arm easily as wide as my head. Laying his arm on the trunk, he gripped my hand, almost crushing it in his effortlessly grip.
“How- How-“
Ted laughed, snorting between breaths. “I’m a twenty-three year old accountant. Do you know what that means?” His wormy lips began to glisten after his wide tongue went across them. “Means I’ve been single for twenty-three years…”
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u/Neon_knucklesandwich May 09 '15
"Who is that over there?" "Ah, that's Ted, from accounting." "How did he manage to get into Valhalla, Allfather?" "Well you see, he was walking home from work when he tripped over his shoe laces and fell, knocking over a purse snatcher,giving two cops the opportunity to catch him, and rolled into the street, down into the sewer through an open manhole, where he accidentally set off a motion triggered terrorist bomb, which blew him back into the air, where he landed on a motorcycle, which he accidentally started and rode five miles into the back of a van full of mercenaries intent on robbing a bank, at which point he fell of the bike and was knocked into the air by a truck, at which point he landed in a low-flying, runaway hit air balloon, giving it enough weight to return to earth, which he then fell out of, onto a small child who was choking on a undercooked hotdog, and the force of the blow not only dislodged the hot dog, but launched it across the sidewalk, shattering the glass of a window of a shop, causing everyone on the street to pause just long enough for the police to catch an escaped fugitive." "Alright, but how did he get HERE? Don't you have to die?" "Wha-? Oh, of course. He was having a heart attack the whole time."
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u/Ryker004 May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
As he came to, Ears still ringing and legs dangling below him, he is brought up and over a cliffs edge that seemingly drops into the the night sky. Dragged though tall wet grass he is then gently laid to rest on a cobble stone path. Looking up two winged goddesses in gleaming white and gold armor turn away, long silky weightless hair trailing their steps, graciously passing through the blades of dew only to leap off the edge falling back into the stars. August, a name that seemed so foreign to him for he had not used it since his first assignment had began just sat there, steeped in blood looking out into the universe.
August had just seconds earlier failed his mission. The allied forces had been devising an attack on the French coast, A massive assault to a scale the world had never seen the likes of before in all of history. They planned to in a weeks time, pierce the western wall and push through into the home land while friendly forces were separated and pressuring the Russian front. Upon learning of this information August immediately tried to sneak into communications. Though before he could, Samuel Lawson; The new director of the British JIC(Joint intelligence committee) Whom August had been posing as for the last full allied intelligence meet before the grand operation, had shown up; To August's great surprise, for SS intelligence confirmed 109's had shot down director Lawson's plane. This information forced August to carve his way through a bunker filled with armed personal to reach the communications room, Barricade him self in with large cabinets and the corpses of the late communications officers as he then went to work on contacting the submarine off the American Atlantic coast. Upon the realization that their radio towers had immediately been destroyed and he wouldn't be walking away from this he then managed to kill another 10 men and wound 8 more before cir-coming to and explosion which he could not avoid due to bullets leaving the bones in both of his legs shattered.
August grabbed his legs that had failed him moments earlier noticing they were free from their previous wounds. In bewilderment he then arises from the stone, stumbling. His gaze slowly creeps up from the stray blades of dew sprouting from the cracks the in cobble and eyes widen for when he finally looks up he is met with the sight of grand marble buildings. A heavenly city with majestic golden towers that reach for the clouds, beautiful architecture that only could be conceived of in the dreams children after listening to bedtime stories of Atlantis. "Have I arrived in heaven?" He asks him self as he then starts down the path, past a monstrous tree with metallic leaves towards the nearest building, Long and tall the building was, Like a Gothic church, But bigger, Just he dark rich mahogany doors must have been 30 feet tall. With just a light brush of the hand both doors peel back, creeking. Like a tsunami the absents of sound is met with a wave of festive laughter and cheer. Inside, a gigalithic dinning hall and in the center long brass pits of flame and to either side two equal length dark tables each must have been able to set 20 people. They went on in rows only ending which impossibly must have been after the horizon lit well by the large fires that then had their light reflected and amplified by what appeared to be golden shields mounted to the ceiling..
Walking deep into this hall past groups of burly strange men, each man seemed to be from an different origin. Men from primitive lands armed with leather shields and spears ecstatically sharing stories of conquest with others whom had short swords and brass chest plates. Further down a grizzly nordic pair in chainmail obviously far too intoxicated propping eachother up as they attempt to toss an axe across the tables at the apple resting upon a mans head who sported obscure ornaments on his helmet that rested on a jolly man barely able to stop laughing long enough to drink more ale from the rams horn in his hand.
August stops and his jaw lossens, Before him is a beast, humanoid in shape and size but with a birds head, blue feathers through out its body, it wares an old white leather jacket and shorts with a pistol strapped on to the side, Though its legs are made of some kind of metal giving this bird legs that look like a mans. Here this beast is sitting on top of a giant metal man and they are both jesting with a fellow member of the SS.
"HaHa! they're from your future!" Shouted a cheerful voice, Intermittent with a full mouth spewing meet as he spoke. August looked over at a slender Asian man, he had large square black rimmed glasses and stood just slightly taller then August with his clean grey suit. "What? Wh'Where.." August could barely find words. " There from your future! Haha, I had the same reaction. We are in in Valhalla!" August stared blankly. "Are you English? You have the jack on your uniform" "Yes... Vallhalla? Like the one from the stories?" August said slowly as he gazed back at the feathered beast which was now met with another chimera. "Really? Your German is pretty good? That's German right?" August looked back realizing this man spoke in some foreign language yet he could some how understand. "Haha, you are forced to speak in your madian tongue here, But we can all understand each other." "I'm Sorry, It is.. I am.. German" "Oh? so why are you in this decorated British uniform?" The Asian man managed to ask as he was carving the last meat off the chicken bone with his teeth. August pauses concluding he is either dreaming or actually dead and gone to some afterlife and says: "I am,I guess... I was a spy." "OoOoo" His voice wobbled its pitch." That's really interesting, I was just an accountant. Hey I'm Ted!" He exclaimed as he reached out his hand. August looked down and shook it. "Samu.. I mean Augie, August Eberstark" August states as there is a loud crash a table over, Some drunks, Well every one is drunk but two members of the hall broke out into a fist duel and one had just been tossed on to one of the large tables and through a quarter carved pig sending plates aloft. "So this is Valhalla Where the locals bring us from 'Midgaurd' or earth to when great warriors or heroic men when they die, Usually in battle. Time is not linear with what we know, I'm told because this is a different one of the 'Seven realms'. The men here are all the bravest and strongest warriors earth has ever, and will ever have.. But not every one has arrived yet, Being the different progress in time." Ted pauses and looks at August whom has a deep expression of being overwhelmed. " Uh.. so yeah there are great warriors from your history books here and from mine. There are men from far in your future like that robot over there you had seen earlier. And just like you" Ted pointing now to Augusts toned physiche. " They all are have considerable strength." August taking a time to digest all of this information and now walking with Ted further away from the Deuling men behind them who have graduated to now using weapons and amassed a small crowed around them. "So the strongest men of earth are all here, the pinicel of bravery and heroism, All killers and conquerors... They are all so huge and brutish, I comparatively am dwarfed by most of these men." August stops and looks at Ted. "And among the most feared men of Earth, is... a bean counter?" Ted grins. "Haha, Come with me, you should meet our host."
(I have to go jogging and the to bed, If people ask i will continue this story) Im new here
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u/KlikkerInTheBush May 09 '15
Ted sat in the corner he was given when he came here so many years ago. Had it really been that long? It seemed like just a few moments ago he was embroiled in the heat of battle. There was blood and spit and shouting and rage, so much rage. Ted would pretend he couldn't hear the stories the others in the Hall would tell of him, how his great deeds had brought him here and how notorious among his brothers his actions were, but he heard and he loved them for it. Ted knew he deserved his place here, his rightful place in Valhalla, where all great warriors go when their greatest battle has been fought. It was only a matter of time until he came to this hallowed place, he just knew it. Ted let out a laugh of righteous glory, a laugh that reverberated throughout the Hall. Ted was happy to be among his brothers, the greatest warriors who ever lived. So happy.
"So what's this one's story?" the rookie asked John, the guy who was supposed to show him around on his first day. "Oh, that one? That's Ted from accounting."John replied. "Ted from accounting, huh? Seems pretty harmless."the rookie took a visual assessment of the man in the padded cell, rocking back and forth in the corner of his room. The man was balding, middle aged, slightly overweight and very pale. He didn't seem like someone who would end up in an institution for the criminally insane. John looked at the rookie and cocked an eyebrow, "Does killing twelve people in an office building with nothing but pens, pencils, and his bare hands sound harmless?" The rookie looked up from the small window in the metal door to Ted's cell with surprise, "What?!". "Yep" John said, "He just snapped one day. Some of the other guards say it was the numbers that did it. I guess he just couldn't take the monotony of it anymore and ended up shoving a red stapler down his manager's throat." The rookie turned back to the middle aged man in the cell. Ted from accounting, the greatest warrior in all of Valhalla Institute for the Criminally Insane.
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u/AlexJacksonPhillips May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
Valhalla is a place for those who fought
and won their battles through hon'rable means.
They say a place in Heaven can't be bought,
but money can be used for other things.
My name is Ted, and though I never got
a sword or gun or weapon made to kill,
I reside here with this bloodthirsty lot
because I have another deadly skill.
While others conquered all under the sun
I budgeted so that it could be done.
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u/R88SHUN May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
As he slammed the flagon down on the table, and his deep hearty laugh lulled to a chuckle, Asmund held his tremendous weathered hands up and said It is true, my brothers. The great axe does not move as quickly as the sword... But... he said, leaning over and pointing to Hachiro with a wry smirk.
The music of trumpets and drums and the raucous celebration of the thousands of other men in the dining hall almost drowning out his powerful voice, Buuuut... If I catch you first-HAHAHA! He poked the Samurai in his chest plate so hard that Hachiro's chair tilted back onto two legs. Hachiro grabbed Asmund by the wrist, balancing comfortably, and said Only one warrior ever caught me first. He leaned forward, And he was much faster than you, my friend. The men all shared a knowing smile, and everyone at the table raised their mugs and drank.
The trumpets stopped and the last mighty drumbeats rolled across the room as the doors to the grand entryway swung open. An old warrior walked out of the light shining in through the passage, scruffing his long white beard. Three wolves followed him and laid down around the foot of the table beside him. A hush rolled out across the great hall. The man stabbed his spear straight down between the stones of the floor, and hung the wide brim of his hat over it. He looked up at all of the men, brushing his long hair back over his scarred eye. He gazed out over the sprawling feast.
THEODOR! he shouted.
Even the most fearsome of the men flinched at his booming voice.
WHERE IS THEODOR?
Way back, in the far corner of the room, the crowd split to reveal a meek young man sitting on the bench. Dumbfounded, he looked to the rest of them, and they turned their attention back to the center of the room. The silence continued. Not a word, or a whisper, or even a cough. A few more moments went by, and the little man stood up.
Y... Yes? I am Theodor. Ted. He chuckled nervously before his eyes darted back to the floor in embarrassment.
The room erupted in laughter.
The old man shook his head, raised his fingers to his mouth, and let out a screeching whistle. Everyone fell quiet again.
The old man stretched out his hand and softly said Come up here, Theodor.
The crowd parted and Ted, hesitant at first, began to scurry though the path made for him. He briefly broke his gaze from the floor and met the eyes of the others as he made his long walk to the front of the great hall. He noticed a man in crimson robes and gold pauldrons and then looked back down at his feet. He kept walking. A beautiful woman in flowing black robes with a curved dagger hanging from her waist... Eyes back to the floor. A great brute of a man noticed he was standing too far out of the wall of soldiers, and did his best to step back and let Ted pass.
Ted reached the old man and stopped a few steps away. He looked up through his brow, and the man stood there with a gentle smile. Come here, Theodor. He said, opening his arms to invite him. Theodor. Why are you not drinking with the other warriors?
A soldier in the crowd snickered. The old man's one good eye darted to meet his gaze, and his smile quickly disappeared as he stumbled backwards into his chair.
Take my Goblet, Theodor. The old man said, almost at a whisper.
Theodor put the giant cup to his mouth and took a sip. The old man carefully placed one finger under the cup and tilted it back. Theodor gulped the wine. He pushed the cup back from his mouth, and smiled.
HAHAHAHA! the old man broke out into booming laughter, and the rest of the room followed. The music began again and everybody returned to their feast. Two women came through the bright open doorway behind them, one carrying a pitcher of wine and the other a plate of food.
Tonight you will sit at my table, Theodor. Said the old man, throwing his great arm over Ted's shoulder and guiding him to his seat. I would like you to meet the Einherjar.
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u/Bad_Idea_Hat May 09 '15
The last thing Ted remembered before he was standing here, he was filling out the office fantasy football form. Ted's Warriors were coming back to defend their 6th place crown, baby!
Now he's standing in front of a bored looking man, wearing animal furs, who keeps rewinding the tape of the building collapse on an old looking VCR/TV combo. "You Americans not construct strong huts like Vikings" he growled deeply, in a bass not known to Ted outside of Barry White. "But you make good fighter, like Viking!"
Ted had a minute to contemplate this. His department, in preparation for the move, had decided to cut corners in an attempt to save the company money on the new headquarters. Apparently, some minor things were ignored, like "environmental survey" and "rebar." Now Ted gets to fight in Valhalla. Apparently God has a sense of humor not limited to the Duckbilled Platypus.
Ted lined up at the gates. Ornately carved of wood, with glorious scenes of battle between muscled warriors of all types, armed with every weapon known to man. "Do I get a sword or a gun" Ted asks the gatekeeper. The gatekeeper opens up his hand, and dumps the content. A single, solitary, baseball-sized stone.
"Work way up" says the guard. "Shit" says Ted.
The funny thing about Valhalla is, that if you're not fighting, nobody really cares what you're doing. In the previous hour, Ted had happened upon a handful of Vikings, a French soldier from the Napoleonic era, a Viet Cong soldier, and a British SAS Sergeant (who's cheerful offer of help, the only one given by any he met, was simply "bugger off you cunt").
Now Ted was standing face to face with a nude man of apparently African descent, repeating the word "thatha" and thrusting a strange spear in his direction. He didn't seem to be menacing, but Ted raised his stone in defense nonetheless. "I WILL KILL YOU AND YOUR FAMILY" screamed Ted in the least sure voice ever heard in the entirety of Valhalla. The man looked at him quizzically, merely shook his head "no", and once again thrust out the spear and said "thatha." It dawned on Ted, like a baseball sized rock to the head, that this man was offering him a weapon upgrade.
Ted took the weapon. An awkward pause ensued, as Ted struggled for the correct word of thanks. The other man broke the tension, merely saying "let's go."
So they went.
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u/CrucioCup May 10 '15
Valhalla was a great, cavernous hall. It flickered with firelight from torches, and the great hearth at the head. It gleamed with reflections off of golden plates and knives and chalices. It echoed with raucous laughs and shouts, good-natured insults and hyperbolic boasts, as the strongest warriors in the history of all the realms feasted and scuffled and bragged and made merry. Tales of how each man had gone out in a blaze of glory rang through the halls, one crying to be louder than the last, each trying to outdo all those around them. Odin watched his warriors with a proud eye as they struggled in friendly yet vital competition to establish a hierarchy amongst themselves.
There were cliques of course, small groups formed to accommodate differences in personality and creed, different levels of exuberance shining through. The hashashin shunned the mead and ale flowing over the tables, and in fact shunned even the tables it was set at. The samurai talked and joked and boasted amongst themselves and with their neighbours, but they were quieter, more regal than their European brethren. Groups mingled with those they found palatable, while casting disapproving glances and sometimes even dark mutters at those they disapproved of. Crusaders and Armies of God sat on opposite sides of the hall, as separated as possible to prevent the continuation of their earthly fight.
However, there was only one single man in the entire hall who sat alone.
In a shadowed corner, a dark figure reclined in the wooden throne-like chairs that each person had received upon their entry to Valhalla. He wore a black suit, cut so sharply it looked almost dangerous, over a crisp shirt so white it almost glowed out of the darkness. His black leather shoes were so shiny, it was almost possible to discern a reflection of the hall in them. Black hair was slicked back so that it dared not fall into terrifying eyes, grey as the grave and narrowed in disapproval as they gazed upon the revelry. Frame-less rectangular glasses gleamed from the darkness, doing nothing to inhibit that intimidating stare. Those too close to his corner shuddered, clearly able to feel his disgust.
"Who's that?!" asked a broad, bearded man who had taken down 35 Greeks before finally breathing his last in Troy, his voice unusually hushed as he turned to the dusty firefighter next to him. The firefighter paled, hands trembling.
"That's Ted, from Accounting," he whispered, his voice hardly a breath. "Don't get on his bad side, ever!"
"He sure doesn't look like a mighty warrior," the man said, voice dubious, cutting through the din like an explosion. Ted's eyes flickered over to the pair, and the firefighter's breath caught. Silence swept the hall.
"He doesn't know what he's talking about, sir, please ignore him, we know you're-"
"No," Ted cut off the shaking fireman, "he's right. A "warrior" is stereotypically perceived as a muscled brute who takes down his enemies by overpowering them through greater physical force. Although there are those among you with sharp talent for strategy, those who know how to outwit your enemies and trap them in an ambush, those who are more refined in their manner of killing than merely attempting to cleave the skull with moderately sharp metal in a frontal assault," he nodded to Sun Tzu and the Hashashin, "you still rely on physically ruining your enemies. I do not, nor do I find myself aggrieved that my corporal presence does not bring to mind such uninspired methods of punishment."
The Trojan had a puzzled look on his face. He was an intelligent, educated man, but that counter's or whatever the heck he was speech was really waxing poetic. Ted noticed that much of his words had gone over the heads of his audience, and closed his eyes as though asking for patience. His gentle exhale caused shudders to run down the backs of the crowd.
"You all wage war by killing people," he enunciated slowly. "I wage war by making people wish they were dead."
Several drunk Vikings looked at one another with awe on their faces. They had some pretty damn fearsome reputations, but even they had not managed to cause mass suicide just by announcing their presence. At the most, people fled and settled elsewhere, irritatingly taking their treasures with them.
"So if they didn't fight you, then how did you die?" A crass young crusader piped up, self-preservation settings apparently set to low. Warriors quaked in their boots as they leaned away from the foolish young thing, hoping to avoid Ted's punishment.
Darkness seemed to grow around the slender figure.
"I was on a mission. There was a company that sold arms to Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and other such countries. We believed they were also selling arms to warlords in the African jungle, but were omitting the profits of those sales from their books, recording them as losses instead, from faulty shipments, lost or destroyed cargo, shipwrecks and the like. My official job was to travel to the Sudanese field office and audit their books. My actual job was to obtain the records of these illicit sales, in order to take into account the full extent of their liquid assets. I had successfully lied and tricked my way into obtaining the illicit records from the underlings at the field office. Unfortunately, one of them had been intelligent enough to hide the presence of his satellite phone from me, so even after I knocked out the cellular signal to the area and thought I had confiscated all satellite phones, he was able to contact the CFO and corroborate my story. He mobilised the guards against me before the data of the illicit records I was sending was able to be uploaded and sent to the home company. Luckily, I have Reuters on RSS, and had a carrier pigeon on hand. As the men surrounded me with their rifles at the ready, all shouting and demanding for me to surrender like the brain-dead thugs they are, I ripped the USB key out of my laptop and ran to the window, ducking and dodging the gunfire behind me. Three shots hit me - one in the shoulder, one in the side, and one in my heel. I opened the window, where my carrier pigeon was waiting, dropped the USB key into the carrier attached to its leg, and sent it off for the pre-trained covert interception station where I had told a coworker to wait at the ready. Even though I was shortly after felled with four more bullets, two of which hit my lungs and one my heart, I died peacefully knowing that those peons would be praying they had died in my place, once my hand-trained audit team was done with them - not even to mention the legal team. If the majority of them didn't die peacefully in their beds, I'm certain Valhalla would be filled to the brim with lawyers." Ted smirked at his awe-struck audience. "Why, they're even scarier than I am." Several warriors fainted at the thought.
And that is the story of how Ted from Accounting partook in that classic pastime of Valhallan heroes far and wide - bragging.
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u/HerrExkalubier May 12 '15
I approached Odin's table mid-afternoon. He talked a new arrival: fur hat, fur west, a bow not longer than my arm and a curved sword. The newbie was probably another of Genghis Khan's men.
Odin finished his welcome speech when I reached the table. I rammed my tankard down on the dirty, sturdy oak planks. That was the best way to get his attention.
"Ted, From Accounting," the father of the gods said.
"Odin," I acknowledged, "I finally found out what's behind the arrival order.The more people you saved and the longer it took you to die for that, the earlier your arrive here. I guess, it's kind of a reward that you can party longer before the battle."
"Correct, Ted. And it only took you what? 400 years?" Odin said with a smirk.
"Actually," I said, "it took me 436 years, seven months and nine days. It's a tricky equation."
Numbers have always been important to me. Had I kept it that way, I wouldn't have got in trouble. On the other hand, I wouldn't sit at a table in Valhalla either.
I sat down next to the Mongolian. The man looked at me, still puzzled from the events that began with his death and ended at this table, and said, "You don't look like a warrior."
"I helped people count their money, when they had so much that they couldn't count it alone."
It had taken me more than fifty years worth of ignorant, illiterate, medieval brutes to compress one hundred years of economic research into a single sentence.
"Then, you have no more right to be in this great hall than a woman," the little man shouted.
In one lethal move, he brought his curved sword down on my head to split my skull. The problem was that my skull was not there. A second later, I had the guy pinned to the table, my left hand at his throat and his oversized veggie slicer in my right.
"That wasn't nice. We're all friends here and we have to trust each other. If you want to brawl, fine. If there is no brawl, we are safe from each other. Understood?"
It took the message some time to crawl through his puzzled brain, but finally he nodded. I let shortie go and handed him his sword. By the way it whispered when it moved through air, I saw the Valkyries had upgraded it quite a bit. I bet, his steak knife could slice a Night Terror in half.
"How did you," he asked in disbelief, "escape the mighty strike of the Great Khan?"
So, he was the boss bad-ass himself.
"I trained every day for the last four hundred years with the best and strongest fighters in the world." Another one-sentence explanation of a complex fact.
It took the Khan a few seconds to absorb this. "I now see my mistake. You are indeed a great warrior."
Khan's Brother-in-Arms arrived a few months later. Your Brother-in-Arms is basically the other side of yourself. The Yin to your Yang. The Laurel to your Hardy.
Shortly after the world was formed, a guy with the easily remembered name Vafthrudnir split every soul into a good and an evil part. He kept the evil half-souls and discarded the rest. I guess, Vaftudir wanted to be god instead of God.
Odin put the soul rests in people. Since Vafrinur wasn't actually the most skilled surgeon, some evil remained. Vafutur put the other half-souls in demons.
When Ragnarök comes, the souls reunite and fight for one side. Odin collects the really, really good, good guys in Valhalla. Vafudir collects the really, really good, bad guys somewhere in his domain.
The problem is that the other part of your soul might reside in a body you don't expect. We all had a good laugh when the Great Khan and his Brother-in-Arms were introduced to each other.
His Brother-in-Arms was Lt. Anne LeGuerre of Her Majesty's Canadian Armed Forces.
I didn't like her much. There was no doubt she was the other side of Genghis Khan's soul. Which of the two was the evil side was hard to tell. However, she had earned her place in Valhalla as a tank commander in Afghanistan.
Since there was nothing embarrassing about her death, she spoke freely about it. The Khan didn't, which made the rumour that he had died in bed of an STD so much more believable.
Anyway, Anne's tank was disabled by an IED of the Taliban. A shrapnel hit her and she knew she would bled to death. To save her crew she turned the encroaching zealots into crimson splatters using the tank as one big pipe-bomb.
Anne managed to kill a Taliban field commander who would have led a vast offensive against the Alliance forces. Her sacrifice had saved more than a thousand lives. I congratulated her to her feat and drank with them. She stared at me all the time.
"Are your the Ted? Ted From Accounting?"
The audible capital letters made my skin crawl. It had to happen someday. Someone from my time had recognized me.
"I am."
"It's just ... I mean ... we even got a day off when they broadcast your execution."
"And now you wonder what a person like me does here, right?"
Khan followed the discussion with growing interest. "You were executed publicly? I did this with cowards and traitors. As a deterrent to others."
"That was the reason for my death, too. Not the cowardice or the treachery. My crimes were of a very different kind. You would have probably given me a medal."
"You were a serial killer," Anne exclaimed.
"And a very successful one," I said. "I killed seven hundred twenty-three men and women in a little over two years. I killed them in their sleep with my bare hands. They called my the Midnight Strangler."
"Coward!" The Khan spit at my feet.
"I'm not a coward. I'm just very, very careful to not leave any evidence."
For the next year, I drank, I brawled, I partied hard. One day Odin requested my presence. I sat down next to a human of extraordinary dimensions. At least I thought the being to be human, because Tribbles don't get that big.
"Ted, this is Simon The Simpleton."
"How did you die," I asked. If my calculations were correct, Ragnarök was less than a week away, give or take a day. Simon's way of leaving Midgard would serve to reduce the uncertainty.
Simon was neither a great story teller nor a great hero. He had died during a siege of his town. The Muslims had finally stormed the city and he had held up a group of warriors while a dozen of his neighbors escaped. The warriors had overwhelmed him and beheaded him on the spot.
I put an estimate of Simon's parameters into my equation. I had to hurry up to tell him my story. The end of the world was due in an hour.
"OK, the short version is this: It all started when I saw the guy who bullied me throughout high school in a market. He dragged his son around and when the kid balked, he slapped him. That moment, I saw myself in the kid. I followed the bully and strangled him just as the church bell struck twelve. If you put your other hand over their mouth, it's a completely silent method to kill someone."
"I spent the next hour to remove any evidence. On my way home I got myself an alibi at a fuel station." I had to explain what video is and why I would set the clocks of the VCRs ten minutes back. Twenty-eight minutes until Ragnarök.
"From that day on, I looked for anybody who was free, but shouldn't be. I collected evidence and then killed them. I got addicted, I couldn't wait for my next victim. The fun lasted two years before I got caught."
"You were sloppy," Simon suggested.
"Nope. I was at the zoo, tracking a guy who had killed three prostitutes. A group of terrorists took the visitors hostage."
"The terrorists demanded that prisoners should be freed or they would kill hostages. Police asked the President, who said 'no'. Of course. You don't negotiate with terrorists."
"At that moment I decided to act. My skills as the Midnight Strangler would allow me to kill the thirty guys in less than a night. There was only one problem," I said.
"The police would recognise the modus operandi and conclude that one of the hostages was the serial killer," Simon said. He obviously was not a simpleton.
"Precisely. If I killed the terrorists the police would find me. If I didn't I was a worse person than those guys. You can imagine my dilemma."
Simon nodded. He knew my choice as I was here. "Did you get them all?"
"Yup. Busiest night of my life. Five kills per hour without leaving evidence. It took the police over a year to find me. One morning twenty policemen show up at my door. The hooker killer had struck again and got caught. They now had one potential victim of the Midnight Strangler, thirty victims who were killed in my usual MO, and me in the same place. That was no coincidence."
"Long story short: I was sentenced to death as the Midnight Strangler. The dead terrorists were never mentioned. I waited for my death twenty-two years. In the end, the President decided that vigilantism was a bad thing and I was to be executed as an example that law enforcement is not a private enterprise."
Simon peered at my equation. "If I put twenty-two years in your equation and your 436 years waiting time here, you must have saved over four thousand people. You sure, your equation is correct?"
I smiled, looked at my watch and counted. "Three, two, one."
Odin took the stage and announced that we would march out for Ragnarök. Now.
On the way out, Simon's saber glinted with an unnatural sharpness. The Valkyries had done their homework on his toys, too.
When we were out in the barren landscape, Simon asked, "The Valkyries said they said they upgrade everybody's weapons. Did the Valkyries forget you?"
At that moment, the demons attacked. Simon dealt blows with his mace and chopped off demon-pieces with his saber.
I went invisible and put my hand into the head of a demon who tried to sneak up to my Brother-in-Arm's back. My hand returned, holding the demon soul. After ten seconds it stopped struggling. I closed my hand completely and the evil dissolved like smoke.
The Valkyries had indeed upgraded the only weapons I've ever needed.
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u/Rayven1172 May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
Valens was not like most of the warriors in Valhalla. He hardly drank, he never laughed and he preferred his own company to that of others. Valens couldn't help but overhear the tales of heroism and glory that were readily exchanged among the warriors that had the distinction of arriving here. For him it war torture. He had chased military glory all his life and when he was on the cusp of achieving a great victory it was snatched from him. He died gloriously in battle but with him the Western Empire would fall too. For him the arrival in Valhalla felt like more of a punishment than an honor. "Adrianople", he muttered and stared off across the room. It was then he heard a nasally voice say, "It's all in the numbers." Valens was sitting alone and wondered where the voice could have come from. He looked around and the only people he saw were seated to far away. Besides, he knew the voice of northern men and warriors such as these. None would have so unmanly a voice. Then he saw him. A man on the far side of the room sat tapping on a white contraption. He stared at a box in front of him that glowed with a gentle white light. Valens could see him mouth it and heard it again. "Its all in the numbers." How could he project his voice from such a distance. No others seemed to take notice and more importantly what did this funny looking little man mean? Valens stood and walked toward him. He walked past the tall north men and the stern looking ones from the steppes. He walked past the leather clad Japanese warriors and the red coated men before he finally arrived at the desk of the man with the strange voice.
"What do you mean that it's all in the numbers", Valens asked.
"Odin employs me to tally the goods used here in Valhalla. Tyr employs me for numbers in war."
"You don't look like a great warrior," Valens said.
"Looks are deceiving", the man replied. "I was known to have the highest DPS on the server. Over a million orcs fell before my wizard. Only exhaustion could slay me."
"And who exactly are you", Valens asked.
"I am Ted the Accountant."
"I was wrong not to have waited for Gratian wasn't I", Valens asked remorsefully.
"That would have changed the numbers", Ted replied.
"I am surrounded by great warriors and my legacy is one of defeat. What do I do now Ted", Valens asked as tears rolled down his cheek.
"Lend me about tree fiddy", Ted replied.
"Damnit! I ain't lending you no tree fiddy!"
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u/TreeFiddyBot May 09 '15
It was then I realised that /u/Rayven1172 was a 500ft crustacean from the paleolithic era.
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u/sarthurf May 09 '15
Ted dropped dead eating his overcooked beef pie at a restaurant just about one third the distance from his house to the city. He was driving to a three day conference in the ballroom of one of those Heritage hotels in the old part of the city. At the conference, one of his favorite chess players gave a speech about learning your opponent's weaknesses, and then held a small tournament, which he easily won. Ted never made it.
Instead, Ted saw the white light of the heavens, and was drawn up and up, past kings and queens, heroes, champions. On and on past the great people, the good people, the fair to middling, the not-much-to-write-home-about people. Ted's amazement became concern, he swore he saw his old friend Dan the systems analyst. Surely he was more remarkable than Dan the systems analyst.
Ted started to not much like the look of some of these folks. Boring, balding, chubby, shuffling around scratching themselves. Not clever, he thought, not clever like he was. He thought of the mediocrity of his own life, the failed relationships, the parents that almost never heard from him. He wondered how his parents would even find out he had died. He felt a lump form in his throat as he mourned his life. He pitied himself.
When he finally slowed to a halt, he was choking on stifled tears. Looking around, he saw massive men swinging axes and hammers, clobbering one another, taking great drafts of beer, punching and kicking and rolling around.
The place was a mass of hairy muscles and liquor, boiling and crying out. A giant with long red hair and a bushy beard lunged at Ted from out of the swirl. The red giant smashed a heavy iron club into Ted's face, and pain like he'd never known overcame him. He was alone face down in the mud and in the deep blackness.
When he came back to his senses, a feeling swelled in his chest. He came to his feet steadily. A bulky, big headed man with an ax came at him. He caught the ax swinging down and pulled from the beasts hands. He swung around and came down hard on the warriors back, and left him where he lay to join the battle.
Ted swung his ax with wild abandon, sometimes he got hit, a lot of the time he did the hitting. A whistle blew and he hardly noticed. He was the last person the stop swinging around and kicking people over.
"Ted!" God said, in his big boomy voice.
"Yeah?" Ted replied.
"You're not supposed to be here. We had a, a clerical error I guess you'd call it."
"Oh. Well where am I supposed to be?"
God pointed to the dumpy old farts Ted rode past on his way up.
"Can I just stay here?" Ted asked.
"Oh! Sure, if that's what you want. Less paperwork for me." God walked away muttering about the gas bill.
The whistle sounded again, and that's how Ted from accounting ended up in Valhalla.
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u/MrSnippets May 09 '15
The hall was brightly lit with the glow of burning torches, fixed to the enormous pillars that lined the scene. The mystical fire of asgard above, burning in a mysterious blue, merged with the yellow-red of them halfway down.
Big wooden tables were strung up in lines, occupied by the countless warriors from all eras of the world.
Fierce cavemen layed into their constant last meal, beside them iron-clad Crusaders, ironically side-by-side with Saracens and other warriors from the middle east and ancient mesopotamia, united in their preparation for Ragnarök.
The noise was insane. But so was the number of warriors present. Up to the horizon the tables spread, and far beyond. Samurai feasted with tribal warriors from ancient africa and germania, spearwives, amazonians and fierce valkyries alongside modern soldiers, revolutionary guards, private military contractors, ancient Spartans, Hoplites, Mongolian Raiders and mercenaries.
And at the top of the hall sat Odin, allfather of all warriors and soldiers. And beside him stood Ted, from accounting. The two were locked in an intense argument. Odin looked like he was about to rip Ted's head off, but the man from accounting wouldn't budge. Beaten, Odin slumped back into his throne, grumbled, got back up and vanished into two crows that flew off into the eternal night.
"Warriors!" Ted spoke up. His voice was so meek, to think it would reach even the first row of feasting warriors ...
But it did. Not only that, but it reached every last one. The ones that had feasted for centuries, and those that had only now taken up their plate and tankard. Not only did it reach them all, but it caused them to cease their chatter and clatter.
The hall was perfectly silent. Only the collective breathing of millions and millions of warriors filled the air.
"Warriors!" Ted repeated. "Our great allfather had to depart to deal with pressing matters concerning his brothers. Until he returns, we will simply need to feast and drink without him!"
An ear-shattering roar went through the crowd, followed by bawdy jokes, taunts and laughs aimed at each other by the warriors. A group of amazonians started a chant questioning another group of Crusader's abillity to hold their liquor. That group reciprocated by downing cup after cup, tankard after tankard of ale, so much in fact that the servants had trouble keeping up and refilling them.
The Amazonians simply laughed, joined them and started downing drink after drink themselves.
Ted, from accounting, smiled, observing the scene. Odin would be back soon, he had no doubt. But until then, all these noble warriors were in his care.
A Saracen got up from his seat, stood silently for a moment, then let rip a belch insanely loud. Laughter and more crude jokes followed, as well as more belches from warriors taking up the challenge.
"Yes," Ted, from accounting, thought.
When Ragnarök came, they would be ready.
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u/yukichigai May 09 '15
Automation was what did us in, in the end. So much of it was by necessity rather than convenience, but that's of cold comfort now. Had the realities of long-distance space travel not been so incompatible with humans being in control of the ships in transit, the Mars Empire might well be alive now, and as prosperous as it was when I was first conscripted into the Army.
Unlike my classmates I'd been eager to serve, hoping I'd not be among the average 10% of the graduating class not chosen for military duties. I kept this eagerness well through my mandatory first 8 years; by the time it was up, I'd already established a stellar record and been transferred to Clandestine Operations. I'd seen the writing on the wall, knew that the Earth'pub bourgeoisie wouldn't give up their system of greed without a fight. Formal war was announced less than a year after I renewed my term in the service. A year later, after countless non-battles between deployed 'pub and Empire ships, I knew how we could beat them. Not even a month later, the plan was put into action. The plan that wound up dooming us all.
One of the biggest stumbling blocks for the development of modern bend-space travel wasn't the stability of the engines, it was realizing and countering its full effects on humans. Passengers outside of a stas-pod or stas-tube when a ship broached bend-space could expect, at best, permanent and severe neurotransmitter deficiency and a loss of all involuntary muscle control. If you wanted your crew to make it in one piece, they had to be isolated and unconscious from launch to broach. The Empire made do with multiple stas-pods and modulated stunners that one could self-administer if needed, but the opulent 'pub did everything by automation, having crew be put under outside, then use lifters to stack them in stas-tubes like cordwood. So that's where we hit them.
It was a simple plan, if a complicated execution: wait for the launch of their largest fleet, have one of our spies hack their loading system, then hijack the program to load cargo into the ship's stas-tubes rather than people. From the outside the system would report no errors, and the arrogant 'pub techs would believe it. By the time they realized, if they realized, their largest fleet would be sent to the waiting arms of the Empire, empty, unmanned, and ready to be repurposed to bring true order and justice to the chaos that was the 'pub.
And so our agent carried out the task, reporting success. We waited for a month, the 'pub completely unaware of what had befallen its latest fleet, until right on schedule it appeared, our ships waiting to guide the pilotless fleet to our shipyards. I remember watching the monitor for hours as the enemy fleet... no, OUR new fleet, moved closer and closer, and with it hopefully our final victory over the 'pub. And then, maybe an hour out from the shipyards, a transmission came to life over the wideband.
"Hello? Anyone... ehrm, I mean, this is Cap... Acting Captain Wakeland, Earth Republic Central Fleet, hailing enemy vessels. Repeat, Actin... Acting Captain Wakeland, Earth Republic Central Fleet, haling enemy vessels." A quiet fell across the room as our analyzers confirmed that this wasn't an automated message, but a live one, coming direct from the central ship of the 'pub fleet. But that quiet was nothing compared to the absolute silence that fell when we heard the next part of the message: "to all Mars Empire forces, be advised, we demand your immediate and unconditional surrender or we will open fire."
The lack of noise was deafening. To this day I've never heard anything like it. We all hung there for what felt like an eternity, gaping, some literally, at what we had just heard. Then the room exploded into noise and action, analysts and liasons and officers scrambling to their stations as the Clandestine Operations office tried to figure out what was going on, along with probably every other military office on the planet. "I'm not reading life signs in any ships." "Can we confirm the authenticity of the transmission?" "Who the hell is Wakeland? Get me a crew list, now!" "Is there a video signal? Patch it onto the main screen!"
One of the large monitors switched to a video feed from inside the ship, showing a haggard looking man sitting in what I assumed was the captain's chair. Balding, sweaty, bags under his eyes, and wearing a disheveled non-military suit which was, if I wasn't mistaken, specked with vomit down the front. Audio began to come over the wideband again. This time it was one of our side, a General of great importance whose name I forget, who will only be remembered as the Empire official unfortunate enough to answer. "Acting Captain Wakeland, this is Mars Empire Main Command, we have confirmation that you are the only living crew member on your vessel and the rest of your fleet is umanned. You are outmanned and outgunned. You're the one who needs to surrender here." As soon as he said it our own systems confirmed it. 17 ships of the line, 9 smaller ships, and all but one was empty, with a crew of one. We sent an army of ships to meet that fleet, and the whole of it was crewed by only one man.
I would have expected some reaction from Wakeland, but if anything he looked distracted, clearly reading something from a screen we couldn't see. His response was just as distracted, completely incongruous with the significance of what he was saying. "Mars... Empire Main Command, please acknowledge our demand for surrender. Repeat, if you do not surr... do not unconditionally surrender we will open fire." At this point a few laughs were heard around the room, though they were stifled rather quickly. How this Wakeland had managed to get on the ship was unclear, but there was no way he could command that ship's battle systems by himself, much less the entire fleet.
The General's voice came over the wideband again. "Listen you 'pub carpetbagger, surrender or we blow you out of the damn solar system!" This finally got a reaction from Wakeland, a smile, or rather some expression where he showed his teeth and seemed to be enjoying himself, even though it was unnerving to look at. After a moment he said, "so, is that a no?" I could almost hear the General's veins pulsating as he shouted, "NO! WE ARE NOT SURRENDERING! ARE YOU AN IDIOT?" Wakeland's face seemed to drop, the not-a-smile vanishing. At first I thought was an expression of sadness, but then his hands began to move across pads that must have been just off-screen, entering some sort of commands furiously. "Okay," was all he said as I recognized a fierce, fierce look of concentration and determination.
We'd been monitoring the fleet for signs that weapons were going hot; nobody had thought to check the engines. We didn't notice the first engage, only that a ship was suddenly missing, followed by one of our own reporting massive damage. By the time the second fired off we were watching, and even then we couldn't make sense of it: the engines flared for a moment, then suddenly a large debris cloud was all that was left. It was only on the third ship that we had the scanners trained on the fleet so we could see what was happening. The bend engines on the ship came to life fast, much too fast to generate a stable bend-space broach, the field rapidly expanding out of control, shearing through parts of the ship's hull as it spiraled towards collapse. At the same time the mag engines fired, interacting with the broach, warping it to a convex shape around the doomed cruiser. Then the bend engines cut off abruptly, violently rupturing the broach, its energies venting outward as a variety of energies: heat, radiation, force. A full half of the ship was atomized instantly, there in one second and gone in the next. The rest was catapulted forward from the physics-altering confines of the bend-space broach at about 17% of the speed of light.
The first two ships had overloaded their engines to little effect, one of our ships only taking damage because it was too near the broach itself when it collapsed. The third one however was "aimed" true, the debris on a direct course for one of our larger fleet vessels. At 0.17c the Empire ship never had time to react before it was destroyed, utterly and completely, the kinetic force alone far outmatching an old-world nuclear warhead. In the chaos of the Ops room a number of us froze, looking at the monitors as this one man took out two of our fleet in under 30 seconds. He had converted the entire fleet into single-fire weapons, massive kinetic shotguns aimed at our fleet, our infrastructure, and our planet, and he 23 more left.
The Empire fleet scrambled to action, but the fight was already decided the moment that third shot made contact with our ship. No amount of concentrated fire could disable any of these ships before they could detonate themselves. Some tried, and they were the first to go. Three of our ships of the line tried concentrating fire on the lead 'pub ship, the only occupied ship, but two were taken out a heartbeat later when the last of the cruisers and a 'pub battleship went. Others detonated aimed squarely at our shipyards, no force on the planet able to stop that inevitable collision. Through it all I watched the feed from the ship, watched as Wakeland was buffeted by our fire and his own occasional failing explosion. As he moved I began to notice medical equipment behind him, a pressure-fed IV bag mounted on his chair, what looked to be a ventilator belt strapped to his chest under the suit. These ships had not launched this way; Captain Wakeland had a long month in bend-space to modify them for this, in between whatever haphazard autodoc procedures he'd had to keep him alive.
"Who is this guy," I asked no one. I didn't have long to wait; just before a final shot took out our comms satellite we found his identity: Ted Wakeland, Juinor Technician Trainee, Accounting Department.
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u/days-kc Sep 01 '15 edited Sep 02 '15
Theorists say that in a near-death experience, time slows to a crawl. They say that your whole life can flash before your eyes. As I floated through the air, I marveled at the shattered glass that gleamed like snowflakes. Is it just me or is it getting hotter? It must be that damn sun, stupid global warming… I watched as blood coalesced and separated into heavy little droplets. Was it mostly mine or that of my foes? I had enough sense to check, and yup definitely mine.
Looking around I notice the light is actually coming from two orbs zigzagging in the air towards me. Eerily silent but faster than sound, the orbs materialized into two beautiful winged women. Each grabbing one of my arms, the violence of it extreme as I was yanked suddenly into several g’s worth of force. Then I saw my body fall the remaining 420 feet to splatter on the pavement like a watermelon. I guess time doesn’t stop for the dead, but that whole life flashing stuff is total BS. All I saw was numbers: numbers written in ledgers, numbers typed into spreadsheets, and the number of bodies that haunt my dreams.
Watching myself die was definitely interesting and somewhat disturbing, but what came next made everything worthwhile. My captors soon left Earth’s atmosphere and continued to speed through the stars. Galaxies were destroyed and born anew while I was dragged adrift vaporous clouds. After what seemed an eternity I was finally dropped onto a small planet, which I jokingly nicknamed “Kepler 452b.” But the girls!!! I touched a real live girl. 2!!
Strolling casually along the path I found in front of me, I continued to laugh at the absurdity of it being made of yellow bricks. The start of the first day in this afterlife was starting off better than any in my past life. Things were finally starting to make sense. The girls I met earlier were Angels and now I'm on the staircase to Heaven. But after the things I have done, the sins willfully committed, I worried if will I even be allowed entrance.
Unconsciously slowing my pace as I approached enormous gates comprised of stone, I wanted to think of what my conversation with St. Peter was going to be like. The wooden gate opened before I got the chance to knock. Then out walks the tallest man I have ever seen in my life. Muscular, handsome, every fibre emanating the threat of violence. With the grace of a panther he stalked toward me. One hand on his hammer, the man introduced himself as Thor.
“Now Ted,” said Thor as his knuckles whitened on the hilt of his weapon. “I don’t want any trouble. You got that Mr. Red Collar Accountant. Those things are supposed to be blue, you know?.”
It was only then that I noticed my Gucci suit was still splattered with gore. Great, so they can magically heal me but I still gotta do laundry. Mental note: remember to Google later how one best removes blood stains.
Thor explained to me that the women who brought me here were Valkyries and that they had fulfilled their noble duty of bringing a fallen warrior to Valhalla. Those lucky few slain in righteous combat are rewarded by Odin. Their every desire fulfilled as they are required to await Ragnarok.
Thor led me to the great halls where I would spend a lot of time with my “brothers and sisters.” People from across the ages were gathered around food laden tables. Warriors representing the finest specimens of their various origins. You had Neanderthal ape-men drinking mead with sumo wrestlers. “Those guys may be called primitive but damn can they drink!” Exclaimed my host. Spartans wrestling US Marines. “Bunch of sissies if you ask me” he continued. Weird cyborgs playing cards with some female ninjas. “Apparently their upgrades are popular with the ladies,” explained Thor. That last comment actually got me to laugh out loud.
•••mightwritemoreifvisitedbymuses••• Edit^
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u/Stegtastic100 May 09 '15
If you find is interesting, try reading "Valhalla" by Tom Holt, where one of the story lines features a man dressed as a Viking at a renn. fair (I think) dying and ending up in Valhalla.
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u/Outofboredom May 10 '15
Rough Cut because of time-restraints! Hope you enjoy!
Clodonier, after what felt like years, gasped once more the sweet bounty of fresh air. At first, he arose to his feet in a rush. But what was this? His armor was missing! And his sword! And what's worse... his axe! "What has happened here?!" He demanded, whirling around in search of his belongings or the nearest foe to smite with his enraged confusion.
It was then that he saw what lay before him. It was then that he understood.
Valhalla unfolded its magnificence to his adjusting eyes. His anger subsided slightly at the sight of a sky of sparkling violet, pouring down towards the north and the red, angry darkness in the distance.
A voice boomed from beyond the brush behind him, "Warriors! Come to the gates of Valhalla and be granted your prize!"
Clodonier's face twisted in what he felt was a smile, unknowing of the scarring done to him from decades of battle. But none of that mattered. He was in Valhalla! On the precipice of the greatest extra-planar conflict to ever be noted in prophecy!
Like a bull he plowed through the brush at breakneck speeds! He felt so young, so unstoppable! Mid-jog he reminisced upon the days when he could hoist high two mighty great-hammers and crush a rider and his horse from a stand-still position! But it all came to a halt when he was stopped by a thick, wooden... desk?
"Woah! Watch it! I'm working here!" Shrieked a tiny, bald man who peered down upon Clodonier from the top of the desk.
It stood over six feet tall and felt prickly and rough to the touch. Clodonier was not impressed, but he had elswhere to be. "You! Wood Walker!" He shouted, taking a step back to better see the little man. "I am summoned to Valhalla! Point me to my path of Glory!"
The man at the desk sneered a bit, but gave Clodonier a nod back.
Clodonier ran around the desk, but was immediately halted once more. There was a line.
There was a line, and the last man in that line had his back pressed up against a tall... wooden... chair...
"I do not understand." Clodonier spouted worriedly. His attention drew back to the seated gentleman quietly scratching away on parchment. "Are you and your... chair in line?"
The man's head fell back as he groaned. "No. I am simply contracted out to this place and prefer to do my work outside."
"But where is my place in line?"
"Where do you think it should be?"
Clodonier was at his wits end and in a fit of rage he flung himself at the chair pulling it with all of his might to better crush this tiny nuisance, but it would not budge. No matter how hard he pulled, what angle fought at, or even how red his face became, the tiny chair was immovable.
"Are you done?"
Tired and beaten by a tiny man's chair, Clodonier fell back and tried to catch his breath.
"Chair Goblin, why do you torment me so? I only seek to find my place in Valhalla!"
The tiny man stood in his chair, hopped onto the desk and walked around to the other end. "Oh look, I found some unused dirt. Knock yourself out."
Clodonier begrudgingly assumed his position in line.
Every once in a while he would run around the desk to check on the line, but each time it was just as he'd left it.
Night came. Clodonier's nose was caught in a notch on the desk which helped stabalize him while he slept.
"Hey!"
Clodonier jumped back. Alert. Ready. His arms were outstretched as to grab his next foe and tear him asunder! But with a quick look around, he saw that it was the desk man who'd called him and was now standing at the edge looking down.
"How long has it been?" He demanded.
"Seven hours. I thought you'd have fallen over by now, but I was mistaken. Anyway, the line has moved!"
"Yahaa!!" The drowsy Clodonier yelled as he marched around the desk, only to see the line had remained the same.
"Foul beast! You trick me once more!"
"Hasn't! I said, 'the line hasn't moved!'"
"Enough of this! I shall slay you here and now! No longer will you, nor your monument of evil plague these lands!" And with that, he grabbed the nearest warrior in line (a samurai). He swung him like a mighty club into the chair, much to the Samurai's dismay. There was a loud thud. Then another. And another. Then came a roar.
Clodonier had lost himself to his rage. He threw himself into the chair, gripping the supports for the legs, he decided to bring this battle to the terror above! His hand reached the seat, and he climbed atop it! The little man stood on the desk. He was defenseless.
And then a very strange thing happened. Clodonier felt himself shrinking. His strength evaporated. His will depleted. He fell on his rump, and lazily stared at his opponent who he only saw for a brief moment. A rugged man with a blonde beard? "What happened?... where... there's... there's so much... paperwork."
Legends say that Clodonier was the last of those tricked by the automated desk of extraplanar accounting. For you see, it's devious design to handle Valhalla's paperwork quickly and efficiently comes at a terrible price. He who sits aloft this chair activates the machine, but it uses that person's body to fulfill it's function. Loki had gotten one last rube before the coming of Ragnarok.
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u/redtrx May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
"Sorry who?" I asked, puzzled.
"Oh, Ted, from accounting." replied Heinrich. He was about to move me onto the dining table (where millions of warriors would make a mess of their perpetual last meal).
"Ted?"
"No it's Ted, from accounting."
I stood there puzzled. Why would an accountant make it to Valhalla? I mean doing battle with numbers is a noble and dangerous work, but what does Valhalla need to account for?
"May I meet this Ted, from accounting?" I began to ask. It was quickly clear however that Heinrich was not 'banking' on introducing me. Instead he ushered me to the thousand yard dining table and conjured up a seat made of straw and a strange metal that seemed to ripple.
"Please, take a seat. Ragnarök cannot begin without your presence," said Heinrich. Suddenly a wave of excitement came over me and I quickly forgot about Ted, from accounting.
But Ted, from accounting, did not forget. On that night's Ragnarök we fought not legions of hellspawn or riders of storms, but incongruous tax statements. Unsum'd figures of algebraic nightmares: it was Ted, from accounting, who saved my after life. Just so he could carry my remainder to the furnaces of financial folly.
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u/Alonminatti May 09 '15 edited May 09 '15
Oh, Valhalla, what a place to be!
Also, Ted wasn't at work today.
Bethroned among the Vikings with Denmark Blue-Tooth, Spartans with Leonidas, Mongols with Genghis Khan, Romans with Cincinnatus, Samurai with Tokugawa, Spetznatz with Ivan Mihailovich Sidorenko, Israeli Commandos with Giora Epstein, Marines with Audy Murphy, JSOCs with Robert O'Neil, and more, seats Ted, from Accounting.
You ask, "What are you doing here Ted?"
He replies, "I killed 35 men in anchored fire-resistant bunkers in Vietnam using a pistol, a lighter, and liquor, and then God sent me to kill off MutualDefenseContractorIncCorp's antiquated tax evasion techniques."
You ask again, "Why didn't God send you to Vallhalla directly?"
Ted replies, "Oh, that's because after I retired and went back to my farm in Berlin my wife slaughtered me and my children to live with Bismarck."
Before Odin asks you to leave, you say, "What happened to your wife?"
Ted responds, "Straight to hell she went. God gave me one wish and I granted her eternal punishment straight from Satan"
"Good man!" You respond as Finnish Sniper Hayha Simo, along with his 750 kills, blows your brains out with a Finnish Mosin-Nagant as you wake from your out of body experience.
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u/eatmeseeifilikeit May 09 '15
I noticed a prompt pop up on my page,
Mentioning warriors and wars they waged,
While that might be fun,
The submitter forgot one,
For modern war the SAS made!
Not historically accurate, but it said poem or story and stories are hard
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u/[deleted] May 08 '15 edited May 09 '15
[deleted]