squeaked an affirmative.
"Grinn's bounty. How much?"
"Muh... million."
Stix nodded. "Mine."
Then he was gone.
SIX
Wulf awoke to the unpleasant sensation of an electrical charge passing between his ears. Lights danced in front of his eyes, his fingertips spat sparks and the outermost regions of his beard appeared to be making a break for freedom.
He grabbed upwards to rip away whatever device was responsible, but instead of the electrodes he'd expected his fist rebounded from sheet metal; lodged immovably in place.
The charge faded to a dull ache, and filled with morbid curiosity he ran his fingers upwards and found two long, curling protrusions - one on either side of his head.
"By der gods..." he hissed, humiliation boiling his blood. "Is der helmet with der horns!"
A familiar voice broke through Wulf's misery and forced open his eyes. He was in a box, he saw immediately; clear plastic on every side. Outside, rising away into the gloom of an unlit auditorium, attentive faces regarded him with fascination.
"And now," said the voice, its showbiz cadence sending Wulf's fists clenching, "it's time to introduce the real star of this show - besides me, of course, ahaha - an actual specimen from the ninth century!"
Marteh Gumption, dressed from head to toe in messianic white, struck a pose from his dais and gestured towards Wulf.
Who went nuts.
Thirty seconds later his knuckles were sticky with blood, his toes and knees were aching, and even the unshakeable helmet with its impressive spikes had failed to break the glass of his cage.
Gumption commentated upon Wulf's tantrum with gusto.
"As you can see, the average Viking warrior possessed a truly savage temperament. The individual you see before you was liberated from his primitive life by a temporal incident. His... ah... excitement at being here is palpable."
Wulf screamed a particularly foul threat in his native tongue, calling down the wrath of Fenrir and Jormungand upon Gumption's head. The professor remained unperturbed.
"You needn't worry about your safety, ladies and gentlemen," he smarmed. "His viivarium is totally unbreakable, and comes complete with one-way soundproofing. We felt it best not to distress you with his cries." Gumption leaned down, favouring the front row with a sickening grin. "I assure you, ladies, his vulgar imprecations are not for the faint hearted."
Wulf had always wondered what a "swoon" was. Now he knew.
Gumption made a great show of aiming a small remote at Wulf, depressing a button with a smile. The helmet's electrical charge returned, dropping him to the floor with a yelp, the stink of burnt hair making him choke.
"A low-strength pacifier," Gumption explained, voice thick with faux reluctance. "Of course, it grieves me to use such crude methods. But, ladies and gentlemen, take heart! The Viking's synapses are so primitive that a, haha, a little zap like this barely registers. Plus, of course, it keeps the specimen from harming itself."
The audience applauded in humane appreciation.
Wulf snarled like a cornered swamp-possok and threw himself around the interior of his box. "I give you der sneck eating irritation, worm man with no real job und der stupid smile und der-"
"At any rate," Gumption continued with a flamboyant toss of floppy hair, blissfully ignorant of the stream of abuse, "our mutual friend here will serve as the basis of my research. With his testimony and genetic material, I aim to create a filmic masterpiece that will capture the raw brutality and pulsating savagery of Viking life, preserving its tribal culture for all of eternity. Ladies and gentlemen, Horns of Hell shall be my magnum opus!"
The audience went wild. Wulf went wilder. It didn't do any good.
To make matters worse, his armour and weapons were gone. Beyong his gronkskin tunic not a single item of his original clothing remained; replaced instead by a shaggy kilt, a plastic chain mail jerkin and black leather boots with gold engravings of the
"Grinn's bounty. How much?"
"Muh... million."
Stix nodded. "Mine."
Then he was gone.
SIX
Wulf awoke to the unpleasant sensation of an electrical charge passing between his ears. Lights danced in front of his eyes, his fingertips spat sparks and the outermost regions of his beard appeared to be making a break for freedom.
He grabbed upwards to rip away whatever device was responsible, but instead of the electrodes he'd expected his fist rebounded from sheet metal; lodged immovably in place.
The charge faded to a dull ache, and filled with morbid curiosity he ran his fingers upwards and found two long, curling protrusions - one on either side of his head.
"By der gods..." he hissed, humiliation boiling his blood. "Is der helmet with der horns!"
A familiar voice broke through Wulf's misery and forced open his eyes. He was in a box, he saw immediately; clear plastic on every side. Outside, rising away into the gloom of an unlit auditorium, attentive faces regarded him with fascination.
"And now," said the voice, its showbiz cadence sending Wulf's fists clenching, "it's time to introduce the real star of this show - besides me, of course, ahaha - an actual specimen from the ninth century!"
Marteh Gumption, dressed from head to toe in messianic white, struck a pose from his dais and gestured towards Wulf.
Who went nuts.
Thirty seconds later his knuckles were sticky with blood, his toes and knees were aching, and even the unshakeable helmet with its impressive spikes had failed to break the glass of his cage.
Gumption commentated upon Wulf's tantrum with gusto.
"As you can see, the average Viking warrior possessed a truly savage temperament. The individual you see before you was liberated from his primitive life by a temporal incident. His... ah... excitement at being here is palpable."
Wulf screamed a particularly foul threat in his native tongue, calling down the wrath of Fenrir and Jormungand upon Gumption's head. The professor remained unperturbed.
"You needn't worry about your safety, ladies and gentlemen," he smarmed. "His viivarium is totally unbreakable, and comes complete with one-way soundproofing. We felt it best not to distress you with his cries." Gumption leaned down, favouring the front row with a sickening grin. "I assure you, ladies, his vulgar imprecations are not for the faint hearted."
Wulf had always wondered what a "swoon" was. Now he knew.
Gumption made a great show of aiming a small remote at Wulf, depressing a button with a smile. The helmet's electrical charge returned, dropping him to the floor with a yelp, the stink of burnt hair making him choke.
"A low-strength pacifier," Gumption explained, voice thick with faux reluctance. "Of course, it grieves me to use such crude methods. But, ladies and gentlemen, take heart! The Viking's synapses are so primitive that a, haha, a little zap like this barely registers. Plus, of course, it keeps the specimen from harming itself."
The audience applauded in humane appreciation.
Wulf snarled like a cornered swamp-possok and threw himself around the interior of his box. "I give you der sneck eating irritation, worm man with no real job und der stupid smile und der-"
"At any rate," Gumption continued with a flamboyant toss of floppy hair, blissfully ignorant of the stream of abuse, "our mutual friend here will serve as the basis of my research. With his testimony and genetic material, I aim to create a filmic masterpiece that will capture the raw brutality and pulsating savagery of Viking life, preserving its tribal culture for all of eternity. Ladies and gentlemen, Horns of Hell shall be my magnum opus!"
The audience went wild. Wulf went wilder. It didn't do any good.
To make matters worse, his armour and weapons were gone. Beyong his gronkskin tunic not a single item of his original clothing remained; replaced instead by a shaggy kilt, a plastic chain mail jerkin and black leather boots with gold engravings of the