The morning after was crowned by yet another hangover. While it was nothing compared to the Giantsbrew hangover earlier, it was still enough that combined with the sore jaw, knuckles, and ribs that it made Saga groan in self-inflicted misery. They slipped out of bed. It had been a simple affair made out of tightly packed straw and a thick pelt. But it had been serviceable enough as Saga was generally a heavy sleeper.

As they dragged themselves up and out, they saw a pile of clothes at their bedside table and a note. They also realized they were only in their undies, meaning they had been so smashed as to need help with getting into bed and likely looking even worse than they felt. Not the most glorious moment of Saga's life, they had to admit. That rage had just activated on its own though. And apparently, Rage had hidden conditions to its activation. You didn't need to be at risk of passing out, if your mind was impaired sufficiently, it could trigger.

"Great. I am angry drunk." Saga muttered to themselves as they picked up the note to read what it said.

'Your other clothes were rather different than the local fashion and if you want to blend it is better you were something more akin to what we wear. And your shirt was also a breath away from becoming shreds after the fight. Wear these. -Ingrid'

Saga held up the clothes one at a time. The first was a blue and red tunic, much like the kind of stuff she saw people wear at Viking reenactments. None of the strange, machine-cut things Americans put on Vikings in tv shows, but the very simple but effective tunics that were the everyday wear of Vikings back in the day. Slipping it on, the pants were much the same, held up by a brown, unassuming leather belt with a simple iron buckle. The last part was a pair of leather boots that Saga did not associate with what they knew of old Norse wear but they were happy to see that world favored sturdy and good-looking leather shoes. It had sucked to walk through the snow with her more modern boots that didn't reach above the angle.

Their spear was leaning propped up in the corner of the room as was a shield they had never seen before. It was similar to the one Olaf wore but slightly smaller. Only slightly smaller, however, and with it, they could very effectively cover most of one side. It was a traditional round shield, with a handle in the middle as well as straps for putting it across one arm. Rolling with it, they slipped the shield onto their back and slipped out of the room. As they came out into the corridor, they saw Ingrid waiting for them. “They fit you nicely.” She said, eyeing Saga up and down like an older sister having lent her old outfit to one of her siblings.

“My head is killing me. Got any more of that miracle tea?” Saga asked, sounding hopeful.

“Nope. Last night shall remain a lesson.” Ingrid headed for the stairs as a grumbling, tired Saga followed her. They descended the stairs into the relatively quiet morning of the common room. Ordan was talking to Lenara, with Lenara looking unimpressed at whatever Ordan was talking about. Olaf was talking to Karn, who was polishing a mug at the bar. They all looked to Saga who stared back blankly.

“Something on my face,” Saga asked, bleary-eyed and miserable.

“Congratulations on level 2” Elara spoke with a raised mug. The elf had her hair braided down her back, wearing none of her combat gear aside from her bow and quiver, which we're currently hanging off her chair. Saga noticed that none of them wore their armor today. Taking the opportunity to relax some more.

“What do you mean level 2?” Saga asked, not having realized the leveled up due to their 'Rage state' generally meant they passed out as soon as it stopped.

“You Decked three people that were two or three levels above you,” Orlan explained with a chuckle.

“I did? But how does that even work? Shouldn't they be strong enough to take my hits?" Saga asked, entirely unsure how they knocked down others who were supposed to be higher than them in levels.

"They should have been, had they been combat paths. They weren't. The first guy was a big farmer's snotty son, he may have been higher level than you. But according to others, he never lifted as much as a finger at his farm. All mind, no brawn. The wagon drivers could handle your punches, but one of them got clocked with chair leg pretty badly." Ingrid said, the amusement clear in her voice.

“Not against a raging Berserker. It is a good reminder that levels aren't everything. Two level 1 can easily take down a level 5 with some coordination. Especially if the lower levels get the drop on them. Likewise, I've seen high-level casters allow a single mid-level fighter in too close and pay dearly for it." Lenara said while mimicking in a very graphic way how said caster had apparently been stabbed multiple times in the kidneys.

“I heard from Olaf that you fought like an angry badger. Now that must have been a good show.” Karn said, leaning against the bar with a grin. Saga was not sure if they were entirely ok to be praised by a stranger for essentially starting a brawl and then hurting people who had only been there to drink. So they just stared at their new friend's faces, one at a time. They were all grinning ear to ear. Before they could say something akin to 'I shouldn't have started a fight.' Ingrid smacked their back with a laugh. An action that caused Saga to clutch their sore rib and head all at once. Bar brawls looked a lot more fun on the big screen than they were to experience. Now more concerned with the bruising all over their body, Saga shuffled like the living dead over to a free table to sit down.

“Where is Vetra. I think I need healing” Saga grunted as they noticed the tall, friendly Half-Giantess was nowhere to be found.

“Vetra is talking to the Captain of the garrison,” Elera said between stuffing her face with several pieces of cheese and bread.

“Oh?” Saga looked at the door. Felt a bit bad that they had likely caused problems that Vetra had to fix. “Because of me?”

“Yes. She agreed to help some of the more seriously hurt brawlers in exchange for not having Gau chew you out for being such a hellion last night.” Olaf said. Not noticing the look on Saga's face. The culture here was a whole lot different than back home. That much was for certain.

“I don’t usually fight people like that. I am not sure what happened” Saga admitted sheepishly.

“Could have fooled me,” Ingrid said as she took a seat. “It takes a very specific mindset to headbutt somebody's punch before the arm can fully extend. I think you broke his knuckles.”

“I headbutted a punch…” Saga repeated, trying to recall anything from the fight. It was all just a blur. A blur full of eating punches. They were pretty sure they bit someone at some point by the end. Olaf who at this point had to be deliberately ignoring the shell-shocked expression on Saga's face continued.

“And tossed a chair leg like you were throwing an ax.” He made the full motion of throwing something with a grin on his face. "Incredible accuracy for a drunkard, I have to say."

“I am a little concerned over your intricate knowledge about how to make the wagon drivers' mothers sing like they were, and I quote ‘Having the equivalent of a small army going at their nethers'.’” Ordan said as they grinned in a way that made his otherwise handsome face entirely too punchable. He was well aware of the way Saga was looking at them and clearly played into Saga's reaction.

“I am starting to think I should not have stepped in and helped you earlier.” Saga said with a grumble before turning to Karn. "You got something I can eat? Something none too solid? My jaw hurts"

“Help me? You told the nice ogre lady she could punch me again.” Ordan protested.

“But she didn’t. Because she is a good person and you're just a smug bastard who cheats when gambling.” Saga said as they gratefully received a deep plate full of warm porridge of some sort. They began eating, grunting appreciatively at the warm food as they ate. As they did, they queried their character sheet again.

Saga Ljungborg.

Path: Berserker

Level 2

Brawn: 14.

Mind: 7

Spirit: 10

Grace: 9

Traits:

Twice Risen:

Having already passed through the realm of Death before reincarnation, you have a natural affinity with Death. Your touch and presence unsettle the undead as a result.

Raging Spirit:

Your spirit is wild and untamed, when you are pushed to your limit, your power is raised exponentially as you enter a [Rage*] State. When exiting Rage, you gain the Exhaustion Debuff.

(*Rage: Condition, Temporary: Rage heightens your pain tolerance and makes you immune to mind control and similar mental attacks. Rage does not break preexisting mind-altering states.)

Boon of the Deathgoddess.

Marked by the Goddess of Death, you are anathema to the Undead. All your abilities and attacks deal a moderate amount of extra damage.

Active Skills:

Battle Cry, Level 1: Unleash a battle cry to rally your allies and disrupt sonic attacks and skills. All Allies within a 4-meter radius gain a small boost to Physical Attack and Defense.

Passive Skills.

Slayer of Undead [1 out of 10]: You deal 1 percent more damage to undead.

Unyielding [1 out 10]: Whenever you engage a foe superior in numbers, gain a small boost in brawn and grace for each opponent present. Stacks up to 3 times.

Born For Battle [1 out 3]: Every ten minutes you remain inactive in combat, you gain +2 brawn and spirit.

Any weapon, Any Time: You can wield any weapon at the level below your current improvised weapon proficiency.

Proficiency:

Spears (Novice), Experience to rank up: 983.

Short Swords (Novice) Experience to rank up: 1000.

Improvised Weapons (Novice) Experience to rank up 810

“Ok. So I have some questions. “ Saga said out loud, making the others focus on them. “What is the difference between Traits and passive skills?”

Ordan was first to answer. “Traits are unique advantages developed early in your life and are very much dependent on your personality, ambitions, and experiences. They also can’t be actively improved once you have them. Unlike passive skills that grow as you make use of them.”

“So, my short temper in my old life translated to me getting some sort of berserker rage. Great. ” Sage muttered before looking to Olaf. “Is there a way I can share my sheet for all of you to see?”

“Sure, just focus on it and then focus on the people you wish to see it,” Olaf answered while leaning back against the bar. Saga did as instructed and soon the party and Kars were all studying her character sheet.

“Damn. 14 in brawn already. I got to start training you so you can put that to use.” Olaf mused as he stroked his beard.

“Forget that. Look at those passive skills. Our friend here is an endurance tank.” Lenara said with a grin. “Add that to the whole Rage thing, and anyone thinking they go down easy from a burst of damage is gonna be very surprised.”

“Why didn’t I get any cool active skills? Like magic or something.”

“You are only level 2. Don’t worry, you will certainly get a slew of nasty death-related special attacks down the line, judging by your Affinity.” Ordan added as Saga tried to figure out how they had become destined to become some sort of Deathbringing Berserker. Back home they had been pretty risk-averse"

“Don't forget Death,” Ingrid said as she studied the sheet. “A berserker with the Death affinity will be very interesting to see. Generally, they are all Might and Fire or Might and Earth.” The others nodded and Saga felt they were about to start talking about things they had yet to learn about. This whole thing was already too confusing so they stepped in.

“Ok, now I am starting to feel like the subject of someone's college thesis. Permissions revoked” Saga waves a hand and makes it so that only they could read it again. Ordain raised an eyebrow but said nothing while the Vetra stifled a chuckle. Olaf and Ingrid looked mockingly affronted which brought a smile onto Saga's lips.

“So. What now?” They asked nobody in particular.

“Now?" Olaf grinned at them. " Now begin to train you in how to use that spear and shield like a proper warrior.”

Saga felt a rush of excitement at being trained in fighting, then remembered who they were talking to. "Wait. How do we begin this training?"

"By running," Olaf said, eyes glimmering with the same kind of lowkey sadism every drill sergeant held in every movie about boot camps Saga had seen. They gulped.