Chapter Text
It must be odd, waking up after death. The cold rain still on your skin and the warmth of your helmet still present from getting struck by lightening.The tingling in your hands still makes them shake with the electricity flowing through your blood and body.
Thorfinn sat up, looking at his desolate helmet that rolled a few feet away. Surely he was dead, right? No man, no anything can survive what he just apparently did. He checked himself over by patting himself down before getting up with caution. His legs shook noticeably, but he could walk. His helmet's surface clanged as the rain hit it. He bent down to pick it up, only to find it scorching hot, making him withdraw his hand quickly. The vast plain of lush greenery felt different than when that lightning had struck.
Lightning, right! Thorfinn was reminded of the fact there was still a storm going on. He ditched his helmet and went to seek shelter. He took shelter under an old, dead tree, using the many pelts he bore to make a shelter as he slept, planning to return to his camp afterwards.
However, when he arose the next morning, he felt dread. A dread he couldn't place or explain. A flight response. He got up, grabbed his pelts and retraced his steps. His helmet, scratched and its shape crushed, making it a useless hunk of metal, lay on the floor of the field. He kicked it in frustration, and noticed that his feeling of dread was completely gone. So, he moved to return to his camp. When he got off the field of which he was struck the night before, that dread returned. As he moved it got worse and worse, further from that field he went. His breathing increased and his heart hit a rapid pace. His vision grew hazy and an intense urge to return to the field ate at his bones. Even as he got to his camp, it only progressed.
So, he packed up his camp and returned to the field, barely able to breathe, see or hear at that rate. Upon stepping out of the foliage into the field, the feeling once again stopped. As if he was bound to the field in a way. The day went on, and he found himself uninterested in food. He didn't feel hungry, but out of habit, he ate anyway.
Days on that field turned to weeks as he tried to protect himself from that dread that held him to it. He came up with a theory, it was crazy, but it was the only thing that made sense. He had died. Upon his death, his body had come back, but bound him to the field, like a spirit, but he wasn't gone. He could eat, he could use the bathroom, he could do everything he could when alive but he had no want or apparent need to do so. When his hands got cuts, they didn't bleed. When he didn't eat for a week, he felt fine, great even. He found he had no use for drinking water or eating food of any kind. He didn't gain or lose any weight, his muscles never lost mass, and perhaps the strangest of all the side effects, he didn't age.
Years passed, ten turned to a hundred. He didn't age a day. A tribe moved in, and set up on the field and further. They made peace with the unaging Viking that sat upon their territory. Thorfinn found that, due to this tribe expanding not only among the fields, but the forest too, that he was able to traverse the forests that the Lenape settled on, but no further than the property line that they had set. He helped protect the woman and children, told them mighty and grueling stories.
Around 1489, a particular baby caught Thorfinn's eye. Thorfinn had watched 15 generations come and go, and never felt such a strong relationship to any of the people. The baby was named Sasappis. A boy with long, black hair, quite so for an infant, and quick to learn. He was something Thorfinn felt an urge to protect, as he felt more valuable than the others. So, Thorfinn kept a closer eye on the boy. He saw the young boy turn to a young man, with a blistered heart for love, and an imagination like no other.
June 24th, 1497, felt wrong. Thorfinn couldn't place this feeling, but knew it was not a good feeling. It was that oh so familiar dread, but smaller. He became vigilant and wary of every little noise and animal that went by him. Each leaf that dropped and every rain, it felt off. He pondered this feeling for years, trying to place the disturbance in his conscience. Until one day…
Sasappis woke up in a field, confused, his heart beating rapidly as he tried to make sense of what the hell just happened. He patted himself down. He seemed physically fine. The last few moments before waking up were groggy at best. Was he bitten by a bug? Stepped on a plant he shouldn't have? Did he hit his head? Perhaps he did eat and it was poisonous. He couldn't recall how he had gotten here. He knew one thing though, he felt different. A difference he knew, deep down, was gonna affect reality. Just as he started to look around, he caught sight of that immortal Viking, Thorfinn. Though, over the years, he had to adapt his style to fit more closely to the Lenape, he was still a man who stood out. Thorfinn approached, getting close, and saying,
“Would you like to go see a dead moose carcass?” He asked in Lenape. Sasappis smiled slightly, and nodded.
Since that day, Thorfinn noticed Sasappis never aged, and struggled to leave the property. He knew what had happened. So, he sat Sasappis down after year 5 of this.
“Sasappis, must know something,” Thorfinn said. Sasappis stared at Thorfinn.
“What?” He asked.
“Thor believes Sas same as Thor. Sasappis is immortal.” Thorfinn said bluntly.
“Immortal?” Sasappis asked, “what do you mean?”
“Thor mean Sasappis cannot die. No longer able to die. Sasappis and Thor…same boat.” Thorfinn put his hand on Sasappis shoulder and a fist on his own chest, over his heart.
“How would that even…” Sasappis trailed off, pondering this information and glancing at his hands, flexing them.
“Very rare, but when die, have chance of coming back. In a way.” Thorfinn said.
“So, like a ghost that can touch stuff and be seen?” Sasappis asked, which was answered with a vigorous nod.
“Yes! Yes! Perfect example.” Thorfinn confirmed.
Years turned to decades. 1609 came with new arrivals. The Dutch, who were not at all friendly with Sasappis and Thorfinn but tolerated them for their knowledge of where to get food. Though the information was given begrudgingly since the Dutch enslaved and killed many tribe members. 1664 brung the British taking the land from the Dutch, and transforming the areas surrounding the area once more. Which brung the death of a banished Puritan who had a bit too much blood let out. She prayed day and night, believing that the lack of hunger was purgatory, and that she was meant to die, and would have let herself do so by starving. A hell created for not being pure enough.
She first encountered Sasappis, which was probably for the best, as the other immortal she could have met had unintelligible English.
“Who is't art thee?” She pondered at him, clutching her hands close to her chest as a show of fright.
“Mine own nameth is Sasappis,” he answered, his English similar to her own because it was the only English he knew at that point, “I am one of the imm'rtals on this landeth, did bind to t f'r reasons I doth not knoweth.” He told her, straightening out a cloth on his own breast. Though he was over 100 years of age at this point, perhaps 200, he did have clothes that fit the modern men of the time. It only made sense. His original clothes were long since degraded, and he kept them in a box, for safe keeping, as what little they still were was far too fragile to hold on its own.
“What is this purgat'ry I am in? I seemeth liketh nay matt'r what I doth, I has't nay needeth to consume.” Patience asked the native man, rubbing her hands together as if to generate heat.
“Imm'rtals has't nay reasoneth to consume, t's simply ingraft yond we doth. We art f'rev'r alive, we cannot kicketh the bucket 'r beest hath killed, nay matt'r the custom.” Sasappis answered, shrugging as he did so.
“I seeth,” Patience nodded, "So this purgat'ry just keeps us alive with nay reasoneth to liveth?”
“Aye,” Sasappis confirmed with a nod, “We has't nay reasoneth to consume and leaving the plot on which we kicked the bucket is not to beest done, as dread wouldst filleth thy corse and maketh thee unable to function.” He continued, before holding out an arm.
“Cometh,” he insisted, “Alloweth me showeth thee 'round the prop'rty as to receiveth thee accustom.”
“Leadeth the way.” Patience responded, taking ahold of Sasappis’ arm and following him around he gave her the tour.