Do you want to know more about Shamans and why they fight Ghosts? Then read a funny story from the life of Baggi the Big:

After careening down a high hill, a sweaty and muddy Baggi the Big spat out the moss that was stuffed in his mouth and quickly extinguished his smoldering eyebrows. A stone altar behind his back had exploded, there was a piercing inhuman scream, and thick violet smoke started rising up toward the sky. The raven overhead began coughing.

"Damn that Huginn!" Baggi muttered, seating himself with difficulty on an old, crumbling stump, which let out a mournful creak. "Fly, fly!" Baggi said, "Tell Odin how I try!"

His coat was torn, he had a bump on his forehead, and all his amulets were charred. Baggi looked around for his staff. It had been thrown by the explosion, and now it was sticking out of the bushes like an ordinary crooked stick. Rune fragments twinkled all around, covered in dried grass. It would take half a day to pick them up… Baggi heaved a sigh, took a pouch from his belt, placed something in his mouth, and began to chew.

His vision clouded and moved beyond the bounds of the North, to another world. To the world on this side of the screen.

A flash of anguish stole across Baggi's face:

"No doubt, my fearless Jarls, you're wondering how I got myself into this situation…"

A few hours earlier.

The knife rhythmically chopped the dried herbs on the cutting board. The bold scents of oregano, thyme, and thistle hung in the air. A gang of children huddled around Baggi. Some of them sat on benches or on the floor, while others sat on coffers of spoils — Baggi's trophies obtained in his latest march. There wasn't room left in the modest Hall of Mysteries to swing a cat, and Baggi was being bombarded with questions:

"Is it true that the first Shaman of the North was the Allfather?"

"It's true."

"How does a person become a Shaman?"

"You hang yourself by your feet from the branches of Yggdrasil. Then you fast for several days until you achieve enlightenment."

"Is that what you did?"

"I think he's lying," a fair-haired boy whispered mischievously to his ginger friend. "No branch could hold him!"

Being a truly wise Shaman, Baggi decided to ignore the whispers and started chopping even faster.

"What else can you do besides making potions?"

"Banish Ghosts and lead marches," said Baggi with an air of importance. He stroked his beard, causing a flurry of dried thyme flowers to cascade to the floor.

"Do you mean military marches?" the children pressed, still doubtful. "Don't Ulf the Brave, Sibba the Bloody, and Wendla handle those things?"

"I should say," Baggi said, bristling, "That I'm far superior to your war Shamans. It's easier to wage wars than to build. Whose idea was it to construct the wall around the Town? Hmm? Who modified the cart catapult and turned it into the trebuchet?"

The children exchanged disbelieving looks. Whispering broke out here and there, but nobody dared to openly contradict the Shaman.

"That's it!" Baggi said just before the door of the Hall opened and the Chief came in. He was a great and mighty warrior, the menace of all surrounding settlements. A hint of steam could be seen rising from his frosted armor. His soaking bear-fur collar carried the musk of a wild beast.

"Are you telling fables again? Aren't you tired of listening to this old man yet?" the Chief smiled, patting a child on the head.

"These aren't fables, they are nothing less than the wisdom of millennia!" Baggi boomed, furrowing his brow and giving the Chief a fierce glare.

"Ha! Wisdom. I can also share some of my wisdom with you — stop stealing toadstools from the kitchen! Our dried mushrooms aren't for you to use as you please. What will we make our own potions from, eh?"

"I told you," laughed a brash little girl. "Those aren't Idun's apples he's chewing!"

"I've had enough of this. Run along now, children, off to the practice field with ye before I turn you into toads!" the Shaman threatened.

The future brave warriors and warrior maidens ran out of the Hall of Mysteries shrieking with delight. One of them trod on Baggi's foot, another knocked over a basket and frightened the raven. The lively patter of their little feet made the Chief burst out laughing.

When he stopped laughing, he grew serious again:

"I've come to you for a reason. The sentries have brought news — a malevolent Ghost has appeared again near our borders. The locals are complaining that this Ghost howls at night, feeds on cattle, and scares away trading convoys."

"Curse that Twilight Fox! Every new moon, there it is. No quantity of amulets will ever be enough for it!" Baggi muttered.

"Don't forget: once you've banished the Ghost, bring me more rune fragments," the Chief reminded him, hooking his thumbs in his belt. "The Canis Mask will be forged for me on the morrow. I want to decorate it with Valor. That's when I will have Agvith the Smart-nose over a barrel."

"You would better off using rings than masks. I heard a sagacious ruler in the East has already attracted nine kings with such things."

"That is the East, this is the North," answered the Chief, and he moved to the door. "You'd better hurry up and leave the Hall before sunset. It's going to be a long journey… One more thing, don't do what you did last time when you burned Wayland's Bride's hovel to the ground along with your staff and half your beard. My warriors couldn't keep hold of their axes, they were laughing so hard."

"All right, I get it, I get it," Baggi mumbled guiltily, watching the Chief leave.

The Shaman hastily packed his field kit: amulets, potions, healing roots, and his beautifully patterned oracle dice. He stood there for a while, furrowing his brows, and then reached behind the coffer and retrieved the pouch that he had stolen from the kitchen the day before.

"It'll be a long journey, and in bad weather too…"

The spruce logs were crackling gaily in the fireplace. The scent of roast lamb was already drifting from the Palace and Baggi was loath to leave the cozy Hall of Mysteries. But leave he must.

The high palisade behind him. Ahead, a wide road coiled like a snake between the stark hillsides. Baggi unlaced his pouch, placed a dried mushroom cap in his mouth, and set out to save the North once again.

Now.

No trace of the ancient altar's ominous aura remained. The last clouds of violet smoke had been blown away by the northern wind. The sky cleared and the animals that had been frightened earlier began to emerge from their burrows. Bruised and muddy, Baggi remained sitting on the stump.

"I suppose, my war-loving Jarls, you have already guessed that everything happened just like it did the last time," said the Shaman with a crooked smile.

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