Zentmeister

"When the old gods are forgotten, they do not die—they wait."

In the year 1025, the Viking Age wanes.
Iceland bows to Christ. The Althing governs by law. And the gods of old fade to whispers.

But in the far Westfjords, something stirs.

Vetrúlfr Úllarson, a former Varangian captain and exile, returns from the East with foreign gold, forgotten warcraft, and a hunger no man can name.

He comes not in peace, but to raise Ullrsfjörðr from ash and ice; building walls, carving runes, and waging war on behalf of a dying faith.

From Reykjavík to Aachen, rumors spread: a ghost walks the North once more. Some call him the son of Ullr. Others, a wolf-cloaked demon.

But all will know his name.

and when the Valkyries call, he will answer.

Valkyries Calling

Word had reached the ears of its petty king, Mael Sechnaill mac Cathal — read aloud in the dim hall by Brother Ciarán, monk, scholar, and the king's personal court tutor.

"Our spy in the lands of House Uí Fiachrach Aidhne reports that a fleet of Norsemen came from the sea in the dead of night and ravaged the coast."

There was a pause. Perhaps a silent prayer for the dead. Or the weight of what came next.

"They looted all the value they could carry. What remained, they burned. Rí Aidhne Conchobar mac Murchadha's strength is shattered. His port is ash. His townships gone. He cannot raise an army to contest your ambitions, my liege."

Men looked toward the throne, expecting satisfaction. Connacht had known no peace in a generation. Petty kings bled one another over claims and cattle, and Mael had spent his life reaching for the title of Rí Connacht.

Yet instead of triumph, his face darkened.

A Whisper From the Old World