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

The seas boiled with the breath of the gods, churning and thrashing as winter crept across the horizon like a stalking beast.

The voyage northward was nothing short of torment for the men of Ériu, whose bones were born to gentler waters. The cold gnawed at them like Fenrir at the chains that bound him.

Maél Sechnaill mac Cathail, Petty King of Athenry, was no stranger to hardship, but the fury of these northern seas humbled him.

He cast the contents of his stomach overboard more than once, and with each retch, his pride seemed to thin like mist.

But by the grace of Christ, or the cruelty of Óðinn, their ships arrived intact in the bay of Ullrsfjörðr.

The jagged mountains loomed like the ribs of Jǫrmungandr, and between them lay a city that should not have been: black stone walls, flickering watch-fires, and spires crowned in iron.

The Winter Gates of Ullrsfjörðr