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 atmosphere when Vetrúlfr returned to the cave was frigid, taut with dread.

He emerged through the morning mist like a revenant, and no sooner had his silhouette taken form than a blade was pressed to his throat.

The thrall had moved to protect her mistress. But the moment her eyes met Vetrúlfr's, the blade fell, and she clung to him; fiercely, silently. No words were spoken, her tears spoke for them.

A stark contrast to his departure. He said nothing, yet something in him had changed. Perhaps, for a moment, he really had been draugr.

From the fog, Brynhildr's voice called out.

Her words halted as her hand emerged from the mist and pressed against his chest. She rubbed gently, almost reverently, testing the warmth of his skin, perhaps searching for something still lingering beneath it.

Her brow furrowed… then softened.

"It would seem your soul is in your keeping again. Don't you dare lose it twice."

Echoes of a Forthcoming War