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 winds of the western sea howled with a chorus of dead kings as the coast of Connacht came into view.

Pale sunlight broke through scattered cloud banks like spears of divine judgment, illuminating the grim procession that cut across the waves.

Fifty longships, their sails as brown as the earth of the land surged forward atop the heaving tide. Each prow bore a dragon, or a serpent, or a snarling wolf with eyes of iron and carved jaws foaming with salt.

At their head, like a herald of doom, surged Fáfnirsfangr; the personal drakkar of Vetrúlfr, its figurehead baring teeth gilded with gold and rune-etched ivory.

The sea seemed to part before it. The tide obeyed.

Vetrúlfr stood at the prow, his fur cloak rippling like a banner of frost, eyes fixed on the green hills rising beyond the rocky shore.

The Day the North Returned