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 charred ruins of ships still floated like bones upon the sea, their masts twisted and blackened as if struck by the hand of Surtr himself.

Smoke clung to the tide like mourning cloth, casting a veil over the blood-red horizon. Gull-cries pierced the silence, circling above the scorched fjord where once King Olaf's fleet had rested; now reduced to cinders and cinders only.

Jarl Ármóðr stood atop the blackened battlements of Jomsborg, wind teasing the timber watchtower overhead, the scent of salt and smoke thick in his nostrils.

His hand rested on the railing, knuckles still red from gripping torch and axe the night before. Beneath him, the water steamed where fire had kissed it; proof that what had been done was no mere act of war, but a judgment.

Surtr's Flames. That was what they called it.

The West Burns