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

Along the low rivers where the ice had begun to break, the skraelingr gathered one final time.

They buried their dead in shallow graves lined with spruce boughs, chanting the old songs with voices rough from weeping and cold.

Small children clung to their mothers, wide-eyed, watching as rough stone markers were set above kin who would never see the long sun again.

Above them, gulls wheeled and cried, the only witnesses to these rites now that the wolf-men owned the valleys.

When the last prayer was whispered, the clans turned their backs on the land that had given them life for generations.

Small hide canoes and longer, narrow boats laden with furs, tools, and frightened eyes pushed off into the steel-grey water.

They slipped away beneath a leaden sky, paddles dipping without a word. By dusk, the fjord was empty but for the wash of the tide against dark stone.

The Last Fires Fade