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 banners of the empire stirred faintly in the high windows of the Pfalzkapelle, sunlight splintering off polished stone and gilt.

Beneath the domed ceiling where emperors had once prayed for eternal glory, Conrad II sat upon the throne of Charlemagne.

It was cold in Aachen that morning. Cold, and quiet.

Scrolls lay stacked upon a marble table, held down by the weight of a carved iron seal.

They bore the marks of riders from the corners of the realm; Saxony, Swabia, Lombardy, Lorraine, and beyond.

Chancellor Gebhard read aloud, voice steady but grim.

"To His Imperial Majesty, Conrad of Franconia, Emperor by the Grace of God; we write to confirm the elevation of Robert of Normandy. The boy Richard has taken the tonsure. The papacy has accepted the change. Rouen stands behind its new duke."

Conrad said nothing. He merely leaned forward, eyes narrow beneath the weight of the crown.

Alliances Forged, Empires Wane