Thorvald Asvaldsson's Story

Hethel Svensson and his band of ulfhednar had once served Ungrulf "Ulfric" Ellrufsson aboard the Örmbátur longship as members of the House of Ellrulf in a time since forgotten. After the extinction of that family line, Hethel Svensson inherited the Nuörmbátur longship and became a jarl under the late great King Sigurd the Ringtaker of the House of Munso along with all the original ulfhednar who had served the previous household. Fudørn, Engöll and Stryder were promoted to jarls. Sigurd Hring sent them forth in the Nuörmbátur to establish a new colony along with Sjonn the Skald and 45 other Vikings whose names are unrecorded. They established a settlement on the Empyrean Sea Beach which flourished and evolved. After the death of King Sigurd and the Iskjerne Vikings, the new colony chose Hethel Svensson to be their new konung or sovereign. King Hethel the Dragontamer ruled peacefully for his entire reign and was praised after he died of old age, being given a large burial mound close to the Empyrean Sea Beach known today as Hethel's Barrow.

King Hethel was succeeded by his son King Ingvar the Highruler, who also had a peaceful reign. King Ingvar was a younger contemporary of an elder Ragnar Lothbrok in the days of old. King Ingvar would expand on his father's kingdom by building upon King Hethel's original establishment. Fudørn Ivansson's successor Ivaldi would become a famous inventor at that time, having purchased a magical purple crystal from Volund the Archer, one of the ljosalfar who had stumbled upon it by pure chance at Iskjerne Forge and sold it to Ivaldi in exchange for silver, along with many other broken remnants of lost technologies that King Sigurd had once confiscated from his Taiyou enemies in the days of old. Ivaldi wasted no time in studying and reverse engineering some of those technologies, using magic and a bit of Nordic alchemy. Using a mineral solution to grow more crystals on the surface of stones, Ivaldi greatly contributed to the accelerated advancements of the Empyrean Sea Beach settlement, helping the House of Hethel to jump several hundred years ahead of Gaia's other Viking settlement at Iskjerne Bay.

King Ingvar was succeeded to the throne by his son King Svein, who continued to expand the House of Hethel and grow his kingdom. King Svein was alive during the fall of the House of Munso under the rule of Ivar the Boneless, but did not get his own kingdom involved. Instead, he used his resources to order the construction of 3 magically advanced longships that could leave the planet and sail through outer space. The first ship was called the Stjorndrekr (star dragon). The second ship was called the Stjornkona (star maiden). The third ship was called the Stjornhestr (star horse). At this stage the Empyrean Sea Beach settlement had grown tremendously and evolved into a small nation, or Type II civilization that was fully capable of harnessing the natural elements in their local star system and utilizing Gaia's native magical defenses, something that the Iskjerne Vikings had tried to accomplish with the Hreggdreki longship many years before them but had failed to do.

During the reign of King Svein, a terrible event happened in the heavens which shook the mountains, leveled forests and left a huge shockwave of destruction throughout the land. By this time, however, the Empyrean Vikings had expanded their kingdom and had established such mighty and powerful defenses that it was able to withstand the storm brought on by the meteor as it passed overhead towards Siv'en and into the Exalted Mountains before crashing in the distance. To those peaceful Norse settlers behind King Svein's walls, it felt like a powerful earthquake. But the kingdom did not break. After the waves stopped rolling in and the earth ceased to tremble, and all the debris and thundering storm clouds had rolled overhead, the walls and towers of the Empyrean Viking settlement were still standing. After some time, life returned to normal and before King Svein died, what little forest that had been destroyed was already starting to regrow.

After the collapse of the Iskjerne Kingdom under the wrathful Titan deity Sigurd the Divine, during the time of Ivar the Boneless, the distant colony on the Empyrean Sea Beach just kept getting stronger and stronger. King Svein was succeeded by his son King Halfdan, the current ruler of that kingdom. King Halfdan was now the sovereign of a dynasty that had lasted four whole generations. Like his father and their fathers before them, Halfdan Svensson was a wise and peaceful king. He had skalds who could recall the legends and sagas of such famous heroes as Harald Wartooth, Ellrulf Trygvirsson, Hethel Svensson, Sigurd Hring, Ragnar Lothbrok, Bjorn Ironside, Harald Fairhair and others whose deeds served as lessons and teachings to the Empyrean sea king.

Halfdan the Great was a follower of Odin and a lover of wisdom who prayed to the gods and made daily offerings to the elves and land spirits. He would continue to provide a sanctuary for all the dragons, dwarves, unicorns, witches, pagans and exiles in his kingdom. In return, he received blessings from the land as the forests grew taller and the gardens grew fuller with an abundance of crops and flowers. Song birds greeted him with their beautiful songs as the grasses flourished above Hethel's Barrow and over the hillsides. There were many pleasant springs and ponds where frogs, fish and turtles nested, where crickets, ladybugs, bees and butterflies fluttered during the summer months, and the Empyrean Kingdom seemed like a quiet remote paradise. Life was good, and the Empyrean Norsemen lived without care, farming and crafting, forging and living in leisure without any needs or concerns.

It was a warm sunny day on the Empyrean Sea Beach, with the almost year-round parhelion of Gaia's three suns casting a magical circular rainbow-colored halo of shining sun-rays over the subtle pastel blue skies over beautiful blue-green waters and foamy white waves as they washed ashore along the long white sandy beach, moving inland from the treacherous Empyrean High Seas before lapping gently across the shoreline. Seagulls, pelicans and other oceanic birds squaked and sang as they flew by or hovered above the beaches as scattered white puffball clouds hung in stillness overhead like cotton flakes in the sky. It was a hot day, but the occasional gentle breeze brought relief from the heat, providing a mild uplifting wind which allowed the gulls, falcons and pelicans to linger in the air as if motionless as they scanned the shallow waters from above.

Many a crab and sea turtle had dug holes in the sand where they built their nests. The sandy shore was also riddled with fish bones, star fish, sand dollars, clams and colorful seashells, and on one of the sandy banks there was even the whole sun bleached skeleton of a whale, dragon or sea serpent which had been washed ashore and picked clean by the crabs and birds. Also along the shoreline was a rune-engraved, stone built dock and boatyard where humans, shipbuilders and fisherman gathered, working together to maintain the harbor and cast their nets or reel them in, hoping to catch a large variety of fish and other treasures which might be lurking in the sea. These were the Empyrean Norsemen, a strong and hardy stock of tall Nordic pagan folk with a variety of hair colors and hair styles, with a great majority of them having bleach blonde hair or ginger red hair with braided mullets and long or bushy beards.

Most of the men and women on the docks were dressed in plain workman's clothes, with simple gowns, highcut v-neck open laced shirts and baggy trousers, either barefoot or wearing sandals with their long sleeves and pantlegs rolled up. Some of them had blueish green tattoos in the shape of Nordic symbols and spiraling vine-work which extended from the length of their necks all the way to their knuckles, and sometimes even on their legs and feet. They were a healthy and muscular stock, well-toned from the exercise they gained from their daily work routines. They seemed peaceful and happy as some of them sang joyful songs while working together to accomplish their goals. Next to that was a small and quiet beach shack, which appeared to be from a different time period. Further inland and higher up on the beach, the sands turned to grass and formed a large naturally formed embankment which plateaued into bright green luscious hills, full of tall grasses and lovely flowers, wild weeds and many other natural landscapes. On the horizon, a forest of evergreens, elm trees, ash trees, oaks and pines stood thick and tall beneath the heavens.

Just before the treeline were two hills. One of them, overgrown with small white flowers was actually a burial mound. This was Hethel's Barrow, the final resting place of a very old Nordic king who had been buried there for over 200 years. The mound next to it, though much larger in size, was actually not a mound at all, but a vast stone ring fortress surrounded by earth which had been piled up to form a perfect circle around an unseen stone wall with entrances perfectly aligned to the four cardinal directions, and the phases of Gaia's moon, which could sometimes be seen even during the day when all three suns hung in the sky. Behind the earth-supported stone circle enclosure was a large moat and bailey, with a keep or watchtower sitting atop a raised scarp where the Norse king's castle could be found, attached to the great mead hall. These too had been made of bricks and stones piled with natural grass rooftops, and the splendor of that Viking kingdom dwarfed even the previous Norse kingdom at Iskjerne Bay.

Just beyond the scarp, down the drawbridge ramp and over the moat was a large shire village hidden within the ring fortress and formed in perfect shapely design. This centuries old Empyrean Norse Kingdom was almost a spitting replica of the Viking settlement at Iskjerne Bay, only its walls were thicker, its buildings were much larger, and its Ringerike styled artwork was much more elaborate. The post carvings weren't just carved by hand, but the entire stone fortress had been inlaid with gold and silver embroidery so that even the chains on the drawbridges were dipped in gold. There were runic carvings everywhere, some appearing like stained glass windows but inlaid with magical glowing blue and pink crystals instead of glass. It was far more advanced and a far more impressive society, one that seemed almost more like Alfheimr or an elf-haven rather than a human kingdom.

There were other differences as well...

Unlike the colony at Iskjerne Bay, there were no mountains close to the village. The closest mountain range was the Exalted Mountains to the southwest, whose peaks barely shown over the forested horizon. So rather than placing their dungeon lookout tower above the mountains, the Empyrean Norse Kingdom had its own lookout tower built closer to the shore, fitted with an enormous golden bell which shined like a beacon to travelers at sea. Also unlike Iskjerne Bay which had a statue of the late great Sigurd Hring placed out in the open near the gates, this newer establishment instead had a sacred hóf or pagan temple located in the very center of the village, surrounded by a protective spiked fence made of pure silver. Only priests and priestesses were allowed entrance to that holy place, which had walls made of spears and a silver rooftop made of shields, decorated by a thin gold chain which hung like tinsel around it. Inside that hóf was not just one statue, but a whole circle of stone carved heavy statues depicting many Old Norse gods and goddesses.

The oldest such statue depicted Odin, the king of the gods...

The main entrance to the ring fortress faced north towards the sea, and just outside of it, the legendary longship known as the Nuörmbátur was resting peacefully atop a pile of round logs which could be employed as a sort of sled or wheels to help slide the vessel down the hillside and into the water. Right next to it stood 3 other ships, also with elaborate prows, only they were much larger and of a later time period than the first longship. These three were not made of wood, but were cast of metal and silver, with prows made of gold. These too were inlaid with magical glowing crystals, only these particular crystals were pinkish purple and seemed to have an entirely different purpose. King Halfdan the Great was sitting upon his cushioned red silk throne inside the mead hall, wearing a silver crown and a bright stainless blue velvet cloak, surrounded by two of his three jarls and one of his skalds along with a hall full of Nordic settlers from various families and backgrounds.

"The stjornhestr is now ready your greatness," Fudørn Auricsson said out loud after taking a swig from his 24 ounce tankard of mead and setting it down on the table.

"Wonderful... Goffre, you shall lead our expedition tomorrow. Is your crew ready to sail?" King Halfdan responded before asking.

"Aye my leige, all five hundred of us are ready to set sail... Women, children. Vary a man between fifteen and fifty," Goffre Alvisson replied with a nod, taking a swig from his own mug.

"Good to hear it Goffre, I knew I could count on you in such short notice... Well, it is settled then. When the second sun passes at mid-day tomorrow, the Stjornhestr will sail... Are you absolutely sure about this my friend?" the wise king asked calmly with a sense of humbleness in his voice.

"Never moreso my king. It has always been my dream to reach for the stars." the jarl answered, to which the king raised his own golden jewel encrested goblet and nodded quietly. Everyone else at the king's table would then raise their own drinks as well, following King Halfdan's example. Without speaking another word, the konung gestured for the feasting to begin, and soon the hall maidens would go around placing silver spoons, knives and bowls on the tables in front of everyone as the chefs walked in, setting a whole large roasted wild boar on a platter down in the center of the king's table along with a giant dish of mixed fish oil veggie and crab salad and a gigantic kettle of hot steaming soup, rich in potassium, iron, protein and several natural vitamins containing potatoes, carrots, cabbage, roasted horse and chicken broth with alfalfa, yellow morning glories, seaweed and onions, enough to feed all 500 of them, along with all the hall maidens and chefs who served.

The following weeks were uneventful for the Empyrean Norse Kingdom as the good King Halfdan the Great made arrangements for Prince Logan Haakonsson and his Alfarian mercenaries to join their ranks. The Norsemen were now 1500+1 strong at the Empyrean Sea Beach settlement, with an additional 500 elvish knights to support them. These Elves were unlike anything the Empyrean Norsemen had ever seen before, with their new pirate-like galleon fitted with 300 cannons designed for naval warfare and seiges from coastal waters. Unlike the Norsemen who were mostly just farmers, fishermen, hunters, gardeners, beekeepers, traders, merchants, craftsmen and blacksmiths with civilian occupations, the Sea Elves, or Dryads, were professional warriors. Swift, strong, and clever, these Sjóálfar were not only good at fighting in the Empyrean High Seas, but were just as skillful on land, in the hills and forests surrounding the Norse countryside, as infantry or mounted warriors.

Each and every one of them had two curved swords, one long and one short, an even smaller curved dagger, a spear, and a quiver with silver bows and magical elfshot arrows. They were equally skilled in fencing, archery, and mounted warfare, and their bright shining magical silver armour was light-weight but extremely durable, resistant to rust, heat or frost, while their coordination and formation tactics were beyond description, for despite their numbers, these Sjóálfar could move in sync with perfect timing like a single unit. This was true for their oarsmen, their archers, their infantry, and even their armored horses who pranced proudly before King Halfdan, each step in complete unison as they trodded and paraded before their Norse companions, showing off with brightly colored peacock feathers and horned visors resembling silver unicorn skulls.

Their cannons too were also magical, relying not on ordinary wicks and gunpowder, but rather on the whims of faery dust, and arcane fire which ignited like blueish white ghost flames, capable of harming both physical beings and spiritual beings alike. Although the Norsemen could see the tiny winged creatures who accompanied the Elves, the good King Halfdan Svensson was not aware yet of their strength in numbers, for the faeries or faefolk, akin to the Dryads and Elves they served, would prove to be an important asset to the Norseman's kingdom. These tiny little faes, just like their elvish cousins, were skilled in a variety of things from tinkering, pollinating, lockpicking, swarming and subtle assassination, to mounted warfare on the backs of dragonflies and rhinoceros beetles. But they too, like the Empyrean Norsemen, were much more concerned with farming and cultivating the surrounding environment, something which the Empyrean Norsemen were extremely fond of, and they would often treat these little ones as no different from their own kinfolk.

All was well in the Empyrean Norse Kingdom, until one fateful day when a lonesome faery came buzzing through the countryside at great haste, whispering something into the ear of one of the elves, who relayed the message to the great prince in his native elvish tongue. Prince Logan Haakonsson, in turn, informed King Halfdan the Great that an army was forming across the high seas, one which threatened the broken establishment at Iskjerne Bay, and which could potentially pose a threat to his own kingdom. King Halfdan Svensson nodded quietly, but made little effort to respond. Both of his jarls, Engrel Korrisson and Fudørn Auricsson volunteered to take their own leidangs across the sea to meet them. Instead, he summoned two of his best Norsemen to go investigate the situation. The first was Rufus the Red, the king's champion. The second was a karl named Thorvald "Bloodyfist" Asvaldsson, a Norwegian outlaw and murderer known throughout the land for killing people with his bare hands.

"But your Grace, this man is a criminal, and an exile. He can not be trusted," the jarl Engrel Korrisson explained. But the konung simply waved the matter aside with a flick of the wrist.

"He has done no wrong in my kingdom, and therefore he is not a criminal. Besides, I have not heard any word back from Jarl Goffre, and I will not sacrifice another one of my most trusted councilmen. I need you both here my friends, you understand." Jarl Engrel and Jarl Fudørn both nodded at King Halfdan's plight.

"As for you, Prince Logan, the king thanks you for your council. You are no doubt a loyal advisor to your majesty. I wish you were my own son, to be honest, and without sons of my own, I hereby declare you the king's heir. Should something happen to me, or my jarls here, then you must ensure that our lineage continues. Do you understand me boy?" King Halfdan explained before asking.

"Yes, your Greatness, I understand" Prince Logan nodded. "Good," King Halfdan said before ordaining Prince Logan before the court. Prince Logan would take a knee before the king's throne and kiss his ring finger. The king's ring itself had been passed down for several generations, from King Halfdan's father's father's fathers, a ring that had once belonged to King Sigurd the Ringtaker himself, who had gifted it to the forefather of the Empyrean Norse Kingdom over 200 years ago. That same exact ring had once belonged to King Trygvir, a loyal vassal of Sigurd Hring's uncle Harald Wartooth during the Battle of the Brávellir many many years ago, from which King Halfdan and Prince Logan were both directly descended. The irony of this occasion seemed almost fated from the beginning, as King Halfdan removed the twin-headed serpent armband from Logan's upper arm, and placed on him the twin-raven armband of the Empyrean Norse Kingdom signifying that he was now one of them.

One fateful day while combing the beach for Murex rock snails, a predatory sea snail which produces a purple inky substance known as imperial dye or royal purple, Snorri Jonasson the skald stumbled upon something interesting buried beneath the sands. As he hit the object with his walking stick, he heard a tinkering sound. There was something hard and metal hidden in the sand. He bent down and dug up what appeared to be a metal helmet. It was a warrior's helmet of some kind, of an almost Roman-like design, embroidered with thin linings of silver and gold. The front of the helmet featured the symbol of a bull in full body with horns and a tail. Despite a small dent on the side of the helmet, it appeared to be in remarkably pristine condition.

But there was more...

Nearby, he also found some curious looking metal pellets or small round lead balls which had also been scattered along the beach. But these were not fishing sinkers, for they had no holes or grooves in them for which to hook a line. Snorri Jonasson picked up a small handful of them, placing them into his hanging satchel along with the helmet he had found. But he was not prepared for what he would find next, for there in the sand, sticking out on the shore like an ancient lost relic, was a polymer advanced alloy pistol, the likes of which Snorri the Skald had never seen before. He would reach down and pull it out of the ground, brushing the sand off of it to examine it more closely. There was an inscription on the side of it which said M5, and Snorri knew right away that he had discovered a treasure that was simply not of the beach, or of Gaia, but had to have come from out of this world, from a people who had visited from the stars.

Snorri Jonasson suddenly forgot all about his snail combing expedition. He placed the gun in his pocket and quickly left the beach, going back to the ring fortress to inform King Halfdan of his discoveries. As he opened his satchel and placed the items on the table in the king's hall in front of him, King Halfdan and Prince Logan admired the shining helmet with fascination. It had not rusted over the last 250 years or so, but was still glimmering as if the gods themselves had crafted it. At first, King Halfdan even mistook it for one of the Sea Elf's own helmets, but after consulting the Sjóálfar, the young Prince Logan assured his adopted godfather King Halfdan that this was not one of their makings. It must have belonged to someone else who lived a long time ago.

"And you say you just found these items laying on the beach? All this time, in plain sight?" Fudørn Auricsson asked doubtedly.

"Ay my Lord, they were in the sand. Buried," the skald answered his jarl, who was sitting at the left hand of the king next to Rufus and Thorvald, opposite the prince.

"And what of these little balls here? What do you make of them? If they are not sinkers, then what are they?" inquired Rufus, the king's champion, as he fumbled with one of the tiny metal pellets before dropping it back on the table.

"I'm not sure..." the king answered. Everyone else fell silent for a moment, looking around the table at one another. Snorri then nodded quietly.

"There is something else," Snorri Jonasson said as he pulled the M5 pistol out of his pocket and slid it across the table. King Halfdan would glance at Snorri for a moment before picking up the small handgun and examining it.

"It has a trigger, like our crossbows, and a barrel... I think, whatever that is, it fired these" Snorri suggested, causing the others to nod quietly in deep contemplation. King Halfdan passed the M5 pistol around before picking up the helmet and examining it again. He studied the bull insignia more carefully, making a mental note of it in his mind. "Remarkable..." Halfdan whispered.

King Halfdan ordered the items to be set on display, high up on one of the shelves within the king's hall so that he could always gaze at them and wonder. He was about to send Thorvald Asvaldsson and Rufus the Bald on their quest to Iskjerne Bay, when just then, the doors swung open and two of the king's guards entered, holding a young man with a knapsack over his head by his arms who was fighting and struggling to get free. They were accompanied by the tavern keeper.

"Your Grace, sorry to disturb you, but we have a problem," one of the guards informed him. The king nodded to the guards, who nodded to the tavern keeper as he stepped forward.

"Your Grace, this young man here just killed one of my best customers during a game of hnefltafl and refused to pay for his drinks," the tavern keeper pleaded.

"He lies! I was cheated!" the young man yelled from under the bag over his head. "Silence you thief," one of the guards said while hitting the young man hard in the stomach with the butt end of his club. The masked criminal slumped over silently in pain, having the wind temporarily knocked out of him. King Halfdan rolled his eyes and looked over at the tavern keeper.

"How much does he owe you for the drinks?" King Halfdan asked calmly. "Sixty fennings your Grace," the tavern keeper answered humbly, removing his hat. The king nodded and with a snap of his fingers, Fudørn Auricsson would bring him a money chest. "I will double it for your troubles. One hundred and twenty fennings, and not a penda more," the king said as he counted out 120 pennies and placed them in a bag, tossing it to the tavern keeper, who caught it in his hat.

"Thank you so much your Grace, you truly are a great King," the tavern keeper said, bowing his head before turning and leaving. Everyone else's focus was now on the masked murderer before them as King Halfdan handed the treasure chest back to his jarl, scratching his chin.

"As for you boy, murder is a crime in my kingdom. Punishable by death. I could have you beheaded, and your lifeless body hanged on my display," King Halfdan said, ordering his guards to bring the criminal forward so that he could have a better look at the accused, and decide what to do with him.

"Do you understand the accusations against you?" King Halfdan piped up rhetorically with a bit of sternness and anger in his voice. "Do you deny that you killed one of your fellowmen?" he immediately followed through.

"... I do... And I don't..." the young man answered.

"Good, you will save me a trial then," the king said as he poured himself a glass of mead. "Guards, if you would do me the honor of please removing his mask so I can see his face... What is your name young man?" King Halfdan asked calmly.

The guards would remove the knapsack from over the young man's head, revealing a Norseman with long bright red hair and hazel green eyes. Everyone else in the king's hall would pause to gaze at the murderer before them. Thorvald Asvaldsson's eyes lit up with terror at what he was now witnessing, as Rufus the Bald turned to look at him, then back at the young man before him with a gaping jaw. The young man would shake the hair out of his face before gazing up at the king with remorseless hatred in his expression as he made eye contact.

"I am Erik, son of Thorvald Asvaldsson," he answered.

King Halfdan blinked, glancing beside himself to Thorvald before looking forward again at the admitted murderer directly before him. Thorvald Asvaldsson had widened eyes and a look of horror on his face. King Halfdan the Great was nearly speechless himself as he stared into Erik's eyes, before chuckling at the irony of it all while taking a swig from his glass of mead.

The burial mound beneath Queen Aslaug would tremble and move, like a pregnant mother with groaning pains as suddenly, the dirt and grass began to shift. Soon, fingers emerged from beneath the soil. But these were not skeletal fingers, nor the blueish pale rotten appendages of a Draugr, rather they were of pinkish lively hue and covered with living flesh and nails.

Moments later, a whole arm would emerge from beneath the dark black rich fertile soil, and soon an entire man would dig his way out from the earth, his head and torso emerging to reveal a living human being, as if Gaia herself had just given birth.

The man would immediately gasp for air as he coughed up a mouth full of dirt, inhaling and exhaling as if it was his first time breathing fresh air. Soon he pulled his whole body out from beneath the fertile mound and rolled over on to his back, breathing heavily, exhausted and without any energy. He was a Norseman with dirty hair and mud stained clothes. His face, his shirt, his entire body was covered with brown mud and black dirt. He wore shaggy trousers, completely devoid of any shoes or armour. His feet and nails were dirty, and to everyone else nearby who could witness this spectacle, he looked like one of the goblins or uruk-hai who had been fashioned from earth.

But this was no orc or goblin, as soon they would see, for as he opened his eyelids to stare up at the skies, his eyes were bright blue and full of life. The man who had just crawled out from underground was a human, and not just any human. It was the long lost son of Sigurd Hring, who had been presumed dead for a very long time. The now very weak, very vulnerable man who was sprawled out on the ground in Iskjerne Bay was none other than Ragnar Lothbrok, the Ghost of England, a legendary Viking from whom many a Norseman, both in Iskjerne Bay and surrounding counties were all descended and had written many poems about.

It was as if Sigurd the Ringtaker himself had returned. But this was not King Sigurd, nor was he a god with divine powers. This was a man of flesh and blood, a mortal being in dire need of food, drink, and medical conditioning.

As the beaten, dirty and fatigued Ragnar "Lothbrok" Sigurdsson lay helpless on the dirt mound, lacking all wits, senses and energy, two Norsemen would walk up and grab him by his arms, dragging him down the grassy slope and over towards a mule wagon, where they lifted him up and tossed him into the back of it on a pile of matted hay. Thorvald Asvaldsson and his branded son, Erik the Red, glanced at each other quietly for a moment before climbing back into the wagon and driving away, heading towards the battered village and beyond it to the gated entrance of the Iskjerne Ring Fort, where they were hoping to find some food and rest, and maybe a little help for the stranger they had just picked up.

Thorvald Asvaldsson was but a poor old farmer and exile who had been sent on an errand from King Halfdan Svensson the Great, the sovereign of the distant Empyrean Norse Kingdom over the Weargtooth Mountains to the south, acting as an ambassador from the Empyrean High Seas, charged with gathering information for his king. The tropical Empyrean Sea Beach settlement was remarkably similar to the Norse colony at Iskjerne Bay, only much more advanced. Iskjerne Bay was also much colder, located on the main continent of Ellaria along the northernmost coastal mountain range, whereas Thorvald "Bloodyfist" Asvaldsson had come from a large warmer island in the sea. The journey to Iskjerne Bay was long and treacherous, about three and a half weeks long according to his calendar, having taken the much longer but safer route by land around the sandy, rocky coastline of Ellaria rather than daring the sea, or going up the central mainland over the mountains as most others would.

King Halfdan had provided the karvi, a small boat to get Thorvald Bloodyfist across the water, but he was required to bring a slow-moving mule cart and continue his own journey from there. It had also been a twofold mission for Asvaldsson, for he had also brought his son Erik with him. Erik the Red, following in his father's footsteps, was also an exile and convicted murderer. Only unlike his father Thorvald who had found sanctuary at the Empyrean Norse Kingdom and was allowed, as well as expected to return with news of the condition of the northern settlement, Erik the Red had been banished from the Empyrean Sea Beach and was forbidden to return to the southern settlement for three years, lest he face the harsher punishment of death at the hands of the Empyrean king.

Erik Thorvaldsson would just have to settle at Iskjerne Bay instead, the only other place in Ellaria that was still home to the Norsemen and their kinfolk. But he would soon realize that Iskjerne Bay was not nearly as comfortable or as easygoing as the Empyrean Sea Beach, for as their wagon came around the bend and over the hills looking out at the village, Erik would glance up at his father before looking ahead, to a ravaged and war-torn settlement with archaic-styled medieval structures and open sheep pens, to frost covered rooftops and icey walls that had spiking ice sickles growing off of them. Apart from the nobles, of which there were very few if any, most of the local villagers and Norse settlers appeared to be malnourished, cold, hungry and impoverished. A curse or plague had struck their land, and many of the farmers and villagers were left to fend for themselves.

Thorvald Bloodyfist would snap the reigns lightly, causing his mule cart to speed up as the wagon went around the serpentine dirt road through the open village, passing the gated entrance to the ring fortress. Erik gazed up at the two large statues that flanked the entrance to the outer wall, his eyes rather enlarged with both nervousness and awe. His father also glanced over at the statues, taking note of one of them which seemed to be standing tall and proud, made of solid stone, while the other statue was split in half vertically, made of hard wood which had partially fallen over with its face in the moat and had been left there to rot. Just as they were coming through the main gate, Thorvald and Erik noticed another smaller group of people who did not look like typical Norsemen exiting Iskjerne Bay at the same time as they were arriving, led by a single woman.

Thorvald Asvaldsson was surprised to see something quite familiar about Livia the Legata and her Praetorian guards as they marched passed them out of the second gates, heading in the opposite direction. He immediately recognized the insignia of the bull, and the style of their helmets, as well as the unique weapons they were carrying with them. They had been eirily similar to the helmet and firearm that Thorvald Bloodyfist had seen back at the other kingdom. Were these Praetorians some kind of elite Viking mercenaries hired to guard the Iskjerne Kingdom? Just then, something else caught Thorvald's attention as his son smacked his arm and pointed up in the air before him to the giant castle on the other side of the third stone wall, heading up the drawbridge to the raised mound at the center of the large ring fortress. It wasn't very elaborate or fancy, more like a thick stone cube, but still it was marvelous enough to merit Thorvald's attention.

Next they were greeted by a rabble of filthy guards with the likeness of berserkers. Thorvald and Erik had seen these types of men before, but never so many of them concentrated in one place. Berserker cults had long been outlawed in their Norwegian homeland, but here at Iskjerne Bay it seemed that the berserkers were still in active service to their Viking lords. But they did not say much, neither smiling nor even paying Thorvald and his son much attention as they passed through the final spiked gate and ascended towards the castle. Little did either of them know what all had happened in Iskjerne Bay over the past few years or so, nor were they even aware of the significant time change, or the injured passenger they were carrying with them in the back of their mule wagon who was also looking around.

King Halfdan Svensson considered what to do with the murderer Erik Thorvaldsson as he consulted with Erik's father. King Halfdan needed to gather information about the Iskjerne Kingdom on the northern continent of Ellaria, but he couldn't just execute Thorvald Bloodyfist's son and risk having his ambassador to the north turn against him by joining his enemies. After some careful consideration, Halfdan the Great decided to exile the young man instead for three years, and sent him with his father Thorvald to the continent of Ellaria after branding him. Halfdan's guards pinned the murderer down and burned his cheek with the flat side of a white hot knife before casting him off of the Empyrean Sea Beach for a period of three years, warning him that if he returned before his sentence was finished, he would be executed.

Thorvald Asvaldsson and his branded son, now dubbed Erik the Red, then boarded a small karve boat and sailed off into the sea, heading for Iskjerne Bay, while King Halfdan and his champion Rufus the Bald watched from the shore. The Empyrean Norse Kingdom continued to prosper over the next few weeks while Thorvald and Erik were gone. Prince Logan Haakonsson taught his godfather how to speak and write in elvish tongue, and in turn, King Halfdan Svensson gave his adopted son his own daughter, a virgin maiden who had recently turned 14-years-old and, upon having her first menstrual cycle, was now ready to become a woman.

"Come my boy, I want you to meet someone. This is my daughter, Alruna, who is about your age now. She is ready to become a princess. I want you to marry her, and give me some grandchildren," King Halfdan said prudently.

Alruna would curtsey before the prince and smile with shyness in her expression. She was wearing a pastel blue dress with a white flower tiara. Her dress matched her blue eyes, and her blonde long hair had been braided specifically for this special occasion. Prince Logan would look up to King Halfdan nervously, before turning to gaze at the young pretty girl before him. He stood up from his chair and stepped over to her, flinging his cape behind him as he bowed to her respectfully.

"My lady," He said softly before standing upright to look into her eyes. "It's an honor to meet you, your grace, I have heard so much about you," Alruna responded, kissing the prince's ring as he extended his hand. It was obvious that this was a formal arrangement by King Halfdan, rather than a legitimate act of love and affection. But the two youngsters did indeed look very good together, and perhaps that love and affection would be kindled afterall as Prince Logan invited her to dance with him in the king's hall. That night, the two nobles were married and a great public feast would take place to honor their engagement. There was much drinking, dancing, music and eating as Norsemen came from miles away to offer gifts and service to the both of them as loyal vassals.

Many wedding games were played at the drunken festival, from board games like chess and hnefatafl, to maypole dancing and toga-honk. Children would pretend to duel with wooden swords. Men competed in drinking games of strength and wits, while the women competed in fast paced dancing competitions, all while getting drunk on mead, cisers, beer, vodka and other strong beverages such as grog and ale. King Halfdan also ordered a large black ibex to be sacrificed by having its throat slit with a dagger. The blood of the ibex was collected into a large golden bowl or dish, and with the branch from an evergreen tree, the blood was sprinkled over the statues of the gods and goddesses inside the sacred hóf.

At the end of the celebration, all the priestesses in the surrounding village, both young and old, would lead the prince and his princess to the hóf where Logan and Alruna were then stripped naked, and began to make love in the middle of the pagan circle as all of the priestesses watched to make sure that everything went according to plan. This very public, very crude display of Empyrean Norse revelry was not as barbaric or as savage and uncivilized as it may have seemed, for the priestesses were there to ensure that the prince was fertile and able to perform, and that the princess became pregnant. The oldest oracle among them would even be able to tell if the future infant would be a boy or a girl, judging by the young couple's love making positions and the way they reacted.

At the third dawn as the party died down and everyone fell asleep, or returned home, and all the fires had died out, Alruna suddenly woke up and sat up out of a dead sleep as if startled by a nightmare. Prince Logan was still snoring beside her, sleeping naked and face down in a pile of grass. She placed a bear-hide blanket over him and covered her own nakedness with a white linen sheet as she stood up and looked at the circle of statues gazing down at her before walking out of the hóf, squinting her eyes as she gazed out over the land. She was hungover, dazed and confused. Life itself now seemed so surreal to her as she stumbled down the hillside back towards the great hall, unaware at the moment that she was no longer a common maiden but now a royal princess with authority to rule.

Thorvald Asvaldsson and his son Erik Thorvaldsson were just about to enter the final spiked gate and approach the Iskjerne Castle in their slow moving mule wagon when suddenly they heard someone call out behind them.

"Hætta!" Livia commanded as she quickly started to approach the back of the stopping cart. Erik would discreetly move his hand towards his waistline to grab his small curved seax, but his father Thorvald would seize his arm and stop him, glancing at him quietly for a brief moment before turning around to look at Livia the Legata and her approaching guards. "Let me handle this," he whispered to his son. Thorvald Asvaldsson would remove his hat and nod quietly to the Praetorians, without making any sudden moves. Erik followed suit, easing up and and bowing his head quietly.

Erik watched distrustfully but curiously as one of the Praetorians walked up to Livia with a large white briefcase with a bright red cross on it, gazing at the wounded passenger in the back of the hay wagon before looking around. Soon another Praetorian approached the mule cart with a plastic water container. Thorvald and Erik glanced at one another silently before turning to look again at the Praetorian guards and their female leader. They understood Livia just fine, but they did not recognize her Latinized accent. Thorvald decided to try and speak to her and find out what she wanted as he looked down at the injured person in the back of his wagon before looking at her.

"Kveðja sómakona mín. Ég er Þorvaldur, sonur Asvalds víðs vegar um haf, og þetta er sonur minn Erik, sem er að ferðast mér við hlið. Þekkir þú þennan mann aftan í kerrunni? Við fundum hann á einni hæðinni, eins og hann er núna. Við vitum ekki hvernig hann komst á þennan hátt. En ég get fullvissað þig um að það vorum ekki við sem rændum hann. Við ætluðum bara að koma honum í musterið og skilja hann eftir. Við erum bara fátækir bændur, eins og þú sérð. Við höfum enga peninga en þér er velkomið að líta í kringum þig og taka það sem þú vilt. Vinsamlegast vinsamlegast ekki meiða okkur." the fifty-year-old man said, still holding his hat in his hands.

Thorvald's accent was just as bad as Livia's accent, it seemed, and although he had the appearance and makings of a true Norseman, and could speak fluently, it was apparent to the sharply tuned ears that Thorvald Bloodyfist was not a native to this northernmost part of the land. Nor was Erik, for they both had redder skin than the Iskjerne Vikings, as if they had been traveling for a very long time in the hot sun. Thorvald and Erik watched quietly with widened eyes, obviously very alert and aware of their surroundings, if not a little intimidated and confused by the well dressed Praetorians who outnumbered them considerably. What did they want with two poor farmers and a wounded man? Were they planning to highjack the wagon? Thorvald swallowed and lowered his head, making himself appear as humble as possible while hoping not to offend Livia and her guards as they examined the wagon.

Ragnar Sigurdsson suddenly jumped as Livia reached out to touch him. The wide icey blue gaze of his one good eye stared at her with a look of hatred and madness, not just at her but at the whole entire world in general. His other eye had been swollen shut. His forehead had an open gash in it, in the shape of a cross, and there was blood running down his face. His left side had been pierced with a sharp object, causing a trail of blood which soaked his tattered brown shirt and trousers. His right hand was swelled up from being bitten by a viper. He had bare feet with dirty toenails, and his left foot, also swollen, had two puncture wounds on it from snake's fangs. His neck was also bruised, as if he had been choked or strangled by a large python. The whole back of his shirt had been ripped open by being whipped constantly, and there were several lashings on his backside. Both of his wrists and ankles were scraped up and lacerated from being shackled, and from the holes in his hands and feet, it seemed that at some point in time, Ragnar had been crucified. He had been through hell and back, and had every right to be skittish and jumpy at the stranger before him.

But as she slowly lifted his sticky shirt up to examine the gash in his side, Ragnar stared at Livia quietly, his face void of expression as he tried to relax. Even in this horrible state, Ragnar still had the gaze of a very fierce and strong individual. There was hardly any fear in him at all, only a deep sense of hatred and contempt for those who had placed him in his current condition. It was amazing he was even still alive at all, but the badly injured Danish Viking showed no sign of remorse or weakness as he winced in pain, gritting his teeth as Livia examined his many wounds. She would also notice many scars and other former injuries which had healed over time. It appeared that Ragnar had not only been beaten, robbed and left for dead, but had been brutally tortured for many days, perhaps even weeks. Yet his resilience still held. Clearly he was no ordinary human being, as he stared fiercely at the Praetorians who were carrying out their orders from the Argosian commander.

"Claudius, revertetur per viam portae, non potest dicere Generalis Hama reversus cum hospite." She instructed in her native language. Thorvald Asvaldsson and his son didn't understand a single word of it, but Ragnar Lothbrok understood the gist of it, having learned some English and stylized Latin from a Christian priest he had once captured and made friends with long ago.

Ragnar laid there quietly with his head propped up against the back of the wagon seat as Livia climbed up into the mule cart next to him. He didn't say anything, only gritting in pain while hiding his agony and refusing to show fear as she spoke to Thorvald in a language all four of them could understand. "I'm Livia, the first Legate. I do not want your things, I want to help this man." She said, once again with her strangely delicate accent. Thorvald Asvaldsson just nodded quietly.

The Norsemen watched helplessly as the two Praetorian Guards tossed the white medical field kit into the back of the parked mule cart along with the jug of water that Livia had requested. "If we do not get him medical help, he will die." She said, as she began to examine Ragnar's injuries more closely, using her pugio to cut his shirt open and expose the festering dirt covered wounds. The young man Erik would grimace at the sight of so much blood and pain. He had never seen someone so badly injured before, and it surprised him that Ragnar wasn't crying or screaming for mercy.

Thorvald Bloodyfist and Erik the Red watched silently as Livia opened the white briefcase, exposing an array of shining tools and medical equipment. Ragnar just glanced for a second at the tool kit before looking into Livia's eyes again, as if gazing into her soul as she snapped on her latex gloves and proceeded to clean out his wounds. He winced in pain as the alcohol touched his skin, but he made no efforts to stop her. In fact, he seemed more curious and interested in what Livia was doing, as if he was almost taking mental notes in his mind and learning from it as she flushed his injuries with water and alcohol before stitching him up. Ragnar remained somewhat conscious throughout the entire process, but the viper's venom was still slowly taking effect as his vision started to go blurry from the snake bites.

"What happened to this man?" She asked, a bit alarmed it would seem that Ragnar was still breathing. She then repeated herself in their native language. Thorvald and Erik, just like Ragnar, had understood both East Anglish and Old Norse, so Thorvald decided to respond in the Empyrean English dialect instead to make it slightly easier for Livia, seeing as she appeared to be struggling with their more Nordic pronunciations.

"I don't know. Like I said, we just found him like this," the old man answered, speaking directly to the Legata now as his red-haired son continued to examine the shining tools and equipment inside the white briefcase. "Vipera berus," the injured patient suddenly chimed in Latin before closing his eyes and falling limp. He was still breathing slowly, but he was starting to lose consciousness. Thorvald and Erik looked at one another ackwardly, confused again by the strange words before turning to gaze at Livia and the Iskjerne Viking in the back of the wagon who was fading quickly.

Thorvald Asvaldsson took the small handful of silver denarius coins in the palm of his hand, looking down at them before looking back up at Livia for a moment. He then turned and handed the silver coins to his son Erik the Red, who picked up one of the coins and bit into it to see if it was real. Thorvald then rested his hand on Erik's shoulder.

"Thank you kindly Your Grace, but this old man has already sworn his allegiances to another. Besides, I will only slow your haste. These old bones have been traveling for many weeks, and I am in need of some rest. I will send my son with you instead, he can take you to the mountains." Thorvald said, squeezing his son's shoulder gently before patting him on the shoulder and climbing down out of the mule wagon.

The red-headed young man stared at his father quietly before nodding and placing the silver denarii into his belt pouch and grabbing the reigns. Thorvald nodded respectfully to Livia and her Praetorian guards before putting his hat back on and slapping the mule's ass with his open hand. "Go now my boy, and be quick." Thorvald said as the four-wheeled cart started moving.

Erik the Red nodded and whipped the reigns, shouting loudly. "Yah!!" He yelled as the wagon started to pull away, gaining speed with Livia and Ragnar in the back of it as he carried out the Legata's wishes, taking her north towards the mountains. Ragnar began fading in and out at that moment, talking nonsensically in a way that was incomprehensible to both Livia and Erik.

"Aethelstan... Aethelstan don't leave me." Ragnar said weakly as he squinted his one good eye open and reached out to Thorvald, but the old man was already beginning to walk back towards the castle. Ragnar would blink slightly, beginning to feel nauseated and dizzy from the polyvalent antivenin Livia had injected into his shoulder. He tried to squint and blink, turning his head to look up at Livia again. With his blurry vision, he thought for a moment that she was a valkyrie. The sun's rays cascading over her head and shoulders with brilliant rainbow colors appeared to him like a halo, winged helmet or like the wings of an angel as he smiled very slightly at Livia before laying his head back and closing his eyes again. "Eir, beloved Eir, don't let my wife find out that I'm dead or she'll kill me." Ragnar muttered softly before losing consciousness and passing out.

One day while Thorvald "Bloodyfist" Asvaldsson was playing a game of tossing his cork bottle plug into his empty cow horn drinking cup while sitting in the public mead hall deep in the center of Iskjerne Bay's old viking ring fortress on the natural dirt floor on top of a thin cloth butt cushion in front of the open fire pit, three distinguished characters walked through the door into the mead hall, gaining attention from everyone at the mead gathering. Thorvald would mind his own business while listening to all the gossip in and around the village.

Thorvald was playing a game involving a small cork bottle plug and a cow horn drinking glass, sitting inside the public mead hall on the floor before an open fire when Hrafn-Floki suddenly stepped inside the mead hall, accompanied by a dozen or so ulfhednar and half a dozen berserkers, causing everyone in the mead hall to pause for a moment in order to look at Floki the raven master, his appearance unmistakable and wild looking as ever with his thin crow's peak hair style, black eyeliner and curling fingers, a man of more modest size among the Iskjerne Vikings who stood in the arch doorway to either side of him.

Floki had scurvy and was shaking badly as he approached the campfire with his gang of champions and sat down. Floki was wrapped in a thick fur blanket and only his red slightly frost bitten face and frozen beard were exposed, but everyone could tell it was Floki by his walk and attitude as he started giggling nonsensically and wavering his way through the silence. The entire crowd was filled with silence, having all heard of the exploits and deeds of the reputable shipbuilder, adventurer, runemaster, and ghost pirate slaying naval leader who had once served the deceased King Sigurd Hring, and was now a very vain wiseman and holy leader. Floki had parched bleeding lips and dry red eyes, and skin cold and pale, but he smiled and chuckled once he got comfortable, wiggling his fingers in front of the flames.

Just then another familar old face would walk into the mead hall, standing in the doorway with a handful of well uniformed Frankish-styled armed guards with uniquely curved shields and green and blue uniforms with nanosteel armour and weapons, holding Ellarian crossbows, looking rather out of place for the setting. These highly disciplined archers were not Iskjerne Vikings, they were Ellarian Soldiers, and they were being led by a very tall dark haired Nordic man in a red silk robe with a bright blue dog fur cape and a finely trimmed beard. It was Robert I of Ellaria, the crown duke. But in former years, this noble familiar looking Frenchman had another name.

"That's Rollo the Walker," someone whispered quietly from the crowd that was standing back around the walls, putting distance between themselves and the foreign Ellarian soldiers.

"... It's Prince Hrollaug, son of Sigurd Hring." another voice whispered. The already silent crowd began to gasp at the amazing arrival of two well known Iskjerne Vikings who had been gone for several years, but who had once played prominent leadership roles during Sigurd's dynasty.

Just then, another distinguished figure entered the mead hall and upon seeing the Ellarian soldiers and the reaction of the Iskjerne Vikings, the young man slowly walked around the crowd away from everybody and made his way towards the back of the mead hall. His fine bright red blazing hair and stubbly chin were easy to pick out in the crowd as Thorvald Bloodyfist glanced over to him and smiled. It was Erik the Red, his grown son, having just returned from his quest to escort Livia and Ragnar to the cave system to the north. Livia would pay Erik the Red a good bit of silver for his troubles, but little did Livia or Erik realize at the moment just how much wealthier the Empyrean Norse exile had become. Erik soon approached his father and sat down next to him.

"She said he'll live." Erik whispered quietly to his father Thorvald before looking up at Hrafn-Floki in front of him, and Robert I of Ellaria, also called the Duke Rollo, standing at the entrance.

"Hello Floki," Duke Robert nodded with a slight smile, relieved to see an old friend and familar face in the mead hall.

"Hello Rollo," Hrafn-Floki responded with a vain tone and disgusted look on his face, obviously not approving of Duke Robert's choice of foreign clothing, or the Frankish cross necklace medallion around his neck. Robert I of Ellaria, known to the Iskjerne Vikings as Prince Hrollaug or Rollo the Walker, would frown slightly.

People would gossip and whisper amongst themselves in the public gathering hall. Rumour had spread that Prince Hrollaug was dead, a rumor apparently spread by his own nephews. Ivar the Boneless, who had sought to takeover his grandfather Sigurd's kingdom, had claimed that the spirit of his uncle Rollo the Walker had given him insightful visions inside his dreams. Of course, Ivar had also made many other fanciful claims, even once declaring himself as a god. His invincibility and godhood was proven untrue however as the true gods had shown, causing an earthquake which had shaken the mead hall and thrown the young crippled prince from the throne. Ivar the Boneless, having suffered from fragile bones since the day he was born, did not survive the ill-will and bad orlog brought on by the spirit of his angry ancestors. There, in the corner of the mead hall was a small wooden boat-shaped casket, inside which the dead Prince Ivar lay as if asleep, lifeless and pale, adorned with yellow and white flowers and perfumes.

Ivar the Boneless was dead.

Robert I of Ellaria, the Duke of the Empyrean Normans, would walk over to Ivar's casket and pay his respects to his dead nephew before gathering with his Frankish guards and drawing a crowd of Iskjerne Vikings to the far side of the mead hall to feast. Many of the Vikings would welcome him home and toast to his honor. Hrollaug recounted his exploits across the Weargtooth Mountains and around the Empyrean High Seas, recalling his adventures all around Ellaria, and the continent of Siv'en to the far south. Prince Hrollaug had been gone for what seemed like many years, and it came as a shock to him to hear that his adopted father King Sigurd was dead, along with the others who had served him, including Rollo's biological father Kettil Flatnose, his mistress Gwyneth the Shield-maiden, and many others. The Duke was filled with grief, but he maintained his composure and promised to help the Iskjerne Vikings recover.

But not everyone was so happy to see his return. A lot of the Vikings would separate themselves from Duke Rollo and gather around Floki by the fire pit instead. Hrafn-Floki would spend the next few days recovering from scurvy and frostbite in the mead hall along with the survivors of his fleet. They drank mead, participated in the feasting and discussed their own plans on what to do now that Iskjerne Bay was without a konung to lead them. Floki's wife Helga would feed him potatoes, broccoli and strawberries, giving him apples to consume and help to treat his scurvy. She informed him that their daughter had died during the winter, having starved to death from the famine during Ivar's short reign. Floki was heart broken, and would pardon himself from the feast to go see the burial mounds.

Thorvald Asvaldsson and his son Erik Thorvaldsson would hear of Duke Rollo's adventures and rise to fame. They also overhead some of the svinfylking, skogkattr, vulpinni, uglarii, odrarii and others recount Floki the Vitki's conquest along the Ellarian Empyrean Coast, and how his leidang of 1,000 seafaring Vikings had fought off an invasion of ghostly phantoms led by pirate Robert the Butcher, a draugr or zombie-like vassal of Gro'chal Deathweaver the necromancer. It seemed that both Duke Robert I of Ellaria, and Hrafn-Floki the raven master, were both very famous now, and would split the kingdom, causing a division between those who were loyal to one side of the feasting hall, and those who would be loyal to the other.

Thorvald Bloodyfist Asvaldsson would also learn that one of the queens of Iskjerne Bay, the former shield-maiden Lagertha, had murdered Ivar's mother, the other queen known as Aslaug Kraka, a powerful völva and seeress among the Vikings who had great power and influence. It had been Aslaug who had poisoned Ivar's head with evil thoughts and fictitious ideas, something which Queen Lagertha and her sons, Bjorn and Ubbe, felt needed to be dealt with. Lagertha expressed love for her sons and said that she missed her beloved husband, the great King Ragnar Lothbrok, son of King Sigurd, whom she had not seen in many years since his departure for East Anglia on another world. Lagertha had hoped that one day, Ragnar might return to claim his father's pagan throne, but she had her doubts. Presuming her first husband to be dead and lost at sea, Lagertha had remarried, this time to King Harald Finehair who also had support from a third of the Iskjerne Vikings.

After gathering all of the news and information he could about Iskjerne Bay, the elder Thorvald Bloodyfist decided it was time to return to the Empyrean Norse Kingdom and inform King Halfdan of the situation. Thorvald hugged his son Erik the Red before giving him some sound advice and climbing back into the mule wagon. Erik Thorvaldsson would be on his own now from here on out, and would be forced to choose between one of the three gathering Viking clans inside the mead hall as his father said farewell and departed home, along the same route that had brought them there.