From Matt:
Standing on the bow of the Havhingsten af Glendalough, sad pride of the tattered Norse fleet, Hauld Rurik Ragnarson, Scourge Raider of the Battle of Clontarff, Mediator to the Svaltafar Accord and Underking to Jarl Ragnar the Charred is deep in his cups. Having nearly escaped the Albion White Fleet (bounty hunters of the North Seas) and parlaying with the Great Wyrm of Hyboria (at what cost!) the Norsemen slowly plow through a deep mist on a moonless night. "This dark mist matches my mood on this night," Rurik states to no-one in particular.
"Why do you take your drink alone?" asks the mist in reply.
"These people I find myself with are fine folk indeed, brave as any I've seen. But they are not my people and they don't know of my home. When I think of my home I drink with my kinsmen, so I drink alone," replied Rurik.
"I see," says the mist.
"To whom exactly am I addressing?" asks Rurik as he takes another pull of grog and leans into the great carved stallion figurehead of the ship.
"I am the Mist and I am the Prophet. I am from the Gallows and I am Wise," claims the mist.
"You are Odin then," states Rurik.
"Indeed," responds the Mist. "I bring news from Vinland."
There is a pause as the waves lap at the hull. Rurik takes this as a cue to take another pull of grog from his horn as a reply.
"I see the fall of Helsblud, Hauld, indeed the fall of your people. Your father Jarl Ragnar the Charred is defeated and subjugated - caged like an animal such that he will never reach Vahalla. Vultures feast on the bones of your oldest brother Ollie Ragnarson. He was killed for sport in the arenas. Your sisters Eir and Idona pray to me for death as they are despoiled daily. Your family's subjects are either enslaved, wait for death in the arenas or torture pits or have already turned traitor to you."
Rurik settles further into his drink.
"Does this bother you Hauld?" asks the Mist.
Rurik drags his proud weary form upright and looks deep into the swirling miasma. "You are not Odin for Odin rarely speaks the truth." With that Hauld Rurik Ragnarson, Scourge Raider of the Battle of Clontarff, Mediator to the Svaltafar Accord and Underking to Jarl Ragnar the Charred buries his axe Angantyr deep into the mist-being's skull. A keening cry rolls over the water and reverberates along every hull in the fleet bringing a brief pause to every warrior's drinking.
Rurik settles back down into the figurehead and brings the horn to his lips once more.
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