The snowflakes danced in the air, casting a serene silence over the mountainous landscape of Nørhaven. Kael, along with his patrol team of guards, rode their horses through the knee-deep snow, their eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of trouble. As they approached the foot of the mountain, they heard the sound of screams and clashing steel. Kael's instincts kicked in, and he urged his horse forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword. As they crested a small hill, they saw a group of villagers, armed with pitchforks and clubs, fighting off a band of Rån, the Norse bandits that roam the wilderness and mountains preying on travelers and villagers, who had descended upon them like a plague. The villagers were vastly outnumbered, and it was clear they wouldn't last much longer. Kael charged into battle, his sword flashing in the fading light. His guards followed close behind, their own swords and shields at the ready. The sound of clashing steel and the screams of the Rån filled

The lands of Vanaheim and Alfheim, had long enjoyed a fragile peace, but the sudden surge of bandit raids had shattered the calm. The marauders, driven by the dark force the Mórka, had been leaving a trail of destruction and terror in their wake. As the news of the raids spread, the rulers of the realms began to stir. The konungr of Vanaheim, King Magni, sent word to the Hersir of Nørhaven, requesting a meeting to discuss the growing threat. The Hersir, agreed to receive the konungr and his war leaders. The meeting took place in the great hall of Nørhaven, the walls adorned with the banners of the various realms. The konungr of Alfheim, King Frey, was present, along with his war leader, the fearless Skald. The konungr of Nørhaven, King Harald, sat at the head of the table, his eyes fixed intently on the maps spread out before them. As the meeting began, the Hersir outlined the gravity of the situation. "The Mórka's influence spreads, corrupting the hearts of men and turning them

Without warning, the ship's captain shouted out, "Land á síðu!" ("Land in sight!"), his voice piercing the morning air. Kael was jolted out of his dream, Eira's voice whispering in his ear. He sat up with a start, his heart racing. Vigdis emerged from the ship's quarters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "What's all the commotion about?" he asked, his voice gruff. Kael stood up, stretching his limbs. "The captain's spotted land." The two friends walked out of the ship's quarters, gazing out at the island looming on the horizon. "What is this place?" Kael asked the captain. The captain nodded. "This is the island of Lýsingur, a few miles' ride from the stronghold of Útgarðar." Kael's eyes narrowed. "We'll build our tents here." The Norse warriors set to work, erecting their tents with swift efficiency. The tents of Alfheim, Vanaheim, and Nørhaven were pitched in a semicircle, their banners flapping in the wind. Kael led his horse, Svart, off the ship, holding the reins

Before the dawn broke, the armies of the Three Lands were assembled before the stronghold of Útgarðar, their armor glinting in the faint, pre-dawn light. The air was heavy with anticipation, the warriors eager to unleash their fury upon the dark fortress. In a final, hastily-convened meeting, the war leaders of the Three Lands laid out their plan of attack. Mighty engines, known as the "Fimbulwinter's Fury", were arranged at the east side of the stronghold, their wooden frames creaking with the weight of the massive stones they would soon hurl at the enemy. These engines, forged in the depths of Nidavellir, were said to be able to shatter the very foundations of the stronghold. A signal from King Magni, the leader of Vanaheim, was all that was needed to set the war machines in motion. The sound of creaking wood and straining ropes filled the air as the engines launched their deadly payload at the stronghold. The stones, wrapped in burning pitch and oil, soared through the air, stri

As Vigdis carried Kael's wounded body through the winding paths and treacherous terrain, he couldn't help but feel a sense of desperation wash over him. The journey to the Völva Kaida's hútr was long and arduous, but Vigdis pressed on, driven by his determination to save Kael's life. As they approached the hútr, Vigdis could see the Völva Kaida standing outside, her eyes fixed on Kael's pale and drawn face. The Völva's face was neither grim nor worried, but rather, it seemed to hold a deep understanding of the events that were unfolding. "Why did you bring him here, soldier?" the Völva Kaida asked, her voice low and mysterious. He is dying, Vigdis's voice trailed off as he looked at Kael, still lying on the horse. The Völva Kaida's eyes seemed to bore into Vigdis's soul. "The one born on the day of Ragnarök's Shadow," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "The day of the Blood Moon, can not be killed like a mortal " Vigdis's eyes widened in shock. "The day of the Blood