GLORY BE THY NAME

Following the birth of his rightful heirs, the children who would take over the mountain, those who would one day rise, Víðarr isn't sure if anything could make life sweeter. It was everything they'd wanted, everything they'd dreamed of, and the culmination of their hard work and planning. In his mind, there's only one way to celebrate such an occasion.

Gore.

The viking king would bring them raiding, the reason? Celebration. There's no better way, in his mind. Víðarr has the perfect target chosen, too. He'd seen the boy rise, uncontested. Unearned. He would make the young gun work for it, seeing as he'd just been handed his pack. This isn't like before, these aren't neighbors, he doesn't have to worry about messy things. There are no politics here, and the vikings could descend as they pleased. A plague upon them.

Feeding the central fire pit until the flames arced high against the late afternoon sky, Víðarr calls his warriors. It was time. They would raid.

"Víðarr"