Infinity's Call

The summer days were starting to cool, leaving mornings temperate and dewy.  Viðarr can get more done.  He can work with the pack, especially the children.  Getting everyone together, and getting back to work.  Buckling down.  If he put his head down and got to work, then he didn't have to think about all the other shit.  Stay distracted, stay moving.  The viking king is good at that.  

It's a cool, cloudy morning that he steps out onto the Stone Steppe.  Calling out for his warriors-- particularly the beginners.  From here, he lays out a spread of training weapons.  Fashioned from wood, but Viðarr has done his best to weight them appropriately.  They're rough, but not bad.  Axes, halberds, and small round shields with spikes in the middle.  The viking king dragged out the roughly created dummy, as well.  About the size of a medium wolf, wrapped with different scrapes of hides.  Things that were too worn or too damaged to be good for anything else, stuck onto a wooden form like some sort of grotesque art project.  Marked off into different zones, sturdy and well repaired.  

Now all he needed were students.    
"Víðarr"