ragnarök awaits

Settling into life within the castle hadn't been easy.  Like an animal in a cage, Víðarr spent much of his time pacing the stone floors, damn near beating his head against the wall.  Worse than being holed up in the Crypt, worse than being chained in some dark corner.  A prison of his own making, and worse than that.  A prison of the mind, if he had to think about it too long.  He'd rebuked one useless son, and been betrayed by another.  Keeping him here, within Hearthstone, was effectively an act of treason. 

But he couldn't lash out against Erik here.  Too many eyes.  Too many political hangups, in acting out within The Hallows.  Something about laying down arms within the walls of the castle, and something else about behaving himself.  Still, he stewed, he paced, he marinated in all of the poor feelings.  The viking king had fallen, and fallen by his son's hand. 

The earthquakes draw Víðarr from a sleep worse than death, though his head is still foggy from whatever they were drugging him with.  At least it kept the nightmares at bay.  Slipping out into the cool Auster night air, darkness wrapped around his shoulders, his gaze flickers to the blood red sky.  Haunting.  Horrifying.  Beautiful. 

Were the tales coming true?  Drawn northward, there's only one thing on Víðarr's mind-- Ragnarök.  It's time.  It's well past time.  Twilight of the gods, here and now.  Breaking into a dead run back north, it's more than time.  Ragnarök awaits. 

"Víðarr"