ragnarök awaits

Víðarr is careful, as he inspects the carved spires. Enchanted by them, drawn in. The giants must have placed them, stuck them deep in the ground... remnants from the last time? If Ragnarök was a memory of old, then it would be coming again. A great cycle, one that would spin them all in circles. Etched within the spires, faces. Staring back at him, though not truly seeing. Something had been trapped within them, and the viking king could only make guesses as to what.

A macabre beauty to this place, slinking through it and drinking in what he could see. Erik's words bring a stark laugh breaking through his throat. Whatever trickster Loki had replaced his son with, it surely wasn't a bright one. "There's no saving us from the floods, boy. The fates led us here for a reason." A sinister gleam in his eye as his gaze narrows, trains on Erik.

"Run if you want. You'll miss the action." The words of a madman, perhaps. Víðarr had only grown more unstable by the day, without Tenshi to keep him steady. Oh his beautiful wife... he'd see her soon. Reaching the end of the red thread that had strung them together, perhaps. There's no telling if the sound rippling through the prominence was real or a trick of his imagination, but it's horrible. High pitched, shattering the relative calm. It's coming.