Two weeks after being hit with thunder Bror was still laying in a bed, he had quite a lot of scars from the hit, but the biggest one was across his chest, in the shape of a hammer. Slowly he started to rise, he still felt the pain in his back as he did so. He could barely stand, but with some afford he walked across the room. When he tried to sit down in a chair next to the fire, he felt a sharp pain in his back and everything went black.

He saw his spirit rise out from his body, out of the house it travelled across land sea and air to Kaupang one o the main cities in the north. He saw mutilated bodys hanging from the threes, "followers of mine", he heard a voice say, it was strong voice filled with authority and one could hear the age in it, it betrayed more feelings and thoughts then a sane men could have at a time. "followers of the old ways like their ancestors did for thousands of winters, but now hanged for the sport of the ravens, but not one will touch their bodies. All of them death and each was welcome in my hall for they fought with all their strength and they will continue to do so for eternity. The weak ones gave in with the cross and the desert god, they will continue to destroy the land slay my followers, burn our holy places and enslaved everyone, not in body but in soul. For each of my followers mad his own choices and we respected them for it but these priest of them will have anybody whipped who does not do as they say, who does not think as they do, who dares to speak his mind. But alas there is nothing we can do, and it was a thing long in coming, first the roman ones, not my followers to begin with, but they still laid taxes on half the world. After that those Franks and their emperor who sat on a course of destruction in the tribes of Europe. My only followers were either secret or in the rough lands of the north where trolls still live in the forests and men grow bigger then in other places. I influenced them to stop fighting among themselves and raid the shores of other places, now they were mighty seafarers and warriors and many of hem sit besides me in this golden hall.

They are better of here for I recon that it will not be long before the start of the Fimbullwinter and the destruction of Ragnarok for my beloved son ,the beautiful Balder, has been killed a long time ago and Thor still sets out to hunt for the trickster but till now no avail. Meanwhile is on Midgard corruption settling in the very bottom of the earth."

The vision changed and now he was looking at another settlement. He saw a tall man and mailed ones running to him wielding swords and spears. The tall one struck first making a fist with one of his hands and pounded at the head of the in front of him, crushing metal and bone in one movement, grabbed his spear less then a second later, stabbed the next in the belly and pushing the rest back with his shield. "Some a still offering resistance", said the voice almost proud this time ," fighting with as much power as they can muster against the cross", a sickening crack as a man was crushed beneath a shield and the wall when the giant pushed him back. "it is my belief that as long as men of honour are still fighting for freedom, that Ragnarok will not come, whether they do that openly through combat". The Tall one took a cut to his chest. "or in secret with book and knowledge", the scene flashed again now showing men sitting in a basement wearing black hoods and gowns with hammerpendants around their necks writing runes on a clay tablet.

Erik was outside the tavern walking a bit around the streets of the town, he had the name already forgotten, but remembered the basic layout of the town. It was a small town on the coast of the German empire or what in Loki's name they did call themselves now, it lived on the trade and the fishing like many other villages and town here. When he neared the wall , which was no more then some poles hewn in the ground and bound together , he saw many tracks leading through a place in the wall , when he looked up closer to the wall he saw also that the poles there where newer then the ones next to them. Signs of a raid, he thought, I knew this place was familiar. Then he thought deep back and started to remember:

It was about fifteen years back one of his early raids he and Leif were still seen as lads by some of the older ones, still they both had seen many a summer of working in the fields, of lifting stones to build defences and houses and cut down threes for firewood and planks. Erik had also spend some of his childhood time in the smithy and went there a lot more these days. He may not have had the skill to beat an axe or spearhead out of the iron but he had enough strength to beat out the iron from the ore. Now here he was rowing the oars for the third time in his life. This was going to be his first big raid. A few villages and monasteries were his only other experiences, but now they were going to raid a larger town with a few thousand men in it. For this the jarl had not only assembled the fife dragonships of his area but around a ten more. Together they had around eight long hundreds of men, all of them armed to the teeth and most had a dozen of raids a their name already. He was rowing at board side, fifth oar from front, he felt the wind in his air, had the dried salt in his beard and felt already that they were nearing shore. He longed to feel the soft sand under his shoes when they were called on to arm themselves, he took his shield and strapped it on his arm, took up his heavy axe and wielded it with two hands, he stripped his shirt of and put his helmet on. After that he started to breathe heavy and started to growl like an bear, though like a bear and charged right through the gap, he didn't register the javelins and axes that flew over him and pierced his enemies nor the slash of his axe through shield, arm and mail alike in chest of one who didn't run away. In a few minutes after the Vikings poured through the gap and met their enemies head on the heavy core of experienced warriors was smitten down and the rest started to flee. He remembered the feast they held on the towns provisions barley so much ale and mead they found in the taverns. More bitterly he remembered the morning after, in the distance one of the guards saw the shine of armour in the sun and so they left half drunk a burning down , while they were rowing with the worst of headaches.

It was a long shot since then, he had been at almost a hundred battles, killed more men then he cared to remember, but lost some comrades to. He hadden thought that he would return here again if any of the people here recognized him, he was sure that he would be death by morning.

- meanwhile fifty miles to the south

Rimmugygr fought against a great number of guards who under command of the archbishop must capture him , not kill him for the priest said, that if he would die , he would simply reappear again. Rimmugygr himself knew otherwise, knew that if he died in battle he would go into Valhalla, knew also that the priest would not give him that pleasure. That was why he had been fighting with also his strength to hammer this punny guards into to the ground, death meant nothing to him. He was almost seven feet tall and three broad, his arms as thick as the neck of most others, fist larger then the heads of those before him and legs stronger then a horse , for he had been walking everywhere for the most of his life for no horse could carry him. He was a champion and a front fighter for almost fifty years now , had seen most of his comrades fall, struck more than a hundred man down with his axe, specially made for his size, he could cut fully mailed knight and his horse down with one movement and had done so on occasion. But he was tiring now been fighting and running for two days now trying to get back to north since his ship stranded.

He felt himself get weaker from the many cuts on his arms from exhaustion. He was getting dizzy from the blood loss and after another half hour of fighting, he got hit by a sandbag, like slavers use when they do not want do damage their wares, and went down on all fours, got another hit and stayed down.

He woke up again after some time, he saw the face of a monk he saw he was constructing a wall in front of him. He tried to lash out, but was prevented, heavy iron shackles around his wrist around his ankles to, he tried with all his strength to break lose. And then it was dark, the last stone in place. He heard nothing saw even less, but he felt the iron slowly giving in. he decide he could better get some rest first and slept in still hanging chained on the wall, like the odinsbane himself.