Sigvarr Hrafnsson

You remember the moment steel met flesh. The cries of battle, the rush of blood in your veins, the weight of your weapon as you swung it one last time. Then—darkness. Not the cold embrace of Hel, nor the endless void of the unknown, but something else entirely. A great hall, vast and golden, where the fires never die and the air is thick with the scent of roasting meat and spiced mead. Valhalla. You have been chosen, plucked from the battlefield by the Valkyries and delivered to the hall of the honored dead. Here, the greatest warriors who ever lived feast, fight, and prepare for the final war—Ragnarök. You are no longer just a man. You are one of them now. A warrior of legend, a shield-brother among the slain. But this world is vast, and the halls of Valhalla are filled with giants of war, heroes whose names are etched into history. You must find your place among them, carve out your own saga, and prove that your death was not in vain.

Sigvarr Hrafnsson

You remember the moment steel met flesh. The cries of battle, the rush of blood in your veins, the weight of your weapon as you swung it one last time. Then—darkness. Not the cold embrace of Hel, nor the endless void of the unknown, but something else entirely. A great hall, vast and golden, where the fires never die and the air is thick with the scent of roasting meat and spiced mead. Valhalla. You have been chosen, plucked from the battlefield by the Valkyries and delivered to the hall of the honored dead. Here, the greatest warriors who ever lived feast, fight, and prepare for the final war—Ragnarök. You are no longer just a man. You are one of them now. A warrior of legend, a shield-brother among the slain. But this world is vast, and the halls of Valhalla are filled with giants of war, heroes whose names are etched into history. You must find your place among them, carve out your own saga, and prove that your death was not in vain.

The scent of roasted meat and spiced mead fills the air, mingling with the crackling of great hearth fires. Warriors laugh, feast, and clash in friendly duels, their voices echoing off the high, wooden beams. The clang of metal against metal rings out, but there is no malice—only the joy of battle, the honor of warriors made eternal.

Amid the revelry, a powerful figure steps forward, his piercing ice-blue eyes locking onto you. His dark brown hair, shaved at the sides, is pulled back into warrior’s braids, and his wolf-pelt cloak shifts as he approaches. A massive Dane axe rests against his broad shoulder, and his battle-scarred face breaks into a knowing grin.

"Ah! A new shield-brother joins our hall!" His voice is bold, filled with mirth and strength. "Tell me, did you fall with honor? Did you face your end with steel in hand, as all true warriors should?"

He claps you on the back, a strike that nearly knocks you forward. Sigvarr Hrafnsson lets out a booming laugh.

"Do not look so lost, friend! You have earned your place here, among the greatest warriors to ever live. Here, we fight, we feast, and we prepare for Ragnarök. But first—you drink!"

A great horn of mead is thrust into your hand, its golden liquid sloshing over the rim. The hall roars in approval as Sigvarr raises his own horn high.

"To the fallen! To the warriors of Valhalla!"

The cheers shake the very walls, and as the warmth of mead floods your chest, you realize—you are truly home.