Day Three of the Odinsleep - The Halls of Valhalla
Day Three of the Odinsleep (5 pm)
The group falls in behind the messenger and is led through the streets of Asgard. As Niklas starts to leave, Ivaldi stops him, “Bring me a piece o’ yer work on the morrow if you live through the day’s battles an’ I’ll tell ya what I think, lad.” Grog stops at the door and asks Ivaldi to tell him more about what’s going on but the dwarf shakes his head, “I’m sure that ye’ll get an earful tonight if ye pays attention.” Raven frowns, hoping that the dwarf’s prediction is accurate – these “gods” seem fine and all but it wouldn’t be the first time the group was deceived.
Niklas falls in with Kysek who gives him a slap on the back, “You are one of us now. We can’t have you partake of the battles and miss out on the revelries! Come Niklas, celebration awaits!” The woodsman murmurs that he isn’t comfortable in the large groups of strangers but agrees to join the group at the feast but adds that he isn’t sure how long he will stay.
As the group walks Shadow laughs and jokes with other members of the group, “I know one woman that will be surprised to see me there tonight. I intend to find her bedchamber even if it kills me.”
Cedron laughs in response “Don’t be so sure of yourself, Shadow. Me thinks her brief smile was meant for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve made love to a woman and I must say that Valkyrie might just be woman enough for what I’ve been storing up! Ha!”
The drow smiles back, “Second mouse gets the cheese, my friend.”
Cedron nods, “Wise words indeed. The fairer sex is unpredictably fickle.”
Morn grins, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
In the center of the city, they enter a forested area like a park, of perhaps a bit of wilderness that was allowed to flourish despite the settling of the gods in this place. The trees bear leaves of the reddest gold and are surrounded by a river of raging waters. Within the wood, they come upon a building so large as to stagger the imagination. The scale of the structure is truly massive, with over five hundred doors — each so wide that eight hundred men could walk through them abreast — and a roof whose peak is nearly lost in the clouds. Its thatching is laid with golden shields after the fashion of a shingled roof. A muscular and bristly boar walks upon the roof, its tusks gleaming in the waning light of the sun, its hooves as sure-footed as that of any mountain goat.
A pair of Valkyries, neither of whom are the one Shadow is looking for, stands beside one of the iron-bound portals and, at their command, the door swings open wide to admit the party members, revealing a hall the size of a small city. Within, huge bonfires blaze and the smell of fire-roasted meat and honeyed mead permeates the air. Thousands of boisterous warriors jostle each other, boasting of the number of kills they made today or the death that they themselves were dealt on the battlefield before rising to make their evening pilgrimage to this celebration.
Hundreds of beautiful women move amongst the rough-hewn tables, carrying trays of meat and mead, deftly slipping aside from groping hands and pinching fingers with adroitness earned over the centuries of their lives.
One of the gods, this one another stunningly handsome example of masculinity waits inside the hall. His beard is thick and flowing, much like a dwarf but it has a length that most dwarves can only dream of as it is long enough to reach near to the floor. Clad in a blue tunic with leather sandals, the god strums the strings of a harp and his voice carries over the tumult of conversation, laughter, and clinking and clanking of dishes and mugs to be heard easily anywhere within the hall. A woman stands beside him, every bit as beautiful as he is handsome. Her flaxen hair is tied into a pair of long braids. A simple but elegant gown hangs with practiced carelessness from one shoulder and is draped with a long scarf that refuses to be defined by color as it gradually shifts from red to blue to green to orange depending on where one stands while viewing it. A wicker basket filled with golden apples is balanced on one shapely hip. As the group enters, the bearded god stops singing and stands, calling out above the crowd, “All Harken to MY words, here enter the Mortal Champions of the All-Father, who on this day bested three Jotuns, a score of svartálfar, and a dozen or more ogres and trolls.”
Cheers rise up from amongst the gathered dead and mugs clash and clatter on the table, providing thunderous applause from the einherjar. Korbin spreads his wings and prepares to fly up to one of the high rafter to eat in peace but Arthur stops him and says "We have to talk." The crow shrugs his shoulders, "What have I done now?" the bird thinks as he eyes the paladin suspiciously.
A feminine voice speaks from behind Shadow, “So, tell me, have you learned my name yet, dark elf?”
The group falls in behind the messenger and is led through the streets of Asgard. As Niklas starts to leave, Ivaldi stops him, “Bring me a piece o’ yer work on the morrow if you live through the day’s battles an’ I’ll tell ya what I think, lad.” Grog stops at the door and asks Ivaldi to tell him more about what’s going on but the dwarf shakes his head, “I’m sure that ye’ll get an earful tonight if ye pays attention.” Raven frowns, hoping that the dwarf’s prediction is accurate – these “gods” seem fine and all but it wouldn’t be the first time the group was deceived.
Niklas falls in with Kysek who gives him a slap on the back, “You are one of us now. We can’t have you partake of the battles and miss out on the revelries! Come Niklas, celebration awaits!” The woodsman murmurs that he isn’t comfortable in the large groups of strangers but agrees to join the group at the feast but adds that he isn’t sure how long he will stay.
As the group walks Shadow laughs and jokes with other members of the group, “I know one woman that will be surprised to see me there tonight. I intend to find her bedchamber even if it kills me.”
Cedron laughs in response “Don’t be so sure of yourself, Shadow. Me thinks her brief smile was meant for me. It’s been a long time since I’ve made love to a woman and I must say that Valkyrie might just be woman enough for what I’ve been storing up! Ha!”
The drow smiles back, “Second mouse gets the cheese, my friend.”
Cedron nods, “Wise words indeed. The fairer sex is unpredictably fickle.”
Morn grins, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
In the center of the city, they enter a forested area like a park, of perhaps a bit of wilderness that was allowed to flourish despite the settling of the gods in this place. The trees bear leaves of the reddest gold and are surrounded by a river of raging waters. Within the wood, they come upon a building so large as to stagger the imagination. The scale of the structure is truly massive, with over five hundred doors — each so wide that eight hundred men could walk through them abreast — and a roof whose peak is nearly lost in the clouds. Its thatching is laid with golden shields after the fashion of a shingled roof. A muscular and bristly boar walks upon the roof, its tusks gleaming in the waning light of the sun, its hooves as sure-footed as that of any mountain goat.
A pair of Valkyries, neither of whom are the one Shadow is looking for, stands beside one of the iron-bound portals and, at their command, the door swings open wide to admit the party members, revealing a hall the size of a small city. Within, huge bonfires blaze and the smell of fire-roasted meat and honeyed mead permeates the air. Thousands of boisterous warriors jostle each other, boasting of the number of kills they made today or the death that they themselves were dealt on the battlefield before rising to make their evening pilgrimage to this celebration.
Hundreds of beautiful women move amongst the rough-hewn tables, carrying trays of meat and mead, deftly slipping aside from groping hands and pinching fingers with adroitness earned over the centuries of their lives.
One of the gods, this one another stunningly handsome example of masculinity waits inside the hall. His beard is thick and flowing, much like a dwarf but it has a length that most dwarves can only dream of as it is long enough to reach near to the floor. Clad in a blue tunic with leather sandals, the god strums the strings of a harp and his voice carries over the tumult of conversation, laughter, and clinking and clanking of dishes and mugs to be heard easily anywhere within the hall. A woman stands beside him, every bit as beautiful as he is handsome. Her flaxen hair is tied into a pair of long braids. A simple but elegant gown hangs with practiced carelessness from one shoulder and is draped with a long scarf that refuses to be defined by color as it gradually shifts from red to blue to green to orange depending on where one stands while viewing it. A wicker basket filled with golden apples is balanced on one shapely hip. As the group enters, the bearded god stops singing and stands, calling out above the crowd, “All Harken to MY words, here enter the Mortal Champions of the All-Father, who on this day bested three Jotuns, a score of svartálfar, and a dozen or more ogres and trolls.”
Cheers rise up from amongst the gathered dead and mugs clash and clatter on the table, providing thunderous applause from the einherjar. Korbin spreads his wings and prepares to fly up to one of the high rafter to eat in peace but Arthur stops him and says "We have to talk." The crow shrugs his shoulders, "What have I done now?" the bird thinks as he eyes the paladin suspiciously.
A feminine voice speaks from behind Shadow, “So, tell me, have you learned my name yet, dark elf?”
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