- 790 A.E - 26th of Octi -

- Town of Jórhnstead -

The young blond man shivered awake from his memories. It was completely dark now, and the moon stood high. The air was cold, and gusts of the wind made for a chilling effect. Specks of snow had started to fall, and the world was already covered in a blanket of white. Brrrr. Did I hear my father talk to me?

'Look at me when I speak to you!' Hrogi barked at his miserable son in the pillory. 'Because of you, all our efforts towards peace have been for nothing. We are short of food because of the broken agreements, and everyone is hungry. Is this what you wanted?!'

Something went to smithereens inside Wolrick's head. All I wanted was acknowledgement.

His jaw started to feel cramped, at the same time it felt like he swallowed a stone and his face knotted up like a pissed off snake. Then he flung the words of truth at his father. 'No! I just wanted to honour my family. I just wanted you and mom to be proud of me!' He screamed.

The tone of honesty and emotion hit Hrogi in full force like a kick in the mental groin. The Jarl was aware of his son's good intentions. But you have left me no choice. 

A sound made Hrogi look to his left. A carl with a primitive wooden hand-truck with a keg in it walked up to them and stopped near Wolrick.

Then four men carrying a big cauldron between them with two wooden beams leaning on their shoulders approached. Smells of vegetables, spices, herbs and the main ingredient; pig meat cooked in its blood and water, welled up out of the big kettle in steaming clouds. It made Wolrick's mouth water. He hadn't eaten properly for the last several days.

The Jarl grimaced as he watched the offering to the gods and spirits being placed in front of him. We are hard pressed and still must appease the ancestors and spirits as not to invoke their wrath and ill fortune. He sighed.

'Are all rounds made?' He asked the freeman with the keg.

'Yes, my Jarl. We have visited all the houses and distributed the offerings equally to the representatives of all households.' The man answered.

Hrogi nodded. 'Good, then let us prepare the final offering shall we?'

Naela who stood behind her husband wasn't to give up on her son, however. 'Husband please, I beg of you. Forgive him. Show mercy!' She walked towards Hrogi as the carls showered Wolrick with the pig's blood that was left over.

The declared outlaw eagerly swallowed the mead that was poured into his mouth via a cow's horn.

Hrogi stepped away from the scene and headed homewards to the longhouse, completely ignoring the rantings of his wife and pushed her aside when she stepped in front of him.

Naela's maternal instincts were not to be swept away, however, if pleading did not help then anger. 'You cannot do this. He is your son. Have you no heart?'

I have had enough. Hrogi decided. 'By Grimnir's beard, stop it. I do not like it any more than you do. But my decision stands. He will stay outside this Wintersnight and let the Alfs, Demon's or the Devil himself take him. He will pay blót* for us this year!' 

Wolrick's mother crossed her arms over each other and planted her feet firmly in the ground in a wide stance. 'I will not let you!'

For a moment, husband and wife looked each other sternly in the eye in silence, neither willing to retreat or give in. 

'Don't get in my way, Naela,' the Jarl grumbled. Gerstein was very clear about his demands. Wolrick must die. If I want any chance on peace, then a sacrifice of equal measure to his loss of Grünhilde is needed. Besides, it would make me look weak to the people if I would revoke my own judgement.

'I cannot think of any other place I would-'

*Smack!*

'Auww!'

Hrogi hit his wife with the backside of his hand and with considerable force. 'I warned you!' He said and walked past her in frustration to disappear from view.

Naela cried in the snow, got herself up on her feet again and stumbled over to Wolrick. Holding his head in her hands while tears flowed over her cheeks, she kissed him on the forehead and pushed him against her as much as she could. 'I'm sorry, my son,' she wept.

'Mother, please don't be. It is not your fault,' Wolrick shivered. So cold.

His mother, as shaken as she was in her emotions, fumbled with her fingers around her neck. Then she took off a talisman from her shoulders and moved it over her son's head.

Wolrick felt the small cold object dangling from its cord.

Naeala held it up in her hand to show it to him.

'A figurine of Grimnir,' she said. 'It will protect you from unnatural and evil forces. Keep it with you at all times, my son.'

Then she looked up at the moon, noticed the time it was and hurried home in fear before it was on it's highest.

She was almost at the doors when one burst open again, and Hrogi came outside, dragging after him a wailing and screaming person.

'No!' Wolrick's mother shrieked in horror. 'Is it not enough that you are sending our son to his death?' She demanded from him.

Hrogi walked past her in ignorance.

Time and her safety forced Naela to go inside, however, and there was nothing she could do for the unlucky soul.

So cruel! Since when did my husband become like this?

The Jarl of Jórhnstead approached Wolrick a second time and threw Estrid at his feet. 'I will not have her lurk around as a living memory of you,' he barked at him.

The carls from earlier had already taken away the kettle and mead. The hour of spirits was at hand, and no man in his right mind would stay outside.

Hrogi's hand grabbed Estrid one more time when she tried darting past him, back to the safety of the longhouse. He hit her with his mighty fist full in the stomach, making her bent double in agony.

'You will stay and accompany him to damnation,' he said. Then Hrogi too looked up to the moon. Oh, shit! He ran.

- Wintersnight -

The longest night of the year came right after the shortest day. It was in this instance when the barriers between worlds were thinnest. Creatures from the spirit world would descend upon the realm of the living and take their offerings. In return, they would bestow blessings and good fortune upon the people. A good harvest, fertility, luck, and prosperity were some of the foremost among their gifts. They always took from you what you offered them.

Anyone foolish enough to stay outside at Wintersnight when the moon was on its highest was considered fair game for the spirits. For they were hungry, and although their gifts were happily received, their presence was not.

"Hessess...hessess...hesses...swish...swish...swish..." The hair's of Wolrick's neck jolted up as he heard the ghostly and otherworldly sounds. He shivered. The wind had gained in strength, and it howled as if the spirits were riding it like a horse into the realm of mortals.

Did my eyes deceive me? He asked himself. In the light of the moon and the corner of his eye, he thought he had seen movement among the huts and houses.

At each doorstep was a candle burning brightly with a filled bowl and a tiny cup of mead next to it. Most little stalls were decorated with a white-red linen cloth, a twig of pine needles, ferns and statues depicting images of spirits or gods to whom the offering was made.

A dark shadow with sparkling yellow eyes moved distortedly from one doorway to the other, consuming the offerings. It went about as if at one time it wasn't there and the other it blinked back into existence again.

Beside him, Estrid wept and shook on the cold snow. Wolrick paid her little attention but focused more on what was going on around him. No one was ever outside during Wintersnight and although everyone heard the spooky sounds while gathered close around the hearth of the house; none had ever seen anything. And those daring souls who did were never to be seen again or found back in the most unlikely conditions and places.

Well... except for grandpa of course. For some reason, Hrolfgar had always taken a special interest in Wolrick. Maybe it was because they shared the same colour of eyes, but the young man wasn't sure about that. The old goat never came back from a raid when Wolrick was five years old, and those who did return told everyone the warlord had died in battle.

From everywhere around town dark shades and shimmering ghost lights moved along the rooftops and alleyways. Trails of shadowy smoke and sparks of light got closer and started circling Wolrick and Estrid inquiringly. 

The young man couldn't move and was helpless. Estrid was too scared to do anything. 

"Hisses...shim...mehhish...blót. Blót! Blót!" The smoke and light danced around them in excitement. Attracted by their frantic ghostly howling, more shades and spirit forms surrounded the two mortals.

'Aaah!' Estrid screamed, and she crawled back on her palms, feet and bum until she touched the pillory with her backside. Just below Wolrick as if he could provide her with any safety. Her eyes stood big and wild with fear. Her chin and mouth trembled. Pathetic yelping and pitiful sobs escaped from her lips.

Wolrick said nothing. Nor did he intend to feel anything. I'm stuck in here anyway. What can I do? Just let happen what will happen and be done with it.

Then more details of the varied shapes and sizes around them entered his senses. The shadowy shapes turned slowly into an elegant and human-like form.

Alfs!

The twisted evil versions of Elves moved closer while eyeing the two hungrily in their shadowy corporeal forms. One slim and beautiful figure stepped forward and bent down, looking at Estrid.

The slavegirl trembled and looked away as a hand like an eagle's claw pushed her head back in the owner's direction. Next, her chin was forced up, and she met two blazing eyes that drilled deep into her soul. She wet herself.

The Alf noticed, hissed and plucked Estrid up and threw her in the arms of its brethren.

She screamed in terror. Handlike claws ripped apart her clothes and Wolrick witnessed her being whipped, mauled, kissed, bitten and raped from all sides right in front of his eyes. Wailing in pain and agony, she suddenly became as shadowy as the Alfs.

They are taking her with them into their world. Wolrick observed. She is doomed as their plaything for eternity.

He couldn't look away from the scene and watch her being treated like some alleyway whore. Claws dug deep in her flesh, causing her to bleed. Other things also dug deep into her. Estrid's expression radiated pain and shock. Her mind obliterated, and her will smashed into a thousand pieces, she faded away together with her captors. Into the realm of spirits. And gone she was.

That could happen to me. Another shiver ran down Wolrick's spine.

The leader of the Alfs turned his attention to him this time and eyed him critically too.

The young man felt as if thrown into an arctic sea. Coldness clutched around his heart and lungs like a fist.

Behind the Alf, Wolrick could see all different kind of mythical creatures eager to get their corporeal hands, claws or paws on him. Creatures, he had so far only heard from in the old sagas and stories. Then the Alf saw the talisman of Grimnir. It screeched and snatched the object away from Wolrick's neck, flinging it into the dark of night.

There goes my last little bit of hope.

His chin was grabbed and locked in place. Like Estrid, Wolrick was forced to face the stare of the Alf's burning goggles. Though it felt like a brain worm devouring his mind, the young man didn't allow himself to feel fear.

Why should I be afraid of you? What can you do to me, what others haven't done so before, or what I haven't already seen?

The Alf with its long shadowy black hair grinned with pointy teeth. He opened his mouth and spoke in a language that Wolrick did not understand whatsoever.

Had he looked up at the night's sky right now then he would have noticed something similar to a falling star. But then in flames of red and deep pink. It grew in size fast and then landed with a radiating blast of air pressure in the middle of all the spirits and creatures. Someone had fallen from the sky. The shape of a woman was hidden under a thick robe and cloak. But her eyes burned a red'ish pink.

Wolrick wasn't sure. He couldn't see her face. The creatures and spirits of the night around her growled and snarled but kept their distance from her.

Not a friend of them then. Maybe a potential friend to me?  Wolrick thought with renewed hope.

The stranger stepped towards the Alf who blocked her way. The being of shadow pulled out a  short sword and a dagger from their sheaths. Light blue ghost fire burned along the blades.

Armed herself with a sorceress's staff, which she was using as a walking stick, the label: "mage" was pressed upon her appearance very thickly.

The woman simply glared at the Alf leader standing in her way. 'Move!' She spat at him.

The Alf laughed and gestured an insult in her direction. Then he moved to close the distance between him and the newcomer.

The mage shrugged. 'I warned you,' she said and took off her hood, hiding her face.

Wolrick couldn't see anything. First of all, there was the Alf blocking the view and secondly, a purple-red light radiated in blinding flashes from the woman's head.

The evil Elf spirit wailed in surprise and despair, dropped its weapons and disintegrated back into its corporeal form of creeping shadows. It fled like a dog with its tail between its legs. All the other spirits and creatures had long before him made sparse.

Still recovering his senses from the blinding light and the buzzing sound that had accompanied it, Wolrick suddenly noticed how the lock of the pillory sprung open at the touch of the stranger. His body sank to the ground and pain washed over him without warning. Being stuck in the same position for a long time, his body and joints had become stiff. And it showed. Every little move hurt. His back, neck, shoulders and limbs cracked like that of an old man's.

Looking down upon him, the stranger asked: 'Can you stand?'

Whoever she is, she is powerful enough to scare off a spirit like that. I better not mess with her.

He tried and fell. Then tried again. He fell. Wolrick shook his head sadly.

'Tsk,' the mage clicked her tongue in annoyance. She observed him from head to toe. 'And you are to be my champion?'

'I have seen better days,' Wolrick replied dryly.

The hooded woman with strange burning eyes kneeled near him and touched his forehead with her index finger. 'Agmen.' She commanded.

And in an instant, the world around the young warrior fell apart. His body surrendered eagerly to the order it was in high need of anyway (sleep). Everything became black as his thoughts drifted away in the clouds of dreams.

*blót > actual Norse for blood. In this context, it means > a sacrifice or offering.