Let me introduce the Old Man to you

In the land where the sun shines brightly down on fields of wheat that shimmer like gold where ever your eyes may pass, there is a hall. A great grand hall that towers above you, it’s roof gilded with gold and polished carvings of wolves and ravens stare imposingly down at you from above the entrance. The doors are open as more often than not they are. Two men, jovial and boisterous in contrast with the very business like points on their spears and battle worn mail they wear, bid you enter and be welcome within the hall.

Within the hall are many other warriors, most men but a few women as well, all feasting drinking and joyfully enjoying the company of the throng. High above you can see hundreds of shields bearing the crests of more clans than you can count hanging from the rafters and rows of swords, shields and spears rest ready for use along every free wall. Dogs and wolves play and wrestle on the floor, serving women and men move deftly among them carrying trays of hearty food and pitchers of strong drink for all.

At the head upon the dais a man sits, bearded and cloaked with the hood laid back across His shoulders. His hair somewhere between silver gray and bleach white hangs long about His face, hiding one side entirely. At His feet two wolves sit at attention, not playing or seeking scraps as the others in the hall, but rather considering your entry with a guarded air. Two ravens sit on His shoulders, their black eyes fixed upon you. The Old Man Himself sits quietly on a simple throne of dark wood, considering the goblet in His hand. No food is set on the table in front of Him and only a single female warrior stands by His side, a sword at her belt and a pitcher in her hands for when He desires more to drink.

You wait for some time in front of the dais, the Old Man not looking up at first. His brow is constantly furrowed, as if despite the boisterous nature of the crowded hall there are grave concerns that will not leave His mind. He does look up at last, the furrow gone from His brow and a welcoming smile on His face as He considers you at last. “Well then, you are a new face,” He says to you. “Come now… what do you call yourself and what brings you here to Valhalla?”


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s