text: The auburn light of the morning star flooded Malhaks room releasing an opalescent serene that slowly stirred the Norseman from his slumbering stillness. The distinct smell of hay and the overpowering stench of animal naturally filled his nostrils and guaranteed his awakening on this early spring morning. Despite his wounds that spoke of a recent battle, he sat up with youthful agility and a body screaming a spry smile for more. Like his grandfather, he knew that time slowed for no man alive, and he was surely not dead. Yet. His mind jumped to the smoky blue eyes staring up at him from the unexpected grave he dug with a violent slash to the now defenseless man's throat. He carefully considered how those fading soul colors could have so easily been his and wondered if Valhalla would have taken him with open arms. His father would have said no, but the insistent clucking and feather flapping of his fowl next door neighbors seemed to declare otherwise, and he found himself falling back into a more practical state complete with an enduring checklist for the indignant day ahead. He clutched his Axe and slung it over his shoulder into it's home in the leather straps that held it in place on his back for five years. Those years ago when his father entrusted him with the Axe of Heralds that had been passed from his forefathers before him was said to echo of a legend that it fell from the gods' seven realms. He did not take this trust lightly, for it did take strength to wield effectively in the heat of battle. It was worth its weight and he waited no longer as he marched from his thatched roof shelter into the welcoming rays of the blue skied celestial personality. Looking up, he exhaled a nonchalant sigh that seemed to greet his world as he began his routine walk from his humble abode to the Forest of Netherham where his next meal, lumber, and possible trading partner would be found. He knew Gwynne would be visiting from the south in the afternoon and she would feed the chickens and pigs while he was on his daily expedition which allowed him to focus on his hunt. He reached the daunting tree line in timely fashion and thought nothing different of today's foray into the secrets that the shadows these trees hid. The lingering scent of the mighty oaks and the fresh dew wandered into his awareness pulling him deeper into the dark of the wood. The farther his steps carried him into the haunting green, the incessant chirping of the birds gradually grew silent and he was left with the calling of his lonesome thoughts and the cracking of a forsaken branch under his stubborn strength. The vulnerable salutation of the sun eventually gave way to the chilling embrace of the unnamed feeling exuding from the breathing shade the poisonous leaves whispered to Malhak's impending frantic blood lust. Voices, moans, and screams were what his ears heard the rooted evils release as his brown eyes began to shift nervously every which way all the while maintaining a steady gait onward knowing that his mind was mingling with the old childhood stories his older kin had shared around the fires of his innocence and naivety. So he walked on and made a habitual grasp for his vengeful fate bringer comforting his back, and found no such weapon. The Norse warrior turned around to be confronted by cold fear that wrenched his sanity from him with an icy scream protruding from the knots in the wood that shifted to faces of hateful venom. Dust, dirt and murky images of his death trailed behind him as he sprinted for a tiny ray of light beneath the shrouded asphyxiation the wooded evil created. Maniacal laughs shot from the surrounding madness that was this nightmare masquerading for a normality he held seemingly minutes earlier. Beads of sweat crawled down his face burning through the pasted dirt covering the petrified paranoia enveloping his cutting features and the panic chiseled through his leather studded breastplate leaving his equally chiseled jaw hanging from his ominous speechlessness. A giant shadow dropped from the evergreen ceiling amidst a shrill shriek that this winged monstrosity buried into the sternum of Malhak's proud defense leaving a hole that spilled crimson life and sinful blood that trickled profusely from the merciless beak of this flighted harbinger onto the floor of this fateful tree trap. He fell to his left knee and soaked his hand in the vermilion sorrow staining the dirt, his inescapable past, and the beady, murderous eyes of this ravenous villain. It seemed to resemble a raven found in the upper valleys of Heed to the north he encountered when he was still an eager sapling, as his father would have said. These thoughts swam through the red, washing his hallowed chest; his chin fell to meet his defeated collarbone as he sank back into the arms of the snickering plants with their teasing arms outstretched to falsely catch his insane surrender to this cruel ambush. The black eyed criminal shot one last vengeful stare before taking flight and escaping into the hands of ruined chaos and blood soaked regret with a resounding caw that shook the dead spirit from Malhak's torn remains to the light of Valhalla. And he rose. Valhalla rising.