"I do not know Helgi's sire." The blond man answered as Kara posed her question. He glanced her way, and then down at the book that seemed not to have information about the Djinn. Perhaps it was an old copy. The Berserker had heard tell of magical versions of the Book of Lore that updated themselves in real time to reflect the goings-on in the Lore, and this book seemed mundane.<br/><br/>"I doubt that Kristoff sired Helgi, however. My brother was not a warrior when I died and that remained the same whenever I spoke to him. As the book no doubt says, Kristoff is the Gravewalker, and he sires only the greatest warriors who swear eternal allegiance to him." The idea sat vaguely ill with Hallbjorn. In a sense what Kristoff did usurped the role of the valkyries as choosers of the slain. How many warriors might have been plucked from mortal battlefields if they had not accepted Kristoff's dark compact to rise as the walking dead?<br/><br/>"I came to fight alongside the Forebearer king in earlier days, when his army was smaller. His war with the Horde was going ill and so he turned to mercenaries to swell the ranks of his forces. He offered rich pay for extremely hazardous work. Kristoff offered anyone their weight in gold if they would fight him against the Horde. It was very profitable for me." The blond man related to Kara casually.<br/><br/>His thoughts turned back to his brother. "The only times that I know Helgi to have been violent was in defense of his own life, when he was pursued by the Berserkers I told you of. And when I came for the sword I entrusted him, he believed that . . ." Hallbjorn paused, taking a moment to school his features, to hide a hurt that yet festered, "he believed that I would try to murder his Bride in revenge for giving that sword up." He let out a slow breath. It was a long time since he had thought of such things. "That he would think that of me was a worse betrayal than giving up the sword, though it led to a hundred years in a hell plane, dying each day." His voice was very neutral as melancholy swept over him.<br/><br/>He was silent for a few moments, then he let out another breath. "Forgive me." The blond man entreated Kara. He reached out and put a hand on her knee, his hand on her bare flesh, and gave her a gentle squeeze. "We can visit the Alamo if you wish." The tall man told her, to make up for his morose behaviour. "And after we could go to a nice steakhouse, then a late film in a theater. If it would please you." He glanced Kara's way to see how she would react.