Hallbjorn looked at himself in the mirror and thought about what to tell Kara. "There was a time that I was offered vampirism." The platinum blond-haired man said. "It was a very long time ago. Before I won Ohalla." He did not turn to face her, and as he experienced the memories of that time he did not feel the brush move through his hair.<br/><br/>"It was after a disastrous raid on England. We were out-maneuvered and outnumbered. Surrounded on three sides by enemies almost four times our number. One powerful attack broke our shield wall and splintered our army into many small bands of men trying to survive. Many died. Others fled and were killed quickly. I was part of a group that broke out and we made our way to an old fort. The English did not follow us to it, and that should have been a warning." Hallbjorn relayed this to Kara with a stoic voice. "The fort was home to a group of vampires. When night came the vampires roused and they fed upon those of us most wounded. The rest were driven into the night and hunted in a sadistic manner. By the time the sun came up only I and four others remained of a group of sixty.<br/><br/>"The oldest vampire came to me and another man. I thought I was too weak to rage, and the other man was a mortal. As brave as any I knew, but only a man. I . . . it has been so long. I do not remember his name." Hallbjorn looked at the mirror with an expression of curiousity and shame. It was not something that he should have forgotten. "The vampire offered to turn both of us. I refused. If I was to die, I was prepared to meet my end with a sword in my hand and a roar of defiance upon my lips. If I could not have Ohalla, I would have a seat in Valhalla. The other man . . . his nerve failed him. But before the vampire could try to turn him, I killed him. I plunged my sword into his heart, so that his life of bravery would not be washed away in one moment of weakness.<br/><br/>"The vampire laughed. And then I knew that my choice was right because the rage filled me. It came to me without calling. I killed the vampires. I butchered them, hacking their bodies to pieces. My sword broke, but it did not stop me." Hallbjorn glanced down at his hands and he wondered how they could be so pale when they had been so many times covered in so much blood. He was not feeling guilt, or shame at how much blood he had spilled. But he did feel a certain restlessness, as if his hands were too long clean and they needed to be stained crimson again. "Later that day I met a Valkyrie. She seemed so noble in that time. Not as they are today.<br/><br/>"Does this telling satisfy you?" Hallbjorn asked. "Anything I could tell you that you do not know will be like this."