BTtNR - Book 3 - Chapter 041

*****

[ V.A.L.H.A.L.L.A ]

Magnus / Einar Sibbison

Age: 32/19

Strength - 37+49

Endurance - 36+26

Agility - 37+21

Perception - 31+12

Wisdom - 29+4

Mysticism - 31+13

Runes:

Gungnir’s Strength (Chest) Legendary (Hidden) 

Max Training Stat for Strength, Endurance and Agility is racial limit plus 50. 2.5 x Growth Rate

25% Bonus to Perception - No Stat Limit

Max Training Stat for Wisdom and Mysticism is 50. 1.5 x Growth Rate

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 10% Bonus to Strength and Endurance

Lvl 2 + 10% Bonus to Agility and Perception

Lvl 3 Divine Protection. 50% Damage Reduction for 1 Minute. 5 Days

Lvl 4 Healing of the Gods - 100x Healing and Wyrd Regeneration Rate for 5 minutes. 3 Day Cooldown

Lvl 5 Thor’s Blessing - Summon one bolt of lightning to strike one target. 14 Day cooldown

Lvl 6 Rune Empower - 1 Minute 2x All Stats, seven-day cooldown

Lvl 7 Odin’s Strike - All attacks will hit. Cannot miss or be blocked for 30 seconds. 1 week cooldown

Experience 3%

Warrior’s Defense (Back) Advanced

10% Bonus to Endurance

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 5% Bonus to Endurance

Lvl 2 + 5% Bonus to Endurance

Lvl 3 + 5% Bonus to Endurance / Resist Damage

Lvl 4 + 10% Bonus to Resist Damage

Lvl 5 + 5% Bonus to Endurance

Experience 100%

Warrior’s Blessing (Stomach) Advanced

10% Bonus to Strength and Endurance

5% Bonus to Damage

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 4% Bonus to Strength and Endurance

Lvl 2 + 5% Bonus to Strength

Lvl 3 + 7% Bonus to Endurance

Lvl 4 + 5% Bonus to Damage

Lvl 5 + 10% Bonus to Strength and Endurance

Experience 100%

Might of the Viking (Right Arm) Advanced

10% Bonus to Strength

10% Bonus to Damage

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 10% Bonus to Strength 

Lvl 2 + 7% Bonus to Strength

Lvl 3 + 5% Bonus to Perception

Lvl 4 + 5% Bonus to Strength

Lvl 5 + 10% Bonus to Strength 

Experience 100%

Forked Rune of Elements (Head) Advanced

15% Bonus to Wisdom and Mysticism

Advanced Lightning Affinity

Intermediate Fire Affinity

Basic Ice Affinity

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 10% Bonus to Mysticism

Lvl 2 + 8% Bonus to Mysticism

Lvl 3 + 15% Bonus to Spell Damage

Lvl 4 + 25% Bonus to Wyrd Recovery

Lvl 5 + 10% Bonus to Mysticism

Experience 100%

Rune of Primal Body (Right Leg) Advanced

+7% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Rune Level Bonuses:

Lvl 1 + 6% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Lvl 2 + 7% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Lvl 3 + 8% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Lvl 4 + 9% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Lvl 5 + 10% Bonus to Strength and Agility

Experience 100%

Strength Milestone - Rank 1 - All damage done with melee weapons is increased by 25%.  Muscle is denser, resulting in a 10% decrease in damage taken from all attacks.

Endurance Milestone - Rank 1 - Resists Attacks as if twice normal height and weight. Health increased by 25%. Body is naturally more resistant, resulting in a 10% decrease in damage taken from all attacks.

Agility Milestone - Rank 1 - Attacks are 30% Faster. The ability to see incoming strikes and dodge or parry them is increased by 25%.

Mysticism Milestone - Rank 1 - Spell damage is increased by 20%.  Wyrd regeneration is increased by 20%. Casting time for spells is decreased by 10%.

Boon:

[ Controlled Rage - Thor has created a permanent bond with you, helping you to control the storms that threaten to burn you alive. Calling forth Lightning will be easier and less demanding on your wyrd. Caution is still advised as your body may not be strong enough to do this often. ]

*****

Einar couldn’t believe the way he felt. Two runes had leveled up during that fighting.  His Advanced rune of Primal Body had reached level 5, and Gungnirs had hit level 7, granting him a new skill as well.

[ Odin’s Strike ] - For thirty seconds, every attack you make in melee or in range will not miss. The All-Father will guide your strikes. A shield or weapon cannot block the attacks. The cooldown between uses is 1 week.

One more step closer to being ready for what's coming.

The thought was almost immediate, and yet it was tainted by the memory of everything that had just happened in those dark tunnels.

The cart jerked, wheels clattering against stone as they ascended. Einar gripped the wooden edge, feeling the vibration travel through his arms. The darkness around them began to lighten, faint at first, then growing stronger with each passing moment.

"Almost there," Yulgas said from the front of the cart, his blonde beard catching the increasing light. "Can you feel it?"

Einar could. The oppressive weight of the mountain was lifting, the stale air of the deep shafts giving way to something fresher. Behind him, other carts followed in a line, each one groaning under the weight of hard-won ore. And five wrapped corpses.

The cart burst into daylight.

Einar closed his eyes against the sudden brightness, feeling warmth on his face for the first time in what felt like forever. Around him, Vikings were doing the same, some laughing, others simply breathing deeply of air that didn't taste of goblin rot and stone dust.

"Never going underground again," Skardi muttered from the cart behind them.

"You said that last time," Thorodd replied.

"And I meant it last time, too."

Laughter rippled through the group, tired but genuine. The kind of laughter that came from men and women who had survived something they weren't sure they would.

Einar opened his eyes, squinting as they adjusted. The platform they'd ascended to was carved from the living mountain, wide enough for all six carts to gather. Rune-light illuminated the space, but it was the natural sunlight streaming in from the tunnel entrance ahead that drew every Viking's gaze.

Dwarves were already moving forward, Stefi and Bartia among them. More were emerging from side passages, drawn by word that had apparently spread faster than the carts could climb.

"They actually did it," one dwarf said, his voice carrying in the suddenly quiet space.

"Impossible," another muttered. "No one clears those shafts anymore."

Yulgas turned to face the gathering crowd, his blue eyes bright with something Einar recognized as pride mixed with disbelief.

"Not impossible," the Master Miner said, his voice carrying across the platform. "Difficult, dangerous, and costly." He paused, his gaze moving to the wrapped forms in the carts. "But not impossible. Not for Vikings who fight like the gods themselves sent them."

Einar climbed down from the cart, his legs protesting after days of fighting in cramped tunnels. Avitue was already there, her face smudged with dirt and dried blood, but her eyes were clear.

"Five," she said quietly. "Could have been worse."

"Could have been better," Einar replied.

She didn't argue. They both knew the truth of it.

The other Vikings were disembarking now, some moving stiffly from injuries, others helping comrades who could barely stand. Thorve moved among them, her hands glowing faintly as she assessed who needed immediate attention and who could wait.

Einar's gaze swept across his warriors. Thirty-five had descended into those tunnels. Thirty had returned on their own feet. Five rode in the carts, wrapped in white cloth that was already stained with the minerals of the deep earth.

Too many.

But dwelling on it wouldn't help. Not now.

"Einar Sibbison!"

The voice boomed across the platform, and every head turned. Stenri Ironpurse was striding toward them, his considerable bulk moving with surprising speed. Behind him came a small procession of dwarves, each one's expression shifting from skepticism to wonder as they saw the ore-laden carts.

The quartermaster stopped a few paces away, his green eyes locked on the nearest cart. Slowly, almost reverently, he approached. His hand reached out, fingers brushing across the rough ore.

"By the Stone Father's beard," Stenri breathed. "This is... this is..."

"Three carts full," Yulgas said, pride evident in his voice. "Just as you asked for. More, even. They cleared the goblins from the primary vein. Collapsed their warren. We can mine there safely now for the first time in months."

Stenri turned, his eyes finding Einar. For a long moment, the dwarf simply stared. Then, slowly, he bowed his head.

"You have my thanks, Viking. And more than that." The quartermaster straightened, his voice carrying across the platform. "You have earned the respect of every smith, miner, and craftsman in Kvellholl. This ore..." He gestured to the carts. "This changes everything."

Word was spreading. Einar could see it happening in real-time as dwarves emerged from tunnels and passages, drawn by the commotion. The crowd was growing, faces appearing at different levels of the carved stone structure.

"They brought ore," one whispered.

"Quality ore," another corrected. "Look at it. That's from the deep veins."

"The goblins..."

"Dead. The Vikings killed them all."

The murmurs grew louder, and Einar noticed something he hadn't seen before in the dwarves they'd encountered. Their eyes were bright with an emotion he was only beginning to understand.

They finally have hope.

"We need to move," Thorodd said quietly, appearing at Einar's shoulder. "Get the wounded to proper quarters. The dead need... attention."

Einar nodded. Logistics. Always logistics after a fight.

"Yulgas," Einar called out. "We need quarters for my warriors. Medical supplies for the wounded. And..." He paused, his gaze moving to the wrapped forms. "A place to perform our ceremony."

The Master Miner's expression sobered. "You can bring them back. I remember you said as much."

"We can."

"Then you shall have everything you need." Yulgas turned to the gathered dwarves. "Stefi! Bartia! Escort our guests to the temporary quarters. Ensure the healers have everything they need. And clear the courtyard near the guest halls. The Vikings have a ritual to perform."

As dwarves moved to comply, Stenri stepped closer to Einar. The quartermaster's voice was low, meant only for him.

"We will discuss payment and the next task soon. But for now, see to your warriors. They've earned their rest." He paused, his expression shifting to something that might have been sympathy. "And honor your dead. That is more important than any ore, no matter how valuable."

***

The quarters they were given were far better than Einar had expected. A large stone building with multiple rooms, each one furnished with actual beds instead of simple pallets. The dwarves had even provided clean water for bathing, a luxury after days in the tunnels.

Einar stood in the main hall, watching as his warriors moved about with the quiet efficiency of exhausted soldiers. The wounded were being tended to by Thorve and Samansa, their healing magic working to close the worst injuries. Others were cleaning weapons, repairing gear, or simply sitting in silence.

Osvif approached, a ledger in his hands. His red hair was plastered to his head with sweat and grime, but his eyes were sharp as ever.

"Final count," his friend said. "Five dead. Twelve seriously wounded, though Thorve says they'll all recover. Another fifteen with minor injuries. Equipment losses are significant. We lost four hammers, broke six spears, and three shields are completely unusable."

"The dead?"

"Geir, Bodalf, Starkard, Ulf, and Brandr." Osvif's voice was steady, but Einar could hear the strain in it. "All good warriors. Starkard and Bodalf, especially. They held the line when the goblins tried to overwhelm us in that collapsed section."

Einar closed his eyes, seeing their faces. Starkard with his gap-toothed grin. Bodalf who always had a story to tell around the fire. Geir who'd just earned his second rune. Ulf the youngest of them, barely twenty. Brandr who'd left a wife back home.

Five families who will grieve. Five warriors who died following my orders.

"When?" Osvif asked quietly.

"Tonight." Einar opened his eyes. "After we've rested. We'll perform the ceremony at dusk. Yulgas said he wants to watch. I think... I think he wants the other dwarves to see it too."

"Good." Osvif's jaw set. "Let them see what Vikings can do. Let them understand what we sacrifice and what we gain."

A commotion at the entrance made them both turn. Bartia was leading in a procession of dwarves carrying supplies. Food, fresh water, medical equipment, and...

"Is that ale?" Skardi's voice carried from across the hall.

Bartia grinned, her black eyes twinkling. "Dwarven ale. Not the weak stuff you Vikings make. This will put hair on your chest."

"My chest already has hair," Skardi replied.

"Then it will put more."

Laughter broke out, and Einar felt some of the tension ease. Not much, but enough.

As the dwarves distributed supplies and his warriors began to settle in for actual rest, Einar found himself standing alone near a window. The view looked out over part of Kvellholl, the dwarven city carved into and out of the mountain itself.

Avitue appeared beside him, her presence as natural as breathing.

"You're thinking too much," she said.

"Someone has to."

"And you're already planning the next fight." It wasn't a question. She knew him too well.

"Stenri mentioned the next task. We completed the mines. Whatever comes next..." Einar trailed off, his gaze distant. "I have a feeling it's going to make goblins look easy."

"Then we'll face it like we face everything else." Avitue's hand found his. "Together."

***

Dusk came faster than Einar expected, or perhaps he'd simply lost track of time while ensuring his warriors were properly settled. Now, as purple-orange light filtered through the mountain passages, Vikings and dwarves gathered in the courtyard Yulgas had cleared for them.

The space was circular, easily fifty feet across, with smooth stone floors worn by centuries of dwarven feet. Rune-light provided illumination from sconces mounted at regular intervals around the perimeter, but the fading natural light from a large opening above cast everything in twilight hues.

The portable binding stone had been placed in the center of the courtyard. It was smaller than the permanent one back in Einar's village, barely three feet tall and two feet wide, but the runes carved into its surface pulsed with the same ancient power.

Five bodies lay arranged around the stone, each wrapped in white cloth. Einar had helped carry them himself, refusing to delegate that responsibility. Starkard. Bodalf. Geir. Ulf. Brandr. Their names echoed in his mind like a litany.

The Vikings formed a circle around the stone and the dead, standing shoulder to shoulder. Thirty living warriors, their faces solemn in the fading light. Behind them, forming a second circle, were the dwarves.

Einar had expected a handful. Instead, dozens had come. Yulgas stood with Stenri, both their faces unreadable. Bartia was there, and Stefi, and Varanda who'd guided them through so much. Akrini, the Captain of the Guard, stood with her warriors. 

Thorve stepped forward, moving to stand beside the binding stone. She'd changed into clean robes, her blonde hair braided back, and her face composed into the expression of a healer performing sacred duty.

"Vikings!" Thorve's voice rang out across the courtyard. "We gather to honor our fallen and to call them home. Five warriors went into the darkness. Five warriors gave their lives in battle. Now we ask the All-Father to return what was lost."

She paused, her blue eyes scanning the circle of warriors.

"Those of you who have been marked, show your runes!"

Around the circle, Vikings moved. Shirts were lifted or removed, sleeves rolled up, and pant legs raised. Tattoos appeared, each one unique, each one glowing faintly in the rune-light.

Einar removed his shirt, feeling the evening air on his skin. His chest bore Gungnir's Strength, the legendary rune that marked him as chosen, yet it looked like a normal advanced one. On his back, Warrior's Defense. His stomach showed Warrior's Blessing. His right arm displayed the Might of the Viking. His head, though harder to see, bore the Forked Rune of Elements. And on his right leg, the Rune of Primal Body.

Six advanced runes. More than most warriors would ever achieve in a lifetime.

Around him, others displayed their marks. Thorodd with his three runes. Skardi with his two. Avitue with her hard-earned pair. Osvif showed his newest rune, recently acquired and already growing in power.

The dwarves watched in silence, their eyes tracking the display. Einar heard whispered comments.

"So many..."

"Advanced markings..."

"No wonder they could clear the mines..."

Thorve waited until everyone had displayed their runes, then nodded. "The cost of death is known to us all. Each warrior who fell today knew that risk. Each chose to face it anyway. Now we honor that choice by bringing them home."

She turned to face the binding stone, both hands rising to rest against its surface. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, power began to build.

It started as a faint shimmer, barely visible even in the dim light. Blue and yellow threads of wyrd began weaving around Thorve's hands, spiraling up her arms. The runes on the binding stone started to glow, each one lighting in sequence until the entire surface pulsed with ancient magic.

A hum filled the air. Low at first, almost below hearing, but rising steadily in pitch and volume. It resonated in Einar's chest, in his bones, in the very stone beneath his feet.

The Vikings began to hum in response. It was a tradition, older than any of them knew. When the binding stone called, the pack answered. Their voices blended with the magical resonance, creating a harmony that seemed to shake the very air.

Einar added his voice to the chorus, feeling the vibration in his throat as power continued to build. Beside him, Avitue hummed, and Thorodd, and Osvif. All around the circle, Vikings raised their voices in the ancient song of resurrection.

The dwarves stood transfixed, none of them making a sound. This was Viking magic, human magic, and they were witnessing something their kind could never achieve.

The hum reached a crescendo. Thorve's hands glowed so brightly that Einar had to squint to look at them. The binding stone blazed like a captured star, light pouring from every carved rune.

Then, like a wave breaking on a shore, the power was released.

Blue and yellow light exploded outward in a perfect circle, washing over the Vikings and extending to the very edges of the courtyard. Einar felt it pass through him, warm and electric, carrying with it the essence of Odin's gift to their people.

The light reached the five bodies, and they began to move.

Bones cracked. Not the sound of breaking, but of mending, of pieces finding each other and knitting back together. Bodalf's crushed chest reformed, ribs pushing outward beneath the white cloth. Starkard's severed arm reattached itself, muscle and sinew weaving like thread on a loom.

The wrapped forms writhed as bodies that had been torn and broken remade themselves. Flesh regrew. Blood pumped through new vessels. Hearts that had stopped beating began to beat again.

One of the dwarves gasped. Another muttered something that might have been a prayer.

The light faded, slowly at first, then more quickly, retreating back toward the binding stone until only a faint glow remained. The humming died away, replaced by the sound of breathing.

Five breaths. Ragged and harsh, but unmistakably alive.

The white cloths moved as hands pushed at them from inside. Vikings rushed forward, helping pull away the wrappings, revealing the warriors beneath.

Starkard sat up first, his eyes unfocused, his face twisted in remembered pain. "Hel's frozen tits," he gasped. "That goblin... it..."

"It's dead," Thorodd said, kneeling beside him. "They're all dead. You're back."

Bodalf was next, then Geir, then Ulf, each one emerging from the cloths with the disoriented expression of someone waking from a terrible dream. Brandr was last, sitting up slowly, his hand moving immediately to his chest where a goblin blade had pierced his heart.

"Did we... did we get the ore?" Brandr asked, his voice hoarse.

"Three carts full," Einar said, moving to help the warrior stand. "You died a hero, Brandr. All of you did."

But even as the words left his mouth, Einar saw the pain on their faces. Not physical pain, though that lingered as a memory. This was deeper. Each warrior was searching themselves, feeling for something that should be there but wasn't.

Geir let out a choked sob. His hand clutched at his left forearm, rubbing the skin there as if trying to find something lost. His first rune. Gone, consumed by death to fuel his return.

Ulf was crying silently. His rune that had been on his chest had been an advanced-level one. It had taken him three years to earn enough for it. Now there was only unmarked skin.

Starkard, Bodalf, and Brandr were each dealing with their own losses. Rune slots emptied. Progress erased, years of work gone in an instant.

This was the true cost of resurrection. Not the ceremony itself, which was simply expensive. The real price was paid by the dead, who returned diminished, who came back knowing they'd lost something precious.

Warriors moved to comfort their returned pack mates, offering clothes and quiet words. Einar stood back, letting them have that moment. His gaze swept across the dwarven observers.

Every dwarf was staring in open amazement. Yulgas found Einar in the crowd. The Master Miner's face was pale beneath his blonde beard.

"You truly can defy death itself," Yulgas said quietly. "The stories said as much, but seeing it..." He trailed off, shaking his head. "This is why you can attempt the impossible. Because even death is not the end for you."

"It's not without cost," Einar replied, nodding toward the five who'd returned. "They lost runes. Some lost advanced ones. Years of work, gone. We don't treat death lightly."

"No," Stenri said, appearing beside Yulgas. The quartermaster's usual jovial expression was gone, replaced by something more serious. "You simply refuse to let it be final. Your people... you are more formidable than I realized."

Bartia pushed her way through the crowd, stopping in front of Einar. The female dwarf's black eyes were bright with emotion.

"To die and return..." She shook her head. "Your gods are generous indeed. My people have no such gift. When a dwarf falls, they are gone. Forever."

"Then we fight for you as well," Avitue said, joining Einar. "When we clear these mines and face whatever else comes, we fight knowing that if we fall, we can return. But we also fight knowing that you cannot. That makes your warriors all the braver."

A murmur of agreement came from the Vikings around them.

Yulgas stopped ten feet from the binding stone. His gaze moved across the five returned warriors, then to Thorve who still stood beside the stone, exhausted from the ceremony. Finally, his golden eyes settled on Einar.

"I have lived a long time," Yulgas said, his voice resonating with age and power. "I have seen empires rise and fall. I have witnessed magic that would make gods weep. But this..." He gestured to the five warriors now being helped to their feet. "This is beyond anything I have seen. To call back the dead. To defy the natural order. To pay such a price and yet call it worth it." 

"You Vikings are worthy indeed, Einar Sibbison. Not just because you cleared our mines. Not just because you brought back ore when none thought it possible." Yulgas’s voice dropped, becoming almost gentle. "But because you understand sacrifice. You know the cost of victory and you pay it anyway. That is the mark of true warriors."

He raised his voice so all could hear. "Let it be known that the Vikings have proven themselves in the eyes of Kvellholl! They have faced the darkness beneath our mountain and emerged victorious! They have shown us magic we thought lost! And they have honored their dead in a way that brings tears to even my ancient eyes!"

Cheers erupted from the dwarves. Not the polite acknowledgment of earlier, but a genuine, heartfelt celebration. Fists pounded on chests. Weapons were raised. And for the first time since arriving in the dwarven realm, Einar heard them chanting not in dwarvish, but in broken Norse.

"Vi-kings! Vi-kings! Vi-kings!"

The sound echoed off the courtyard walls, growing louder with each repetition. Einar felt something shift in that moment. Not just respect, but kinship. The dwarves were seeing them not as outsiders or temporary allies, but as warriors worthy of standing beside them.

Yulgas raised a hand, and the cheering slowly died down. "Tonight, we celebrate! Tomorrow, there will be work to do. Stenri's task. The trials ahead. But tonight?" The Stone Father's stern face split into a rare smile. "Tonight we honor those who died and those who returned! Bring out the ale! Bring out the meat! Let Viking and dwarf drink together as brothers in arms!"

More cheers, and suddenly dwarves were moving, rushing off to fetch the promised supplies. Within moments, the courtyard was transforming from a place of solemn ritual into something approaching a festival.

Einar found himself being pulled into conversations, dwarves wanting to know about the resurrection magic, about the runes, about everything. Thorve was being swarmed by questions from dwarven healers who wanted to understand how it worked. Starkard and the others who'd returned were being treated like heroes, their loss of runes somehow making them more admirable rather than less.

"Three days," Yulgas said, appearing at Einar's elbow with a tankard of something that smelled strong enough to wake the dead. "In three days, we perform the smelting ceremony. The forges will burn bright for the first time in months. And you, Viking, will have the honor of lighting the first fire."

"Me?" Einar accepted the tankard, taking a cautious sip. The ale hit like a hammer, intense and complex and distinctly dwarven.

"You brought us the ore. You shed blood for it. You lost warriors for it." Stenri's green eyes were serious. "In our culture, that earns you the right. Besides," the quartermaster's expression softened into something approaching a smile, "it will make for a good story. The Viking who lit the forges of Kvellholl."

As the celebration grew around them, as ale flowed and stories were told, Einar found a quiet corner with his pack leaders. Thorodd, Avitue, Osvif, Vidar, Jepi, and Skardi gathered close, their faces showing the exhaustion and relief that came after surviving the impossible.

"One task down," Thorodd said, raising his tankard. "One step closer to the alliance we need."

"And one step closer to whatever hell comes next," Vidar added.

They drank to that, the bitter-sweet truth of warriors who knew that victory only meant another battle was waiting.

Einar looked around at his warriors, at the dwarves who now treated them as equals, at the five who'd returned from death bearing the scars of their sacrifice. He thought of the ore that would become weapons, of the forges that would burn, of the alliance they were building one impossible task at a time.

For Odin and for the Nine Realms. For every person who will need us when Ragnarök comes.

The celebration continued late into the night, Viking and dwarf united by shared blood, shared struggle, and shared respect. Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Tomorrow would bring Stenri's task and whatever lay beyond.

But tonight?

Tonight, they had earned their rest.

And they had earned their place among the dwarves of Kvellholl.