The potion was foul and bitter and would probably have made him vomit if it had not been for the instant numbing of his uvula caused by its potent ingredients. A strange warming sensation followed immediately by a similarly odd insensitivity made him very much aware of the potion's way down his throat and into his belly, and when he could no longer feel his toes he picked up the needle and poked himself in the cheek with it, verifying that the elixir had taken the desired effect.

He looked into the bowl, looking for signs, but saw nothing other than the faint outline of the runes carved on its water-filled inside and his own blurred reflection. Next to the bowl lay a small bronze knife, its only purpose being for the ritual he was about to perform. He picked it up, studied the intricate engravings on the blade and handle, admired the pure lines and precise patterns of the runes, decoding them into the tale of how Odin sought out Mimer and placed his one eye in the well to gain insight in all that happened in the world. Ravn smiled to himself at his detailed recollection, then poked out his left eye and placed it in the bowl.

*

Inside the long hall, the atmosphere was subdued, full of worry and frustration and Tormod, the chieftain, had listened carefully to his tale of the southern lands with obvious interest - it took surprisingly little to persuade him - and then he had raised his voice to address his hirth.

"The Runecaster speaks well! Hark his words!"

He passes the golden cup to the Runecaster and with it the right of speech, and the Runecaster raises his voice to gradually fill the long hall.

" Skiermfiordings! Your lands are threatened and with it your lives - not only your own but moreso your entire bloodlines! The villain Helgrim Hardaxe has sworn an oath to wash all kin and allies of the Hardefaxe aett from these our ancestral shores and ever since he invited the Jotun into his halls you have suffered defeat upon defeat - not on the field of battle but mostly burnt inside your own homes by his raiding hordes of jaettir braving the chill of winter when you are locked inside and cannot return his assaults let alone defend yourselves! Women and children he has honourlessly slain to reach his evil and villainous goals and he has far more villainous acts in store for you."

The men on either side of the long table remain silent but for a few muttered sweardoms at the evil Hardaxe's heinous deeds, and the Runecaster raises his voice a little more.

"Sons of Hardefaxe! I am Ravn Ashengrey, son of Algor Goth, son of Hardegoth Hardefaxe, chieftain of Heimsfiord! I am of the same kingly blood that runs in your veins and I summon your minds to kingly thoughts - know that I have the One-Eyed's ear and eye as he has mine!" The Runecaster lets the hood of his cape fall slightly to one side to reveal the eye patch, indicating the sacrifice he made as a testament of his determination and dedication to Odin before coming back north. "And with that eye I look through Mimer's well, into the world of men, and what do I see? I see a vicious pack of trolls scorching the North! I see kins divided by sea and land, unable to withstand the stem of the Uthgard invasion! I see YOUR homes in smouldering embers atop your lifeless corpses! I see a pack of jaettir filling their bony cups in a river of noble blood, drying it out and making it seep into the sandy bed of oblivion!"

The hirthsmen grumble at these dire prospects, some taking offence to the suggestion that they, too, should allow themselves to be taken unawares but mostly agreeing angrily to the obvious risk that the Runecaster's forebodings could come true. Ravn lowers his voice again and leans forward over the table to fully command their attention.

"Kinsmen! We must stop this waning of the stream and make it flow with force again - this we know! But what council are we given? The gudahov is inhabited by three: Frey, Thor, and Odin. Frey promises us fertility that we may harvest twentifold for every grain we sow, yet our fields lie barren, scorched by Hardaxe's torch. Thor promises us victory, yet our enemies deny us battle. To whom shall you look, then? The answer is: Look to Odin! Hark the God of Kings! Art you not kings? Is this not a kingly task? He promises you rulership and offers you wisdom to fulfil his promise. "

The Runecaster resumes his upright posture, his voice now booming the command of the God of Kings into the assembly.

"Believers! I am that wisdom sent to you! This is Odin's will: Leave these lands for you cannot defend them now! Scorch them and leave them fruitless as the enemy has scorched them before you and left you hungry and thirsty through cold winter nights! Sacrifice the fruits of your labour to save the fruits of your loins! Follow me to the South where fruitful lands are there for your claiming! I will show you a land, claimed by our ancestors and left forgotten! I will show you distant kinsmen who will welcome you - and who will become your allies when the time comes to return and reclaim our ancestral lands from Hardaxe and his grim hordes! Come to the South! Come for the Landnamma!"

The men stare at him, astounded, speechless. One of them, a burly red-bearded gestur named Grimulf, motions to stand up and oppose his right to address them in this manner but the Runecaster's stern glare and sharp voice cuts him short.

"Tormod's trusted heroes! I know you not for men who refuse the Valkyries' offer but Hardaxe would deny you that offer by his cowardly means, preferring by far to gutlessly murder you in your beds. And even those of you who would fall defending your homes will not have the chance to pay him back at Ragnarök, for such a cowardly villain will be neither one to find in Tyr's ranks of Einherjar nor is he of Jotunkin and will therefore not be there on Ida Plain to meet his proper and well-deserved doom. Hardaxe must be dealt with in Midgard! Hardaxe must be dealt with by us! Come with me to the South and let us there prepare for victory and vengeance! Come!"

The men jump to their feet and onto the benches, shouting their agreement, and but a few weeks later, the entire township of Skiermsfiord sets sail for the South and the outlook to rebuilding their strength, hoping one day soon to return and bring about the fall of evil Helgrim Hardaxe.

*