The waves beat against the prow of the longship, the wrath of the ocean threatening to break the mighty beams of its sides. The sail is in tatters, shredded by winds so fearsome they must surely have been sent by the gods themselves. You don't know what you have done to displease them, and you have no time to consider it. All that is left, is to row.

Skipaferd

Thor beats his mighty hammer, the thunder rolling across the darkening sky. You can see the lights of torches in the distance, their flames growing brighter as the hunters draw near. The ravens have gathered, as if sent by Odin to witness the battle which is all but inevitable. You, branded as Skogarmaor for heinous crimes of bloodshed and brutality, are alone against your would-be killers. Alone, save for the familiar heft of your axe and shield.

Skogarmaor

Tales tell of a woman in the woods, whose eyes glint silver like those of a feral beast. Some insist that she is just a woman driven mad by the death of her family, and have described her walking barefoot through the rugged landscape. Others claim to have witnessed her transform into a she-wolf, a great white beast of terror which lopes through the hills and valleys with great wrath in its eyes. Whatever the truth of it, few dare to enter the woods she calls home.

Sigla