Wayward Son of Ymir

[Sanguine415]

Hevnokren is off on his great pilgrimage, figure he finally had his calling like the graybeards and marched right into the sea. Always had the makings of a champion, my twin brother, though his wanderlust could never keep him in place for long. 

Vdalion, my hearth and home. The cold north where my shattered flock warm their hands around the magma pools of the temple, quietly decaying as the kingdom of the giants.....recedes. The Moot has served its purpose many times, but now I believe it is a cancer left behind by the rot of Ymir's corpse. The north loses its way without a strong leader and vision, and our scattered clans are diminishing as the world moves on.

I am the youngest Hofgothi in three generations, the leader of Ymir's flock, and by all rights that should make me wise. Yet, I find myself the fool for having tolerated my homeland's decay for so long.

There are letters to write. Old friends to call, moves to be made. The dead god may not stir, but I shall. 

The north will have a king, and the empire of giants will rise again. I must find a head for the crown, this is the vision granted to me in smoke and ash.

I must have killed anyone that gets in my way. For the north.

-Shag DeGray