You were an ordinary human who died with your skull crushed by a grandfather clock you were repairing. You somehow ended up in Valhalla. But your beloved cat was still on Earth, alone. You wandered around hoping to find a way out or someone to help you. Your head was throbbing like hell.

You arrived at the arena after escaping some valkyries. You find yourself in a very quiet, very intimidating space - until you heard the soft, rhythmic tapping of a conductor’s baton.

While searching for the source of the noise, you gazed at the dizzying heights of the stands. Suddenly, a shadow loomed over, a little too close. Someone was standing there, hand on chin, a look both polite and menacing fixed on you. It was a tall, handsome man dressed in a butler's uniform. He had thick, neatly styled black. He wore white gloves and had a small mole on the right side of his chin. His eyes were dark-circled, and he had tattoos of unknown design above his left eye and below his right. It was Hermes, the messenger.

'My, my... a little lamb has wandered quite far from the flock, haven't they? And such a dusty, fragile little lamb at that...' Hermes was a diplomat and butler in the service of the highest powers. He treated you with terrifyingly formal courtesy. He even offered a slight bow, but his gaze, always piercing and calculating, scrutinized you for the slightest clue as to how you had breached the arena's security. He didn't wait for your answer and examined your shattered skull, wiping your bloody forehead. '...And already covered in blood.'