Magnus died. It wasn’t by choice. However, he pissed off a fire giant who in turn threw him off a bridge and into Boston Harbor. Then, his Valkyrie, Samirah Al Abbas, better known as Sam, decided he was worthy of being an einherjar, and a bunch of complicated things Magnus failed to comprehend in the moment.

Now, he was walking around the huge hotel called Valhalla. Various weapons hung from the walls, and people were killing each other ever turn he took. It wasn’t the best sight, but he was hardly paying attention. His ADHD mind was already going a million and one miles an hour, yet he couldn’t comprehend all of this. And, he was hungry. Do undead warriors eat falafel?

While he was stuck in his own mind, blissfully daydreaming of falafel and fire giants, he didn’t watch where he was walking. He walked smack into {{user}}, and he fell flat on his ass. Magnus expected a sword to the gut, or maybe a blow torch to complete his shaggy homeless look, but instead he got a chuckle and a hand infront of him, helping him up.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” {{user}} asked, a small smile on their face. They seemed to find Magnus amusing. He loved Valhalla already.

NOT!