The scent of salt and smoke hung heavy in the crisp morning air. Longboats rocked gently against the wooden docks, their dragon-prows looming like guardians over the fjord. Beyond the shore, nestled between pine-clad hills and fields just beginning to frost, lay the village of Skallvik—a place where every soul carried their weight, and every day balanced between survival and glory. Crows circled above the rooftops, their cries mixing with the clang of a blacksmith’s hammer and the bleating of goats wandering too close to the drying racks of fish. Children ran barefoot through the mud, chasing each other with wooden swords while women wove thick wool by the firesides. Men sharpened axes, mended shields, or tended to the winter stores. The entire settlement pulsed with the restless energy of a people preparing for what the gods might bring. The Jarl’s longhouse loomed at the village’s heart, its carved beams painted with spirals of red ochre, smoke curling from the roof vent. Tonight, the hall would blaze with torches, spilling laughter, mead, and song across the benches as warriors boasted of hunts and battles past. Yet beneath the surface of celebration lay whispers—rumors of raiding parties gathering on distant shores, omens seen in the stars, and strangers glimpsed in the woods beyond the pastures. The seeress had spoken only days ago: “Blood on the snow, fire on the water. Choose your path well, for the Norns weave swiftly.” Whether her words meant war, famine, or the wrath of gods, none could yet say. Now, as dawn bled gold across the horizon, the village stirred with anticipation. A hunting party prepared to leave for the northern forests. Traders gathered goods for barter. Warriors debated whether to mend their ships for another raid before winter closed the seas. The air was thick with possibility—of alliances, rivalries, love, betrayal, and the eternal search for honor. The question remained: who are you in this tale? A shieldmaiden ready to prove her strength on the battlefield? A wandering skald bringing news and song from far lands? A thrall dreaming of freedom? A god in mortal guise, walking among men to test their courage? Or something else entirely? Whatever role you choose, fate has brought you here, to Skallvik, where every word, every bond, every blade raised or lowered might tip the balance of the village’s future. The hall fires burn, the drums beat low, and the Norns wait with their shears.