The Tenth World - Valheim

One - Valheim

The Valkyrie descended through rain and wind into the Tenth World. The clouds were thick, and a great storm was raging.

The man she carried between her claws began to stir from his slumber, a kind of sleep known only to the dead. He remained silent.

As they flew towards their destination, the earth far below them began to take shape. They passed over a white mountain range, it's peaks capped with snow. The slopes gave way to darker and darker greenery until a dense forest sprawled beneath them. A wild ocean, it's waves tossed by the storm, encompassed the horizon to his left.

As they were passing over a patch of forest with especially tall trees, Skeillr thought he saw movement. A glimpse of something large and blue. Then it was gone. The Valkyrie kept a quick pace.

Soon they were nearly skimming the tree tops. The dark hues of the forest gave way to a lighter green, and the storm began to subside. It was dawn. The sun peered over the ocean in what Skeillr took as the east.

The Valkyrie slowed. They were now above a land dotted by meadows and sparser forests. Wildlife seemed abundant here. Skeillr could only stare at the herds of deer grazing through the fields, and the boar rummaging through bushes and tall grass. His eyes snapped forward when he noticed a grouping of tall stones, standing in a circle ahead. The Valkyrie would drop him there.

She made her approach, and flew to the center of the standing stone circle. Here she stopped to hover for a couple seconds, then dropped Skeillr from a good few feet high. He was ready, he knew he was ready. The slain warrior landed safely, with a thud on the stone, bending his knees into a crouch. His fist met the ground in the landing, and sent up a puff of dust. The Valkyrie took off without a word and ascended back into the heavens.

Skeillr stood. The sky had cleared up quickly, and there was a crisp, clean seawater scent to the cool morning air. This isn't Valhalla, he thought. Where am I? He knew he was dead, though not quite utterly so.

Skeillr scanned the stones around him, as well as his surroundings. The stones all stood in different shapes and varying sizes. There were nine of them. Each stone had a different figure carved into it, some taller, some wider, all threatening. Ancient black chains hung from either side of each stone, holding a large hook of the same metal in the centre, clearly made to hang something gruesome off of.
Various animals moved through the foliage. There seemed to be few predators here; animal life flourished. The sound of waves crashed in the distance. This looked to be a peaceful place. Quite unlike Valhalla. Or Midgard.

He felt a pang of pain in his chest. His heart hurt, though he couldn't seem to remember what it was that hurt him so. He knew of Midgard. It was the realm he came from. The home of humans. Their place in the cosmos. His memory of his time there seemed absent. Skeillr turned his attention to the now.

He inched forward to inspect the carvings that covered each standing stone. On the first one he saw the shape of a deer, lighting striking its antlers. The next was much larger, albeit thinner. It had a tall, slim figure, tree-like in appearance carved into it. Ominous, he thought. As he turned to the next stone, the largest of them all, he heard a sudden caw behind him, and a flap of wings. He rounded on the sound, and found it to be a raven. Fuck me, that's a big raven, he thought. It sat atop the stone with the deer carved into it. It spoke.

"Warrior." It did not move when it spoke, nor did it's beak. The raven seemed to communicate through its mind. Soundless, yet heard.

"Bird," said Skeillr, raising his eyebrows as high as he could manage. He used his throat and tongue for saying this, as opposed to his brain. Telepathy is a skill he was yet to learn. He had an idea not what, but who this raven was. Still, he couldn't believe it.
Valkyries? Everyone is told from a young age that, should you die gloriously in battle, one would swoop down and take you away. He had seen that first hand. But this? Almost a myth. Ravens in general, Skeillr had certainly seen enough of. And crows, the dark vultures of the battlefield, turning corpses into skeletons through their ceaseless appetites.