fade in... fade out...

I'll sometimes drift backwards into a deeper past and the chill of north wind jars me, shivering into an uncomfortable awakening, and then I'll realize where I am. The pelts covering our bodies in this reality are far more than enough. The smells of smoke and seared meat and spent lust fill my senses and I know Odin prepares me this way... his way. For tomorrow the houses of the four northern tribes unite to move once again on the western isles. Only this time, there will be no siege. With two more armies within our horde we will overrun them, and we will take their meat and women and plant the seeds for warrior sons and daughters to follow. It is Odin's will.

The old Druid priests can no longer control the Goths and they still hurl their worn truth at the army marching from up from south. We will soon meet them in battle, but not now. Tomorrow we set the long boats westward and tonight Odin gives us meat and women to feast upon until he doesn't.

Tomorrow the Celts feel our swords, and I have inventory and receipts to enter into the system.