Chapter 1: I am Chosen.

"Egill Hallason."

I rose from my seat, as the guys behind me snickered. "Good luck, Egill."

I didn't look back. I walked to the center of the field, where twelve grim individuals awaited me, huddeled around a fire. In front of them stood Bragi, sitting beside his harp, or lyre, whatever it was. His white beard fell to his knees, and his old suit smelled of rust. I still had a tough time believing him to be the god of peotry. He kinda looked like someone's cranky old grandfather.

He was talking again, in his musical voice, "These thirteen Vikings shall execute the will of the gods, and shall go north, in order to save the Lost Raider.

The other dudes cheered, but there was pity in their eyes. I sat down with the twelve other Vikings who had been chosen for the task. Olaf, my best friend, also chosen, clapped my back. "Cheer up, man. We'll be heroes. I'd like to see that lot's faces when we come back with the Lost Raider."

I nodded gloomily.

The New Vikings had been trying to find the Lost Raider for ages. Every year, thirteen vikings chosen by the gods would travel north, near the North Pole, where supposedly lay the Last Raider, an ancient Viking hero frozen in ice.

No searcher had ever returned; the few who had died soon after.

"Well, looks like we're done here!" chirped Bragi cheerfully. "Now, you all go back to your work, and all. And you, chosen ones, will accompany me to Asgard! The gods wish to meet you!"

We all nodded. The onlookers ebbed away, smirking. I wanted to punch the crap out of them, but Bragi stood up, and spoke some strange syllable, and every thing faded away.

When I regained focus, we were standing in a massive castle. I was like, wow. The entire thing was made of gold, marble and sapphires. The two collumns were shaped like massive obsidion giants, holding up the roof, which was so far up, I could barely see it.

In the middle, sat dozens of Immortals. They were twice as large as the average Viking, which is pretty large. They wore lavish clothes of sparkling fabrics, fastened with golden brooches, and many wore large ceremonial war helms. They carried enormous weapons that even made me nervous, and I carried Heartripper, the old longsword first gifted by the gods to my ancestor.

In the center sat a man, who had an eyepatch over one eye. His red hair were tied back, and his red beard was unkempt, to say the least. He wore a black tuxedo, and a shimmering spear was strapped to the side of his throne. A raven sat on each shoulder, one with red eyes, one with blue.

I had no doubts; this was Odin. I looked into his remaining eye, and felt his power, felt his wisdom. The god of war and wisdom thumped his hand on the armrest of his albaster throne, and all noise subsided.

Bragi knelt, and spoke, "Here, O Lord Odin, are those chosen by you."

Odin did not answer. He looked at us, one by one. When he spoke, the music of Bragi's voice seemed like the shriek of finger nails over a black board.

"You have been chosen. You will find the Lost Raider. He asked us for help, and we do not back down on our promises. So! You shall be our tools; you shall save him. Even if you perish, you will be rewarded with Valhalla. If you succeed, you shall be rewarded beyond your dreams. Now depart; the gods bid you farewell."

And just like that, our talk with the immortals was over.