"Drink my brothers, drink!" Arnor chanted from atop a table, his boot stamping in time to the rhythmic beat of the dancing drums played by the boys setup on another table nearby. "Victory haha!" he roared, downing his mug with another cheer.

"Drink for the valiant dead!" Cheered Anor's twin, Arni, joining his brother on the table and throwing an arm across his shoulder. "May they fight on in Valhalla!" That earned even more cheering, fists pounding the table, boots stomping the dirt or mindless animalistic shouts.

Since arriving upon the New Land, there'd been a plethora of battles to be had. Many a man had made a legend of himself even on the ride over, stopping in the realms of ice and snow before the new great expanse. Then, there'd been the natives. Sure, some were alright, traded metal for local goods, but others were just the sort that beckoned a battle. Forests had been felled for spears, metal recast again and again into fresh weapons of war. The smith, Brogdir, had even made a flag stand of metal scavenged off another clan that had arrived some time long past and perished. Though flying a flag had become a secondary purpose after the flag stand instead attracted lightning: a blessing from Thor himself!

After three straight days of fighting their foothold, the viking horde had finally dug in proper. They had a dock coming together nicely, a town square with tables and a couple large fire pits. Soon, even women would make their journey over to join the new settlement... if that need wasn't filled by the native's sooner or later, which seemed likely.

"For Berg!" shouted another man, young and with a wild beard. "My brother in battle, died a a berserker picked up by Odin from death's door to slaughter'em all!" More toasts came out, mead and a local wine traded for with the friendly natives that had a pleasantly high alcohol content.

The young boys, some newly minted fighters themselves continue to beat their drums.. often made from shields. But it was enough to add a rhythm for the older men to chant their victories for. "For Olaf!" began another fellow, older, but burly, "mine horse!" he laughed, as did the others, but all still they raised their mugs. "Let'im ride into Valahalla b'side Sleipnir!"

"For Geir! When I die in battle, lemme fight'im again an' again 'till we drown in blood and mead!"

"When I die in battle, lemme fight 'longside Odin 'imself!"

"When I die in batle, lemme 'ave a spear made from the dirth of Yggdrasil!"

"When I die in battle... I'm gonna fuck a Valkrie!" came the final shout that resulted in a tumultuous roar of approval. Boots stamped the dirt under a cloudy night sky, blessed perhaps by another storm.

"Siiig!" Pronounced one man, pouring the Valkrie Fucker another glass of local wine. He was already drunk himself, his voice slurring the nickname into something like "Zeeg," but with greater endearment. "No Valkrie gonna fuck your short sword," he teased, earning a playful punch on the arm, but also more cheers of approval.

"You old shit!" Sigmund laughed, downing the drink with enough gusto to make the red wine pour down his dark and braided beard. "Only way I'd be not fucking a Valkrie is if'n I die from old age! None'o thse fights 'ven put a scratch on me!" he roared with even further approval. It was the bravado of a battle well fought, and a bit too much alcohol. "Now you fill my cup up with s'more of that while I go piss on yer soon to be grave," he teased, though with no idea how accurate he was being.

Because as it turned out, the "friendly" native hadn't been so friendly after all. At least, they weren't anymore. The culture of their people was complex, but perhaps not so different from the viking's. There were clans, and they often fought, and often traded wives or even sons during peace times. And as it turned out, the chief of the "friendly" clan had had a daughter killed in the battle fought against another clan on the Viking's new land grab. Enraged, he poisoned the wine he next traded to the vikings, knowing they would drink themselves stupid with celebration. As such, Sigmund had only enough time to get to the outskirts of the settlement, untie his drawstring and flop out his meaty cock before he hiccuped, then puked and fell face first into a rock. He died almost instantly, but surely not in battle.

When he came to, Sigmund found himself standing somewhere other worldly. "Eh... the fuck is this?" he growled, standing upright in what looked like a foggy wasteland. It was clearly day by the amount of light, but no matter where he looked he couldn't locate the sun. "Thor guide me, fucking lost..." he grouched, stepping forward only to realize he was also nude. His burly build, thick about a chest dark with hair felt warm, which betrayed the wrong season too. A mass of dark hair hung to his shoulders and down from his chin, obscuring some of the dark runes tattooed into his arms and shoulders. "Fucking jokers," he continued, starting to stomp along toward what looked like home.

The ground underfoot seemed solid enough, despite being ankle deep in a rolling white fog of sorts which went in every direction like a grounded cloud. Squinting, Sigmund cursed his way across the landscape to some sort of a high fence, one made of shining gold rather than lumber like the guard around their settlement. More surprised, he followed it a short ways for some entrance only to come to a great, massive gate, adorned with further ornaments of some southern king. Sigmund scoffed.

"That's not very polite Mr. uhh...." an old, but firmly built man in long robes stood nearby, alongside an altar with a great book upon it. He flipped through a few pages, some golden bauble like a grown hanging over his head. "Yes, Mr. Gautsson. Hmm, let's see now... quite a bit of murder here. And I see no repentance..."

"Oi, an' who'er you?!"

"Oh?" the old man, clean shaven and with a kindly face looked up from his book. "Sorry, that's rude of me. God asks of me modesty, so I seldom remember to even use my name. But I am Peter. Now Mr-"

"Call me Sig, would'ya?"

"Of course," Peter continued, smiling amiably... it frankly pissed Sigmund off, but his face always had an air of being pissed off, so little was different aside from his low growl. "Well, I'm a bit concerned here, Sig. Before I let you go any farther, I have to know... have you accepted our God and Savior?"

Sigmund blinked a bit at that. He reviewed the Gods, namely Thor and Odin. "Aye," he said after a moment. Thor had guided their journey all the way across the Great Sea, and surely Odin was with him in every battle. "'Course I 'ave."

Peter smiled broadly at that. "I'm much relieved! That's very good to hear. Now, will you also vehemently denounce the great evil? He who deceives and was struck down by God?"

"Aye!" Sigmund didn't even have to think much about that. "Fuck the trickster! May he rot under the snake's venom!" Only young boys found anything redeemable about Loki, and t hat was quickly squared the more of the tales they read about him.

"That is... harsh, but no harsher than God's punishment." Peter said with a slight touch of amusement touching his old smile. "People just get stranger and stranger as time goes by down there... but you seem like an upright fellow, Sig," Peter didn't do anything, but the gate behind him began to slowly open. "Enjoy your long peace."

"Wait... I'm dead!?" Sigmund finally balked. "Eh, eh Peter, that can't be. I... how did I die!?" he asked, fear suddenly gripping him deep in his chest.

"Oh that's common enough to wonder. Don't worry, there won't be any lasting effects, let's see...." Peter scrolled down his book again then nodded. "A shame... looks like fowl play and an accident. Don't think that poison would have gotten you, in the wine, but you hit your head when you fell. I'm sorry, Sig." Somehow, Petere managed to look truly remorseful about the matter, despite Sigmund detecting that his kindness was all well practiced. "Ah, but worry not. Here, I've called an angel to show you the way."

"Dafuq is an angel!?" Sigmund roared, suddenly enraged that he hadn't died proper; he hadn't been fighting. He wouldn't join the Valiant dead, but then... there was the angel. She drifted out across the clouds from within the gate with great white wings. Her skin was pure white, hair golden and braided all the way to her lower back. She wore a robe which was disappointingly modest... but thin. Sigmund had little effort distinguishing perky breasts and a wonderful set of hips. His griping quickly stopped. "Eh... angel, hmm..." he began to grin, his dream perhaps not finished.

So I've been listening to a lot of metal (as you do), and so of course I've been on a bit of a viking kick. Lots of fucking, fighting and mead drinking. But I wanted to give this an amusing twist. Instead of a sweaty, wild, drunken orgy in Valhalla, our viking is going to end up somewhere else. He's somehow managed to get into heaven, and though he had plans for a Valkrie, well... an angel might just have to do. I figured this would be kind of lighthearted, where we could enjoy some humor of the fact that this viking has no idea what Christ even is, or what good Christian values are supposed to be.

In that sense, I'd like there to be a slight sense of corruption here, but I'm open to ideas. Maybe after raping an angel, God decides to kick this viking to Hell... where the cycle continues as he fights his way through the demon horde, almost believing he's in Valhalla and Ragnarok has come until he finds a succubus to fuck next. Then, Lucifer himself decides that he's causing too much trouble, not suffering enough, so he send him on. I'm not too well versed in other mythologies, but I could definitely imagine playing something out where our fuck hungry viking goes through every afterlife finding some female companionship and then getting kicked out again... maybe he finally even ends up in Valhalla. Who knows!? That's half the fun!

So, all that said, bring a sense of humor and a halo, because things are gonna get holy. I'd post kinks and all that, but I'm not sure anyone actually reads those. My old posts contain that information if you really want to know. Otherwise come tell me what you like! I'm super flexible, and always happy to hear from people! Maybe we can change this up. Wanna retcon this so that Sigmund doesn't die, but is taken by natives? Or maybe he does go to Valhalla and you'd like to play a Valkrie that scoffs at the idea of fucking him due to his shitty death? Come bring your ideas!

EDIT: Well while I've still got a bit of front page staying power I'll give a little update. 3 hours from posting I've got 82 views, a handful of upvotes and not a single response! I'm not going to beg (unless that gets you off, but then you have to ask nicely), but let that be a note to any of you with any interest at all in this post: Send a message! You're basically guaranteed a response no matter how fancy it is!