I wake to find myself dressed in a waelcyrge's warrior regalia. I lie in a bed of silk in a spectacular chamber. This is undoubtedly the Hall of Vingólf! I can scarely remember the day before...perhaps even the week before. How is it that I have come to the Hall of the Asynje, Odin?

I draw my sword and slash at the pillows, releasing maelstroms of down. This is not the first time Odin has deceived me. But it will be the last. I am sorely vexed by his repeated manipulations, second only to those of the Mischief God, himself.

I had obviously been recruited to serve as a Chooser of the Slain for who knows how long. I remember only bits and pieces, fragments that hint at a great war, great beyond all men's reckoning. A maid enters the chamber suddenly with a bowl of food.

"Oh, forgive me, asynja," she begins, surprised to see me awake, I think. "I would have knocked, m'lady, but Lord Odin told us - ere he departed to Midgard - that you would not be awake for several hours yet!"

My eyes narrow, and my lips form a malicious smile. Quicker than lightning, I grab the maid by the hair and pull her near, my sword at her throat. I whisper, "In Midgard is he? Well, then, dearie... When the cat's away..."