A bottle of "mead" lies tipped over on the nightstand close to the bed and Njal, the beast, stirs in fits and mumbling under the covers...

"Your almighty king has been slaughtered," the large Viking usurper gestures to the dead body of the village's leader. "He could not best me do any of you fools think you are his better?"

The man gestures to the crowd circling him. Scanning for someone to accept his oh so gracious offer. None speaks up, each one looking at the one beside him or her hoping against hope that someone, anyone will take the man's challenge and take back their land.

"Just as I thought, a land full of cowards and layabouts. Men take their women and slaughter the men the legacy of this village will forever be forgotten."

The men move forward to defend the women of the village but are bested and killed where they stand. Outside the village war cries and screams and yelling echo into the pre-dawn sky, letting anyone with ears know of the destruction and taking of life that is taking place as I, the teller of tales, pass this story to you.

Acrid smoke fills the air as a few villagers hide in the brush, huddled together, hoping to be lost in the anarchy just a few yards away. One steps up trying to organize the group, even as the smoke gets darker and the heat of the flames feels as though it intensifies. The man groups the few survivors together reassuring them that they are in the clear and will make it to another village and they will carry on. They will not be lost to death and time.

The rustle through the underbrush, stopping every so often to make sure they are not being followed and hunted by any of the group of men destroying their legacy as they continue to march through the forest. The leader stops and holds a hand high motioning for the other to stop where they stand. He is able to hear rustling behind them as well as voices. The men scatter, taking positions near the trees, trying to set up an ambush or anything they possibly can as the morning sun rises overhead. The small group sent to flush them out arrives over the hill and crosses into the warriors' path.

War cries and yelling are heard as the ragtag group of men attack the group that has come to drive them away. Clangs of sword and shield are heard as the fighting intensifies, There are multiple fatalities on either side as we hear cries of pain and death. The man who organized the refugee group ends up being one of just a handful of survivors of the heated battle, Being chased by a few men, wounded, he stumbles and trips making his way through the dense forest. The men pursuing him turn back, thinking he will surely die alone in the deep woods.

The lone man breaks the tree line, seeing smoke and hearing voices of the small village that he can see over the horizon. Wounded he makes his way to the first line of huts, where a few people run and help him as he collapses in their arms. He is taken to a nearby hut and laid on the dirt floor, his breathing shallow. The villagers come from all over trying to assist, doing what they can.

I a few days' time, the man is able to sit up and try and speak. He is able to tell his tale and the villagers listening stare in awe as he gets to the end where he was flushed from the woods. The chieftain, with a growl, explains that he cannot stay lest the group that destroyed his people come to his village and do the same. Upon hearing this a woman steps forward, asking for lienlancy on the part of the Lord, as the man is alone and has escaped the attackers. Shaking his head the Lord waves his hand in a dismissive gesture, smiling the woman helps him to her hut.

He groans out his thanks as she sets him on a pallet continuing his care. She relates to him how when she was young her family was slaughtered and she has been alone and ostracized ever since. By saving him she has a family again or hopes that will be the case.

Njal wakes with a start his eyes softer now than they were. The dream though harrowing lets him know though being told he was to be forgotten and not worthy of a place in legend, even this man can being to forge his own path. Njal picks up the bottle of brown liquid taking a swig and laying back in the bed, feeling more confident, knowing what lies ahead will not be easy but even though he may be overlooked he will not be forgotten.....

Frode bouncing from foot to foot, giggling comes out of the shadows standing in front of the opposing figure of Njal. As he begins to speak Njal grabs him by his furs and grunting places him to the side. Taking a deep breath he slowly begins to speak.

Every time one of you opens your mouth it is to insult my intelligence or lack of skill. As you saw in my first match even in defeat I am a formidable foe. You blabber on and on about a feud with this man and that while overlooking, me, Njal, and dismissing me as nothing. Just because Frode has spoken for me, you call me ignorant and the bottom of the barrel. Yet, you think you can step back into the limelight and step over whoever stops you from this so-called feud. I hear no one screaming such as you to take you on in this square of canvas and destroy you. It seems as though in all your bravado you come off as the simple-minded arrogant one. You hide behind the painted face and mask where I show my face to the light unafraid. If you can make it past me in the ring then you can blather on about other men. The question you need to ask yourself, puny man, is whether the man you boast to want to beat even gives a pile of donkey shit about you. Focus on the fight in front of you welp instead of the imaginary one the you believe lies ahead. I promise you you are going to regret discounting me like they over looked my ancestors so long ago,