The clear night sky in his village is glorious, he thinks looking above him at the expanse. He groans a bit getting up from his palette, sliding the fur blanket over his shieldmaiden. Seeing men hunched around the fire Njal goes to join them, smiling at the happiness and prosperity his village has enjoyed lately. Taking the mead offered to him he addresses the group of me.

"We have been prosperous as can be expected of a group of our size, but never rest men, for the enemies of our village are always lying in wait. Of course, no other man will look at another's glory and be lax and say it is good this man has raided the village and taken what was once mine. No, he will exclaim proudly and boldly, I must reclaim what is mine and I will burn his village to cinders as he did mine!! FOR GLORY!!!"

FOR GLORY!!!

The men around him stand and cheer just as he.

He looks around the group pleased that each man will take this advice and watch for his brother come hell or high water. Gods above may this glory last he thinks in his head scanning the group and the village as a whole. Out of the darkness, he sees small twinkling lights. Knowing what those lights mean, as he has been the one carrying the torches more oft than not, he motions to his men to get down and be ready. There is no need, however, as most of the battle-hardened men are crouched muscles tense as the group of torches come closer. A few gestures and grunts and his men spread out knowing this torch group will not be the only one this night.

As if they were ghosts wailing in the night, men come streaming through the woods all around the village war cries bellowing. It seems as if multiple villages have banded together by the sheer force of humanity that flows around his men. A whistle and an arrow flies past his head, he yells rousing the shield maidens to fight at the sides of their valient husbands. The sound of sword against sword rings through the night, but louder still the screams and cries of the wounded and dying.

Whooping and war cries by familiar voices steel his resolve as he beats back the advances of his enemies. The crowd splits as a mammoth bearded man, clad in furs and helm, makes his way to stand in front of Njal.

"This ends tonight brother!"

The challenger's steel grey eyes hold Njal in place as both men growl and swords meet with a resounding clang!! The battle still rages around them, many buildings burning as Njal and the opposing chieftain continue one on one battle. Even in the cold night sweat pours from both men, each not giving an inch to the other. The enemy drops back scanning Njal for any weakness as Njal does the same. Their breath ragged for endless exertion they clang together once again sword meeting shield. Njal falters a moment, and that is all it takes. He feels the point of a sword pierce his skin and cries out.......

In the darkness of his hotel room, Njal sits bolt upright, body covered in a sheen of sweat. He shakes his head, his breathing ragged. The dream that has plagued him since childhood has returned. Whenever the man is stressed or worried the dream of the death of his ancestor returns. It is this dream, this nightmare, that drives Njal to this day. Deep in his bones, he knows it is he who must restore his clan's honor that was lost in the cold fjords so long ago. He knows that in the ring is where he will find glory once again. This, however, is what plagues him. His first attempt was met with a negative result. He rarely fails at anything and each failure stings worse than the last.

After splashing water on his face, he steps onto the room's balcony, looking up at the night sky. As he often does, he wonders what it was like for his ancestor to stare at these same stars not knowing his end was waiting for him. Gritting his teeth, memories of his failure still ringing in his head as much as the devastating blows did not too long ago, he dry swallows some aspirin, his mind wandering again.

This time it flashes to each grunt and blows from his previous match. He mentally analyzes what went wrong, what could have been done better. This overthinking can both be a help and a hindrance as it may positively or negatively affect his next match. In the end he slams his fist hard on the rail of the balcony, making it ring much like his ancestor's sword and shield must have so long ago.

"I will not lose again!!" He screams into the night as the sounds of a party below threaten to drown out his declaration...

Frode bounces from foot to foot giggling, a smile spreading across his face even though he looks as though he is shaking his head in dismay. He looks up at the camera and begins to speak...

"Even though my Lordship was not on the winning end of his debut, Njal has redoubled his efforts to grab his first win in this his new endeavor. It has become known to Frode that the man who bested my Lord was also a newcomer. This loss will be avenged!! This loss will be a marker in Njal's journey to remind us of the sting of defeat that will happen no longer. At this time not much is known about the upcoming warrior chosen to battle my Lord, but rest assured we will be well versed in his every blink by the Saturday that swiftly approaches. He will taste every inch of the canvas mat, every knot on the ropes as Njal's hand will be raised in victory leaving nothing but a bloody, bruised and battered body in his wake,"

Frode giggles maniacally as the light from the camera fades slowly to black.