[ WP ] Your son did as your will said and gave you a viking funeral because you thought it sounds cool . Beyond , a viking ghost yells at you for doing so and tosses you a weapon . Good Luck , Steve . It 's going to be a long afterlife .

The axe, aimed well for you to catch, struck you square in the chest. It came to rest in a patch of yellowed grass and the apparition who ’ d thrown it was motioning for you to take it up. The sky was overcast, and a battle was raging next to a thicket. The ghost approached and spoke in an irritated tone, “ You should not have come here, Steve of Melville. You have no place with my people. Why are you here? ” 
 
 A thought fills you with dread. You are dead. You were Steve, and you did live in Melville. You remember this, and you remember dying. And these are not the thoughts which are bothering you. As a joke you had asked for a funeral befitting a viking warrior, and you remember flashes of it. The pyre, the smoke, the ceremony. Your son had done as you asked. You remember the cancer that killed you, and the pain which you no longer feel. These are not the thoughts that are bothering you. Or perhaps they are. It ’ s that you are having thoughts at all. That is what is worrying you. 
 
 “ Why are you here? ” screamed the ghost, demanding an answer. 
 
 “ I, ” you stutter, “ I don ’ t know. I didn ’ t think there would be an afterlife. ” 
 
 “ How can you not know of the afterlife? I am to take you to Hel. You are not worthy of any place but that of the sickly and weak. Come, we will have to fight our way to the river. ” 
 
 “ What do you mean, I ’ m going to Hell? Hell, hell? Fire and brimstone? ” you start in a panic. 
 
 “ Fire, brimstone? I know not what lies in Helregrinn ’ s halls, ” the ghost paused for a moment and laughed, “ Perhaps you can tell me once you have seen it! ” He looked down at the axe, and then at you expectantly. You reach down and grasp the axe, and recoil as a flash of sensations shocks you. You had got glimpses of moments, past and future in that touch. The ghost laughed again, “ Hah! You ’ ve never used a weapon like this before have you? These weapons are made of the primal essence, the spirit that binds us all across realms. If you fall in battle to one, your spirit will be shattered and you will be truly gone. Pick it up, and endure. ” 
 
 You grasp it once more and allow the rush of emotions and visions to flash through your being. The visions are distracting but with concentration you stay grounded. 
 
 “ Follow, Steve of Melville, ” the ghost began marching toward the thicket, “ Gjallarbrú is on the other side of those woods. ” 
 
 “ What is that? And why are there battles in the afterlife? ” you ask, as if an answer could remove you from your predicament. 
 
 “ There is a river you must cross to enter Helregrinn ’ s realm. Gjallarbrú is the bridge. That is our destination. ” 
 
 Visions from the axe flutter by. On your sons 37th birthday he is married, divorced, and dead in different visions. You feel that they are possibilities and that the axe allows you to see them. You want to see more of the happy moments and drift into the axe ’ s domain, but are shocked back into the afterlife. You are staring up at the clouded sky with your ghostly guide crouched over you, holding your axe. “ I told you to endure. If you can not, you will be drawn into the visions and be lost forever, ” he warned. 
 
 “ Are the visions real? ” you wonder out loud. 
 
 “ They may be, but they may not be. Only the gods can wield the power of the primal essence to craft the stories of the living. If you try, your spirit will be destroyed. The weapon uses our souls to power itself. Best to let it use the souls of your foes, yes? ” He extends his hand and helps you to your feet before handing the axe back. 
 
 “ Will I be able to watch my son have his family in Helregrinn ’ s place? ” you ask. 
 
 “ I don ’ t know, ” the ghost answered. The thicket was nearing and you can see that the vikings are fighting various creatures which emerge from the woods, and retreat. Wolves the size of bears rushed out alongside stags who ’ s fur was black as the darkest night, and who ’ s eyes glowed red with anger and rage. 
 
 “ What can you tell me about it? There must be rumours. ” 
 
 “ I have heard that it is a realm under the world made of golden mansions and of lavish decoration. The walls are built higher than any others there. There is a knife there called hunger. A dish known as famine. You may stumble upon the threshold and sleep in the sickbeds you will find within. There is no honour to be found and Hel will not give up her souls for anything. It is possible that the illness you bore in life will be your everlasting punishment. This is what I have heard. I do not know for certain. ” 
 
 One of the warriors was being pushed back by an especially large stag and called for assistance. Your guide rushed to his aide. You know you are expected to cry out and jump in to battle. But you were not a viking. This battle was not your battle and you balk. The axe pulses in your hand and you wonder if your spirit can ensure one of the visions becomes true. If you try, the ghost had said, your spirit will be destroyed. Used up by the event you suspect. You grip the axe and close your eyes and the visions wash over you. You feel happiness, contentment, and after some searching you find overwhelming joy. There is your son, with a woman. They are in love, and she is telling him they are to have a baby. You focus on this moment and everything else fades. You are nothing but joy, and the moment becomes real to you. You want to open your eyes but they will not obey. It is dark, and sounds are muffled and becoming ever more quiet and distant. You are warm, comfortable, and tired. The visions no longer wash over you and neither does anything else. Relieved, you rest in peace.
