longer.blue

The first memory that came to Kirkegrim was the name bestowed upon him in the afterlife. The second was the moment of his demise atop the great ashen tree. He had just felled the mighty worm Nithhewer before his body was wrenched free in its death throes. The pain of his own death did not register to him at first... only a sense of pride and fulfillment in saving all that he loved with his final breath. He awoke to find himself not in Heofon, as he wished to be, but Valhalla instead. Weightless and confused, the young soldier was brought into the sacred hall of the honored dead, carried by Valkyries. The Einherjar that gathered within sang his praises and bowed their heads in respect for their fellow warrior. There were greetings and congratulations for stopping the beast from every soul present, though they were quickly silenced when Old King Woden arrived in the hall, a troubled but relieved look placed upon his brow. Though he and those gathered in Valhalla were thankful for his valorous sacrifice, the Old King explained that Kirkegrim was not brought here to join the Einherjar. Rather, he had another just reward intended for the young soldier... Within the base of the great ashen tree, there was a sanctuary being constructed in secret by a society of mystics under Woden’s command. Here, not only would the story of his courage be committed to stone, but he would also safeguard the mortal remains of fellow soldiers that were to be interred within until a day of eternal twilight drew near. Though Kirkegrim was moved by his patron deity’s desires for him, he felt reluctant to be given such an important duty so shortly after his passing. However, the Old King would not hear any of the young man’s scruples, instead imploring him to undertake this mission, as the Aesir or Vanir could not spare any of their own. And he did so, with a doubting heart… What followed were only glimpses in his mind after centuries of restlessness and the torment of monotony. The training from warriors long past. The lessons of arcane knowledge bestowed upon him by the Old King. The consecration and burial of the sanctuary upon its final completion. Though his mind eroded any sense of sentiment or understanding of his task, Kirkegrim and his spirit remained there. Alone. Abandoned. Forgotten. However, his eternity within the sanctum would soon come to an end. Whether it was a convergence of celestial events that reopened his tomb, or an unknown malefactor’s opening gambit for some nefarious scheme, no one could say. Whatever the case, the guardian had found himself reinhabiting his long-decayed bones, forced awake in the land of the living for the first time since his demise. Any desire to remain in the sanctuary had left him and he stepped forth into the world at large... There was not a soul alive that knew the stranger's true name—he was a drifter who wandered from town to town, usually during the night. Rumors about his origins were spread and whispers of his true nature followed him wherever he went. Those who crossed his path referred to him as a vampire; a vision of death itself. Some swore by their faith that he was an avenging angel of sorts, striking down sinners in secret. Others claimed that he left a trail of disfigured bodies in every settlement he passed through throughout the countryside… Thus begins the tale of the Phantasm Soldier.