Norse Warrior:By all the bacrauts (assholes) of the world, what ails my mind? Must be a hangover. Argh...
The warrior noticed Eivor.
Axehead:Over here, good warrior.
Eivor:Hej, stranger.
Axehead:Excuse me, I have a slight pain. Do you notice anything on my head? It's an itch or a cut that simply won't go away.
Eivor taking a closer look at the wound
Eivor:It appears to be a... a battle scar.
Axehead:Ah, as I suspected. It must be from my most recent battle. You should see the other man. He got the worst of it.
Eivor:Worse than... I suppose its possible, yes. If he is headless.
Axehead:My arms are numb from battle. Does it need any dressing? Do you think it is a serious wound?
Eivor:Good drengr, you have an axe in your head. It is grim. I will take it out, but you will surely head off to the next realm soon.
Axehead:Ah. Valhalla, it is. I appreciate your candid response. Now I prepare myself for the sights and sounds of the Corpse Hall.
Eivor:I will relieve you of the pain it gives you. Send you down the Bifrost.
Axehead:It is time.
Eivor:I feel it is a small wound, for a warrior as great as you. Nothing but a twig stuck near your brow.
Axehead:Ah, yes, thank you for telling me. And your keen eye on discerning a fellow great warrior.
Eivor:I can take it off, the twig, if you like.
Axehead:Of course. When you have a moment, just brush it off.
Eivor removing the axe
Axehead:You know, there is a great meadhall nearby. We could go there and reflect on our greatest exploits. Nothing finer than an endless night of drunken glory to make you forget all of the dishonorable fops in this world. Just skalds and warriors full of mead and story-greed. O, yes, let me weave you a hero's saga from dirt and spittle. This one blustery battle-day, I was inside a shield wall... and my wife entered the shield wall... nude... and started singing... O... We were so young... so very nimble in our hugr (minds) and our ways...
Eivor:All your enemies have been slain. Now you rejoice.
EIvor removed the axe, and the man fell over dead.
