New World Order
It must have been decades, maybe even centuries, since we last had a chance to sit down with a nice warm cup of mead for a long talk. As you no doubt know, we are not what we used to be anymore. We are not, what we are destined to be. Not many remember us anymore and those that remember do not believe. We are fading away.
It saddens my old heart to know that so many of us have met ends unfit for a God. Some left for other worlds, hoping they would once again feel the exhilaration of being the devotion of an entire culture. Others lacked the strength to withstand the fickle mind of mortals, desperately trying to keep their faith - in the end failing, and deterioating into the waters of Styx. Some simply died.
All these rantings of an old man, which I am sure you are already aware of, brings me to the point of this letter. I don't want to be forgotten. I want to make a last stand, and either succeed or die trying. Anything is better than being lost to memory. You are one of those few left in this world, whom I credit enough to believe will join me on this epic journey. It could be our last, but hopefully it will help reposition us as the Powers we are.
I will be hosting a glorious feast of those likeminded few who are willing and able to attend. This will take place Wednesday, a moon from now, at the once great halls of Valhalla.
Odin, Allfather of the Aesir.
PS: Beware roaming Jotuns.
|Chop Con (2002)|