Izzoradelle, the Drowned Shieldmaiden Part II: Call of the Banners

This is a series that I wrote over a year ago while playing on a Valheim community server. The stories have been edited to remove some player tags and player clans to provide privacy to those individuals.

If you wish to experience this breathtaking world for yourself, you can check out the official Valheim website here or download the game on Steam here.

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This world was constantly changing.

Even while I slept, the other Viking warriors patrolled, hunted, explored, and built monuments to their gods both old and new. I learned quickly that Valheim was much more than some vast wilderness. There was history here not only from previous Vikings but from entire civilizations that had risen and fallen under Odin's watch.

I came across a large stone engraved with the language of the Norse in the meadows. It was from a shieldmaiden named Astrid who had once wandered this land. She claims to have no memories of her life before. Everyone seems to be the same here.

Why do I still hold these terrible memories of the last moments of my previous life? Only time will tell, I suppose.

These disturbing thoughts were broken by the call of the clan banners. A meeting was to be held in the Great Hall with all the established groups as a way to introduce new arrivals such as myself to their ranks.

I was hesitant to go, as I was far from ready to contribute to any clan, but still, I wanted to know and see for myself that both survival and happiness could be found here.

I sat on the gentle stone steps, surrounded by carved stone and wood chairs draped in each of the clan's colors. I recognized the Valkris right away but took note of the large and fearsome Mountain Wolf clan and the still and swift Drakenheim. Alongside them were the smaller clans of Louky who specialized in hunting, and clan Deep Dale whose home resided on stilts in the ocean.

All were mighty groups, but none called to my weary blood. The sea would always frighten me, and the thought of battle made my bones groan. I had no memories besides my death to justify these fears, so I chalked it up to cowardice born from a false Viking and left the hall once the showcase was finished.

Before I could retreat through the portal, however, I was invited on a personal tour of Drakenheim's lands. I agreed, only because I didn't want to go back to my ghosts.

It didn't go as planned. A creature of small size and bug-like eyes flew to my exposed back and pierced through my chest as I admired those crimson flowers growing in the plains outside of the clan's fortress. The death was swift...but wrong.

The blue glow of my eyes faded on my pale skin, and the world went dark for but a moment until I found myself gasping for breath in my bed back in my boathouse. A black raven landed at my feet and told me of my death, informing me that everything I was carrying would remain where I fell, and my strength would be sapped in return for my resurrection.

Was this to be my torment? To have been fished out of a watery death by Odin himself, and then discarded in a land where death became commonplace? Where my life would never end until the task before me was completed? I did not know if my soul would survive such a tax.

A week went by as I worked my land, raising more supports and polishing the ancient ship's hull. I kept busy every time I awoke, waving down other Vikings and offering my aid when builds needed extra hands. My muscles seemed to remember these tasks and they offered me a quiet respite from the nightmare of this reality.

Rock turned to stone walls and pillars, and fine wood became the carved heads of beasts which I mounted in several other halls and structures. My name would not be left behind on these creations, but maybe my deeds would somehow echo into the fabric of the world itself.

TO BE CONTINUED

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