Majvoc looked from his vantage point. He had surely thought that the group would have been reduced to ashes in the wind, but it seems that luck had been on their side. They were talking with the beast, making deals it seemed. One even rode upon the back of the dragon. He could hear shouts of tests and breaking chains. No doubt these fiends meant to free the beast. To unleash Níðhöggr. He fumbled his hand through the strands of giant’s hair that was lashed across his chest. If Móðguðr were here, perhaps they could take them on together. As it was, there was no way for Majvoc to take them on all together.

They were magic users, at least. The dry bed of Hvergelmir was restoring their life energies, no doubt a feat aided by their ally of Níðhöggr. Perhaps they were dead, draugr cavorting with Níðhöggr to leave this hell before they succumbed to Oblivion. What lay beyond the walls of this world was a mystery, but the dead had no place outside of them.

Majvoc moved as close he might dare to the group. Their faces looked familiar, yet they were all strangers to him. No doubt they were just a few of a thousand lost souls. He held a small knife in his hand. It might not do much against the dead, but it could cut out a tongue to keep them quiet.

Níðhöggr was still in the sky, but one of the group beckoned for it to return to them. The rippling and shimmering form of Níðhöggr began its descent through the cloudy sky. It was slow and deliberate in its motions, forcing its way down through the sky. It let out another roar and sundered the skies with a clap of thunder.

This was it.

These fools were going to release Níðhöggr.

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