Dublin, Ireland 1601
The end of the Nine Years War of Ireland.

…Oh how she misjudged this one. She had been on Midgard for almost 700 years, thanks to Idunn’s apples. Gods how she knew better! Þyri was usually very good at reading situations, but one too many meads can really skew perceptions and shorten her fuse. Her father’s temper tends to surface the more she imbibes.

Upon waking it did not take long for her to realize she was in a dungeon. With her eyes still shut the smell alone was a dead giveaway. She did a mental inspection of her body. All limbs accounted for and working, although her hands and neck were chained to the wall. Probably a wise decision of her captors. She did have a wicked headache, though, most likely from the bastard that jumped her from behind with some sort of bludgeon. She had managed to fight off 10 of them, but a battalion of English soldiers with their long rifles quickly surrounded her. If it were still swords, axes, or spears she could hold her own but these firing weapons were relatively new to her and she didn’t want to push her luck. She had already surrendered to them when that coward hit her from behind and knocked her out.

Taking in her surroundings she quickly learned there wasn’t much she could do to get out of this one. The guards took all her possessions save the shield pendant that adorned her neck. At least they didn’t know she could control its size like Þor controls Mjölnir. She sent up a silent thanks to Odin for that parting gift when she departed from Valhalla. She may be able to use it to escape with the right timing.

While sitting in her cell she began reflecting back to that ominous visit five days ago. The All Father, being the wanderer that he was, came down to Midgard to warn her personally about the trouble awaiting her. He warned her she was in danger and to leave the land she was in or risk capture. Once again the curse of her being born half Valkyrie and half human was plaguing her. The Irish and English were not only fighting each other but both were also rounding up anyone that is of pagan belief they could find and putting them to death by hanging. Assuming she had more time she had made her way to the coast to catch a ship to take her to her next destination, wherever that happened to be. The ship she was to journey however, did not depart until sunrise. Not far from the docks was a small pub. Deciding to take refuge until dawn she sat at the darker far side of the bar for a drink or two.

It was while enjoying her sixth cup of mead the English entered. If her runic tattoos didn’t give her away then her gold winged headdress strapped to her rucksack definitely would. Hoping the pub was dark enough to conceal her true nature, she continued to drink and mind her own, covering her hanging headdress with her cloak. That was when the leader of the group ordered all patrons in the pub to declare their religious beliefs in order to stay,

“Any and all Catholics are to leave or be arrested under the law of the Tudor Dynasty through Queen Elizabeth I, the rightful Queen of England and Ireland. Those that declare themselves protestant may stay and drink in peace.”

Þyri, not wanting to draw attention to herself, paid the bar keep and rose to leave; however, she didn’t make it far before two English soldiers stopped her halfway to the door.
“The Major ordered a declaration of religion, I don’t believe we’ve heard yours”

“You are correct sir, I have not given any, nor shall I. I am simply a traveler seeking passage to new lands. I was on my way out and wish for no trouble.”

This answer didn’t seem to please the private. He grabbed her by the arm and demanded once more,

“What is your declaration, girl?”

“I declare, Sir, that you let me go for I promise you will not like what will happen to you.”

His grip tightened around her arm and anger flashed in his eyes. It was then he saw her tattoos,

“Well, well, what have we here? Pagan markings, eh. The Major will be very pleased to hear about this. I might even get a promo….” before the private could finish his sentence Þyri punched him in the throat, dropping him to his knees. The second private barely had time to register what happened when he too was on the ground writhing in pain and struggling to breathe from a well-placed punch to the stomach. And thus the fight began that landed her in this dank, musty cell chained to a wall like an animal. She would bet all the gold in her coin purse it was that first private that hit her.

The dungeon was dark, but thanks to the single torch on the far wall, she could see a man sleeping in the cell next to hers. From the sound of his snoring it seemed like he may be out for a while. She could just barely make out his clothing. He looked like a monk or maybe a friar, but she wasn’t sure which. Either way, why would a man dressed like that end up locked in cell? Now that would be an intriguing tale. With nothing but time to her expense she got as comfortable as the chains would allow and started plotting her escape.

A short time later…

The sleeping man was finally beginning to stir, rousing from his bourbon induced slumber. A look of bewilderment and then remembrance flashed across his face. He glanced around the dungeon and spotted Þyri in the neighboring cell. In a slightly slurred voice he began to engage in conversation.

“I have occupied many a cell and never have I had the pleasure of having a woman as a cell mate.”

Þyri spared a quick glance at the man but gave no response.

“How is it that a young woman such as yourself wound up here? If it’s not so bold to ask?”

“I could ask the same of you? Your attire would suggest you are a monk?” she inquired. He nodded at her correct guess. “I imagine one in good standing with your lord does not oft get thrown in a dungeon”.

The man started to chuckle.

“In due time, for now just know it was planned…”

His nonchalant cryptic talk, or rather lack thereof, was going nowhere so she didn’t respond, but she thought to herself…It was planned…what does that mean? If it was planned, does that mean he has a way out that does not end in a meeting with the gods, or his case God? She may be able to use this to her advantage if so. Silence fell on them both once more as they each retreated to their own thoughts. Eventually they both succumbed to slumber.

Another restless night passed for Þyri thanks to the chains but the monk seemed to be rested, sober, and more of sound mind upon waking. He turned his attention back to the woman and finally broke the silence.

“I could not help but notice your tattoos…the symbols…those are the markings of the old ways of the Northmen before the mass conversion. Is that from which you hail?”
She gave him a wide eyed look of surprise, unsure if she should answer. Figuring her situation could not possibly worsen she answered truthfully, but kept her response limited.
“Yes, you have keen eyes. How is it that a monk such as yourself came to recognize the markings of a culture that no longer exists?

It was then that the monk chuckled and lifted his sleeve to reveal a multitude of symbols tattooed on his arm. Most she did not recognize at all, yet others she knew very well. Surely she was mistaken, but another look proved she was not. There on his arm were runes exactly like hers. His next words both baffled and amazed her.

“I am not a subject to only one god, for the life I lead requires all the benediction I can acquire. I have traveled this vast plain on which we live and I have witnessed many great and terrible things. My devotion and faith is very fluid. In my travels I learned, mostly the hard way, that some gods are more strict and unforgiving of certain deeds while others are a bit more… lenient. I simply send prayer to those that can help in specific situations. Take this particular situation we have found ourselves in. I believe it to be the work of the Norns that we happen to be here at the same time.”

Þyri sat for a moment mulling this over. Finally she replied “last night you said your capture had been planned. Why in the name of Odin would one plan to get captured? Is it not more perilous for a man of many faiths such as yourself to risk?”

“I am part of a crew of seafaring, let’s say merchants, which raided the local treasury. I was the willing distraction. All it took was few generous tankards of my favorite drink, which is bourbon by the way. Then all I had to do was stumble to the gates and challenge the night guards. It took all four men to carry me down here leaving the gates with fewer men for my fellow crew reek their havoc and ransack the gold. It is they who will assist in my escape.

Rereading his runes she sat in silence, weighing her options. Can she trust this man who used the various faiths to his benefit? He spoke of the Norn’s and had markings that could get him killed just as easily as she. Yet his knowledge of the Norn’s alone was remarkable. No one had spoken of the three fate spinners in centuries. And if what he says is to be believed his friends were coming to get him out. She decided to give some truth of her situation in hopes he would also assist her in escaping.

“I received a message from Odin. He told me to get off this island, that it was no longer safe for me. I doubt it ever was to be honest. I came here in search of a covenant of Celtic druids, though I never found them. I secured passage on a vessel but it was not due to depart until sun up. The night before its departure I happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and woke up here. I would very much like to partake in escaping this dungeon. I am a skilled shieldmaiden, more than proficient with both blade and spear. I believe I can assist in the way out.”

In the low light of the only torch his wide grin could not be missed. “I was hoping you come to that decision and from the sound of things the timing could not be better”.

It was then that the faint sounds of shouting and fighting filtered down to them. Shortly after a man with a sword in one hand and pistol in the other came running down the stairs. The monk gave a guttural laugh and exclaimed, “Well, if it isn’t the boatswain himself! I would have thought Toringard would be the one to reach me first.”

“No, no. I insisted in the planning to be the one to get you out and I am a man of word. Besides you know how Toringard likes to get into his cups before ANY kind of skirmish. There was no way I was leaving this to him alone. Now all I have to do is find the key.” It was then the monk announced “the women is to come with us. She can help to further guarantee our success of getting out of here alive.”

It was then the other man spared her a glance and with an unexpected smile of excitement said “Great! More hands for weapon wielding.”

The “boatswain” as the monk called him meandered into the room on the opposing wall and started searching for the keys. Finally he announced “Found the keys and your effects.” He went first to the monk’s cell, opened it, and then handed over a bag. Now free the monk opened her cell, removed the chains and extended a hand to help her to her feet. The other man then handed her rucksack to her. Satisfied all was there save for her coin purse, they then went for weapons. There were swords though they were not the best and a lone spear. She let the monk pick first. Once he had his weapons she grabbed a sword and hung it from her belt then went for the spear. It felt good in her hands. As the two men bantered about this being one of the better raids she glanced at the arm that was decorated with runes. She took a deep breath and pulled her feathered headdress out of her bag and placed it on her head. The gold reflected the light of the torch making it shine. She then removed the shield from her necklace and with a low whisper began chanting in Old Norse the words Odin taught her to enlarge the shield to its full size. The men stared in stared in slack jawed amazement. She smiled at the sudden rush of amusement and elation she had not felt in a long time and quipped “I bet you have not seen that in your travels.”

The monk recovered first and laughed. He sobered quickly and said “No, that I have not. I now have more questions, but I am ready to be rid of this place so they must wait.”

Heading upstairs they joined the other crew members in the melee. The jailers had all been put down. It was the reinforcements outside that demanded attention. The soldiers were no match for her as she parried their thrust and pirouetted out of reach. The soldier’s numbers were fast dwindling. Her last opponent closed the short distance between them and attacked. She blocked his advance easily with her shield, forcing the man off balance and leaving his side open to strike. She didn’t yet deliver a killing blow, simply slicing the man’s thigh. She was enjoying herself a little too much for it to end so soon. Recovering from the blow the soldier charged her again, her smile seeming to anger him more. Good. At the last second she raised her shield and braced herself for the impact of the man, then using the momentum against him to push him away once more, slicing his lower leg. A laughed escaped her throat. Screaming with rage the soldier lunged toward her one last time swinging his sword wildly. In one fluid motion Þyri dropped to one knee, raised her shield, and brought the spear up. It met its mark between his fourth and fifth ribs, sinking right into the heart. She then wiped the blood off, stood and took in her surroundings. She saw more of the crew the monk told her about. There were both men and women alike. One of the women had various whips that hung from her belt. She was talking to a man with a red beard that gave orders to others. Looking around she saw the monk and the boatswain talking to two men that, judging by their attire, could only be Vikings. One of them even had Mjölnir etched onto his leather armor.

One lone soldier emerged from behind the wall of the jail, finally getting courage to attack. He was sneaking up behind the group aiming for the monk. Not wasting time to shout her warning Þyri took her spear and let it fly. It hit its mark with a satisfactory thud, impaling the man in the chest. His limp body slid down to its knees as the men looked on in bewilderment. They then turned to look at her with questioning faces. Finally the monk motioned for her to join them. It was the boatswain that extended an arm in gratitude and an invite, “our ship is not far from here anchored in a secluded bay. We can safely exchange introductions there. I will also speak to our captain about granting safe passage for you to our next destination in thanks for your help”.

“Thank you, though it was you that helped me.” And with that the five of them made their way towards a rocky outcrop of beach north of the town. Under the darkness of the new moon the beached row boats were indistinguishable from the rocks; likewise the darkness concealed the anchored ship completely. It was not until the ship cleared the bay and was well into the Irish Sea that she let herself relax a little. Her guard was still up amongst these strangers, but curiosity finally got the better of her when she asked the monk “Who are you?

He replied “You may call me John” then gesturing to the man that helped them out of the cells “this is our boatswain, Darin”. Turning to the two Vikings he indicated the man with long hair “that is Rolo and the man next to him is Toringard”. It was then the man with the red beard came over to their group. “I am Captain Barbarossa, and this group of fine people my crew. What name do you hail by??”

“My name is Þyri, Þyri Eriksdotter. What are you? John mention a crew. Are you all outlaw sea brigands?” That brought forth laughter from the crew. The captain having overheard the exchange approached and said “Welcome aboard Þyri, and to answer your questions, no not necessarily. Some have referred to us as pirates though we prefer humble seafaring merchants. We are part of a larger coalition. The Atlantic Raiders in fact, and together we are strong enough to take on most anything with the misfortune to cross our path. I know Darin mentioned granting you safe passage to our next destination, which I have allotted. Though, after seeing you fight I would like to offer you permanence as part of our crew. I think you to be a great asset to us. You fit in well with our motley bunch and we could benefit from your skills. Addressing the crew “I put to motion the addition of Þyri as our newest member. Do I hear an aye?” There was a resounding “AYE” from all on deck. Turing back to Þyri the captain outstretched his right arm and asked, “Well Þyri, do we add your name?”

She gazed around at the expectant looks from everyone and clasped the captain’s outstretched arm with a smile. “HUZZAH!” he loudly exclaimed. The crew all joined in with a thunderous “HUZZAH!” Ale and rum filled cups to the brim as the crew celebrated the successes of the last few days. There were bards that played merrily while others danced about the main deck. Þyri sat with John, Darin, Rolo, Toringard and Captain Barbarossa exchanging jests about the night. When the laughter laid down Captain Barbarossa handed her a leather patch with a crooked cross on it marked with “ARC”. He proclaimed “Now you are one of us, may you never drink or raid alone.” To that he raised his cup and the others followed suit. She stood and lifted her own horn, “I pledge my blades and shield to the Damned Promise and to her crew, skål” and took a long drink. John then turned toward her and said nonchalantly “That is a very b interesting headdress you have. And what pray tell happened with that shield?” She stared at the men around her for a moment thinking of how to begin and took another long drink deciding to start at the beginning and left nothing out. “Well…”