Stone Circle Bellow until out of breath

A giant—more imposing than any warrior he had ever laid eyes upon. Could it be him? Drøugr, the cursed man. Áskell held his breath, standing tall on all fours, gathering what strength he had left, ready should an attack come. His ears—what ragged scraps remained—had folded back along his skull.

My father, Stórólfr of the Völsung clan, fell in battle… He bound me by oath to seek out Drøugr. He snapped his jaws in a desperate attempt to appear fierce, to chase away the weariness clinging to him like a second skin. Are you Drøugr? he asked with confidence— no, with authority!

I’m the last one left from my clan, and I’m not going down. If you’re not Drøugr, get the hell out of my way or I’ll tear you apart with my fangs! He swelled his chest, summoning what strength he could, though his legs trembled beneath him. By some small miracle, he did not collapse—the boy stood defiant still.