Lord of Britanburg, by Bretagne

He woke up in a daze. His long, dirty hair covered his eyes. He looked around the unfamiliar surroundings. As he rose to his feet he noticed he was holding his axe. Confused, he moved the hair from his eyes. His hand was covered in blood. He was bleeding. “You fought a brave fight” a voice echoed from behind. “Where am I? Who are you?!” the wounded man asked as he turned to face the voice. “Ah, that is of no concern but I do know who you are. Lord Carsten of Britanburg… welcome to Valhalla.”