Calpurnia Dalsdottir knelt in her sanctuary, gripping her staff to rise as her assistant, one Mana Wotunsdottir, came bearing a message. Embarrassed, Calpurnia rose quickly, ignoring the pain shooting up her thigh, no doubt a result of her body finally failing. She was her mother’s daughter, the last of that generation, but she knew her time was coming.
Mana read out the message, struggling to translate despite her prowess in foreign languages. Calpurnia sighed as she hobbled over and snatched it from the girl. The girl muttered apologies as Calpurnia gave her a hug, realizing how in her pain she had hurt poor Mana.
“It’s alright, little moonlight, I’m not upset with you. These old bones have merely finally failed,” Calpurnia replied with a chuckle. “The joints, more accurately. Those who came before mother oft complained of these, and some say humans still age like this outside of these caverns.”
“But you are immortal! We all are, we all must be!” Mana replied in shock.
Calpurnia held Mana’s face and shook her head. “This voyage I travel on will be my last. Come, now, the time to cry is not now. Instead, a departure feast, Mana.”
Mana frustratedly held back tears as they exited the chamber. Calpurnia sighed as she donned her crown, flowers made of every metal they could hope to collect. A good offering, she thought, to the great gods of the Valkyries across the sea.
Sitting, she composed a message.
“Esteemed Haimajika Isami Amari,
The offering is simple. Eight pounds of silphium, four ounces of saffron, one ounce of Iridium, twelve thousand pounds of the finest grains, one tree of cedar, one of pine, and one of yew. We give also one of the finest lambs from each of our cities, a holy tome, and the blood of the selfsame writer of this message. We would offer in addition whatever else would be most agreeable, we are unaware of what your god or gods have favored in their offerings.
We are in no poverty of supply, our largest vessel is merely large enough to contain these few items. They represent the best our Valkyries have to offer. We give also as an offering of good will to your warriors that we may offer them the best technologies it is possible our scientists have developed medically, such that I myself have lived for since the last Ragnarok and only now fail a little in my legs, which we have improved sixteenfold on since. We offer also the training of your scouts in our wilderness, for we fight and hunts as no other does, as our goddess commands.
I offer, finally, myself. May I find an opponent to kill me in your land, that you may know our nation’s respect for your people, and that you may lead us. I do not consider this honor lightly, but I bestow it on those whom I believe to be the most worthy, I am confident such an opponent exists in your land, that I may be reborn stronger and better, and that the second turning of Jormongandr may begin as has been written and witnessed.
-Valkyria Ultima Calpurnia Dalsdottir, at your mercy.”
She tied up the scroll, sealed it, and tossed it to her eagle, its magical sense of smell having detected the pathway to its recipient based on the ley lines in ways that still made Calpurnia’s head spin–it was better the daughters of Wotun pursue these theoretical crafts, not she.
She walked out to join the party, injectors dulling her pain receptors such that she could dance, even at the cost of a little muscle. She reminisced and smiled at what she knew would fill the night: arm wrestling the youngsters, regaling her people with tales of a time now lost, before the eight cities united. She had to make sure they would remain so while she reincarnated.
