[b]Battle of Narvik, 9th April 1940. [/b]

"The Germans are coming! The Kraut bastards are invading!" The middle aged, balding man dressed in a field coat, a rifle slung over his shoulder shouted as the bell rang in the small village off of the coast of Narvik, a port town in Norway. The only un-iced port in all of Scandinavia that lead directly into the northern Atlantic. It was the only way for the iron deposits from Kiruna, in northern Sweden to move their iron into the rest of the world. It was possibly the singular most important position in all of Europe at this stage in the war.

And the Allies and Axis both knew it. The German destroyers and the British Cruisers were all lined up on the sea to fight it out, while the German forces invaded via land. Karl-Sven was of Swedish and Norwegian descent, his mother a Swede and his father a Norwegian, which explained his presence in the city. His father was a captain in the 6th Division of the Norwegian Army, the only one that was battle ready for this suprise attack from the german forces.

The German cargo ships breached the beaches and the tanks rolled out. Karl was only 16 years old at the time, but he would never forget the horror and helplessness he felt on that day when the German troops attacked his village, razing it to the ground before they headed to Narvik where his Father and his battalion held guard.

[b]Aegnir, coast of Norway. April 24th 1965.[/b]

Njordgir crawled out of bed in the morning, his hut was the largest hut on the entire island, located a few kilometeres away from the other four settlements. It was his duty to protect them all and keep the peace, therefor, he could not belong to any one village, that had been the burden of the champion of Njord, Chosen by the mighty Baldur and accepted by the all-father Thor himself. Thousands of years of warriors had walked in his shoes, slept in his bed and fought wit his weapons, yet, Njordgir was the first of his kind.

He was the first outside to ever recieve the gifts bestowed to him by the island of Aegnir. The deities had touched the world through him, in a way they had never done with their native sons and daughters - a fact that some, such as Afsiv, the man whom was the same as as Njordgir - the man who for the first 19 years of his life, had been groomed to be champion, but was proven second-rate compared to Njordgir, or, as he was called at the time - Karl-Sven.

The middle aged warrior would get dressed, a pelt draped over his shoulders and a loincloth around his crotch, a pair of Birkenstock clogs - probably the only part of his human heritage he still cared for. While it had been over 40 years since he had been born, since he had undergone the trials and become a champion of the Norse Gods, Njordgir hadn't aged. Sure, he had gotten more rugged from the boyish 21 year old he had once been. His face had hardened, his body had new scars. But he hadn't aged. Not visibly yet, anyway. In another 40 years, perhaps he would have some gray hairs, not that anyone whom had walked in his shoes prior had gotten the chance to live that long. No champion of the Gods had ever gotten to die in their bed, that's what Njordgir's masters had taught him. He only had one way out.

And he was in no hurry to get there.

The alarm horn rang, and Njordgir let out a sigh. "Again? Second time this week, Bröthers!" He moaned, turning right back around, kicking off his clogs and changing into the battle armor he normally wore, a leather chest piece coated in a fur covering the shoulders, on the right shoulder a metal shoulderpad sat. Hide and fur leggings and matching shoes adorned with metal. It certainly wasn't fancy, it wasn't even regal. But it damn sure looked heroic.

He didn't wear his helmet today, he knew he wouldn't have to. He knew why the alarm rang today. He grabbed his shield the adorned, traditional yet ornate viking shield, Vågblad and the sword, Mörkbrytare. Both of which were infused with the finest magic the gods had ever blessed mortals with, giving Njordgir control over the very oceans. He ran out of his hut, towards the edge of the island, the horizon. Seemingly unburdened by the armor he wore.

He approached the beach and he saw the head of the reptile out in the water, attacking the poor fishermen of his village. A sea Serpent.

A sea Serpent that would soon regret ever trying to eat those fishermen.