With a mighty effort, you tear and hack the thatches aside until there is a big enough hole and then drop into a lantern lit hall full of mounted beast skulls, golden trinkets, and broken weapons from defeated champions. With the wicked blade in one hand, you prepare to engage the lone defender - and find it to be an aging man, leaning on the long half of a war axe. He has the tired, scarred skin of a warrior who has seen his prime and lived long past it - and judging by the way he watches the door infront of him and not behind him where you dropped in, he is stone deaf.

An old warrior is a sad thing. Bjornlings have a tradition of honouring their aging elders, but to the Graeling, like most Norscans, a warrior ought to die in combat with his weapon in hand, lest he risk some eternal peril when Old Jormung tastes their cowardice.

It would be easy enough to stab him in the back. Less easy, but possible, to complete your task without him knowing. And honoring to an old warrior to alert him, and defeat and slay him face to face.