THE TESTAMENT OF TÝR EYKELSSON AF EYSTRIBYGÐ

Testament of Týr Eykelsson of Eystribygð, now known to the world as Tristían, in the year Eigh-
teen Hundred and Fifty Nine by the reckoning of the Christian calendar.

It has been many years since I last felt the pull of slumber as I do now, and I must use the
knowledge the French vampire taught me to put my memories of how I came to be into writing,
lest I forget more than I already have. The slumber is coming stronger now than it has before, I
have grown too powerful to be sustained on the blood of mortals alone, and I must sleep as I have
once before to diminish myself. It is a hard choice to make as I feel that I shall be in my grave for
a very long time. This both frightens me and entices me as I do not like the notion of being out of
the world for so long, yet the thought of everything being new again cannot be passed up. I want
to write an account of myself, one that will not be forgotten, least of all by me.
I suppose I shall start at my birth 771 years ago. In the year 1088, by the reckoning of
the Christian calendar, there was a settlement in the South of Greenland called Eystribygð. It was
very early spring, the 12th of the month of Harpa, when my mother, Hallgríma, gave birth to me
with the assistance of my father, Eykell. I was born at night and it was not customary for the the
husband to assist in child birth, but I came quickly, before the village nurses could be summoned to
perform the right process. Nevertheless, I was birthed there in my parent’s bed. Seeing that I had
a withered hand they named me Týr, after the one handed god of combat. It was considered good
luck to name children after the Æsir and my mother and father were not ones to shirk tradition. We
were a people living on the very furthest reaches of the world, tradition kept us in good spirits, but
most of all, it kept us alive. Greenland was a harsh place to live, the winter lasted eight months of
the year, and during the height of the summer the sun set for only an hour before rising again. Yet
it was all I ever knew growing up.
I had listened to the sagas of the skalds telling about the island and the great continent
that lay to the East, the home land of our people, but I took no interest, to me the Vikings were of
Greenland as was I. The stories of battle captivated me as tall tales have have a way of doing to
anyone, but I knew ours was a fierce people, I needed no sagas to tell me that. Yet I did not fit into
to that warrior ideal as I grew. I stood out from my peers. While my hand became fully functional
by the time was old enough to notice such things, I had noticeably darker hair than anyone I knew,
and my build was lean and strong, but nowhere near as big as my friends grew to be. Standing
apart from the others proved to be torture at times, as the other boys would call into question my
paternity in the most cruel of ways, saying Loki had lust for my mother or that she had been raped
by a skræling of the North. This usually descended into a fight in which I would, in a flash, get one
good hit in before being pounced on by a large number of boys. Being a culture that valued the
ability and the desire to do violence in the name of protecting one’s honor and family, I was usually
praised by the adults that came to mend the bruised hands and bloodied noses of the children for
the speed with which I would get the first punch and for the courage I showed standing up to the
gang of boys. While this did help in forming my own image of myself, it did nothing to stop the
other boys from calling names and bullying me.
I realize now, having experienced so many centuries and the cultures that inhabited them,
that this is common thing, for those that stand out to be the object of torment by those that exem-

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plify the race. After all, the vast majority of the Viking people of Greenland were of fair skin and
hair; I had darkish hair, and far bluer eyes then anyone outside of my family. My litheness gave
me the advantage of speed over my bulkier kin, and in the war games that children often played I
would rush in to get one or two blows in before retreating and preparing to strike again. That is
not to say I was adept at the art of warfare, I could hold my own in a fight, but in an all out battle
I would be in peril, and these were just child games.
Life in Greenland was harsh, I recognized that from a young age, even though had never
been anywhere else in the world. Many of the other children during my young age perished dur-
ing the long winters. As I suppose mothers do even now, mine worried that because of my smallish
frame that I would be susceptible to the bitter cold and as a result would place layer upon layer of
fur upon my shoulders. I, anxious to be outside playing at war with the other children, would sigh
impatiently as my mother cinched the pelts around my waist. During the winters my father worked
tending livestock, feeding the strong and slaughtering the weakest for food before it could succumb
to the weather. He was hearty man, and I was physically quite unlike him, but he loved me all the
same and encouraged me to show the other boys that I could keep up and hold my own.
When I was 13 years old, our village received a messenger from Vestribyggð, to the North-
west. They told of a great beached whale that had washed ashore between our settlements. My
father being a fisherman and a hunter of whales during the summer months took me along to sur-
vey the beast and to help harvest the best parts for eating and fuel. It took two days by long boat to
reach the spot, but to our pleasure, the whale yet lived. As my father prepared to put the beast out
of it’s misery with the help of others from our village and Vestribyggð we were suddenly attacked
by a band of skrælingar. My father gave me the blade that his father had given him, a schmaler
langsax, a long thin knife, and told me to hide among the rocky outcroppings. I did as I was told
and watched the battle ensue. The skrælingar out numbered us, but our fighting men were able
to use the whale as cover from the incoming spears and arrows of the attackers. Soon an all out
hand to hand battle erupted, each side taking the lives of the other. Some of the Viking men went
into the Berserker rage that our culture is still known for; the world fading out and the only thing
to focus on is the death of those that threaten you and your loved ones. The skrælingar aggressors
realized that they could not win but fought on just the same, for I was told that the whales had been
scarce this year and they required the creatures for survival. Even though I hid from the fight, one
of the vicious attackers, at least twice my size, found me and lunged at me. I summoned all my
strength and speed and wrenched my eyes such as I swung the langsax through the air, hoping to
make even a little wound on the savage running toward me. I felt the blade connect and heard a
scream cut short. I opened my eyes to see I had cut the skræling’s throat. Blood spouted out of the
gash, as if water from a powerful well, and drenched me from head to toe in seconds. The terrible
creature fell to his knees and then on to his face, whatever blood remained that was not covering
me stained the coarse sand red. I was struck speechless.
The battle was over a few minutes later and my father, uninjured, rushed back to see me.
Upon rounding the great rock he saw only me covered in blood and patted me down for wounds,
finding none he looked puzzled. I, still unable to speak, stood aside and showed him what I had
done. He breathed a relieved sigh and embraced me in his arms, his bulk engulfing me. When I

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finally recovered the ability to talk I told him of what happened and he showered me with praise
support. And when we returned to Eystribygð he told all that he encountered of my deed, parad-
ing me around as if I was a hero. The other older boys looked upon me jealously, never had they
heard of a 13 year old slaying such a brutal man-beast, and certainly never of one so small as me.
They gave me a begrudging and envious deference, but it was tinged with loathing because the
dark haired runt had out shown them all.
This accomplishment did not stop the bullying I received, it only increased. Suddenly it
was as if they were justified in they taunting and pummeling, because if I could defeat a terrible
Skræling warrior then I could take on a handful of rowdy youths. In my exasperation with this
state of things I started to carry the langsax with me at all times, my father had gifted it to me in
honor of what I did, and I would draw it if the numbers were too overwhelming. The other boys
would usually back off and apologize when that happened as most were still too young to have a
blade such as mine and had done nothing to earn one. Still, it felt something like a sham to treated
like this at times for the act I committed, only I knew that the skræling’s death was a stroke of luck
and not a grand battle to the death, and I told no one. I enjoyed the praise I received, even if it hid
contempt.
This feigned respect lasted for only a few more years until I was 16, when most of the other
boys had proven themselves in battle or on the the hunt. I was among peers, all of us able but not
yet quite men. We learned the art of war, some excelling and some failing. Those that were not
able or not willing to be warriors or berserkers went on to tend their families’ farm or livestock, or
to be fishermen. While I was not the best at combat I made great use of my natural speed to im-
press those above me, they nodded approvingly when I would outrun or get the first strike in on an
opponent. This speed, however, was no match for the brute strength of the other young men and I
usually ended up losing sparring matches or eeking out only a tiny sliver of a victory. Nevertheless,
I practiced with the langsax and became quiet adept at wielding it in a deadly manner.
It was at that age that I realized that I while I was reviled for my appearance by the boys,
I was admired by the girls for the very same reason. This was was just more reason for me to be
tormented at the hands of the others. I withdrew from society and started keeping mostly to my
self, I avoided the machinations of the boys and the adoration of the girls. I outcast myself because
I could no longer pretend that I wanted to be the alpha male like the others. I took to accompany-
ing hunting and timber parties, who made ample use of my speed and skills with my blade to help
procure game to eat during long excursions.
This was the way it was to be until I was 18 years old. Shortly after my 18th birthday I was
asked to join in on a trek to Vinland, the land the Leif Eriksson named a century earlier. The sagas
told of a settlement there and of the dangers to be found. I would be acting in my usual capacity
of assisting in the hunt to make sure the rest of the woodcutting party were well fed and that we
had enough food to make it back to Greenland. We set out on long boats specially modified to hold
the long trunks of trees. The late spring seas were stormy and rough, and several men died after
being washed overboard in a great wave.
The wave came in the early morning, I had gotten up to relieve myself over the side of the
boat and marveled at how flat and glassy the water was and at the color the sky was turning just

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before the sun peeked above the horizon. As I finished my business I noticed that a fellow crew
mate, Freyr, was awake as well. Freyr and I had a very tumultuous history going back to childhood,
he was one of the bigger children that would bully me. His size stayed with him and he grew to be
a hulking man now, only younger by days than me. I, on the other hand, seemed to stop growing
and looked the same at 18 as I did at 16, still beardless. He acknowledged me with a grunt and
a nod, it was obvious he had too much sweet wine earlier that night. The chill air took away any
potential I had to go back to sleep and I sat down across from Freyr at the bow of the boat. We
talked in that early morning, reminiscing on our childhood days and a how we had changed. He
was no longer the bully I remembered but a thoughtful and intelligent young man, and he found
in me the life long desire to be accepted as part of society despite my differences. This he could
understand, being such a bruting man he was often judged to be empty headed. His biggest joy in
life, he confessed, was growing berries and making sweet wine with them. But his father demanded
more of him and sent him on this timber expedition.
We laughed and told jokes as the sun rose, and as the other men awoke to begin the day’s
sailing we came to an understanding. Just as we stood to join in the rowing the wind changed sud-
denly and Freyr noticed that there were fish leaping from the sea. We were both puzzled for we had
never seen anything like this. It was then that we heard distant shouting from the long boats to the
North of us. We both turned around to see what the commotion was about. Traveling towards our
little fleet at bewildering speed was a great wave, twice as tall as the masts on our boats. The com-
mander of our boat called out for the oarsmen on the left side of the boat to row forward and those
on the right to row backward. Within a few seconds, the bow was facing into the great swell. It hit
us with such force that all that were not sitting were knocked off their feet, or worse, overboard. As
our commander had the good sense to turn the bow into the wave our boat rode along the contour
and over the crest, going nearly vertical. I held on to a plank with all my might but Freyr came
tumbling down length of the skyward pointing boat. In that instant I summoned all my will and
strength and speed and latched my arm around his before he could fall past me. The shear weight
of him almost caused me to lose the my grip on the plank but I held firm. He looked up and me
and I saw a fear in his eye that I had never seen in even the heat of battle. He held on to me as the
only thing keeping him from falling into sea and being swept away.
As the boat rode down the gentler slope of the back of the wave, we all came to our senses.
Freyr breathed a silent thank you, and moved to the middle of the boat to help untangle the rig-
ging. I gathered rope to toss to those overboard to help pull them back, and as I did so I looked
out to the sea to make an account of the other boats in our small fleet. Of the four boats that set
out from Eystribygð, only we remained, the other three having been swallowed by the sea with
all aboard. Even the men swept overboard from our boat had vanished. We looked to our com-
mander for orders and advice and he told us that we had to continue on because we were closer to
Vinland than we were to our home in Greenland, and that our water and food supply would not
last if we did not find a place to land.
We sailed for another week in virtual silence, Freyr and I spent much time together mak-
ing sure our water, wine, and mead remained intact and repairing damage to the boat. When we
finally sighted the wooded coast of Vinland we had trouble summoning the strength to be joyous,

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the great wave had washed away any goodness that we could have felt.
The beach was rocky and that made it difficult to pull the long boat ashore. The land was
devoid of any person despite the tales from previous trips of the skrælingar that inhabited these
places. Our commander set about assigning each of us tasks. Me and another, named Alárn, were
tasked with scouting the forest for food and any sign of the old Viking settlements. The remaining
crew felled trees with which to build shelters and provide fire wood.
Alárn and I spoke little on our expedition. He was dim witted and unable to summon any
thought greater than a dirty joke, which I quickly grew tired of. For four days we wandered the
forest finding good places to hunt and to gather wild berries and nuts. Just as we decided to head
back to the camp we spotted a small number of old huts in a clearing that were of our people’s
design. We approached, smelling the odor of cooking venison and hearing the laughter of old men.
We entered the tiny village to stares of bewilderment, and someone called out to us in our native
tongue to identify ourselves.
“We are Týr and Alárn of Eystribygð” we called back, curious as to the sense of fear these
people presented.
An old man, grey but not yet hobbling, approached us and greeted us warmly. “Please for-
give our suspicion, we do not get many visitors to our village except for a stray skræling now and
then. Please, sit and eat with us.” As the afternoon turned into evening we feasted on venison and
strange vegetables we had never seen before and we learned that this village and its people were
all that remained of a Viking settlement that had long ago collapsed. We also learned that we were
not far from the beach, and by using that to travel back to our camp, we could save significant time.
As the time grew later, we became anxious to be on our way, but the villagers seemed to grow more
nervous as the sun sank lower to the horizon.
“We urge you to stay for the night, we fear what might befall you in the woods in the dark,”
the old man warned us, “it is not safe out there in the dark”
“What do you mean? What danger is in the woods?” I asked.
“We call it the Ghost in the Rocks, it is an evil spirit that lives in a cave between here and
the beach and it only comes out at night. Occasionally it will come to the our village and bestow
sickness and death upon us. And it takes the form of a man of fair hair and skin, like that of our
countrymen.”
“We are warriors and sailors, we are not afraid of spirits or ghosts!” Alárn exclaimed, “And
if we encounter this spirit we will kill it banish it back to the underworld.”
The old man looked fearful but did not stop us from leaving. I held a sense of ambivalence,
but Alárn trudged ahead with a headstrong stride.
We walked as the evening turned to night and the sky grew darker, the forest fell silent. After
an hour we came to an rocky depression in the ground, it lead into a cave that stretched in to the
pitch black earth. Alárn and looked to each other and questioned if we should venture into the
cavern. I asserted that we did not know what lived in there, whether an evil spirit as the villagers
believe or simply a hungry bear or pack of wolves, or even if the cave would not come crashing on
our heads with a slight misstep. Alárn laughed at what he considered cowardice and dropped his
sack to the ground and began to climb down into the dark depression. I hoisted my torch over the

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rim to cast light down there, but it created a host of flickering shadows on the rocky walls. Just as
Alárn looked back to me with an adventurous smile, we both heard a trill of laughter rise out of
the cave. Both of us drew our langsaxes and griped them tight.
“Who comes to my lair?” a voice echoed out in our native language.
“Show yourself, spirit!” Alárn cried out, “we will send you back to the Underworld!”
More laughing came from the cave, “I think not, for there is no Underworld for the likes of
me.” At that moment a blur streaked from the cave into the torch light faster than my eyes could
follow and in that very same instant Alárn’s head fell from his neck in a fountain of blood. I cried
out in freight and dropped the torch into the rocks. But before the torch could complete its fall, I
felt myself become airborne in the icy grip of the spirit’s hands.
I flew through the air until my back smashed into the trunk of a great tree, the wind
knocked from my lungs and the cold hand tightening around my throat. The spirit’s face resolved
in my vision, his blond hair and beard long and untamed, his ghostly pale skin showing a hard life.
He smiled at me, revealing two saber teeth in his mouth. I was paralyzed by both his grip and
by fear. He then looked deeply into my eyes and in an instant it seemed my entire life’s memories
flashed into my vision. But as fast as it had come it faded.
“Týr Eykelsson of Eystribygð, you are not like the others, you have stood out all of your
life. I knew this pain when I still lived.” More memories flashed before my eyes again and faded.
Tears of blood welled up in the spirit’s eyes. “I see myself in you and all that you are. I shall show
you the embrace of death so that you can realize your full potential as I have.”
With that he clamped his mouth onto my neck and I felt my blood and fluids being drawn
from me with a force I had never before experienced. In seconds my vision had left me, but I
was still conscious of the events going on. I felt literally empty and I could not even summon the
strength to breath. After what seemed like eternity I felt a drop of liquid on my tongue. At first I
could not taste it, but as it trickled into my mouth it took on the taste of blood, salty and metallic,
yet sweet and energetic.
More and more of this blood flowed into my mouth and my vision returned to me to see
him streaming blood from a cut on the crook of his elbow into my mouth. He pressed the wound
to my lips and I could not help but drink from it. Every sip seemed to fill me with greater and
greater strength. I could not stop myself from taking more but he pulled his arm away and threw
me to the ground.
“Rise up and realize that I have made you more than you could have ever been!” he ex-
claimed with a shout.
I did indeed rise up to feel a hunger and thirst more powerful than I had ever experienced.
He wiped my blood from his lips and on to his bare chest and the smell of it filled my nose and
almost drove me wild. “Please, I am so hungry, give me more!” I pleaded.
“In time, childe, you will have your fill.” In another blur he was upon me again and he
threw me into the rocky mouth of the cave with impossible strength. I hit the ground hard, but was
was not injured as I feared I would be. I had landed on a broken tree branch and I griped it for use
as a weapon should he try to attack me further.
He ambled down into the rocks with a smile and his arms open, but I did not accept his

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friendly gesture because I was afraid and hungry. I rose to my feet and thrust the sharp end of the
branch at him. He moved in a instant of blur and appeared behind me with a laugh. I swung
around and thrust at him again, and again he vanished only to appear in another spot. Still I
thrust at him and still he dodged in a blur, over and over. But in a flash it came to me to focus all
my strength and my speed and my senses into a concerted effort, and in that instant time seemed
to slow and my limbs moved faster than they ever had before. I could sense where the fiend was
without having to look at him. And in that same instant I thrust the branch wildly into the darkness
and it it connected with the sound of crunching bones and tearing flesh.
This sensation brought me back to the present and I saw with my eyes the branch jutting
out of his chest, just where the heart was. He fell to his knees and on to his side, dead. I rushed to
him to see what I had done, then it came to me, the taste of his blood still fresh in my mouth, to
drink the very thing from him that made me this way. I felt two fangs grow in my mouth, sharp as
knives, and with little hesitation I bit down into his neck as the sweet blood flowed as gush into my
mouth. But he was not truly dead! as his blood flowed into to my I could sense that his soul still
resided in his body and that is was screaming in terror at what was happening. His blood became
sweeter as I drank more and more. And when there was no more to drink I could still sense there
was more to take, something powerful that defied my efforts. Harder and harder I pulled, summon-
ing all my strength to take the very essence of what I tasted, and as in a spectral scream that essence
filled me and the body in my grip turned to the very same dust that covered the ground. His voice
filled my head for a moment and faded into the back of my mind and it seemed that I had drank
his knowledge as well as his potent blood. I know now that I had committed a grave sin against our
kind, but in the first moments of my unlife I drank in the power that his blood provided so freely.
I explored the lair of the Ghost in the Rocks for hours, finding many items that belonged
to our Viking culture, but eventually I realized that I must get back to the encampment of my
shipmates to inform them of the events of the night. My vision seemed so greatly enhanced that I
could see clear through the black forest and realize that I was not far at all from the beach. Indeed
with just a little thought each of my senses seemed so sharp that I experienced sensations that I
never before imagined! I tested each one as I made my way through the trees, and after a short
while I reached the rocky shore. I looked North down the beach and could see at the extremes of
my enhanced sight the flicker of a cooking fire. At first I walked, but as the night went on I picked
up speed; faster I ran, never tiring, until with but a thought I erupted for a short time into the same
sort of blurred speed the Ghost in the Rocks had exhibited. Again and again I exerted myself in
this way, and with in only a few moments I was so close to the camp that I could smell the burning
wood. But I also smelled blood and this, combined with my efforts, aroused in me a burning hunger
that would not recede.
As I approached I was not greeted not by warm embraces but by the bloated corpses of
my slain crew mates littering the beach. Each of them was mortally wounded I saw as I wandered
among them. I counted all but one, I saw no body belonging to Freyr. I called out in my native
tongue to him in the night. Just then a small axe skittered to the ground a hair breadth from my
foot. I jumped back and looked up to the rail of the long boat to see eyes peeking over the side at
me.

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“Freyr, it is me, Týr. I have returned.” I called to him.

“Where is Alárn?” he called back.
I hung my head low for a moment. “He met his end at the teeth of a monster, but I avenged
him and killed it! What has happened here?”
Freyr climbed over the rail and dropped the short distance to the ground. He embraced
me in his bulk and squeezed tightly. The smell of him filled my nose and it made the hunger in
me rise even more, I could not fathom why I had the urge to do the same to my friend that I did to
the vile creature in the cave. After a moment he released me. “Two days ago a band of Skrælingar
attacked us while we ate our evening meal. There were so many of them that we could not hope to
win. They slaughtered everyone and took all of the food and weapons.”
“And you? How did you escape death?” Before I even finished my question he started to
whimper and cry.
“I was aboard the boat getting more wine when the fighting started. When I looked and saw
there was so many of them I could not stop myself from cowering in fear.” He paused to wipe the
tears from his eyes, “I hid in a pile of rags like a child.”
He ambled over to a log near the fire and sat down and held his head in his hands. I fol-
lowed him but fear rose in me as I approached the fire. I was able to overcome it and I sat next to
him to wrap my arm around his shoulder. I sensed that he was a broken man, no longer able to go
on with such a burden of guilt on his shoulders. I glanced around at bodies scattered on the moonlit
beach and back at Freyr. He told me stories of how our crew mates fought bravely and recounted
what he saw from his perch. Forever it seemed that we talked about our memories of some of them
that we knew as children. And seeing him weep made me weep too.
He turned to me, “and what of Alárn, how did he–” his voice stopped dead and his eyes
squinted at me. I became confused as he took one of his fingers and wiped at a tear streaming down
my face. In the firelight I could see that his finger was covered in blood. In a panic I wiped at my
face with my hands and they too were covered in blood; the very smell of it overwhelmed me. I was
crying blood! Freyr fell off the log and skittered backwards over the gravel. I jumped to my feet at
the smell of my blood aroused in me such a great hunger that the very same teeth grew once more
into wicked fangs. Freyr saw this and drew his langsax and uttered a word I dimly remembered
from childhood ghost stories: draugr, the hungry undead. I held out my hands to keep him at bay.
“You are the monster that murdered Alárn, and then took the form of my friend Týr after
you murdered him too!” He thrust his knife at me but missed for all the tears in his eyes. I moved
around him trying to calm him. Again he thrust at me and cut across my arm, and in a flash I felt
an angry heat rise up in my stomach and chest and into my head and finally it crossed my vision
as red gashes in the very fabric of the world. My limbs lashed out at him uncontrollably and in the
following moments I do not remember what happened, they are a gaping hole to me.
When I came to I no longer felt any hunger, I felt contented in a way, yet something had
changed. There was a wetness about me and on me, and I smelled blood more strongly than ever.
In my hand was my own langsax. I looked down and saw that I was no longer clothed at all, my
tunic and furs laid shredded around and me were mixed into bits of flesh. My whole body too was
covered in sticky blood and gore. I wiped at my body but the blood just smeared, and I looked up

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and nearly collapsed from the sight. Before me was the mangled body of Freyr, his entrails spilled
and his throat ripped near clean from his neck. I realized that in my blind rage I had drank his
blood and defiled his body. I stumbled backward in horror and cried out into the night; the image
of Freyr’s mauled body burned into my eyes.
Into the woods I dashed, naked and covered from head to toe in blood, with only my lang-
sax in my possession. Tears of blood streamed from my eyes, but soon I felt a deadening inside me,
as if my feelings where fading from my mind. I felt anger to be sure, but other feelings seemed to
be but mere shadows of before. More than anything, I wanted to inflict the same fate on those that
committed such a death onto my comrades. I pushed all my senses out into the trees to listen, smell,
even taste the direction they could have gone. After only a few minutes darting about the land I
fixed my attention on a path. But something else too grabbed my attention; the sky was growing
brighter and this hurt my eyes. The night was ending and for the first time in all my life I felt fear
of the sun. I knew in my heart that I had to find cover, or else the sun would do me harm. But luck
smiled upon me and I found a great oak tree, long dead and hollowed out by time. I climbed inside
and I arranged myself in such a way that I knew I would be safe. And then oblivion came.
I dreamt of nothing.
When I awoke it was once again dark, I knew the Sun had just sunk below the land to the
West. I climbed out of the tree, the blood that covered me had dried and flaked from me, appear-
ing as if my very skin was sloughing off. I once again heard the sound of those that had murdered
my own, and with my superior vision could see the faint flicker of a fire in the distance. I started to
walk in that direction, not bothering to run, death would come soon enough to them.
After an hour or so’s walk I came upon the Skrælingar encampment. As quietly as I could I
circled around the clearing in which they had pitched tents. I count only eleven, but I realized there
may be more in the tents. The savages laughed and spoke in a tongue I could not recognize, but I
did recognize the weapons and other ill-gotten goods of my friends. They seemed unaware of my
presence as I watched them, looking for patterns. and when I was confident that I could mount an
effective attack, I made my move.
With all my speed I darted like a flash to my first victim. I swung my blade and his head fell
from his body and into the dirt below, a great gush of dark blood oozing forth from where it had
been. And then to another whose innards I spilled on to the ground. Seven more I brought death to
in similar manners, their blood spraying forth and covering body once again. They had been taken
completely by surprise and sluggish from food; no one was prepared for my blows that came with
such speed that they were blurred to vision. I moved more quickly than anyone could react and I
felt the very blood inside me churn and evaporate, I became hungry again.
Only two of the murderous Skrælingar remained, and as I was just a step from one of them
I was struck in the shoulder with a heavy blow, the pain was intense but the bestial instinct that had
risen up inside me forced me to go on. I looked down and an arrow protruded from my flesh, and
a instant later I glanced up to see the more distant of the two nocking an arrow for another shot. I
focused all my strength, speed, and agility and I hurled my langsax through the air. End over end it
tumbled and in the next moment it struck the savage square in the chest. He fell to ground cough-
ing up a mouth full of blood. I turned to the Skræling next to me and I launched myself through

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the air at him. I wrapped my legs around his waist and sunk my two fangs into his neck, letting the
blood flow into my hungry mouth. Together we fell and I drank until he had no more to take.
I stood after his heart had stopped, blood dripped from all parts of my body. I grasped the
arrow with my hand and yanked the shaft and spear like tip from my shoulder. I grimaced at the
wound and hoped that it would heal quickly, and suddenly I felt my blood churn within me and the
would sealed itself in an instant! I marveled at how this could be when I heard the other Skræling
sputtering where he fell. The langsax stood erect from his chest and he writhed in pain in the dirt.
I walked over and knelt down beside him, fear played across his eyes as he glimpsed my red stained
and glistening face. He muttered something in his native tongue which I could not understand and
he glanced at the blade in his chest as if to direct my attention to it. I saw it and I grasped its handle
and with a quick motion pushed it all the way down and through him. It was only moments before
the life faded from his eyes and I withdrew my langsax, wiping the blood coating it onto my chest. I
looked about me, and eleven people lay dead at my feet; I would not have thought myself capable
of this act had it not been for the seething beast now inside me testing and pushing my limits. With
the blood of my final victim I created a rune stone in offering to the one handed god of combat I
was named after, Týr, who defeated his enemies with speed and agility rather than brute strength.
I realized then that I was no longer fully human, and that Freyr was right, I was like the undead
draugr of the sagas. But I felt that the blood that now coursed through my veins to have a divine
aspect, as if the Æsir themselves were expressing their will through it.
I left the camp behind, taking only my langsax and nothing more. I had become the very
image of the primal warrior of our myths: naked and covered with blood, my only concerns being
my blade and its next victim. I slept during the day in hollow trees or by burying myself in the soft
earth and I fed my craving for blood on anything that possessed it. I was no longer Týr Eykelsson
of Eystribygð, I knew I would never see my home over the sea again, and so I simply became Týr,
whose newly divine blood coursed through his veins.
And that is the story of how I came into the world of the Kindred. Of course I would not
learn of the word “Kindred” until more like me came over with the French hundreds of years later.
But I learned quickly of my new state and its abilities and limits. In these latter nights of 19th Cen-
tury I realize that I could not have been prepared for the centuries of isolation that were to come
in a land that was so strange to me. Settlers from Europe called this continent “The New World”
but by the time they arrived here I had been in this country for almost 400 years, there was nothing
here that was new to me. I roamed the width and breadth of the land that came to be called New
France and I learned the names and languages of some of the tribes of Skrælingar that inhabited
it.
A few years after I became a what I was, I realized I was not growing older. It was hard to
see my reflection in the water without a little effort, but when I did, I could see that I still had the
youthful features of someone who had just turned 18, and that was relative since the people of my
former life always mentioned that I looked younger than I was. I marveled at this, but I did not
think too much on it until a number of years had past when it became obvious that I had ceased
to age as a human does. I felt a sense of liberation at this, perhaps I was free of old age! Perhaps I
was free of Death altogether!

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 THE TESTAMENT OF TÝR EYKELSSON AF EYSTRIBYGÐ

The Centuries that followed proved that death was no longer a concern for me. I encoun-
tered only of small number of others like me, and they were all of Skrælingar tribes. Some were
curious of me, the smallish and pale boy that sometimes took people in the night. Others fled from
the sight of me into woods and valleys that adorned the landscape. Still some others became angry
at my presence and attacked me, though all who did suffered the same fate as The Ghost in the
Rocks.
I did not anticipate what so many years of isolation would do to me. I became something
of whats now called an “apex predator”; I existed solely to kill and to consume my victim’s blood.
And I did those things with frightening efficiency. I found that as I grew older and more powerful
that my hunger grew more powerful as well. After two centuries of existence my thirst was so much
that I would sometimes drink an entire native family dry.
I was only half conscious in those years, I wandered so far into the interior of this wild land
and left death wherever I went. Finally it came to the point when even the blood of an entire vil-
lage was not enough I was so powerful. I tried to become a hunter of my own kind but there were
not enough to sustain my needs. So around the year 1400 of the Christian calendar I felt the pull
of sleep become too much to bear and I buried myself in the earth and I slipped into death for the
first time since my birth in the year 1088.
I awoke again after what seemed like a moment but I realized that I was out of the world
for nearly two centuries as the tiny oak sapling I buried myself next to had become a monstrous
and craggy thing.
The Land was almost like new, the forests had changed and there were signs that men from
Europe had come. Like the Skrælingar, I had only heard of the men from Europe in tales of my
ancestors. It may have have been the original home of my people, but I had never laid eyes on its
shores. I over heard that these men were fair skinned like me and that they wore strange clothes and
carried what I now know to be muskets. I sought these men out, but I knew that they would be as
alien to me as the natives were to them.
For months I searched for these men, only occasionally running across a scouting party or a
fur expedition. Some I killed and some I merely stalked for information. Eventually the Europeans
started to settle the land and I began to watch on the outskirts of their villages, hoping that I might
catch a glimpse of one who was like me.
Then one night in the year 1702 I caught the eye of one of my kind in an outpost called
Fort Ponchartrain du Détroit. He was a slender man with a pointed beard and mustache and he
spoke the language of the Europeans, but I could not understand. He approached me in peace
and I reluctantly accepted this advance because I was curious about him. Though we could not
talk aloud to one another, he projected his very thoughts into my mind and we came to an under-
standing. He was curious as to why I was here, being what he recognized as one of Norse descent. I
recounted my story using my mind’s eye and he understood. In turn he projected into me his story,
his time spent in the great courts of our kind in Europe, where Kindred numbered in the dozens
in one place. After seeing this I felt the weight of all these centuries spent alone and I begged him
to teach me the ways of the homelands of my ancestors.
Over time he taught me the language of the French, for that is who had come to this part

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 THE TESTAMENT OF TÝR EYKELSSON AF EYSTRIBYGÐ

of the land, now called New France. The French vampire taught me so many things and in return
I taught him the ways of my people and of the Skrælingar, though that word now had no meaning
to anyone other than me. I took on the French name Tristían to better relate to the people now
inhabiting the land.
After a decade we parted ways, he traveled home to France and I stayed in this land on
le détroit du Lac Érie and watched the settlement of only a few dozen grow to a village of hundreds.
Wars started and ended, people came and left, and eventually the land I inhabited came
under control of a people called the British. They too spoke a language I could not understand but
I made an effort to learn it by using the power of my Blood to bind a mortal person to me. This
person taught me how to speak the language of the British. I still remained on the outskirts of town
or in the forest, occasionally taking on scouting parties or small settlements.
Eventually there was a large war and the British were forced to withdraw from the city that
had come to be called Detroit. A rebel force called the Americans had taken over and while I could
understand their English I had trouble understanding their ways. I took to wearing clothes I stole
from my victims and sometimes I made visits to the Kindred of the city. There I met the likes of
Ricky, Gascon, and Violet Skinner.
It was the first years of this 19th Century that I saw that the ways of the Circle of the Crone
mirrored my own beliefs, and with the help of the Acolytes of Detroit, I was inducted into this
circle and taught it’s ways. Some of them were curious about my history, asking me to recount the
sagas that my villages elders had told me back in Greenland, each one imparting the glory of the
Æsir.
But like before I feel the power of the Blood grow in me and even mortal blood is not
enough to sustain me. I have been able to persist for a few years with Blood given to my by my fel-
low Acolytes but now sleep calls to me even harder than before. It was suggested to me that I write
down my story to preserve it for posterity as our kind will forget our past during such long sleeps.
Even now I am sure that this tale is missing things that I had forgotten after my first time in the
torpid slumber. So I strive to record the things that do remain in my memory.
I do not know how long I will slumber this time, but I am sure it will be for a long while.
They say there is a war brewing between the American states, and I am sorry that I may miss it as
the wars I had seen were times of plenty for my kind. I look forward to the new world that awaits
me, but until then I sleep.

Týr Eykelsson of Eystribygð, also known as Tristían

July 15th, 1859

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