Gender: Female
Race: Human (Vampire)
Age: 25 (3 since turning)
Profession: Mercenary, viking
Languages: Common, Giant
Accent: Subtle Nordic
Physical Information
Height: 5'11"
Weight: ~125 lbs
Body build: Lightly-muscled, curvaceous & buxom
Skin type: Soft, cooler than the living; very cold when not well-fedÂ
Hair style: Flowing mid-back length
   Colouring:
- Hair: Raven-black
- Eyes: Grey
- Skin: Pale
Alignment: Lawful Neutral
Philosophy: "Honor is all. Show strength and resolve in all things and know no fear. Find glory in battle and worthy foes to fight. Do not harm the innocent. Those weaker than yourself do not make worthy foes."
Deity/Beliefs: All of the Aesir, but especially Odin, Freya, & Sif
   Personality:
- Honorable - Like many from Midgard, honor is at the core of Ridga's being. Although she lacks an elaborate code to live by like that which a Paladin might have, she still adheres to the norms of the society from which she hails. She considers poison, assassination, and mental manipulation to be the tools of cowards, and is likely to take issue with those who partake in such actions, labeling them nidings.
- Honest - Going hand-in-hand with her sense of honor, Ridga is honest in her dealings with others. When in a position to provide hospitality, she does her best to let no harm come to her guests. When she gives her word, she will not break it. However, when negotiating with hostiles, although she will not tell an outright lie, she is not above exaggeration and half-truths. To deceive a foe is acceptable in warfare; to give one's word in bad faith is not.
- Bloodthirsty - Not just in the literal sense; Ridga loves battle, and will seldom pass on a chance to fight new and interesting foes if the cause is just.
- Cautious - When given charge of an expedition, Ridga is a meticulous planner, and cultivates as many contingencies as possible so that a given venture may be met with success.
- Open - Race is seldom an issue for her, and gender not at all. If they're willing to lie with the living dead, then Ridga has no issue baring herself for them, provided they are attractive and decent enough.
- Vengeful - Although fairly laid-back most of the time, when honor is slighted, Ridga does not forget or forgive. She will pursue enemies who have shamed her relentlessly and offer no quarter. Allies who have wronged her will be shunned until they have fought her in the holmgang, a non-lethal duel, whereupon she considers the matter settled, whether she wins or loses.
Gear: Ridga carries a vast arsenal of different weapons, and goes into battle wearing heavy plate armor and carrying a shield with a triple-horn painted onto it. Outside of combat, she wears a red gambeson that fits beneath the plate. She carries many vials of congealed blood on her person, and will drink from one at least once per day in order to manage her bloodthirst.
Jewelry: Ridga wears a mjolnir pendant around her neck. She is careful not to move it without hand protection, or let it come into contact with her bare skin, since contact with a holy symbol will leave lasting marks.
Habbits/hobbies: Ridga has been known to collect weapons of all shapes and sizes.
General Health: In good health for one of the living dead; she feeds often.
Favorite Drink: Blood for the Blood God!
Weaknesses: Ridga suffers from the usual vampire weaknesses; sunlight will harm her, although she seems to consider Sigil's "not-a-sun" to be an exception. Running water will also harm her, and she must be invited into a private household in order to enter. She despises garlic, and tries to keep away from it if she can, although in times of great danger, she may "tough it out". Her reflection will not appear in a mirror. A stake in the heart will destroy her until it is removed. Touching a holy symbol will leave lasting scars.
Background
Ridga was born and raised in Aggertdalr, one of the few densely-populated towns in cold and snowy Nordheim, one of the northmost continents of Midgard.
The daughter of a Hersir, despite being predisposed towards fighting and other "manly" pursuits, she was drilled in manners, dancing, poetry, and other such "womanly" things, with the expectation that she would be married off. She regularly met with her uncle, a skilled warrior in his own right, to further her training in the art of war.
Shortly after she reached adulthood, an old and experienced viking, Steinar Linisson, came to Aggertdalr, seeking warriors and adventurers to join him in his quest for battle and plunder and to prove themselves in the eyes of the gods. Uncle Bjorgulf joined the expedition, and after some prodding from Ridga, allowed her to come with him over the objections of her parents. They boarded his longship, the Eydis, and sailed south, towards a village in Russ known as Bovnice."What are you doing here, girl?"
Ridga stared up at the tall man, with his brown eyes and his bushy eyebrows and his short, brown hair and his long, fat nose. He was as tall as father, but he never grew cross with her, and always let her come to his house whenever she wanted. Standing over her while she sat at his table, he towered over her.
"Mother says I can't play with the other boys anymore" she said. "She said I have to learn how to dance, and how to sing, and how to behave. She said fighting was for boys. I didn't want to."
"That's why you came here?" he said, planting a hand on her shoulder. Ridga could feel the heat in her cheeks, and her eyes were still sore, and it was all perfectly obvious how vehemently she had disagreed with her mother, but he looked at her with warm eyes and a teasing smile, and as ever betrayed no sign of anger with her.
"Uncle Bjorgulf" she asked, "why can't I fight with the boys?"
"Who said anything about that, hmm?" He grinned briefly, and then his smile faded. "But you should listen to your mother. She's right."
"But I don't want to learn how to be a 'proper girl'! I want-"
"You want, you want-" he said, cutting in, "you want to be a bludgeon? Is that it?"
"I-" Ridga started, but then tilted her head. "What's a bludgeon?" she asked, the petulant anger in her voice gone.
"It's something you hit something with. A club. A hammer. You want to be a hammer, is that it?"
"I want to be a warrior!"
Bjorgulf nodded. "Aye, plenty of people say that. Men and women. And they end up being just a hammer. You know what that means, girl? You know why?"
Ridga shook her head. "No, uncle."
"It means the only thing they were good for was fighting. It's because they didn't know how to do anything else but fight. And so they were only worth as much as the weapons in their hands. Don't be a hammer, Ridga."
Ridga lowered her head, looking down at the table. "Yes, uncle."
"Do what your mother says. Learn how to dance and sing and be a proper lady. Because they're tools, Ridga. Like a hammer. A carpenter doesn't use a spear to hammer nails, now does he?"
Ridga couldn't help but chuckle. "No, uncle."
"Right. He brings the right tools for the job. So does a warrior. He knows when to draw his sword and when to use his head. Understand?"
Ridga looked back up at Bjorgulf, beaming. "Okay, uncle."
"Good. Now come on, let's go see your mother." He offered her his hand, and she took it, rising and walking with him out the door.
It soon became apparent that Steinar intended to attack Bovnice and pillage it, stealing all not nailed down and killing any who resisted. None voiced their opposition to this plan...none but Ridga.
Ridga slew Steinar and took command of the Eydis, and the band of would-be raiders became do-gooders, roaming the lands and seas, slaying trolls and orcs and other vikings who would prey upon the helpless. Her gambit payed off, and they gained more by taking their spoils than by sacking villages. So it continued for four years, until she turned her attention back north, to the fortress of Orgeffberg."I can't let you do this."
Steinar looked over his shoulder, vaguely in her direction, and she could make out his white, bushy beard and one of his sunken green eyes, his mottled skin framed by a mane of greyish-white hair. Some of the men - there were at least twenty, as far as she had counted - paid her some mind, more curious than anything else.
"Control your green girl, Bjorgulf!" he said, annoyance clear in his voice.
Bjorgulf looked up at her from where he was sitting, directly behind her. "Ridga, don't do this. There will be another time to be noble. Now-"
"I AM YOUR FOE HERE, NOT HE!"
Ridga shouted at the top of her lungs. All eyes were on her now, their expressions ones of shock and surprise. All was still for a moment, as still as if they had been frozen in the ice of Nordheim. Then Steinar turned to face her, glaring at her. He was massive, standing five inches above her. Compared to his lamellar, Ridga's quilted cloth was as rags - and they would serve just as well against his sword, which for the moment remained sheathed. He carried a round shield, just as she did, painted green with four brown spikes stretching out from the boss. A chill went down her spine as he glared at her, silently, for several seconds, and the indignation on her face gradually dissipated, replaced by a subtle fear.
"A high-born slut playing at being a warrior has no business telling me who I can and cannot kill" Steinar said, speaking in a low, menacing voice.
Ridga's brow furrowed, and she put on a brave face, her expression not quite matching the fear in her heart, the butterflies in her stomach. "This is niding's work. It will not earn us favor with the gods."
"It will make us rich. That, my pious strumpet, is why we are here. We're here, so that no matter what happens, everyone here has something to come home with."
"There are better ways."
"Better ways..." Steinar rolled the words in his mouth. "Better ways. The green girl thinks she knows better than those who have fought and bled while she was still supping from her mother's breast."
"I know that this is not the way, something you have forgotten!"
"You care for these people? People you've never even met? People who will never affect your life after this day? After any day?"
"They are innocent!"
"Are you truly so stupid?! They are inconsequential." Steinar sneered, and then turned away. "You've wasted enough of our time already, green girl. We make for the village at sundown. Be thankful that I should deign to spare you any of the spoils at all." He started for the ship's bow, and for a moment, the other warriors started to turn away.
"Steinar Linisson, I challenge you to the einvigi!"
Everyone froze, and once again, all eyes were on her. Steinar turned back to face her again, glaring at her, his face red, his eyes boring into her like spears. Have I made a mistake?
"By the gods, you are stupid" he muttered, and slowly he approached. Ridga held her ground and her brave face, but the cold feeling in her spine and her heart returned. He stopped, his face inches away from hers. Soon he will make an example of me.
She did not wait for that moment. She raised her right arm and shoved him with her shield.
Ridga heard the visceral smack of iron against flesh as the boss of her shield collided with his ribs, and he yelped in pain. His right hand went to his chest as he stumbled backwards, desperately attempting to keep his balance. The men around her rose, and where once there was silence, there now erupted a cacophany of shouts and jeers. None would dare touch the two of them - whether out of respect for the einvigi or mere amusement, she could not tell - but it was clear, from the way all their eyes were focused on Steinar, which of them they favored. Steinar grit his teeth and growled as he looked at Ridga, death in his eyes, and her brave face evaporated completely. I have made a mistake, she thought as Steinar drew his sword and started towards her, shield raised. Hurriedly she drew her langseax and raised her shield - and just in time, for he was soon upon her. The length of his sword bounced off of Ridga's shield, and yet it was she who stumbled back, hobbled by the force of the blow.
Everything was a blur then. Steinar pressed, and three more times his sword bounced against her shield, battering her. With this many men surrounding them, she had little room to move. In desperation, she thrust the edge of her langseax towards his right leg, but his shield caught it, and before she had a chance to pull back, his shield flew towards her, slamming into her chest like a cudgel. She fell to the deck, and scarcely had time to react before she felt a sharp pain in her jaw - it took her a second to register that one of the men had kicked her - and she rolled onto her front. Whatever dizziness she experienced retreated when she saw Steinar standing over her, gripping his sword in reverse, the edge pointed right at her chest. Her eyes widened, and she rolled to her left just as the blade came down, her eyes shutting tightly. She heard the ringing clang as the blade struck wood. She opened her eyes, and saw Bjorgulf, his jaw agape. She had barely a second to register the terror in his eyes.
Ridga rolled onto her back. She saw Steinar, struggling with the sword. It wouldn't last long.
She leaned up, and stabbed him in the right thigh.
She heard the sickening sound of metal slicing through cloth and flesh. She saw the splotch of rich dark-red blood, quickly expanding. And she heard Steinar scream, his howl rolling over her like a mountain wind. She did not have time to wince.
She pulled the langseax from his thigh, and rose. Despair left her heart, replaced by a nervous, hysterical hope. He stumbled, the sword leaving his hand. She made a rightward stab for his chest. She barely had time to acknowledge the pool of blood expanding from his chest now, and his screams rose in pitch and volume. It's butcher's work now.
She eyed his long, white beard, and swung for it. She drew a thin line of red across it, and his beard became drenched in blood. He became silent then, his mouth wide open in a silent scream. He stumbled, gagging, before he keeled over, landing on the deck.
He was still. Ridga, looking down at his body, was still. Everyone was still.
An eternity passed before anyone spoke up.
"Well, what now?" said one of the men, a bald man with a bushy red beard, looking at her expectantly with hazel eyes.
It was a moment before Ridga responded.
"I claim command of this ship and its crew by sword-right" she said, quietly. "The Eydis is mine now."
"Ridga, are you mad?" she heard Bjorgulf whisper behind her. "These men will not follow-"
"I HAVE THE RIGHT!"
Bjorgulf and the men next to him flinched as she shouted. She was silent for a moment. All aboard were silent. If there was any opposition, none voiced it.
"So what now, then?" the bald warrior said. She looked at him, and then all around the ship.
"Someone hand me the map. We will find worthier foes."
"Oh, for Odin's sake!" shouted another man, this one with blonde hair and a thin beard and piercing green eyes. "What's wrong with the plan we have now?! It's safe, we come back rich-"
"'Safe' isn't why we came aboard this ship!" said Ridga. "If Steinar wanted 'safe', he would've pulled some random peasants off the fields for this voyage! But he called for warriors, men of steel and skill and honor, to prove themselves in the eyes of the gods!"
She looked at Bjorgulf momentarily. The fear in his eyes was still there, but his jaw was now set, and his brow sunken. She recognized the expression - worry. He who had taught her the way of cunning now feared she would fail the test of leadership, that she would become a hammer as he warned against. Whatever nervousness was on her face faded then, and she looked around at the rest of the men.
"You joined him in the hopes of becoming rich, too. Yet we live in a world of trolls and monsters and fair-folk, who hoard vast treasures as they terrorize those poorer and weaker than themselves. You want to be rich? The sagas are full of heroes who slew mighty foes and claimed their hoards of treasure! They did not have to resort to this!"
A few of them huffed or chuckled. Was that in agreement?, she thought. Or do they know better?
"Hand me the map, and I will find you worthy foes, and vast treasures. Steinar is dead. The 'great warrior' is dead, and I have slain him! He would have made nidings of all of you! Follow me, and I will get you home alive, and whole, and very rich. Follow me, and when we finish, you can return home with your heads held high and with the favor of the gods!"
The warriors were silent. She could not gauge their reaction easily.
"So what say you? Are you raiders, thugs, wolves? Or are you warriors?"
The master of Orgeffberg, a vampire known as Orgeff Haflasson, had menaced the people of Nordheim for centuries. It was no secret that the people of Nordheim were given to long blood-feuds between families, and Orgeff had at least professed a desire to see their end, with Nordheim united under his banner. Having pledged himself to Hel, he called upon legions of undead to bring nearby villages to heel, sparing those that surrendered and binding those who defied him to eternity in unlife. Of course, his war had carried on for centuries, such that the younger generations were only barely aware that war was upon them, thinking the bands of undead to be as sudden and unrelated as viking raids. The tide of war had gone back and forth, and villages which had previously surrendered to him had then turned against him. His mercy was long gone. Such as it was; he was known to have an appetite for women, and would bring them under his power even in those villages which had surrendered to him. Flush with dozens of victories, Ridga decided the time had come to end him once and for all.
It all ended in disaster. While Ridga and her warband pushed deep into Orgeff's fortress, they were overwhelmed by the sheer number of undead, and the "brides" they had come to save were themselves vampires, and fell upon them with a zealous fury. Not a one survived. Ridga did not even die a noble death; when she at last confronted Orgeff, she did not have the strength to resist his gaze. The last thing she remembered before death was being forced to strip down to her smallclothes, and then Orgeff sank his fangs into her neck.
When she rose again, she found everything in life had lost its luster. She could never meet the rising sun, nor was she sure that Valhalla was open to her. She now had more in common with Hel than with the rest of the Aesir. Only blood had any taste. She consented to Orgeff's advances, and those of his brides, in the hope of finding some pleasure and meaning in the carnality, in a desperate attempt to keep herself from turning into a monster who lived only for the spilling of blood. She attempted to keep to her virtues of honor, loyalty, and compassion, but she could not escape the craving, and found herself feeding on Orgeff's human cattle to keep herself alive.
A year passed before she escaped Orgeffberg. She stayed her hand when yet another viking expedition landed on the shores of Orgeffberg, only to move her coffin and steal their longboat when they inevitably died. From there, she wandered in a desperate state, hiding in her coffin during the day, roaming and feeding on cattle, animals, and people no one would miss in the night. It became increasingly difficult, and there came hungry nights. Eventually, she drifted toward Augaturn tower, near the isle of Arnheim.
Ridga was taken in by the Seidrmen, the wizards, of Augaturn tower. They fed her with their cattle, gave her lodging, and tended to her. In time, her strength and sense returned. In exchange, she told them all she knew about the unliving experience.Ridga saw the light of the tower, burning like a torch in a dark dungeon, contrasting against the night's sky. In her addled state, she knew what it meant.
Life.
Prey.
Ridga shook the thought from her head. This was not how a warrior was supposed to behave, or think of others. But what did it matter now? She had fed from Orgeff's cattle. Steinar was right, she thought. It was inconsequential. They were inconsequential.
Ridga looked down at her hands, eyeing the cold, pale, thinning flesh, now ghoulishly stretched against the bone. She felt the same thing across her face. She was starving. As she stepped off the ship onto the island, she formed a plan. It was half-baked as any plan formed by a starving mind might be, but it was her only chance. Those inside would be inconsequential as well.
She stepped off the boat, her axe hooked to her belt, carrying her shield in hand. Her armor was now a motley patchwork of mail and bear- and wolf-skins. It was all she could do to keep her ruined armor together, and it was all the protection she had. The light of the tower was warm and welcoming, far unlike the sun which had turned scalding and hateful since she was turned. There was not a window on the door, so she could not see what was going on inside, yet still the warm light beckoned her. She knocked on the door.
Would that it were as simple as kicking it open. The first time she had intended that, she found she simply...could not. Her leg locked in place. When she tried to enter a home uninvited, she froze up, her thoughts completely still, and found that she simply couldn't. Or shouldn't.
The door opened, and she saw an old man, bald, with a long grey beard and flowing grey and burgundy robes. He looks like a Seidrman, she thought, amusedly to herself. He bore a stoic expression on his face, but she detected the slightest shifting of his brow as he looked her in the face.
"Heil og saell" she said. Health and happiness. He will soon be deprived of both. "I have been traveling and am in need of lodging. I hate to impose upon you, but may I stay the night?" She tried her best to keep her voice even, but her anxiety bled into her voice nonetheless. Her manners were a tool, as Bjorgulf taught. Would he be proud of me?
The old man pursed his lips, staying silent for a moment, before he took in a breath. "Yes - in fact, excuse me for a moment, I need to fetch something from the ranch." Ranch? What ranch?
She did not have time to ruminate further before the old man brushed past her and walked toward her left. This will be easier than I thought. She grinned, and then she lunched for his neck while his back was turned, her long fangs bared.
Offhandedly, without even looking at her, he pointed his right palm towards her, and a puff of red dust erupted from it. She halted, blinking, before she froze entirely in place. No matter how much she urged her body to move, it would not.
"Sit down" the old man said. She found herself complying, sitting cross-legged as she watched him walk off. Horror wormed its way into her heart. I have made a mistake, she thought. It was just like standing before Orgeff again, powerless before him. So what did this man intend?
A few minutes passed. Then, she saw the old man return, prodding a cow towards her with a long stick. It came face-to-face with her.
"Go on, feast on it" said the old man.
Her hunger flared to life, and Ridga eagerly complied. She lunged for the cow's throat, tearing it open. It shrieked, and then collapsed onto its side, mouth open. Ridga eagerly scraped at its throat and licked the flood, slurping and sucking at whatever she could.
Minutes passed before she was sated. By then, the cow was almost entirely drained. She looked up at the old man, her lips coated with blood. The old man extended his palm again, and a cloud of red dust appeared again, this time being sucked back into his hand. Control of her body was hers again.
She began to weep. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, and she looked down at the ground. She saw the man's hand, old and mottled, pass in front of her eyes, extended for her to take.
"Come," he said. "Let us go inside."
So it went for three months. After that time, however, Einar revealed the price for his hospitality - that they had discovered worlds beyond Midgard, and that they needed capable men and women to explore them. They had discovered a portal in the basement when one of their number had brought bottled lightning downstairs."What of your eyes?" asked Einar, the old man she had met the night she arrived. "Do I need to avoid looking into them?"
"Hm?" Ridga tilted her head, before her eyebrows shot up in recognition. "Oh, no! No. One of us would have to be trying very hard for you to fall under..." She waved her hand in front of her eyes repeatedly. "...you know."
"I see." Einar looked back at her. Her skin was still pale, but her youthful vigor was starting to return. Were it not for the fact that she had nearly starved, she might have reckoned that she had not aged at all since being turned. "And that form of control...can you describe how it works?"
"Well..." Ridga sighed. "There's two ways one can go about it. One is gently, where I look in someone's eyes and just...wash over them. Comforting. Insinuating. Putting it in their head that they might be better off letting me do the thinking for awhile, that they can trust me. It's, how you say, 'blissing them out'. The other is forcefully, where I just push my way into someone's mind and try to grab everything by force. Crush them. Their mind, their psyche." She frowned. "I'd rather not do either. It's..."
"Wrong?"
"Dishonorable. Not a warrior's way."
Einar nodded. "Right..." he said, doubt - or disdain? - lingering in his voice. "How often do you need to feed?"
"About once per night does it."
"And will any blood do?"
Ridga nodded. "Blood is blood, no matter where it comes from. I'll admit that I hadn't been keeping track of time since I fled Orgeffberg. But from my time there, yes, it was just once per day, and since I left, I noticed any blood works."
"Very well. Moving on - I've noticed that vampires will recoil from the sight of a holy symbol, particularly in the hands of a gothi or vitki or other sort of priest or holy warrior. Have you experienced that? Can you describe it for me?"
"Yes, it's true" Ridga said, nodding. "It's...how can I describe it? It's..." She spoke slowly, haltingly. "...a reminder that I simply should not be. I shouldn't be alive. I shouldn't exist. And the knowledge of that terrifies me - but it's not like normal terror." She shook her head, huffing. "It's funny. Things that might've terrified me in life no longer hold any fear for me. But a man or woman with a holy symbol...it's horrifying. On a spiritual level. It's- it's like spiritual blackmail. 'Do as I say - beware me, flee from me, serve me - or else I'll make this wrong right.'" She exhaled sharply. "Does that make sense? It's hard for me to describe."
"I believe so" Einar said. He cleared his throat. "I notice Hosvir has been...taken with you."
The slightest hint of rose tint came to her cheeks, and she smiled. "He's been friendly, yes" she said. Although they had taken her in, most of the Seidrmen, the magic-users and finger-wagglers, had treated her more as a curiosity, an object of study, than anything else. Hosvir was the exception. He was always smiling and blushing when he spoke to her. She found it boyish and cute.
"The way he describes it-" Einar said, "-he describes it as a 'seductive state of being', that there's an 'allure' to the vampire." He rolled his eyes. "Is there some sort of influence you're able to exert to attract others? A glamour, perhaps?"
Ridga shook her head. "No, there isn't. He probably thinks that there's something pleasurable in being bitten by a vampire. Or he's submissive, and likes the idea of a woman holding that much power over him. In which case, he'd best be careful, else he might be accused of being argr."
Einar's brow furrowed. "I assure you, we have no regard for such accusations here. This is a place of study and learning. What he does in his own time is his own business."
She grinned. "In any case, he's welcome to lie with me, but he should know that I'm not going to bite him. There's nothing pleasurable about it." Her grin faded, and she frowned. "At least, not from my experience. And in any case, I can't get children by him or anyone else in this state."
"I see." Einar folded his hands, resting his elbows on the table where they sat. "What about running water? I have heard that it will harm vampires."
"That's true, and I don't know why." Ridga shook her head. "There's so much about my unlife that I simply can't explain, that I don't understand."
"This is a place of learning and understanding. We will find the answers, Ridga Allinsdottir, to this and everything else."
Since discovering Sigil and the wider multiverse, Ridga has come to terms with her vampirism. With steady access to congealed blood thanks to a very nice man in the Mortuary, her bloodthirst is no longer an issue for her, and she seeks to rebuild her sense of self as a warrior. Although exploring the multiverse gave her purpose for a little while, lately she has been dissatisfied and seeks to rejoin the ranks of the righteous."What do you mean, other worlds?" Ridga asked, walking with Einar downstairs to the basement. Though he carried a torch, Ridga was able to see perfectly well in the darkness.
"You've been raised in the belief that there are nine realms" Einar said. "We now believe there to be sixteen. There may even be more."
"Is Ysgard still among them? And Valhalla?"
Einar nodded. "Yes, they are. And Niflheim, and Helheim, and Nastrond, too. It would seem that all is as it is said in the sagas, but its organization is different, and there is far more out there than we were led to believe."
The two of them entered the basement. It was pitch-black, with only the light of Einar's torch illuminating anything. Ridga saw columns upon columns of books in one corner, and racks of vials and other containers in another, all filled with liquids she could not hope to identify.
"At one point, we were led to believe there were nine Hels" Einar said as he looked behind the columns of books. "But as it turned out, there was still only one, and 'the Nine' as it was called was known as Baator, and home to vile beings known as Baatezu." He pulled out a glass bottle from behind the columns of books. Ridga peered closely at it, and she could make out smokey clouds that filled the bottle, and sparks of lightning erupting therein - a thunderstorm in miniature. "They will be some of your opponents in the 'Outer Planes', as they have come to be known."
"This is a great deal to take in" Ridga said. "How-"
Einar stepped toward the middle of the room, and the basement erupted into light. Ridga shielded her eyes momentarily, before looking up and seeing an oval-shaped disc of light. She looked on with awe, while Einar looked on dispassionately.
"This portal leads to a vast city" Einar said. "We have not even begun to explore it in any depth."
"A portal?" Ridga said. "Wait a minute - didn't something like this turn up in Russ not long ago?"
"Yes, we've heard that as well. It is irrelevant, however. They seek to meddle, while we seek to understand." Einar's expression turned hard. "That is our price, Ridga Allinsdottir. We need you to go beyond and explore this new multiverse that has suddenly come into our lives. Go forth and report all that you find to us, and you shall always have safe haven here."
Ridga gazed into the portal, silently.
"What say you, Ridga Allinsdottir?"