Worgen woke up with a start.  The trembling spasm in his lower back jerked him to his senses.  The spot where the spear had pierced still vaguely ached.  He gingerly probed the area where he knew the shaft had been buried.  No hole.  Pulling his hand back to his eyes, he noted the lack of blood as well.

It had not been but a few short hours since the fatal strike took his life.  He knew that.  He also knew what happened to the valiant men that died in battle.  Just as promised, I am in the Great Hall. 

Worgen felt for his sword and dagger and found nothing.  Perhaps they were lost on the field.  No matter, new weapons and armor would be provided.  For here there was everlasting battle.  Everlasting, until Ragnarok came.

Sitting up, the spasm sent a reminder of the spear and sent sharp pains through him.  Surely this goes away before we fight.  After painfully gaining his feet, Worgen walked past other warriors towards the door of the Great Hall.

Lining the walls, as promised, were every sort of weapon he had ever heard of.  There were even a great many he had not.  Some were straight forward spears, axes, and hammers.  Others were covered in barbs and spikes and gave the impression they were meant to torture a man before actually killing him.  I should like to try some of those, though I would rather be the one wielding them.

Worgen made his way to the giant door that was the entrance to the Great Hall.  The door was barred by an ivory white plank that was ornately carved with figures depicting the final battle.  The Aesir and Vanir were on the right, while the Jotuns, Trolls, and Dead were on the left.  Yes, it will be a glorious battle.

Worgen shifted the plank and opened one half of the large doors.  The air that greeted him was freezing.  Large motes of flakes blew into the hall and the sky was grim and gray.  Worgen took a deep breath, but it was immediately knocked out of him as a giant brown grey wolf sprung at him.  He landed hard and looked up into the slavering jaws of his attacker.

The wolf dripped slimy red foam onto his face as he spoke.  “Where do you think you are going meat?”

“I… I was…”

“SPEAK!”

“I was looking to practice fighting for Ragnarok.”  Worgen felt the creeping sensation of mortal fear moving down his back.

The wolf spat and laughed.  “You have dishonored yourself.  I had better not get any of your stink on my fur.  That reaction is why you are here.  Welcome to Hela’s Hall.  You are not permitted to cross Nágrind until the battle is called.”

Worgen’s mind reeled.  “I thought I was meant to fight for Odin.”

“Oh no, dead thing, you are mistaken.  Now go lie down with the rest of your stinking rotting friends.  The years will pass slowly and painfully, but when it is time you will rise and serve your purpose.”  The giant wolf bit down hard on Worgen, picked him up, and with a twist of his neck threw him across the room.

The wolf stepped back out the gates of the dead.  The door shut and barred itself.  Worgen swore that he heard chuckling coming from the other side of the door.