Halfborn Gunderson: A Narrative Fiction

Jonas awoke, each breath he took was deep and exhausting through his icy numb shell of a body. Red, green , red, green, that's what colors the lights were as the flickered on the second. He instinctively hugged the door like a sloth, still clutching Gabriel, begging for a

I will be doing this summary on a character named Samirah (Sam) Al Abbas, who is the friend and Valkyrie of the main character. When Sam is introduced to the book, around chapter 6 or 7, she is riding on a horse with legs made of wind in her valkyrie attire, watching Magnus fight the fire giant Surt. She was watching him because she was judging whether or not he would be accepted into Valhalla, or Viking paradise when he died in this battle. Basically, Magnus pushed Surt into some water and got killed, without his weapon in his hand, in the process. So Sam goes and picks up his soul and carries him to Valhalla.

The room was filled with a deep, deafening unbroken silence for many minutes after, nobody moved, or even dared to utter a single noise. We heard the crashing noise of many supports and other structures falling from their support and as I moved towards the entrance, trying to open the door, it wouldn’t move an inch, clearly having been blocked by a pillar of wood and stone.

Brother Malcolm turned the doorknob and escaped the deadly outdoors, just in time to escape the cacophonous boom that shook the door almost from its hinges. He hurried into the common room to see the cold embers in the fireplace. Relieving himself of his heavy

I looked around. "Yeah, maybe." She threw out her cigarette and nodded to me before walking back into her room. I stood outside, just watching room five. *What the hell could be in there?* I leaned against the door, put my ear to it and I listened. It was silent for a short while, but I heard a muffled knock come from inside. I continued to listen. Another knock. Then another knock. And then, complete silence. I kept my ear at the door, just listening, waiting. Another knock, but this time, it was against the door. I jumped back, shocked by what had just happened. I knew there was somebody or something in there and the fact that I didn't know who or what it was, had me completely horrified. I just wanted to get far away from that motel.

The next morning, the alarm buzzed noisily, the sound polluting the silence. Confused for a moment, he looked around blankly. It used to be home, but now it felt unfamiliar. There was a room at the end of the corridor, the door slightly ajar. He waited, expecting the door to open, but it never did. The area was the same as the night before, empty.

As if Cain were a sack of vegetables, the great red-headed beast threw him over his shoulder and stole through the darkness into the cathedral's cisterns. They'd been abandoned as long as the structure but clearly were gifted with far less care. With Cain lurched over his shoulders Edmure chased away the shadows with a freshly lit taper until they crept into the corners and huddled behind him with each passing step. A massive oak door approached at the end of the corridor. It was carved from weirwood and although it was slightly warped from moisture, the wood was still as white as bone. As Edmure crept closer he noted that the door was ajar and the eerie orange led the bled through the orifice. He entered, warily, to see Ammon at the end of the chamber with a leatherbound tome in her

and it closed softly behind me, the blades snick-ing back into their places and the alarm re-engaging behind my back. I looked around, keeping perfectly still with my body pressed into the shadows against the door, my eyes narrowed and my breath coming and going silently through my mouth. The room was bare except for a white block about the size of a

When he opens the window, a raven enters and perches itself “upon a bust of Pallas” (Poe, The Raven) above his door. The raven’s sinister appearance tickles the narrator and asks for its name. The raven gives a one word response, “Nevermore”. The narrator cannot comprehend the reply, but the raven continues giving the one word response and nothing else until the narrator concludes that the raven will leave him the next day, like everyone else in his life. The bird says again, “Nevermore”.

Finally spotting the room, she swiped the card and entered, wondering if she was there first, or if he had left already. She was really nervous, a feeling she wasn't that used to experiencing, and that she absolutely hated. She was taking the pitifully low class interior decoration when she felt something cold against her head - it had to be a gun - and someone pushing her in.

"Kenny? That you?" he whispers, but his only reply is a low groan. He could be

“Copy Raven will be there in ten” She winced as the static in her ear loudend. She came to a door and she put a snake like device through the bottom. She opened the door and ran down the hall and took up cover by a desk. Six men stood in a circle talking; Raven looked around and saw a huge set of

Then the man heard a slight tapping at his window, and was hearing voices thinking it was Lenore. Then the tapping started at his door so he went and opened it. Yet it was not Lenore, it was a raven. The man soon started asking the raven questions, but the raven only responded with, “nevermore.”

He goes back into his room and heard a tapping at the window. It is louder than before. He tries again to reason and says it is just the wind. He opens the shutters and unhatched the window and a stately Raven steps in. The raven flies and perches itself onto the “bust of Pallas”(331) above his chamber door.

A man paces within the room, his black leather boots clattering against the creaking wood over and over again. He was deeply tan, his skin an olive hue, and his head was topped with a messy mop of grey hair. His face was chiseled and angular, but not untouched by the wrinkles of age. His chin had rough stubble running as a five-o 'clock shadow. Across his left eye ran an old scar, coming from the top left and ending at the start of his nose. His other eye was a deep blue, intently looking towards the worn paint on the floor boards. He was adorned in a light leather vest, metal studs patterned across it to accommodate chainmail, if the need arose for it, and to his side was a thin sword, the hilt finely crafted with a intricate, geometric design stretching across the scratched and scuffed cage. He stands tall, easily clearing six feet, his upper body broad and well kept. He stops dead as he hears the old door creak, turning his one good eye to the new visitors with a deathly glare. "Who are you?"