Skarde was a young man when he died avenging the honor of his sister from the silver-tongued bacraut that had seduced and left her, his gang of thugs killed him after Skarde won his duel. Even then he managed to wound two of them before dying with a sword in his hand. Though not technically a death in the field of combat, Vidar, the norse god of vengeance, was so impressed with his skills in combat that he convinced Odin to allow him into Valhalla. Skarde rejoiced with the other heroes the skalds sang of in the halls of the All-Father, but he was barely able to enjoy its feasts and fights for a single winter before a cry went out to all the warriors to arm themselves and prepare for war.
Skarde did not want to admit it, but he was scared: even more so by the fact that no one truly knew what was going on. He was lucky enough to be assigned to a cohort of warriors that included the great Sigurd, wielder of Gram and slayer of Fafnir. Skarde walked up to the legend. "Sigurd! What the Hel is going on? Most of the warriors think that it is Ragnarok, but no one has heard the Gjallarhorn blow." "I am not sure myself, there are wild rumors of a mad god and his rabid creatures rampaging across the nine realms. But whatever it is, we are Einherjar, we have earned our place next to the All-Father, and we will fight whatever we must!" Skarde felt a little better after hearing that, but after boarding the sky-longships of Valhalla, the hour of the wolf ate at his nerves. What was worse was the sights they saw as they approached, cities on fire, bizarre troll spawn run amok, and everywhere these horrible winged and glowing creatures, rabidly rampaging everywhere.
Finally they approached their destination: it was a beautiful city, or more like three of them, all fused together. What was not ruins or on fire was desperately defended by great warriors, some of them looked as mighty and brave as Thor himself. They all remembered the simple order that Hermodr, messenger of the Aesir, had given them: slay the monsters that serve the mad god while the coalition of gods slay him. When they touched down on the city of clouds, they were immediately swarmed not only by the winged monsters called 'angels' they were also attacked by a horde of what looked like humans: men, women, and even children. All of them had horrid wounds and tumors, or even new limbs.
The einherjar formed a shield wall to fend off these horrors, and Skarde was unfortunately able to see them up close. The sheer mass of these monsters was threatening to crush them all, when the sound of a massive explosion could be heard in the distance, the creatures all started to scream in agony, some even mutilating themselves. This distraction was the break the einherjar needed, and they were able to cut through the monsters when help arrived from the gods and warriors of foreign lands. Skarde saw many strange and terrible things as they passed through this once glorious city, but none more terrifying than when he saw the origin of that great explosion.
In the center of the city, where once stood a great palace, two titanic beings were locked in a deadly struggle. One of them had the form of a woman with snow white skin and golden hair, her eyes glowed with a power that young Skarde had never seen before. The other was almost too horrible to describe, constantly warping and bleeding, empty eye sockets filled with golden blood. Skarde turned to Sigurd and asked him if that was the mad god they were here to slay. "Aye, lad, I believe it is, though I do not know who is fighting him." At that moment, more gods attacked the mad one, some growing as big as he is, others flying past and striking him. The einherjar began to feel like the tide of battle had turned in their favor. Only for their confidence to disappear when the mad one began to scream.
It was not so much the sound of the scream, though it was horrific, it was what happened to reality around the mad god that ate away at the sanity of the einherjar. All manner of colors, sounds, and even thoughts that were impossible to describe assaulted Skarde and the rest of his cohort. Soon, he was unable to tell up from down, or really anything about what was around him, it was a feeling he had never felt before, and in the many years he would spend among the honored dead, he would never feel anything like it again. Skarde was beginning to lose all sense of himself, and soon he would not be able to think at all, but then another voice came. It was not screaming but laughing.
The laugh seemed to stabilize reality to a degree, and Skarde was able to see that it came from another god. His face was partially covered by a great bladed helmet, but what Skarde could see was horrific, reminding the warrior what fear is. In his huge hands he held a great sickle that glowed like the crescent moon. Skarde then looked to the mad god, and from what he could tell, he was afraid. Perhaps this newcomer could finally put an end to the madness that has all life in its grip, and then perhaps hope might return.