Holgar Lore!

There's now lore for Holgar the Horrible! Up to now, Holgar the Horrible’s been content to wait out this creep siege within his family’s wooden cabin. “As a professional courtesy, you understand,” says Holgar to his wife, Brunhilda, as she brings him his morning breakfast: A bowl of leftover, lukewarm fish stew and a slice of rye bread. “After all, we pillagers have to stick together. I wouldn’t want these creeps to attack me if I was raiding their land.” Brunhilda rolls her eyes and sets down Holgar’s breakfast. As soon as the stew hits the table, Holgar digs in. “Sure,” says Brunhilda, returning to the kitchen. “You’ve chosen to stay here, safe and hidden, out of professional courtesy. Not because those creeps outnumber you 500 to 1. That sounds like you, Holgar. You’re always so courteous.” “I am, aren’t I?” says Holgar. After downing three slurps of stew, the Viking reaches for his beer stein - and is surprised when his hand passes through empty air. “Brunhilda!” shouts Holgar, somehow managing to push his wife’s name out through the bits of stew stuck in his throat. “Where’s my morning beer?!” “Didn’t I tell you?” shouts Brunhilda in return. “We’re out of beer! You drank the last of it yesterday!” “Out of beer?” says Holgar. “OUT OF BEER?!” Moving faster than thought, Holgar rises from his chair, grabs his twin battle axes from their place beside his door, and bursts into the countryside. As she hears creeps start screaming, Brunhilda smiles. “Really,” says Brunhilda, “I should have told him we were out of beer weeks ago.”

Quite wholesome I should say