The small group of five set out at dawn, ready to get their day started. The leader of the group, Vidar, leads them to the mess hall to greet the cooks. The five elders walk slowly, their pace never breaking. Their black robes touch the ground, giving the appearence of floating in the fog.

“Hello Dagfinn,” Vidar greets the main cook. The scarred man nods his head at the elder, turning back to his cooking. The group sits down at their favorite table, and start to talk.

“You know what I’m tired of?” One of the women, Unnr, speaks up. The groups turns to her, questioning looks on their faces.

“Well? What is it,” Reidun asks, the other woman of the group.

“You know how those kids mess with us? What if we were to do it to them?” Unnr asks, looking into the distance. Oyvind starts to laugh and tears sparkle down into his greying beard.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” His deep voice booms. Unnr shrugs her shoulders and looks to the final man at the table. The Mastermind. Alvis studies his hands, lost in thought.

“We could send them on a goose chase.” He speaks softly. Vidar hums in agreement.

“We could send them on a hunt for a Draugr,” Vidar laughs.

“Tell them old Hroarr was buried with an ancient spear in his grasp, and only the chosen one can retrieve it. And don’t tell them who is chosen.”

The others start to laugh and agree. The mess hall had started to fill up, so the quintet leaves to find their target of kids. They find four brothers after walking a ways, and head straight towards them.

“Eirunn!” Reidun calls to the oldest. The blonde boy runs up and greets the five friends. His brothers run behind him, also greeting them.

“We have a quest for you brothers,” Oyvind laughs, clapping the third son, Ebbe, on the shoulder. All four boys straighten up.

“What is this quest?” Brynjar, the youngest, asks. Vidar clears his throat.

“Do you remember dear old Hroarr?” He croaks. The boys nod their heads, Brynjar taking a second longer.

“Well, he was known as one of the best hunters in this village. It is said that he was buried with his spear, and only a chosen son of the same village can take the spear from his grave.” Vidar tells the boys. Unnr hops in next.

“And the one who gets the spear from the cold dead hands of Hroarr will be the best hunter.” The boys eyes sparkle with excitment, the thought of being the best hunter warming them.

“Where was he buried?” The second son, Sven, questions. The five elders look at each other, not thinking the joke would go this far. Alvis gets an idea, and smiles slowly before turning back to the four awaiting boys.

“Go down the deer trail, past Jagged Rock and turn left at the Waiting Lady. There, you should see a lone thorn bush. He was buried right there.” The four boys nod and start to run off, Brynjar turning around.

“Thank you for this oppertunity,” he beams at them, going to join his brothers. Once the four boys were out of sight, all five of the friends burst into laughter, wondering how long it would take the boys to realize they had been tricked.