A certain man was named Ragnvald the Raven, or Hrafn. One morning, Ragnvald set out to ride his horse in the valley. He rode his beloved stallion, Bayard. When noon set, he was thirsty. Next to the road, an old woman appeared, and offered him water. Grateful, he accepted, and Bayard drunk as well. Suddenly, the sun and the moon started spinning, the stars fell, and all that remained was darkness.
Ragnvald wandered aimlessly, calling out for his horse, Bayard, but no answer came. He fell asleep in a deep dreamless sleep. The woman was, of course, Loki, the prankster God, who played a prank on Ragnvald. He woke up, thousand years later. The darkness went away and he was in a strange place, far away from his lands. Ragnvald set out on a journey to find Valhalla and retrieve his horse.
My ancestors actually were Vikings. The first mentions of my family name are from the 9th century, in Normandy. A Viking chieftain named ‘the Raven’ raided Normandy with Rolf Gaanger, also called Rollo Ragnvaldson.
He was a standard-beater of Rollo Gaanger and had a raven as sign. The english line still bears the ravens in their coat of arms.
The Modern Heathen 