Athelstan pauses at that, turning back to his drink with a soft sigh. He takes a moment to form a response, busying himself with draining the rest of his glass.

"It's very different. My world is- well. It's the eight hundredth year of the Christian God. I've never seen anything like this place in my world." He shrugs. "I suppose... if you asked me to describe Valhalla in my own world, I would have thought of something far more brutal. It's a warrior's afterlife, is it not? The rafters were said to be made of spears, and men made at war every day, dying only to return to the feast that night."