In a cozy house in a small village, Eloy always waits eagerly for his grandchildren to visit. Every night, around a crackling fireplace, with a mischievous smile, he begins his stories by saying, "Did you know that when I was young, I traveled to classical Vienna and met ghost musicians trying to play one last concert? But that’s not the story I want to tell you today."
It was a cold and clear night, the moon shining brightly over the fjord as the drakkar slid through the dark waters. The oars struck the water with a steady and strong rhythm, guided by the muscular arms of the Vikings. Eloy, with his inseparable wide-brimmed hat, sat at the front of the boat, holding a horn filled with mead. The Vikings, big men with thick beards, sang songs of war and adventure, their voices thundering through the night like echoes of storms.
"Eloy! Are you ready for the great mead drinking contest?" shouted Bjorn, an imposing Viking with a beard so thick it could hide an army of mice. Eloy stood up, adjusting his hat and grinning widely.
"Of course, Bjorn. I've had mead in places you couldn’t even imagine. Did I ever tell you about the time I drank mead in an active volcano? But that's another story," Eloy replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
The Vikings laughed, their joyous roars filling the air. A circle formed in the middle of the drakkar, and the contestants, including Eloy, lined up with their mead horns ready. The challenge wasn’t just to drink as much as possible, but to withstand the strong flavor without falling into the water—something more than one Viking had done in past contests.
The first horn was raised, and in unison, the participants began to drink. The mead, sweet and strong, flowed down their throats like liquid fire. Eloy drank enthusiastically, remembering the many adventures he’d lived, feeling this contest was one of the most exciting yet. Around him, the Vikings cheered and made bets on who would fall first.
Suddenly, a cry of alarm interrupted the contest. “Seagulls! Viking seagulls!” shouted a lookout from the mast. Everyone looked up, and indeed, a flock of seagulls was approaching, but they weren’t ordinary seagulls. These wore tiny helmets and carried little shields, screeching menacingly.
Eloy stood up, swaying slightly from the mead, and got into a fighting stance, pulling off his hat as if it were a weapon. “Leave them to me! These seagulls don’t know who they’re messing with.” The Vikings, though confused, let Eloy face the birds.
The seagulls swooped down, attacking with their beaks and shields. Eloy, with quick and precise movements, used his hat to deflect the attacks. The exotic feathers and medals on his hat glimmered in the moonlight, creating a distraction for the birds. In a dramatic twist, Eloy tossed his hat into the air, and the seagulls, confused, followed it as if it were prey. With a swift motion, he caught his hat again, and the seagulls, defeated and embarrassed, retreated.
The Vikings burst into cheers, lifting Eloy onto their shoulders. “Eloy, the conqueror of the Viking seagulls!” they chanted, and the mead drinking contest resumed, with Eloy now the undisputed hero.
The night continued with more songs, laughter, and of course, more mead. Eloy, always the tireless storyteller, shared tales of his other adventures, like the time he almost became the king of penguins or when he helped a dragon find its lost fire. Each story was more incredible than the last, and the Vikings listened in awe and admiration.
Finally, when the moon was high in the sky, and most of the Vikings were either asleep or too drunk to stand, Eloy settled into a corner of the drakkar and looked up at the stars. “Tomorrow will be another day of adventures,” he thought before falling asleep with a smile on his lips.
"And so, my dear grandchildren, that’s the end of this story. Now, off to bed! Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the time I worked with Aztec astronomers in Mexico to learn how to use a complex calendar. Good night and sweet dreams."