I love it when Icelandic sagas attribute every microscopic inconvenience that befalls a hero on his journeys to “witchcraft”. It makes me picture a really bored witch just micromanaging the hell out of this one particular guy’s daily travails.

My favorite bit of Icelandic saga is when one dude’s house is invaded by not one, but two bands of zombies (because he pissed off a witch, obviously), which did such terrible zombie things as taking the best spots by the fire and throwing clods of dirt at each other.

The homeowner, being a fine upstanding Icelandic farmer/warrior type, did what you’d expect a Viking warrior to do when faced with invading zombies.

He sued them.  In court.  With lawyers.  As one does.

“Your honor, I might be just a simple Suđreyjar lawyer, but…”