Long ago, Tibet refused to found a religion. Forgotten in the centuries since then is that this leaves one slot open, and now the moment has arrived!
Inspired by the sight of sexy vacationing Brazilians, the people of Reykjavik turn from their carrier worship to an earthy, sensual form of Heathenism. As Ragnarok approaches from the west with the Night's King, they turn their eyes beyond Midgard and ponder what wyrd the Norns will spin, then raise a bowl of mead to the gods, Odin, Thor and ReonMonterus.
For those of you who flummoxed by the Forn Siðr label, take heart—I'm a theologian by training and even I had never come across this particular sect before. In fact, there are already VASTLY more adherents on the cylinder than there are on our globe. Wikipedia is here, fortunately, and ready to help us with the fun image of a faith based off entering a “shamanic trance ritual complex,” following the World Tree to Hel, then reporting back on what one has seen to the waiting congregation.
Also: I can only assume Ingolfur refuses to move anyone to protect the Shetlands solely so he can one day make an “Oh my Odin, they killed Kilkenny! You bastards!!” joke.