Post by Killian King on Dec 10, 2017 23:57:37 GMT -5
Norway,
Sometime in the 9th Century
The chilling winds ripped across the normally majestic Fjords, screaming, howling about outside, wooden braces running along the roofs churning and creaking. Hastein, brother to the jarl, stroked his massive red beard, his pipe clenched between his teeth. His aged and weary eyes still studying his uneasy surroundings. Easily Eighty of the towns most prominent people gathered before their Jarl, looking for answers of any kind. A practical man and not superstitious likes so many of his people, The Jarl did not summon answers outside of family often and not since there was a great time of suffering and certain starvation had his brother called for The Seer... But outside the wind howled like wolves at the door, the sea left churning, monstrous waves beating, pouding along the shores, as lightning streaked across the skies In order to prepare for the future, the vǫlva was summoned. Before her arrival the whole household was thoroughly cleaned and prepared. The high seat, which was otherwise reserved for the master and his wife, was furnished with down pillows.
The Jarl gripped his knees tightly, his hands clenching into first, as he watched his people and he waited. He waited knowing the vǫlva appeared in the evening, always in the evening, dressed in a foot-length blue or black cloak decked with gems to the hem. In her hand she wielded a wand, the symbolic distaff, which was adorned with brass and decked with gems on the knob. Children strayed from her path, rumors of the wand which allegedly has the power of causing forgetfulness in one who is tapped three times on the cheek by it. Around her neck she wore a necklace of glass pearls, and on her head she wore a headpiece of black lamb trimmed with white cat skin. Around her waist she wore a belt of amadou from which hung a large pouch, where she hid the tools that she used during the seiðr. On her feet she wore shoes of calfskin and the shoelaces had brass knobs in the ends, and on her hands she wore gloves of cat skin, which were white and fluffy inside. Her entourage, a group of young revelers, mostly women, dressed almost similar in various degrees, always found by her side. Whispers spreading through the halls like wildfire that the party had been seen making their way through the streets. The Jarl nervous for answers, looked to the massive double wooden doors, trimmed in iron fittings, perhaps this woman could have the answers he sought, but would they be in time, and after all of the pomp and circumstance of hosting this seer, would they gods even smile upon them with a vision?
As the vǫlva entered the room, she was hailed with reverence by the household, and then she was led to the high seat, by the Jarl himself where she was provided with dishes prepared only for her. She had a porridge made of goat milk and a dish made of hearts from all the kinds of animals at the homestead. She ate the dishes with a brass spoon and a knife whose point was broken off. The vǫlva was to sleep at the farm during the night and the next day was reserved for her dance. In order to dance the seiðr, she needed special tools. First, she would have positioned herself on a special elevated platform and a group of young women would sit down around her. The girls would special songs intended to summon the powers that the vǫlva wished to communicate with. And if the session was a success because the vǫlva was permitted to see far into the future he would have his answers...
Jarl Bjorn watched quietly as his guest consumed his offerings and sipped his mead. His mind a nervous blur with anticipation as the lights from candles and torches of the room danced in the endless gust of wind that slipped through the nooks and crevices of his home. Jarl Bjorn sighs tiredly and looks over the mass of his people huddled tightly together in his home, as he loses himself in the survey of his own kindred, he finds one who is watching him... The Seer, from atop his own seat. She whispers to one of her party, something into their ear. His eye like stone set on them as the maiden takes her leave of the volva's side and softly approaches him. The Jarl swallows the lump in his throat... the girl appearing before him, with now bow or sign that he is any less or more to her then dirt or a king, she appears only at the service of her master. She whispers to The Jarl... “The Volva says she knows of what you seek, she does not need to look any further into the future, for she knows already what awaits us...”
His lip trembles softly, as he watches her... “Yes” he whispers in return. “Tell me... tell me of what awaits us upon tomorrow's horizon.” His hands reaching out for hers. But the answer he seeks comes from across the room. A faint whispers, an almost eerie jingle of bells to her voice. Whimsical and haunting all at once. Her bowl sets down upon the floor beside her host's chair that he graciously gifted her.
“ I have seen three roosters crowing... The jötunn herdsman Eggthér sits on a mound and cheerfully plays his harp while the crimson rooster Fjalar crows in the forest Gálgviðr. The golden rooster Gullinkambi crows in Valhalla, and the third, soot-red rooster crows in the halls of the underworld... The hound Garmr produces deep howls in front of the cave of Gnipahellir. Garmr's bindings break and he runs free...”
All eyes with in the room, watch her now.
“The sons of Mím are at play... Heimdall raises the Gjallarhorn into the air and blows deeply into it, and Odin converses with Mím's head. The world tree Yggdrasil shudders and groans. The jötunn Hrym comes from the east, his shield before him. The Midgard serpent Jörmungandr furiously writhes, causing waves to crash. The eagle shrieks, pale-beaked he tears the corpse, and the ship Naglfar breaks free thanks to the waves made by Jormungandr and sets sail from the east. The fire jötnar inhabitants of Muspelheim march forth. Even as we speak...”
The völva continues...
“Jötunheimr, the land of the jötnar, is aroar, and that the Aesir are in council. The dwarfs groan by their stone doors. Surtr advances from the south, his sword brighter than the sun. Rocky cliffs open and the jötnar women sink...”
Children and women begin to whelp in the great hall. Tears streaming forth from their faces as she desrbibes the awakening of The Great battle.. The end of days...
“The gods then do battle with the invaders: Odin shall be swallowed whole and alive fighting the wolf Fenrir, causing his wife Frigg her second great sorrow, the only other being the death of her son, the god Baldr. Odin's son Víðarr shall avenge his father by rending Fenrir's jaws apart and stabbing it in the heart with his spear, thus killing the wolf. The serpent Jörmungandr opens its gaping maw, yawning widely in the air, and is met in combat by Thor. Thor, son of Odin protector of the earth, furiously fights the serpent, defeating it, but Thor shall only be able to take nine steps afterward before collapsing. The god Freyr fights Surtr and loses. After this, people flee their homes, and the sun becomes black while the earth sinks into the sea, the stars vanish, steam rises, and flames touch the heavens....”
The entire room amok in a panic looking to one another and as if on cue the ground began to shake, the hall vibrating around them. Jarl Bjorn watching as his people begin to flee from his home, and into the mud soaked streets of his village. Running over one another as they take flight for their homes and loved ones. Jarl Born nodding his head, and slowly standing to meet the seer. A grizzled and gruff barrel of a man as one would expect a viking chief to look like after years of raiding and living the nordic life.
“As it has been foretold” He huffs. Always the man who lead his raids from the front, always the first barreling into the shield wall with his brother and wife by his side, Bjorn stands tall and looks to the door. Always the proud viking he accepts the things that he can not change and walk so the edge of his home. Blinding streaks of lightning pierce through the darkness, performing in the aged yellow of his eyes. A gentile sigh, like his calm demeanor in the eve of war he remains composed. Why? Because if the gods couldn't sway the hand of fate, what hope had he?
Another round of screams echo forth as the ground shakes again, people scrambling to catch their balance. “Then I accept this fate with open arms... Skoll.” Bjorn salutes as his brother joins him at his side. “Skoll” his brother answers. Both men watching the skies as the black seemingly begins to slowly bleed with fire. The stars vanishing into the abyss as the flames of the other worlds eat away at our realm.
The Seer makes her way between two, her aged eyes also watching the sky cracking in half...
“Behold The Twilight of the Gods...” she whispers, the three of them watching the atmosphere like children and fireworks.
“The End of The Nine Realms...” she groans on in her cackled voice.
“Bare witness to Ragnarok...” she says solemnly.
“Really?... I mean is that all” the voice of Jarl Bjorn comes back, answering her.
“Yes, my lord... that is... wait, what?” The seer stops and peers around herself, and her two cohorts. Only to find an empty and normal night sky before them. The fires no longer burning across the setting, no lightning left racing across the the sky and even the rain and the wind have both vanished.
“I don't understand... “ The seer asks of herself as she spins around in confusion.
“That much I believe.” Bjorn answers her. “Get your things, and get out before I return with my axe” he warns her. “We don't take kindly to fakes and charlatans in my village.”
The Seer spins around and looks to the disapproving glower of her host. “But... but the Fall of The Gods...” she begins in a frantic mess.
“Has apparently been postponed.” Jarl Bjorn retorts, his brother placing his axe in his hands.
And indeed it is had...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Voices in the void of black...
“So that's it then...”
“Aye”
“You just skipped over Ragnarok...”
“I'm sorry, were you looking forward to the eternal end of all the gods, including yourself and everything with in the nine realms save the humans?”
“Well, no... but it just seems like we...”
“Cheated death?”
“Yes, that...”
“And... here I thought that was the plan all along.”
“No... I mean Yes, damn it Loki... So what's next?”
“Simple... we go our separate ways, No All Father, No gods, no realms, you and I will guide them through out time. If they don't recall who they are, then there can be no Great Battle... and life goes on.”
And so it did... For a time at least, but as with all good intentions, even the best of plans can more often then not fall apart. Especially when Immortality gets to be where it's not enough fog a god.
------------------------------------------------------
“So you're telling me that Loki faked Ragnarok, like pulled one over on the gods, and all the mythical creatures of the realms for a woman”
Her blue eyes danced in the light of the fire pit before them. Eden Morgan sat in a wooden chair, reclined a bit like one you would find at a beach but hand made and carved from wood. A pair of converse on her feet lead the way up her legs covered in tight fitted and tattered, acid washed jeans that surely hugged her hips somewhere under a black hoodie. A glass of wine dancing in her hand as she watches the seat next to her, a similar design.
“Not just any woman... her name was Angrboda, The Bringer of Sorrows, and the love of his life.”
Killian replied. A tightly fitted black long sleeve Henley over fitted blue jeans and a pair of heavily thick treaded boots. A glass of brandy in his hand, the ice swirling about.
“The Bringer of Sorrows..?” she replies. “Sounds like my kind of girl.” Eden smirks.
“You'd have loved her... she wasn't just a witch, but a sorceress so powerful that she scared Odin himself. So much so that that when her and Loki had their children in secret, the gods set out themselves to take them from the couple...” Killian continues.
“Bugger all, I know most of this story, but mate... this prevarication about faking the End of days, for a woman,,, so what he could live life as a mortal, and for what? Too watch her life out her life time and time again, for all eternity?” Baal chimes in from across the firepit seated in the center of the garden at The Scarlet Letter.
Jet walks out of the house with a freshly opened bag of marshmallows, and six pack of bottled long necks.
“I think it's sweet...” Eden chimes in. “He changed fate for her...” she continues, sipping from her glass, as Jet takes a seat alongside the firepit.
“Yeah, cause what hopeless romantics like that exist anymore?” Jet remarks.
“Right?” Eden retorts.
Both of the men who currently aren't Killian King look to one another, then to Eden, before looking to Killian and shaking their heads collectively.
“I've always felt a kinship to the story of Jörmungandr... The Serpent of Midgard. Even in his loss to Thor, he still won as Thor died not even nine feet from his body.” Ball continues. A smirk playing across the lips of Killian as he watches them.
Something catching his attention behind Baal and Jet.
And I'm not going to be able to finish this... perhaps it's something I'll come back to eventually. Congrats Chad. To my stable I apologize.
Sometime in the 9th Century
The chilling winds ripped across the normally majestic Fjords, screaming, howling about outside, wooden braces running along the roofs churning and creaking. Hastein, brother to the jarl, stroked his massive red beard, his pipe clenched between his teeth. His aged and weary eyes still studying his uneasy surroundings. Easily Eighty of the towns most prominent people gathered before their Jarl, looking for answers of any kind. A practical man and not superstitious likes so many of his people, The Jarl did not summon answers outside of family often and not since there was a great time of suffering and certain starvation had his brother called for The Seer... But outside the wind howled like wolves at the door, the sea left churning, monstrous waves beating, pouding along the shores, as lightning streaked across the skies In order to prepare for the future, the vǫlva was summoned. Before her arrival the whole household was thoroughly cleaned and prepared. The high seat, which was otherwise reserved for the master and his wife, was furnished with down pillows.
The Jarl gripped his knees tightly, his hands clenching into first, as he watched his people and he waited. He waited knowing the vǫlva appeared in the evening, always in the evening, dressed in a foot-length blue or black cloak decked with gems to the hem. In her hand she wielded a wand, the symbolic distaff, which was adorned with brass and decked with gems on the knob. Children strayed from her path, rumors of the wand which allegedly has the power of causing forgetfulness in one who is tapped three times on the cheek by it. Around her neck she wore a necklace of glass pearls, and on her head she wore a headpiece of black lamb trimmed with white cat skin. Around her waist she wore a belt of amadou from which hung a large pouch, where she hid the tools that she used during the seiðr. On her feet she wore shoes of calfskin and the shoelaces had brass knobs in the ends, and on her hands she wore gloves of cat skin, which were white and fluffy inside. Her entourage, a group of young revelers, mostly women, dressed almost similar in various degrees, always found by her side. Whispers spreading through the halls like wildfire that the party had been seen making their way through the streets. The Jarl nervous for answers, looked to the massive double wooden doors, trimmed in iron fittings, perhaps this woman could have the answers he sought, but would they be in time, and after all of the pomp and circumstance of hosting this seer, would they gods even smile upon them with a vision?
As the vǫlva entered the room, she was hailed with reverence by the household, and then she was led to the high seat, by the Jarl himself where she was provided with dishes prepared only for her. She had a porridge made of goat milk and a dish made of hearts from all the kinds of animals at the homestead. She ate the dishes with a brass spoon and a knife whose point was broken off. The vǫlva was to sleep at the farm during the night and the next day was reserved for her dance. In order to dance the seiðr, she needed special tools. First, she would have positioned herself on a special elevated platform and a group of young women would sit down around her. The girls would special songs intended to summon the powers that the vǫlva wished to communicate with. And if the session was a success because the vǫlva was permitted to see far into the future he would have his answers...
Jarl Bjorn watched quietly as his guest consumed his offerings and sipped his mead. His mind a nervous blur with anticipation as the lights from candles and torches of the room danced in the endless gust of wind that slipped through the nooks and crevices of his home. Jarl Bjorn sighs tiredly and looks over the mass of his people huddled tightly together in his home, as he loses himself in the survey of his own kindred, he finds one who is watching him... The Seer, from atop his own seat. She whispers to one of her party, something into their ear. His eye like stone set on them as the maiden takes her leave of the volva's side and softly approaches him. The Jarl swallows the lump in his throat... the girl appearing before him, with now bow or sign that he is any less or more to her then dirt or a king, she appears only at the service of her master. She whispers to The Jarl... “The Volva says she knows of what you seek, she does not need to look any further into the future, for she knows already what awaits us...”
His lip trembles softly, as he watches her... “Yes” he whispers in return. “Tell me... tell me of what awaits us upon tomorrow's horizon.” His hands reaching out for hers. But the answer he seeks comes from across the room. A faint whispers, an almost eerie jingle of bells to her voice. Whimsical and haunting all at once. Her bowl sets down upon the floor beside her host's chair that he graciously gifted her.
“ I have seen three roosters crowing... The jötunn herdsman Eggthér sits on a mound and cheerfully plays his harp while the crimson rooster Fjalar crows in the forest Gálgviðr. The golden rooster Gullinkambi crows in Valhalla, and the third, soot-red rooster crows in the halls of the underworld... The hound Garmr produces deep howls in front of the cave of Gnipahellir. Garmr's bindings break and he runs free...”
All eyes with in the room, watch her now.
“The sons of Mím are at play... Heimdall raises the Gjallarhorn into the air and blows deeply into it, and Odin converses with Mím's head. The world tree Yggdrasil shudders and groans. The jötunn Hrym comes from the east, his shield before him. The Midgard serpent Jörmungandr furiously writhes, causing waves to crash. The eagle shrieks, pale-beaked he tears the corpse, and the ship Naglfar breaks free thanks to the waves made by Jormungandr and sets sail from the east. The fire jötnar inhabitants of Muspelheim march forth. Even as we speak...”
The völva continues...
“Jötunheimr, the land of the jötnar, is aroar, and that the Aesir are in council. The dwarfs groan by their stone doors. Surtr advances from the south, his sword brighter than the sun. Rocky cliffs open and the jötnar women sink...”
Children and women begin to whelp in the great hall. Tears streaming forth from their faces as she desrbibes the awakening of The Great battle.. The end of days...
“The gods then do battle with the invaders: Odin shall be swallowed whole and alive fighting the wolf Fenrir, causing his wife Frigg her second great sorrow, the only other being the death of her son, the god Baldr. Odin's son Víðarr shall avenge his father by rending Fenrir's jaws apart and stabbing it in the heart with his spear, thus killing the wolf. The serpent Jörmungandr opens its gaping maw, yawning widely in the air, and is met in combat by Thor. Thor, son of Odin protector of the earth, furiously fights the serpent, defeating it, but Thor shall only be able to take nine steps afterward before collapsing. The god Freyr fights Surtr and loses. After this, people flee their homes, and the sun becomes black while the earth sinks into the sea, the stars vanish, steam rises, and flames touch the heavens....”
The entire room amok in a panic looking to one another and as if on cue the ground began to shake, the hall vibrating around them. Jarl Bjorn watching as his people begin to flee from his home, and into the mud soaked streets of his village. Running over one another as they take flight for their homes and loved ones. Jarl Born nodding his head, and slowly standing to meet the seer. A grizzled and gruff barrel of a man as one would expect a viking chief to look like after years of raiding and living the nordic life.
“As it has been foretold” He huffs. Always the man who lead his raids from the front, always the first barreling into the shield wall with his brother and wife by his side, Bjorn stands tall and looks to the door. Always the proud viking he accepts the things that he can not change and walk so the edge of his home. Blinding streaks of lightning pierce through the darkness, performing in the aged yellow of his eyes. A gentile sigh, like his calm demeanor in the eve of war he remains composed. Why? Because if the gods couldn't sway the hand of fate, what hope had he?
Another round of screams echo forth as the ground shakes again, people scrambling to catch their balance. “Then I accept this fate with open arms... Skoll.” Bjorn salutes as his brother joins him at his side. “Skoll” his brother answers. Both men watching the skies as the black seemingly begins to slowly bleed with fire. The stars vanishing into the abyss as the flames of the other worlds eat away at our realm.
The Seer makes her way between two, her aged eyes also watching the sky cracking in half...
“Behold The Twilight of the Gods...” she whispers, the three of them watching the atmosphere like children and fireworks.
“The End of The Nine Realms...” she groans on in her cackled voice.
“Bare witness to Ragnarok...” she says solemnly.
“Really?... I mean is that all” the voice of Jarl Bjorn comes back, answering her.
“Yes, my lord... that is... wait, what?” The seer stops and peers around herself, and her two cohorts. Only to find an empty and normal night sky before them. The fires no longer burning across the setting, no lightning left racing across the the sky and even the rain and the wind have both vanished.
“I don't understand... “ The seer asks of herself as she spins around in confusion.
“That much I believe.” Bjorn answers her. “Get your things, and get out before I return with my axe” he warns her. “We don't take kindly to fakes and charlatans in my village.”
The Seer spins around and looks to the disapproving glower of her host. “But... but the Fall of The Gods...” she begins in a frantic mess.
“Has apparently been postponed.” Jarl Bjorn retorts, his brother placing his axe in his hands.
And indeed it is had...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Voices in the void of black...
“So that's it then...”
“Aye”
“You just skipped over Ragnarok...”
“I'm sorry, were you looking forward to the eternal end of all the gods, including yourself and everything with in the nine realms save the humans?”
“Well, no... but it just seems like we...”
“Cheated death?”
“Yes, that...”
“And... here I thought that was the plan all along.”
“No... I mean Yes, damn it Loki... So what's next?”
“Simple... we go our separate ways, No All Father, No gods, no realms, you and I will guide them through out time. If they don't recall who they are, then there can be no Great Battle... and life goes on.”
And so it did... For a time at least, but as with all good intentions, even the best of plans can more often then not fall apart. Especially when Immortality gets to be where it's not enough fog a god.
------------------------------------------------------
“So you're telling me that Loki faked Ragnarok, like pulled one over on the gods, and all the mythical creatures of the realms for a woman”
Her blue eyes danced in the light of the fire pit before them. Eden Morgan sat in a wooden chair, reclined a bit like one you would find at a beach but hand made and carved from wood. A pair of converse on her feet lead the way up her legs covered in tight fitted and tattered, acid washed jeans that surely hugged her hips somewhere under a black hoodie. A glass of wine dancing in her hand as she watches the seat next to her, a similar design.
“Not just any woman... her name was Angrboda, The Bringer of Sorrows, and the love of his life.”
Killian replied. A tightly fitted black long sleeve Henley over fitted blue jeans and a pair of heavily thick treaded boots. A glass of brandy in his hand, the ice swirling about.
“The Bringer of Sorrows..?” she replies. “Sounds like my kind of girl.” Eden smirks.
“You'd have loved her... she wasn't just a witch, but a sorceress so powerful that she scared Odin himself. So much so that that when her and Loki had their children in secret, the gods set out themselves to take them from the couple...” Killian continues.
“Bugger all, I know most of this story, but mate... this prevarication about faking the End of days, for a woman,,, so what he could live life as a mortal, and for what? Too watch her life out her life time and time again, for all eternity?” Baal chimes in from across the firepit seated in the center of the garden at The Scarlet Letter.
Jet walks out of the house with a freshly opened bag of marshmallows, and six pack of bottled long necks.
“I think it's sweet...” Eden chimes in. “He changed fate for her...” she continues, sipping from her glass, as Jet takes a seat alongside the firepit.
“Yeah, cause what hopeless romantics like that exist anymore?” Jet remarks.
“Right?” Eden retorts.
Both of the men who currently aren't Killian King look to one another, then to Eden, before looking to Killian and shaking their heads collectively.
“I've always felt a kinship to the story of Jörmungandr... The Serpent of Midgard. Even in his loss to Thor, he still won as Thor died not even nine feet from his body.” Ball continues. A smirk playing across the lips of Killian as he watches them.
Something catching his attention behind Baal and Jet.
And I'm not going to be able to finish this... perhaps it's something I'll come back to eventually. Congrats Chad. To my stable I apologize.