The return of a fallen hero
I find no comfort in the shade
Under the branch of the Great Ash.
I remember the mist
of our ancient past.
As I speak to you in the present,
My ancient eyes
see the terrible future.
"Do you not see what I see?
Do you not hear
death approaching?
The mournful cry of Giallr-horn
shall shatter the peace
And shake the foundation of heaven.
Raise up your banner
And gather your noble company
from your great hall,
Father of the Slains.
For you shall go to your destiny.
No knowledge can save you,
And no magic will save you.
For you will end up in Fenrir's belly,
While heaven and earth will burn
in Surt's unholy fire.*
Something was coming, a shadow in the dawn a darkness that threatened to spill it's cold shadow over the living day and turn all it beheld into the blackest night. That chill reached even the halls of Asgard, causing disquiet to the somber All Father. Odin's wandering eye had foreseen the coming of a great time of fear, pain...cataclysm. The Aesir sat with worry over the coming storm, something had to be done to avert the possible future.
The halls of Asgard rang with the call to arms, and warriors gladly rose to the call, ready and eager to die for their cause. But even among the valiant there was not the necessary purity for this quest. A hero was needed, one of unimpeachable character, one with strength and bravery and courage in the face of impossible odds and yet be able to care for an innocent with kindness.
A search was begun for a champion to be sent forth, finally reaching Niflheim. The frozen land of the dead yielded one unlikely looking hero, Tora who had been taken as the daughter of Hel. Without explanation she was taken to Odin, the father of the Gods imparted her with the knowledge of what was to come and the part she would need to play. The whole of the future revealed to her, and then her thoughts was fogged to protect her and her charge from the prying minds of others.
The night broke with a scream, not the voice of a human throat but the sound of the air splitting and cracking as something not of the Earthly dimension moved through it. Lights played over the sky in the Uppsala region of Sweden, the ground where once stood the temple of Odin and the old gods. The small village there was not unaccustomed to seeing strange things, but this was more than the norm. The older inhabitants whispered in the night of the will of the Gods.
The younger villagers didn't hold with the myths and tales, logically something had happened and the authorities were called. Someone had to investigate the sounds and lights over a once revered ground, and what would be found in that land would potentially change the course of history to come.
*Doom of Odin poem is from Timeless Myths (timelessmyths.com) © Jimmy Joe