Pieces of Promises: The History of Mótsognir
Hello all :)
I've moved into my new place and while I'm not exactly settled in (way too many unpacked boxes left for that), I'd say I'm happily on the way there.
I was inspired to do a little writing today and since I'm not sure yet where to drop this into the novel in progress, I decided to post it here for safekeeping.
A brief explanation - I started a novel during the nanowrimo event last year that is about 56k words long at this point. I did take some time off from writing for the move, but this whole thing has been slow in revealing itself to me. The novel itself is an urban tale with a foundation in Norse mythology. There are other elements to the story - like magic and mystery - and I've taken a lot of liberties with the known Norse myths. What I wrote today is a unique myth that provides the back story for one of my main characters. I say unique, but as with the bigger story, I started with some of the documented myth passed down from the Norse poets and fashioned my own tale around them.
I'm thinking this will weave in as a dream revealed to my little heroine Finn to give her a better understanding of one of her new friends. The problem is, I started this in an attempt to give some dimension to my character Mo because he's been feeling like a straightman rather than a stand alone character. While I really enjoy this little tale of his origins overall - I don't feel I've accomplished my goal.
I hope you enjoy it. The first few paragraphs are a bit rough.
Pieces of Promises: The History of Mótsognir -
In the final confrontation between Aurgelmir [Ymir] and Bor's children, the frost giant fell prey to the relentless trio who were attacking him that day by racing between his legs, piercing his ankles with their tiny spears and axes and painting the giant's calves and feet with burning tar and clay. Aurgelmir's pain was manageable and his wounds were not terrible, but he was not one to check his temper and those damned Aesir would never leave him alone. He pulled a breath from deep within and let loose a roar to express the indignity and frustration he felt while swinging his heavy cudgel at the little vermin. Unfortunately, he miscalculated the arc of the swing and the proximity of the wretched pests to his own legs, missing his targets entirely. Instead he landed a smart crack across his right knee and lower left calf - crushing his patella and breaking the tibia in half. True pain and anger filled his lungs again to feed a roar that shook the world to its foundations. Unable to stand on his wasted legs, the frost giant crumpled to the ground. Immediately, Odin set upon Ymir to claim the giant's eyes as trophies, while his brothers took turns hacking at the flailing ancient in a cruel plan to separate the Jötnar from his head.
All through their gruesome employment, the giant's bellow reverberated around them; echoes beating at their ears and chests like swarming bats. The distraction of their labors and overall discomfort from the manifest percussion, prevented the godlings from noticing at once what change the living sound was having on their victim's fresh corpse. Under the rime that served as skin to the Jötnar, cracks and distortions were appearing along the line of the broken tibia where it stood, still supported by the giant's severed foot. The thick ice split and a quivering mass of bone slid free puddling on the foot in a pool of pale-blue blood.
Odin registered the new sound of resonant mewling from the fading death cry of the Jötnar and turned his attention to its source. He saw the writhing form twisting and rolling in an effort to escape the crystallizing puddle and mistook it for a corpse worm. In disgust, Odin spat on the ground and gestured to his brothers to stop their swings.
“Look, the giant beast is nothing but foul rot when the outer layer is breached.”
The twins exchanged looks of revulsion and stepped back from the growing wound they had been worrying at.
Their brother scoffed and claimed Ve's axe as he approached the severed foot.
“The worm is no trouble for us.”
Odin raised the axe over the pathetic form of expelled matter and poised himself to split the creature in two.
A brilliance filled the field as birdsong tinkled like tumbling chimes in the air around him. The axe became too heavy to heft and sagged to the godling's shoulder. Beams of light shifted as sparkling dust motes coalesced into the individual forms of the sisterhood and their luminous charges. The elder of the women, reached out a golden hand to relieve Odin of his weapon. He gave it up without protest, startled by their sudden appearance.
“Do not harm this one. Yggdrasil has need of him.”
“Him?” Odin asked in surprise as he found his voice. “It is a corpse worm, a mewling maggot. What could the Tree need it for?”
Another stepped from the light between the trees. Almost as tall as any giant they had slain, the brothers Bor recognized the androgen of the Tree, with its long clumps of rusty moss-hair and smooth skin that shone like silver bark. In its usual fashion, the keeper of the spring wore no garments - choosing instead to clothe itself in a shifting layer of dew. The endless depth of Mimir's green eyes, held Odin entranced.
“Look closer, godling” commanded the Oracle.
Odin tore his eyes away from that serene face and let his gaze fall upon the worm. It had twisted free of the solidifying pool of frost giant blood and was now recognizable as something more.
“So Ymir birthed a dark bastard on the battlefield” he said with a sneer. “Look brothers. What we mistook for rot is a child of excrement. This is how our unnatural enemy bears its young.”
Odin laughed, but Vili and Ve did not join him. In addition to the natural discomfort they felt in the androgen's presence, the speaker of the sisterhood - lovely Frigg - was eyeing the trio with apparent disapproval. She stepped forward and gently wiped the blood from the foundling's face. Frigg cooed in reassuring tones as she propped the shaking newborn against her shoulder. The foundling cried out as a shaft of warm light crossed his foot.
The howl was as destructive as Ymir's from a body one quarter his size. The brothers Bor stepped back and covered their ears as the ground beneath them shifted and rocked. Only Frigg and her companion, a glowing Vaettir, were close enough to hear the crackling of the newborn's hardening skin. The Vaettir reached out a hand and laid it over the affected foot. She closed her eyes and sang in clear alto tones as another of the sisterhood stepped forward and covered the foundling with her cloak.
“Sssh, young one” whispered Frigg. “You'll bring the mountains down around our ears.”
“No more pain,” the pretty little Vaettir chirped at newborn in the voice of a running stream. “May I name him mother?” she asked Frigg in reverence.
“I believe he's already revealed his name - Mótsognir seems fitting.”
The sisterhood murmured approval as Mimir nodded in the child's direction and spoke seemingly for the brothers' benefit.
“He will be first of a new race and has Yggdrasil's protection. The Álfar, our children of the light, have found their balance with this new race - the Døkkálfar. They are the promises of a new peace.”
Mótsognir, mesmerized up to this point by the glowing smile of the little Vaettir girl, turned his head to the sound of cracks along the deceased giant's legs. The rime covering the shattered patella bubbled and split. Small hands and feet erupted from the opening skin. As the sisterhood shed their cloaks to protect the newborns, another rending crack sounded from the end of the tibia still attached to the corpse.
Five Døkkálfar were born that day in the presence of the sisterhood of Vanir, the chagrined brothers of the Aesir, the Oracle and keeper of the spring and a handful of changeling Vaettir. The ground sang for their arrival as the birds and Álfar joined their voices in celebration of a new balance.
After the brothers dragged away Ymir's corpse, a cloaked and unsteady Mótsognir stood over his new tribe and rumbled the story of their birth. When he was done, he looked up to find he was flanked by two of the Vaettir - Álfar Mimir had called them. The pretty one who'd sang away his pain slipped her hand into his.
“That was lovely Mo. They will never forget the sacrifice of the ice god.”
The other girl, with dried leaves tangled in her pale hair and a smudge of clay across her chin, stepped forward with an enthusiastic nod and slipped her arm through his.
“Lyrielle and I can teach you the songs of the wind and the birds and all the little crawly things.”
“They can come home with us, right mother Frigg?” she asked with deference to the elder of the sisterhood.
“Not yet, Disa.” Frigg answered, stroking the girls hair affectionately. “Until we learn how to help their weakness to light they must make their place in the shadows and mist. Mimir has suggested a suitable place in the mountains. There are other Vaettir there and some of the sisters will stay with them until they can take care of themselves.”
Lyrielle squeezed the Døkkálfar's hand and whispered, “We'll visit you. I promise.”
I've moved into my new place and while I'm not exactly settled in (way too many unpacked boxes left for that), I'd say I'm happily on the way there.
I was inspired to do a little writing today and since I'm not sure yet where to drop this into the novel in progress, I decided to post it here for safekeeping.
A brief explanation - I started a novel during the nanowrimo event last year that is about 56k words long at this point. I did take some time off from writing for the move, but this whole thing has been slow in revealing itself to me. The novel itself is an urban tale with a foundation in Norse mythology. There are other elements to the story - like magic and mystery - and I've taken a lot of liberties with the known Norse myths. What I wrote today is a unique myth that provides the back story for one of my main characters. I say unique, but as with the bigger story, I started with some of the documented myth passed down from the Norse poets and fashioned my own tale around them.
I'm thinking this will weave in as a dream revealed to my little heroine Finn to give her a better understanding of one of her new friends. The problem is, I started this in an attempt to give some dimension to my character Mo because he's been feeling like a straightman rather than a stand alone character. While I really enjoy this little tale of his origins overall - I don't feel I've accomplished my goal.
I hope you enjoy it. The first few paragraphs are a bit rough.
Pieces of Promises: The History of Mótsognir -
In the final confrontation between Aurgelmir [Ymir] and Bor's children, the frost giant fell prey to the relentless trio who were attacking him that day by racing between his legs, piercing his ankles with their tiny spears and axes and painting the giant's calves and feet with burning tar and clay. Aurgelmir's pain was manageable and his wounds were not terrible, but he was not one to check his temper and those damned Aesir would never leave him alone. He pulled a breath from deep within and let loose a roar to express the indignity and frustration he felt while swinging his heavy cudgel at the little vermin. Unfortunately, he miscalculated the arc of the swing and the proximity of the wretched pests to his own legs, missing his targets entirely. Instead he landed a smart crack across his right knee and lower left calf - crushing his patella and breaking the tibia in half. True pain and anger filled his lungs again to feed a roar that shook the world to its foundations. Unable to stand on his wasted legs, the frost giant crumpled to the ground. Immediately, Odin set upon Ymir to claim the giant's eyes as trophies, while his brothers took turns hacking at the flailing ancient in a cruel plan to separate the Jötnar from his head.
All through their gruesome employment, the giant's bellow reverberated around them; echoes beating at their ears and chests like swarming bats. The distraction of their labors and overall discomfort from the manifest percussion, prevented the godlings from noticing at once what change the living sound was having on their victim's fresh corpse. Under the rime that served as skin to the Jötnar, cracks and distortions were appearing along the line of the broken tibia where it stood, still supported by the giant's severed foot. The thick ice split and a quivering mass of bone slid free puddling on the foot in a pool of pale-blue blood.
Odin registered the new sound of resonant mewling from the fading death cry of the Jötnar and turned his attention to its source. He saw the writhing form twisting and rolling in an effort to escape the crystallizing puddle and mistook it for a corpse worm. In disgust, Odin spat on the ground and gestured to his brothers to stop their swings.
“Look, the giant beast is nothing but foul rot when the outer layer is breached.”
The twins exchanged looks of revulsion and stepped back from the growing wound they had been worrying at.
Their brother scoffed and claimed Ve's axe as he approached the severed foot.
“The worm is no trouble for us.”
Odin raised the axe over the pathetic form of expelled matter and poised himself to split the creature in two.
A brilliance filled the field as birdsong tinkled like tumbling chimes in the air around him. The axe became too heavy to heft and sagged to the godling's shoulder. Beams of light shifted as sparkling dust motes coalesced into the individual forms of the sisterhood and their luminous charges. The elder of the women, reached out a golden hand to relieve Odin of his weapon. He gave it up without protest, startled by their sudden appearance.
“Do not harm this one. Yggdrasil has need of him.”
“Him?” Odin asked in surprise as he found his voice. “It is a corpse worm, a mewling maggot. What could the Tree need it for?”
Another stepped from the light between the trees. Almost as tall as any giant they had slain, the brothers Bor recognized the androgen of the Tree, with its long clumps of rusty moss-hair and smooth skin that shone like silver bark. In its usual fashion, the keeper of the spring wore no garments - choosing instead to clothe itself in a shifting layer of dew. The endless depth of Mimir's green eyes, held Odin entranced.
“Look closer, godling” commanded the Oracle.
Odin tore his eyes away from that serene face and let his gaze fall upon the worm. It had twisted free of the solidifying pool of frost giant blood and was now recognizable as something more.
“So Ymir birthed a dark bastard on the battlefield” he said with a sneer. “Look brothers. What we mistook for rot is a child of excrement. This is how our unnatural enemy bears its young.”
Odin laughed, but Vili and Ve did not join him. In addition to the natural discomfort they felt in the androgen's presence, the speaker of the sisterhood - lovely Frigg - was eyeing the trio with apparent disapproval. She stepped forward and gently wiped the blood from the foundling's face. Frigg cooed in reassuring tones as she propped the shaking newborn against her shoulder. The foundling cried out as a shaft of warm light crossed his foot.
The howl was as destructive as Ymir's from a body one quarter his size. The brothers Bor stepped back and covered their ears as the ground beneath them shifted and rocked. Only Frigg and her companion, a glowing Vaettir, were close enough to hear the crackling of the newborn's hardening skin. The Vaettir reached out a hand and laid it over the affected foot. She closed her eyes and sang in clear alto tones as another of the sisterhood stepped forward and covered the foundling with her cloak.
“Sssh, young one” whispered Frigg. “You'll bring the mountains down around our ears.”
“No more pain,” the pretty little Vaettir chirped at newborn in the voice of a running stream. “May I name him mother?” she asked Frigg in reverence.
“I believe he's already revealed his name - Mótsognir seems fitting.”
The sisterhood murmured approval as Mimir nodded in the child's direction and spoke seemingly for the brothers' benefit.
“He will be first of a new race and has Yggdrasil's protection. The Álfar, our children of the light, have found their balance with this new race - the Døkkálfar. They are the promises of a new peace.”
Mótsognir, mesmerized up to this point by the glowing smile of the little Vaettir girl, turned his head to the sound of cracks along the deceased giant's legs. The rime covering the shattered patella bubbled and split. Small hands and feet erupted from the opening skin. As the sisterhood shed their cloaks to protect the newborns, another rending crack sounded from the end of the tibia still attached to the corpse.
Five Døkkálfar were born that day in the presence of the sisterhood of Vanir, the chagrined brothers of the Aesir, the Oracle and keeper of the spring and a handful of changeling Vaettir. The ground sang for their arrival as the birds and Álfar joined their voices in celebration of a new balance.
After the brothers dragged away Ymir's corpse, a cloaked and unsteady Mótsognir stood over his new tribe and rumbled the story of their birth. When he was done, he looked up to find he was flanked by two of the Vaettir - Álfar Mimir had called them. The pretty one who'd sang away his pain slipped her hand into his.
“That was lovely Mo. They will never forget the sacrifice of the ice god.”
The other girl, with dried leaves tangled in her pale hair and a smudge of clay across her chin, stepped forward with an enthusiastic nod and slipped her arm through his.
“Lyrielle and I can teach you the songs of the wind and the birds and all the little crawly things.”
“They can come home with us, right mother Frigg?” she asked with deference to the elder of the sisterhood.
“Not yet, Disa.” Frigg answered, stroking the girls hair affectionately. “Until we learn how to help their weakness to light they must make their place in the shadows and mist. Mimir has suggested a suitable place in the mountains. There are other Vaettir there and some of the sisters will stay with them until they can take care of themselves.”
Lyrielle squeezed the Døkkálfar's hand and whispered, “We'll visit you. I promise.”