Edda - New Verse(Thor SI - GOW:R/Mythology/other crossovers)

"Right, where to begin?…….well, I'm sure you lot know death, other wise you'd wouldn't be here sharing a drink with me now would ya? Anyway, from what I remember of mine? Well, I remember pretty much all that came before and after, my rather mundane life, back and forth to college and work, and my family as we lived through the tides of life, but the actual event? I've only ever grasped bits and pieces that I barely remember, do I regret anything? No shit I do, but what could I do? what could you lot do? For all our power, we can't go back to 'what' was before…..Right I'm getting off topic, my death………I remember a car crash-the car flipping hard back onto the ground..….as the sky above rages to the tune of lightning cracks…a girl who's screams haunt me as I try to reach her….then flames that started to consume everything in sight as distant sirens pierced the ringing of my ears… the darkness and silence that replaced everything….then waking up in that place…."



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There are many things a person can expect out of death. Some kind afterlife perhaps, maybe reincarnation like those mangas, or if your lucky for seeing the pearly gates on a foundation made of clouds, and unlucky by falling into the flaming pit and the screams of the damned being your only company, or perhaps a ROB who is so bored they fucked with reality for entertainment, or maybe just oblivion into sweet nothingness.

But what I got was strange, don't get me wrong, whatever it is, I can't complain when staying at a picture perfect lake side red cabin that sat next to crystal clear waters, all of which surrounded by the greenest fullest forest you can imagine. All of which I certainly enjoyed as the cabin was filled with all the trip-pings, a fully furnished home with stocked kitchen, huge ass liberty with books that I love, a living room with a massive TV sitting beside a cabinet loaded with my favorite movies, the porcelain throne shininglike it was hand cleaned by the god of cleanliness, and the king sized bed was so comfortable I felt like I could sleep a thousand years in bliss…

…which actually happened…the thousand years I mean, as the grandfather clock in the entryway kept track of the days and seconds that passed by. Time here is different, that much I figured, because beside my best attempts, the days and nights literally flew by despite my efforts to keep track as I watched the sky shift from vibrate blue and its blazing sun to swirling night of dark purple and violet darkness filled with nebulas, stars, and a shining pale moon.

In that time I wondered the beach and forest, walking off into the deep green foliage, going farther and farther each time past oaks and pines number the millions, with the vain hope of finding anything, a road, another house, something to show that I wasn't alone……..sometimes I'd see a possible glimpse of animals but, well, they looked nothing like the ones I remember, being larger then me by a large margin, off colored similar to moss and stone, at one point I could've sworn the deer I saw was glowing blue from its antlers before it took off running……

…. and when I felt tired I head back to the cabin. Though, truthfully, I never felt a lick of hunger or the need to sleep, with all that time I think my subconscious made the routine to keep my sanity. Its amazing, how much it works for your psyche when you keep up the daily routine of living, I've read everything the library offered; ranging from my favorite fantasy novels like Percy Jackson and lord of the rings, to many mangas I never got to finish like One piece, and though cooking and history books, after that was exhausted I watched the entirety of the movie cabinet; from the likes of John Wick all the way to Star Wars and all the movies in-between. I'm proud to say that my cooking skills have improved, as the fridge never empties and each time I open and close it the food inside changes to what I desire, I'd say Gordon Ramsey would be beaming with pride from the shear number of meals I've made…or in horror of the slabs unrecognizable disguesting masses that I had to burn in the fire pit….

Eventually, I gave up trying to find anything, and I spent the time trying to keep myself from losing my mind from the isolation, until this morning of course………walking out of the cabin's porch, I follow the stone steps down to the lake and I sat down on the wood pier's edge looking over the water. As beautiful as this all is, it didn't help the feeling in the my gut, as when I woke up that morning I checked the clock, the old stylized day number keeper maxed out at 999999……in years…

….I listen to the lapping waves and watch the sky as a theory forms in my mind. Whatever this is, I think it's a type of limbo, not the kind meant to punish, but instead act like a bus stop for souls, or in this case…me….my soul……but as its a bus stop, the 'bus' never came and who's ever in charge forgot about me….."hehhehehhAHAHAHAH!!!" the absurdity made me laugh……to the point it made my lungs hurt before shifting to hiccuping to silently cry, weeping as the tears fell down my face. The shear isolation finally consuming me….

The wind went quiet, the water went still to a mirror sheen, as in the center of the lake from above as a star fell and hovers over the surface, its light radiating circles of arcing energy as they spun around the glowing center. Thunder boomed above me, freeing me from breakdown as a wave of lightning rushes past me and through the trees. Eyes wide in shock, I take in the mesmerizing sight as the pulses grow in intensity, the water now defying gravity as its streams join next to the lightning arc pulled down from the sky.

It's then that everything around me, the air, the sand from the beach, leaves from the trees are being pulled to the glowing sphere in the middle of this…nexus? And it's getting stronger, "what?………wow..wa…wait…..WAIT!!!!!" I yell as my body goes weight less, gravity loosing its hold, my boots nearly reaching water below as I fly toward the nexus's center, another energy wave hits me as visible electricity arcs around my arms, and another blinds me for a second as the same energy must have entered my eyes…just in time to see .the white light of the sphere hollowing out to a black void rimmed in white grow into the size of a car. "HOLY SHITTTTTTT" as I wave my limbs as I'm ripped through the air and swallowed by darkness….

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Odin, the Allfather, God of Wisdom and Magic, the feared king of Asgard, master warrior and grand wonderer, the God bore a tall frame built for war, wide shoulders draped with a grey cloak the reaches his knees hide the rune encrusted steel and leather armor, his exposed arms showing rippling musculature and scars that told years of battle against monsters and fellow warriors alike……

…paces back and forth with fear and sweat on his face, Heimdall, Asgard's Watchmen and master swordsman, clad in a full body suit of armor sans the helmet, which is clipped to his belt, letting his dark skin free and rune tattoos glimmer to the glow of his golden eyes. the great sword Hǫfuð and massive Gjallarhorn strapped to his back, standing not far from Odin. The two are waiting outside of the closed doors of the healers hall, a section of Odin's castle Valaskjálf.

"You're wearing a hole through the floor, your grace." Heimdall said in sarcasm with a slight smirk, getting the one eyed God to warily glare at him before going back to pacing. "Your not the one that has to explain to my wife why I have a son currently being born from another woman while she helps that woman give birth......" Odin complains.

"UWUUAAAAHA!!!!!!" the feminine screams shakes the whole of Asgard, Heimdall looks out of the near by window to see the town surrounding the castle suffer a district collapse. Stoically calm, "Sir, If I may, we may need to reinforce the runic barriers of the castle….and modify them to hold magic in as well as out…" he remarks as he sees the far edges of the Asgardian city glimmer blue as the runic matrix built in the foundations work to absorb the worst of the quake. steadying himself, Odin sighs and runs a hand through his greying hair.

"Jord's the incarnation of the Earth Heimdall, every realm is feeling her labour pains…"Odin said as he moves next to Heimdall at the window, frowning as the destroyed buildings as his men rushes to help the citizens, and then looking to the sky, dark thunder clouds having long formed and stayed for the last nine days since his son's birth began, each day Jord's pain echoing past the Veil of realms and into the others. The biggest storm of the era covering the whole of the realm of Asgard and into the Vanaheimr and Álfheimr. the neighboring realms suffering from rain storms, tornados, and violent winds……

……It only stopped raining an hour ago, Odin already knowing that more would come… right about…..*CRACK* now and a wall of water falls from the sky "UUUUUUAAHAAH!!!!!!" Jord gives another scream and the world went sideways, whole sections of the city, the hills, rivers and mountains, the very world beyond the city limits twisted and crack like shattering glass. Odin grabbing the wall for support, Heimdall bracing himself against the windowsill. Odin, blinks his sole green eye, opening it to shinelike a blazing star, calmly raises his hand, a ring of runes spins into existence in his palm and the breaking world paused, stopping med the chaos as everything receives a halo of runic energy, slowly everything returned back as it should.."WAHHH!!" instead of the screams of Jords, the wail of child fills the whole hallway. Odin looks to Heimdall, his old friend smiling, despite how the world nearly tipped over. Rushing through the door the king of Asgard, brushes through the gathered healers to the far corner, Idunn and Frigg stood beside the bed as exhausted Jord who held a bundle to her bare chest…

Jord's blood red hair a tangled mess as she looks upon her son, her blue eyes moving up to see Odin kneel down beside, his one eye locked to the baby in her arms. Shifting their child to show him the freshly born baby, wiggle as his sky blue eyes pecks through, Thunder rumbles off throughout the sky as Odin lets the little tyke grab hold of his finger……..as Odin gives his son a name that wlll challenge fate itself…..

"Thor…." Odin whispers…

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Here's my first ever thread post here on the site! when I do continue it, I'll be experimenting with the POV of third or first person. suggestions are welcome!

"Well that was how I was reborn, the fall into that black abyss like void was terrifying, and I'm pretty sure I saw the one who did the yoinking too while in there along with other horrors….…..though I don't remember any of it, which is fortunate…….because I think I went mad when I did and simply forgot it in self preservation…." I said casually and then taking a swig of mead as I look around the table of fellow God Re-incarnates, all of whom look either annoyed at me, others remembering their own re-birthing PTSD induced traumas, or mildly amused at my and others plights. "I don't know about you lot, but I don't remember my diaper shitting days thankfully." Smirking as two of them now glare at me "What? you guys got to experience getting your asses wiped with no control of your own guts? HA! Fate was kind enough for me not to be 'conscious' during the first 5 years of my new life, so, no I won't be joining your embarrassment in the 'age of shame' club." Pondering for a moment,"Where was I? Oh right! My childhood, not as traumatic as you'd think since Pops wasn't a insane bastard, though, sure my folks weren't always around to be there, but I got to meet the first of my new friends and my future wife.." I snap up a hand behind me catching between my fingers a knife meant for my head. "Sorry dear, wives…."

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Thor's blue eyes slowly open, the fringes of sleep making him stretch with a yawn as he sat up, rubbing his eyes, he looks around the rather immaculate room, the god-ling had slept in a high off the ground gold gilded and slightly glowing rune engraved bed, the head board shown white from the world tree carved into it too, and even the green blanket has silver runic sigils woven into the fabric, which he was pretty sure came from some kind of magic sheep, because its softer then anything his human life thought possible. he can see the far large circler window as blinding sunlight shines through, lighting up the large room to show Thor's few blunt training weapons he had left out on the titanic black bear skin for a rug, a masterfully crafted wood shelf and dresser sat against the far wall. A few clothes left folded on the top, next to a rune crystal picture of him with his family. and our course, a few razor sharp swords and axes decorated the walls, out of reach and magically bound to the wall obviously….



It's only been a few years since his birthday that he 'remembered', since the dream that brought back the memory of a mortal's life that felt both far away and so close it made it all feel impossible. But the reality only cemented itself as he felt the protective weight of the blanket and the cool air against his skin. Rolling over to the side of the bed, and swinging his feet over the edge and let his weight carry him down to the stand. Beside the bed, a gift from the elves in the form of a tall mirror is nailed to the wall. Walking over to the window, Thor's sees his reflection, in the shining mirror, a tall boy with blood red hair whose lightning like eyes gazes back at him. his sleeping shirt stretching over his developing muscles and widening shoulders, the reflection sharing his smile as he turns away, Thor stops in front of the window and the bench sitting in front of it. Climbing up to get closer, Thor can't help but be mesmerized to the view before him.


- Asgard -

- outer mountain ranges -

- the grand wilds -

The City of Asgard stretched far to the horizon, from high in Valaskjálf as the castle itself sat on a mountain near the coast, and in its shadow Thor can see in the inner city as the Aesir people went about their lives, the guards in their roaming patrols along the battlements; their recruits yelling and grunting in their efforts to train in the castles yard, surrounded by homes of many sizes is Njord's square; the market place of chaos and coin as deals were made, the inner wall give way to the outer district, ships and cargo coming and going in the port from the river leading out to sea, then in land, to the smoke bellowing Dwarven Black Iron works where all manner of weapons, armor, and other creations were born in dragon fire and rune magic. further still, is the dragon's spire, where the airborne fire breathers kept watch of their borders in the form of the Dragon Rangers, Aesir warriors trained to ride and tame the scaled wing beasts, soar back and through from the outer wild edges of Odin's kingdom. lastly to the many bridges that lead out of the cities limits awash with merchants and visitors from the local realms of the light elves and the Vanir. in the lands beyond, snow capped gravity defying monolithic mountains loom over the forests and valleys, sprawling farms of grain and smaller trade villages break up the vast planes of towering pines and tidal grass.



In fact, off towards the main strait, the core bridge that leads to the cities huge gate, a procession was moving through, along with few regular merchant caravans before a group catches his attention. if my lesson with Mimir are right, thats Njords family crest on their banners, not far behind them, came along the Elven royalty…..wait…..was that big council meeting today?!



"Well looks who's awake so late in the afternoon, hmmmmm?" The soft voice made him freeze, turning slowly, he barely sees the teasing smile of his large minder, the big woman somehow snuck up on him despite her bulk. Aud, standing at a huge 9 feet and 4 inches, yes he asked her, towering over his 5'4 even from the added foot in height from the bench. Her massive chest nearly touching his head as the mounds fill his view, nearly blocking out the shape of her smile, his mortal mind would've been ecstatic, if it wasn't for the memories of multiple times of nearly dying by oxygen deprivation in those jiggling bean bags of flesh from her hugs as he grew up………….well mostly…but he'll take that secret to his grave first, and as a immortal thats gonna happen never.



and as much as his mortal thoughts may 'focus' on her, he'd only ever see her as family. See, while he may be 13 years old, he's still a God, and strength, well, its one of his developing domains….as a certain man of steel can relate, its hard living in a world of cardboard……….as he was growing up, obliviously, as king, Odin couldn't keep on 'eye' on him all the time, though Pops does make an effort to be there for him. But he's had to deal with jötunn uprisings appearing the last few years, each time he comes back from an expedition he grew more grim. Sadly nor could Frigg as she was just as equally responsible in the kingdoms development, especially in the her efforts to properly create a place for a standardized seiðr learning along with the manage of the valkyries as their queen. oh, and Frigg really accepted him as her own child after she had the chance to hold the fresh hot potato baby him……….As for Jord, she stung him the most as not long after his birth she left, no word, nothing, just gone and vanished into the ather…...



…..Pops and Mom argued about it a lot in the pat, Thor could guess that Odin did know the 'why' but he didn't share it, at least not yet anyway. As for how he knew, well, the family dinner's have a lot of gossip when everyone thinks you don't understand them, especially if everything sounds like English to him even its actually ancient norse, God power for the win!



since then he'd have a minder when his parents were busy, usually rotating between the three when the opportunity show up in their schedules. Sadly for the first minder, his powers started coming in as she got the chance to experience flying out of the castle wall at mach 5, a lit playful slap on the arm from him sent her flying, she lived thankfully, with several broken bones and ruptured organs that had their biggest farmer and part time chief healer Idunn create new curse words. The second one he punted into the harbor from other side of the city, the third nearly became dragon food after he throw a stone through the wyrm's eye, the fourth had their arm bones turned to powder from playing tag with him, the fifth one, he ran after seeing him smash the castle's courtyard to rubble when he was angry……



.….yeah, he was stronger then most Asgardians period, when he was seven, he arm wrestled with pops, as dads do with their divine uber powered kid, as expected Thor lost in the first 3 seconds…..rather badly too from the fact they shattered the table and the floor underneath……but Pops said he had to work for it so that makes Thor wonder how much stronger would he get if he properly trained, a caped baldy springs to mind…..……



..…it wasn't long after that that Aud came into the picture, oh he stared at the bouncing mounds for a good bit as she and pops talked, apparently she's grandmother figure to Odin, or something close to it really, even if Pops stared too and got nut shotted by mom for the trouble. After that, she'd handle Thor just fine, a lit 'shove' that would cripple a normal Aesir she brushed off like nothing happened. Oh, and she can cook, like really, really good cooking, a way to a god's heart is his stomach after all……..and Aud eventually became family to him……



While Thor's stuck in his head space, he fails to notice the raising arms going in for a hug…"Wah!" Hello darkness my old friend………and there's the lack of air, by Yddrasil's grace her softness was overwhelming, what air he had smelt like gooseberries? Aud's sweater being the only thing between him and what many a man would consider heaven…..yes, he's seen Pops stare on more then on occasion…and get slapped upside the head by mom a second later…



Wiggling his arms free, he taps franticly uncle on her elbow, Aud gives a pouting sigh and lets Thor drop onto his butt back onto the bench. The huge lady finally taking a step away from him, giving him the chance to take her in fully. The woman as wide she's nearly as tall from her hyper fertile shape, starting from the top down, the window's light revealed Aud with a bovine shaped face, a wide dark nose with faded yet sharp red eyes holding an amused glint, black hair swept back with a few strands hanging in front as her long ears stuck out. the grey and silver trimmed sweater gown she wore reaches to her knees, leaving her feet free to show the hooves she walks on. her sleeves rolled up to her elbows letting the dark fur of her hands and forearms breath, along her fingers and wrists, ruby red rune tattoos shimmering dimly. Her weapons of death, massively stretched out the embroidery of the sweater, the material screaming for death from the way Thor saw the battle to hold all of 'that' in, a sharp breath just might decided the war in boob coverage. From there her hips flared out like a brood mothers, a real shelf, is the only way of describing it, wide as two men shoulder to shoulder and clapped if she ran, not that she ever actually did, Thor will swear on his fathers name—she just….teleports…..everywhere....to scary the shit out him before robbing him of life giving air with her lethal hugs. In-between her two hemispheres, she had a bit of weight on her, clearly loving her own cooking as much as he did…








"AUD! what did I say about nearly killing me with those" he pauses as he points to her massive dobonhonkeros. "God killing weapons!" He exasperates, her dark lips only smile, though now there a slight smirk on its edge. Oh, she fuckin knew people stared, she uses her beach balls against people like a master chess player outsmarts their opponent, and with her killer hips she's got both means to 'distract' the perverted idiots of the world as she easily manipulates them. Thor could swear sometimes he felt like he's reborn in DXD, he's not, but one thing he's noticed from his time in his world is that the people here are…well 'more' then what the small humans he knew considered 'normal'. Then again from what he remembered from history class, mythology 'was' the worlds way of expressing their kinks without shame…the greeks are a great example of that…if he ever mets them..

as while Odin may not be the evil bastard of GOW:R, Pops, while still a tad paranoid, is much to big and has a kinder disposition that boney insane milksop, as for Mimir, he is the same Scottish speaking know it all he listened to in Kratos's boat, though he's still got his body... so at best guess, this world may lean more to the mythology then the game, even if its mixed with other elements in different ways, he'll probably discover more as his lives this immortal life.


She ruffles his hair, "Come on my prince, you need to get ready for the Vanir and Elven's royal arrival." She said before swaying her frame over to the dresser, "Close the door will you dear?" Aud asks as she dug through the mess that is his dresser, Thor got off the bench and went over to his opened door, grumbling, knowing he'll be forced to look 'dignified' for people he hardly knew. He'd rather hang out with Tyr in the training field then what ever six hour meeting he'll be dragged too.



Grabbing the door, he closes it "Oh, here we go!" Aud declares, just in time to see Aud pull out a gaudy navy blue tunic and pants, both looking over the top in the shear amount of gold thats been woven into it. OOOOHHHH SHIT!! eyes wide in horror, Thor tries to open the door but it stayed shut even as he snaps the handle off from the force he's using, looking, the rim of the door has a halo of a lit red. "Can't have you running off now can we?" Aud asks as her immense shadow slowly covers the petrified Thor. "I threw that out! HOW!!! NO! Please anything but that!" He begs 'Ehehehehehe" giggling Aud has a lit blush on her face as she edges closer…..

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Valhalla, the grand hall of Odin and the largest and most venerated section of Valaskjálf, its vaulted ceiling high up detailing Aesir's history and intricate gold knot art work in the wood beams and rafters. The hall is awash of voices as everyone prepares for the Vanir and Elven nobles. Asgard's throne, situated on an elevated platform giving a view of the food laden banquet tables and the roaring fires roasting huge hunks of seasoned monster meat to perfection, each table and fire having a small team of chefs manning the food supply, Odin's valkyrie either standing with the guards along the edges of the chamber or their youngest recruits going around acting as the waitresses to building on party.



Valhalla - (this but bigger, bon fires, and more light)




Fuckin dammit! it itches! pulling at the neck of this tight piece of shit collar, that screams 'am a rich sod', Thor looks to Aud off in the far corner of the Valhalla's throne room. She stuck out a bit from the gathered crowed of Asgardian nobility, but said crowd is a mixed of the many races living in Asgard, from the tall far skinned elves in their long elegant robes, to the short and stocky dwarves with their giant beards and steel armor, as the sole Beast-kin, He found her pretty quickly. She has a beaming smug look on her face, having forced him into this 3 hours ago must gave her ego a boost. I get back at her I swear! The thought echos in my mind, before being blocked out by the sound of the arrival horns booming through the castle. Thor, pushes his thoughts down as he stands to the side of the throne next to frigg as Odin sits in Hliðskjálf, gungnir in his hand.



Odin, quietly observes the crowd of nobles, is clad in his dwarven made armor, his one eye a star of white energy beneath his antlered helm, kept a smirk under his grey beard. As from his throne, he has no trouble seeing the procession ready themselves beyond his walls. Beside him, Frigg, hand on Thor's shoulder, wore her queen's garb, the black form fitting robes letting her move easily, while letting her easy channel magic. Her silver locks done into a braid, as one of Odin's crows, Huginn, sat on her shoulder guard. She kept trying to comb Thor's wild hair back, his irritation forming into a glare that only got a snicker before she stopped.







The announcer, standing by the entry way, his throat glowing a magic rune halo ring magnifying his voice "Hail! His majesty Njord! And his twin heirs!"



Through the halls main doors, the massive steel and wood covered in runes and encored history, gave way to the entering entourage. At its lead walks Njord, the grinning red beared man standing proud, staff in hand glowing a halo of sea green energy as it taps against the floor, sparking with each step. His green cloak swinging behind, covering partly the scaled armer of his torso and his sword sheathed to his waist.





Trailing behind him are two kids, a blonde haired boy with light gold eyes, maybe around Thor's age, or a year younger, but lacking a few inches in height in comparison to him. On the standard of looks the boy is at the Disney prince level, but thats all he has going for him, as the princely face of his is shattered by the arrogant shit eating grin marring his face. thinks he's hot stuff doesn't he? Thor simply hopes the brat taken down a peg sooner then later if he has to deal with him on the regular……or he'll help do it by subsequent nut shot so either way works. The brat fiddles with the bottom rim of his yellow tunic, maybe a tad nervous perhaps? Hiding his lacking confidence with arrogance? Thor also notes……….Oh?, now thats interesting, behind the brat a golden sword three times his size floats faithfully behind him like a dog. the metal of the blade visibly shifting like the surface of the sun....That must be Sumarbrander making the brat Freyr then, future god of summer and eventual idiot who will lose that very blade, one of the two sharpest blades in existence for the hand of giantess who's not even slightly interested in the growing bean pole…..he's also sticking close to girl beside him....



Walking beside him, is a fire haired girl, whose fiery mane is pulled back and set with a radiant blue gem pin. Wearing a purple gown, that has embroidered flowers and birds through out its surface. she walks in confident stride despite the underlaying tension settling in her shoulders. Her red-gold eyes locking on Thor for a second before shifting to Odin and Frigg. From how close Freyr is latched to her, and that she doesn't slap the hanger on away, she must be Freya, goddess of love in the making. A foot shorter then Thor from his best guess from the distance, and possessing a face that ranks up there in ye olden fairy tale princesses…..so twins that share in beauty but not in personality judging by how she looks ready to punch someone in the face then be here.…..…..a bit of a tomboy Huh? Thor smirks at the duo, looking to their father for a moment, yep, the looks come from the mother, who ever that is…



"Odin!" Njord's voice floods the hall, the sea god's smile proves infectious as Odin stands matching the expression, "Welcome Njord! To you and your family! Come and rest by my fires and drink my mead" Waving to a Valkyrie to the right, Sigrun whom nodded, bring the loaded plate of bread and salt over to the Vanir god. Njord takes a piece thankfully and takes a bit, taking part in guest rights. The three continue moving through the crowd, only stopping when they were before the steps up to the throne. Njord kneels, his children doing the same as the pay homage to the All-father, "Thank you for welcoming us into your home my friend, it's been a long journey." He adds as he returns standing.



Fish beard then notices Thor, "Is this your first born?" he asked giving Thor, not wanting to appear weak, stood straight as possible as Njord brought attention onto him from the twins. Freyr, at least appears interested, in that there's at least someone at the same level of him, Freyja acts like he doesn't exist…..though her eyes, he caught, lingering on him a few times as the young goddess's gaze wonders around the throne room. "This is Thor my son." Odin introduces him, making Thor have to bow slightly in greeting.



"He's gonna be a fine warrior someday! he reminds me of you in our youth!" Njord remarks beaming, leaning foward "I hear you've been rather rambunctious the last few years? Hmm?" He asks the prince, starching his neck gingerly "I don't know what your talking about" He mutters failing to defend himself agains the inquiring look forming on Njord's face, "Oh and here I thought you demolished a dwarven forge by hitting the anvil to hard, shattered the foundations too from what I heard…….made the elder forge master weep…..for a week…" his question getting a gasp of surprise from the twins "that was you?" Freyr's voice cracking as he asks, even Freya now giving him her undivided attention.



"I-I well, I was training, learning how to smith, and my teacher, Druinn, told me to hit the iron harder and….." Thor shrugs, "I may have turned an ancestral 1000 year old forge into a small-ish crater…." He adds nonchalantly making Frigg sigh from behind him, "Thor, your the reason we had to reinforce the entirety of Asgards foundations......the dwarves cursed about it for moons!" She complains, only getting a side eyed look from her son "What? I warned the guy before I started…" Thor mumbles, "HAHAHAHAHAHA" the absurdity fueling the sea god into a full belly laugh. The twins stare at him now, questions probably forming in their pretty little heads which they will definitely pester him over later. Odin sighs from recalling the conversation he had with Durinn, The old dwarf, weep and drunk himself into a stupor after Thor took out the black works, fortunately the dwarf then took it as a challenge to improve his creations to survive total annihilation, Frigg rubs her face in long accepted reluctance to her son's antics..….



"Hail!, Aeloria high queen of the light elves! and her daughter, Princess Faelwen!" The outcrier's verberating heraldry brings the gathered gods focus back to the next part of the arrivals. Njord, moving himself and children to the empty table a bit away from the throne. Freyja steals a glance to Thor before moving with her brother, what? wanna say something? Thor holds his thoughts to himself as he turns to see the Elven queen and princess enter.



the many nobles fall into silence, few can deny the beauty of the elven queen, her solar radiance emanating in a ring halo around her gold and white dress and crystal jewelry. Her gold locks, stretching down her back kept in place by a pure diamond crown. Her face a still picture of refined grace, as her amber eyes taken in the gathering. The blessings of Yddrasil clearly in effect from her fertile voluptuous figure she bore, her familial line was tasked with the world trees care since the realms shaping, the royal family were gifted a boon in their eternal service to the tree of life. if it wasn't for freya taking the title of goddess of beauty in the coming years, the elf queen probably would be the runner up….






Beside Aeloria, her daughter moves beside her, the young, by elven standards, woman revels in the attention. Her violet eyes glimmering in barely concealed mischief, while not as developed as her mother yet, she stole many a wondering eye. Faelwen pushes a lock of silver hair back into place as she smiles. If Thor has to guess, even if she's about a 150 years old, she's still in the elven 'teenage' phase, something he learned from his few elven friends who were over 50 while looking like and acting like kids.






She has a book clipped in a pouch hanging against her hip, a practicer of magic perhaps? Still learning her families runes, most likely one of the blessings from Yddrasil, see while his lessons with Mimir were few, but when the god of knowledge has the time, he'd bury Thor in arcane knowledge, scrolls on dead languages, and long forgotten history to expect him to be read up on them the next time around for a pop quiz….. in one such lesson, it covered the high elves of the royal family, who use a type of plant magic that can reshape a empty desert into a life abundant forest filled with roaring rivers and planet life….maybe he'll ask her later…



The mother and daughter elves kneel before Odin and his throne, pops most likely getting an eye full, but that helmet of his hides it well. "Welcome to my hall, Aeloria, and to you Faelwen, come part take of the guest rights." Gesturing to the same valkyrie from before. "Of course, Allfather" Aeloria's melodious voice sings out, taking a two pieces and handing one to her daughter who looks to Thor as she takes a bit. She gives him a playful wink…….ohhhhhhh she's gonna be trouble, ain't she?

guest right finished, Odin raises a hand letting all attention fall to him. letting his voice boom through Valhalla unimpeded, "Let the feast begin!"

this is the world tree, its three planes of reality, each with three 'main' realms.

in this chaotic universe of gods and monsters.
the realms formed by the world tree as so:

---

- the Aether plane(top) -
Asgard - the home of the Aesir and domain of Odin the Allfather, a realm of floating monolithic mountains and valleys with miles of ancient forests. the grand city is the hub of trade across the realms immemorial, guarded by the Einherjer army of Odin, and the united forces of the nine realms....


Vanaheim - land of the Vanir, a place of endless planes of tidal grass and titanic oak trees, silver rivers cut through the landscape as the plentiful wildlife of all shapes, sizes, and power prosper. The varies Vanir clans live either an stationary or nomadic existence, with the largest of them having formed towns and cities as the base of behemoth trees and along the oceans coast, and the smallest roaming the endless fields as their ancestors did, on the backs of great beasts.


Alfheim - the shining sanctuary of the light elves, caretakers of the world tree and its offspring, trédemantur(tree of diamonds). their home shaped by the crystallized energy of the world tree. between the three realms, in the outer ranges, the well of souls, Urd, top most part reaches, with its deepest depths end in the dark of Hel, drawing from the river of souls, where the dead are sorted and stripped of their memory for re-incarnation. it is here at the well, The Norns live to shape and weave the blank souls fates in the grand tapestry of destiny.

---

- The Mortal Plane(middle)-
Midgard - the realm held in the middle of reality by the world tree, and here that humanity lives, created by Odin and his brothers. the mortal world still holds the scars from the divine conflict of old, as the bones of fallen Jötnar and great beast linger. and sinister forces still dwell in the darker places, bitter and forgotten by mortal, god, and giant alike. trolls and ogres prey on the ignorant and the foolish, as draugr haunt old barrows, slaughtering would-be treasure hunters. from here travel to the other planes is possible by the temple of the nine.


Niðavellir - the world of the dwarves, a vast realm above and below ground. here master smiths push the limits of the possible to make the impossible, entire volcanos remade into immense forges spewing rivers of smelted ore, gravity defying castle fortresses, underground endless labyrinthine cities of carved stone. for their greed, they deal with the nameless terrors in the hunt for precious material humming with primordial energies in creations depths.


Jotunheim- the mountainous realm of the frost giants, a world so chaotically large that even the largest of the Jötnar, can feel small, from the shear scale of their gargantuan Forests, miles deep fjords, and snow buried mountain ranges. the Jötnar, equal in power to the gods, live in clans, due to their species varying in scale. Castle Utgard, is the largest gathering of the clans, numbering in the thousands, all of whom are walking, 300 foot, mountains themselves. the castle is ruled by Útgarða-Loki(not Loki), a ambitious Jötunn that is raising In power. on the smaller side, Jötunn's near the size of humans live in the thawed fertile valleys, shaping the land to their needs. In the farthest edges of this realm, Mimir's well remains hidden to all save those who know where it is...


Svartalfheim - neither a true realm nor a recognized kingdom by the Allfather, Svartalfheim is the home of the dark elves, once light elves themselves before they split away from alfheim. unfortunately, the events never recorded, what is known is only that they were exiled to Midgard by being guilty of a unforgivable crime. there the elves turned to dark magic, corrupting their inner light in opposition to the light elves. they dwell in the black forests of Midgard, using their magics to 'enlarge' the forest to create their domain and cities.

---

- The Nether(bottom)-
Niflheim - the primordial realm of unending cold, the once home to the first giant Ymir, this realm is near lifeless save for the ambitious or the foolish, and darker shapeless things. this realm is also home to the Hvergelmir, the source of all rivers thatflows freely from. it is also here, Nidhogg, the great dragon resides, biting and gnawing at Yddrasil's roots in the deep waters.


Muspelheim - the realm of primordial fire, a endless hell-scape of erupting volcanos, and lava rivers, the only life here is the fire giants in all of its shapes and forms, lead by the strongest of them, Surtr, whom steadily grows their number with each generation, forging them in the fires of constant gladiatorial combat of his immense arena.

Helheim - born from the two extremes of Muspelheim and Niflheim. where they touch the realm of the dead forms, where all souls fall into its rivers to leads to reincarnation. the souls that refuse to let go of life are turned into draugr, cursed to wonder the damned realm till The End or they are destroyed. make no mistake, this realm is not only home to the dead, but to the uncountable horrors from Ymir's time remain, monsters that are better forgotten then disturbed. as of Odin's latest report, the dead kings continue in their endless war of ceaseless domination.....

"Back then, we barely knew one another, and then we were 'told' to get along by our parents, become 'childhood friends' they said."I quote with my fingers in the air. "Njord already lived in Asgard. I never saw much of him, though, as I was told he travels a lot, keeping tabs on his realm and the seas. His sack seeds, on the other hand, were born and raised in Vanaheim before their mother passed…"

"…Huh? You know what? Now that I think about it, in the years since I've known them, I never once asked them about her or her name………." Stopping at the thought, then shrugging, "Well, anyway, as part of the whole Old-War peace treaty with Odin, the twins would be staying in Asgard permanently." I say matter-of-factly, ignoring the whole political hostage thing….

Taking a sip, "after that…the rather mundane, if a tad chaotic, years simply flew by….."

Even if their relationship was a bit 'forced', memories both joyful and bitter bubble up to mind, "Freyr was and is a right asshole, that ego of his a mile long for being worthy of Sumarbrander, the sword's an eons old relic from Alfheim's ancient fore founders, Heh, Fucker was made King of The Elven Realm the moment it smacked him in the face during a visit to their light temple, plus it helps that he's the god of summer - a god of life and growth - in a place where the elves worship life and growth……." I stop for a moment, recalling the specifics while taking another swig of Mead.

"If I remember right, that self-fighting ever puppy-dog loyal sword of his, while most of its history is lost due to The Old War, the agreed-upon origin was that it was forged from a solidified shard of Yddrasil's heart. A blessing from the world tree itself to protect and guide the elves during the shaping of the world from Ymir's corpse, granting it immense power and intelligence when it was forged into the legendary blade by the elven master smith Celebrimbor, the first high king of Alfheimr...."

"The blonde turd liked to show it off to the young nobility, especially the ladies, when he hit godly puberty, even tried to get me to kiss his ass, saying he's a king like Pops." My smirk turns savage, "I knocked him out for a week after yeeting him through a wall with a broken face and a whole lot of missing teeth..……he kept his distance after that for a while…….."

"Freya showed herself not long after that, as beforehand she really just kept to her circle of friends she made in her studying of the arcane……..the milksop probably ran off and balled his eyes out to her. And she promptly challenged me to a duel."

"To say the match was short-lived is an understatement. The first match, she tried throwing a fireball at me, and I simply slapped it back to her with a thunder clap from my hands…..the look on her face as the flames scorched off her eyebrows and set her hair on fire while disintegrating her clothes to ash………."

"In retrospect, I could have sent it back at a higher angle or extinguish it with air pressure…….Before I could've done anything to help, she made sure no one saw her buck naked ass and washboard tits by releasing a magic-infused high falcon-like scream, made my ears bleed, and knocked out a good number of the unfortunate onlookers before she shape-shifted into a bird and took off…."

"……..when she reappeared later that day with a new set of clothes, she made me promise that I didn't see anything….…… I didn't obviously, I swore on my Pop's beard that I wasn't interested, and that I certainly didn't see non-existent mosquito bite tits and pencil thin hips that were waxed smooth and clean with a small heart shaped birthmark on the upper left of her left ass cheek……no sir………."

"Yeeeeeeaaaaaahhhhhh………she crushed me into a mile deep hole with gravity magic after I said that……..but a week later she challenged me again, with magic woven clothes that time around…………turns out she's got a pretty good head on her shoulders other then lookin pretty.….from then on, around a week at a time she'd challenged me like clockwork."

"Freya started hanging out with Tyr and me in the training yard not long after that. Freyr at one point decided to tag along and kept it up though his ego reared its head now and again……….… Freyr is an annoying bastard, and Freya is stubborn as a mountain troll……..but after the first 60 years, I guess you could say they grew on me…........" Fond memories play in my mind of days long gone….

"…..as for Faelwen……..I best not say…....... I don't think Mister Barkeep will like it if I turn the surrounding area into a smoking 100-mile deep molten crater……"

---

Outside the city of Asgard, just a bit away from eastern walls and further still from the worn merchant trade roads, lies the king's wood, a grand forest planted eons back during Buri's rule, towering ancient pines and strong oaks swaying to the strong wind of the warm summer breeze.

In the outer fringes of the forest is a small enclosed wood grove, sitting out of sight from the city and nearby paths, protected by the thick canopy and vivid green foliage, rests a small oval area with a fine sand pitch in the middle, peppering the edges, are multiple equipment racks dotting the sandy ring, each holding worn out blunted - or otherwise shattered beyond use - practice weapons, lay against the wooden frames, and along with various training tools; going as far as massive house-sized boulders with worn deep impressions of hands in their surfaces littering the ground, some having even been smashed to rumble.
To then, as small as a large wood pillar wrapped in forged bronze and thick leather bands, fist-shaped craters cover the magically enhanced and many times replaced makeshift punching bag…

one thing to note however, is around the perimeter of the pitch, are four stone slabs embedded into the sandy forest floor in each 'corner' of the training area, every single one with silver gold runes carved into them that glows a faint purple hue that periodically releases a plum of glowing violet dust into air, the flickering star-like embers forming a near invisible dome around the area.

The silence is only broken by the god, who, if it were anyone else, would be considered in subjective hell, but to him, it's simply the end of his morning workout.

Thor grunts as he finishes his last push-up, keeping his breath steady as the runic steel weights bound in leather'n'steel fittings across his back and arms shift with the movement. The oblivion Iron inside weighs the same as, by his best guess, 135,000 tons or a steel battleship on its own, from the amount carried, granted there is more increased weight because of the silver etched runes across its small exposed surface radiating a low violet hue.

Connecting to the matrix around him, which would put the same weight as a small moon on his back, without consequence or effect to the area around him.

The 'gravity room' is a project of his that he made with help a decade ago. As Thor got tired fast of being a 'spectacle' to the castle's nobility, staff, and just about anyone with eyes as they watched him do things that even a normal - but still well beyond mortal human - Aesir do without divine power, at the bare minimum.

At first, he didn't give a crap about the drooling, horny big tiddy wenches -though he did talk to a few- or the awed, jealous, and probably compensating wimps called castle guards watching Thor lift boulders the size of small houses repeatedly in his reps before he'd go for his first 10,000 km run of the day. When he'd finish the physical workout, he'd train his lightning, something he's fairly bitter about, as his control sucks. Something his mother, Frigg, keeps telling him he needs patience for……

Not that it's a lack of trying, as for his training, she had set for him, the task was to collapse an entire storm's worth of arcing, violent energy into his hands to form a ball. To which he's meant to hold and maintain stability for ten minutes to an hour without it going nuclear on him.

On the first ever try, the growing crowd would 'ooo' and 'aaah' at that before taking off screaming as Thor let his concentration slip from their annoying commentary, giving him a few slim seconds to release the lightning skyward and not deep-fry the stupid cunts.

In the aftermath of the near vaporization, he asked Pops for a secluded spot to train in without risk of any potential casualties. The one-eyed king laughed at his plight and took him to this grove, the same place Odin and his brothers trained during their early years as well. The matrix was added later by Thor with Mimir's annoyingly insightful advice and Frigg's motherly hawk-ish oversight as Odin provided the lodestones with a melancholic grin.

Since then, while his physical strength soars with each passing day, his lightning has only grown to a basic level of control, to the point he could supercharge himself and his weapons with it, or, of course, wipe a city off the map with a huge arcing explosion and leave just a glass crater.

Actual weather manipulation is off the table for now as well, as he can only get it to rain lightly or full blown doomsday hurricane, spitting out lightning bolts with 200+ mph winds in a wave of uncontrollable destruction.

He learned his lesson the first time he tried. Frigg was pretty pissed for leaving Asgard to suffer a solid month of nothing but rain and thunderstorms with only a small - constant - chance of tornadoes.

On the upside, he's gotten to the point of throwing lightning bolts and arcing strikes like Cole from Infamous, but anything more than that either makes a huge explosion of power or sweet oblivion for the schmuck on the receiving end. Thank fuck for my immunity to my own lightning, or I'd be a red-headed piece of crispy bacon by now…

….but there's something I'm missing, it's not just having Mjolnir either….I swear it feels like….The Storm…

Lightning itself…..is testing me……When I hold it, the spark, the power of destruction, of pure impossible-ly terrifying energy in my hand … the more it pushes back….

'Patience, Thor, Patience' Frigg's words spring into his head; he could only grumble at the thought, guessing that's why every 'Thor', no matter the variation, always has a tool of focus for all that destructive power…and gets called the god of hammers because of it.

Unfortunately, even nearing over a century old, He's heard little to nothing of news on the Huldra Brothers. And Master Druinn, while a respected blacksmith to the point fellow dwarves started calling him The God Of The Forge, is of little help in that regard, as he's not the one destined to create the strongest weapon in all existence…

In fact, to at least partially fix the issue, Thor 'borrowed' a relic from Asgard's Vaults, a weapon that Druinn made long ago, one that his-

"Done with your 'exercises', Thor?" A gruff voice calls out from behind, interrupting Thor from the tangling knots of his headspace while getting his feet under him to stand. Thor sees Tyr approach him from the still, somewhat in one piece and usable blunt weapons rack, with two practice swords in his hands.

A slight smirk on the young God of Wars' bearded face, Tyr, stands at a huge 8'5 with a body built for endurance and combat. Rune tattoos cover his arms and forehead; the detailing of the runes brings Thor's distant memories of the GOW: R Tyr to mind, layering over the tall god before him.

A better-kept shoulder-length brown hair, cord-like muscles full of strength, and not diminished by years of imprisonment. And his eyes haven't gotten the Bifrost crystal treatment just yet, but the two are the same, only lacking the world-traveling wisdom of his older self and the mental trauma of being kept in a cold cell for centuries while subjected to a mad king's entertainment.

The war god wears a simple blue tunic with a wolf pelt cloak on his shoulders, straps keep the cloak in place, the bands leading to the belt around his waist, and a sword left in its sheath against his hip.

• Spoiler: Young Tyr

  

Tyr offers the practice blade's handle, looking up slightly at the taller thunder god, "Yeah….ya want'in a spar, I take it." Thor's voice rumbling, smiling himself, the decades of divine-level apocalyptic training and eating metric tons of monster meat like death awaited him, had the once normal-sized god-ling, with the help of divine puberty and Aud's protein-rich cooking, become a solid behemoth of curved granite-like muscle.

The fat and the beer gut of his 'other' self never had a chance against the meat-grinder abs and veiny watermelon-sized biceps that can pulverize stone to dust with the lightest twitch. His immensely broad shoulders clad in stálbjörn leather guards, two knotwork torso straps leading from his right shoulder pauldron to his runic steel buckle and leather belt. That holds up his dark hide waist pelt and pants, along with a couple of pouches along his right hip and back. His worn boots take a step forward as Thor takes the offered sparing sword from Tyr, brushing his long, blood-red hair back with his free left hand.

• Spoiler: Young Thor - combine the two, the build of the first with the hair and clothes of the second

  

  

The two Gods move to the center of the pitch as the warriors begin circling each other. Widening his stance, Tyr levels his sword with both hands to his chest. The blunt blade held up to guard his torso, Thor, due to his size, kept his to the side, angling its edge for a wide slash.

The thunder god glances to the iron weights as the engraved purple rune shimmers as he moves, "I suppose you'd want me to keep this on, yeah?" he asks Tyr, who shook his head. "I want a spar, not get tossed to Vanaheimr." The war god finishes and shifts to his Stone Stance, both hands holding the sword close to his chest, a combat style he made himself as a golden light shines into life out of the rune tattoos on Tyr's body. From his forehead to his hands and arms, the glow extends to the sword in his hands.

"How about an endurance test? I've been training my speed to better counter that rather shitty blade work of yours." Tyr says provokingly.

Thor's smile turns fierce. Tyr is the God of War; as such, he may not be as strong as Thor, but where Tyr has him beat is in raw skill and weapon mastery. Any weapon in his hands goes above and beyond whatever mortal, physical, or godly limits it has, a plastic spork from the trash in Tyr's gold glowing hands can kill a mountain troll, with a divine blade, he can cleave a mountain and the sky above it clean in half like butter backed by his divine power and skill, he's the greatest weapons master in the whole of Asgard.

Thor's a meathead when it comes to higher skillmanship like sword play, he'll never deny that, as his skills lie with his rated E for everyone fists to the blunt weapons of war-hammers or giant slabs of iron in the form of great swords or axes, where one swing is more than enough to turn the intended victim into a fine red paste.

But he's just as much a warrior as the war god in front of him. And he proves it with a diagonal slash that makes the very air ripple apart around it, the strength behind it more than enough to cut the man and everything behind him in half if the blade had a cutting edge.

Tyr swings his gold-coated sword to meet it in a counter, deflicking it with a sky-quaking sonic boom from the clash of blades. The blowback makes them take a step away from each other as their weapons bounce outwards from the reverberating shock wave.

The two smile widens savagely as, within a split second, the two lunge at each other, leaving small craters beneath their feet in the sand from the force alone, each other's blades colliding hundreds of thousands of times in a blink, the scream of metal breaking the sound barrier filling the violently displaced air as the forest whips like in a storm from the god-made gale.

Thor's just slashing as fast as he can, taking his basic understanding of swordsmanship to an insane degree by applying his divine strength to make it faster than any mortal or lacking Aesir able to see his very movements. In his mind, however, it's simply filled with - "ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA!!!!!"

Tyr's grin never wavers with gusto, as he counters each swing with his own golden power, roaring in equal measure, his divine speed and skill keeping up with the thunder god. This goes on for what feels to them to be an hour-long stalemate as the two lay into one another like they mean to kill each other, as they get lost in their own little world of attacking and countering the force of each clash, ramping up with every blow.

But to the outside world, it's really only been 3 minutes of continuous air concussions; the little 'spar' finally reaches its climax.

"ORAAA!!!" Thor yells as he's pulling back, making Tyr's eyes widen in shock and then narrow in gold radiance, as his friend starts using more power in this swing, both hands grasping the handle as the blade warps under the pressure, as lightning arcs from him and across the sword, the very laws of physics bend like molten glass.

Time slows to a snail's pace, letting Tyr see the approaching cleave that meant to take his head and wipe out everything in his general direction. In that hair thin moment his grip tightens enough the white of his knuckles glow like suns as the runic gold light subsumes the whole blade, the grin on his face gaining a sharp rivalious edge as he moves to counter the blow, the momentum of the two carry the blades an inch from each other, the force now more than enough to blow up the whole forest and leave a nice mile deep whole to been be seen from asgard…..

The two fail to notice, however, are the fast-approaching gloved fists aiming right for their faces. "GRAGGAH!" cries of pain tear free; they don't even register when Thor and Tyr are punched away from each other by the new arrivals.

Promptly ending their little match as Thor is launched straight into a nearby Oak tree, shattering the poor tree on contact, as Tyr eats dirt he's thrown into the far grass field and ploughs a new ditch with his face. The swords flying from their hands to stab far into the ground near the tree line.

"WHAT DID I SAY BOYS!!!!" the angry voice of Frigg making the two freeze as they try getting back, Thor picks himself up from the ground with oak chunks fall off him as he turns slowly to see Frigg, cross-armed, full scowl fuming as she stood next to Aud, the tall bovine beast-kin towering over the Queen of The Gods wearing a similar frown.

Tyr, with a mud-facical is already kneeling like a chastised brat in front of them, the earlier battle maniac long gone. Thor moves over gingerly, scratching the back of his head while also brushing the debris away. Now, before his mother, he gives Aud a glance, who keeps her frown, but she winks reassuringly at him.

Frigg's silver hair, that's usually immaculate, is a swirling mess as her magic flickers along the floating locks. Thor could feel the anger radiating off of her, best not tick her off further than…..

He and Tyr both speak heads held down, eyes locked to the forest floor, "Not to go too far…." which only got Frigg to huff as she squeezes the ridge of her nose, the migraine not helping in the least. For the years she's watched these two grow up, when they 'spar' it usually ends in two ways, one of them in the healing hall, or alter the very landscape.

"Today of all days, you two nearly wiped the king's wood from the map…….again.." she hissed the last part as her scarlet eyes burned like stars with crimson power that fades as she steadied her breathing.

The telling off they expect never comes, as Thor meets his mother's eyes, the anger only being a cover for…..heart ache?

"Today? What's so important about today?" Thor asks as he tries to remember if anything important was meant for today. After this, he intends to go to Druinn to earn his smith title, but other than that, nothing…

Aud steps forward as she holds concern in her voice, her hands fidgeting together beneath her bosom. "Something for a later discussion for a more familial setting…" She looks to Tyr, who bows his head, before shifting back to Thor.

"My prince, your mother simply joined me when I came to remind you about your forge trial with Druinn," she says as she raises a hand, a small runic halo on her palm that causes the gravity matrix to dim its glow, along with the shimmer along Thor's training braces along his arms and torso.

"Right…" Thor says, though, his tone hides that he's not gonna let this go either. He offers a hand to Tyr, helping him to stand. "Well, let's get goin then, Druinn's probably already cursing up a storm in that smithy of his," he finishes, as he begins unstrapping the weights.

"I'll….see you later, Thor," Tyr voices with a wave as he does not want to linger in the family drama. Thor raises a brow, watches him leave rather quickly on the dirt path back towards Asgardr.

Frigg sits on a nearby tree stump, head held in her hands as she listens to the breeze. No word is spoken, but Thor shares a look with Aud as she gestures for them to go simply and not inquire more, giving Frigg the quiet they knows she needs.

AN: Sorry for the late chapter. I meant to get this out a long time ago but instead of lemons, life hit me with bricks instead. I am continuing this. I guess you could say each chapter has a long cooking time....so let me cook.

---

"Druinn……"

The chair creaks as I lean back, the shit-eating grin on my face growing. "Druinn is a Dwarf's Dwarf, with his heart wholly given to the very act of creation, a temper that could make you deaf and question life choices, and a massive drunkard that can out curse anyone under the sun."

"His teaching methods are deadly. Nearly roasting me alive with that dragon-fuelled forge of his as he yells at me to strike the iron while it's hot as he drinks his beer."

"He's more stubborn than goats, ogres, and trolls. Once he decides something, no one can change it. Hell, he once made a bet with his old friend, Ivaldi, that his skull was harder than an anvil made from reinforced Oblivion Iron with mountain root inlay."

"…….Yeah, the anvil broke in half, leaving Ivaldi 20 hacksilver poorer, and Druinn with a massive headache."

"Oh, and he smells like a bonfire made of year-old beer and beyond burnt charcoal with the undertone of draugr oil."

"Druinn for all of his faults……"

"Was like a grandfather to me… or maybe the weird drunk uncle that occasionally shat out worthwhile sage-like advice before falling into an alcohol-induced coma for a week."

"But there's no denying that he's a master of his craft; he's created wonders that would leave you in awe."

"The God Of The Forge, they called him, things is, no one knew how close that became true. The old bastard being a single step away from attaining godhood."

"My pops even offered to help get him across that star-spangled divine-ascension finishing line."

"The old fucker refused every offer with a well-executed insult…."

"..."

The melancholy drips from my voice, "that trial, that was the culmination of decades of work."

"....…of many near incinerations from that shitty overgrown lizard of his, of getting whipped in the head with a hammer from a raging dwarf after messing up a weld, the moment of profound pride as my first working rune matrix that I spent hours engraving into a sword ignite in fiery solar glow, the laughter when I shared a beer with that old fart after I made a runic powered distillery…."

"its also when things really changed for me."

"It was the start of my journey, you could say, My Myth, My Legend."

I look at the swirling mead of my cup, bringing it to my lips. "Of course, back then…."

Taking a swig as the bitter mead twinges my tongue, "I didn't know that I was about to meet my destined wife or that I was getting three pain-in-the-ass brothers."

---

The Dwarven Black Iron Works is a massive stone and iron foundry that sits in the north-eastern district of Asgard. The dark metal and stone foundry is about the size of three football stadiums squeezed together, with two additional sections sprouting from the middle on either side.

Basically, making it a weird giant plus symbol when looking from above - if one could see beyond the smoke, of course.

It sat near enough to the merchant's markets and the city entrance so that visitors and resident customers could go see the blacksmith's work and commission new requests in bulk or in custom orders.

Material and raw ore flow freely from the adjacent canals connecting to the distant harbor to supply the dwarve's fire bellowing smithies.

Black smoke with flares of fire vents out of the many chimneys as the ring of hammers echoes out to the buzzing populous outside.

Thor stands beside Aud before the Iron Works massive entrance. Aud holds a grimace as the assaulting heat clearly bothers her. Thor, unbothered, has a splitting grin as he looks over the many workers and people buzzing in and out of the place.

Aud pulls on the neck of her grey gown, unfastening the top buttons, letting a vast valley of cleavage free in her attempt to fight the heat. Her body did not agree with the sweltering warmth at all. Her pale red eyes cast a lingering glance at the grinning Thor, only to silently huff.

Ignoring her plight, "Onwards!" he yells.

Thor leads the way with Aud following behind as they push through the open, massive iron door, scorched black at the edges, and step into the belly of the Black Iron Works. Heat hits first, a physical wall of it that ripples the air and makes the brown fur on Aud's forearms stand upright.

Light here is molten: an orange, white, and blue glare that comes from vats and glowing troughs, throwing the cavernous hall into hard, moving shadows. Smoke and steam mix into a near-constant haze; it smells of hot metal, singed wool, and boiled oil, with an acidic tang where flux and forge-slag spit and hiss.

The main floor is a forest of anvils, tread platforms, and rune-etched bellows. Great chains spool up and down, carrying glowing blooms of ore between stations; water-jets hiss against cooling ingots; and rune-cranks hum with a steady, low vibration that makes dust motes dance like sparks. Enormous automated hammers fall in precise, mechanical rhythms, their striking faces streaked with scale and old blood-red welds.

Between them, craftsmen move with deliberate, practiced economy: a dwarf tugging a pair of tongs through a steam curtain, another slapping a hooked punch into a softened rim, a handful braiding wires into a rune-core lodestone while singing a short, sharp working chant.

They pass rows of private work bays as they move toward the back. Each alcove is a little world of its own. Shelves crammed with ingots stamped by guildmarks, racks of chisels and hardened punches, jars of powdered metals with labels burned at the edges, and boards hung with sketches and half-finished templates.

Each bay has its own micro-forge: a cone of localized flame fed by iron piping and small rune-fuses that keep temperature and pressure perfect for whatever the smith is shaping. Sparks leap from some bays like caged fireflies; in others, a steady orange glow reveals a smith bent so close to the work his beard curls toward the heat.

Aud huffs between gritted teeth. "I swear, Thor, I could roast a whole cabal of Tatzelwurms
in here," she complains, rubbing at the back of her neck.

"Give me the thin, clean bite of Niflheimr any day. My blood prefers ice to this… this hell-mouth oven." She tugs at the neckline of her deep bosom again, trying to catch a thread of cooler air that isn't there.

Thor just grins, unbothered; the heat slides off him like dew. In his head, he notes, wryly, that this is simple blacksmith fire. fierce, aged, and honed by craft. All of which were fueled by coal dug up by dwarven hands.

Grimacing from a passing thought, well….. not all of them….. In the heart of this place, Druinn's Forge, that dragon-fed hell of his teacher's creation, had nearly toasted him throughout sixty years of training; it's the kind that burns oblivion iron and monster bone alike and leaves memories of mistakes scorched into scar tissue.

This place, this part at least, he thinks, is loud and dangerous, but it won't try to barbecue him or turn him to ash for fun.

Moving deeper still, the light thins and the noise compresses into a lower, more reverent tone. The floor here is older, worn down to river-smooth stone by centuries of tread and dragged ingots.

Massive buttresses of black iron, inlaid with dull runes grown faint from centuries of heat, create shadowed vaults. Time seems to hang heavier here; the smoke smells of old coal and honeyed tar, and the air hums with the residue of ancient enchantments.

Faintly, from somewhere deeper in the labyrinth, a hollow chime rings now and then, the signature sound of an elder rune resetting itself.

Their destination is at the very rear: the boundary's oldest chamber, a semicircular annex set into the bedrock itself. A half-ruined stone arch marks the entrance; its carvings of hammers and roots are worn almost smooth.

Inside the chamber, the atmosphere is different, cooler, but not cold; dense with the metallic perfume of long-quenched steel and the subtle, dry scent of old paper and oil from ledgers and maps stored in iron-bound chests.

Here, row upon row of ancient anvils and pedestals stand like weathered sentinels. Some hold half-completed relics: a sword with a rune-star etched only halfway across its fuller, a glowing shield pitted with war scars but ringed in a bright, new temper steel. Others display finished oddities, small mechanical birds, a rune-locked compass, a fist-sized crystal core of condensed light that hums faintly when passing.

Lanterns suspended from stone alcoves cast a steadier light, less glare, more depth. So that each object's details are visible: hairline cracks, painstaking inlays of Oblivion Iron, tiny rune script along the edges.

Above them, in the archway. A plaque in the Dwarven tongue marks the spot as "The Boundary." The Boundary is where apprentices become masters, and where the forges of legend were first born.

As they approach, a smith in that deep sector turns his head, pausing in his lecture. An old bearded figure whose face is a map of tattoo wards and scars. The elder dwarf nods once at Thor, then gives Aud a long, appraising look that takes in her discomfiture with the heat and the way she fights to keep her gown from sticking.

Around him, a few younger dwarf smith apprentices with the rare Asgardian continue their tasks in near-silence, save for the drill sergeant-like instructions from the masters; none waste motion here in fear of sudden concussion to the side of the head via gloved fist. The clank of distant hammers is softer, measured to preserve tools and temper alike.

The thunder‑god stops and waves to draw the elder's attention. "Is Druinn conscious?" he calls, his voice cutting through the rhythm of hammers and the torrent of insults from masters to idiot apprentices.

The old smith grins beneath his massive beard. "Aye, he's up. Hungover and pissed, but up. Good luck with the test, godling!" He snorts, turns, and resumes educationally berating his apprentice, a derpy faced an'goateed lad balancing a ruined sword with a hilt on both ends.

Respect's earned here; Thor's princehood and godhood mean nothing if you don't show honor, take the insults and return them, and put in the work. You treat them right, and you'll get friends for life…. Idiocy, though…that takes a bit longer to hammer out.

Thor glances at Aud: she's fighting the heat, barely, looking ready to tear off her gown if dignity weren't in the way. He exhales, 'She has magic, right? She's nigh indestructible and heat bothers her?' shaking the thoughts from his head.

Slowly, the feeling of the forge changes.

Thor breathes easier in the dimmer air; Aud's shoulders loosen a fraction despite the heat. The farther back they go, the more the Works feels like a living archive, a place where noise and flame have been shaped into something that lasts.

Soon, they arrive at the far end of the annex, finishing in a large cavern-like space, as sunlight once more bleeds into the chamber. The vaulted ceiling held a mechanized roof, one that's been set open to vent the enormous amount of heat this forge creates.

This forge is ancient, the crucible of heat and molten metal that became the beating heart with which Asgard forged its weapons for gods and armies. The very place that helped give rise to the kingdom itself.

A stone central pillar, built around a large vent, holds the anvil and smelter; the vent extends downward into a lower tier in a half‑ hollow donut shape, opening to the shadowed background. The forge sat extinguished, yet heat still radiated from it.

Aud stops beside the entrance, letting Thor continue. This is as far as she can go for now. Her eyes slip to the shadow behind the central core of the forge, where a section of the ceiling remains one‑third closed, throwing a vast, black crescent.

She lifts a hand in a quick, awkward wave. "Good luck, Thor," she says softly, voice lost to the hammer‑ring but meant all the same. Thor glances back to her, a side smirk and nod telling he heard her.

From the dark cover, a reptilian slit of an eye, burning like red coals, opens in the dark.

Thor approaches the forge, his boots thudding against the old stone. the eye now locked to him, not in hostility but in familiarity and….

"ABOUT TIME, YE LITTLE SHITE!" The shout ricochets off the forge walls. From the shadows near the eye, a fossil of a dwarf steps into the warm-light.

He stands a stubborn four‑foot‑five, all compact muscle that speaks centuries of hard use. Grey hair is swept back from a blunt, singed moustache and well‑kept beard; bloodshot grey eyes stare over a broad, weathered nose.

Deep creases score his forehead and the corners of his eyes, each a map of long winters and furnace‑blown days. Rune tattoos crawl from leather‑bound wrists up beneath a worn grey tunic and a patched leather apron. A long smoking pipe juts from his lips as he glares at Thor.

He looks like crap and somehow professional all at once…..Thor guesses the old bastard went to bed - or passed out - like that last night.

"OI! Don't ye be jabberin' shite 'bout me in that rotten red mop o' yers, laddie!" he barks as he crosses the steel bridge spanning the forge.

Thor grunts, eyes narrowing in frustration. "How the fuck do you know that?!" he yells.

Druinn snorts smugly, keeping the f'in-answer to himself. The crackpot always, and he means ALWAYS, knew. Whether Thor was insulting him, complaining, or daydreaming of escape through sixty years of torturous training that made his workout or Pop's hunting trips seem like heaven, that old coot would catch him every time and fire an insult or punishment right back.

From the shadow behind the forge, a rumbling laugh makes the very floor tremble as a black mass shifts into the sunlight. Charcoal‑black scales ripple over a gigantic body. Wings remain folded against its back as it rises on four clawed limbs and, with a quaking step, brings its horned head toward Thor.

Its draconic visage of many razor-sharp teeth curls into a grovel laugh, a deep guttural sound that somehow reads like mirth. Its red eyes tilted in amusement.


The great beast is laughing at him……..great. This terrifying town‑incinerating, and cheeky bastard of a creature is…

…..the baby dragon: Ancalagon the Black, son of Nidhoggr.

Druinn raised him after finding the drake's egg back in Borr's reign. The dragon became a son to the dwarf, even if he never learned more than a handful of words in any known tongue.

The overgrown lizard is as shrewd as a fifteen-year-old at times…

Despite being eons old and the size of a dump truck. So he understands most of what the little folk say around him with his age-old wisdom.

Pointing at the grinning lizard, Thor snaps, "Why're you laughing? He does this to you, too, you know." The dragon decidedly ignores him and shifts over the open cavity beneath the forge. Druinn steps up beside Thor, smirking beneath his beard.

"Today's the day, ye wee shite — the Trial o' Three. Makes me eyes water thinkin' on how ye smashed me forge the very first day ye were here…" He pauses for dramatic effect; a tear seems ready to fall.

It doesn't. Druinn snorts it back in and is his old self again."Ah, never mind. I told ye the rules once, and I'll be tellin' 'em again."

The dwarf stomps his metal boot once against the ground, signaling Ancalagon. A rumble builds in the dragon's chest, and his throat glows molten red. Flames lick between his teeth; hunched, he unleashes a black, lightning‑kissed breath in a steady stream into the vent.

The ancient forge roars to life, the air hums as the fire races through the smelter; internal rune matrices and magically reinforced oblivion iron, narrow and channel the flow, focusing it into a jet of white‑hot flame that unleashes a heat unlike anywhere else in the Black Works from the central vent.

It's only the forge's reinforcements that keep it from melting or exploding and destroying the district in a giant meltdown. But it's in that purifying white flame that the greatest creations are born. Creations that can kill monsters and gods….

"The Trial o' Three. Ye'll make three things: A Weapon of War, A Tool of Utility, an' Piece of Beauty. No help but what's on the bench an' me forge. Annie will keep the flames burning for ye to work……. Hmmm, usually there's no time limit... but I'm feelin' generous, so ye've got till the end o' the day." Druinn says with a shit-eating smile, showing a gold tooth.

Thor twitches an eye; he knows the rules. The old fucker practically beat it into him day one. But all in one day? "What you pullin old man? The other apprentices you've had all told me they had as much time as they needed. What the hell?!" he yells.

Druinn makes a crooked smile. "'Cause I know ye got it in ya, lad." The dwarf pauses, giving a glance toward Aud, who has taken shelter from the heat in the cool of the far entrance.

She returns a knowing smirk; Druinn lifts a brow and gives a barely perceptible nod, and she slips beyond the doors. Druinn watches her go, then adds, "An' consider it payback for bustin' me forge, ye daft shite…"

Druinn gestures to the bench and' the ore, grinnin' through a smokey exhale.

"No hand‑holdin' now, lad. Start when yer ready… an' try not to burn the place down... or explode, if ye're keen on makin' a mess." he finishes and grabs the large forge hammer that sat leaning next to the bench.

"I'll be watchin' ye, seein' how ye handle the process an' figurin' the worth o' yer craft at the end of the trial," he finishes as he gives Thor space to work by heading back to the shadowed rear of the forge.

Pulling a flask from his belt, Druinn took a long swig as he walked. The light shifted, revealing a niche shielded by heat‑resistant metal and stone, its heavy doors standing ajar. Warm light spills out, and several barrels and casks glint in the glow.

Druinn's quarters, and his favorite spot to pass out….

"Watch me? Or get blackout drunk again…." Thor asks sceptically, "OI! I heard that!!" the already tipsy dwarf yells from beyond the doors.

Now Alone, Thor turns back to the bench, the hum of the forge as Annie breathed flames into its heart felt reassuring. "Well……...maximum effort!"

---

The afternoon was nothing more than extreme heat and the banging of a hammer. Thor had heated Oblivion Iron in the smelter, fed by Annie's flames. The near-shadowlike ingots melting into a crucible of white-hot metal.

Oblivion Iron is a special ore found in the deepest depths. The dwarves, in their efforts to expand their kingdom, dug deeper and farther than any other species. Even Odin, with his throne, can't see that far. And this iron is found in the furthest reaches where light is forgotten….

a dark so deep it is like a consuming abyss. Not to mention, the miners aren't really alone down there either……..

As the saying goes: stare into the abyss, and whatever lives in it stares back. Probably…..It has been a literal lifetime since Thor heard it said aloud.

He was also sure that a company of dwarves held a monopoly on its supply, Deep Rock something or other.

He heard Druinn complain about it several times during his tutelage: something about overpricing and promising someone a boot up the arse.

Regardless, the dwarves use this iron for their magical rune-smithing. While the pitch-black material drinks light like no other, it is a perfect conductor for magic, unlike its mundane counterpart, and is extremely resilient to damage depending on its purity. Its downside is that an ounce of the stuff weighs a literal ton.

Hence why he made his gravity room vest with it….

The first of the trials: the Weapon of War, something that would see endless combat and serve to protect and defend its user. Something Thor had had in mind for ages, a weapon that works with his immense strength instead of crumbling under the sheer force he can unleash.

And with Oblivion Iron, he'll use its properties to the extreme with what he plans. After spending the first hours hammering the pieces into shape. He cooled the finished parts in draugr oil and left them on the bench as he brought out a pair of leather gloves made from a stálbjörn, the same leather hide that his armor is made from.

The stálbjörn, a magical bear from the grand wilds beyond Asgard, is feared for its violent territorial nature and its ironlike flesh and bones. Once tanned, its hide becomes unnaturally tough as its namesake and surprisingly comfortable to wear.

Slowly, Thor's creation takes shape, the gloves serving as the base. He fastens and layers plates of dark metal until a pair of heavy iron gauntlets is born. "Járngreipr," he whispers, stepping back to appraise them.


The christening of their name causes the gauntlets to glow crimson. The skull motif on the right gauntlet gains a sinister aura, while on the other, he engraved his own rune. The 'ᚦ', Thurisaz rune, shines a similar burning red.

Black and brutal, the gauntlet's clawed fingers and jagged knuckles jut like talons; shallow runic channels cut into the palms and along the wrists glow a slow ember-red as they drink and store the excess force of his strength. Braided veins of molten slag rim the joints, and sigils ring the cuffs. When the inner matrix is full, the seams flare and the gauntlets blaze into a core of roaring, dragon-hot flames.

It also means that the weapons he uses with these won't break after he lets loose….
Or keep the careful focus he's learned over the years. And, with these gauntlets, enjoy a nice safety net: not opening doors by ripping them from their hinges, not pulverizing all his tools, or not shaking someone's hand and turning their bones to powder… the small things, really.

With them done, the first trial is finished. He sets them to the side, then jogs back to the entrance; to the right of it is the storage room Druinn uses to store materials for his work.

Thor has spent just about as much time here as on the forge. Organizing the materials as Druinn, through a drunken stutter, would tell him everything there is to know about the ore and resources stored here.

What he wants is something he saw brought in a moon ago: a piece of rare ore from the Monolith Mountains that makes gravity a suggestion in the Outer Ranges. Mortals might call it electrum in an advanced age. Yet this magical alloy is special in that it is inherently gravity-breaking, just like the mountain it was mined from.

The Tool of Utility: not necessarily meant for war, but something that would help him everywhere. Being a training nut, Thor's been turning this idea over for the last decade since he made the gravity room. For all the help it has given him... well, it's a tad too stationary. He didn't change it beforehand out of fear of flattening the area and any people around him into bloody pancakes initially...

He passes many crates filled with all kinds of ore and magical materials that could make any mortal's mind swim with the raw, violent energy that sits dormant only because of the runes embedded in the crates.

Sitting on a shelf, a floating ingot of pure electrum alloy is bound with small chains to a heavy iron plate to keep it from flying away. Smiling, "Bingo."

Grabbing it causes the chain to release a bursting low white glow as it lets go, as he eyed it over. A pale silverish yellow ingot about the size of a large football, simple at a glance, yet it vibrates slightly in his grip……..it feels like it weighs nothing…

He hums to himself and moves back toward the forge when another piece catches his eye: a wide crate filled to the brim with Skap slag, an ore famous for its impurities that can bring out special qualities in other materials.

Thor picks one up, feeling its coarse, resonant weight in his hand and already picturing how its impurities will marry with the electrum to give the Tool of Utility the exact quirks he needs.

Both in hand, he heads straight to the forge. Below, Annie's looking slightly annoyed, but he's seen the big baby breath flames longer than this. So he ignores the dragon's silent stare, demanding he hurry his ass up…

---

Two more hours pass as Thor assembles the second work. The first hour is slow as the electrum keeps trying to bolt skyward between swings; the second is a long session of engraving runes into the cooled metal that requires deploying his famous "limitless patience" and pinpoint control not to just smash the thing to bits…

…Nor did he swear every time the new alloy floated away from his chisel and smashed his own thumb instead….

Through the terrible adversity, the piece is done. It's deceptively simple: a long, blackened strip of tanned stálbjörn leather fashioned into a large belt. The hammering and welding of Electrum to Skap Slag makes the finished piece lean more toward silver. The polished buckle with matching plates along its length is scored with runes.


"Fuckin' finally…" Thor exasperates, rubbing his sore, red thumb. The belt's rune glimmers a dull blue as he wraps it around his waist. Latching it closed brings an immediate shift in his weight.

Thor's grin splits as he marvels in his pride. "Megingjörð." his voice cut over the forge. The magic belt will increase his strength by constantly training him under a settable gravity well that affects only him; he could sit at a family dinner with the weight of a moon on his shoulders.

Two of the three down and done….

The smile on his face fades……

…..
……….
………….

"....fuck I got nothing…" Thor draws a total blank for the third trial, the Piece of Beauty, since in both his human and god lives, he never cared much for art. He can appreciate it, sure, but he's never tried making his own except what he did in his art class in school….but that was a lifetime and reality ago…..and what he's made so far in this trial isn't exactly the new Mona Lisa either…

He leans against the workbench, rubbing his temple and staring at the scorch marks until the thought blanks out. Maybe it will come to him? The sun hasn't set yet, it's just about evening now…

"Maybe this will help?" a voice beside him says with a sudden appearance of something being shoved in front of his face.

"AHHHHHH!!! DON'T FUCKIN' DO THAT!!!" Thor screams, nearly jumping into the forge's flames as Aud watches, thoroughly amused. Annie snorts a plume of fire, not bothering to stop spitting hot plasma for the newcomer.

The smug woman didn't hide the smirk as she appeared from thin air again. Thor eyes her warily before quickly developing a twitch. "Why in the Hel are you wearin that?" he asks, keeping his eyes glued to her face.

"What?" she looks down at the straining, screaming for death, short green tunic shirt that's a size too small on her massive man-killing knockers, acting more like a bra if anything. Leaving plenty of underboob and barely any material to cover her brown furred stomach. Further down is basically just a cloth embroidered grey skirt that reaches the top of her knees, which 'hugs' her curves in the best of places.

Unashamedly, with a slight pose, "I'm hot," she answers with a fully knowing, teeth-showing smile.

Thor only groans internally, over the years he's been the unwilling witness -totally not complaining- to a lot of Aud's odd antics……. So he got used to her….uniqueness……idly watching her bosom dance like jello…..

"What was that show called again?" flashes from his mortal life coming to mind that only seem to slip away. "Something-something perverted Aztec dragon goddess with huge Tiddies maid maybe?"

All the shit she's pulled on him over the years; wanting to bathe him when he was young, teasing the hel out of him with her 'fashion' choices, the slight-massive-obsession with food…..

…. Her drive for attention….

"....yeah, it fits," Thor thinks, getting lost in the bounce. His pondering is interrupted as Aud brings up what she's holding again.

"This would help with the last trial, right?" she asks, presenting what appears to be a large dark obsidian crystal verging on total black. Roughly about the size of a misshapen pineapple. His eyes widen as, even through all the energy of a dragon-fueled forge. Not like the blistering fire but…primordial, anchored, of pure cosmic potential…

…… He could feel the power radiating from it…..a tug in his chest..…the lightning of his blood…seemed to….acknowledge it..

"...Is that… no, it can't be… crystalized essence…" Thor said, speaking in awe as he looked from it to Aud. "How did you get it? …It's… fuckin' hel. It's beyond exotic. It's a myth to most everyone, and I've only seen the slivers, Pops found in his travels, and those were drained empty…"

Aud shuffled in place, her face contorting into a grimace as her demeanor drained out of her. Her pale red eyes locked on the crystal in her hands. "It's… ahh." She let out a sighing exhale in uneasy acceptance. "Your mother left it behind for you."

"...What? …What did you mean… she…?" The thrum of his heartbeat pulsed loudly in his ears, and a spiteful frown edged onto Thor's face.

"Ohhhhh. This is just perfect…" He exasperated, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Thor, please…" Aud's voice softened, firm but pleading. "She… Jord left this for you the day she knew you'd be ready for it… It's a part of your jötnar inheritance."

"Didn't stop her from leaving, did it? …Why show me now?" Bitter would cut it short. It fucking stung. That feeling of being abandoned. Unwanted. Even if Frigg and Odin helped fill the void. Every child wants to at least "know" who their mother was. No amount of stories or history that people share about her would truly satisfy that feeling of meeting her in person.

…And it didn't help the resentment when Pops refused to answer him why.

"Jord had left it with Odin, Druinn, and me that day she left," Aud said. "She knew you'd need it one day to complete your journey in the forge… and for what came after."

He looked at her for a long moment, then let out a long, deep breath. 'Of course she did, damnable future-seeing giants.'

He took it from her hand, turning it over as the energy inside hummed in his grip.

"Well… I guess art is subjective, right?" he asked, showing a slight smile. Aud grinned cheerfully.

Then he pressed his whole right side against her, burying himself in her soft warmth. 'Better than suffocating soft darkness again.' Returning the hug, he rubbed her back.

"Alright, let's not get weepy," Thor said, pulling away. "I'm on the clock," he added, gesturing toward the not-amused Annie and the distant, probably snoring, blackout drunk Druinn.

Nodding at him, Aud said, "I'd best leave you to it then. I've got a reward feast to prepare for you…"

Her hand rested on her cocked hip, her grin going crooked. "I wonder what I should do for dessert… hmmm…"

Her gaze slips over Thor slowly, lingering just long enough that, with the smile of her eyes, it's clear whatever is going on in that head of hers….it ain't about dessert anymore. Then she turns with a swing in her stride. Before he could even begin to ask what that look was, with a simple blink, she disappears into thin air… again.

He glances at the empty space, then mutters to himself, "I really have to figure out how she does that." He didn't even bother to humor what went on in that cow's head.

"So… maybe an ornament?" he thinks, weighing what to do with the chunk of primordial essence that might vaporize him if he handled it wrong.

Honestly, now that he was sort of alone with it… It felt familiar. Not just the way its power sat in his bones, but something about the feeling itself. Something from his mortal life.

Thor would admit to himself that, for all he remembered of his old life, his memory wasn't perfect. He wasn't the god of knowledge or the mind. Despite what his immortal body could provide, the memories of his mortal life were mostly broad strokes: his family, his daily routine, and the important things he cared for. The finer details of every little thing? No.

You'd have better luck asking your average mortal Joe what they had for breakfast two weeks ago. In his case, it was more like adding seventy-five years on top of that. And with time…that would only fade further…kinda worrying honestly.

But there was…a familiarity to it. Kind of like something seen in passing. A part of the journey…." hmmm"

"A carving perhaps…yeah….that, that would work." mumbling to himself, chisel the excess to its purest state. After polishing it smooth, from there use what electrum he hadn't used up with a gold gilded finish. The black would just pop with the gold…

---

The act of beating away bits of what is crystallized primordial juice with a chisel without breaking it was both nerve-racking and infuriating at the same time. But in the end, and to the pain in his fingers, he finished it.

At first glance, it looks a lot like a huge acorn. The black crystal is polished to a reflective shine, its base capped with gold under which the last bit of electrum he used is buried. He engraved intricate knotwork into it. Plus, because of the radiant power from the thing, it never "sat" on anything. It hovers a good five inches off the workbench. The forge's glow sparks against the gold as it slowly rotates.

"I swear… I feel like I've seen this before…" he muttered, and considering he's the one who made it, it makes it all the more weird…

"Alright, Annie! You can stop! You big baby!" He yelled as the dragon cut the flames with a chuff. Annie's red, annoyed eyes blinked at him as he lumbered out from beneath the forge. The crashing of his limbs shook the ground, a sound that was more than enough to get a yell of panic from Druinn's drinking hovel.

Neither did he bother to check. Thor leaned against the cooling forge, watching Annie head back to his favorite sleeping spot, a worn-out patch a bit away from the forge where friction of claws and scales had ground it down. The big lizard circled the spot, settling into place like a big cat… maybe a large dog…questions for later

The sound of wet footsteps came with the drenched Druinn emerging from the dwarf man-cave. Approaching Thor with mead dripping from his beard, he asked, "All done, lad?" His gruff voice didn't acknowledge the squishing of his boots or his soaked tunic.

"Yeahhhh, spill something?" Thor confirmed, then asked the uncaring dwarf, who didn't bother answering him. Druinn immediately went over to where the Járngreipr pair sat on the bench beside the floating stone.

"I see…" Druinn's grey eyes narrowed as whatever stupor he'd burned away with his hangover and lingering drunkenness left him. The master smith was fully present now. He looked between the gauntlets, lingered on the stone for a second with a flash of dull acceptance, but it was gone before he picked up the right-handed one. The oblivion iron glove dominated in size compared to him, but he held it up easily.

Thor straightened as he waited for the verdict.

"Pure oblivion iron, layered atop a Stálbjörn base glove," Druinn said. "Set with an internal rune-matrix inlay. It absorbs and converts kinetic energy into thermal output and fire-magic. Clever work. You won't be damaging anything else in my shop, or anywhere else, unless you choose to."

"…And the name?"

"Járngreipr," Thor declared, earning a nod of approval from the old smith. "Good name… these weapons of war will serve you well in the wars to come."

Setting it down, Druinn turned to Thor, more so to the Megingjörð wrapped around his waist. "The tool of utility, yes?" he asked, shuffling around as he looked it over.

"You used a lot of my electrum, eh?" Druinn snorted. "Hmmm. You turned it into a minor gravity well. Instead o' bein' weightless like the mountains, you've got a mountain range resting on your shoulders, don't ye?"

He leaned in just enough to land it. "Ye daft, training-obsessed idjit."

"YyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeP," Thor exemplified the 'P' unashamedly to the twitch of Druinn's annoyed brow.

"Fine, it passes," Druinn said. "Though if there's anyone else that could even use that without crippling themselves… well, maybe your old man, but…" He lingered a glance at Annie, who was already snoring. His hind leg twitched like he was running in his dream.

Druinn continued, "Anyway, it'll be of best use to you, ye insane bastard."

"It got a name? for a belt that would probably kill anyone else who uses it?" Druinn asks, returning to the bench as he reaches out to the stone. The crystal answers as it hovers closer and into his waiting hand.

"Megingjörð, a strength training belt," Thor says as he pauses, watching Druinn develop a look of regret mixed with melancholy on his bearded face as he holds the stone.

Moving to stand beside Druinn, Thor keeps a blank expression. "Ye did well… this is somethin' yer mum wanted ye to do for a long time."

Thor was silent for a moment, "You gonna tell me why she wanted me to use that, or were you left out of the loop too?" Thor asks, holding back the bitter bite of his voice. Druinn merely gave him a side glance as he let the stone go. It begins hovering between them as the dwarf lets his hand fall to his side.

"I'm sure ye've heard, or maybe yer daft bastard father and Idjit Mimir told ye how some o' the Jötunn can see the future, aye?" Druinn says slowly, gripping the bench as he leans his back against it.

"Yeah. They did." Thor replies, remembering the weird look on Pop's and Mimir's faces when they returned from their journey to Jötunheimr. "They told me how disconcerting it was when they ran into the seer Gróa, who was expecting them, and then told them it wasn't the best time yet...promptly teleporting them a 100 feet up above an ice-cold fjord"

"Well, Jord. She was one of the best, period. She trained with Gróa in her younger years, but Jord could see more than one path, and far further down 'em than Gróa ever could. That's how she befriended Aud and me when she saved our hides by stoppin' us from takin' a road that would've buried us in an avalanche. She caught yer father's eye when he… well. That's a story for him to tell. And it helped that she knew how to kill."

Druinn's eyes looked through Thor, a memory playing out in them. "She fought… beautifully."

Thor only watched the old dwarf get lost in the past. His own mind was wandering just how much Jord knew. But still, why this?

"Ok.." Thor broke the moment quietly before raising his voice. "But why this thing then, this stone. It's got a lot of power in it, but…I made it for the trial, but it felt more like…fate already decided for me."

"That's what Jord does, makes ye question every life choice, and how the hell ye got to a result that felt like yours, when it was fully expected. I gave up on understandin' her a long time ago. But she… she brought this crystal from Jötunheimr not long before yer birth. And the day she left, she handed it to us to keep for ye. so ye could make somethin' of it as part o' yer inheritance. The unity o' the Aesir and Jötnar bloodlines… which, somethin' I don't understand, is meant for ye in whatever the future brings…" Druinn finished.

"A Unity Stone then?" Thor proposes, reaching out to the stone as it floats into his hand. "Aye.." Druinn's eyes following it, "You pass, lad, you're a full-fledged blacksmith…"

---

Leaving the dragon forge and Druinn behind, the dwarf promised he'd be there for the night's celebration at The Black Thunder Tavern. Thor walked the annex hall back into the main forges. The massive area was much quieter now that many of the dwarves had gone home for the day, leaving empty forges in the cooling afterglow from extinguished fires.

Járngreipr clad his hands and forearms, with Megingjörð still around his waist. Thor stuffed the unity stone into his mass-produced Ivaldi brand magic pouch.

Nearing the end as he's heading for the exit, the pride of passing the trial washed over him. Feeling the cool metal of his gauntlets and the weight of his new belt. Still, the lingering thoughts of what Jord had left behind left him with more questions than answers.

'That's a problem for tomorrow, Thor thought. 'I got a party at the Black Thunder to get to. Wonder if Kvasir made that new mead yet?'

The thought of mead made his mouth water and put a little more power in his steps.

Getting to the large metal doors of the Works, the earlier crowd was long gone. But two were standing under the archway, and seeing them, well, felt less like seeing and more like hearing them, even from where he was inside.

A sharp, feminine voice berated someone, echoing off the stone and metal walls like knives into his ears.

"You long-eared arse-hole can take back your shit gold, so kindly FUCK OFF!"

From a distance, a blonde-haired woman roared, a short sword in her hands as she waved it at a sniveling, snobbish stick-thin elf. The elf wore enough gold on his purple robes that it glittered even in the evening light, reflecting into Thor's eyes.

"Uh?" was all Thor had time for before a short sword came flying at him, missing his head by inches. Strands of red hair fluttered down as he froze stiff, genuinely surprised he didn't see it coming.

Thor turned slowly to see the sword buried to the hilt in the support pillar not far behind him.

Reeling for a second, Thor steps closer, turning between the sword and the woman who threw it. The elf apparently high-tailed it after it left her hand. "RUN! YOU BASTARD RUN!!!" she yells, following after the creep outside but stopping not too far into the open street.

The sword was rather plain, but it was of high quality. The leather grip and crossguard kissed the stone pillar as Thor grabbed the handle. The blade slid right out like butter.

'Fuck. That would've hurt.' The possible lobotomy by a sharp pointy object running through his mind….well, it wouldn't have killed him…but it sure as fuck wouldn't be comfortable pulling it out….like the spear he got in the eye on the third wild hunting trip with old Pops…ahhhh, good times.

For a basic iron sword, this sharpness speaks volumes about the smith. No magic, no runes in it either. If it had hit him, he'd have been down an eye for a while before it grew back. An experience he'd rather not remember or relive.

flickering shivers trail up his spine at the memory as he steps out, the sound of his approaching getting her attention. Her grey-blue eyes snapped up to him.

"What in Hel… do…you… want…" Her loud voice slowed and dropped as the fury faded, replacing itself with recognition as she saw Thor holding up the sword she'd thrown.

The Asgardian lady, now stunned, slowly turned pale as she finally processed that she'd thrown a weapon at the prince.

"OHHHHH fock me." She exhaled, exasperated, then muttered under her breath.

A smile grows on Thor's face as he watches the stoic woman have an internal meltdown. Giving him the time to look at her properly.

The soot-covered, leather apron-clad woman stands at maybe six feet, her blonde hair woven into a long braid bun at the back of her head to keep it out of her eyes. Her fair-skinned face is dirty with ash and sweat, but she's still a real diamond in the rough. Soft jawline. A slender nose. Full, slim lips that part with dread.

A shower with a lot of soap would bring it all out, show what she looks like underneath, if she cared to.

Under the apron is a simple sleeveless tunic that was probably once white, now dirty and a bit burnt tan, stretched over her ample, head-sized chest. Not Aud-sized territory, though. In her collar, binds peek out, probably to keep everything in place as she works. More notably, her left shoulder is covered in rune tattoos, going down her arm and inwards under her tunic. While on her right, a simple rune tattoo ring goes around her bicep.

Her upper arms are left bare, ending in large leather gloves that reach up to her elbows. Her wide hips sit in leather work pants, 70 percent of which are patches more than anything else, with her thicc thighs stretching the seams. At the bottom, steel and leather boots cover her feet and reach up to just below her knees.


"My lord…I-I apologize." She began, Thor stops her with a raised hand, his smile clear to her now, which didn't hold any resentment that she expected. Flipping the sword to hold it by the blade, he offers it back to her.

"You're a pretty good smith, the blade lodged itself to the hilt like nothing….. And no magic rune enchantment to boot," he says as he raises a brow in question, "Commission work?" he asks her.

Her brain backfiring, she answers honestly as she can. "Yes, you… probably heard me 'talking' with my last… client." She strains the last word with a grumble, trying to keep thoughts of execution from her head, or of her being relieved of said head. Her hand nearly fumbles the sword as she drives a panicked shake into it.

"That elf bastard called my work crap for the amount he paid," she bemoaned. "Didn't even test the blade or feel how it fits in his hand. Or maybe I don't know, fucking try it out first, but Noooooppppeee. Just not enough shiny fuckin gold on it to blind idiots with that STUPID MOTHER FUCKIN…" She began to rant.

"Easy, Easy. No harm done, alright?" Thor, using both hands in a calming motion, holds out his palms. "Let's start properly, yeah? I'm Thor Odinson. Newly minted blacksmith. Son of a one-eyed beard enthusiast and a mead lover, Pops, and a control freak of a mum who will never admit her ravenous love of sweets." He offers his hand to shake.

His sarcasm gets a snark from her as she exhales, breath easing. She slides the sword into the tying loop of her apron, then firmly takes his hand as an easier smile develops. "I'm Sif. Blacksmith of the Black Works. Niece to a drunk of an Aunt… Yeah, I don't have many fancy titles like you do, my lord."

Sif… Thor's eyes widen as she smiles up at him. His surprise is hidden behind his grin, because he didn't expect to… well, meet the one he's destined to love and marry. Talk about fate guided by the sword's edge. Literally.

"Well, Sif. It's late, and it would appear you're done for the day, what with your client running for the hills." Thor gestured, after letting her hand go, to the evening sun and the general direction the what's-his-name took off in.

"And there's this. How about I invite you to the party at the Black Thunder tonight? My friends are setting up for me in honor of my passing the three trials. If it helps you feel better, you can make it up to me by telling me how you got such a sharp edge from an 'ordinary' sword." He smiled. "Oh. And drop the lord and prince shit. It got old twenty years ago."

A light blush made her ears turn pink beneath all that ash. She's both been asked out and complimented on her work in one full swoop….

Usually, when arseholes hit on her, she breaks their legs as a gift for the effort before throwing them to the street to the cheers of her fellow bar patrons, of course.

Her eyes widened in shock as the question turned over and over in her head. Sif's initial thoughts of, 'oh fuck, I nearly brained the prince. Ohhh, I'm so dead, to… wait, did he just ask me out?'

Honestly, from the panic, to the dread, to the relief, and a smidgen of guilt… she really didn't have a reason to refuse.

"I-I would be honored, my…" She caught herself. "Yes. That would be great, but I'll have to meet you later. My boss will fire me if I don't clean up the forge after today's work. But…"

Considering her thoughts as she orders everything in her head, she says, "I'll meet you there, Thor."

"I'll hold you to that. I look forward to our little chat," victory resounded in his head as she began to move back inside the Works. She waved to him as Sif disappeared out of sight into the dark of the foundry.

Standing there for a spell… 'holy fuck I scored a date? Fate be dammed….'

"wow"

---

The Black Thunder is, in a word, loud. The banter of its patrons, the drunk and the getting drunker, shouting over one another with cheer. filling the large tavern until it becomes one full, chaotic party. Hanging huge monster horn chandeliers suspended above everything cast warm light across the hall from their many bottled runic crystal light bulbs.

In the center against the wall, the Iron-Drake fire pit roasts fresh, seasoned meat, sending a mouth-watering aroma rolling through the hall and drawing people into lines that never truly shrink. In front of it, a bubbling cauldron of soup boils, fed by the same heat as the pit, sharing warmth through a connecting raised stone foundation. A greying lady dwarf mans the pot, clearly the chef; utensils hang from her white apron as she stirs a creamy concoction with practiced strength.

On the far side, a small amphitheater with a wooden stage holds a band that plays over the tavern's chaos. The musicians smile as they play, as if the noise around them is simply an atmosphere they've learned to ride.

The people of many species sit around tables where mead flows freely. chatting, munching, and gulping down hearty meals as they try to settle after a day's work, letting the tavern do the rest of the soothing with heat, song, and noise.

The tavern itself is a long hall with two levels: the main floor for patrons to feast and drink, and a second, lower level where the mead barrels are kept so the "rivers of ale" keep coming.

The main bar sits beside the famous Iron-drake, a packed bar counter where every seat is taken, and every person holding it drinks to the delight of the older, greyed, bearded Asgardian bartender Ivar. Who serves food and liquor with a smile and probably one too many war stories.

And though there are two floors, the four corner walls hold a raised, more private areas where parties can look down over the entire stretching hall, watching the revelry below.


It's here that Thor walks up the steps to the far right, private area overlooking the stage. He quickly finds it quieter, thanks to the glowing rune on the last step that creates a buffer for whoever's inside.

Thor smiles as he finds the private room already filled with people. Týr sits at the table with a mug in hand, talking to Freyr, whose sword stays leaning against the table's edge. Freyja is here too, standing beside the railing, arms crossed, but her attention is fixed on another man next to her who's rubbing his head sheepishly as she lays into him with heart-piercing judgment by beratement.

And this man just so happens to be the one who sees Thor arrive. "Thor! Finally got here, I see!" He breaks free of his torture… conversation with Freyja, snapping her and the others' attention toward Thor.

"Sorry if I was late, Kvasir. I got 'got up' in something when I was leaving the Black Works." Thor says as he moves closer to the table. "Aud down in the Kitchen?" asking knowing the big woman said she'd be the one to make the victory meal. Thor raises his gauntleted hands, showing them to the group.

Kvasir… is Kvasir. There's not much Thor can say about the god because, well, he's the special kind of annoying you somehow come to like, despite Thor's best attempts at getting away from the fucker. He had met the god about 30 or so years ago, when Thor had gotten tired of the same drinks all the damn time. So since it wasn't invented yet, he sought Kvasir out in an attempt to make cola… to some success, and then he stuck around when Thor started his excursions to the nearby realms.

Kvasir's ragged look is almost a style. Thick brown hair, a messy mop, beard fuzz cut into a rough goatee. He looks at Thor with brown eyes that hold some kind of hope of getting away from Freyja. This sad-looking god stands at about six foot two, clad in a mix of tunic and a leather vest, with a metal shoulder guard. His legs are in dark hide pants and leather boots. He's actually pretty fit for someone who's a drinking musician most of the time. His arms are toned, wrapped in cloth around his forearms and hands.


And just so: Kvasir is the god of poetry, mead, and music. The last one is one he gained when his father, Bragi, retired after a freak harp accident involving a very angry woman who grows magic apples, and the breaking of many fingers after he got…handys with an elf barmaid…. Don't ask.

Anyway, Idunn is his adoptive mother, but… well, the two had a falling out. Kvasir once stole a whole load of her apples and honey to win a brewing competition a decade back against some dwarven brothers. The idiot somehow made two different kinds of mead that left their mark on the divine drinking world, with even a few kegs ending up in the mortal realm.

The one that won was the mead of poetry. The one Kvasir meant to make on the first try, but only pulled off on his second. Drinking this would inspire the drinker into a master poet. For the gods, it usually lasted about a day before wearing off.

The mortals who somehow got their grubby hands on it brought a poetry revolution to Midgard. Poets started popping up left and right, with some swearing it was a gift from the gods.

It tasted great too. Tart-apple with the sweetness of honey, and then, right before your eyes, your mind goes blank, and you're reciting a verse you somehow made up on the spot. One that could make people contemplate life, or laugh their asses off, when your sudden drunkenness slurs your speech on the beauty of the groves in the hardwood floor.

The other one is more infamous. 'The Blood Mead'. This one, Kvasir, literally admitted being ashamed of. And it was the cause of his many drunken bouts, until his father gave him music to take his mind away from it.

The blood-red liquid made the drinker's rage run deeper with every drop. For the gods, it only made their warriors' battle rage last longer, strengthening whatever rage or ability they already had. But when some of the einherjar got their hands on it…

They flew into a mindless rage that ended in the slaughter of innocent bystanders. And to add salt to the wound, what Kvasir had left was stolen along with the recipe. Stories of berserkers in the mortal planes who lost their minds only added more weight to what he carries.

Regardless of that, Kvasir maintains his annoying self on the surface at least. As he begins to speak, "Yeah. She forced Ivar's wife, Helga, out of the kitchens an hour ago. But while I'd like to ask what you made for the trial, nice gauntlets by the way, pray tell, what keeps the god of thunder from getting to his own party, with his new bounty on him, eh?"

He asks as he turns to the nearby counter and barrel keg, whipping up a drink.

Thor pulls a chair from the table and sits opposite Týr. smiling. "I invited an interesting lady," he states.

Freya arches a brow, her red-gold eyes flickering with fascination…and tinged in something deeper. Moving closer as she ruffles her feathered cloak.

"Finally found someone interesting, Thor? Been a while since you've been with anyone." A smirk slips under her breath that others share.

"Since when did my love life become your entertainment?" Thor asks, indignant.

Kvasir sets down a full pint of mead before him. "Since you usually spend most of your time either in your insane training, forging in that hel-pit, or off with the King to get traumatized by his wild hunting trips," the mead god states, matter-of-factly. Týr nods along in total agreement as he takes a swig to the dismay of Thor.

Freyr cups his chin in his hand as he leans forward against the table. "Someone pretty, I hope. If the big lug finally got his eye on some lucky lady, maybe I'll show her the error of her ways by showing her a way better time." His voice was eager, looking for another lady to hook his claws into.

The summer god grew like a weed after divine puberty finished with him. He's short compared to Týr and Thor, but taller than Kvasir by three inches. A bit of a thin build, but while he wasn't a brick house like the war god or thunder god, he had built himself into a lean if not lanky fighter. Something he got from actually putting the time to learn to wield Astr, his sword. His golden hair is now more of a dirty blonde, cut short and buzzed on the sides and back. He has a beard, goatee, and mustache combo.

He wears a worn, probably favorite blue rune-crusted tunic and a fur vest. From what can be seen, his legs and feet are clad in brown leather pants and boots.


"You wanna permanently lose the chance at kids, or do you wanna reach orbit?" Thor shot back, a brief flash of lightning in his eyes.

Freyr immediately raised his hands in surrender, that smirk not faltering for a second.

"Okay, okay. Before you castrate him, I'll help you do it too," Freya said as she sat down beside Thor, "but you gotta admit, Thor. It's been a while since the last girl."

Over the years, the love goddess-to-be has matured into a renowned beauty from the tomboy who wanted, and still does, to kick everyone's collective asses. Her fiery red hair cascades down her back as the black feathers of her cloak fall over the chair back supports. Her cloak's gold medallions glow a low white in the warm light of the tavern. Under it, she wears a form-fitting mix of a green cotton shirt and brown trousers, a pelt kilt, and a large gold runic plate on her belt.


Sadly, for her, her chest remains the pitiful chopping board that followed her from youth.

Something her brother shared in hushed whispers is that she's furious about.

But what she lacks up top, she more than makes up for in her pear-shaped hips and fit legs, honed into shape after Freyr called her fat for staying in the seiðr academy's library for days on end with nothing but candied apples to eat. So after slapping him unconscious, she picked up archery and even started the process of joining the Valkyrie.

She still challenges Thor now and again, but she learned, after the 80th loss, that what she lacks in physical ability in comparison, she can make up for it in her mastery of seiðr. Scoring her first win when she rendered Thor weightless and left him to hang in the air for a week. She's toned down since then…..not really..


Fear and betrayal killed the smirk on Freyr's paling white face at the thought of losing his manhood. Thor looks at them, irritation clear before letting out a sigh, and speaking. "Saxa left to be with her family. You all know that. Hel we were there to help her off on her journey back to Jötunheimr."

"Come on, Thor, we're celebrating ya. But when we hear you're getting a date, that takes precedence." Kvasir said with a way too wide smile.

"Why do I keep hanging out with you assholes…" Thor mutters under his breath.

Freyja fully caught it and smirks, "Oh, because you love us... Now spill."

Getting the others' attention to him fully as he looks at them, wondering if he can just jump through the ceiling to get away. He's friends with Ivar, the owner; he'll help fix it later…

Footsteps coming up the stairs caught his attention. He turned to look, 'Is she here?', hoping to see Sif, but instead a worn-out old man with short, curved horns crossed the last step.

Tattoos covered his shaved head. His beard was braided and clasped with rune-carved bits and bobbles that clinked softly when he moved. His travel clothes looked like they'd survived a lifetime of weather. A hide coat over a tunic, with a blue shirt underneath. A pelt kilt and leather pants, laced and bound in places, ended in short boots green with mold.

A satchel hung against his hip, his belt lined with pouches and pockets filled with all sorts of things. Some of the pockets glowed faintly, one of them shifted as if something inside was alive, and another was nailed shut. Everything about him screamed wear and tear, from the scuffs in his clothing to the weary stillness in his posture, like he'd been walking the known realms for years.


Because he had. How else was the smartest man alive supposed to keep his hands on the know-how of everything up to date, outside his visits to his well in the world-tree? He was the god of knowledge, Mímir. Greeting them all with a smile, he called, his Scottish accent edging into his words, "Sorry to interrupt, my friends. As much as I'd like to join you…" He met each of their eyes before his bifrost crystal gaze settled on Thor.

"I'm afraid I need to borrow Thor for a bit." His voice was firm, leaving no room to argue.

Sighing, Thor got up. "I'll be back in a bit. Don't drink all the mead." Getting a snicker from Kvasir and Freyr, Týr and Freya share a glance.

Following Mímir back down, Thor walked beside him as they moved around the crowded tables and boisterous patrons that paid them no heed in their merrymaking. They ran into Aud as she came out of the kitchen through the gullwing doors, carrying a huge tray piled high with food that would make Luffy jealous, with a variety and anime-sized quantities of cooked meat.

Thor waved to her. She stopped, not in their way, but a flicker of surprise gave away a tense look in her eyes. Her strained smile didn't reach as far as it should have, leaving Thor with more questions, as she said nothing and simply let them pass.

As they headed toward the entrance, Thor voiced his curiosity beneath the noise of the tavern. "What's this about, Mímir? I thought you wouldn't be back for another moon. And couldn't it wait till after? I just got here a bit ago."

The bald god looks at him, a visible frown under his beard. "I'm sorry to ruin your party, Thor…but…" pausing as they get to the door, Mimir lays a hand against the wood…"I'm sure you saw Lady Frigg this morning, yes?"

Remembering that he intended to ask more about it. 'The look of utter heartache on her face…' Thor nods, concern now evident on his face. "Well…you're about to see why.." Mimir says and pushes open the door.

Standing in the street as the fading warm orange light of the evening, four people stood waiting as Mimir led Thor out. Stopping before them as the door slams shut. Looking at them, 'the fuck are they?', not knowing who they were, Thor simply turned back to Mimir.

The old man simply sighed in a long razeled breath. Gesturing with his right hand to the long white haired grinning man who stands in front of the other three. Mimir rubs the stress from the bridge of his nose and, in a tired voice, "Thor….met your uncle….Loki."

'............uncle what…' is the only thought in his head as it short-circuits. Thor is now fully looking at the tall man with surprised, awe-filled eyes. '......who the fuck is this?! This fucker looks nothing like Atreus!?'

This man was maybe a foot shorter than Thor. White hair flowed down either side of his head, reaching past his shoulders and resting on his chest, while his front bangs were swept back. Bright blue eyes, full of mischief, sat in a handsome face with a strong jawline, shaved bare, and pale lips stretched into a wide grin showing wide teeth. A scar ran under his right eye, reaching back under his hair toward his ear.

'Loki' predominantly wore black. He's wrapped in a hooded, cloak-like coat that falls in ragged, feathered strips from his shoulders, dark, soot-black strands with gray undertones. Over the chest, a fitted black and charcoal leather jerkin sits tight against the torso, laced and strapped with narrow brown leather, while a pair of circular runic medallions sits near the sternum. His neck is hugged by a high armored collar that blends into the outer layers, with shoulders formed from layered, spiked platework. His arms are covered in dark, feather-like sleeves, and his hands are bandaged.

Beneath, a black tunic shows through in stitched panels, before the outfit drops into a chain belt, armored dark greaves, and fitted leg armor. He finishes in heavy, worn boots, blocky and battle scarred, grounding his silhouette in the same shadowy leather and steel palette from head to toe.


"So this is my nephew, huh?" Loki's voice was smooth as it left his mouth. He raised an eyebrow as Thor's stunned silence held, and in Loki's blue eyes a flicker of a memory passed over them. Whatever he saw, he didn't linger as he continued.

"Odin probably didn't mention me, did he?" he asked both of them, shifting his gaze between Thor, still gaping, and Mimir, who nodded in confirmation.

"Geez, miss a couple of name days and your forgotton," Loki complained, giving a split second of a mock sad face before dropping back into his grin.

"Well, no hard feelings. But the last time I saw you was when you were a fresh, wrinkly bun out of the oven. A day after you were born, actually, before I had to head out again. See, I'm Odin's eyes and ears where his throne or ravens can not reach… I try to keep to the shadows in the service to the realms and all that shit."

"As for why he didn't tell you…" Loki added, nonchalantly, "As much as Odin likes to watch the realms, the realms have the habit of watching back, and he couldn't openly tell you about me, at risk of exposing me to our enemies."

He revealed it so casually, then jumped slightly at a cough from the tallest of the three behind him.

"Oh, right! Sorry, boys…" Loki said, making a grand show of his arms and a slight bow to the other three. He snapped Thor back into his senses as he turned to them.

"Let me introduce you to your brothers, Thor! Vidar, Vali, and Hermod!" Loki cheerfully declared.

"What?" Thor numbly said.

---

AN: all images belong to their owners...

as for Loki....he's a lot like his murderhobo dad in more ways then we've seen....

ever seen a paradox?