- Apr 30, 2011
a great AAR Herbert, i am an avid reader of all related to nordic mythology so this AAR made my day, ¿when you will begin to post game screenshots?
I have been inspired. I offer the writings below, and all the joy and excitement they will bring, to The Gods. May the Nameless God be silenced in your lands, and the flames never cease to burn before your altars!
The canopy of the great World Ash, Yggdrasil, was bustling with activity, the branches that support world now trembling and bending and rejoicing in their new strength. The Norns Urðr, What Was, Verðandi, What Is, and Skuld, What Will Be, by the Well of Urdr they take the water of the well every day, and with it that clay which lies about the well, and sprinkle it over Yggdrasil, to the end that its limbs shall not wither nor rot, with newfound joy. While Nidhogg gnawed, Ratatoskr ran up and down delivering idle chit-chat, heavy foretelling, and useless rumours from here to there. From the sacred roots, the waters flowed ever on from the Well of Urdr, separate, to water, to give life, and to unite again, and fall into the Void in an everlasting stream, until End split the stream in two, and its separated rivers went hot and cold, one frozen solid, one heated to vapour, hidden away from the eyes of time, and death, and doing, and happening, awaiting the time when their source would run dry from heat, and they would once again meet in the New Beginning.
A bit below the Well of Urdr, there was a turbulence in the water, a strange rock had dammed the flow, and of the Thread, there was a tangle with many a broken-of comb-tooth in it. Somewhere, poison dripped on bare rock. But all this is just to come. Now, happiness reigns in the Field of the Gods.
High on the throne of Hliðskjálf, Oðinn and Frigg sat, looking down on the Nine Worlds. Suddenly, without warning, Web-spinner sprang up from her seat, her chariot, pulled by a mighty boar, now underneath her feet, and thundered through the Fields before Old One-Eye even saw that she was gone. Wotan may see far and wide, but Frigg's web is thick and with many a curve. Laughter reached his ear, joyful, prideful, that laughter of a mother, a loving, caring partner, and the tempting, boasting, and enticing laughter of blooming womanhood, of long nights in hard embraces, of soft caresses, of tender kisses. Hair the gold of ripe wheat glimmered in the distant.Description of Freyja.
Two wolves, Freki and Geri lept forward, while the two ravens Huginn and Muninn flew into the skies, Far-Seer searching for his love and wife. Perhaps this was a game.
Oðinn's spear Gungnir flew in the wind, and the chariot swung to the sides to evade it, the metal tip hitting dirt and rock with a loud, clear sound that made the other Gods raise their heads and focused their attention. Sleipnir thundered across the planes, The Crack-Slipper treading unending miles under his feet.
They raced through the field of endless battle, the stone hall made even louder by their noise. Memory swooped down to reach Fate-Seers cloak, his beak sliding of falcon feathers, and an arrow flying by him, setting loose a tail feather to land softly on the leaves. Thought fared no better, for he was unable to see through the Tangle Of Fate, his mind a whirling mess, his eyes clouded.
Sleipnir trod the ground, following many paws, and Odr, Frejya's Husband, soon saw the flowing hair of his beloved, her body now naked and young and very, very inviting. Another description of Freyja His horse galloped ever closer, but now there were two chariots, one pulled by a boar and carrying a goddess vaguely in the shape of a distaff, the boar could be a reference to Freyja's Boar Hildisvíni, while the mention of a distaff could be a reference to Frigg's Distaff, the other pulled by many cats, with golden hair and falcon feather and a shining necklace on top of it, a description of Freyja's Chariot, which is pulled by two, not many, cats, her hair, her Falcon Feather cloak, and her necklace Brísingamen. Ten legs, one horse, and two Gods followed.
Chariot crossed path witch chariot, again and again, until there were cats and boars speeding distaffs and feathers, and boars and cats and webs and golden fair and the smile of a young woman and the smile of a mother and the full breasts of seduction and the nurishing breasts of motherhood and bows and staffs and clothing and nakedness in a whirls that no man, no woman, not the Aesir, not the Vanir, not even the Norns, not even She themselves, and certainly no Jotun, could tell apart one from the other. And hunting them were speak and armour, sword and shield, four paws, four legs, and four wings, running, galopping, flying, hounding, shouting, a cloud of movement after a cloud of gold.
In the thinnest of branches, so far from the High Seat that not even Heimdall would have been able to see it, the two coluds met and embraced and argued and fought and bit and caressed and kissed and scratched and meowed and growled and crooed and roared, and, above all, laughed. It had been centuries since any God had seen such fury, such action, such love for simply being as they witnessed now.
Oh, my love, you are still as fast and as nimble as the whitests of snow-rabbits.
And your spear is as sharp and well-aimed as it was when we first rode into our halls together.
Ah, I remember. I think we wagered even then. You got the better of me back then, you Valkyre-Queen! Reference to Freyja.
Indeed, I did, Old Fool - and underneath her gold and silver hair, the godess laughed with such joy that even the Undying Boar, Sæhrímnir, smiled on the roast, and with a tiny tingling sound of spite that she new would make Wanderer respond in kind.
Old Fool, eh? Was it not I, who brought our people back to our folds, who though them to worship their Gods, and not the Nameless Threat? Is it not a man who you have to thank for your new joy?
Hah! And who bore that man? Who give him his milk? Who changed his clothes? - Friya called out.
And who thought him, who helped him study, who showed him, stalwartness, dedication, and our secrets? - Grey-Hair said in a raspy tone.
So, you think man are better converters than woman? I got the better of you thrice, and I shall do so again. Let us wager, my love.
All-father threw his head back, and his laughter shook Yggdrasil. - A wager? Now, this is the Godesses I love! Very well. On what?
I say that my woman can turn more of our people back to us than your boring priests and withdrawn shrine-keepers! - Freyja was no fool. Win or lose, they needed more people to believe in them. The first boost of Bureus and the Úlfhéðnar. would only last so long.
Ha! A good thing to bet on, you clever old matron, you, said Old Grey-Hair, and kissed her on the cheek. Now, what to wager, then?
You like warriors, do you not? If I lose my bet, I'll give up first pick of the fallen, and the Valkyres will send the dead to you first, and only then shall Seat-Room be filled in my Holy Fens. A reference to Freyja's Afterlife field Fólkvangr, and her Hall, Sessrúmnir. In Norse mythology Freyja received the other half of the warrior dead, not Frigg.
And if you win?
Then we shall both accept woman and man to our halls, and we shall accept not only those who die in battle, but those who serve in life. It is no use to fill Hel's Halls with those who have been good to our people and true to themselves.
Woman is Valljahöll? The Einherjarr will not like that.
Dont take me for a scared virgin, you old Hungry-Spear! Do you think I do not hear them sneak into my Halls, do you think I see them not in the forests and meadows, embracing their wives whom I quarter in my hall?
True, true, every warrior needs the embrace not only of mailed chests, but of loving bosoms and warm loins. But they wont like having woman in the Hall. It is a place of manly boasting, and of getting drunk and eating until you puke, not fit for squeamish girls.
Squeamish girls? - Frigga slapped Wodan, although with a loving caress afterwards. Have you lost your other eye? Who do you see cleaning up after you, setting your tables, warming your mead, roasting your boar? Are they not woman? Are they not maids, mothers, grandmothers and lovers already?
Good-good - grey hair obscured a face hung in shame, and a cheek red with fingerprints - but what about those not slain in battle? What use are poets, farmers, traders, craftsman against giants and wolves and Loki?
Spears break, swords brittle, shields bend, halls fall apart, cups rot, coins disappear, memory fades if left unsung. Would you deny the sons of Heimdall their due place just because what had slain them was illness and cold, and they died in bed and perhaps with loving care, rather then in rotting mud and cold steel cutting their veins? Are those who serve the fighters not worthy of respect and a good life in the canopy, equal to those they enabled to die in battle? Who will sing in the Halls, if you dont let any skald wormfood in?
Hah, never argue with a woman! However, Vallhalla is too small for all these.
Indeed. We shall build a new, greater hall then, on the field where my Fen and your Meadow meet. We shall name it Verdighalla, the Hall of the Worthy.
If you win, mind you, my temptress the gold of ripe wheat. The mothers, daughters, loves of the slain shall go to our halls. I shall have first pickings, to give my Einherjar their wives back, and they shall live in the stone Halls below Valljahöll. You shall have second pickings, and quarter them as you wish.
The dwarves will help us dig and build. How I have missed the sound of their hammers.
And the gold of their toil. But for all these Halls, what about those who sneak to and fro from Vallhalla to Sessrrumnir, another reference to Freyja's Hall, and back again? Should they not have a roof to call their own?
Why, you Grey-Hair with Sword Of Red Head, is it not better to embrace under the sky?
How right you are! - All-Highs words muffled in the embracing bosom of Freya.
Down by the Wells, ninety-six teeth smiled.
Herbert, I did not know you were posting in this thread again. If I had known I would have posted earlier.
Sorry to quote your entire post, but My spelling and suggested additions are bolded and underlined, while my attempts to identify the Frigg/Freyja mixing, as per your question to see if anybody saw them. There were too many to list bullet point, and I figured just keeping them in the context of the post would do.
The only quibble I have is mixing the warriors and the non warriors. That is too much injection of the teachings of the white god to truly represent what the Norse and their gods truly believed. To them nothing was better than to be a warrior who died in battle, and only the very best of those went to Valhalla, while the others went to Freyja. So, in essence, you are including the very thing you say thse Norse dieties are trying to purge from the world, and themselves, all taint by the white god. ;-)
Now, given what I just stated, I could see a residence set up in the halls of the Dwarves, or in Vanaheim itself, but in Asgard and Valhalla, no, can't see it.
I look forward to your reply.
Tbh, this update was, as you can probably judge, a spur of the moment thing brought on by a personal event. I have a lot of things and episodes and, shall we say, vignettes in my brain, its just that the brain-keyborad transfer is lacking.
Spelling suggestions are much appretiated. It's ben years since I wrote in this topic, so I kinda fell back to the old simplistic spelling format.
Now onto the mixing.
What primary sources we have (sagas, Edda, runestones, Ibn Fadlan) are both by default tainted by the White God (being as they are composed/written down after the norse had significant contact with christendom). They are also written from the point of view of the landed warrior/raider/trader group, the group that was (as long as they did not suffer from this politically), the last to convert. Judging by this alone is like judging christianity by what the recently converted soldiers of Constantine thought of their religion.
Granted, this is a problem with all ancient religions, there is a lack of primary sources, and most importantly, a lack of active worshippers.
Then again, what "active" worshippers remain are of a completely different part, the Vanir-centered, fertility/growth/peasant lifestyle type survival cults of the rural areas (and somewhat in premdern witchcraft, but its horribly difficult to get an interpretation/source on that that is not tainted by either the church or by 19th-20th romantic/retarded revivals. Margaret Murray, I'm looking at you).
Also, consider that despite the obvious importance that Loki carries in the whole mythology and worldview, he is not attested a cult. Which to me means that he had one, and it was stamped out.
The whole warrior-centered interpretation of the Norse Faith is simply just that, the interpretation of the warrior "caste" of concurrent society. I do belive that there is a lot missing from this picture.
Now, what I wanted to do is to transform both the revied norse faith, and thus, its afterlife, from the die-in-battle, warfare-centered type to a more, shall we say, egeltarian type. The 1600 are not the time for a whole culture dedicated to that kind of a thing. I wanted to turn the till now warrior-based good afterlife into an afterlife for all "good norse people". (and dont tell me the einherjer dont want to f***)
To be honest, I would also consent to letting the warriors keep their place, and the non-warriors getting into other places, as long as its transferable, and all worthy dead can mingle with the rest if they so wish.
(simply put: I need Quorthon to feast with Odin)
Thanks for your interest and reply:
PS: the slight delay is due that I'm now living in Trondheim!
Sorry, new job, first days.
You did pretty well on finding the mixings. I hope it rings well both with the update and with mythology.
I plan to do some things with Ragnarok. While it will happen, there might be some premature rumblings once I get my lazy arse off to write.