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Midgard was once a world with Pantheons upon Pantheons, more Gods than many other worlds combined. The small, seemingly insignificant rock adrift in space a nexus point for various realms to come together. Over time some faded into obscurity, others left the realm altogether. While others continued to play with their influence on the world, subtly interacting with the world according to their grand design. This is not the tale of one such God. This is the tale of…
Previously: Home at last.
NOXVILLE // TEXAS // MIDGARD
Arthur Blackwood walked in the door of his house and tossed his keys into a bowl by the door. The slight stench of mildew in his house, and the smell of dust in the air. Piles of books and papers laid around the small house. Black and white photos of various historic family members. The feature wall of his living room held an English flag and an old coat of arms. He was a third-generation immigrant but he never forgot the roots of where he came from. Cast from his ancestral home by claims of violence and racism, ‘racism’. That’s what they called his Grandfather for trying to keep England pure and clean. Chased from their home, they fled to some land they owned in Texas. Once his father passed Arthur had completed his education, earning his doctorate in history he was on the fast track to gain a position at Harvard or Yale.
That was when someone discovered his heritage and leaked it to the press. Now he was stuck in Texas teaching the fifth grade in a school that either didn’t know nor care about his family heritage. Sighing, he threw his cellphone down on the coffee table as he allowed himself to collapse into his sofa. Instead of his ass and back making contact with the sofa and stopping his fall however his back just kept going as he fell through the sofa and into the black abyss. Spinning backwards, under and over, under and over till he wasn’t sure how long he had been falling. He did not know what way was up, arms flailing in the dark attempting to grasp hold off anything that could break his fall.
There was a crack as he hit a cold stone floor. Pain coursed through his body as his head collided with something solid. Seeing stars he felt a chill through his bones as the minutes passed. By the time he was able to move, he wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been. By then night had fallen, the only light flickered in the room. Candles, somewhere beyond his sight. Arthur moved slowly, his lunch climbing to the top of his throat if he moved too quickly. It took him time to recognize that he knew this place. The archaic architecture, to the cask behind him. This was the burial ground of Sir Reginald Blackwood, Knight to the King of England, and the source of his family’s station. This couldn’t be possible though, he was in America. He was in his house, on his sofa. This was all some kind of dream.
If it was a dream, why was he in so much pain?
A bright light appeared, raising an aching hand to shield his eyes it slowly faded into nought but an ethereal glow. Which was when Arthur noticed a man standing there in the light. A man who bore a resemblance, some familiar visage. “Who, who are you?” Arthur managed to convince his body to sit, and once he was sat he managed to convince it to stand. “Where am I? What is this?”
“You mean to tell me that you do not even recognize your kin?”
“But I have no-”
“Nay, you have no living kin. I however have long surpassed the living world. You have forgotten your way, your purpose. As had your father and I am here to remind you-”
“We do not live in England anymore. I live in America it’s a whole other-”
“You are still on God’s green Earth are you not?”
“I am-”
“And thus your purpose still needs to be served.” The figure walked over too his casket, sticking his hand straight through the solid stone and withdrew a sword. “Kneel before me, Arthur Blackwood.” Unsure on what to do other than go along with what the spirit was saying. This was after all the weirdest dream he had ever had. As Arthur knelt the spirit lowered the sword till it touched Arthurs’s left shoulder, tapping it lightly and then passing to the right and then back again. “I imbue you with my power and the power of my sword. You must begin it again, so long as you have people that have faith. You will have power.”
“Begin what?”
“The Crusades.”
Before Arthur could respond he dove forward on his sofa, falling on the floor he winced in pain. His whole body still ached from his dream, had it been a dream? It had been so real, so vivid. He had felt every part of it. Pushing himself off the ground slowly he turned to face the sofa. Where a Crusader Sword lay stretched across the sofa, the same one that had been in his dream. He could have sworn that the emeralds in the hilt glistened.
MIMISBRUNNR // YGGDRASIL // ASGARD
Thor walked through the courtyard. Beyond him, Yggdrasil stretched into the sky. The world tree, on which the nine realms rest. Rested within the bark of the world tree lay a well. Water dripped in crystal clear droplets down the tree into the well. The drops could be heard splashing for far longer than they had any right too. Above the well, there was a head, perfectly preserved but it was undeniably a head without a body. A gold ringlet around his head, full head of hair, and a clean and tidy beard. As Thor approached the eyes opened. The head spoke in a croak. As if its mouth was dry. “Ah, the Son of Odin and Crown Prince of Thunder approaches. What wisdom do you seek Thunderer?”
Thor bowed his head to the head. “Mimir! I seek your counsel.”
“As I already surmised.”
Thor pointed towards several flagons that were sat nearby on a casket of ale. “May I?”
Mimir closed his eyes in a double wink indicating a silent yes, Thor went and picked up a flagon. Filling it with ale, he opened his mouth accepting the cool liquid. The froth finding a new home on his upper lift till he wiped it off. Once he drank his fill he filled a second flagon, walking towards the head he held it to the heads’ lips and poured. Mimir greedily drank the liquid until none remained. When he was a child Thor had been curious as to where the liquid went, though he still did not have an answer. Taking the flagon back he placed it back onto the casket. “I seek knowledge of Loki.”
“Hmh. That is a subject in which I will find it difficult to provide answers. Loki is not known for following any form of reason.”
Moving to the side Thor grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it closer till he sat eye level with the decapitated head. “The All-Father grows weary and ready for the Odin-Sleep and there is a threat coming. I know it, and he senses it. I need to know what you know.”
“You assume the threat our King prepares for comes from the Trickster.”
“Are you saying there is another threat?”
“I am in no position to say anything.”
“You do not know?”
“I do.”
“Then why do you hold your tongue?”
“The All-Father has willed it. The threat is only for the All-Father to concern themselves over.”
“In his absence-”
“In his absence my young prince you rule Asgard, this does not make you King nor does it make you All-Father.”
Thor scoffed, frustration travelled across his face. He had never been the politician Freyja or Loki had been. “Then I shall act in my best judgment.”
“That is all any of us can do.”
“Tell me what you know of the magicks to move between realms? How can Loki be remaining hidden even in the eyes of Heimdall.”
“Loki is well versed in many forms of the ancient magicks, as taught by your mother Freyja. However, I would doubt that even she would be able to find him these days. The magicks he uses are strong and mystic, rooted in the very fabric of Yggdrasil itself. I suspect that he has somehow gained the power of the Norn.”
Thor sat up in his seat, his focus shifting. He could already feel the hairs on the nape of his neck rising. [b][color=#a4c2f4]“That cannot be, the Norn would no more help Loki than they would me or even the All-Father. They remain impartial, weaving the destinies of all things. Their duty is to record, not to interfere.”[/b] [/color]This couldn’t be possible if Loki had gained the power to influence the fates themselves then he was more powerful than any of them realized
“They would not knowingly aid him, but in the time before when Bor still ruled Asgard there were twenty-four stones he had been gifted by the Norns in order to aid him to bring about peace to the nine realms. To prevent abuse of this power many of these stones were destroyed, however, it is said that your father hid away nine such stones on Midgard. They grant the user incredible power, that can vary from individual and in all honestly even I struggle to understand or explain them.”
Thor stood up, groaning in frustration and kicking over his chair. His father was preparing to enter the Odin-sleep even now, Loki was still on the loose and there was a threat coming to Asgard that he didn’t even know about. Now Loki held some ancient power, and the most knowledgeable of all the Gods had nothing to offer? “Then why do you waste my time Mimir.”
“Ah, your patience is that of your father's, Thunderer. I may not understand them, but I do know where you can find one.”
Thor turned back to face the head. “Where?”
The head chuckled slightly. “Do you remember the way into Avalon?”