The War of the Wellsprings
Well, it seems like a long time since I've been here for fan fiction purposes, but seeing as my group has actually started playing Heroscape again, it's brought back so many of my old ideas.
Anyway, this story is set, in a way, six hundred years after the Fall of Valhalla, although the actual story takes place thousands of years prior to any story I've written. If you read The Trials of Syvarris, you'll find a section where Syvarris tells of the first war. This is that story.
The old man sat on a fallen log near the campfire. He was well over a thousand years old, or so the story said. His name was Acohlen, the father of Acohlar, the Flagbearer of Ullar. We had been camped with him for a long time, waiting on Ullar to announce that we were going to war with Utgar once more.
But the announcement was slow in coming. So we waited. And while we waited, Acohlen regailed us with stories of Valhalla’s past. The previous night he had told us the story of the Einar campaign, fought eight hundred years earlier. Einar, infused with a power given by the general Utgar, had brought war to Grímnismál, city of the Sacred Gate. Jandar had repelled the attack, with the timely assitance of Ullar.
And now as another night fell, we waited on Acohlen’s story. He had promised us a good one.
“Children,” he spoke, slow and deliberate, “gather ‘round for the story of how it all began.”
We drew in close, the crackling of the fire adding fuel to the already palpable eagerness of Acohlen’s audience.
“It all started many thousands of years ago…”
I was told that Valhalla sprang into being, from the mind of Odin, over seventy thousand years ago. If that is true or nay, I know not. I only know of the stories told me of that time. Then, all those murky years in the past, Valhalla was a formless plain. No hills, no rivers, only grassland as far as the eye could see in any direction.
Except for one place, where there was a grove of oak trees. Odin had blessed this one place. The first being Odin created was the giant Ymir. Ymir has long since passed into history, and if he even exists anymore he is at least twenty thousand years old. Ymir, though, was gifted with great magic. He saw this oak grove, and he crafted of those trees the Sacred Gate. The gate has a power unlike any other.
Six hundred years ago I was among a group of Ullar soldiers who arrived at Grímnismál, city of the Sacred Gate. We came in answer to a distress call, but we learned that Ullar had already taken the battle for his own. Using a warrior of Jandar, Ullar valiantly fought for control of the Sacred Gate, to keep Utgar from possessing it.
That was the only time I ever saw the Sacred Gate, and the damage it could do. The body of Concan was torn in half from head to toe. Although Concan was later resurrected by the will of Odin, the lessons learned that day… well, it was thought that they would last forever. As it so happens, lessons learned are easily forgotten.
Back to my story, though. Ymir crafted the Sacred Gate, and he placed it in the thick of that oak grove. Around it sprang the city, almost by the will of the Gate. In a great ripple, the plain of Valhalla controrted, twisted, and changed in ever-increasing ways, radiating out from the Gate. The Canyon Valholl was one of the first features to form. The Mountains of Ragnar also sprang from this great change, although this was not the first change to Valhalla.
Water broke through the surface in several places, forming the great rivers of the land, extending all the way to the great Eastern and Western Oceans. Odin saw this, and was pleased with the effort of Ymir. The over-god then called forth other creatures. Some animals, fishes, birds, they were the majesty of Ymir. But the glory of Odin was in the Kyrie race. The mostly look like us, with few exceptions, but they have great wings, and can fly. Masters with any weapons they touch, kind, benevolent, and vengeful.
From thes Kyrie Odin called forth five to be generals. Ullar, Jandar, Vydar, Einar, and Utgar. In the last five hundred years a group has emerged, claiming to be followers of the sixth general. I give them no count.
The five generals were innocent then. They were generals in name only, having no quarrel with each other. It is hard for us to imagine Jandar and Utgar at peace with each other. But in this time, over ten thousand years ago, they were at peace. They were as children, brothers, caring for each other.
Jandar’s Kyrie followers were explorers. They sought out everything they could in Valhalla. At one time Jandar’s Kyries were in all places, covering the whole face of Valhalla. As the generals aged, they grew worldly wise. Jandar saw fit to appoint several Kyries as under-generals. One was placed higher than the others. Her name was Airelin. She became Archkyrie.
Her travels were better documented than any other Kyrie ever. It was she who traveled to the north, near the land of Weston, what we now call Denrick, for his actions in the war six hundred years ago. As Airelin neared the mountains of Aubr, she spotted an pool of water in a place with no streams.
The water bubbled and churned of its own accord. Airelin stooped beside it and reached in a hand. She drew some of the water to her mouth and tasted. This water tasted like no other water ever tasted by any Kyrie. Airelin, Jandar’s Archkyrie, knew at that moment that she had to tell Jandar of her find.
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