POV: Móði Sifsson.
Date: Þórri 2nd, 598 AD. (Alt: 14 January, 599 AD.) Location: Götaland (Ancient Sweden.)
"Where shall they be?" Móði speedily ran through the forests on his sledge, his two goats like Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr acting skittish around his presence.
He gets off and tosses in front of them their payment of hay, he raises his knees during walking as if he was stomping, yet his footfall was silent. He sees into the village where the warriors were seen through their ranged barrage against the Spiritual Queen.
It was rigid and gripped the feet of these unknown assailants, and it was claimed they wore this dark metal entirely covered from neck to toe. The texture of the earth and semi-dried clay showed enough that it had no open foot, nor made of leather, wood or stone, and the quick lightness of it showed its intricate and manoeuvrable design, the first look at sabatons, which only appeared in the 14th century. "Nothing I have seen before." Móði mutters to himself, rethinking the technological level of his potential adversaries.
He notices how the steps start in the middle of the soil, and return to the same point after turning back from what is nearly eroded in the sand of the beach. "Either flight, or they have access to what is similar to the Bifrǫst." He looked at what he felt was a stare from behind.
It was an old man, obviously Óðinn, with his one eye missing under a patch. Móði nods towards him in believing he has found possible cues, and the person he nods to walks, then disappears behind a tree, he does not even feel his presence with his magic sight now. "That is expected of my grandfather." He rolls his eyes downwards and continues his search, mace now in hand, as when that man appears, it means a cue to worry. "There are traces of magic that I have not felt before, I cannot discern its purpose. . ." Now, a growl appears.
"Geri and Freki, how may I be of service?" He turns around and gives minimal courtesy while still concentrated on the task. Móði sees Geri sniff the ground and walk off to a nearby home and it pushing down the door. "What are you doing, you crazy mutt- AH!*CRASH*"
Geri brings out the older man who appears in his 40s, a bald spot above brown, greying hair. His skin was rugged and leathery while being pale due to the cloudy environment he lives in. He looked up in fear, recognising it was the son of Þórr, the same hair colour and stylisation, and with not as much but still a great bushy beard. And especially the dead, fish-like eyes that peer into your being. "I greet the great warrior áss Móði." The father of the boy who went through the portal greeted them on his knees.
Móði, knowing that mortals were so much more fragile than themselves, chose to play 'gently.' He lifted him by wrapping his hand around the back of his head until he no longer touched the ground, still an incredibly painful experience.
"Your son is missing, yet you chose to stay indoors?" He gathered from the fact that the scent that was picked up by Óðinn's wolf was similar, but not exact. "I did so hoping he would come back, he is*Ugh*. . . A lively boy." The old man strained, feeling his spine pop from its decompression. "Did you see what occurred?" Móði's voice sounded calming, yet soulless, as if treating him with this 'courtesy' was a final step. The old man silently gulped and chose to tell him the truth, not to be removed from this mortal coil.
"The warriors were faceless, my Goði. They ran like machines, both two-legged and four-legged beasts that had arms and armour of finer craftsmanship than our whole village's coffers could have ever bought, with weapons that spewed blinding death!"
Móði's interest had maximised, knowing the wolves could smell lies and had no growls, he spoke the truth. "Four-legged beasts with arms and metal armour, like an old vanquished enemy." He let go of the old man, who fell on his backside and sat there in fear. "Yet they are left as primitive tribes, so it cannot be them." He clicked his tongue, and the wolves sniffed the man's scent again while he was paralysed. "Did he disappear before or after the death of this enemy by the faceless combatants?" Móði hurried him, growing tired of a mortal's fear.
"After, he chased in the same direction that they appeared by in the centre of town." The old man started blabbering. "There were tracks that appeared out of place." He muttered. "Then your boy has disappeared with them." Móði's comment made a shock, and a single tear fell.
"Could you find him, my Goði? We are devout followers of Sif and have had many children die this winter, we do not want more in Hel." More tears fell from the old man's eyes, yet he stayed strong, so as not to appear cowardly before an embodiment of Wrath. Móði, seeing he was unlike his father, gave a single nod while expressionless before turning away to the town centre. And the light in that old man's eyes grew. "Thank you." It was heard while they were walking away. "*Tch*" A single noise from Freki, the more verbose of the two wolves.
"You are hungry?" Móði rhetorically asks. "You may eat one of my goats, they are much like Þórr's that they can be resurrected, but with my mace, as long as you do not damage their bones." Móði's show of kindness was not unnoticed, he bowed, then went to the larger one.
This took a few moments, the goat not being eaten had a cloth draped over its ears and eyes. Then, a painless kill by clamping the back of the larger goat's neck caused it to collapse under its own weight before eating the skin in large tears and efficiently pushing his snout into their organs where most of the nutrients were. Once done, Móði lifted his mace, called down light and the goat was remade exactly as it was before it was eaten, without memory of the death it endured. Yet the other appeared traumatised from the sounds.
The cloth was taken off, saw that his brother was alive and well, yet appeared cautious evermore of Móði. He rolled his eyes at the goats' shenanigans before walking to his spot in the sledge while the two wolves then put themselves in the larger storage compartment.
"HAI!" He flicked the leather strap that was around their muzzle and they left through the trodden path into the woods ahead. Through each and every stone left unturned, Móði appeared unsatisfied, double, then triple-checking, he found nothing through any point of his inspection. Many times he closed one eye and used magic to enhance the quality of his vision in the other, yet no trace of them could be found, no magic always trails behind them. "May the trǫll take you, wretched. . ." Móði curses under his breath.
He looks up to the sky, seeing it become near pitch-black. While not affecting his vision would still require him to tread more carefully. He breaks down smaller branches that had dropped onto the floor, he collects stones in the same way to then create a small bonfire.
He places the sticks, further covering them with excess dried grass that was once for the goats, while surrounding them with the rocks to create a fire blocker, and lastly lighting it with his own magic that shot off from his hands. A single spark ruptured it into flames that quickly normalised to an expected height. He grabs one of the larger logs and uses his hand to shatter it, his palm to sand it and his arm to carry one over as a replaceable log seat. A simple but worthwhile trick when he feels tiredless.
He sits down now, but something does not feel right. There are no sounds beyond his spot of seating, even when using his enhanced hearing. His vision shows no eyes, no lights that could represent the firelight flies and no insects upon the non-swaying grass.
He looks towards the wolves, and they are the same, they appear confused with there being no sounds of nature, as a reactionary response, they gather as a triangular position around the lit up, yet non-temperate fireplace as a defensive all-view around themselves. This continued on, the flickering of the now illusory fireplace giving a strange sense of depersonalisation. "It is much like a liminal space, huh?" They hear an unknown voice from behind the trees, a deep, smooth honey that felt sweet yet healthy. Quiet steps came through, and they saw an incredibly large man with the armour that he was searching for.
'Even larger than my father.' He stares upwards at his face, a bald, smooth head with an incredibly thick beard in the colour of old spruce, wrinkled eyes with crow's feet and a smile plastered upon him. His eyes appeared calm, even kind towards him.
Which he wishes he could tell was a trick or not. "Are you the one we are looking for?" Móði asks with rising wrath. "I am the one who developed the armour and weapons, yes. Also the one who dealt the final blow against the Spiritual Queen." He puts down a log that was not seen on him further away from the fireplace and sat down as to show he was not a threat. "Both of our kind do not need to eat, yet I feel it is customary to bring a gift." He takes out a luxurious gold and silver tray. Now bringing out a food that appears too large for it.
A large Neapolitan Pizza of 25 inches that folded outwards like a blossoming flower. Its meaty and rich ingredients provide an aroma that was not expected. Even while in the imagination, it appeared like a mouth-dripping food.
"I see the way you look at me, how you do not trust me." Heath picks up a single slice of pizza and bites into it, the cheese upon it string ahead while he pulls it from his mouth. "It is good food from my home realm. There is enough both for you and the wolves." He slides it across the grass in an unrealistic way, close to the fire and by their feet. The wolves appeared the most interested in such a food, slowly inching towards it and giving it tantalising sniffs and they each take a single slice from the perfectly cut circle.
Unlike those who would worf it down, Geri and Freki each used their own form of food etiquette and ate the slices, one bite at a time. Their more developed facial features allow for their eyebrow muscles to raise slightly, a new trait that comes in useful for communication.
Móði saw Heath eat his own slice in pace, looking into the fire as if contemplating life's meanings. "Why choose to bring a gift if you knew I was planning to attack?" He put away his mace into his belt sheath, showing a civility unexpected of him. Heath responded by taking out a second tray and bringing out some milkshakes, copied from his memories and brought into the dream scape. "Because unlike your father." He silently sips his strawberry milkshake and passes over the mixed berry towards him, a common-liked flavour in these parts.
"You have not killed anyone who did not deserve it." His comment was met with a dumbfounded expression. "I have killed more." A believable lie, coming from a warrior culture. But Heath had asked his sigil directly after doing a mind-scan.
This young god was the type who would live and let live, even if he put on an assholish disposition due to his personal insecurities and traumas. His power and nature of his religion put him to a test of personality, yet he held himself true to his beliefs. A very rare instance over hundreds of winters. Heath simply ignored his last comment and slid both. "Try them, otherwise, both wolves will eat it all." He smirks in a show of familiarity. Móði looks down and sees that it is true, so he picks up a slice and his drink, then chomps down.
Just like with Leif and Sigrid's first try of the burger, an explosion of flavours appear within his mouth. At first, he stopped chewing, worried that what he felt was faulty, no, it was that good. He ate it at a faster pace than the Sæhrímnir stew, broth or pork they eat daily.
"Feels good having a change of diet, eh?" Heath walks up, grabs another slice and finishes the bottom, only having some foam left. "Then you will enjoy the shake, it is a favourite of Sweden, the land I once lived in." He placed the glass back into the second tray, now disappearing into the aether. Móði grabbed the last slice left (greedy dogs) and drank his shake himself. It felt filling with such a thick, dense slice of delicious food and drink. All held their stomachs, the wolves laid as if eating multiple goats, satisfaction all around.
"Which realm do you say you come from?" He asks Heath, hoping for a truthful response. "Would you believe me if I say I was once mennskr, but not of any of your known nine realms?" Heath earned a raise of an eyebrow before he looked back at the wolves.
No growls, so it was true. Even with the unbelievability, he could feel Heath's honesty. "How have you come here then, and how have you gained such power?" He twiddles his hands, not used to having a conversation with strangers who were not fearful or dangerous. "Do you know of the Pantheons beyond this religion?" Heath got a nod in turn and the attention of the wolves who wished to hear of this happenstance. "There exists older Gods who live through time and space. There was one named Brijga who gave me this power." . . .
"I was originally much weaker, but I was gifted a unique trait that allows me to create, transform and absorb materials. All from my realm were given this opportunity by him, with our new home in Ginnungagap, our task is to spread his will across unknown space."
This earned a suspicious stare from Móði. "A will? What is this end goal you wish to reach?" He stopped twiddling his thumbs now, fully concentrated. "To spread knowledge and equality to all, so I have provided a group of select people with techniques to further increase their livability. I even made them post-mortals now." He leans in, hoping this show of trust was enough. "Do not tell Óðinn, as I hope to continue further developing their convenience and lifestyle." He breathes out a silent giggle.
"In essence, a new group of Gods?" Móði leans back, digesting this information. "While not under the Æsir or Vanir." Heath nods. "I gave them a new name, coronated as the Mennskrðrútan. And we do not fight unless it comes to our gate's step."
The fireplace crackles under the new silence. "Do you want more food?" Heath asks them, which all three in front shake their heads. "We are full." Móði looks down. "Thank you." The words were effective in showing his gratitude, unused around those he is usually around. "Want some music instead?" Heath got the attention of the wolves, who looked towards him in some form of agreement, hard to tell with their stares. "If there is no growls, it means a yes from them. I wish to hear what it sounds like from your realm." Móði did have a secret.
He had a passion for music. Heath formed a gold, luxurious inlaid version of the 103-key piano, with 40 editable strings on the right in tandem. "This song is one I personally like, from Samuel Barber." He starts the tuning and setup, before finally starting the piano section.
(Heath plays Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber.)[1]
It modulates between tones of high moments of action, and low settings to represent the reactions of a time too violent for humanity to have lived through. A deluge from an illusion of multiple instruments to create a glissando for feelings Heath could never have hidden.
He puts his deepest sorrows into the music, almost lulling himself by rocking side to side, his eyes closed in concentration as not to ruin his concentration to his memories, arpeggios played in parts while working with slowly alternating notes that gently whirred as the backdrop to this piece, Model minutes pass as this music's volume grows. The song lightened in pitches until it reached an altissimo through the combination of different harmonics in the key mixes.
He raises his hand in the pause, then brings it down low for the pinnacle of the music. It lowers itself further, raising one final grade above before fading away through the instrument. "Now, from Tony Ann."
(Heath plays Icarus - Orchestral Version by Tony Ann.)[2]
This process continued for many dream space Model hours, ranging from original to neo to modern classical pieces from the bright minds of his time, going down emotional ranges Móði had never heard of from any pieces with such sophisticated instruments.
The greatest one he enjoyed was (Jacob's Piano)'s version of Now We Are Free, originally from Hans Zimmer's musical performance in Gladiator. There were even performance shots during song pieces that were involved with movies or scenes from the videos they played. It was quite the magical experience. Everything played close to perfectly. And at the same time, he believes he has grasped enough of Heath's character to understand like when he first met the Völsung Clan, he was a very large and intimidating yet harmless wolf pup.
The last piece of music finished, and he nodded in appreciation for the wonderful time he had had. "How long has it been in the physical world now, Heath?" Móði asks him, using his name to show he has grown fond of him as a good friend for acting as an equal.
"A few minutes at most, my mind acceleration magic is quite potent after all." Heath smirks in response. "Then we have enough time, I do not have skills that are as good as yours for music, but I am good for combat, do you wish for knowledge?" He asks in hopes to give something of somewhat equal value. "Oo, martial, what type is it?" He makes the 'keyboard' disappear in view and no longer divides his focus. "It is one only us Æsir know, would work with your power type, I believe." He gets up.
First patting his trousers to remove the folds, he checked the wolves and saw they were asleep in the dream space. "Does a dream in a dream exist?" Móði gave as a deadpan joke. "We will never know.*Hi hi hi*" Heath chuckled. "Do you need anything for preparation?"
Móði shook his head, and so the dance began. For those that used only brute force like Þórr, it was useless, but for those who wished to nurture those that are weaker to remove that division, it was perfect to using whatever power they had available, on-the-fly incantations like Egill's runic wood carving in the heat of battle except made in the mind and worked to reality through efficient nerve pathing, turning complex formulas and runes into repeatable instructions for devastation. Heath was trying to create one, but this is a better foundation.
"This will increase my battle power by a great margin while wasting less magic." Heath gave his characteristic smile to a new person. "Thank you!" He raised his arms, leading to a sudden standoff. "What is that for?" Móði quizzes. "For a hug! Come here!" Heath walks in.
It was very awkward, the arms of the young áss hanging limply by his sides. Both heard a strange cackling, like choking, it was the wolves laughing at them. Heath used a bit of his magic to pick them up and put them in the hug pile, leading to them wriggling like they were worms in a rainstorm. "There you go, lighten up." Heath patted Móði's shoulders. "How about one last parting gift before you wake up in the middle of the night again?" He earned a flailing hand. "You have done more than enough." Móði stresses in belief that is true.
"It is a way to further increase your power, similar to the insight your father has, which he does not share." Heath raised his hand into an open palm. "If you shake my hand, this will transfer my knowledge to you directly. You can always say no if you do not trust me."
The physical action in his dream was simply a show of agreement, like the fulfilment of a contract, both of their minds are already linked as one, but this is better at an emotional level. A few moments passed, and a "*Tch*" was heard from Freki, like when he was hungry, yet this time it was for a deal that was to their best interest. Móði did trust Heath enough already, but it was a pause due to being given such a great opportunity. He shook his hand, and knowledge of thermodynamics and electromagnetism was provided along with examples on how to apply it to his powers, as lightning is plasma, and plasma is heat at its purest form.
It could never be made into a sun, as that concept was already taken by the Sun Goddess Sól and the Norse Personification of the Day, Dagr. But he had shared custody of thunder and storms, meaning it would not be 'illegal' for him to enhance this to extreme levels.
"You can share this with your brother and sister as well, if you wish. All of you would need it." Heath felt it was a done night and sat down again on the cut log. "Thank you, Heath. Really, thank you." Móði felt it was a debt that could not be paid, but Heath shook his hand.
"If we stay as friends and can treat each other as we are now, that feels equal overall. But it is time for you to wake up now. With that knowledge, I also gave you coordinates where you could meet me for further talks. So, I will go. Bye, Móði. Do not get into too much trouble." He pulled a single finger gun before the dream scape faded away from around them, Móði's head was brought up again from where he was sleeping and he could feel the rustling and chirping of the animals in the forest, the wolves the same in waking up after yawning.
"One last thing, we do have his son, and he is safe with us. But it is dangerous if we release him for your Pantheon to know of our location just yet." A single whisper in the back of his mind, which he ticked in a mental parchment.
"He was a rather strange God. I enjoyed his company." He smiled only to himself before choosing to rest under the stars, their bright light and beauty exemplified under the divinity from the Norse Personification of the Night, Nótt. Time was passing as he saw the half moon slowly glide over his location, illuminating the forest into a beautiful backdrop that he could come to enjoy more often while speaking to Heath in the designated location. Once it was reaching twilight again, he got up and set the goats to bring them back to the Valhǫll.
This time through flight to reach the fog. Travelling through the safe passage of the temporal Bifrǫst, he finds himself back in the training ground and stable hybrid building where he parks his goats and the wolves to go back to their kennels. But none chose to share findings.
It was too sensitive a matter that even with their loyalty, they knew of the All-Father as a very suspicious and possibly destructive force that would lead to Heath's death. They also knew that as such, their loyalty was never questioned, and they would not be affected by any possible searches or misguided questionings that could lead to the exposure of this new and unaccountable discovery. The wolves see him as a good ally and potential business partner. Móði has never had an experience like this, and he hopes to have more of it.
'Always put to a certain belief and expectation, when I could be so much more, as Heath would say.' He tries out the new knowledge to concentrate the energy into a small ball, his own personal technique of globular lightning that is self-contained like a bubble!
He has seen the process of Ball Lightning both in the environment and by his father, now he can finally recreate it. And will enjoy learning much more over time.
[1] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=izQsgE0L450&list=LL&index=23
[2] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wWbYuYGT1k&list=LL&index=122