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#inspired by norse mythology

theoutcastedartist · 1 year

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"The Great Wolf: Fenrir"

Character reference for "The Gift From Paradise"

Be warned however, Fen will experience Wolf Zoomies on the regular and loves getting ear scritches >:3

(Additonal tid-bit: "Rieka" is the name Fen uses for his human disguise whenever she wants to blend-in with the humans)

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wilbyowo · 3 months

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OK SO IDEA:

Humanity have officially almost become extinct, there is very few people left as most either were rich enough to leave the planet or died fighting for supplies of from sickness. Giants now walk the earth and usually loot old cities for tech that they tear apart and repurpose. These giants have been around for years, but they were in hibernation underground. This guy is Fenrir, one of the many giants wandering the planet, and he is known for being brutal and aggressive. He’s bigger than most giants and just terrifying.

He is looking for a good spot to start when he hooks his finger in through the window of an old apartment block and just pulls the window off to look inside only to come face to face with a species he thought was long, long dead. He’s suddenly feeling horrified because if he was rougher, the rubble could have crushed them. For some reason, the brutal giant feels nothing but worry and empathy for the tiny shaking form cowering in the building in front of him.

#oc #g/t #giant/tiny #he’s like 200-300ft tall.#giants also are quite bulky in this #usually have earthy or norse mythology inspired names #they also all have 4 eyes and are carnivorous #giant oc #g/t art #g/t artist #g/t oc

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sparks-chaotic-cove · 2 months

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You know, they say Fenris was always destined to bite

Those cruel, captivatingly crude jagged rows of teeth

Fated to destroy the ones he loved the most.

Their blood on his clawed paws,

metallic taste on his tongue,

horror in his eyes and pain from the skies.

But did Fenris really determine his fate?

or did those who raised him curse him with debates

of the destined foe of all of them there

the one who couldn't predict his despair.

Was Fenris always evil?

was he always so very cruel?

or did something inside him break the day he was chained,

cursed to become a monster to everyone who viewed.

Did he mean to hurt his family?

did he realized the snake that had already predicted his fate?

Fenris never meant to hurt his star.

Fenris never meant to hurt the moon.

Fenris never meant to tear his stronghold.

Fenris never meant to stalk his family.

But fate destined it as so,

He's just lucky someone was there to tell him "Leave him alone."

#Wolf poem inspired by Fenris/Fenrir from Norse mythology!#tehe #Wolf Nightingale #Rae morningstar #fablesmp #fsmpblr #fable smp #fsmp #sparkwrites #sparkpoetry #poetry #poet #poetry?

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aperiodofhistory · 2 months

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The forest has awakened to the sound of our footsteps. Slowly we moved through the frosted branches and mossy path. Above us, the fog persisted, even though the sun had already risen.

In the fog, we heard whispers. They were talking in a foreign language about the path we were aiming to take. It leads to uncertainty, that we knew. But we had to take it. It was our only chance, to meet at the old Godstone. For death and life will cross its path, amidst the tall risen ancient trees.

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queenlucythevaliant · 1 month

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Northern Lights

I heard a voice that cried, “Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!”

Who knows what to call the lonely exhilaration of gazing out into a bright Northern sky? Who can name it?

Jill could.

It was the same feeling that came to her at the teetering edge of a cliff at the end of the world. The same feeling as when she said her goodbyes to Puddleglum and Scrubb before they freed the prince. It was the same feeling that engulfed her now, sitting in the professor’s library with a volume of poetry before her.

The wild northern wastes were well named: utterly wild, perfectly desolate, and terribly Northern.

It was lonely there and often cold, but the sky was an endless whorl of gales and gray clouds. The stones were indigo under the pale winter sunlight, and at sunset they glowed a soft gold, as though lit from within. The gorges and moors lay before her, and Jill loved them for their vastness and their distance. Little grew in that country, but that which did was full of vigor. The grass was short and coarse. Every tree was victorious.

On a still, deep breathing winter night, Jill lay on her back beneath a covering sky. It seemed beautiful to her, rich and strong and glorious. Her eyes drank in the breadth of it until her tears began to blind her. Yet even then, she still couldn’t look away.

She felt bigger here in the wastes, like the landscape. Stronger, wider. The further she walked, the more she felt herself stretch out. One of these days, maybe, she would catch hold of herself at the edge and tug, and Jill Pole would open up clear as the Northern sky.

And through the misty air passed the mournful cry of sunward sailing cranes.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the battle with the serpent was this: there wasn’t any yelling. Always, it seemed, whenever she read stories about people fighting with swords, the combatants would let loose some guttural yell before their blows fell. They would scream and writhe in pain as they died. They would shout instructions to their fellows, “Look out!” or “Hit him there!” But the whole affair with the serpent passed with very little noise.

The poison-green coil constricted around the prince; he raised his arms and got clear, struck the serpent hard, and then Scrubb and Puddleglum dispatched the creature with heavy, hacking blows. The monster died writhing, but not screaming. And then it was over.

The thing that surprised Jill most about the moments before battle was, of course, the noise. She could hear her own heartbeat in her ears. She couldn’t stop listening to her own breathing. Every footstep rang out like a gong, and any words exchanged rang with a kind of finality that made them sound louder than anything.

“You are of high courage,” Rilian told her when it was over.

Yet the thing in Jill’s chest just then didn’t feel like courage. It was a deep breath, a plunge, and a release. It was loud and quiet all at once, till she was standing, blinking in the night air as snowballs whizzed round her, and maybe that was something like courage after all.

And now, there was a stirring in her chest as she reread the words on the page. Sing no more / O ye bards of the North / Of Vikings and of Jarls! / Of the days of the Eld / preserve the freedom only / nor the deeds of blood!

She thought of grief. Of freedom.

The lonely ache in her belly grew stronger. She felt herself uplifted into the huge regions of sky that were just beyond those cliffs, weightless as the breath beneath her buoyed her up, further, further…

When she saw Caspian up close, Jill thought that he looked like the sort of person who was meant to live in a castle. A silly thought, perhaps, since she knew he was a king– only she wasn’t thinking of Cair Paravel. No, Jill was picturing the ruins of an old British castle she’d visited once on holiday. She still remembered how the stonework had loomed over her, all towering arches and crumbling walls. That was where Caspian seemed to belong. He had an air of ancient tragedy about him.

When Rilian disappeared, all things had wept but one. The serpent coiled beneath the earth and flicked its forked tongue, spewing poison.

Now, the king half rose to bless his son. He whispered a few words as he caressed Rilian’s cheek, words meant only for those beloved ears. Jill saw Caspian’s lips move and wondered what a man like that could possibly say, when time ran so short.

They laid him in his ship, with horse and harness, as on a funeral pyre. Odin placed a ring upon his finger, and whispered in his ear.

Jill furtively took Myths of the Northmen and held it up to the professor with a question in her eyes. She was still shy around him and Miss Plummer, though she wished she wasn’t.

“Would you like to take that with you?”

“...Please.”

It takes a certain kind of person to be exhilarated by the heights. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

They walked to the train station with an autumn wind blowing hard, and though Jill couldn’t fathom why, she turned and saw Lucy grinning, fierce and joyful– grinning and reaching a hand out towards her friend.

Jill reached back and grabbed it. “What will you do, once we’re back in Narnia?” she asked.

The wind blew harder. The feeling of anticipation grew and grew, until it felt so big that she couldn’t dream of containing it. And there was Lucy, holding Jill’s hand and laughing like it was easy.

Preserve the freedom only, not the deeds of blood!

The second time Jill went to Narnia, she found herself not at its edge, but at its end.

The thing about the Norse apocalypse is: it feels believable. It doesn’t reach beyond earth’s horizon to pull down hope beyond hope. It’s only the kind of courage that hopeless humans have: you are going to die, so you might as well die bravely.

They found the last king of Narnia bound to a tree. His eyes were faintly red from crying, and his wrists and ankles red from the coarseness of his fetters.

In the Norse myths, Loki broke free of his fetters at the end of the world. He escaped to the helm of a ship made from the fingernails of the dead.

The last king of Narnia fell forward onto the ground when Eustace cut his bonds. Jill crouched down beside him and watched as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. He wasn’t so much older than her, she thought. Jill was sixteen years old; the last king of Narnia could not be older than twenty-two.

In the myths, the gods were ancient, hewn from the bodies of giants old as the earth.

Jill put out a hand and helped the last king of Narnia to his feet. Not for the last time, she shivered. Something deep inside her (deeper than her chest, than her heart, than the marrow of her bones, deep as her soul, deeper) was singing an elegy and she didn’t know why, or how, or where it had come from. The king clutching her hand, who could have been her older brother, would have no heir.

Yet when he asked, “Will you come with me?” Jill could only smile.

“Of course,” she said. “It’s you we’ve come to help.”

And the voice forever cried, "Balder the Beautiful is dead, is dead!"

“This really is Narnia at last,” murmured Jill. The springtime wood had little in common with the wintry lands she had traveled the last time she was here– but it awakened the same feelings of Northernness in her chest.

Their party may as well have been the only people in the world, for how isolated their little wooden path seemed. Yet it wasn’t lonely, really, cocooned in all that green with the wind in the leaves and the primroses nodding and blue of the sky peeking through above.

Jewel told stories about what ordinary life was like when there was peace here. As he spoke, Jill could almost hear the trees' voices speaking out of the living past, whispering, stay, stay. She was caught up to a great height, looking down across a rich, lovely plain full of woods and waters and cornfields, which spread away and away till it got thin and misty from distance.

“Oh Jewel–” Jill said with a dreamy sigh, “wouldn’t it be lovely if Narnia just went on and on– like what you say it has been?”

She needn’t be a queen, as Susan and Lucy had been, but Jill would’ve liked to stay. She would've liked it all to stay, if it could. She might have been a woodmaid in a place like this: with the turn of the seasons, the swaying trees, swords into plowshares. Oh, if only she could stay!

Ahead, the last king of Narnia was softly singing a marching song. Jill tilted her head back and let warm shafts of sun caress her face.

I saw the pallid corpse of the dead sun borne through the Northern sky.

“So,” said the last king of Narnia, “Narnia is no more.”

He tried to send them back. Jill shook her head. It was very loud and very quiet. “No, no, no, we won’t. I don’t care what you say. We’re going to stick by you whatever happens, aren’t we Eustace?”

They couldn’t go back anyway. Neither would they flee, not south across the mountains nor North into the great wide wastes. No, they would stay. They slept in a holly grove on the edge of ruin, waiting for the bonfires to light.

Jill slept fitfully, but in between she dreamed. She was high up in the air, buffeted by clouds and pierced by shafts of silver sunlight.

They all died, in the myths. Jill knew that. It seemed beautiful and brave when she read it in her book, tucked away safe in the Professor’s library. It was terrifying now– and yet it was beautiful and brave still.

The dogs came bounding up, every one of them, running up to the king and his men with their tails wagging. One of them leapt at Jill and licked her face, tongue roughly lapping up the sweat and tears that had dried on her cheeks.

“Show us how to help, show us how, how, how!” the dogs were barking, almost ebullient in their enthusiasm. Jill bit back a sob. How lovely, she thought. How terribly beautiful. How dreadfully brave.

So perish the old Gods!

The white rock gleamed like a moon in the darkness when Jill finally reached it. She ran back to it alone, her hands shaking, while her friends stayed forward with their gleaming swords and Jewel’s indigo horn.

The while rock gleamed like the moon. Jill’s first shot flew wide and landed in the soft grass. But she had another arrow on her string the next instant. It was speed that mattered, not aim. Speed, and turning aside when she cried, so as not to drip tears on her bowstring.

The white rock gleamed. In the myths, a wolf devoured the moon. Peter’s wolf, slain many thousand years ago in this world, opened his jaw wide and darkness fell over everything.

Her next arrow found its mark. After that, she lost track. She pulled, and she prayed that her hands kept still another minute.

The unique thing–maybe the appealing thing–about the Norse myths, was that they told men to serve gods who were admittedly fighting with their backs to the wall and would certainly be defeated in the end. Jill let loose another arrow, felt the white rock at her back, and she knew that the clawing fear–beauty–bravery deep in her gut was the same feeling that she felt on the heights. The same feeling, but a different face. You’ve got to love vastness more than you fear falling.

“I feel in my bones,” said Poggin, “that we shall all, one by one, pass through that dark door before morning. I can think of a hundred deaths that I would rather have died.”

“It is indeed a grim door,” said Tirian. “It is more like a mouth.”

“Oh, can’t we do anything to stop it,” said Jill. Better to be dashed to the ground than it was to be devoured.

“Nay, fair friend,” said Jewel. “It may be for us the door to Aslan’s country and we sup at his table tonight.”

A hand tangled itself in her hair and started to pull. Jill braced herself hard, for a moment, until her strength gave out. She was standing on the edge of a high, Northern cliff. She took another step, and fell.

Perhaps when the moment comes, our bite will prove better than our howls. If not, we shall have to confess that two millennia of Christianity have not yet brought us to the level of the Stoics and Vikings. For the worst (according to the flesh) that a Christian need face is to die in Christ and rise in Christ; some were content to die, and not to rise, with Father Odin.

The world inside the stable was beautiful. It made Jill’s chest ache in all the loveliest ways.

Build it again, O ye bards, fairer than before!

#okayyyy so #i've been down the tolkien/lewis/norse mythology rabbit hole lately #it's a lot #but i've been picking at this piece in my head for a while now #which is more a rhapsody than anything else #but another for my narnia/classic lit sequence of pieces #the quotes are mostly pulled from Longfellow's Tegners Drapa translation #which Jack discusses in Surprised by Joy as one of the works that inspired feelings of joy and 'Northernness' in his boyhood #there's also a Weight of Glory quote in there #(paraphrased)#and one from the intro to Joy Gresham's book on the 10 Commandments that Jack wrote #(that's that last passage in italics)#i'm not really sure i was trying to make a point with this so much as just. explore that feeling of northernness #bc really northernness is two things #it's joy and exhileration brought on by beauty #and it's that beautiful hopeless courage when faced with unwinnable battles #and i love how intertwined those two things are for lewis #and let's be honest for me too #so that's what this is #hope it holds together okay #narnia #chapter one #night under narnia #dying of thirst #pontifications and creations #leah stories

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roses-and-sundries · 3 months

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on loving gods

picture this: you fall in love with a god.

(some level of hubris and/or insanity must be involved. for if you were a person who was perfectly humble, and perfectly sane, it simply wouldn't be done. gods are notoriously unreliable, unreasonable, and oftentimes, unworthy. it is just in their nature.)

picture this: the god loves you back.

(this is a very rare thing. they are busy, have different emotions than humans, and, worst of all, immortal. they often choose not to love, or to simply have fleeting affairs.)

picture this: there are circumstances that keep you apart.

(there is an endless list of said circumstances. be it other gods, duties, or, sometimes, if you're lucky - although you might say the opposite- the god wants to keep you safe.)

picture this: you are willing to wait for them.

(most humans who truly love a god will wait as long as it takes. this is foolish, as it often results in their demise.)

picture this: the god finally comes back.

(they are injured, or need help. this doesn't happen often, but is a death sentence for you. you love them, and want to help, but there is nothing you can do. either they will loose control and destroy you, or you will sacrifice yourself for them. sometimes, sometimes it is both.)

picture this: you wonder what the hell you were ever thinking, falling in love with a god.

(and the sad truth was, you were never thinking at all.)

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lokiinmediasideblog · 8 months

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That seal video I just shared reminded me of the time Loki and Heimdall fought each other in the form of seals in Norse myths because Loki stole Freyja's necklace at Odin's request, and Heimdall was asked to recover it.

OSP has a great video on that.

youtube

#myth!loki #myth!heimdall #myth!freyja #myth!odin #norse mythology #osp #overly sarcastic productions #next mainstream norse-inspired IP MUST HAVE THIS SCENE #Youtube

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foxglovecove · 6 months

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More from the Loki episode that lives in my head

Past Loki and Sigyn on their coronation day. Just two crazy kids in lurvvve 😌

#loki x sigyn #sigyn goddess of victory #loki laufeyson #my art #inspired by #loki series #Loki #sigyn #norse gods #norse mythology #marvel #mcu #Loki fanart #coronation day #happy thoughts

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jessfandrawer · 1 year

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Sigyn and Loki: Acid Rain Character detail below

Yay, it's finally done! I've been working this piece on and off for a long time (as in years). I'm considering putting it in my portfolio, though I'm not sure if it's too fanart-y for that. My portfolio site is through Tumblr, by the way, so maybe you'll see this one again.😅

Special thanks to the artists on Unsplash for providing my texture layers and some help with the background too!

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crypticroyals · 3 months

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Ok. This might sound controversial but I need to get this out there.

Some people (not a lot and definitely not everyone) are saying it's cultural appropriation to use their or native American folklores for things outside of the native's context.

Alright I guess Greek and Norse and Japanese mythology can't ever be used again anymore guys. Remove all the fiction we have ever made. Library of Alexandria style.

Like, yes, I get the concept of not bastardizing a folk myth in the sense of like, "oh here's a w*ndigo, they're a hero!" when the creature is an embodiment of evil and represents all the negative things racist people ever associated with native Americans. Yeah I get that, but that shouldn't mean someone can't take the story and use it in their own in the right context.

That's what native America groups have done in so many different tribes. There is like 5+ different versions of the myth that are all native culture (all are Algonquian in close region iirc but still they have different things) so why can't I keep the main features that all cultures explain, use it in the same context but the lore is changed slightly to fit the story I'm representing it in?

THAT IS WHAT FOLKLORE IS

Don't get me wrong, if someone took a creature/being from folklore and made it something completely different and than tried to use the name of it, that isn't the same myth anymore and should be given a different name, not the one they tried to say was their new depiction. But that still shouldn't mean I can't use a myth. The main reason Im upset about this is because you have a small amount of people saying it's bad and shouldn't be done even if used accurately even tho pretty much every other culture does.

Norse mythology? Look at Marvel with it's Odin, Thor, Hel and Loki. Greek mythology? That existed years ago and a few modern day pagan Greeks use it outside context and allow others to use it because it's ancient stories full of culture heritage. Same with Roman mythology which is basically Greek mythology but changed for a new context and many use that. Hell we have planets named after them!

I'm not saying "take a myth and make it something no longer that myth but claim it is" because that would be super rude as it ruins what the myth ment and stood for. But things change constantly. No two versions of a myth are exactly the same. Who's to say I can't represent it in my own way? I love learning about cultures and all sorts of myths and tales and cuisines and traditions. But if people can represent Zues or a Kirin and no one bats an eye than why do some people get mad when someone uses a native spirit of greed and winter hm? I know some people of native groups prefer to not speak certain terms as they see it as taboo. The W*nd*go for example. But some do. So why can't I represent cultures in a fantasy setting? Sure the myths aren't real life and consist from cultures all over with different contexts, but if we can't use windigos why can we use fairies and elves and gnomes? Is it because those are white myths? If so that seems very rude. But I'm not sure that's what it is because we have Asian myths and Greek myths in which are used. So I suppose it's because how people back than treated Africa and the Americas. That and how some "modern" takes resemble nothing of the cultures' actually things. Like in Africa Voodoo is now some "heebe jeebies murder witchcraft" and in Algonquian cultures the windigos are now for some reason weird deer minotaurs???? Like, why are they deer now? That's a new thing now, give it a new name please.

Anyways, I do not wish for people to believe this is some angry rant about how people should be allowed to steal and bastardize cultures. Because that isn't true. That's also something wrong people really shouldn't do. But what I guess I mean by all this, is that cultures spread and change over times everywhere and so many connect and change and show heritage and history. We should love each other and other's cultures no matter differences. In the end, we're all human. We shouldn't be fighting someone who wants to make a story about some sorcerers and rogues trying to hunt down a monstrous thing of evil that has been torturing a scared town that represents native cultures. We should be fighting the people who try to make a movie about a myth for the thrill factors that completely change the myth till nothing of the old tale remains and dare to call it the same.

I'm pretty sure this won't get a lot of representation besides hate from the few I spoke about but I felt the need to at least get this off my chest and I apologize if this offends anyone no matter how.

Hopefully one day humanity can get along better than it does. 🤞💕🤝