The Thunders Feast Begins
Sunrise Over Brynhold
The first light of dawn crept over the village of Brynhold, stretching out like golden fingers across the snow-covered rooftops. Frost sparkled like a thousand tiny stars, and the whole village seemed to hold its breath, as if anticipating something monumental. A faint mist clung to the ground, swirling around the villagers' feet as they bustled with purpose, each of them taking part in the preparations for the sacred Thunders Feast.
For as long as anyone could remember, the Thunders Feast had been held every winter to honor Thor, god of thunder, strength, and protection. It marked the turning of the seasons, a celebration of the end of winter's dark grip, and the promise of light and warmth to come. And today, the air was thick with reverence, a silent prayer that the god himself would join them in their celebration.
Hakon stood at the edge of the square, watching the village come alive around him. The energy in the air was infectious, stirring something deep within him—a sense of wonder and anticipation.
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"Today feels different… like the air is charged with something more. As if Thor himself is waiting just beyond the mountains, watching us."
At the centre of the square, villagers worked tirelessly, stacking logs and straw to create a towering bonfire. It rose higher and higher, easily three times the height of a grown man, and each log was inscribed with protective runes and symbols of strength. The villagers had gathered the finest wood for this occasion, and each piece was carefully soaked in oil to ensure it would blaze brightly.
A group of village elders—gray-haired men and women who had witnessed countless Thunders Feasts—walked solemnly around the bonfire, tracing ancient symbols in the snow as blessings. They murmured in low voices, calling on Thor to bless their village and protect them from the darkness that lurked in the realms beyond Midgard.
Hakon watched as the elders traced the last symbol, a rune of courage. The bonfire towered above them, a wooden giant that would soon blaze with light and heat.
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"I've never seen a fire this big before… It's as if we're trying to light up the entire sky for him."
All around the square, villagers hung banners adorned with blue and gold symbols of Mjolnir, Thor's mighty hammer. The colours were vibrant against the pure white of the snow, each banner an emblem of the village's faith and devotion. Young men and women worked quickly, securing the banners to poles and draping them over the walls, while others carved protective runes into stones and wooden posts, each stroke of the chisel made with reverence.
It was as if the entire village had been transformed into a temple dedicated to Thor, a place where even the walls whispered of strength and honour. The banners flapped in the cold winter breeze, the blue and gold hues vivid and bright against the white snow. Everywhere Hakon looked, he saw symbols of Mjolnir and runes carved into stones, a reminder of Thor's power and the protection he granted to Midgard.
A row of spits had been set up near the edge of the square, where game meat, boar, and venison turned slowly over open fires. The rich scent of roasting meat filled the air, making Hakon's mouth water, and he wasn't the only one casting longing glances toward the spits. Even the village's fiercest warriors paused in their preparations, their noses twitching at the delicious aroma.
Fat crackled in the flames, sending up bursts of smoke that mingled with the scent of pine and wood smoke from the bonfire. The villagers knew that tonight, they would feast like kings—and Thor himself would dine with them.
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"It smells like a banquet fit for a god. Perhaps Thor will notice and come down to join us…"
In the midst of all the preparations, the children of Brynhold ran through the square, their laughter bright and carefree. Each of them wore a small cloak adorned with a painted hammer symbol, mimicking Thor's Mjolnir. Some of them wielded wooden swords, and a few held small, carved wooden hammers, raising them high as they pretended to summon lightning. Just two years younger than Hakon.
"Fear me, for I am Thor!" a young boy shouted, swinging his wooden hammer dramatically as he chased his friends around the square.
Another child, a girl with braids and a fierce expression, raised her sword. "I'll protect Midgard from the giants!" she cried, her voice filled with determination.
Hakon couldn't help but smile. There was something heartwarming about the sight—the children so proud and eager to emulate the god they worshipped.
Dialogue:
Child #1: "I am Thor! Fear my hammer!"
Child #2: "I'll smite the giants and protect Midgard!"
Near the edge of the square, the village warriors sat in a line, sharpening their weapons in preparation for the feast's games and challenges. The sound of metal scraping against stone filled the air, a rhythmic accompaniment to the laughter and song around them. Each warrior was focused, their faces set with determination, eager to prove their worth in the eyes of the thunder god.
Some of the warriors exchanged words, recalling past feats of strength, while others worked in silence, their minds already on the battles ahead. The challenges would be fierce—tests of endurance, strength, and skill—and each man and woman there hoped that Thor himself would see their bravery.
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"Every warrior here looks ready to face a giant. They say Thor values strength above all… will he see their bravery?"
As the preparations neared completion, Erik Stormbringer, the chieftain of Brynhold and Hakon's father, climbed onto a raised platform in the centre of the square. His voice boomed across the crowd, strong and commanding, silencing the murmurs and drawing every eye to him.
Erik:"Today, we celebrate the god who shields us, the god whose strength is unmatched. Thor, who wields Mjolnir to protect us from the forces that threaten Midgard. Let our voices and deeds today rise to him, so he knows his followers remain steadfast and true!"
The villagers cheered, raising their fists in salute. Erik's words ignited a fire in their hearts, a sense of pride and purpose that filled them with a fierce determination. Today was not just a celebration; it was a reaffirmation of their faith, a promise to honour the god who watched over them.
As dusk began to settle over Brynhold, Erik led a procession to light the massive bonfire. Holding a torch, he approached a smaller, sacred flame kept at the edge of the square, a fire that had burned uninterrupted for generations. He dipped the torch into the flame, then walked solemnly to the towering structure of logs and straw.
With a reverent look upward, Erik touched the torch to the base of the bonfire. Flames sprang to life, quickly climbing the oil-soaked wood, roaring and crackling as they reached for the sky. The fire leaped upward, a golden beacon against the darkening sky. Its heat washed over the villagers, and they stepped back, shielding their eyes from the fierce glow. The bonfire's flames danced high, illuminating the village and casting flickering shadows that seemed to move in time with the villagers' own breaths.
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"It's like we've summoned a piece of the sun down to Midgard… for Thor."
As the bonfire roared, Erik raised his hands, signalling for the villagers to join him in song. Their voices rose together, strong and clear, chanting an ancient hymn to Thor. It was a song that had been passed down for generations, a tribute to the god who wielded the thunder.
The Ballard of Unshakable Thunder
Verse 1
Oh, mighty Thor, hammer high in hand,
Defender of Midgard, strong as stone,
With Mjolnir's swing and thunder's command,
You guard our homes, our hearth, our bone.
Chorus
Strike, strike, Mjolnir's fire,
Make the heavens blaze and roar,
Storm and thunder, rising higher,
All shall praise the mighty Thor!
Verse 2
Through giants' lands and frost's fierce bite,
You break their strength, their hearts, their might,
With lightning's blaze and storm's pure wrath,
You carve for us a peaceful path.
Chorus
Strike, strike, Mjolnir's fire,
Make the heavens blaze and roar,
Storm and thunder, rising higher,
All shall praise the mighty Thor!
Verse 3
To fields of battle, fields of fear,
We carry you, oh Thor, so near,
With strength unbroken, hearts so bold,
We face our fates as tales unfold.
Chorus
Strike, strike, Mjolnir's fire,
Make the heavens blaze and roar,
Storm and thunder, rising higher,
All shall praise the mighty Thor!
Their voices echoed through the square, filling the air with a sense of devotion and power. Each word was an offering, a testament to the faith they held in the god who would soon join them. The song was a hymn of strength, of gratitude, and of unity—a call for Thor to descend from the heavens and bless their village.
As the final notes of the song faded into the night, a hush fell over the square. The villagers waited, each of them holding their breath, their eyes on the sky. There was a sense of charged anticipation in the air, as if every soul in Brynhold was listening for the distant rumble of thunder.
The night was quiet, the only sound the crackling of the bonfire. But every villager could feel it—an energy that pulsed through the air, a power that made their skin prickle and their hearts race.
Suddenly, a low rumble rolled across the sky, like the distant growl of some ancient beast. The villagers gasped, their heads snapping upward as dark clouds began to gather overhead. The sky darkened, and lightning flickered within the clouds, casting brief flashes of eerie light over the village.
The rumble grew louder, more insistent, vibrating through the ground beneath their feet. It was as if the heavens themselves were answering their call, and the villagers stood in awe, feeling the power of the storm.
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"He's coming… the god of thunder himself."
In a blinding flash of lightning, Thor appeared, stepping down as if from invisible steps descending from the sky. Each footfall resonated with a raw, primal power, and the villagers stared in awe as the god himself approached them.
Thor is a massive, powerful figure, both intimidating and awe-inspiring. He is thickly built, with muscles that look as if they were forged from stone itself, his body heavy with the raw, natural power of a storm. His broad chest is bare except for the runes etched into his skin, ancient symbols that seem to pulse with energy.
His red hair and beard are wild, tangled as if they were caught in a constant wind, framing a face both fierce and noble. His eyes are a deep, stormy blue, filled with an intensity that seems to pierce through everything he sees. Around his waist, he wears a wide belt of strength, Megingjörð, which radiates a subtle golden light, amplifying his power.
In his hand, he holds Mjolnir, the famed hammer. It is nothing like the neat, polished weapon of legend—it's a brutal, weighty thing, scarred and cracked from countless battles, with lightning crackling around it, almost as if the hammer itself is alive.
Thor's arrival was marked by a silence as heavy as the weight of his presence. His eyes, fierce and stormy blue, swept over the crowd of villagers, assessing each face with a gaze that seemed to pierce straight into their souls. Even the bravest warriors, men and women hardened by countless battles, felt their knees weaken under the weight of his scrutiny. His gaze lingered on some, as if testing the strength within them, before moving on.
Internal Monologue (Hakon): "This is Thor. Not the hero from the stories, not the god we sing about. This is Thor, the storm himself, the force that breaks mountains and crushes giants."
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"This is no ordinary gaze… it's as if he's reading our hearts, judging our worth."
Hakon's heart pounded as Thor's eyes met his for the briefest moment, and he felt a shiver of energy course through him. The god's stare was powerful, almost overwhelming, as if Thor could see right through him—to the strange power simmering beneath the surface that even Hakon barely understood.
With a booming voice that echoed like thunder across the square, Thor lifted Mjolnir, his legendary hammer, and held it aloft as a sign of acknowledgment.
Thor: Well met, people of Brynhold! Your voices reached the heavens, your flames touch the sky, and your faith calls down even the mighty from Asgard. I am honoured to stand among you for this Thunders Feast!"
The villagers erupted into cheers, their voices rising like a storm in response to his words. Some pounded their chests, others raised their weapons, while children clutched their wooden hammers, eyes wide with awe as they beheld the living god. Even the coldest among them couldn't help but feel their hearts swell with pride and excitement.
Thor's laughter rolled out like thunder, rich and hearty. His eyes sparkled with an energy that filled the villagers with both reverence and excitement. Despite his godly power, there was something surprisingly warm and approachable in his smile—a compassion that softened his otherwise formidable presence.
At Thor's signal, Erik raised his arm and shouted to the crowd, signalling the start of the feast. Long tables were quickly arranged around the square, and villagers piled them high with roasted meats, breads, vegetables, and the finest mead they had to offer. Children scrambled to find seats, elders blessed the food, and warriors exchanged hearty handshakes, ready to dig into the feast.
The tables were laden with food—thick cuts of roasted boar dripping with fat, roasted root vegetables glazed with honey, and steaming loaves of dark bread fresh from the ovens. The smell was intoxicating, mingling with the crisp winter air and the warm scent of pine smoke from the bonfire. Wooden cups overflowed with mead, passed eagerly from one villager to another.
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"Feasting with a god… this is a day no one in Brynhold will ever forget."
After the feast, the villagers began their traditional games. Warriors stepped forward to compete in feats of strength, each of them eager to prove their worth to the god of thunder. Men wrestled in the snow, young hunters competed in axe-throwing contests, and others tested their endurance in tug-of-war matches. The games were fierce, each competitor determined to earn Thor's respect. Thor watched with an approving smile, his arms crossed over his massive chest. Occasionally, he would let out a cheer, encouraging a warrior or nodding in acknowledgment when someone showed particular skill or bravery.
Thor: "Good! Show me the strength of Brynhold! Let no arm fall weak today!"
As the night deepens and the mead flows, Erik announces the start of the traditional Old Norse games. These games are a test of strength, endurance, and skill, meant to honour Thor's virtues. Events include log-tossing, stone-lifting, and Target Practice, and many of the village warriors eagerly step forward to participate, hoping to catch Thor's eye and earn his approval.
The games take place in a wide clearing, with torches illuminating the contestants. The log-tossers grip massive, heavy logs, muscles straining as they heave them as far as they can. The stone-lifters struggle under the weight of boulders almost half their size, veins bulging with effort.
Internal Monologue (Hakon): "I want to be out there with them someday… to prove myself, to be worthy of Thor's gaze."
Snow flew as wrestlers tumbled, muscles strained in the cold air as axes thudded against wooden targets. The villagers cheered their champions on, each match more intense than the last, and the laughter and shouts filled the air like music.
The crowd roared as a group of villagers gathered for the mead-drinking challenge, each man and woman determined to prove that they could hold their drink like a true Viking. Massive mugs were passed around, filled to the brim with the village's best mead. Thor watched from his place of honor, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Finally, Erik raised his own mug and looked up at Thor.
Erik: "What say you, Véorr (Protector of Midgard)? Will you join us, or shall we drink in your honour?"
Thor laughed, a sound that seemed to shake the very earth beneath them.
Thor: "I wouldn't miss it for all the treasures in Asgard!"
Thor reached for a mug that seemed almost laughably small in his massive hand and raised it high. The villagers cheered as he joined them, his presence elevating the drinking contest to a legendary level. One by one, challengers drank, but Thor outlasted them all, downing mug after mug until the villagers' mead supplies were nearly exhausted.
Thor laughs heartily, his cheeks flushed, his presence larger than life. As he raises his mead Mug, a cheer erupts from the crowd, and the warriors around him bow out one by one, unable to keep up with the god's immense tolerance for drink.
Thor: "Is there no one here who can drink like a true warrior?" (he chuckles, clapping a hand on the shoulder of a defeated warrior) "No shame, lad. It takes more than mortal blood to keep pace with the thunder."
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"This… this is a feast worthy of a god."
As the night continued, Erik stood up once more, calling for the villagers' attention. The crowd hushed, and every eye turned to him as he held up a box filled with small slips of parchment—each one a number for the raffle.
Erik: "It is time! Tonight, one of you will have the honour of standing before Thor, the god of thunder, in combat. To spar with the god himself… there is no greater honour!"
The villagers held their breath, each of them clutching their raffle ticket, hoping against hope that they would be chosen.
Erik closed his eyes, focusing his Hurgr—his life force—into his hands. The box in front of him began to spin, slowly at first, then faster, until it whirled at an incredible speed, the slips of parchment within swirling into a chaotic blur. Every villager leaned forward, breathless with anticipation, each hoping fate might favour them tonight.
NOTE: Think of Hurgr like mana but with a different name!!!
With a flick of his wrist, Erik brought the box to a sudden stop. The silence was thick as he reached inside, fingers brushing over the folded slips until he pulled one free. Holding it up to the torchlight, he unfolded the parchment, a smile tugging at his lips as he read the number aloud, his voice strong and clear, carrying through the night air like a rallying cry.
Erik: "The chosen warrior is… number threet-ugt syow(thirty-seven)!"
A young Drengr(Warrior) stepped forward, his face pale but resolute, holding his raffle ticket aloft. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, honouring the young warrior chosen by fate.
Internal Monologue (Hakon):
"To spar with Thor… the gods themselves have blessed him."
As the Drengr approached Thor, Siegfried stepped forward, his face calm but his eyes intense. He bowed respectfully to Thor, then looked to the Drengr, his voice clear.
Siegfried: "If it pleases the Jötnar-Bane(Giant-Slayer)… might I challenge this warrior for the honour of facing you?"
Thor, standing tall and imposing, studies Siegfried in silence for a full fifteen seconds. His gaze is intense, like a storm about to break, and the weight of his stare seems to bear down on Siegfried, testing him without a single word. The villagers hold their breath, wondering if Thor will accept this challenge or chastise Siegfried for his audacity.
Thor's eyes are like lightning, fierce and unyielding, radiating a divine power that seems to freeze the air around him. His expression is inscrutable, neither angered nor amused—just pure, godly focus.
Internal Monologue (Hakon): "Siegfried's brave, but… will Thor take this as a challenge? Or an insult?"
A murmur rippled through the crowd. After a tense silence, Thor suddenly throws his head back and laughs, a deep, booming sound that echoes through the village square. His laughter breaks the tension, and the villagers join in, relieved and entertained by Thor's reaction. Thor turns to the young Drengr and asks if he's willing to let Siegfried challenge him for the chance to spar.
Thor: "A bold request, Siegfried! But boldness is a quality I admire. If the chosen Drengr agrees, I will allow it."
The Drengr agrees to the challenge, and the villagers eagerly form a circle around Siegfried and his opponent. The fight begins, and Siegfried moves with a speed and precision that shocks everyone. His blows are swift and powerful, and before anyone can blink, he lands a decisive hit, sending the Drengr to the ground in a single move. The crowd gasps—no one expected the fight to end so quickly.
Siegfried's strike is like a flash of lightning, precise and unstoppable. The Drengr hits the ground, stunned, and Siegfried stands tall, victorious but humble, extending a hand to help his opponent up.
Villager (whispering): "He's stronger than we thought… could he be on the verge of leveling up?"
Internal Monologue (Hakon): "He's gotten so much stronger… When did this happen?"
The fight was brief but intense. Siegfried moved with a speed and power that took the crowd by surprise. In a single, fluid motion, he landed a powerful blow, knocking the Drengr to the ground. The crowd gasped, awed by the strength and skill he displayed.
Thor's eyes gleamed with approval, clearly impressed.
Thor: "Well done, Siegfried. It seems you have more strength than even I expected."
The stage was set for a clash that would become legend—the mortal warrior against the god of thunder.