There has always been gods. Despite the recent turn of humanity towards monotheism, and the habit of ignoring that which they don't understand or proclaiming it an act of god, we deities still exist. Scattered from years of war, torn by loyalties from millennia before and unable to kill ourselves, those of us left roam this plane looking for entertainment.
Many of this group of stragglers have indulged themselves in flesh, food and narcotics, in no particular order; trying to desperately hold onto the adoration they received in their youth. They like to believe that simply by surrounding themselves with simpering mortal fools, they can forget their fall and those of their families that are lost forever. It is not that easy; the loss of an immortal is not only contradictory, but heart breaking. Gut wrenching. Desolation for the rest of your eternity.
I am one of those survivors, the last of my kind. There are many predictions and prophecies that immortals indulge in, but the one concerning my people was entirely true, all except my fate. We ruled Northern Europe and, prior to that, our founders were scattered in other religions and cults before becoming a family. We were the Norse, the Odinsons, we had the hearts of the Vikings in our hands and by Odin did we use them for our doing. We fought and fucked our way through populations, we battled giants and dwarves and dark elves, we were unrestrained and wild, like those who followed our power. Maybe it was our actions that brought our destruction at Ragnarok. We knew it was coming yet we did not act to stop our downfall.
The issue with prophecy is that it is often symbolic. Ragnarok is a key example of this. The darkness of the Gods. It was not a prophetic battle of us versus the powers of the dark, protecting our flock with our lives to try and prevent their destruction. No. It was the culmination of our filth, boiling and seething until it engulfed us in war and blinded us of our bonds until we tore each other apart.
My brothers, sisters, mother, father, children, husbands and wives. All those who surrounded my existence. My immortal family. For all our good intentions, our love and hope for what we could do, we fell to the darkness and we died. All but me. I am the last, A relic of what we failed to achieve.
I often think that my survival is our punishment. I will live forever, I am too strong to be killed by another deity and cannot kill myself, so I must live without my family and with the memory of our failures. In any case, their fates are what propelled me on my current course. After several centuries of blood lust and anger, of course.
I am a peace keeper, or I like to think I am anyway. Due to my skills, magick and strength, I am able to help or influence, which ever is needed. After so much destruction and pain, the prevention of those two things is all I can think of. I cannot let more unnecessary wars evolve and boil across the surface of this planet, I cannot.
My name is Hel. I was once the ruler of the dead, a Valkyrie, a mother, a child, a sister. I am now what stands between Earth and destruction.