Planar Chaos

The Redeeming of Sverre

Part Six

The roots of Yggdrasil greedily sucked the golden, shimmering liquid of Sverre's potions from the ground. Yord and Oona looked on in silence as the cries of the mother goddess of the seas subsided into low rumbling sobs. The sun filtering down from Medheim seemed dimmer, not as vibrant or life-giving.

"Bald is the first of the reborn gods to die, but he is also one of the first to be reborn," Yord explained solemnly, pouring out flask after flask and watching the glimmering golden magic surge into the tree from whence it came. The cracks in its bark glowed as its power was restored.

"I thought you said he was the son of another Guardian?" Oona asked.

"He is. The first beings reborn are the Guardians who govern the natural world, such as the seas, land, and sky, to rebuild them from the chaos that overtakes Medheim in the wake of so much death. Once the natural order is reestablished other Guardians will come into being to fulfill the needs of mortals. There is one day where Tyroden can rest from his battle with the giants each cycle, and he spends it in Fensalir getting drunk with his wife. Bald is the result of that." Yord wrapped one arm around the shaking Oona's shoulders. "Though I wish we had more time to teach you, my little sister, you will have to see this all transpire with your own eyes first."

"Why is this world so cruel," Oona caught herself saying. She straightened up and extended her wings to their full splendor. "Do not answer that. I was a Queen in another life. I know sacrifices must be made to ensure balance and prosperity."

"This world is a closed system governed by the tree. Yggdrasil is the soul of Heim, but it knows no morality aside from its own. What you and I and mortals may see as cruel, yes I agree with you on that point, I am not heartless, is simply the way its cyclical magic works."

"I have seen worlds with fantastic magical devices crafted from metal. They have ships that soar in the air. The Ragnarok cycle means that nobody on this world will ever have those things, not even in the future."

"Our world is different," Yord said. "We must preserve that which we can and rediscover what was lost."

"It is, I know that." Oona sighed. She and Yord stood side by side, watching the tree drink potion after potion until its bark began to sparkle brightly where it touched the ground of Helheim. The glinting of the bark faded the higher it rose.

"I must return to the branches, but your next task is to find Bald and bring him to the roots."

"I understand," Oona said.

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Sverre leaned heavily on a runestone pointing out the distance of two neighboring towns. The sun no longer shone as brightly as it could. He felt wave after wave of sadness and despair rolling in off the sea. Not too far from his current position he'd seen a frightening apparition of a woman rise out of a hot spring. Apparently local legends stated she'd thrown herself to her death out of spite or something similar. He hadn't been fully paying attention.

Sverre raised a flask to his lips in a shaking hand and downed his potion.

"Hail, traveler," a female voice called out.

Sverre looked up wearily at a woman riding on a large horse with a cloak pulled over her face. He could only see a red braid hanging over her shoulder. She wore a strange fitted chainmail Sverre had never seen before.

"You look terrible. Have you been travelling long on foot?" she asked.

Sverre nodded, keeping his own cloak pulled tightly around himself.

The woman laughed. "Your golden armor gives you away. You pathetic lordlings think traversing Medheim easy. Tell your father that Brunhilde Fenrisblud will not be swayed by feats of strength."

She rode away and Sverre was more confused than he had ever been. "I'm already married," he called weakly by way of a retort.

Sverre trudged on, moving further and further inland towards the tree. Someone along the way would have an idea, he had to keep up that hope.

It wasn't fair. He hadn't intended to offset the balance of this plane to the point of a permanent apocalypse. Sverre hadn't known when he started his experiments just what he was getting into. It wasn't his fault.

Just like it wasn't his fault when 250 years ago he had pissed off a necromancer outside of a time rift and had to fight him. It wasn't his fault that he'd almost died, abandoning his wife and children, and been catapulted to this plane with no ability to return home. There wasn't a home for him to return to at this point. His Dominaria was out of reach. He couldn't go home.

And now here he was about to destroy his new one. Sverre slammed a fist into the ground upon finding nothing else around to hit. He was not going to die and abandon Oona. There had to be another way. He would find another way. The gods couldn't mean to kill him if they needed him so much.

"There's no way I'm dying," Sverre shouted up at the tree. "Do you hear me? I am not dying!"

He received no response. The tree stood there taking up the center of the horizon casting gray shadows in the cold light of the dying sun.

"Answer me, dammit!" Sverre shouted.

He paused, considered for a moment that he was screaming at a tree, and collected himself. His winged helmet that had been knocked askew was straightened and he dusted off his cloak before continuing onwards. He quietly seethed rather than vociferously declaring his anger to an indifferent heaven. The tree didn't care. The tree couldn't care. It was a tree. It lacked the passions of nature.

Sverre muttered to himself as he trekked onwards.

"There has to be a way around it. Maybe I can cut a deal with someone. There are plenty of gods. Yord isn't the only one. I'll make a deal with a god who understands what I have to do. Maybe a god of black mana."

All the while he felt the same thought resonating within him. The tree offered you a deal and you're refusing.

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Finding Bald was easier than Oona thought, but she did not expect him to be moving. She found him wandering towards her palace wreathed in a halo of light. He took the form of a handsome youth with bright blond hair and shining eyes. Mayweed flowers grew in his wake only to wither and die through the magic of Helheim.

"Are we to make our customary bargain?" Bald asked of Oona as she took his arm to escort him to the tree. His brightness pierced the twilight of Helheim, pushing back the stirring dead who rose to prepare for war.

Oona remained silent. She didn't know what he meant.

"I see. Every time there is someone who will not weep for poor Bald. Why should this time be any different?"

They continued on in silence for some time. Oona felt him lean on her, supporting his own body with hers. The closer they drew to the tree, the weaker he became.

"Tell me, Guardian of the Roots, will I see my mother again?" Bald asked, looking to Oona with sad eyes.

"Yes, Bald, I believe you will." Oona's words came unbidden. She helped him to the ground where he leaned against the roots of Yggdrasil. A wound in his side Oona had not noticed before bled profusely, and the blood was drawn up into the tree. What little color existed in his shining face faded, as did his internal light. Within a few minutes, Bald was dead and mayweed flowers began to grow over his body.

AN: Short chapter for Sverre today, but lots of worldbuilding and set up. I have dug so deep into the Eddas and other Sagas to try and make Heim as rich of a plane as I can, and I'm very excited about the future for this character.