Today was a big day for the Norse. Clutching the isolated slopes of Galdhøpiggen, every inch of the multi-acre wooden hall of the Domain was glowing with festive firelight. Nobody was entirely sure if the date was accurate, but they were pretty sure that today marked the 3,000th anniversary of the manifestation of the first Norse Primoi.
Given the momentousness of having the birthdays of half of one’s family taking place on the same day, no expense was spared. The largest three rooms in the hall were cleared out to make room for vast banquet tables, and the entire Domain was racing across the upper hallways to bedeck the entire building in the brightest ornamentations they could scrounge up. Not only was today an important celebration, but the Norse had a bet with the Celts over who could throw the biggest party. And the Norse hated losing.
Once everything was ready and the hired artist had finished speed-painting a photorealistic landscape of the festivities, the entire Domain took their assigned seats and began feasting. Except Ligivul. She wasn’t invited.
Ligivul sat on the balcony railing, staring down at the dozens of Primoi eating and chatting below. She’d gotten dressed in her traditional leather armour and green silk cape in the vague hope that something might change this time, but nothing did. It wasn’t as bad as it should’ve been, being banned from her own birthday party. She was never allowed to participate in these, she was numb to it.
She heard the easily-identifiable chunky footsteps of Gilnevn approach her from behind. Ligivul turned to see her sister holding a plate of roast venison with one hand. Her armor was already splattered with food stains, and her waist-length hair had been tied back into a bun. Ligivul slid off the railing and planted her feet on the stone floor. “Didn’t think you’d spot me.”
Gilnevn sat against the railing and put the plate next to her. “Without your vanishing act, you’re not as good at hiding as you think. It’s pretty easy to pick out two glowing green eyes, even if you don’t look up much.”
Ligivul plopped down next to her sister so that the food was between the two of them, grabbed a hunk of meat and began eating in silence. Gilnevn ate slowly while waiting for Ligivul to finish the piece she had taken. Once she finished, Gilnevn spoke up before she could grab another piece to fill her mouth with. “You doing okay? I was expecting Katri to make an exception for you this time, it seems like this would hurt more than usual.”
Ligivul, who was reaching for more meat, retracted her arm and shrugged. “Not especially. I don’t expect them to suddenly change their minds about me overnight. Plus, it’s not too bad up here. I know you’ll find me and bring me some food, you always do. Classic Gil, eating on the floor instead of the table.” She playfully punched Gilnevn in the shoulder.
Gilnevn smiled and rubbed her shoulder. “But seriously, how are you so okay with this? You could be having fun down there instead of being lonely up here.”
Ligivul shrugged again. She didn’t have much else to articulate her opinion. “Eh, I’ve accepted it. Not much to do about it.”
Gilnevn got to her feet, indignant. “But there is much to do about it! Those people down there should be saying what you said! But they treat you like garbage because of something you haven’t even done! And they’ll keep treating you like garbage unless you make them stop!” She leaned down to be eye-to-eye with Ligivul again. “Don’t just take this lying down. You’re not gonna get anything done if you just sit around being mopey about inevitability. Show them you want in. Harness that prankster spirit.”
Ligivul looked down at the Primoi below, hesitantly mulling over her sister’s words. “I, uh…”
“C’mon,” said Gilnevn, clutching Ligivul’s shoulders. “When have I ever had a bad idea before?”
“All the time, actually.” Ligivul slowly got up. “But fine. I’ll give it a shot.”
“That’s the spirit.”
-
At the head of the main table, the twin kings Katri and Krita watched as their family finished their first course. Once it looked like everyone was done, the two stood up and tapped the table to call attention to themselves. Krita spoke first. “Evening, everyone. I hope you’ve all been having a great party?”
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When the clapping and cheering subsided, Katri continued. “Great to hear it. Let’s have a bit of an intermission before you all load up on your next batch of food. Krita’s the one who made this announcement possible, so he can take the wheel.” He sat back down and gave Krita the thumbs up.
Krita heaved his hulking frame onto the table, knocking over several drinks. His thick fur cape dragged through what was left of several people’s meals. He wobbled to his impressive full height, his red eyes bathing the space in front of him with light. He was about to begin speaking, but then remembered something and beckoned to the hired artist, who was sitting quietly in a corner across the room.
Krita began his speech in earnest as the artist hurried over, painting tucked under their arm. “Well folks, today was, I would say, productive. Not only did we manage to set up the biggest party for miles, not only did we successfully celebrate our Domain reaching three thousand years, not only did we prepare the biggest feast this hall has ever contained…” He took the painting from the artist. “But now, we get to stick it to those Celts and their smug faces!”
He recoiled slightly from the deafening roars that engulfed the table. Dishes were thrown. Drinks were sloshed into the air. Krita had to steady himself when one Primus about 30 feet away tried to flip the table. They were lucky the Primus couldn’t, or else the decorative pyre in the middle of the table would have tipped over and set the table aflame.
Krita held up his hands in an attempt to calm the crowd, but to no avail. He had to wait for another couple of minutes until he could hear himself speak.
“And I bet they’re expecting us to invite them over and show them what’s left of the party as proof, but no. Thanks to this Indian artist I found…” He leaned over to the artist. “Hey, what’s your name?”
The artist shuffled forward. “Um, my name’s Jatra, and I think I saw so-”
Krita shoved Jatra away. “Thanks to Japruh, we’ve got a painting to show those Celts the party at its peak!” He held the painting above his head, displaying it to the whole table.
The table stared at the painting Krita held with confusion and concern. Instead of the preserved party that they were informed would be on it, there seemed to be a swarm of bees painted onto the canvas.
Krita read the expressions on everyone’s faces. “Wait, is something wrong? Is it torn?” He brought the painting down and looked at it. “What? Bees?! Did nobody make sure the artist was-!”
The bees burst out of the painting and swarmed Krita. As the table got to their feet and recoiled in shock, they could barely hear Krita drop the painting and scream through the deafening drone of the formerly-painted bees.
Krita stumbled across the table while swatting manically at the insects surrounding him. Screaming from the sensory overload of the swarming and buzzing, he paid no heed as he knocked over plates and cups on his slow, jerky path towards the center of the table.
Some people realized that he would hit the pyre he did. Some more tried to come to his aid when they got over their surprise. All of them were too late. Krita fell into the flaming pyre, knocking it over and letting flaming logs spill from their stone platform onto the table. The tablecloth ignited, and the entire table was engulfed in flames in a matter of seconds. Krita’s screams shifted from those of fear to those of pain, then to silence. Everyone watching was too stunned and afraid to even move.
Ligivul leapt down from the balcony, eyes wide. She stared at the flaming table, stunned. She got as close as she dared to the table, vainly reaching out for Krita. “I don’t… It was just a… No…”
She was bowled over by Katri, who pinned her to the floor with rage boiling through his orange eyes. “You! I should’ve guessed you’d mess this up! What have you done?! Krita’s dead!”
Katri’s words sprayed spit into Ligivul’s eyes. She stared blankly at his hairy face, struggling to form coherent words. “I-it… the-the bees weren’t real! They were an illusion! I-”
Katri snapped his fingers and Ligivul stopped talking. She was unaware of what happened for a split second before the blinding pain clued her in. Katri had fused her mouth shut. The onlookers winced. Katri’s powers weren’t something that they saw often.
Katri got to his feet, glaring at Ligivul. He snapped his fingers again and she was pulled to her feet like a puppet. “I don’t care what’s real, you still burned my brother alive! We’ve tolerated you long enough, and it’s time for you to go!” He took a step back and snapped a third time, throwing Ligivul dangerously close to the fire. “...No. Not yet. If I try to kill you, some destiny-thing will happen and I’ll fail. But there are other ways to get you out of my sight for good.”
He turned to the watching Primoi surrounding him. “Anyone know what the deepest, darkest, furthest away hole in existence is? Only the best for this waste of power.”
One Primus raised their hand after a few seconds. “The, uh… the Down Below? It works for Deus, even if we don’t have his, uh… resources.”
Katri shrugged. “Works for me. Someone start scouting the place, find a good spot. Also, someone else go check to see if the painting’s okay. We might still beat the Celts. Yeah, go do that first, actually.”