“Princess Trixie is one of those characters known throughout the land for her boisterous personality, abilities to get lost in the most seemlingly ordinary and well established locations; but perhaps what she is best known for is the madness that she helps to bestow upon a certain jester now turned knight. Is it ever a wonder they are seen as a tag team – one getting into trouble (not jus limited to Trixie), and the other almost always there to rescue the other. Do note that these two are hardly normal and one would question their sanity in an otherwise civil society.”
There in the middle of the castle courtyard is King Odin as usual, along with the legendary Warlord Thor. The occasion was a one Loki finally getting caught. The kingdom had been trying to capture this rogue jester for some time, but he always manages to slink away. After some excruciating torture, which mostly involved Sir George’s singing over a campfire, Loki was ready to spill his guts – the neighboring kingdom of Muspell was going to war against the land of Niffleheim, a kingdom rumored to exist in absolute nightfall with snow on the ground year round. What did Loki have to do with this? He was a spy, trained in expert espionage – which largely explains his ways of eluding (not to mention harassing) Thor’s men, and his constant invasions of the castle. All of this would change to day though – Loki was to be executed with maximum prejudice.
“Don’t I even get a last request?”
Odin and Thor were left to gather round each other with Thor’s men to decide if such a demand was too unruly for even this scavenger. King Odin goes to turn around to consult with Loki about something, then turns back to his men. Once more Odin leaves the huddle and his consort assemble behind him.
“It is the decision of this king that you are to be executed with no further delay.”
“What?”
“Drop the guillotine.”
In one swift movement the executioner drops the guillotine and Loki’s head is lopped clean off. King Odin and his kingdom cheer, but it doesn’t last long. Thor is the first to notice something is amiss. Loki’s head should be bleeding at the neck, his body should be fidgeting and there should be a deep satisfaction in Thor’s own heart. Instead, there is nothing, absolutely nothing.
“Sir.”
Odin turns around still smiling, but he slowly moves over to the finger of Thor pointing at the dummy in the guillotine.
“We’ve been tricked.”
“I’m afraid so sir. I’ll assemble my men and we will hunt him down immediately.”
“Very good. No doubt he is on his way to Muspell as we speak.”
It was then that a melon comes careening out of one of the castle windows. The king got it this time, and there was a large commotion as everyone’s sights were set to the castle window. None other than Loki with his evil eyes and hooked nose were staring down at them, laughing with his eerie methodical madness. In one swift movement, he jumps out of the window and hurtles to the castle moat below.
“Get him, get him, GET HIM!”
Thor obeying the commands of his king, signals his men to follow Loki. However, something else is wrong… his hammer was missing! What should normally be at his side was now missing – complemented by his missing gauntlet. This was to be a day to be celebrated without worry – he hadn’t thought it possible for Loki to avoid this one – but he did, and now his hammer was with him more than likely.
“Kill the swindler, and leave no stone unturned until Mjolnir has been assembled!”
Thor was furious now. If Mjolnir ever found its way into the land of Muspell, the warlord “Surt” would be able to bring about the fabled Ragnarok and destruction to the world of Asgard.
At that moment one of the king’s men is whispering nonsense and gibberish into the king’s ear. It was pretty clear from the news that Trixie was missing, as usual. Her whereabouts were unknown, but Sir George himself was on the case – and incidentally it was near the outlands of Muspell itself. The King had a strange feeling that Sir George and Thor’s army would be running into each other soon enough, so it should be a safe bet Trixie would also be recovered.
“And sir?”
“Hmm?”
The advisor seemed puzzled.
“What of you in this?”
“I have a far worse fate in store for me. The blacksmiths and warlords from neighboring kingdoms which to discuss terms of arms in coming years. Tell the cook to have a feast ready before tomorrow morning – this is one event that cannot go sour.”
King Odin’s advisor salutes and walks off.
The next day near the twin mountain ranges of Geki and Freki, and just on the outlands of Muspell are a knight and horse combo fast on their heels from a cloud of oncoming dust in their very direction.
“Fly you fool, FLY!”
The horse of course couldn’t fly, at best he could run and gallop and give Sir George a harsh bruise on this rear; but this was not the time for that. Sir George wasn’t one to check with the locals of the harsh tribes in the area; but this time around they were in for it – a local group of dark skinned warriors by the name of the Azerack, were not impressed by Sir George singing anymore than they were impressed by his feeble attempts at using said singing to buy their food. The last six hours and been pretty much spend either evading, running, or laying traps by both parties. At one point Sir George could have surely made off had he not decided to point and laugh at the Azerack. That only made things worse, and now they are bent on getting him should it mean entering the borders of Muspell itself.
After much effort, Sir George and Flail find themselves by a bridge covering a canyon. Below them is a river unknown to Sir George, but by the locals as the Narwhale river for its obvious distillation of local Narwhales.
Sir George has a choice to make, ride on a horse with questionable stature across a bridge of even more questionable origin – or face the wrath of the Azerack and the possibility of getting married to the chief’s daughter – the choice was clear.
Halfway across the bridge, and after the Azerack had caught up on one side, Sir George is met with a flurry of insults from the opposite side of the bridge – not the Azerack, but a smaller tribe of furry rodents. Sir George takes one look at them, then down to Flail.
“I hear rodents are tasty.”
Flail turns his head away.
“If your master is famished he can’t feed yo….uuuuuuu!”
Flail was already midcharge at the squirrels when they suddenly realize their mistake. They about face and scamper and scurry in any direction that they can find. This was going to be one opportunity they would avoid. However, this was all part of Sir George’s clever plan. The bridge was cut, the Azerack plummeted below, and Sir George and Flail were in the clear – or so they thought. The tribe of squirrels were around him again – their gibberish making absolutely no sense to Sir George.
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For reasons unknown to Sir George, the squirrels scatter, their shrieks of rage echoing throughout the trees. Flail himself however, was more concentrated on things going on behind Sir George than anything else. Sir George’s attempts to rouse the pony were unsuccessful and the horse was frozen in fear. Turning around Sir George could see why. The dragon, Jormungand was directly behind them. Jormungand was not known for violence, but none the less, Sir George had its sword out anyway.
“Stand and deliver!”
Fire leaps from the dragon’s mouth and melts Sir George’s sword in an instant.
“Don’t make me laugh.”
Jormungand gives one last snort and walks off. For whatever reason, he wasn’t in his cave, and Sir George couldn’t understand what he’d be doing all the way out here.
It was then that it occurred to him – Jormungand’s cave was some distance from, but close to the bridge they’d crossed. He understood their location immediately – one of the many side roads into Muspell. It still was a mystery as to Jormungand’s reasons for being out and about – but far be it from a man to question the logic of a dragon’s fiery mind.
“Please won’t you rescue me?”
“No.”
“Oh please, please, please, won’t you rescue me?”
“No.”
“Won’t you marry me after our successful journey?”
“For the last time, NO. NOW SCAM!”
Loki was clearly getting annoyed at Trixie. Having to run into a tribe of ‘ninja squirrels’ was more than he bargained for, and the fact he’d taken refuge in that cave – only to run into Trixie herself, was not his plan for escaping Midgard. Moreover, he needed to get into Muspell, alone, otherwise he’d face both the wrath of Thor for treason or worse, the warth of warlord Surt for bringing in unwelcome visitors through Muspell’s borders.
Earlier…
(Translated from the local squirrel dialect via the Squirrel-A-Tron 3000)
Ninja Squirrel Steve: The dragon has gone too far this time. First he destroys our village, and then he flattens our crops. And now he drinks our water and steals our fish!
Ninja Squirrel Carl: I do not know what he plans by his trensgressions, but I’ms ure there is a peaceful way that we can…
Everyone in the vicinity grabs Ninja Squirrel Carl and sends him flying via cannon into the direction of the nearby river.
Ninja Squirrel Devin: The dragon will pay for this outrage to our village! We will burn him with his own flames and tear his flesh from his bones! There will be retribution!
All of the Ninja Squirrels jeer in unison, only to be caught mid-circle with a charred Ninja Squirrel Carl flying straight back at them. After the small explosion that ensued, his shaking hand lifts a finger and all that escapes him is ‘run’.
They look in the direction that he had flown from, and there was Jormungand, smoke coming straight from his nose with fury in his eyes. This time he was not his normal lazy self, in fact far from it, he was actually roused by something and he was not happy.
“The only retribution here will be anyone that trespasses in my cave.”
Flames come flying in the direction of Ninja Squirrel Carl.
It was pretty obvious what had happened, and now they were in for it. However, no matter how powerful they’d be and no matter what mythical magic they might possess, an angry dragon with flames for words, will triumph, every time.
By this time mid-afternoon their village had been cooked to cinders, their crops were gone and any hint of any existence of the Ninja Squirrel tribe, was gone. Jormungand was too lazy to hunt him, lazy dragon and all, but he wasn’t afraid to get them where it hurt, nor was he afraid to use his cunning to do so. Tonight this village would be his sweet spot.
This was the plan, until he was woken mid-slumber by a very familiar and annoying voice.
“Oh great dragon Jormungand, would you please capture me so that I may await my knight in shining armor?”
“Anyone but you!”
Jormungand was normally too lazy to even try to move from his sleeping spot; but Trixie and his temper were the exceptions – only now his fear had kicked in and he was flying in the other direction. There was no way he would get caught with this woman at his side yet again. Hopefully she hadn’t found his new cave; but Jormungand truly was lazy, his new one wasn’t too far from his old one.
Trixie got lost, as usual; but she remembers exactly where Jormungand’s cave was. With a quick search, she was disappointed to find that Jormungand was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the only person to be found here was a lump of flesh covered in hay. Trixie’s repeated poking to see if it was alive or not, was met with disappointment. The only thing there was the familiar nose of Loki, whom was fast asleep.
“Have you seen the dragon?”
Loki’s attempts at ignoring any outside noise were met with more questions until he was left to jump up, frenzied with rage and ready to tear the princess apart. That was until he knew who it was. Trixie was notorious for locating the dragon Jormungand, and she was well known for having that bumbling jester come to save her. This would be a good opportunity to get Jormungand and Thor at each other’s throats, whilst he made a getaway with a hostage.
Loki’s cunning was in full force though, and it might just be easier to convince Trixie that he was on her side.
“I haven’t seen any dragon, have you?”
Trixie was left puzzled while she crossed her arms. This was Jormungand’s cave, perhaps he had gone out for the day.
Several hours pass, but nothing.
“Are you going to just lie there or are you going to help me fetch the dragon I need?”
Loki was too tired to bother with the princess. Hostage or not, his beauty sleep mattered more and Surt wouldn’t be any wiser about what he didn’t know.
Trixie resorts to poking Loki with a stick.
“I know that you are Loki. You should capture me so that Jormungand may claim me or my hero may save me~”
Loki turned around, completely in shock.
“Won’t you capture me?”
Trixie’s hopeful eyes routine comes into play, and Loki didn’t need to think twice. He was up, to his feet, and running to the cave’s entrance. Trixie was hot on his heels.
More commotion outside of Jormungand’s cave meant that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep. First an army with the distinct voice of Thor, known to Jormungand personally, and then familiar shrieks from Sir George followed by a familiar dialect. But once he heard the voice of Trixie at the cave’s entrance, he was gone. It took one jump before he was airborn, leaving Trixie behind him.
This mess of personalities went in circles most of the afternoon. But by twilight, they had all converged near the very entrance to Muspell, which coincidentally guarded by a monstrous wall – visitors can see in, dwellers can see out, and anyone trying to get in or out unannounced is turned to a cinder by a flaming light from atop a lighthouse on Muspell’s loftiest peak. As a mountainous region, Muspell should be, by rights, frozen in tundra, but in fact it is tropical – despite bordering the tundra of Niffleheim.
The only way to get in or out of Muspell is through the Muspell Enclosure (the name of the wall) and it’s many gates. Flying over the wall is a fool’s errand – the Muspell Light assures to that.
But now, we chance upon an interesting event. Princess Trixie holding Sir George’s arm (with a very pessimistic Sir George at that), Loki cornered at the gates of Muspell, and Thor’s army gathered in such a fashion as to corner them all.
“Thor, what brings you out here?”
A pessimistic Sir George was inclined to change the tone and overall mood; Thor was just left to shake his head – and with a swift swing of his arm he sends his hammer flying straight into Loki’s skull. Unfortunately, the commotion did not go unnoticed, and the gates of Muspell opened.
Standing there at the entrance was a flaming aura of a warlord, clad in armor, and not to happy at the borderland clash. With one fell swoop, he lifts his hand and his flaming sword – the entire army of Thor scatters, Sir George and Trixie are nowhere to be seen, and Loki is left to grovel while Thor stands defiant as ever.
Thor’s hand makes a clear motion to the air, and his hammer reappears; in one swing he sends his hammer swirling into Surt’s flaming sword – the warlord now knocked back into the bowels of Muspell’s inner corridors. Loki was awakened by this, and simply lumbers into Muspell with a battered and bruised ego – Thor far too out of range, and too busy summoning his hammer to capture him. There would be no joy this day, nor would the kingdom of Midgard hear the end of Loki’s escape. Thor swore his revenge and the day that he would return to the inferno of Muspell – but for now, he turns around to bid the mountain farewell. Perhaps Thor was the only man alive not to fear Surt or his flaming sword – let alone the kingdom of Muspell. As long as the flaming sword and thunder hammer were never combined into a super weapon, it would be a safe world indeed – yet these weapons always seem to clash amongst each other through different hands throughout the ages.
Ragnarok, however, would need to await another day…
THE END?