//------------------------------//
// Entry One 
// Story: The Hermit's Tale 
// by BlackRoseRaven 
//------------------------------//

Entry One

Is it... one-two-three... there. I look at the quill and feel more relief than I want to: I dislike how this version of 'magic' performed by the ponies is both so simplistic and so ridiculous at the same time. It frustrates me: so-called King of Valhalla, glorified administrator of Heaven, and here I'm stuck wearing the guise of the bastard child of horse and narwhal.

Alright, alright, the enchantment is clearly holding, so I should introduce myself. I am Kvasir, and I am recording my thoughts because... I don't know how to phrase it. I told myself I would tell the truth, I would not hold back, I would... and here I am, choking up already. How I have failed the Aesir... no wonder I'm nothing but a lackey and a laughingstock.

I want to defend myself. I want to... cry out, and say all these... I can't find the words. I grab my face, turn around, cross the room. My hands squeeze into these equine features, soft but stony fingers slide against this... thick horse hide I've veiled myself in. I look up, and look in the mirror, and I look almost like them: a brightly colored, stupid little horse, with that obnoxious horn sticking out of my head through my mane.

I touch the knot of my tie, study the half-suit I wear: even if I walk on two legs and have hands instead of hooves, I still look as stupid as any of these other ponies. They wear clothing mostly for status and for style. I look like I'm trying to retain some false sense of dignity in this dress jacket and vest and silken shirt, like I'm... oh by the All Father, I look like a joke!

I want to punch the mirror, but... what would that solve? No. In control. Get in control, and calm down, and... explain yourself, Kvasir. Tell the truth now. Telling the truth is the only thing you can do now... perhaps the only way you can hope to make a difference, and the only thing you have the time left to try.

I look in the mirror... and my eyes widen, because in the reflection I see my mistake, glaring at me over my shoulder. I turn around too late, and his claws grasp my throat, and shove me backwards, and he pins me against the mirror. It hurts. Oh, how it hurts. I'm scared and my heart is thudding and there's nothing I can do as I look down into those godawful emerald eyes of his...

He's snarling. He's not happy. His silver claws squeeze tighter as that... that awful black ooze sweats out of his veins. He stinks, of rot and supremacy and animal musk, but when he speaks, his voice is... calm, and almost cultured, and how... unnatural it sounds... “We are not happy, flesh puppet.”

Flesh puppet... even through my fear how angry that makes me. But when I talk... my voice... I'm nothing but a whimpering coward. “I... please be patient. I... saved you, didn't I?”

“You have learned nothing from us. You are not ruling well. You are not doing what we asked.” he says... 'he.' As if that's suitable to describe this thing. It's not a 'he.' It's so much more than a 'he.' And yet... it's literally... it shouldn't exist! “You owe us.”

“We owe each other.” I manage out, and the thing's claws leave my throat as it tosses me down like... like garbage. But that's what I am to it: angry as he makes me, bleeding that godawful black ooze or not, even if I wasn't so terrified of him I couldn't stand up to him. I think he's dying... but that's just making him angrier.

All the same, my words managed to... I don't know. I don't know if I touched what little sense of sanity is inside that awful broken monstrosity, or if he just got bored. Gymbr does what he pleases, and I'm helpless to do anything about it... why did I bring him here? What have I done?

He's looking at me. He looks at me like a giant hawk would eye some measly little worm on the ground, deciding if it's worth his time to bother eating or not. It's not the claws or that stringy, ugly mane or the reeking black sweat that makes him so horrible... it's those vile eyes. Those eyes that just devour you, see through you, glow like... like hellfire. Punish you, like hellfire.

He doesn't speak. He just... he's there, and then he's gone, and there's just... black ooze left behind on the floor, a faint and steaming mess. He's there and he's gone and oh, why did I ever do this...  Odin forgive me, forgive me for what I've brought to Valhalla, but I thought... I thought that I could control him...

I pick myself slowly up, and look over my shoulder, breathing quietly. The mirror is cracked, and I see my own face reflected back at me a dozen times in a dozen different broken lenses. I shiver and turn away and clench my hands into fists, and... hate myself, more than I fear Gymbr.

I know. I need to start at the beginning. I need to get my thoughts in order and start over. This is no way to begin a confession... or maybe it's the perfect way. I don't know, I'm no writer, no bard or poet. I am only... only a lonely administrator.

My name is Kvasir. I am in charge of maintaining Valhalla and Asgard. And I am a fool who has put everything I was left in charge of at risk, out of hubris, stupidity, and cowardice. And I don't even know how I can ever hope to say that I'm sorry for what I've done, or confess all the sins I'm guilty of.



	

After refreshing myself, I feel... more confident in beginning this narrative, and how I should go about this. First and foremost, I am an administrator: doing my job depends on me retaining a comfortable distance from my work. I cannot get emotionally involved or allow myself to consider bland little feelings. I have to look at everything as it affects everything else, as mathematical values. I have to view everything as data to be processed and sorted, according to what's most beneficial in the long term for my charges.

I'm often looked at as... cold, or uncaring, by the annoying ponies I've been tasked with looking after. Well, if I truly didn't care, I'd let them all happily prance off into oblivion instead of putting up with their constant whining and complaining and everything else. Believe me, nothing would suit me more than just leaving to find some quiet corner in Vanaheim, where I could ignore all the stupid ponies and Nibelung and everything else I have to deal with, and placidly read a book while they... fornicate and feast themselves all to death.

But I can't. I was given this task by Odin, and little as I like to admit it, I take... a certain pride in my work. My job might mostly be politics and playing the role of irritated schoolteacher to these wretched, spoiled brats, but... I understand why Odin was fond of them.

And that is why I want to... to record my thoughts, and my actions. I suppose there's some... irony or justice or something else bitterly-entertaining in the fact I'm using some spell devised by some mortal unicorn to do this, though. But it's useful: the enchanted quill writes my thoughts for me and records many of my actions as I make my way through the day. I suppose later I'll have to edit things, but... I have promised myself already that... I will not hide what I have done.

As I walk through the halls of Valhalla, I reflect on this: I just wanted to try and make this place safer, after all. Valhalla, once the Hall of Warriors, once the proud seat of the Warrior Gods... now? Now it looks more like a daycare center.

That feels unfair. There are... Valhalla is still strong. The ponies... much as I loathe them sometimes... well, I wouldn't be here if they weren't worth protecting. I wouldn't have accepted this mission if I didn't see that spark. How can they be so fascinating and frustrating all at once? How can I hate them so much, yet cloak my own shape in something similar to their form like... like god paying tribute to the damned idiots who are supposed to be looking up to him?

That's a joke. Me, worthy of prayer and praise: I suppose that's up there with imagining a day where everything work flawlessly and there aren't any complaints, or I'm able to take an hour off without some idiot setting something on fire or starting a fight.

I look around at these golden halls. We've worked so hard over the last few decades... we've made so many changes, we've... restored so much of Asgard. I am... I'll never, ever admit this to anyone while I'm still alive, but I'm proud of them, and of myself, for what we've accomplished together. We've started to replant the massive forests of Vanaheim. Asgard no longer bears the scars of the battle she saw. Valhalla is slowly becoming its old self... the beautiful halls Odin told me stories about while he was alive. Oh, I just want... I... just want to honor Odin's memory, to do the right thing...

I thought... I don't want to defend myself, no. Or talk about how even now, I go through day after day without telling anyone, confessing only on this paper what I've done. And not even writing it myself, letting the magic quill write it for me. I feel... I want to maintain some kind of control. I have to try and fix this myself. I have to try and set things right, even if... I'm recording all this just in case something happens. Just so if I do... it something happens, whoever finds this will know my story.

I'm stalling. I'm stalling again. But I can't get my mind to focus, even though I'm sitting here, alone, in my quiet place. I'm looking around, and I see all these things: grass and stone and water and all the little pieces that make up Valhalla, yet I can't even put them all together in my mind. They're all just... these separate elements, not mixing together but standing apart. Like a jigsaw puzzle that I can't make fit together; that even when I do manage to get the pieces all in place, the image it forms... it doesn't make sense.

How do I start? I swore I'd tackle this as I would any other administrative task, straightforwards and simple. That I'd think of it as nothing but an unveiling of facts and figures, but... this is personal. Thinking of what I've done as 'data,' as if I can disregard the impact my actions are going to have...

Start at the beginning. Start at the beginning, Kvasir. Everyone's going to know eventually, and this is... this is your time to cleanse yourself... myself. Even if all I've gone and done is proven that I'm not up to this task.

I don't... know who's going to find this, or read this. I don't know who you are, and I probably never will: I'm planning on keeping these sealed away, so my hope is that they'll fall into the right hands... or hooves, as it may be. I have no doubt if something happens to me, one of the old Valkyries will insist on checking out what's going on... if that happens, then eventually these papers will end up with Freya, who will... understand best what's happened, and is one of a rare few who I trust to truly make the best of whatever might happen.

But I'm not the kind of person to trust in luck or fate: neither have ever been kind to me. So let me first settle my nerves by trying to impress upon you the importance of what you're reading. If I... disappear... without me, Valhalla will be left without an administrator, without a ruler. And if Valhalla is left without a ruler, it will begin to lock itself down. The fields will stagnate, the gates to the castle will seal themselves, the air itself will... sicken. Another cunning trap of Odin's, to prevent Valhalla from ever falling into enemy hands.

There are precious few who can take my place in the throne. And the duties are tremendous: to save Midgard, and these stupid, insufferable ponies, Odin used the last of his powers as a god to make ninety-nine reflected and refracted copies. They are a maze of Midgards, all very different and very much the same as the core world they protect, that acts as the keystone that binds our universe together. If the Core World collapses, all other physical worlds will follow. For a time, Heaven and Hell will continue to exist... but both of these spiritual worlds depend on the existence of the physical worlds, as anchors that supply us with a constant influx of spiritual energy. All of our planes are in symbiosis: if one dies, so will everything else, and our universe will collapse into the Void.

It's a difficult concept even for me to comprehend. When Odin first told me, I scoffed at the thought... even though in a sense, I already knew it was true. There was... I was once held prisoner by... a terrible entity named Valthrudnir. He was of the Jötnar: the eternal enemy of the gods. Their leader was Ymir, who made war on Odin but... whether or not he was a barbarian, his interest was only in overthrowing the gods, not total destruction. When he was killed, the Jötnar dispersed. Many were hunted down, while others vanished... but Valthrudnir...

Valthrudnir was the one who destroyed Valhalla, many, many years ago. Valthrudnir killed the Aesir and the Vanir, and stole Odin's powers. Valthrudnir was the enemy, and his only interest was in creating a universe of perfect order, where everything followed the laws and rules that he set, where he was in complete control.

And in a sick, twisted way, Valthrudnir made me who I am today, both literally and figuratively. He wanted a living trophy to declare his victory over the gods: I was the result, created from... blood and body parts and... no, I don't want to think about it. I hate thinking about it, that... that glass trophy box, helpless inside it and listening again and again and again to Valthrudnir recounting how many gods he killed, all the victories he stole, how he... pieced me together, as a testament to his self-described omnipotence...

I shiver, I grasp my head, I touch this false horse-hide body. Again, I wonder... I'm supposed to be a god, but what is a god, anyway? Really, all I am is some... stitched-together meat, with magical blood running through my veins. And yet that's still preferable to some of the other gods I've seen: craven cowards who abuse their own charges instead of protecting them, and slovenly fools who can't manage their own eating habits, much less nations.

'God:' what an awful word. I'm supposed to wear it like some... grand title, and like any grand title, it doesn't seem to mean anything. I've seen gods as mighty as any Jötnar, transforming the world around them with... with a flick of their fingers or a thought. And I've seen gods weaker than I am, and I am myself little more than a glorified hack.

I don't want to be me.

I'm sorry, I don't know... where that came from. This narrating is going to take some... getting used to. Trying to write this all down, I... I thought it would be simple to keep a coherent text, easy as any agenda I've ever made, but my thoughts are simply poured out in one boiling stew, and I'm left feeling... naked, and stupid.

But this is important, so please. Please try and level with me, while I... I try and work out all the little details. While I try and make this... make sense, and give some order to the chaos of my thoughts. While I try and find the courage to stop being a coward.

That's what got me into this mess in the first place, after all... cowardice. Well, that and arrogance. A combination I know proved ruinous for Odin as well, although it led him to doing the opposite. Driving away all his own allies, starting a war, while I made the mistake of... taking in something I thought would help protect us. That I... I sympathized with. I am not without emotions, after all, and I know what it's like to be nothing but a puppet and a toy... Gymbr, whatever the creature is... we share similar beginnings. Another toy, created years ago by the Norns...

Again, I'm... frustrated to realize that you may have no idea what I'm talking about. But in summary, even before I was freed, Odin did not leave the world without protectors. He threw pieces of slain gods and guardians alike to Midgard: some were scraps that infused creatures already there, blessing them with new strength, while others had enough spiritual essence and strength that they were born anew. And a rare few, Odin managed to grant a complete rebirth... Freya, Thor, and ever-frustrating Brynhild chief among these.

Valthrudnir, meanwhile, was continually trying to find his way to the Core World, mainly by destroying every layer of reality he came across, while adapting others to his own schemes and machinations. He performed many experiments and created things far, far more dangerous than a trophy homunculus like myself: things like the Tyrant Wyrms, world-destroying parasites that produce a poison known as the Clay of Prometheus; like Valthrudnir's Clockwork toys, mechanical soldiers and machines designed to corrupt, infiltrate, and destroy worlds; like Decretum, his crowning glory, his world that reflected the ultimate law and order he wanted to create.

Many years ago, Valthrudnir was destroyed... but all the same, his plans kept moving forwards. Brynhild and her husband went there, and accompanying them was... Gymbr. Gymbr, their dark reflection in many ways, a... a Tulpa that became too strong, too real, and gained its own reality. A creature from a storybook, written by the Norns, self-described Fates... it's difficult even for me to explain. I am a homunculus, my creation is based in the physical, in... flesh, and bone, and genetics, and... surgeries that make me shudder when I think of them. Gymbr was an idea that simply became... real one day.

And maybe that's what truly defines Gymbr by his self-proclaimed title of 'god.'

Maybe out of all us gods, Gymbr is the only one who truly creates and fits the definition. And that is precisely why, after I chose to quarantine the sick, infested world of Decretum... I took some time to travel there myself with the research teams, with a hope that... I don't know.

It's funny. I thought I'd be coherent. In every book I've read, the narrator is perfect, precise, near omniscient. He not only knows his subject, but offers insight even to the other characters. And I, the so-called King of Valhalla, can't write down... think down... oh whatever, I can't compose a single sentence without sounding like as big a babbling moron as that baffling oaf Discombobulation. I never thought I would one day compare myself to a moronic Draconequus... any more than I'd wish for the ridiculous lack of self-consciousness that idiot Scrivener Blooms displays in his writing.

I had many reasons at the time that I gave for the week of exploration and experience in Decretum, in the safety of the few able-bodied Knights and the support of my handpicked field team. I said that my abilities would let us better explore many of Valthrudnir's higher-security zones, and it did. I said that I would be able to translate and understand any research logs we came across, and I could. I told them that I had a personal stake in all this, and to this day, I still do.

But none of those were the real reason. There was only this... sensation, calling out to me. Urging me to come and see. Not to face my fears or indulge my curiosities, but it was a compulsion. It was almost like... it wasn't my choice, something else was calling to me, pleading with me... ordering me. I had to be there: I felt that.

The entire time we were there, I felt... I felt alone. I remember walking around in the encampment, and barely acknowledging the others. But it was like they weren't even there: unless I concentrated on them, I could barely hear their voices. And the atmosphere of that black world, that wretched, hellish place... it whispered dark thoughts into my mind.

Violence, despair, lust for power? No. Not that kind of darkness. Not savage and primal... that honestly would have been almost welcome. It was something far more sinister, something far worse... it was like it was telling me Valthrudnir's plans for order, and I couldn't help but acknowledge his genius. The world was scarred and ugly and desolate, yes, but everything had a place. Everything had rules and order, and followed their set parameters. It was terrible, but it was not without... reason.

I felt, in my mind, admiration for the monster that had once held me captive, and made me recite and act out the deaths of his enemies for his amusement. And for one brief second that I wish had never, ever happened, that I wish I could forget... I longed for the Jötnar, so I could hear his ideas, and felt... respect, for what he was trying to achieve.

I never, ever want to feel that way again. Even if it was for only a brief moment, a single second... I spent too long basking in the shadow of someone who only knows how to destroy. I can never, ever allow myself to think like that again. I can't and I won't.

I remember... how sick I felt to my stomach when I realized what I had been thinking back then. I remember... leaving, to get some privacy, heading to my tent... and ending up somewhere else. Like somewhere along the way I closed my eyes for a moment and lost myself. Like instead of reality, I opened my eyes on a dark and terrible dream.

That was when I met Gymbr. I knew about him from the accounts of Freya and her kin, and the other ponies who had made contact with the entity. Odin himself had several notes on the being, which I have examined time and time again, hoping for a little more insight, a little more... hope. But by now, I have very little. I even read that ridiculous story that the Draconequus told and Scrivener Blooms recorded, 'Because Love Conquers All,' but that offered little insight.

Gymbr knew me, and knew my strengths and weaknesses: to put it in simpler terms, he understood that apart from a few magic tricks I have few ways to defend myself, especially in such a hostile environment as... where I was. Even now, I'm not sure if it was reality or just my own savaged mindscape where we first met: I just know that his claws felt as real there as they did against my flesh less than an hour ago.

He overpowered me with ease, and held me down... but he did not kill me, no. He stepped back after a moment, and I felt... pity for him. Foolish, stupid pity: he was wounded, and emaciated, and bleeding that black poison he still sweats out of his pores. He was in pain, and I could almost taste his anger... and he humbled himself before me. I think now it was only to buy my trust, not true humility... but back then, I was stupid.

I'm not like Brynhild and her family, with her freakish luck for... knowing when to offer the open hand – hoof, I should say, with how content she is in her new body – and when to smite with the closed fist. And I was not thinking with my logical mind... a very rare occurrence, for a person in my position. But this awful, wounded thing...

I realize now, thinking back on it... it wasn't just pity. I knew what Gymbr was. I knew he was a god, a real god, a powerful god. A Tulpa, that supposedly went with Luna Brynhild and Scrivener Blooms to Decretum to try and redeem itself... and he offered to help me. To protect Valhalla. How could I say no to that? I needed something that fearsome, and that powerful... not for my own sake, but to keep Heaven safe.

After all, while the ponies and mortals and the other residents of Heaven spend most of their time trampling around, enjoying all the luxuries of the afterlife, I am hard at work, and so are many of the Knights and soldiers. At least, the real warriors, not the drunken children that fill the feast halls. We have taken over the divine territory of Warrior Gods, and no longer have the protection and wisdom of Odin to guide us. There are many enemies at our gates: from Helheim to other gods to things far more dangerous and cunning... and I... I am no warlord.

But Gymbr is. And I thought I could... control him? No. I thought I could manage him, like I've managed Valhalla for years, like I've dealt with everything from the Valkyries to Hel. I thought I could delegate and administrate him into being a non-problem. And when he bowed to me, and pleaded for sanctuary, and told me that he wanted to hide away... how could I be such an idiot?

I let this thing into Valhalla, this... dying, wounded thing, that spent years being basted in Decretum's poisons. This thing that... hid itself in the shape of a harmless child's toy so I could tuck it away in one of the equipment bags, and ensure it was brought back with us. We shut down everything we could in Decretum, gathered all kinds of information, but... none of it I paid any attention to. Instead, all I had eyes for was Gymbr.

Valhalla has many secret places, some which can only be accessed by those with the correct blood... and as I am made up from samples of all the Aesir, my blood works like a skeleton key, opening every door, unlocking every hidden shrine. It gave me access to the dark, deep dungeons beneath the castle, which Gymbr has converted with his seemingly-infinite power into a strange and... uncomfortably-familiar research facility.

And Gymbr... moves with ease throughout Valhalla. It seems like he can teleport himself between any location he's been before as he pleases, ignoring any... wards or barriers or anything else in place to stop exactly that from happening. I truly can't say I understand the god, only that I... I'm a little more afraid of him with every passing day.

But something is wrong with Gymbr, too... he's unstable, physically. It's like he's rotting, from the inside out, but it's only made him... more sly, more dangerous. Maybe even more powerful. I know why he was so eager to come with me, why he faked subservience to me: it was because he thought being in Valhalla would help stabilize him. It hasn't, though: all his time spent locked away in Decretum... it did something to him.

I look up: I don't know how long I've spent here, trying to get my thoughts in order. Trying to explain myself. I feel confused and lost... and when I raise my eyes, I feel scared, too. Because Gymbr is here. Gymbr is sitting across from me on the other side of this quiet little shrine, in his own little pool of shadows. He watches me with those... those awful eyes... but he's sane, at least. I'm glad to see that.

“You know we do not mean our violence. It is our... sickness.” Gymbr says softly, and there's that pleading honesty in his voice... but oh, Mimir's head, is it really honesty? Or is he just trying to manipulate me? I want to believe that he's speaking the truth, but... I've learned that this creature always has his own selfish motives in mind. Even those he's kind to... they end up as his victims, in one way or another.

He notices my hesitance. He smiles at me, and it makes me think of a manticore that's playing with its prey. “We do not blame your fear of us, Kvasir. But do not think we are ungrateful to you, for what you have done. You have kept us secret, kept us safe, provided us with what we need to remain stable. We appreciate what you continue to do for us.”

“I don't know what you want me to say. That I accept your apology?” I ask, my voice pessimistic, sour, fearless... almost the exact opposite of what I'm feeling right now, which is mostly a mix of naïve, stupid optimism and gut-wrenching, whimper-inducing terror. But I've always been good at putting up a front: it comes with the territory.

Gymbr laughs quietly and shakes his head. And I feel those eyes on me... sizing me up, constantly calculating and recalculating, but not like I would or a machine would, oh no. Gymbr doesn't care about logic or strategy: only about overriding all sense and order with chaos and emotions. Gymbr doesn't care about the means, or pride or honor or anything except... achieving its ends.

And yet all the same, here I am, trying to... to make friends with this savage beast! But I only have a moment to hate myself before Gymbr asks gently: “May we make a suggestion?”

It's amazing to me how even that sounds like an order. How even when it talks in a way that's... supposed to be humble and nice, it sounds... ominous. In fact, it sounds downright... evil. And I'm also amazed... or disgusted, maybe, I think that works better... that I can't hide my interest. That I can't help but ask, however angry my voice sounds: “What?”

And by the All Father, I know he knows. I know Gymbr sees right through me. I know he already knows what I'm going to do, how I'm going to respond... perhaps even before I know myself. He's nothing but instinct and emotion, after all, and no matter what I act like... I am no machine. I may be a puppet, but Valthrudnir designed me to feel pain, and suffer, to have the same emotions as the creatures he conquered... so he could delight all the more in making me reenact their pain.

I look up, and Gymbr smiles at me. He knows. He knows, and again I feel like a little mouse in the claws of a manticore. And those eyes... the way his gaze is locked on me. The way he studies me... I feel like he could do anything he wanted to me, to beautiful Valhalla, to this entire universe, and maybe no one could stop him. Maybe not even the Valkyries could stop him... that makes me shiver.

It makes it all the more surprising, too, when the god Gymbr suggests in that cunning and honest way of his: “Perhaps you would feel more comfortable with us, if you had more of a measure of control. And perhaps our mind would not break so easily if you had a method by which to harm us.”

I study him, warily. I feel a shiver run down my spine, fearing already... what the cost of such a 'gift' as this could be. And god... I feel so stupid and naïve for the part of me that still wants to trust this creature, as I ask slowly: “What do you mean, Gymbr?”

“It is simple, Kvasir. Like all things, we have a flaw, a weakness. We shall share this with you... we shall do more, as a matter of fact. We shall give you the means by which to control us. You desired to find a powerful guard dog for Valhalla, and we do not blame you for intending us as such: you saved us from Decretum, and kept our secrets. In return, how have we repaid you?” The creature gestures with one of its deformed front claws. Claws that used to be able to disguise themselves as hooves, but no more.

He likes to talk. I know better than to interrupt: he's just like Valthrudnir this way. All these big, fancy words that don't mean anything, crammed together to show off his intellect, his superiority, his... 'mastery,' I suppose. He disgusts me. But I keep myself as neutral as possible, as he continues in that voice that can't quite hide the... animal growling beneath every word... “We must ask you a favor, of course. You must fetch for us an orb of soulstone. It must be perfect, and it must be made in Helheim, but treated with holy energies. There is only one goddess who can create this object.”

“You want me to strike a deal with Hel. And then what?” I ask, feeling disgusted. I pretend it's disgust for the creature, but really, it's disgust for myself, because I'm already considering this... this madness it's asking me. By Ymir, that kind of artifact... “Even supposing I do manage to strike a bargain with that lunatic goddess, why would I hand over such a powerful object to you?”

“Because it will give you a method to exert influence over us.” Gymbr replies gently, and I know it's not lying... but even with how gullible and stupid the creature makes me feel, I also know it's not telling the whole truth. “We do not blame you for your suspicions. We have not warranted much faith. But that is exactly what we desire to remedy with this.”

“Why would a self-proclaimed god, a creature as strong as you are, want to be put on a leash?” I question quietly, daring to meet that thing's poison gaze. But Gymbr smiles. I sense somehow that... Gymbr approves. And oh, Helheim, am I... proud of myself for gaining it's appreciation? Am I really that pathetic? Or am I that desperate, not for acknowledgment, but for this whole charade not to be... one giant mistake?

“It is what we owe you. And we do not do it for your benefit... we do it for our own.” Gymbr replies steadily, and I'm... I can't help but be interested. I really don't want to be, but I am all the same. Especially as he continues: “We require the strength of another to keep us in check. We require... a purpose. Right now we feel as if we are only a forgotten piece of story: perhaps that is why we are... in the state we are in, despite escaping what was meant to be our grave.”

Gymbr slowly gestures at himself, at the dark gunk spilling out of his pores, reeking of rot. At the fact his body has gained the slightest shiver. I look at him, and he looks back, his emerald eyes ripping into my very soul as he continues quietly: “You have reason to trust us, Kvasir. You need us, as we need you... the air of Valhalla and your own blood are what help us stay stable. And we desire to protect. To do good. To continue to make up for our past wrongs... so we offer you this measure of control over us, in the hopes that it will revive our strength. It will give us the purpose we require to be stable and coherent.”

I'm silent. My heart is thudding in my chest, and I'm... I'm scared. I'm so scared, and I don't know why. And somehow, my fear only worsens, even when this... thing adds: “We do not want to hurt anyone: this will allow you to control and punish us when necessary.”

I try to think. But oh, it's so... tempting. I mean, how could the creature be lying to me? How could this be anything but the truth, right? I... I know this is stupidity, but... I can't help but...

I shake myself out. I fight off that stupid naivety, look up, and ask in the coldest tone I can manage despite how 
absolutely scared out of my mind I am: “And how do I know you're not lying to me, Gymbr? How do I know this isn't some trick, to better consolidate your power?”

Gymbr doesn't flinch, doesn't even look surprised. It... it smiles, if anything. For a few moments, there's silence, and then he replies with an answer I didn't expect: “Because you will be implanting the one thing that can hurt us directly into our body. Soulstone, inundated with holy energy: a surge of blessed power from it will do great harm to us. And furthermore, you know that we are vulnerable to surges of anti-magic energies: imagine how badly such energies will hurt us if channeled through a soulstone heart.”

I shudder: that's true. And yet... something feels... terribly off. Like I'm missing something. I shift uneasily, trying to understand what it could be, and then Gymbr leans towards me and adds quietly: “We do not desire to be malicious. We are... we are fighting our nature as best we can, but again and again we find ourselves drawn back to it. We are unstable. Fix us, and give us another chance, and we shall not waste it. We promise you, that we shall play the role of Valhalla's protector... we shall be your greatest asset.”

I look down... and then I look slowly back up as a thought comes to mind, beginning slowly: “I would feel more comfortable if you would let me tell Freya and Brynhild that-”

“They must not know of our existence!” There is a terrible flare of black fire from the creature's mane and tail as Gymbr steps forwards, his eyes flashing, his rotten teeth baring in a snarl. I see the true monster that Gymbr is in that look, and I almost fall backwards, terrified as the creature advances on me. “We must not be seen by them! They cannot know we still exist!”

It stands over me, a claw seizing my tie, yanking me up towards it... and then as suddenly as its rage came on, the beast is once more calm and cordial, looking down at me almost apologetically. Except I know it's not really sorry... there's too much tenseness, wariness, and it's still standing over me. Still aggressive. Still trying to control me, as it murmurs: “We did not mean to display such rage. It was merely a moment of weakness, of the madness taking over. You know that we do not desire to be seen in this state... they will judge us. They will judge us harshly.”

I reach up and slowly pry the claws off my tie, and I scamper... I mean, I pick myself carefully up after putting a safe distance between myself and the beast. I lean back against the wall of the meditation room, letting my fingers tighten and readjust my tie. It helps relax me, as I breathe slowly in and out before Gymbr adds quietly: “And besides. What help would we have been? Our powers no longer work fully. We are prone to bouts of madness. And had Thesis known we existed, he doubtlessly would have turned his eyes to us. We are the ultimate completion of Scrivener Blooms and Luna Brynhild, after all. We are everything, made into one.”

I privately disagree, but don't say anything. Instead, I shake myself out and then mutter: “It's strange to imagine a creature like yourself being so embarrassed, Gymbr. Have you ever thought that perhaps you would be better off achieving stability to reintroducing yourself to them? I'm growing very sick and tired of these cloak-and-dagger tactics you're so fond of.”

“We are not fond of them.” Gymbr's tone is distasteful: I've clearly irritated it. This is the one subject where I can actually gain some ground against the beast, where it seems to be... uncomfortable. “We will rejoin them when the time is right. We do this for your protection as well, Kvasir: if they know that you have been protecting and healing us, do you think they would treat you so kindly?”

Inwardly I shudder to imagine the reaction of Brynhild in particular, but my voice is even when I reply: “I have a right to maintain Valhalla however I please. Besides, you've been... helpful, now and then. And I can't imagine they would do much worse to me than you do.”

Gymbr smiles at me: I don't like that he seems to like what I just said. “We are helpful. We are strong. We are working hard to rectify our past errors. And we will reveal ourselves when the time is right, when we are renewed. But for now, it is better not to create a disturbance.”

I don't know whether I agree or disagree with that. I only know that... Gymbr makes me uncomfortable with how much I want to agree with him. There's silence for a few moments, and then I finally sigh and nod, deciding it's best for now to... to try and focus on the original subject, and not let myself get distracted.

But inside me, deep inside, there's an itch. There's a sensation that I'm... missing something, forgetting something. There's this feeling I just can't describe, but... I try and ignore it as I ask: “Even if what you've told me is true... how do we implant the orb?”

“We shall do it together, so you can see that we are being honest. We will be very weak afterwards, and require a long period of hibernation... but when we awaken, we believe that our new purpose will lend us stability.” Gymbr replies, and he's eloquent, and I want to believe him, and yet... that worry inside me twists again. “Even if it does not work as we hope... you will still have a better method by which to control us.”

Something about that bothers me. All this talk of control... it's hiding something. And I am aware that Gymbr is sensitive to holy energies and anti-magic vibrations, but... why would he add to such a glaring weakness? What isn't he telling me?

But all I do is nod. I just want the conversation to be over now. I already know that even with all my misgivings, I'm going to go ahead and do what the creature asks. Out of pride as much as anything else, I think... I don't want this to have been a mistake.

I open my mouth to speak... but Gymbr is gone. I'm left leaning back against the wall, alone, the only signs that Gymbr had been here the faint stains of blackness on the floor that are already beginning to dissolve. I shudder... then jump a little when I hear a knock at the door before a voice calls: “Lord Kvasir? Meeting in ten minutes.”

“I... alright, I'll be right there. Tell Excelsior to set up the agenda and check that everyone's present.” I reply after a moment, my voice steady. One of the few things I can do reasonably well is fake being in control, even when I'm not. Sometimes people are surprised how well I play a role... but my entire life has been spent only acting out parts.

I sit for a few minutes to gather my thoughts, then pick myself up and leave. I try to focus on the positives of the situation, and decide to move on this as soon as possible... but still, something's gnawing at me. And the entire reason I started this narrative in the first place was because of... of the growing fear of what Gymbr is capable of, of what he might do. Am I just making another mistake here? Is this only serving as further testament to my foolishness?

I can only hope for the best at times like these. I can only try and push forwards through everything, and try and find the correct path. Yet my optimism feels childish, my decision to try and get what Gymbr wants feels like cowardice, and I feel like... like this is the beginning of the end. Like all of this is just another step towards... towards something I can never fix, never make up for.

I'm sorry. I only hope this is all just... paranoia and stress, from all these years trying to control something that can't be controlled, to hide the existence of a creature I do not understand and should have left in the darkness. That in a moment of weakness and sympathy, I gave a way in, and... all I can do now is try and find a way to make things right.

I'll end this first chapter here. It seems like a fitting point to stop, and I'm sure the meeting won't be all that interesting anyway. They almost never are. Much as I am forced to pay attention to every small detail of Valhalla's workings, that doesn't mean I take any enjoyment in dealing with its administration.

But a boring, simple meeting will be good right now. It will help me get my thoughts in order, and hopefully I'll be able to make this narrative a little more structured and sensical when I continue. This is no place for chaos and stupidity, after all.

I deal with enough idiocy as it is.