NIFLHEIM
Contents
NIFLHEIM - Realm of Mists
Ever-cold is the land of Hel, daughter of Loki. The frozen lands of the primordial places became the lands of the dead for those who held to the Aesir, and those cold expanses were affi xed to the great prison of the Titans. Hel, the child of Loki and Angrboda, was made queen of this place and given the charge: "Let men reap in death the rewards they earned in life."
Those who come to this place without dying do so by clambering down the great expanse of Yggdrasil, the tree upon which the worlds of Nordic legend hang like fat fruit. Its lowest, northernmost roots descend into primordial frost, the source of all coldness that seeps into the lands of men. The bark here is rough and coarse, painful to the touch because of its brittle sharpness. Mists swirl around the roots, which are set into a great spring of cold water in which a black shape stirs.
HVERGELMIR: - The Black Waters
The great, twisted root of Yggdrasil, touched with rime, descends from a sky of mists and dips into a great wellspring: Hvergelmir. The black waters here are thick with corpses, for all bodies burnt with the proper funereal rites appear in the underworld of the Aesir in these waters. The freezing waters are also rife with poisonous serpents that crawl over, in and about the corpses, striking out at any that continue to move. This great wellspring is the source of all cold waters in Midgard (the Aesir term for the World), springing forth the Élivágar, the 11 great rivers that birthed the World.
More than simply corpses and serpents dwell in these waters, however. The terrible Nidhogg glides through their chill as well. The great dragon—whose kennings are Corpse-Sucker and Malice-Striker — gnaws at the root of Yggdrasil that dips into the Hvergelmir, venting his hate of all the worlds. A terrible beast, Nidhogg is no friend to the Gods. He is a creature of monstrous wrath and spite, seeking only to devour the root of the lands of men and Gods, and to keep consuming until there is nothing left.
When Nidhogg exhausts himself, he catches up corpses floating nearby and gnaws at them, trying vainly to get at the sweet souls within like a hound seeking the marrow of a bone. All his efforts are without purpose, however, for he cannot touch the stuff of souls. Indeed, he serves a valuable purpose to Niflheim, for his ministrations free the souls of the dead from the corpse- vessels in which they arrive.
He roars his frustration when the inevitable happens. He worries at a corpse long enough for the soul within to escape. It then slips past his wicked talons with a whisper and flees to the shore. Eventually, Nidhogg’s frustration builds, and the waters around him boil and his jaws drip with venom as he turns his hate once more on the much-scarred bark of Yggdrasil’s root.
NASTROND - Shore of the Dead
The waters of Hvergelmir lap at a black mud bank, the Náströnd, or Shore of the Dead. The Náströnd acts as the gateway into the rest of Helheim. The mud of this bank is thick with cold and thin sheets of ice that crack as one treads them, and in the chill black muck are impressed millions of footsteps, all overlapping. These are the impressions the dead make on their way through, for the living leave no tracks here.
THE MISTS
The lands of Niflheim are filled with chill mists. As the muddy Náströnd gives way to the cold stone of the rest of the Asgardian underworld, the air becomes thick with cold fog. Ice particles gather in eyebrows and beards, and the escaping mist-breath of the living joins the fogs swirling around those who travel these lands. A path of bones, set into the very stone, leads away into the mist. The dead are compelled to take this path, though the living visitor is under no obligation to follow it.
No one knows how large the lands of Niflheim are. Many halls of giants litter its geography, however, for it is one of the homes of the frost giants. The frost giants were man-eaters in the days of yore. Since the passing of the legendary ages, however, few frost giants have encountered men, for most were banished from the face of Midgard into the cold depths of Niflheim. Large numbers yet remain in the hidden land of Jotunheim.
GJALLARBRU AND MODGUD
The path of bones leads to the banks of the river Gjöll. Gjallarbrú, a covered bridge thatched in gold, spans the river, but at its entryway stands Modgud, a giantess. All who approach are challenged to deliver their name and business to Modgud, who will not permit passage to those who do not. In truth, it is not possible to pass over Gjallarbrú without the permission of Modgud, for the answers the visitor gives to her questions determines what the visitor fi nds on the other side of the bridge. Those who simply sneak, fi ght or charm their way through without giving answer pass over the bridge only to emerge at its entryway once more, with Modgud waiting for them, a giantish smirk on her ugly face.
Visitors who seek communion with Hel are sent to her hall, as are the spirits of the dead who were cowards, spiteful or deserving of punishment for their sins. The dead who died bravely in the manner of heroes pass to the Feasting Hall, while the dead who were neither wicked nor heroic simply pass into a land of mists similar to the one they just left, save they must wander the cold mists forever, alone.
THE FEASTING HALL
For those bound for the Feasting Hall—including Scions who indicate to Modgud that they simply wish to depart Niflheim — the other side of the bridge leads to the base of a mountain. The passage around the mountain twists and turns and is lined with thousands of statues depicting the noble dead with whom Hel has feasted here.
At the mountaintop, which is perhaps an hour’s walk from the bridge, there is laid out a great trestle table of fine ash wood. Heroic souls that arrive find a company of the einherjar, with a trio of valkyries, waiting to celebrate their brave death with a feast, before they are taken to Valhalla. While the bravest of souls are taken directly from the battlefield, all souls that die in battle are promised an afterlife in Valhalla by the Aesir. Therefor, Hel is bound to offer them a feast after they pass through her lands. At the culmination of the feast, Hel herself arrives, her corpse-face covered in cloth and she toasts the heroism of the newly dead before departing once more.
To those yet living who come here, the trestle table is empty and a valkyrie awaits them. She points them to a path that leads back down the mountain, opposite the one they came up and bids them farewell. Scions and other creatures of Legend that take this path eventually find themselves walking down a much higher mountain than the one they went up, for they are now on a mountain in the World — specifically one of the many mountains that make up the Scandinavian Mountains range. Each time this Passage is used, the mountain is a different one in the range.
HELHEIM
There are many lesser realms within Niflheim, one of the most horrifying is Helheim, domain of lady Hel the goddess of death. Within the bounds of Helheim she is absolute mistress and at her command the sub-realm of Helheim can be closed to those seeking entrance and more likely, egress.
The topography of Helheim is that of a frozen fen and hasn't been called the cold hell for nothing. Eternally dark, few can see very far for the gloom that makes all blind. The earth of Helheim that of half-frozen mud, in appearance similar to the plain of Náströnd, but far more dangerous for those who linger in that if one is not constantly in motion, then one is sinking. Legend is rife with examples of those who traveled through Helheim on business unapproved by Hel and were sucked down into the frozen mud. Those so trapped in the frozen mud die the final death and are bound to Helheim and can never leave. The power of death is such that even gods have suffered such a fate and the wise do not tarry in Helheim.
Like all of the realms of Niflheim, in the land of Hel, mists cloak the darkened land. But Helheim is not empty, the evil dead are bound to suffer there and wander aimlessly in search of anything to relieve their pain and boredom. Although the evil dead are the most likely visitors to this dread realm, heroes and gods have come here before, among them Odin and Baldr. In Baldr's case, the journey was a one-way trip from which even Odin could not extricate him.
The Hall of Hel
The spirits of the dead that require punishment in the afterlife — cowards, traitors, oath-breakers, kin-slayers — find horror at the end of Modgud’s bridge. Hel’s Hall stands alone upon a small island. The river that surrounds it is black and cold, and knife blades speed past in its quick, spinning current. Every knife that has been used for ignoble purpose among the people of the Aesir finds its way here, to eternally spin in the Gjöll, hungering to cut into the thin flesh of the abhorred dead.
Hel’s Hall stands some 50 feet in height, and its wooden beams are carved with the depictions of Hel’s own siblings: the terrible world-serpent Jörmungandr and the toothy grin of Fenris. The thatching of the roof gleams white and seems to writhe, for it is woven of the spines of serpents. The entryway looms some 20 feet in height. One-half of its lintel is made of beautiful ash rubbed with aromatic oils, while the other half is a gray, nameless wood, worm-eaten and flaking away with decay. The ignoble dead must step through that hallway.
Those who enter Hel’s Hall step down into a river of stinking, fl owing blood as deep as a man’s thigh. There are no chairs in Hel’s Hall, and the denizens thereof do not dare sit, lest the sticky blood pull them under and drown them—though it cannot kill the dead, it is a fearful, painful experience they don’t relish. The spines of serpents that form the thatching drip caustic poison from their every point, misting the air with a terrible chemical fetor that wars with the stench of the blood- river to sicken a visitor.
A great table, the height of a man’s chest, stands in the middle of the hall, almost in mockery of the kind of feasting tables that mortal halls offer to succor visitors. There is no comfort to be had for the damned in Hel’s Hall, however, for though the table is laden with drinking cups and horns of all sort, the large, filthy goats that roam its massive surface fill them only with piss for the dead to drink. The souls here continue to feel thirst, and must sate it occasionally on the urine of the horrible beasts. The table does not even provide sanctuary from the river of blood, for those foolish enough to try to clamber atop the table are kicked or butted from it by Hel’s herd.
At the far end of the hall stands the ash-and- rotwood throne of Hel, set with precious black stones and covered with fine furs. Most of the time, Hel can be found here, sitting on the throne, her corpse-face in plain view, calling out the names of the damned and telling all gathered of their sins. Hel is quite clear—those who come here are here for a reason, and she intends that all know what that reason is.
Hel does not like to be interrupted in her revelry. She lays bare the sins of all who come before her as visitors, unless they are one of the Aesir. Not even Scions are immune to this treatment. In her hall, Hel can tell which of the Aesir Virtues a visitor is lacking in and will home in on those who lack Courage, Endurance, Expression and Loyalty entirely. Should she desire privacy to speak with her guests, the river of blood begins to boil and rage, and the dead shriek in fear as they sink, one by one, from sight until Hel and her visitors are alone.
