by Rick Riordan
TYPE: God
HOME WORLD: Asgard
APPEARANCE: Disgruntled backwoodsman
BEST KNOWN FOR: Claims he invented archery, snowshoes, and other winter sports equipment
FROM THE OFFICES OF JAMES LOVASOCK, ESQ.
Dear Mr. Uller:
We have received your recent letter outlining your continued assertion that items you invented are being manufactured and sold in our country—referred to by you as Midgard—without your permission. These inventions include the following:
Skis (alpine and Nordic)
Ice skates (hockey and figure)
Snowboards
Snowshoes
Sleighs
Sleds (runner and flat-bottomed)
The sport of archery
As we have stated in previous correspondence, unless you can provide evidence that you are indeed the patent rights holder for these inventions, we cannot pursue the matter through legal channels. Please note that your sworn statement that you are “the god of these things” will not be deemed sufficient by the court. Unless you can offer more substantial documentation, we must consider this matter closed once and for all, and respectfully ask that you do not contact these offices again.
Sincerely,
James Lovasock, Attorney-at-Law
TYPE: God
HOME WORLD: Originally from Vanaheim, sent to Asgard after the Aesir-Vanir War
APPEARANCE: Like a classic fisherman, complete with yellow slicker, pipe, thick woolen sweater, and weather-beaten face
FAMILY: Father of twins Frey and Freya
BEST KNOWN FOR: Being the god of ships, sailors, and fishermen
Surprise, surprise, Helgi’s insisting I introduce you to this group, too. One of these days, I swear I’ll…Never mind.
I’m using the term mythical for the benefit of you once-human einherjar, by the way. There’s nothing made-up or imaginary about these beings. They’re real. The sooner you believe in their existence, the safer you’ll be. Maybe.
First up, the jotun, or giants. They come in all sizes, not just enormous. Species include stone, frost, fire, and shape-shifting. Many live in Jotunheim; others dwell in Muspellheim and Niflheim. Some are strong. Some are clever. Some are masters of illusion. But almost all of them have a mean streak as wide as the Bifrost Bridge. They can sometimes be swayed to work with you, but never count on them being your ally. And I mean never ever.
Next, elves. They are tall, handsome beings who thrive in light and hate darkness. They used to be into alf seidr, or elf magic, and the study of runes. Now most of them are into sitting around and surfing the Internet or watching their favorite programs on Alflix. Word of warning: Elves are all about beauty. If you aren’t one of the beautiful people…well, it’s best you avoid Alfheim. In their own way, elves can be almost as cutthroat as giants.
Characterizing dwarves is a little trickier. There’s one kind called svartalf, which means “dark elf.” Why isn’t a svartalf an elf? Don’t ask me. I didn’t create them. It’s said the svartalfs are taller and more attractive than your average dwarf because they are descended from Freya, but I can’t say for certain. Any dwarf that isn’t a svartalf is just a regular old dwarf. All dwarves, by the way, were originally maggots. The gods saw them crawling around in Ymir’s flesh, from which the world was created, and the gods decided, Hey, let’s turn those maggots into sentient beings! Ever since, the dwarves have been tunneling through the dark places of the earth and avoiding the light. I wouldn’t bring up the maggot story while you’re traveling in Nidavellir, though, unless you want to start a fight.
Valkyries you already know about, since you’re in Valhalla, but there’s an entry for them anyway. If I didn’t include them, they would get mad, and I try to avoid making shield maidens angry.
Finally, there are the Norns. These eerie ladies are tapped into everyone’s destinies. You have to experience them to get the full picture. Though come to think of it, the experience is just as tough to fathom as the Norns themselves. Best to do what the rest of us do, which is pray you never have dealings with them. Trust me, it’s just easier that way.
That about covers the main categories. But be aware that you could encounter other beings who may strive to deceive, distract, or manipulate. They go by the names draugr (zombies), vala (seers), witches (witches), and telemarketers (annoyances).
TYPE: Fire
HOME WORLD: Muspellheim
APPEARANCE: Unbelievably handsome, evil, and well-dressed. All black—hair, clothes, skin—except for mesmerizing red eyes.
BEST KNOWN FOR: Undying interest in unleashing the start of Ragnarok by freeing Fenris Wolf with the Sword of Summer.
Editor’s Warning: The following entry contains disturbing content. Repeated attempts have been made to delete it, but due to magic beyond our control, it remains permanently typeset onto these pages. We urge you to skip it. If you do choose to read it, please be aware that the Hotel Valhalla and its employees cannot be held accountable for your emotional well-being.
Einherjar, hear this from my own lips:
You train in vain. Destiny decrees that come Ragnarok, I will free Fenris Wolf with the blade known as Sumarbrander. The Wolf will devour Odin and then open his jaws to consume these worlds. My army of giants and I will overwhelm Heimdall and storm over the Bifrost. We will destroy everything in our path in the all-consuming fire of chaos.
You will die. Humans will die. Dwarves will die. Elves will die. Gods and goddesses and all creatures, save giants, will die.
So battle each morn knowing that my kind will reign supreme in the end. Resurrect each afternoon knowing that we will re-create the cosmos for giants alone. Feast each evening knowing that we will dine in triumph over your corpses. Slumber each night knowing that your doom is foreordained.
Ragnarok. It is your end and our beginning.
Burn!
BURN! HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!
Also…burn.
TYPE: MASSIVE
HOME WORLD: He is literally every part of Midgard
APPEARANCE: Before he was killed by Odin and company, he was gigantic. Afterward, not so much.
BEST KNOWN FOR: Being sliced and diced by Odin and his brothers, who used his body parts to make Midgard
Hunding stole my story. I won’t go to pieces over that. (Ha! Ba-boom, shish! Gods, I love a good punch line. Too bad that wasn’t one! Ha!)
Instead, I’ll tell you about the cow, Audhumbla. She was in the Gap with me. And she was big. (How big was she?) That cow was so big, when she sat around the Gap, she really sat around the Gap!
Seriously, though, Audhumbla the cow kept me alive right up to the moment Odin and his brothers killed me. Why they didn’t go for the cow, I’ll never know. Udderly ridiculous, am I right? (Ha!)
I would have paid Odin to kill that cow, actually. Why? While I was alive, she started in on this big salt lick. Show of hands: Who here has ever listened to an enormous bovine with a really wet tongue lick something for months? No one? Consider yourselves lucky. Lick, lick, lick, lick, day and night, night and day. It sounded as if someone was mixing up a tub of tuna and mayo right by my ear. Drove me nuts until I was like, Kill me now!
Turns out the licking did kill me. After…I don’t know, forever, the cow’s tongue uncovered a god hidden in the salt. This god, Buri, had a son named Borr. Borr married my granddaughter Bestla—that’s right, I had kids and grandkids, none of your business how—and Bestla and Borr had Odin, Vili, and Ve, who…well, you know the rest. Chop, chop, slice and dice, so long, Ymir.
The joke’s on them, though, isn’t it? Because my side of the family, the giants—they’re going to have the last laugh when they lick the gods in the battle to end all battles.
TYPE: Shape-shifter
HOME WORLD: Jotunheim
APPEARANCE: Before eating one of Idun’s apples of immortality, he was an old man with gray hair; afterward, he was a young man with black hair. Wears boots, leather britches, an eagle-feather tunic, and
one golden armband embellished with bloodstones.
BEST KNOWN FOR: Shape-shifting and powerful sorcery. Also, king of the mountain giants and therefore future enemy of the gods and einherjar.
A short time after my conversation with the lady Freya was interrupted, I received an invitation to join her on the outskirts of Jotunheim. Although I was surprised by the choice of location, I hastened there, since it was not for me to question a goddess. I arrived to find her in high spirits.
SNORRI STURLUSON: My lady Freya, I thank you for seeing me again so soon. You are, as always, a picture of loveliness.
FREYA: Why, thank you, Snorri. I could just kiss you for that. In fact, I think I will. [Kisses SS right on the lips.] Mmmmmmmwah!
SS [surprised]: M-my lady! Words fail me!
F: That’s a first.
SS: Er…
F: Hold that thought. I have another surprise for you! [Air shimmers. The goddess is replaced by a massive giant.] Ta-da!
SS [shrieks]: Aaaaaaugh!
UTGARD-LOKI [doubling over with laughter]: The look on your face! Priceless! I’m telling you, Snorts, you einherjar are so gullible. Reminds me of the pranks I played on Thor all those years ago. You know what I’m talking about, right?
SS: I couldn’t say.
U-L: I could. The great Thunder God comes waltzing into my territory to challenge my posse to feats of strength and awesomeness. The first night he’s here, know what he does? Camps out in a giant’s glove, thinking it’s a house! A glove! But that’s not all. Want to hear what happens next?
SS: Do I have a choice?
U-L: No. The next morning, Thor tries to brain a sleeping giant with his famous hammer. The giant wakes up and asks if a leaf landed on him. Giant goes back to sleep. Thor whacks him again. Giant wakes up and says he felt an acorn bounce on his forehead. Third time, the giant wonders if the hammer hit is a plop of bird poop. [Leans in.] Guess who the giant was.
SS: You.
U-L: Me!
SS: Hilarious. [Stands.] Now if you’ll excuse me—
U-L: Sit.
SS: Right. [Sits hurriedly.]
U-L: So now, Thor comes sauntering into my castle bragging about how great he is. I say, “Go on, then, prove it. First, drink everything in this cup. Second, pick up my gray cat. Finally, wrestle that wizened old crone over there to the ground.” [Leans in.] Want to know a secret?
SS: You used sorcery so Thor couldn’t win.
U-L [guffawing]: I used sorcery so Thor couldn’t win! The cup was actually the ocean. The cat was Jormungand, on loan from Aegir’s realm. And the crone was old age itself. No one can beat old age, Snorts!
SS: Not even a god? Or what about Idun and her apples of immortality?
U-L [frowning dangerously]: Don’t bring up that lady around me, Snorts. She did one of my guys wrong.
SS: Like Loki, my lips are sealed.
U-L: You ain’t half bad, thane. Maybe I’ll even spare you at Ragnarok. But probably not.
[At this time, a pigeon delivers a message to Utgard-Loki.]
U-L [reading and grinning]: Oh, I’m loving this! Listen, Snorts, I gotta get going. Just heard a certain someone thinks a certain missing item is buried here in Jotunheim. He’s digging holes all over the place looking for it. This I gotta see. [Turns into an eagle and flies off.]
I later learned that the someone was Thor and the item was Mjolnir. Rumor has it the hammer was, indeed, in Jotunheim, but Thor had yet to discover its whereabouts.
TYPE: Frost
HOME WORLD: Niflheim
APPEARANCE: Large and beautiful, with glowing arms
BEST KNOWN FOR: Being irresistible to Frey, the god of spring and summer
People say I’m a stick in the mud.
I just like feeling the cold earth under my toes.
Don’t need to dress up
Or go anywhere but my front yard.
Can I help it if my skin glows?
It has attracted ships, birds,
And the unwanted attention
Of gods from afar.
Frey couldn’t even ask me himself.
Sent his servant to propose.
Tried to woo me with golden apples,
But I like the red kind better.
When the fancy ring didn’t work either,
Skirnir got angry,
And pulled out that talking sword.
My words didn’t matter anymore.
I married Frey, and we’ve made it work.
He’s all about nature and love.
Still, sometimes, I can’t help but wish
I could crank up the air conditioner.
HOME WORLD: Alfheim
APPEARANCE: Tall, good-looking, pale skin; will die without sunlight
BEST KNOWN FOR: Being one-time experts at archery and alf seidr, and occasionally decoding the mysteries of runes. Now mostly experts at video viewing.
A special report compiled by the staff of Alfheim Today Online: All the News That’s Fit to View
ALFHEIM—It appears that alf seidr—the magic power that fell out of favor with the rise of technology—is getting a new toehold in Alfheim. And not everyone is happy about it.
“We abandoned that magic for a reason,” stated Smokescreen, owner and chief elf operator of ElfVision Communications. “It’s a health hazard. It demands too much from its practitioners. I’ve heard some even perish attempting to learn the simplest spells! Trust me—if you want a truly magical experience, stick to twenty-four-hour streaming video. All you need for that is a comfortable couch, an enormous monitor connected to ElfVision, and a handy remote—not self-sacrifice.”
The risk to alf seidr practitioners is very real. Performing feats such as healing wounds and issuing defensive power bursts requires a massive output of life-force energy. Expending that energy can leave one drained for hours, even days, according to witnesses.
“I had a case where an elf used alf seidr to help a friend who was having a severe allergic reaction,” one concerned doctor told Alfheim Today. “She saved her friend but almost killed herself in the process.”
The biggest threat to life and limb comes from attempting to understand runestones. These symbols embody the essence of the universe. Channeling that essence has been known to overload one’s system and lead to disastrous results, such as death.
Despite the dangers, a grassroots alf seidr movement known as Turn Off and Tune In is steadily gaining momentum, particularly with younger elves. “They feel disconnected from their parents’ sedentary way of life,” stated the head of the movement, Aloe Vera. “They’re curious about the potential of this long-forgotten power. You’ll see many of these same elves studying archery, too. Most instructors are from older generations. Seeing the younger set learning from the older ones—it’s really inspiring.”
Aloe Vera claims that they don’t actively recruit new members. So why have their numbers increased so significantly as of late? “No doubt the looming threat of Ragnarok has something to do with it,” she admitted. “They’re joining because they believe magic and arrows have a better chance of defeating giants than Wi-Fi and decorative throw pillows.”
Only time will tell if she’s right. Until then, the use of alf seidr remains controversial.
HOME WORLD: Nidavellir
APPEARANCE: Craggy and short; will turn to stone if left in the sun too long
BEST KNOWN FOR: Expert metalwork and craftsmanship
Long before I made barstools for Nabbi’s Tavern, I had a career crafting labor-saving devices. You know the type of thing—push a button, pull a lever, turn a knob, and ta-da! A machine does your work for you. That career turned out to be unbelievably boring.
Fortunately, destiny steered me in another direction. On an accidental trip to Midgard, I met a human named Rube Goldberg. Goldberg, son of Hannah, came up with these crazy contraptions designed to do simple tasks in the most unnecessarily complicated manner possible. The contraptions, known as Rube Goldberg machines, were poetry in motion
.
I took Rube’s concept, ran with it straight back to Nidavellir, and set about making my own creations. I repurposed bits and pieces I’d salvaged over the years—a fan, a toy truck, and a pack of dominoes from Midgard, several cat food cans from Vanaheim (“Freya’s cats ask for it by name!”), a snow shovel from Niflheim, a coat hanger from my friend Blitzen—you get the idea. I welded and soldered, hammered and fired those pieces into a sequence of interconnected parts. Altogether, they formed a thing of beauty.
My first Rube Goldberg machine was designed to light my kiln. Here’s how it worked: A handcrafted silver ball spiraled down a hammered steel track suspended by spun wire from my ceiling. The ball landed in a buffed-to-mirror-shine cat food can. The can tipped the ball into another can, which tipped it into another, and so on through seven cans. The final can tipped the ball into the bed of the toy truck. The truck, refitted for a monorail I’d constructed, shot across the floor and tapped the first in a long twisting line of dominoes that spelled out GONDA. The last falling dominoes climbed up a set of stairs engraved with images of famous dwarves. The final domino struck the coat hanger, now fortified with an enamel finish, sending it whirling around. The coat hanger flicked a switch that turned on the fan. The fan blew against the snow shovel blade. The shovel fell over and landed on the high end of a seesaw that I had forged myself from bronze and decorated with gemstones. The low end flew up and launched another ball—gold this time—clear across the room, where it hit a hammer handed down to me by my ancestors. The hammer fell onto the button that starts my kiln and—voila! The fire lit!
