Once Midgard was created within the cold void of Ginnungagap, in the centre of this great
land grew the mighty ash Yggdrassil.
The tree stretched its leaves high to Asgard and its roots to its surrounding realms and
as low as the deepest recesses of the realms beyond the light.
The three main roots of the great tree ran down to the realms of Midgard, from whence
the tree rose towards the heavens; to the wild lands of Jötunheim around Midgard, and
far below in the gloomy lands of Hel.
No root reached Asgard, as what kind of tree would grow its roots upwards.
Instead, the passage to the highest realm was only possible by the rainbow bridge of
Bifrost.
The great ash actedas a highway between the realms.
In a sense, a body could plan a trip from Midgard to Jötunheim, for instance, by climbing
up the bark of the tree and traversing its roots.
This of course would be pure theory, as the journey by this simple path was not only leagues
upon leagues long, but as massive as infinity.
There was no clear border between Jötunheim and Midgard; much like there was no sudden
wall of unquenchable flame on the borders of Muspelheim.
Each realm and Yggdrassil was a universe upon itself.
How the celestial beings moved from place to place was not as simple as putting one
foot after the other; one had to know the way, before he could traverse it.
Muspelheim and Niflheim.
Our journey through the realms should begin at the beginning and end of all things.
During the age of Ginnungagap, the realm of fire, Muspelheim and the realm of frost Niflheim
seeped from their elemental boundaries and coalesced in the centre of the empty void,
creating the creature Ymir, the primordial giant.
The flesh of this giant, after its violent death, came to be Midgard.
Muspelheim was a vast furnace of flame with fires hotter than any sun and wilder than
wildfire.
Not a single speck of air wandered the inferno nor a piece of coal had a chance to survive
this place without turning into a puddle.
The realm of fire was not simply the mouth of a mighty furnace; this was the primordial
flame that would not spare anything in its path.
The cold reaches of Niflheim were not as violent as its counterpart; but not the ideal place
for a ski holiday either.
The cold in the land of frost stemmed not only from its lack of heat, but from the sort
of cold unfathomable to a world that knows of summers and flame.
Imagine the bluest winter and the gripping cold that seemed to bite with invisible teeth;
it would not even begin to describe Niflheim.
To step in Niflheim would freeze a mortal body solid within an instant, rendering the
flesh and spirit into the very ice of the realm.
Before Ragnarök begins the season of Fimbulvintr, three winters in a row without a summer in
between.
As in the beginning of all things, Niflheim has once more seeped out from its boundaries
and gripped Midgard, blotting its sun and turning its verdant fields blue with ice and
snow.
At the eve of Ragnarök, the fires of Muspelheim shall burst from their realm and whip the
world along with the fires of divine war.
As all bega in ice and fire, thus it shall end as well.
Midgard and Jötunheim.
The land of mortals and the last resting place of Ymir the giant of ice and flame.
The rivers ran with the giant’s watery blood; the earth, his flesh; the rocks and stones,
his bones.
What came of the carcass was a world of rules and absolutes.
Nothing of Midgard could paradox itself; everything remained a stable ground for everything else.
The tree Yggdrassil stood in the centre of this land, fixed to the solid ground.
The tree’s shadow reached as far as the surrounding ocean, the home of Jörmungandr,
the world serpent, who indeed encircled the world and caused earthquakes with its thrashes
and movements.
Beyond the great circling sea was the land of the Jötunn, Jötunheim.
This land was fenced off by Odin with Ymir’s eyebrows to keep the impossibly powerful Jötunn
from running loose in Midgard, subjugating the world of mortals to their whims and brutality.
While Midgard stood solid and unshakable in its rules and standards; Jötunheim was a
wild land of untamed forests, ferocious beasts and mountains that scraped the sky.
A land unfettered by the stiff shackles of reason and stability.
The Jötunn are often referred to as ‘Giants’, as in beings like men, but standing leagues
higher.
The truth was that the Jötunn were powerful magicians and shapeshifters.
A Jötunn could indeed increase their size to as high as the sky or change their form
to that of an animal at whim.
Alfheim.
While Jötunheim was a world of untamed wilderness and savagery; Alfheim was a great forest of
untamed beauty and growth: A verdant paradise with natural glory beyond the thoughts and
imaginations of men.
A land of colour, mystery and beauty with trees as tall as to rival Yggdrassil, rivers
that sparkled with a lambent blue even without the light of a moon, and air pregnant with
sweet aromas and fragrances to turn the sweetest fruit and intoxicating perfumes as vile as
dishwater in comparison.
Alfheim was the land of the elves, creatures like humans, but far surpassing in beauty
and wonder.
These children of the forest rode on white, glowing steeds or unicorns, if they so chose,
through their wondrous realm in perpetual mirth and joy.
One might conjure the image of fair, white-haired and pointy-eared humans to see such beings;
but in truth, elves are simply beauty given form.
Be it in the perfection of their physique or the absolute grace of their movement.
Before his interment in Asgard, Freyr the Vanir called himself the lord of Alfheim and
was loved by the elves, who treated him as their forest king, bestowing him with unearthly
vigour and vitality.
Nidavellir and Svartalfheim.
The land of crags and mountains spread north of Midgard, as in towards Niflheim, and downwards
towards the influence of Hel.
This world was nothing but bare mountains and impassable terrain.
The winds howled along the tops of great hills and summits, spreading snow down to the barren
valleys.
Down in these valleys, were mighty iron doors that lead to the great expanse of the mighty
mountain kingdoms of the dwarves, Nidavellir.
Dwarves bring about the image of a wide and stout being, similar to a human, but only
less than half the size.
As beings born of the very rock that surrounded them, dwarves had a keen understanding of
the subterranean world and the ores within its walls.
Such an understanding of metals and gems had made the dwarves an invaluable asset to even
the Aesir, the lords of the universe.
Thor’s hammer Mjöllnir, for example, was of dwarf make and forged in such a way it
could accept a blessing from Odin that it would always return to its wielder once thrown.
Deeper than the halls of the dwarves was a dreadful place, where even the masters of
the deep dare not tread nor know the way.
Svartalfheim was, as its name suggests, the home of the dark elves.
These baleful beings lurked the deep recesses and preyed on those foolish souls that would
get lost in their labyrinthine, dark tunnels infested with massive, hideous spiders and
other terrors of the dark.
The elves of Alfheim were nothing like their horrible cousins.
While the light elves revelled in the glory of nature and magic, the dark elves lurked
in the shadows and delighted on bringing about misery and cruelty to the world of light.
That is not to say the dark elves are like the dwarfs.
These elves of darkness were similar to their light cousins, but their joys were twisted
and corrupted.
Instead of the love for nature, they had a love for dominating nature, bending the living
world to suit their needs.
While their Alfheim cousins lived together with the wild things around them, the denizens
of Svartalfheim sought to bend the wills of those weaker than them to submit to the chains
and the lash.
Vanaheim.
Vanaheim is the twin sister of Alfheim, if not almost the same place, a conjunction similar
between Jötunheim and Midgard.
Here dwelt the lords of Seidir, the magic of old.
While Alfheim might have seemed magical to the eye of the mortal observer, with its great
aspens that glowed in the blue nights, silver rivers, whose currents sang a melody unexpected
of natural rivers and its majestic wildlife.
The elves considered these things as magical as mushrooms growing in the rain.
With Seidir, the Vanir had taken that fantastic forest and turned it into a place of wonder
even to the elves.
Seidir was a type of magic that could influence all living things with but a touch from its
wielder.
The Vanir turned the pockets of forests with words of magic to a paradise for themselves,
a place of contemplation and solitude to study and master the arts of the unknown.
The greatest Seidir wielder, Freya, could bring forth a mighty oak from an acorn within
no less time than a few breaths, turn a scrawny weakling into a log-tossing warrior and call
the might of the wild kingdom to her side.
Whether the elves taught Seidir to the Vanir or vice versa remains a mystery.
Nevertheless, so impressed were the elves with the might of the Vanir that they accepted
Freyr, Freya’s brother, as their lord and there he remained, until the Aesir-Vanir war,
where he was exchanged to live among the Aesir in Asgard.
Helheim.
Follow the path of the longest root of Yggdrassill and dig deep into the earth.
This root bored through Midgard, Nidavellir and even far past Ginnungagap to a place beyond
Asgard and the sun, a gloomy abode near Niflheim.
Beings of flesh will feel the chill of the grave about their skin and their will to live
sapped and dragged from their flesh as they walked the path to Hel, Helvegr.
This path of jagged, grey stones meandered from the outskirts of Hel and through the
land of lead-grey skies and stagnant winds.
A wise traveller would do well to stay on this road lest he wished to lose his way and
be lost forever.
Helveger’s last guide stone stood half-sunken on the outskirts of a great, calm and placid
lake with a mirror-sheen surface.
Along this lake spread a peaceful shore, where one might rest on the white sand and feel
at peace among the whispering heathers.
As all the earthly sorrows dissipate, the sleeper shall feel separated from the woes
of life for all eternity.
The realm of Hel is often mistakenly interpreted as a place of torment and horror, but that
was only half the truth.
In reality, the realm was as horrifying as the crypt or a graveyard.
Squirrels roamed the land, tall cypresses dot the hills and maples shed their red and
yellow leaves during autumn.
After all, the ruler of the place was a woman half-alive and half-dead.
Hel lived across the great still lake, past the shore of bloated corpses and thick miasma,
within a great, black fortress as cheerful as the grave.
Here the lady of the underworld accepted those, who sought the respite of death and welcomed
all, who entered her realm, whether they wanted or not.
Asgard.
High above the great ash Yggdrassil and beyond the clouds stood the great land of the Aesir.
The only way to this bright, golden land was through the rainbow bridge, Bifrost, a pathway
of pure light and impossible to find by those unwelcome by the Aesir.
Past the fantastic bridge spread the great flatlands of the realm.
On one of these hills stood the ever-vigilant guardian Heimdall with his loud and enchanted
hunting horn, Gjallahorn.
Behind the back of this guardian stood the hall of Valhalla, a grand fortress, which
welcomed those who had died in glorious battle to an eternity of feasting, drinking fighting
and merrymaking.
Overall, Asgard was a mirror of Midgard, but everything within its confines radiated with
untold power.
Every stone of this great realm was as hard as diamonds, no axe of mortal make could dream
of even nicking the mighty oaks in the surrounding lush forests, and the lakes and streams produced
a water so potent, a single drop could carry a man through a desert for years.
The sun above shone with such glory its rays could blind those unaccustomed to it, and
the winds of this height could blow away weaker men on a calm day.
The might of Asgard produced beings of equal measure.
Mighty warriors and poets, who could bellow louder than the howl of the winds and toss
stones as heavy as elephants.
It should come as no surprise that only the worthy were welcome in Asgard; how could anything
lesser even hope to survive such a place?