Long after the first spring of Midgard, aeons since the war of Æsir and Vanir that tore
the land apart, the realm of the gods was filled with the lost souls of those who had
passed the mortal realm, poor retches confused and without direction. Their wails sent shivers
to those who had wrought them from the first trees. Their sorrow reached the corridors
of Odin’s hall, marring its golden glory with the grey wind of death. A poison lingered
in the perfect realm of Asgard.The unbreakable curtain separating the dead from the living
granted protection to those, whose skin yet felt the breeze of air and the heat of the
sun; but in the lands of the Æsir , the force of the dead was a hurricane, a storm powerful
enough to pull the great trees along with their roots, render the mighty celestial beasts
to shreds and turn the realm of eternal summer into a dark shadow of itself. All that the
spirits of the dead touched was made broken.The responsibility lay with Odin; were Midgard
void of life, his halls would not be in turmoil. The lord of Asgard walked his lands, now frigid
and gray, and saw the legion of husks, gritting their teeth and moaning for all they had lost.
With the simple joys of life gone, the souls knew only outrage and hatred. With every passing
moment, the cold hearts of the dead reflected upon the world around them, bringing. The
first winter had come to AsgardFurious, the All-Father demanded the spirits to cease the
destruction of his home, but all he received in return were the screams of fleshless torment.
To reason with the dead was hopeless; they were a force without direction, utterly enslaved
to cold grip of death and sought to bring all around them to the same ruin. Only one
in the nine realms had an answer to this plight, but it would not come without a price.Upon
his white steed of eight hooves, Sleipnir, Odin left Asgard and flew north. The tree
Yggdrasil shivered below at his passing, the snows of northern Midgard billowed like powder
under the mighty horse’s hooves until the final glacier passed and Odin soared over
the void of Ginnungagap, the black cosmos. Sleipnir galloped downwards, following a root
of Yggrasil, a tendril as grey as stone and ripped with gnarled bark. This root reached
far below the other realms, past the grace of the sun and moon and beyond the reach of
hope and light. At the end of its tip spread Niflheim, the land of frost and death.The
ice under the hooves of Sleipnir melted at its approach, bringing water to the frozen
wasteland, but freezing just as soon as they passed. Odin knew only the presence of the
divine could thaw the eternal ice, and thus searched for the single ocean in Niflheim
and the land around it: Náströnd, ‘The Shore of Corpses’.The blue sea stretched
and heaved below the gallop of Odin’s mighty horse. After a while, the waves turned languid
and blotches of black muck and green sludge floated as foam until there was not a drop
of water to be seen. The rank of decay surrounded the All-Father and the weight of death loomed
over him. The clear sky and its roof of shimmering stars turned lead grey. Land peeked above
the undulating waves.Every trot of Sleipnir shattered bones and crushed through the viscera
of decaying corpses. Through the fog of miasma, Odin reached a fortress whose walls of solid
stone stretched beyond the tallest cloud of the surrounding vile vapour. The All-Father
dismounted and called forth the lord of the castle.The shadows and fog before him congealed
and gathered into a single mass, revealing a haggard woman, half of whom hanged limp
and ruined and reeked of decay, while the other possessed the supple form of a lady.
The Jötunn Hel, daughter of Loki and the lady of the dead stood before Odin. Even
hidden in the depths of Niflheim, it was no secret to Hel that the souls of the deceased
had come to bring misery and ruin to Asgard and here was its lord: Defenceless, alone
and far from his domain. Surrounded by the cloud of death, the lord of Asgard was at
her mercy. Before Odin could speak, Hel raised her decaying hand and admitted that her guest’s
desire was known to her. The dead listen only to one who calls themselves their master,
revealed Hel. And the master of the dead must take charge of his subjects. Before Odin could
ask how, he stopped himself. Of course Hel had an answer for that as well, the question
was the price.Hel was not one to mince words; the price was simple: For the power to bind
and unbind the dead, she demanded that a tribute of souls were to land on her shores as well
as Asgard. While powerful in her domain, the lady of the dead desired to cement her place
with an unbeatable army. She desired an arm against Asgard. Odin agreed to the terms,
but added that only the damned and dishonourable in death would find their last resting place
in Hel; while those who died in battle would find their eternal home in the All-Father’s
halls. Hel shrugged and accepted. The lady of the underworld tore her talons into the
mound of dead flesh beneath her feet and snapped three tendons from it. From these pieces of
viscera, she tied a three-stranded knot and presented it to Odin. With heavy heart, the
lord of Asgard took the gift. The gory knot unravelled in Odin’s palm and slithered
into his essence. He felt the tendons wrap around his heart, binding him to the fate
of the dead. As such, the cold of the afterlife came upon the All-Father, the sorrow of death
and the regret of deeds undone.Odin thanked Hel and left feeling neither triumph nor pride.
He rode to Asgard in silence and faced the troubles of his domain. His fellow Æsir saw
a change in him; what was once the golden lord now walked with solemn steps and a cloud
of cold misery followed him. Odin opened the great doors to his hall and bade the dead
to enter. In a wind of howling destruction, the dead obeyed and took places among the
other Æsir, much to their displeasure.Thus the great hall of Asgard became to be known
Valhalla, ‘the hall of the dead’. Even under the gaze of their unquestionable master,
the wrath of his new charges plagued the gods as they fought in the halls, robbed the food
and drank far more than was their share. Odin sat on his throne and felt the same need to
tear everything apart. But the Lord of Death was also the Lord of Wisdom; he saw the unfocused
power of the afterlife and thought to focus it and spend it rather than have it slowly
destroy all he and his brothers had built.Odin called his subjects to the yard of Valhalla
and armed them with spears, bows and hunting hounds and horns. The wrath of the dead was
within the essence of their lord and that wrath demanded more death and misery. Like
a shimmering grey wave of gaunt men and women, they rode off Asgard into the lands below.Autumn
had long since shed its last leaves, the harvest sat in storages and the animals had been moved
into barns at the sight of the first snowflake. Midgard had seen more winters than ice giants,
but something felt different about this one. The days grew darker and the wind howled unlike
even the oldest and wisest could remember. A terrible blizzard followed, turning Midgard
white and the sky ruddy grey at mid-day and black as pitch at night. In the dark of the
storm, a band of dogs bayed and howled.Thunder clapped from the sky and the gates between
the realms opened. A host of an untold number spilled from the heavens and into the world.
The people long past revelled and blew their hunting horns. A dreadful cry pierced the
blanket of snow and the fear of death seeped into the warm heart of every mortal. Those
who were not fast enough to seek shelter found themselves at the mercy of the host of grey
death. The Wild Hunt had begun.The honourable dead on their black steeds tore a path of
rampage and destruction throughout Midgard with Odin at their front, leading the great
party to strike in the direction of his spear, Gungnir. As Sleipnir approached, his gallop
shattered ears and his cry shook the spirit of the hardiest of men. Anyone foolish or
unfortunate enough to find themselves in the path of the hunt felt no more mercy than any
other animal, meeting their end in the dark forests of the world as game.While Odin saw
their charges slay all that lived, he noticed that none of them took heed of the other,
but heard only their lord’s call. From hence, they would be known as Enherjar, ‘those
who walk alone’. Those who dared to ask, joined the wild hunt. For the efforts of these
mortals, the All-Father rewarded them with gold for their bravery.As all things end,
so does winter. The sun of spring washed away the carnage of the hunt and dark season, revealing
the green lands in all of their lustre. Thus the spirits of the dead and Odin turned their
steeds and hunting hounds towards Valhalla and headed home.The act of wanton destruction
came againevery year, gaining fame among the realms and enticing more creatures and beings
to join the gruesome hunt. Fair and cruel elves lurked in the shadows, Valkyries swooped
from the sky in blazing trails while ghostly hunting hounds lead them to their prey.The
party of the wild hunt may have changed from its first winter; but until Ragnarök, the
great hunt of winter would always tear its way through the mortal world with a grey-cloaked
old man in golden armour upon a horse of eight legs wielding a dreadful spear: Odin the All-Father.