Author Topic: Of Norse Origins  (Read 3370 times)

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March 07, 2015, 12:28:49 AM

Offline Valfreyja

This is an idea that came to me a few days ago and needs some explanation.
The name I use, Valfreyja, is simply a variation of Freya. I wanted to write a story of how I think Freya came across her power of magic.
Freya means lady. The word may not always be in reference to the goddess.

This story contains
  • Scenes of Ritual Sacrifice
  • Scenes depicting Bestiality
  • Forced Sex/Rape
  • Some gore
  • Hints at drug use
Although age isn't strictly specified the main character is below the age of 18.

The ritual itself is not a depiction of any known ritual. It may contain aspects of a multitude of different archaic rituals and some that have yet to die out. It is not recommended that you perform any of the practices I've written about. Much of the ritual is criminal and is not an accurate representation of any known religious practice. 

It is advised that if any of these subjects are offensive or disturbing to you stop reading now.

 It had been early when she left the house, the sun barely visible. She had dressed to be seen. Her beige wool apron skirt clung tight to her chest, accentuating her well formed breast. Her blue linen under-dress could be seen clearly, demonstrating her wealth. She wore her finest beads and her flaxen hair shimmered down her back. As she moved she could feel the eyes of the men she passed. It was clear she would have no trouble attracting a suitor. Vanadis, they called her, Child of the Vanir.
Her father had found her one night in the forest, after a hunt, suckling on the teat of a sow. He had claimed the gods themselves had granted her to him, gifted him a child. No one had the courage to contest his claim, though murmurs of infidelity echoed through the town.
As she aged the people became more inclined to agree with her father. She was treasured for her beauty and many came just to lay eyes on her. As she approached child bearing age the men of her village felt compelled to pursue her. None yet had taken her fancy.
Vanadis traversed through aspen and pine to slowly make her way to the place she’d been found. No tree dared encroach her space and so she kneeled by the brook in the clearing. It was a tranquil spot, peaceful, and never had she felt such at home as she did here.
With two hands she cupped the cold water and took a sip. It was fresh, clean, free of the manure that the stream had closer to home. She shuddered against the cold as she splashed her face, washed her arms and prayed to the Vanir. This was a ritual she performed regularly.
The rustling of grass made Vanadis jump. Few knew of this location. She glanced around but the area was empty. Adrenalin flooded her veins. She waited in silence, listening for the sounds of approach. A fox poked its head out of the long grass and disappeared. She began to relax, pushed her hair over one shoulder and continued her runework, awaiting the midday sun.
As the sun began to beam overhead Vanadis began her chanting. It was her prayer to the spirits and elves. She closed her eyes, entranced by her ritual. So spellbound was she that she failed to see them approach.
Suddenly she felt a blow to the side of her head. A twinkle of lights behind her eyes and then she was out.
She opened her eyes to darkness, confused. She tried to move and quickly realised her hands and feet had been bound together. Taking in her surroundings she saw she had not left the clearing. A small bonfire had been built, illuminating the surrounding areas, and she could see the faces of men. A face spied hers. He drew closer, his face blank, until he was nose to nose with her. He stared directly into her eyes, looking for her soul. It was an intense moment but he quickly found it. Grabbing her by the legs he dragged her closer to the fire, sitting her at a nearby tree. The brook trickled loudly in competition with the roar of the fire.
“Why are you here?” Vanadis asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“To serve you, freya.” He replied softly. His hand rose to her broach and began unpinning her broaches.
“Leave my garments be. I am not who you suppose to be Freya.” she begged.
“Oh, but I have searched your soul. You are she.” He pulled her apron skirt over her head.
“Please, my father will be so worried. Let me go home.” She said, making the fear in her eyes apparent.
“No need to be frightened. I’m Hróaldr and soon you will understand all this.” He hushed and pulled out a knife from his belt.
“Please don’t kill me!” Vanadis’ eyes widened. He chuckled, held her arms away with one hand and cut her linen dress from breast to knee, exposing her naked skin. Two quick slices at the sleeve and her dress fell to the ground. She shuddered against the cold air. Hróaldr pulled her to her stomach and she was pinned to the ground by two other men. She wailed as the knife was brought to her back, carving the runic spell. A fourth man collected her blood. She fought against the men, tears staining the ground below. The pain was excruciating but thankfully short lived. Silently she prayed for mercy as she was placed back into a sitting position. Hróaldr took a sip from a hollowed horn, some herbal mixture and passed it around his men.
A low grunt echoed as a sow was brought to stand over her legs, face to face with her. As one of Harold’s men held the pig by the rope tied to its neck he mixed Vanadis’ blood with a sickly sweet scented oil and anointed the pig, taking extra care below the tail. His finger prodded and caressed the sow longer than probably necessary. The pig squealed in distress. Vanadis grew anxious having such a large animal in distress so close. The pig could kill her quickly if Hróaldr’s men lost control of it.
Hróaldr grabbed the rope, wrapped what little he could around his palm and guided himself to the tight vagina of the pig. Bile rose in Vanadis’ throat. The sow let out a screech as it was ritualistically violated. The pig squirmed uncomfortably, its blood mingled with hers on the ground. Vanadis’ eyes watered as the sow stamped its hoof into her thigh. Her cries drowned out by the squeals of the pig. The pig fought hard but Hróaldr had clearly seen many a battle and his grip was strong. He looked more animal than the swine, grunting and groaning with each thrust. She felt pity for the poor sow. If I could stop this I would. She thought to the pig. Hróaldr leaned over the pig, pulling its head up with the rope and slit its throat. Blood gushed turning Vanadis’ pale skin and hair crimson and tainting the soil. The men were quick to collect the blood. Hróaldr’s seed tinged pink as it seeped from the dead pig.
“Are you pleased, my freya?” Hróaldr asked.
Vanadis was in disbelief.
“No, you are misguided. I am not the freya you speak of! Please allow me passage to my home.” She pleaded. Hróaldr sighed.
“You still cannot see.” He shook his head. He lifted the pigs blood to her mouth. The vessel was hollowed horn beautifully adorned with runic carvings. She shook her head.
“If you will not drink willingly we will force it.” He informed her. Reluctantly she parted her lips. The blood was still warm. The tangy taste coated her tongue and left an odd feeling in her stomach.
Hróaldr pulled out his knife and cut her bindings. Tears of gratitude fell from her eyes.
“Thank you.” She murmured with relief. She looked up to see five men circling her. Her brow furrowed and it dawned on her that her ordeal may not yet be over.
“Hróaldr?” she questioned, “You are allowing me to go home, right?”
He pulled her onto all fours. It became apparent that she would be the next sacrifice.
“I am freya. I am. This is unnecessary.” Vanadis announced with alarm. Hróaldr wrapped her blood stained hair around his palm, as he had done with the pigs rope, and pulled her head back. She yelped at the sudden pain.
“I am her. Stop. It hurts.” She cried. Hróaldr pulled tighter. The other four men began their chant. She let out a shriek that echoed in the quiet forest but it was caught by Hróaldr breaking and entering. He’d entered her with ease, already well lubricated from the pig. Vanadis squirmed under his grip hopelessly. He withdrew and thrust again, trying to keep the beat of the chanting. The oil burned her flesh as he distributed it inside her. He pierced her insides with an animalistic passion, overcome by the herbal concoction he had consumed earlier. A burning pain swelled from her back, joining rapidly to the pain emanating from her pelvis. She tried to scream but couldn’t find her voice as she was consumed by the fires inside her. All sense of time had been lost as the pain engulfed her body and soul. She scarcely noticed as Hróaldr picked us his pace. Only realising as the chanting gained vigour.
The burning slowly subsided but her nerves were left raw. The cold ground bit at her hands and knees and her chalice was met by another phallus. Hróaldr stood before her chanting, no sign of acknowledgement towards her. She could feel a warmth ooze down her leg already.
How much time have I lost? She wondered if any of the others had already taken a turn. She felt each brush of skin against her pelvis as he delved deep inside her, her body constricting like a snake trying to strangle its prey, his force unrelenting. She was the sow and he was the man, no power on this realm would stop him. A weakened cry slipped from her lips as each nerve stung.
Vanadis spied the glistening of the knife. A wave of terror swept over her.
“I don’t want to die.” She croaked. Her head held high to bare the skin on her neck she was almost eye to eye with the man stealing her fleshy insides. Tears spilled from her eyes and passed her ears, leaving lines down her neck. Her body trembled. The chanting picked up speed. The energy erupting from them sent shivers down her spine. He spilled himself inside her and in one quick motion her throat was slit and her body dropped to the ground. She saw the blood before she felt the slice. Vanadis watched as the men wandered off, leaving her to die. She was unable to move or cry out for help. The brook by her head was stained with her blood. It wasn’t long before she lost consciousness.
The moon shone full. In a daze Vanadis saw the translucent shape of a pig in the distance, approaching her at a pace unlike a normal pig.
She felt her life drained, her spirit rose slightly from her body.
“Hush, child.” The pig spoke to her telepathically, “This is not the end. This is just the beginning of your destiny.”
A blue light emanated from the pig. Slowly it enveloped her, shrouding her body in a comfortable warmth. A strength returned to Vanadis, her spirit embracing its mortal home. The would be fatal wound she’d been inflicted mended slowly. Slowly the pig faded, becoming the light that healed, giving its spirit to the healing process. Vanadis felt better than she ever had. A feeling of euphoria lifted her. Laughter, such a beautiful sound, rocked her body. The light entered her body from every orifice. She glowed as the light and her body became one.
Not a moment too soon the light faded.
Her body ached as she rose to her feet, stark naked with dirt, blood and semen coated on her skin. Her hair a thick shade of crimson. Her sacred space forever tainted by the ritual.
Dawn broke as she had finally made it out of the woods. She paid no heed to the looks on the faces of the people she passed. She didn’t want to see the expressions of horror, fear or pity as she passed. Her father leaped from his chair when she returned to the house.
“My child,” he spoke in a solemn tone, “Whatever has befallen you?”
He grabbed a blanket and began to drape it over her shoulders.
He stopped short.
“These runes…” His voice trailed off. They had found her. He thought sorrowfully.
In a trance-like state she whispered, “I am the lady, I am the freya. Dead and reborn, I hold the power of the gods.

March 07, 2015, 12:48:42 AM
Reply #1

Offline Jed

You write very well Val, very descriptive and imaginative.  This is a mystical and intriguing story.  I hope you have many more of these to share with us.


March 07, 2015, 10:59:45 AM
Reply #2

Online vile8r

Being that I AM of Norse origins, I quite enjoyed this! Very well done.

March 20, 2015, 11:53:43 AM
Reply #3

Offline Plaything

Great story Val . . .you are so talented!