Moss And Mushrooms

Silver Falls State Park, Oregon

The Kelpie Pond✨️ Jaimie Whitbread

Juniper | Juniperus Communis

A summary of the magical, medicinal, ecological properties.

Other names: Common Juniper

Distribution: The common Juniper has the largest geographical range of any woody plant, with a complete circumpolar distribution across the temperate Northern Hemisphere. It can be found from the mountains in the arctic, all the way south to thirty degrees latitude in North America, Europe and Asia. Small populations can be found in the Atlas mountains of North Africa. In North America it can be found in all of Canada and Alaska, and much of the Northern US, as well as in smaller populations throughout the US West.

Description: Common Juniper can look an array of different ways depending on where it's found, as the location determines the subspecies. It can range from a creeping shrub to a tall conifer tree, so it's highly recommended to look up which subspecies is/are local to you. Almost all subspecies do have the following in common, though: the leaves are green, needlelike, usually in whorls of three, and feature a white stomatal band through the middle. Juniper is dioecious; male cones are yellow, about 3mm long, and fall in spring. The fruit are cones (often mistaken for and referred to as berries), they show green initially but ripen to a purple black or blue black. They usually consist of three or six fleshy scales, each with one seed.

Ecology: The plant propagates when birds eat the berries and pass the seeds through dropping. It prefers sandy, rocky, or otherwise well-draining soil. It's associated with a variety of conifers, especially pines and firs. It's an especially important food source for birds, but doesn't receive much use from larger wildlife.

Myth and Legend: Juniper doesn't have a particularly strong presence in ancient mythology, which is surprising, considering its widespread nature and uses in medicine. It was thought for a while that Junipers were mentioned on several occasions in the Old Testament, but they mostly proved to be different plants. The only exception is 1 Kings 19:5-18, where the prophet Elijah shelters under a juniper while in hiding. So what's left? There is a small amount of much more local folklore about Juniper. In Germanic and Celtic regions, Juniper had an ancient history as sacred tree, and therefore was though to be unlucky, a fate that many formerly holy trees experience. One was not to plant a Juniper next to another unlucky tree, nor bring Juniper inside, nor chop it down without permission, as it was sure to bring catastrophy to the family. In the Germanic regions Junipers were passively associated with dwarves, as they were sometimes thought to have much knowledge about them. The yellow spores of Juniper, which sometimes travel through the woods in big clouds, were seen as a blessing upon the woods. There's a lot of Christianized Juniper folklore as well. That Christ's cross was made of Juniper (which would have been impossible), that he rose to heaven from atop a Juniper, that the voice of God commanded Christians not to fell Junipers, that Judas hanged himself from one, etc. These are all indications of holy status in the pagan faiths, which translated into the Christian era. Juniper is also sometimes portrayed as a tree of death and resurrection in European fairytales.

Religion: The Juniper plays only a passive symbolic role in Christianity as a tree of protection from persecutors. We can deduce from how the Juniper has persisted throughout time that it was once a sacred tree to the Germanic peoples. We know it was also sacred to Mediterranean pagans, especially the Romans and Hellenics. They would often substitute burning rosemary for burning Juniper for all matters to do with the underworld, death, and cthonic deities, and carve idols out of Juniper wood. It was also used for communication or summoning of monsters. Medea, priestess of Hekate, is said to have used it.

Magical Application: Juniper is quite prickly to the touch, and enjoys a status as spirit/demon-repelling plant for that reason. It is also fairly aromatic, which was also associated with repelling spirits. It is among the most famous protective plants in Europe, because of its many traits that make it so suitable. Juniper hung from doorways and the like was said to repel witches, and enchanting oneself with it would help one recognize them. All in all, a very strong protective and repellant plant, suitable for everything concerning keeping spirits away, and curing curses. It was also used for fertility rituals, especially in the continental Germanic regions. The way in which it was done was not up to snuff in terms of modern ethics (it was used as switch to beat the subject of the spell with, primarily), but it could still lend itself exceptionally well to fertility magic of all kinds. Because the plant is so sacred, it can easily be used to bless things or devote them to your Gods. It was also used in divination at times. Gin and other drinks made with Juniper berries were believed to make one more capable of divination or give prophetic dreams.

Magical Healing and Medicine: Juniper berries are rich in terpenes, volatile oils, tannins, sap and bitter components. It works as a disinfectant and diuretic, the latter function of which is the most crucial in folk medicine. Juniper leaves also harbor fungi which are stronly anti-fungal, which are now FDA approved to treat fungal infections. Much less scientifically, both Native Americans and Europeans have long used Juniper berries as a contraceptive and abortaficent. Since antiquity it has been prescribed to tone the uterus, or, in larger doses, cause "births under the saving Juniper," a euphemism for an intentional miscarriage. As medicine, because it was so magically repellent, it was especially well used to treat illnesses of a magical sort, but it might also be used for your usual remedies against fevers, warts, etc. Transfer magic would likely work well on Juniper trees. Juniper has a long history as healing plant and medicinal herb, definitely worth exploring.

Practical Applications: Juniper wood lends itself very well to carving. The berries are used to make Gin and other Juniper-based drinks, and are used a lot in cuisine. They aren't very good to eat raw, as they are quite bitter, but dried and crushed they are frequently used to improve stews, gamey meat, etc. Do not consume more than the equivalent of about 15 Juniper berries a day, as it could have negative side effects and cause damage to internal organs.

**This is a shortened version of the pages I offer on my ko-fi. You can commission any custom research project, but this is an extremely simplified version of my herbarium page. Please consider commissioning me if you would like to receive a much longer portfolio like this, with a source list, many more images, and much more information! I do custom discounts for repeat customers.

John Brosio (American, 1967) - Evening Dancer (2003)

Thralls of Skuld - Chapter 2: The Divine Order

Read on Wattpad and AO3

“I went to see her, you know. To ask for her help.” Unn said, throwing her head in the direction of the simple wooden hut nestled in between the tall grass and wild bushes. They were returning to Eiklund in the late afternoon, after three days of foraging. Eira wondered how flowers and plants could weigh so much.

“I thought you didn’t believe that fate could be changed?”

It was known that some of the woven threads of destiny spun by Norns led directly to vølur, woman wielders of a high magick form of called seiðr. Although they were inhabitants of Midgard, seiðr allowed them to walk between this realm and the eight others. Eira wondered what had driven Unn to call upon the services of such a seeress.

No one knew why this vølve had come to Eiklund two summers ago. Usually vølur were called upon by those in need, arriving with a following of young girls who helped them practice their seiðr through elaborate rituals of singing and drums. Yet the vølve who now resided on the far border of the Eiklund county had come alone, on her own volition. It had caused some suspicion, but she had made no demands or disturbance to the everyday life of the Danir. 

When a child had fallen woefully ill some months after her arrival, desperate parents had sought out the vølve, and she had performed a healing ritual that had fully recovered the sickly child. After that, people from all the nearby settlements flocked to her. Some even attributed last year’s bountiful harvest to her arrival. Yet many still harbored some suspicion towards the inconspicuous seer at the edge of the village. It seemed too good to be true, that she would have come simply to aid the people of Eiklund specifically. Eira herself had never sought her out, and neither had Unn until now.

“It was not for my own sake. When one of Ulf’s boys fell sick, I did not know what to do.” Unn explained. 

Eira remembered the rattling lungs of the scrawny little kid a few months ago. It had been many years since Ulf had lost his own children to the nøkke. He had filled the hole in his heart by taking in three orphaned boys, one of whom was a weak and sickly child.

Unn continued: “Ulf had come to me, you know he does not trust the vølve or anything magick, since the children…” she trailed off for a second and let the heavy words hang in the air. It felt like a small, sharp dagger stabbed between Eira’s ribs, briefly inserted and retracted again.

“But my tinctures and galdr could not help the child, and I could not bear to tell Ulf that it was beyond my powers.” Could not bear to tell him he would lose another child. Eira knew that was what Unn really meant, from the pained expression on her eyes. “So I took the child to the vølve, without telling Ulf. I thought she would heal the child through her own ritual, but instead she asked if she should teach me how to do it.”

“Teach you?” Eira’s mouth fell open. Unn nodded. “You mean, teach you seiðr?”

Eira looked back over her shoulder towards the vølve’s hut, which they had left behind as they turned onto the main road for Eiklund. The saying went ‘to wield seiðr without the Gods’ permission is to challenge Odinn himself.’ There were stories of both Gods and Jarls going to great lengths to stop the common people from using complex magick without permission. A threat to the nobility of Odinn’s chosen bloodline - and all their lucky lackeys - was a threat to the divine order itself. The commoners who showed magick prowess were plainly killed, while suspects were branded with magick runes that weakened them over time. In the olden days, entire villages had been burned to the ground or swallowed by the earth, vanquishing any rebellion that had existed in the hearts of the commoners.

“Yes, she wanted to teach me -” Unn avoided Eira’s wide eyes staring at her.

“This was months ago!” Eira interrupted whichever meek statement was coming next from Unn. “How could you not tell me?”

“I was not quite sure what to make of it. I didn’t know why she would teach me. It felt like being told a secret I did not ask for. I was afraid of what would happen if people knew.” The muscles around Unn’s brow and jaw had tightened. Eira bit her lip, considering the insinuation. It was true, this could not reach the ears of Jarl Ingmar, their vengeful ruler.

“Well -” A gleam sparked in Eira’s eyes, a curious excitement on her lips. “Did it work?”

Unn nodded again, still not quite meeting Eira’s eyes as she said “The boy is still alive, is he not? And stronger than ever.”There was a trace of pride in her voice.

Eira squealed. “Imagine!” she exclaimed, gaping. She grabbed Unn by the shoulder, bringing them both to a halt in the middle of the road. They were close to Eiklund now, the longhouse on the outskirts of the village visible in the distance. She contained herself and said more hushedly, “You must go back to learn more, Unn.”

Unn bit her cheek, removing Eira’s hand from her shoulder, gently but decidedly. “There is a reason why it is not allowed, Eira.” With that, Unn started walking again, not allowing herself to be influenced by Eira’s intent eyes on her. Eira had wanted to ask her more, but Unn walked away too quickly.

As they entered Eiklund, Eira excused herself from following Unn to her house. She had been absorbed by aiding her friend in the past few days, but knew that it was time to catch up with her warband, to prepare for what loomed ahead. They were leaving to join King Gorm’s army in Southern Selund in just a few days. 

As Eira bid Unn goodbye, Unn told her sternly “Do not tell anyone, okay?” and Eira promised, quelling the beaming curiosity inside herself to pursue this new information further. Imagine, she thought again as she made her way between the scattered longhouses of Eiklund, what real seiðr could do in the hands of the people.

Eira found a band of shield-brothers and sisters from Eiklund and the neighbouring villages, gathered at Ulf’s house. The smokey longhouse was filled with laughter and the smell of roast pork, telling Eira that she had arrived at just the right time. Ulf’s house was always a chaos of people.  The three orphan boys he had adopted chased each other around the house like Sól and Máni, the sun and moon who chased each other endlessly in the sky. The boys screeched and fought until they were sent outside with a yell from Ulf’s wife. People often flocked to Ulf’s house, him and his wife known for their exceptional hospitality. Today was no exception.

When she settled next to Geir, he slapped her shoulder heavily with his large hand and greeted her with a warning, his voice warm and jesting: “We were hoping you would not arrive in time for the discussions. We were planning on sending you headfirst into the Sviar legions, having you test out their powers before the rest of us go ahead.”

“Always the strategist.” Eira rolled her eyes.

“It’s brilliant!” Magnus, a young warrior, gestured enthusiastically between Eira and Geir.

“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” A shieldmaiden to Eira’s left jabbed at him, Magnus feigning ignorance over the thinly veiled suggestion. On the battlefield, people grew bonds beyond normal friendship. There was a deep familiarity between the frequently deployed fighters of the jarldom. Sometimes the bond developed further than friendship and loyalty. Most people did not see it in Magnus’ eyes, the utter devotion melting together with his always sparkling eyes and the expected admiration for the famed fighter Geir. For some, it was not even considered a possibility. But Eira was sure of it, and her shield sisters recognised it as well.

“Now tell us Eira, have you finished plucking flowers, so that you can actually discuss this new war with your warband?” Geir said with his roaring laugh. “We need your skills in galdr and runes to bring us to victory.”

The discussions of how exactly they would tackle this new venture continued into the night. Geir was convinced that their new foe, the Sviar, would be strange creatures with unknown powers and tricks. Of course, they had all met many Sviar traders who were as human as themselves, but Geir believed in preparing for the worst.

The coming days proceeded with many preparations before they would all leave to join their neighbours, travelling to the coast of Selund to join the army of their new King. 

So Eira had spent her last days before departure casting runes and inciting galdr in tedious rituals. It was a slow and imperfect process, the outcome never guaranteed. The galdr were rhythmic, metered songs, passed down from parents to their children, or between people of certain vocations. Eira’s verses had been taught to her by other warriors, but she had a special sense for the forceful vocalizations required for effective galdr. The galdr she knew was meant to strengthen the armor of her friends and weaken the weapons of her foes. There was never a way of knowing if it had worked, until they were on the battlefield.

She also weaved protecting words and phrases into wooden shields. Carving destructive runes of Tiwaz for strength and Isa for striking fear in the hearts of their enemies, anointing the runes with the blood of a ritually slain goat. She invoked the many Gods of war, Odinn, Freyja, Thor and Tyr, to grant them prosperity on the battlefield. Eira liked especially to call upon the oversight of Tyr, hoping for a fierce but righteous battle without unnecessary cruelty.

While she had her moments of disdain for the merciless nature of the Gods, Eira accepted the importance of these preparations in swaying the outcome of wars. It was a matter of understanding the divine order of things. Eira had always known her place as a warrior in the world. One must have courage and strength on the battlefield, but they must also know their place within the warformation. A strong shieldwall holds no cracks. This mentality was brandished into the very vocation of the commoner warriors, distinctly separate on the battlefield from the noble Jarl’s men and mages. The common men were blades, sharpened to carry out the bidding of their rulers without question, bound to steel and duty. They were rewarded with the spoils of war, fame and riches, but more importantly, a place in the halls of Odinn or Freyja in their eternal afterlife. This was the sweetest bounty, one which now urged her towards the land of the Sviar with excitement in her chest and courage in her heart.

Zach Nichols 

Thralls of Skuld - Chapter 1: As The Seasons Turned The Tides

Read on Wattpad and AO3

In the land of the Danir, the late summer was filled with a bustle unlike any other time of the year. The harvesting of barley and wheats and haymaking kept the hands of the farmers busy, filling the air with the husky scent of grains.

Boys arrived from the summer pastures with cattle and sheep. The livestock returned fattened enough to keep through the winter, and the boys were filled with the experiences of leaving home on their own for the first time. Those who had returned short of sheep, which had veered off on dangerous roads or fallen prey to the wolves, looked downtrodden, worried about their fathers’ disapproving gazes. The ones who returned successful stood a foot taller than when they had left, emboldened by the spirit of Thor, who was not only a God of strength and thunder, but also the kind of maturation that often happened in the transition from boyhood to manhood. The boys had no doubt felt it in those months alone in the land. Alongside the return of the herders, tradesmen left for the tradecenter in Lejre to trade off their surplus wares and acquire winter supplies.

Offerings were made across the land to Freyr, the beautiful Vanir God of bountiful harvests and fertility. Those who knew how, burned runes of Nauthiz and Wunjo for endurance and good fortune for the coming months, knowing that Jera, the rune of fertility, would no longer do them any good. Others whispered simple rites of galdr, a throaty and rhythmic song to enchant their scythes for the final harvest of the year, hoping to turn the Gods in their favor and keep their harvested grain from catching rot in their storage chambers.

The village of Eiklund, too, was abuzz with the vital preparations before a long and harsh frost grabbed the lands. It was a larger settlement, with more than a dozen longhouses scattered across the grassy and lushly forested environs. The weather was milder here, away from the harsh and windy coast of Selund, the large island where Eiklund lay.

Eira found herself dragged into the woods every day by Unn, who wanted to forage the forest floor for the gifts of the last days of summer. Berries, mushrooms and medicinal herbs were abundant in the dense forests, which was just a few hours hike from Eiklund. Unn was enthusiastic in her plans for the big bundles of angelica and yarrow they found, remembering the strengthening tinctures her grandmother used to make from the dried herbs in wintertime. Eira was more excited for the bilberries and lingonberries, which she would use for marmalade, and the hazelnuts which would taste sweet like honey once they reached the dead of winter.

The days were still mild. Rays of sun broke through the canopies throughout the day, making the task light work. The two women did not mind spending many days in only each other’s company. They were more like sisters than friends, in both good and bad ways. Still, it was clear that they were not related. Unn was blonde, tall and plump with a soft and friendly face. Eira was shorter, her body strong and her hair long and auburn. She had a chiseled face with a strong jaw and dark brows that often fell naturally into a slight frown.

One day, they had returned painfully late in the evening to Eiklund because Unn had insisted on continuing their gathering “for just one more hour”, for almost three hours. The next day, Eira showed up with supplies for camping overnight. If they were going to spend all day out there, they might as well do so without the hassle of scurrying home late in the treacherous half-dark of dusk.

They had spent that evening in a makeshift campsite, sharing stories of the inhabitants of Eiklund and draughts of freshly brewed late-summer beer. As the hours stretched into the night, their conversation had slowed to slurred confessions about life. Unn missed her grandmother terribly, who had been her last living family member. Unn’s mother and father had died after a cough took hold of them when they were still supposed to have many years left in Midgard. Unn’s brother had died in battle. The grandfather, more mercifully, died of old age, reuniting him with his children in death in Niflheim.

Unn’s grandmother had been the village herbalist and healer, and spent the last years of her life passing on her skills to Unn. When dysentery had taken the grandmother, her final gift to Unn was teaching her how to care for the dying, and after, how to prepare them for burial. Unn had not wanted to learn it, not like that. But now, over the bonfire, she admitted to Eira that she was glad their last days together were spent learning instead of fretting and grieving.

The grief never came, not truly. After her grandmother’s death, Unn had taken over her duties as a healer for the community, although she still had things to learn. But Unn was studious and hardworking, and Eira helped her as often as she could. 

Unn often thanked Eira wholeheartedly for her help, believing that Eira did it simply from the goodness of her heart and the sisterly bond they shared. In truth, Eira had a keen interest in the skills and magick of healing and herbalism. Being a warrior herself, she saw the difference those skills made on the battlefield. 

Evoking Eira’s namesake, the Goddess of healing and mercy, Eir, was something no commoner knew how to do. Healing magick was reserved for the noble Jarl’s, their family, advisors and favoured fighters. A highborne warrior who knew how to incite healing galdr on the battlefield often saved wounded warriors from bleeding out before they could be attended to. For warriors of Eira’s station, all they could hope was to be able to carry the surviving injured back to the closest healer after the battle ended, before the cold fever of rot took hold. Then, the healers would work the kind of simpler herbalism that Unn was now foraging to prepare for.

The timely preparation of the healing ingredients was vital this late summer. Unn had been nervous since Jarl Ingmar’s men had brought news to Eiklund of an impending war. The Jarl, whose jarldom reached from the northern coast of Selund and into the countryside where Eiklund laid, had recently sent his men around the jarldom to raise their banners and swear their fealty, announcing that Jarl Ingmar had finally bent his knee to King Gorm.

In just a few years, the ambitious Gorm had consolidated the independent jarldoms across the land of the Danir into one united country. Jarl Ingmar was one of the last jarls to be convinced of the King’s vision of a united kingdom. Deeply entrenched in his own decade-old bloodfeud with the neighbouring Jarl Thorstein, Ingmar had seen the unison of the jarldoms as an admission of defeat. Yet, with a wrath and force that could only be explained as godly intervention, Gorm had managed to break every single jarl into either loyalty or submission.

After waging internal battles to solidify his rule over the Danir Jarls, Gorm has turned his eye towards the land of the Sviar. He was now calling upon the forces of his jarls to raise their banners under him and campaign into Svidland. Effectively, King Gorm had freed the people of Eiklund from one blood stained doom, only to bind them into another.

Unn had fretted, knowing she would be without her grandmother to care for the casualties.

Eira, on the other hand, had been excited. She had remarked herself as an exceptional shieldmaiden under Jarl Ingmar’s constitution. In the last few years of territorial warring between Ingmar and his neighbour Jarl Thorstein, Ingmar’s land had become famed for breeding a strong and stubborn kind of people, suitable for warfare. That was why their villages were first to be visited when it came to calling for axes.

Eira, coming from modest roots and destined for nothing great, had seen her natural skills as a fighter as an equal curse and blessing. She told Unn as much that night in the forest, where they had shared admissions over beer and bonfire. “Fighting feels like grabbing fate by its balls, escaping the grip of the Norns for just a moment. As if I can control the outcome of my life, instead of being left to the whims and mercies of Jarls or the Gods, as we are in every other aspect of life.”

“Do you really feel that you have no control over your own destiny?”

“Do you not?” Eira was both curious and provoking. “The Jarls decide when we fight, the Gods decide when we die. All we get to decide is what to put in our mouths, given the Gods have blessed us with a bountiful harvest enough to fill our bellies.” 

Unn shrugged, and began thoughtfully: “When my parents died, I felt like that. Like my life had been decided by something out of my control, knowing only the Norns hold the power to do that.” She weighed her words for a moment before continuing “But most of the time I believe that I can influence the outcome. That’s why I wanted to be a healer like my grandmother.”

That makes two of us, thought Eira, but she did not speak it. She yearned to be in charge of both life and death, believing that if she wielded the same authority to make decisions as the Jarls and Kings, many innocent lives might have been spared. It was probably naïve, thinking that might and lordship would not corrupt her, the same way it did to those who were born into it.

“Beer makes you think too much of fate and power,” Unn poked at her. It was true. “Let us rest, tomorrow you can take control of someone’s life by collecting enough yarrow to save your brethren’s lives in the months to come.”

As Eira laid to rest on the ground, still warm from the abundance of sun they had been blessed with that day, she thought of the many injustices borne to her community from the will of the Gods. When she thought of that injustice, which she did often, she thought especially of her shield-brother Geir.

Geir was one of the most famed living fighters of his station in the land of the Danir. While Geir was not of a bloodline important enough to sit at the high table of wartime decision-making, he was often chosen as warband leader to lead scores of warriors on the battlefield. He was almost impossibly strong, resembling Thor himself, exceptionally large and fiery-haired with thundering eyes. More importantly he was smarter than any other person on the battlefield. Where other warband leaders fought with a fierceful belief in sheer strength, Geir saw holes in their defence and patterns in their attacks, guiding the shield walls this way and that. He was quick to make decisions, almost always anticipating correctly, each and every time overpowering the enemy through wit as well as skill.

Geir’s wife, Siv, had bore him four sons, but only one had survived. A quiet boy of five summers, born in the shadow of the death of his kin before him and after him, Geir revered that boy like a gift from the Goddess Freyja herself. Once, a neighbour had jested that Geir, the best warrior on all of Selund, had taken all the strength for himself and left nothing for his kin to survive on this earth. Eira had found the jest cruel, and with a biting look silenced anyone who might think to laugh. She knew that perhaps the cruellest part was the hint of truth, knowing that the Gods indeed enacted these cruel ironies in Midgard, seemingly intent to not let anyone receiving their favor live a life too easy.

The last time Siv had been pregnant was two winters ago. In the cold dead of night, she had woken bloodied and birthed a still child. The wails of that night had woken the neighbours, and Eira knew that they were not only from Siv. The bereavement had settled on Geir’s face like curdled milk for more than a year.

Siv, a quietly resolute woman, had gone to Unn the next day, requesting a tincture to keep her bleeding at bay, and prayed to Freyja to still her womb. Unn, a helpless gossip with access to too much information from her occupation, had told Eira, but also rushed that she must not tell anyone, especially not Geir. Eira knew that Siv could not take another heartbreak, and forgave her for never telling her husband. At the same time, Eira knew that the only reason the scorned mask had lifted from Geir’s face, returning a booming laughter to his lips and life to his eyes, was the belief that he would yet father another child.

Such were the many fates of the people Eira called her neighbours, friends, shield brethren and sisters. Some took staunch devotion to the Gods, believing they might turn the tide of their fates with reverence. Others, under no illusion that they might have control or influence over the Gods, settled to just live their life on earth, accepting all of the occasional cruelty and glory it entailed. Eira thought those latter people were the true thralls of whichever fate Skuld, the Norn weaver of the future, had decided for them.

Jarl Ingmar’s bloodfeud with Jarl Thorstein had spun the destiny of many. The politics of bloodlines and the ruling class ranged far beyond their mundane concerns - it was not born from the will of the commoner. But as it spilled from the halls of nobility into animosity in the settlements of the commoners over the last decades, so had the bloodshed. Some had emerged victorious, like Geir and even Eira. The fierce battlefield between the two jarls had been a place for warriors to prove themselves and gain the favor of the Gods, the Jarl and the people. Others had died, screaming and writhing in agony, entire settlements engulfed by magickal fires set by humans birthed from evil spirits.

Eira had often marvelled at how the Jarl’s most favored men would not dirty their hands on the battlefield like true warriors. Born to nobility, they learned from a young age the ways of complex magick, wisdom that was forbidden to the commoners. Yet, instead of fighting on the battlefield, the highborns wielded their magick in cruel and unforgivable ways, stealing from both themselves and their victims the chance to live forever in Valhalla or Folkvangr. That glorious afterlife was only given to those who died on the battlefield. The highborne left the commoners to fight out their petty wars on the battlefield with rudimentary magick. The commoners hoped, often futilely, that a simple weapon incantation or rune casting might turn the battle in their favor, knowing full well that either Jarl and their mages could end the feud in a duel of magick, if they only dared face each other.Musings over the impunity of Gods and men alike often consumed her when she closed her eyes at night. This evening, the beer had laid a soft blanket over her mind, lulling her to sleep before the anger took hold of her and catapulted her into sleeplessness. She embraced Nótt’s cloak as the night enveloped her.

📷: terez_ses

Renlav troll

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It was a while ago that I last drew a little troll like this. this one was so fun to create! I hope I can find the energy and motivation to draw more creatures/oknytt inspired by or from nordic folklore and stories.