Within the swirling Mist (IC) > Biographies
Hjorta the Heartless
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Zwickelfaust:
Hjorta sat with her knees drawn up, sobbing uncontrollably. She had done a terrible thing and she knew it. Hjorta had killed many monsters since she arrived in the mist, never has she taken a life of an innocent. Her stomach churned in protest. She had not eaten in days and her starvation was taking its toll. Every bit of food she tried to eat would not stay down. Her guilt and pain were too great to allow her relief. As far as she was concerned, it didn't matter anyway. She was going to die soon and finally be free from her torment. It was anguish for her to simply wake up. She had given up on life. Everyone she had ever cared for was gone. They hated her and now everyone else did too. She had killed an unborn child. She had committed an act she thought she would never do. All was lost for Hjorta. All she could do is cry and wait for the proper time to stand against Fearghas and fall in battle.
Knut approached and licked Hjorta's face. "Why did you cry for the dead Hjorta? That child now walks among its ancestors. You did what you needed to do. It was an unfortunate means to an end."
Hjorta looked up at the worg, tears ran down her pale cheeks. "I am not a murderer!" She shouted.
"You are a child of Odin girl! Start acting with pride!" The large beast bellowed with anger at the woman. "You think you are the first to have to kill innocents to win favor? The gods witness us. You need to stand tall and face Fearghas so that the two of us can go to Valhalla and be welcomed by the gods!"
Hjorta raised her head and nodded to her uncle. " I will show the realm fear and pain. They will sing my praise in all of Yggdrasil. They will know Hjorta of Midgard!
"Yes....." The worg said with a devilish grin, revealing his sharp toothy maw. "You are the most powerful seidr I have ever seen. You have destructive power that rivals that of Loki himself. Odin would be a fool to deny you entry into his hall. You will be needed for Ragnorak."
Hjorta stood up, digging her toes into the rain soaked Barovian mud. She could feel the arcane power surging through her. She was invigorated and now she only needed to wait for the right time to confront her destiny to meet the gods and finally be free from her torment in the Core. The time was drawing near and her excitement and pride overwhelmed her.
Zwickelfaust:
Blackness... Blackness and silence was all that greeted her when her end came. There was no Valkyrie, no Valhalla, just darkness. She dwelled in this darkness for what seemed like an eternity with no form of stimulation other then soul crushing solitude and void. It was only when a small point of light appeared in her view Hjorta realized that her eternity was not darkness. The light slowly grew bigger until it enveloped her entire perception.
A figure appeared in the light, standing silhouetted within the illumination. The brightness began to fade and she was able to discern the beings appearance. The woman looked like Merna, but one half of her body was rotted and decayed. A burning red orb of fire inhabited her eye socket on that side. The other side of her body was still pristine and full of life an beauty. On the side that still had life, her arm held a newborn baby boy, gently nestled to her side. On the dead half, she clenched a dark and bloody heart. It throbbed, beating slowly and unnaturally. Merna stared at Hjorta through cold and judging eyes. Hjorta could feel regret and pain, knowing what she did to harm both mother and child. She knew that this being was not really Merna, it was the goddess of death, Hel. "Hugr draugr wight!" The goddess screamed as reality went black once more.
Hjorta's eyes shot open. She gasped for breath desperately, yet no matter how much oxygen she tried to give her lungs, she felt no relief. She laid there for half an hour struggling to breath before she gave up on the concept entirely. She could feel no pain, no hot, no cold. She could not feel her hands or feet, or anything for that matter. When she finally gathered the courage to try and move her hands to look upon them she panicked. Her hands were pale and her fingers were withered into clawed points. She trembled in fear. She looked around her, noticing that she was locked behind the gate in the charnel house. Dead bodies and stench of dead surrounded her, yet she felt oddly empowered by it. She looked at her body, noticing the gapping hole in her chest where her heart should be. She shook in shock at her wound. She felt no pain from it, yet it was there. It seemed to have been festering for at least a few days. The blood appeared to have drained from her entire body, and the flesh from her wound was turning dark. Hjorta slowly moved a quivering claw to the wound to probe the desiccated flesh. She gently scraped at it, causing flakes of meat to fall off into her chest cavity. She groaned as she studied the broken bits of exposed ribs.
Hjorta laid there for hours, trying to cry, but no tears would come to relieve her pain. She tried to sleep, but conscienceless would not loosen its grip on her. She decided the only thing left to do was leave. She had an indescribable hunger. Not for food, but for warmth. She wanted to find something alive and steal the warmth of life from it. This gave her unexpected energy as she shot up to her feet with the realization. If she was to feel comfort, she must take it from those who take for granted the gift of life. If they could not appreciate it, she would take it from them. Her body seemed to have no trouble moving now. She inspected the bars of the gate. She decided that she would try and squeeze through the bars. She tried to loosen herself as much as she could, gently forcing herself through the bars. She could hear the crunch and popping as her ribs gave way to the steel of the bars. Once free she fell to her knees. Something was coming over her. She was changing somehow. She used her magic to become invisible and ran out. She fled to the Vistani camp and looked upon her own face in horror. Her eyes burned with arcane power. Her skin was white as snow and her skin seemed to have began to stretch across her tighter. This made her seem more beautiful then she had ever been, in a strange and dark way. She had to stay hidden. She had to discover what had happened to her, so she set off to find out.
Zwickelfaust:
"This is a dangerous game you are playing Hjorta." Knut's words were fatherly as usual. He was the only father figure she had ever had. She thought it strange that Her arcane power recreated him as a worg. Maybe she needed him, maybe she did so subconsciously to provide her familiar company in a strange land. She didn't understand her power, but she was grateful that she had her uncle with her. Even if he was just a manifestation of memories.
Hjorta looked up at the wolf, his once warm fur now cold and lifeless, reflecting Hjorta's own morbid visage. "You know this is the only way, Uncle," she replied. scratching under the beasts massive chin with a claw. "The more I make them fear me, the better chance they will find my heart, just to get rid of me.
Knut let out a rumbled growl. "This is dangerous. You are getting careless with your attacks"
"I have killed no one!" Hjota shouted. The worg simply stared down at her, in phased by her outburst.
"That may change, Hjorta," Knut said. "How long before you lose what little humanity you have left? Each day we are trapped here, you grow more like the draugr wights that are drawn to you. Do you know why they are drawn to you? Why all the draugr seem to follow you?"
"My beautiful smile?" Hjorta jested. Knut did not seem amused.
"Because of your magic," he interjected. "They sense your power. You are growing stronger whether you know it or not. You shook that cave with your own voice. You have never had that level of power, even before that incident with wandering the mists."
"I do not feel more powerful. I feel nothing." Hjorta sighed and rubbed her face. "I do not want power anymore. I do not want to fight. I just want to die. I want to feel the warmth of a person. To really feel it, not just take it from them for a taste of life. I want to hear kind words spoken to me." She frowned deeply knowing that such a simple thing as a warm embrace would prove impossible to do.
"Hjorta...." Knut said with a hint of sympathy in his voice. "Find your heart. Death is not so bad, trust me. The ancestors and the gods wait for us. We only need to make you complete again." Hjorta nodded and sighed once more. She had been attacking people for weeks trying to press them into retrieving the heart. She knew it was dangerous, but she had to, and as much as she hated everyone, she had no desire to kill them. She only wanted to show them that life was a gift not to be underappreciated. Every instinct in her wanted to kill everything that she saw, yet something in her controlled it. Sometimes when she was alone, she remembered fondly the good times. She remembered sitting in the mist camp with Cassandra and Net'lia. Those lazy nights doing nothing but gossip brought her comfort. In those brief moments of remembrance, she felt almost alive. She could almost feel her heart beating. She wondered how that was possible.
Zwickelfaust:
Hjorta stood over the limp form of the elf she once considered her closest friend. She had hoped that her last encounter with her sister would be one of love and forgiveness. Instead Hjorta was only attacked for what she had become. Hjorta felt immeasurable pain, yet on the outside, all she could show is anger. Net'lia had once again turned her back on Hjorta. It could not be forgiven. Hjorta would show her the pain that Net extended in the past. She grabbed the Net'lia by the back of the head and lifted it up to look upon the elf's face. "How does it feel to be laying face down in the dirt wondering what you did to deserve this?" Hjorta spat. She gritted her teeth and squeezed tightly on Net'lia's head.
Hjorta began to draw the life out of her sister. The feeling was almost special. Not only has Hjorta not tasted an elven soul, this particular one belonged to her sister. She could feel the darkness in her Net's soul. She could feel good trying to prevail over it. It did not matter though, not to Hjorta. Net'lia had coldly turned her back before by betraying Hjorta by murdering her. Now was the time for vengeance. Net could not see her roll in making Hjorta what she was now. She did not see that her own darkness corrupted Hjorta's heart. The witch was determined to make her friend suffer.
Hjorta gripped tighter on Net's skull until she began to hear pops from bone giving way to clawed hand. At this point, Hjorta was driven by blind rage and hatred for her sister. It all came down to the betrayal that changed Hjorta forever. She could not trust anyone after that. Who could she if the person she trusted most cast her aside. Hjorta fed more on Net'lia before sending a bolt of arcane power directly into her brain. Net'lia, her former friend died right there on the open road. Hjorta was not done. All the anger and hurt surfaced. Every time she felt outcasted, every time she was told how to act, how to live. For every moment of life where she was a timid little girl desperately trying to feel accepted, only to be turned away, it all came out. Hjorta screamed and slammed Net's lifeless face into the dirt. Over and over she bashed her head until her face was barely recognizable.
To the Norse people, betrayal was one of the worst sins one could commit. Hjorta did not like to kill people, but to her, it was within her right to murder Net'lia. Hjorta grabbed the elf by the cloak and drug her to the sanctuary and dumped her there roughly in a heap. "We are even now, Net'lia the old." The witch sad with spite. "When Yggdrasil falls, I will find you upon the burning leaves. Maybe them we can be sisters once more". Hjorta spat on the lifeless corpse of her old friend, then retreated into the darkness of night, hoping to not meet her again until Ragnorak.
Zwickelfaust:
"Wealth will pass,
Men will pass,
You too, likewise will pass.
One thing alone
Will never pass:
The fame of one who has earned it."
-Hávamál
To the ancient Norse, the soul was a bit more complex and abstract then the traditional modern incarnation of what a "soul" is. To them a soul consisted of many parts. For example, the "hamr" was the self that was perceived. It was what ones own appearance that other see in observation. Another was the group soul. This consisted of families or even entire peoples. Many times two parts of a soul could become intertwined. In some cases parts of the souls of other could latch on to another. This melded soul aspect sometimes took the form of something called the "fylgja", or familiar. In Hjorta's case, her fylgja was connected to her beloved uncle, Knut. Do to their strong bond, a piece of Knut stayed with Hjorta after he died, taking the hamr of a "warg" or worg.
Knut enjoyed his moments when Hjorta did not need him. In his unsummoned state, it was as if he were dreaming. He could relive memories of life and it brought him joy. To his sadness, this time seemed to last longer and longer, as Hjorta summoned him less. This particular memory was one of his favorites.
"Ouch!" Knut shouted as the small girl lost her grip around his neck and used his thick black beard to catch herself. Knut slid the girl off of his back and set her gently on the ground to face him. He rested a knee in the snow and looked the little blond girl in the eyes. He smiled at her. Those piercing blue eyes got her out of so much trouble. Knut didn't mind though. He wanted to give the girl everything. All they had was each other, and as far as Knut was concerned, that's all they needed. The girl smiled and Knut dusted the snow off the girl's cloak. "You should be more careful Hjorta."
"I have you Uncle! You are the greatest warrior in all of this area!" Knut responded with a grin before pushing the girl onto her back. He laughed as she sank into the mountain snow. "Hey!" She shouted tossing snow at Knut, getting it stuck in his beard.
"I might not always be here to guide and protect you, little one," Knut said, scooping up the girl and throwing her over his shoulder. She giggled again and tugged on the ends of his hair.
"Yes you will Uncle," she said, going limp over his shoulder. Knut only shook his head as he scanned the mountain side.
"We are getting close," Knut said as he trudged through the snow covered path. They were heading the city of Reykjavík to hold a moot. Hjorta had used magic to kill the man who had enslaved her. Power that great has never been seen in the area, and the jarl demanded that a moot be held to discuss what to do with the girl. Knut hoped for the best. Hjorta wasn't even ten yet. What ever power she had, if anyone could help her control and understand it, it was the witches known as the seidr.
"Why do we have to go anyway? We can just run away and not come back" Hjorta said.
"Because it is the right thing to do. We must respect the moot."
"I bet the jarl is fat!"
"What if he is? Do you think he will eat you!?" Knut laughed then poked at Hjorta's causing her to squirm and laugh.
" Hjorta fell silent a moment before speaking again. "Uncle, what is that?"
Knut turned to see what she spoke of. "Ahh, that is a mound. A place for the dead."
"Can we go in there?" Hjorta asked with excitement.
"No", Knut interjected. Hjorta let out an annoyed groan. The man could almost hear her ask why in his head. He set her down once more and looked her in the eyes. "This is a place for the dead. The living can only place gifts at the entrance and enter to bring more dead in. There could be dragr wights in there. It is too dangerous to explore."
"Will we become draugr wights?" Hjorta asked.
"No", he said. "Those creatures in there are not what they once were. They are just a part of self that could not move on. They have a madness about them because they are stuck in their bodies forever. As long as you keep your heart about you, this will not happen to you."
"Do you promise?" The little girl asked. The large man responded with a nod, causing Hjorta to smile and give him a hug.
To Knut's agony, the vision of memory faded as he materialized into his worg form. It was some time since Hjorta had last summoned him, and he was concerned. When he looked around and finally found her, she was standing in a clearing of the forest. She must have been standing there in that spot for a while, as all the plants within the area were withered and dead. She just stood there making incoherent noises. Knut sniffed the air cautiously. Something seemed off. His connect to her was stretched thin and he began to worry.
"Hjorta?" Knut growled, sniffing the air again. He could smell a change on her, and he didn't like it. She stood there, back facing him. "Hjorta?" He repeated. The wight turned to face him, her flaming eyes more feral and maddened then ever. It made Knut's heart drop. He had coerced her into killing that child to force Fearghas into killing Hjorta. In doing so, he had helped create this monster that stood before him. Hjorta hissed at Knut. "Hjorta, it is me... Your uncle."
Hjorta growled and showed her teeth. Knut could see that there wasn't much left of that little girl he had loved as a daughter. She twitched and jerked, her bones popped and crunched with each unnatural movement. He could barely contain his sadness and regret as the wight stepped at him. "You have life!" She shouted. "I want your warmth!" Hjorta lunged at Knut grabbing him by the snout. He could feel the death in her icy clutch. He could feel her drawing his life from him.
"Hjorta!" Knut shouted. "Please! Come back to me! I am part of you!" The wight did not listen. Knut could feel the weakness setting in. He dared not fight it, he dared not attack her. He simply laid down and let her suck the life from him. He thought of that little blond girl she used to be. He remembered every moment from his life, both as a man and a wolf. From that cold morning he rescued her from the man who enslaved her to the long nights in mist camp lounging about with Hjorta and her sisters. He remembered it all as his life faded. He accepted it. He accepted that he had his part in making Hjorta who she was now. He was ready to accept his punishment and his fate. As the mighty warrior, made into a mighty beast began to slip into the void, so too did the last bit of Hjorta's humanity.
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