Stories Of Zoltah

Thor

A vast, cavernous space, riddled with tunnels intertwined in an elaborate labyrinth lay dark and haunted, dwindling flames from tilted torches flickering and casting distorted shadows against the cold, damp walls. All around, wooden carts laden with glowing lumps of coal the size of small boulders, lay abandoned upon their rusted rail tracks, with iron picks and shovels left resting nondescriptly upon the rocky ground; while glistening stalactites formed from dew and gold, dangled from crevices set on high, their sharpened tips pointed menacingly towards the ground far below. A distant groaning echoed somewhere afar off in the underground cave, occasionally enunciated by an echoing drip coming from the tunnels. Svartalfheim, the frozen mountain where the Asgardian dwarves made their abode, was located in the far North beyond Valhalla and the surrounding Dark Forest, past the dragon's den and ahead of the quickening sands. It consisted of a series of mineshafts and forges running deep underground, all alight with the sound and noise of raucous commotion; As day after day, night after night, these skilled artificers toiled the time away by casting and smelting an array of weapons and artefacts. And yet when Thor, son of Odin, made his way finally out of the treacherous, glacial path which snaked up through the surrounding forest towards the entrance, a loud silence hung over the atmosphere.

Clad in a leather tunic stretched to its limits by a bulging, muscular frame and chiselled arms, he wore matching leather trousers and high, fleeced boots. With glaring, sapphire-blue eyes set beneath braided red hair with shaved sides and a scarred forehead - where his younger sister Freyya had nearly blinded him with a gleaming axe, Thor marched across the frost-bitten clearing with a battle-worn face. A thick, flaming red beard covered his angular, cheek-boned face, while the howling wind ruffled the fleece of his dense scarf, woven from the wool of a primordial ram. Up ahead, the heavy wrought-iron door bolted into the face of the mountain lay swung open and nearly dangling off its hinges. Sliding his eyes from one side of the mountain to the next, Thor drew to a slow halt, as he reached for the extensive, double-edged sword sheathed onto his back. The blood-stained weapon, with an oaken hilt fashioned from the last Urr tree, and blade forged from ironglass, resonated with a vibrating charge, forcing Thor to grip it even tighter. Suddenly, a pained groan carried through the air, emanating from the blackened space within the entranceway to the mountain and sweeping across the clearing. Wasting no time, Thor broke into a run, his every step sinking into the snow below. Then, without warning, the sword swung to the side, dragging him along with it to the edge of the clearing.

"Fate and fury!" he roared as he soared through the air, his knuckles whitening from holding onto the hilt. With a loud crunch, he crashed into the snow, while the sword lay flat, juddering along the ground despite his colossal grip. "That is the last time I accept a weapon from Loki!" he complained to himself bitterly. Loki, his younger brother and notorious trickster, had offered the sword as a gift to Thor upon his naming day, and despite Loki's past antics, Thor had taken it assuming he finally meant well. How wrong he was. As soon as he rose to the ground and took a step forward, the sword, sensing progress, shot backwards through the air – this time only managing to drag the burly Asgardian along the ground; he quickly swirled round and dropped to his knees and with all his might, pulled back on the hilt.

"Save me!" a faint cry carried from the open entranceway. But Thor himself, needing saving, was dragging and heaving to a gradual halt through the ice. The sword had finally brought him to the edge of the clearing, where he faced the treacherous drop into the forest down below; an enchanted forest in which he had encountered a pack of enormous wolves.

"You will not take me with you!" he shouted and finally released the sword which immediately shot off into the clear blue sky, streaking in the direction of the sun. Wasting no time and panting for breath, Thor rose to his feet and waddled hastily through the thick snow.