He was gigantic.
The 7'0 monster of a man towered over her, even though he was sitting. Bright cyan eyes gazed down at her unreadably.
He gestured with his large fingers for her to come closer. She'd anxiously waddle up to him.
His bare chest was o...
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Life was losing its meaning.
He made sure the next generation was better than the last. Each child was thrilled to learn how to hunt under the God of the Hunt's wing. They offered him feasts, gifted him their beautiful crafts, and invented nursery rhymes that were retold for years to come.
But, as time passed, The God of the Hunt lost the thrill of life.
He watched hundreds of people die over his entire lifetime, watching the hierarchy cycle through different leaders. The people he knew best suddenly became old and forgetful.
While Ullr stayed young and strong.
Thousands of years ago, Ullr belonged to a clan known as Skjǫldungs. They were famed across the land for their strength and sly battle tactics. They were unstoppable.
They were a clan of Shapeshifting Vikings.
Ullr could recount hundreds of stories of him and his brothers beheading vampires and witches. It was his people who brought those monsters to extinction. Some vampires and witches were too strong to kill, so they did the next best thing.
They cast them away into artifacts.
Now, Ullr was the last shapeshifter standing. As time passed, they all died one by one. He often shook his fist at Odin, swearing him to Hel and back.
In recent years, Ullr has distanced himself from his believers. All of his close human friends are too old to remember or dead, so no one knows why he did it. He was left alone in the wilderness.
But their worship never came to an end.
Treading through the woods, Ullr loosely held his bow. It was inscribed with ancient Nordic texts, sacred texts meant to bring good luck to the hunter. When he first became the God of the Hunt, tribesmen wrote text on his bow to bring him luck.
He wore a bison pelt over his shoulders, a tunic made of dense pelts, and trousers wrapped with two leather belts.
Usually, he would ensure his steps were silent and deadly, but his posture slumped, and his eyes were heavy.
He was hunting but didn't have the joy left to hunt.
Suddenly, he perked at the sound of humming. It was delicate and tender, humming a beautiful lullaby that comforted his heart.
While wandering through the forest, he stepped into a small clearing. Willow trees hung over it, casting small shadows, and the sun beaming through the leaves. The soft grass was emerald, and small wildflowers littered it.
In the middle of the clearing sat an ethereal being that made his head spin.
It was like looking at nature's most beautiful flower—like it had just sprouted, facing the sun and shimmering under its gentle gaze.
