Hunting was one of the most favored sports among the gods. Nothing delighted them more than the drama of the hunt and the demonstration of a god’s superior skill. Hridvaldyr was considered the mightiest hunter among the gods: his ability to track, chase, and kill was unrivaled. He often went out in search of large and fantastic prey like monstrous bears or elk with towering horns, preferring a heart-pounding encounter to the collection of food, so it was no surprise when on a slow afternoon, he invited some friends to hunt with him in a nearby forest.
While some might prefer to slowly and quietly track their prey, Hridvaldyr and his friends stirred up a mighty racket as they crashed through the undergrowth, looking to rouse anything that was dangerous enough to provide a thrill. As they cut through the branches, Hridvaldyr noticed a bush rustling up ahead. A second later, a tusk poked through.
“A wild boar!” he cried, lifting up his spear. “At arms, men!”
The hunters drew their weapons and rushed towards the boar, causing it to roar in dismay and tear out of the bush, legs pounding angrily against the moist ground. Hridvaldyr sprang to the front and lead the group through the trees, looking for a moment of hesitation from the boar. They gave intense chase, but the boar was fast, and soon the men became tired. They chased the boar into a clearing, where a startling sight lead them to forget the animal entirely.
In the middle of the clearing was a bright green spear that stood upright, wrapped entirely in leaves and vines. The sun shining down on it gave it an ethereal glow. It appeared to be growing straight out of the ground, a product of nature itself. The men stood in awe, but Hridvaldyr walked right up and plucked it from the ground. He turned it over gently in his hands, admiring the intricate leaves and flowers that encircled the spear in a regal manner. He raised it to his shoulder, aimed at a nearby oak tree, and hurled it. It struck with a mighty CRACK, sending a tremor through the entire tree. Branches snapped and fell away as the core of the tree shook. Thick cracks spread through the trunk from the point at which the spear had torn into it. With a decisive snap, the oak split in half, thudding to the ground as the leaves swished and swayed with the force of the fall.
The men were astounded at the strength, speed, and grace of the spear. They crowded around Hridvaldyr and begged to try it. Each hunter was given a chance to handle it.
“It is so powerful!” they cried. “So light!” “So quick!” After everyone had tested it, an odd silence settled among the hunters. One shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “So,” he said, “who gets to keep it?”
A shouting match broke out in the group as everyone claimed the spear for themselves. The forest rang with cries and explanations as to why each hunter was the best.
“ENOUGH!” boomed Hridvaldyr. “We will bring the spear to town and hold a tournament. The winner of the tournament will receive the spear as his prize.”
The group mumbled its agreement and carefully carried the spear back to town.
Upon their return, Hridvaldyr called all of the gods to the town square. He explained the situation and flaunted the spear, over which the other gods cooed like small children. No one knew why it was in the forest or where it had come from, but all agreed that it was a magical object of the highest quality. A hunting tournament was scheduled for the following week.
On the day of the tournament, Hridvaldyr and the other gods lined up on the outskirts of the forest. Many of the other gods were also said to be legendary hunters. Each hunter was to be given the spear and could choose one animal to hunt and successfully bring back. The spear must be used to bring down the animal; all other weapons and tools were to be submitted to the officiant. The one with the largest and most impressive kill would be proclaimed the winner. Hridvaldyr requested to go last, preferring to see what he was up against.
One by one, the other gods tore into the forest, looking for the perfect kill. One brought back an elk with antlers nearly as large as its body; another brought back the boar that Hridvaldyr’s group had so desperately chased. Still, Hridvaldyr remained unfazed. As the spear was handed to him, he allowed himself a small smile before he slipped into the trees.
As he stood behind a bush, Hridvaldyr gently stroked the spear, feeling the life coursing within it. He knew that its power would enable him to make the greatest catch of his life. Just as this thought crossed his mind, a massive brown bear lumbered into his view. The bear’s paws were the size of wagon wheels, its teeth as sharp as daggers. It lumbered lazily through the undergrowth, looking for a meal. From what Hridvaldyr could see, the bear had a lot of fat on its bones, meaning that it wouldn’t be useful as food. Still, he couldn’t resist the allure of something so big and dangerous. Bears in these woods had a reputation for being mean, and more than once they had chased away Hridvaldyr’s prey. Taking this one out would give him the chance to both win the contest and enact vengeance.
Hridvaldyr carefully took aim, setting his sights on the bear’s heart. With a cry, he sent the spear singing through the air. It handily struck its target, the bear roaring as he fell to the ground. The forest shook as his huge body crashed into the dirt.
Tucking the spear under his arm, Hridvaldyr grasped the dead bear by one of its paws and dragged it back to the outskirts of the forest. As he emerged from the trees with his kill in hand, a cheer went through the crowd. Even though the bear was long dead, the officiant of the tournament trembled a little as he approached it. He opened its mouth and measured it from head to toe as the crowd held its breath. The bear was easily twice the size of anything that the other gods had taken down, and its claws and teeth were still incredibly sharp. After taking a few notes in his notebook and comparing it to the other gods’ prey, the officiant pronounced Hridvaldyr the mightiest hunter among the gods for securing the most impressive kill. The other participants looked on in spite as Hridvaldyr accepted his spear, grinning at the thought of future adventures with such a mighty weapon.
As Hridvaldyr grasped the spear around its pole, a bright flash emerged from it. Clouds gathered overhead, and thunder rolled in the distance. The trees of the forest shook with a great wind. A bright shock like lightning went through Hrivaldyr’s body, sizzling his fingertips and making his hair stand on end. Electricity surged through every part of his body, causing him to double over in pain as everything inside of him shriveled up. After the light retreated, standing where Hridvaldyr had been was a gray wolf. The spear fell to the ground with a crash.
The crowd gasped in confusion and dismay. The wolf looked first at the crowd of gods, then at himself; fear sparkled in his eyes. Just as the crowd was about to approach him, the bright shock struck again. Hridvaldyr appeared once more, the spear jumping of its own accord and forcing its way into his hand. Thick brown vines curled out of the spear and wrapped themselves around his wrist.
“What is the meaning of this?!” the officiant cried. The other gods drew closer, examining the dumbstruck Hridvaldyr and his spear. Upon closer inspection, the spear’s flowers were withered and its vines brown. Its once-strong branches housed tufts of white mold. A piece of the pointed edge crumbled off, turning into dust before it reached the ground.
A woman spoke from the crowd. “The spear has become corrupted! It was not meant to be used to kill for sport. Now Hridvaldyr is bound to it for eternity, corrupted into a wolf by its natural power. He must hunt to stay alive. While his senses may be sharpened, his power to kill for thrill is gone.”
The other gods gasped as the woman drew away into the shadows, fleeing the scene.
Others backed away in terror as the brown vines continued to spread up Hridvaldyr’s arm, finally coming to rest at his shoulder. His nose took on a more snout-like quality, and his eyes narrowed until they gleamed with a wolf’s instincts. He stepped towards one of other gods, a friend that had accompanied him when they found the spear.
“My friend! It is still I,” he rumbled, extending his other hand towards the hunter.
The god recoiled in shock, a look of horror on his face. “Do not touch me, fiend!” he cried, tripping over his own feet as he tried to back away. “You are not the man you were before.”
Hridvaldyr looked desperately at the crowd, trying to find someone who would show him compassion and understanding, but his fellow gods showed no mercy. Many fled while others could only look on, fear clouding their eyes. Hridvaldyr hung his head in shame. It seemed that because of his transformation, he was no longer welcome in this town.
All at once, he transformed again into a wolf and took off running. Where he was going, he did not know; his goal was simply to get away from the town. He tore through the forest, the spear laced to his back with those same strangling brown vines. Several times, he tried to shake it off or claw it away from him, but the vines held firm. He ran for seven days without stopping, his only companions the trees and the small animals that fled at the sight of his matted fur and wild eyes.
On the eighth day, he slowed, finding himself in a forest deeper and darker than any he had ever seen. He had landed in the eastern forests, where no birds sang and no sunlight filtered through the trees. The plants were twisted, their leaves brown and their roots treacherous on the choppy ground. Glowing eyes seemed to lurk behind every bush.
Hridvaldyr was frightened, but he hid his fear by doing the thing he knew best: hunting. Day and night he hunted, trying to once again take pleasure in the act of pursuing and overtaking prey, but it brought him no joy. Eventually, he stopped hunting for pleasure and only ventured out from his makeshift home within a large rock when he needed food. The more he hunted, the more difficult he found it to transform back into a human; he could no longer tell the difference between himself and the animal, the animal that killed only to eat and spent the rest of its time huddled in a small crevice within the rock. It was a dark and solitary life.
Every day, he thought back to his life in the village. He wondered what had become of his house full of skins and trophies won from hunting competitions. Now he had only his den full of bones to shelter him. The skins and trophies were made from boars, elk, and bears; the bones were those of rabbits and foxes. He wondered if the other gods still thought of him. He thought of them and wondered what they were saying and doing, but never thought of what they were hunting. What became of his old hunting buddies, he did not know.
The spear remained with him always, bound to him for the rest of his natural life, though because of the grief it brought him, he never used it. They say his godstone is the very place where he once lived, though few ever make the long trek out to see it; even after death, he remains isolated. If you look deeply into its carved eyes, you can still see some of the grief and fear that plagued the mighty hunter Hridvaldyr.
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