The Emerald Minstrel – An Origin Story

Evo opened his eyes, tears flowing freely as he clutched his chest. He had just relived the worst day of his life. He hadn’t thought of it in centuries, but it felt like it had just happened.

“Thank you for trusting me.” The Minstrel said. His ethereal tones echoed genuine sympathy within Evo’s mind, the music he played mirrored it perfectly.

“I don’t know what trust had to do with it.” Evo replied, choking up a bit. “Once I closed my eyes, it was like being on a boat in the middle of a fast-flowing river. I was but a passenger to your magic.”

“My magic is powerful, but I don’t force these things.” The Minstrel’s vacant eye sockets had locked with Evo’s bloodshot eyes; it sent a shiver down his spine. They had been friends for centuries; Evo was one of the few who could hear his words, and he had never once lied to him.

That thought, and a dire need for distraction led him to say. “I think it's your turn now.”

The Minstrel changed his tune to something Evo didn’t recognize. It was solemn and achingly beautiful. It was a full minute before he finally spoke.

“That seems fair. Please, close your eyes. It’s a bit of a journey.”

Alone on the top of a low mountain, open grasslands spanning endlessly at its feet, lay a withering corpse. A Wisp of intelligence floated above it; tethered. The Wisp knew he had once been alive and that the body rotting in the elements was his.

Yet, he had no memories of life before finding himself in his current state. In addition to the indignance of being stuck between worlds, he could tell his demise had been the result of an altercation that hadn’t gone his way.… axe-blades seldom grew from human skulls on their own.

There was one small consolation though… there was always music. He could not tell its origin, only that it haunted him in a much gentler way than he haunted his corpse.

Eventually, he was found. A woman and 2 small girls cried over his remains. Their clothing matched those upon his body, and they undoubtedly knew him.

He deeply wished he could cry with them, or even feel a drop of their grief. Truthfully, all he could manage was gratitude for the change in scenery as they wrapped him up and took him down the mountain path.

The next day, they traveled with his body, stopping at a bog just as the sun was setting. The music had followed him, and he wondered if his companions could hear it too, but they gave no sign of it.

The youngest girl cried fat tears as they strapped stones to his corpse, stashing a small musical instrument in his pocket beneath the wrappings. The music grew louder, and he yearned for the ability to touch it. Having no physical form to govern, his longing remained unsatisfied.

They spoke some final words as they lay him within the muck. As his remains sank beneath the surface, he felt himself drawn down too… all went dark and peaceful around him.

Except for the music. That never left.

His peace felt like centuries, but there was no way of telling for sure.

“Minstrel. It is time.” The voice was female. It sounded large as if resonating from a broad and powerful chest.

The music? Gone.

He rose. It was a slow and torturous thing, dragging himself to the shore with limbs that had long since ceased working… but he made it, standing tall beneath the glow of a sturgeon moon and radiant auroras dancing in the night sky. Their flickering light cascaded from his ribs.

He looked at his hands; despite appearing skeletal, they shone with the emerald hue of life. With a gut-wrenching sense of yearning, he pulled the instrument from his pocket, its glow as verdantly vibrant as his hands.

He did not know how to use it.

“Not yet.” The voice spoke again; he turned to face it. “You have a journey to complete first.”

Before him stood 3 Jötunn; female, gray-headed, and aged, yet every one of them was a beauty to behold. He recognized them almost instantly, three of the most powerful maiden giantesses to ever live. The very beings whose arrival from Jötunheimr ended the golden age of the gods who enjoyed toying with the lives of mere mortals such as himself.

He tried to speak, then remembered his tongue had been the first thing devoured upon his death.

“Use your mind, Minstrel.” One said, seemingly distracted with some weaving in her hands.

“You are the Norns?” he spoke in his mind. No words left his mouth, but they heard him all the same and nodded with smiles enhancing their ethereal beauty.

“You got that quickly. Well done!”

He felt genuinely flattered by the compliment and averted his eyes to stare at his feet. It made him jump to see the bog he’d risen from had vanished; all notions of modesty and pleasure were replaced with awe and fear. Beneath his feet lay a wooden path of thickly veined bark that stretched ahead endlessly, as though it had been stripped from a single tree. Its width was vast and seemed to have a distant horizon on either end as if it had been raised from the ground. He saw no lands beyond those horizons, just an open sky, auroras, and a gentle drizzle of snowflakes drifting down lazily; disappearing as they went.

He looked behind him, hoping to see some trace of his grave and the marshy waters that had provided him with peace. Instead, he saw what looked like a wall made of the same bark as the path. He laid a hand on it, his vacant eyes stretching the little skin remaining to them widely. He felt life within - ancient, colossal, and eternal; vibrating a sense of calm sentience he found mildly disconcerting.

“Am I…” he began, not sure enough of himself to continue.

“On Yggdrasil?” One of the Norns finished his question for him. “Yes. You are standing on a branch of the World Tree. We’re quite high up as well.”

His heart raced so fast it pained within him. He could only spare a moment for the significance of having a heart that beat at all. The very magnitude of where he stood was threatening to overwhelm him.

What he mistook for a simple path made of bark was the smallest iota of the very binding force that held the 9 realms... that joined the Cosmos and all within it into a single entity. 

He dropped to his knees, now suddenly aware those horizons he noticed before were the curve of the branch itself. Both were far enough away for farmlands to stead and towns to rest comfortably, but the knowledge that beyond them was nothing but an endless abyss made him feel queasy.

“Gather yourself, Minstrel. You can't fall from here. Though I wouldn’t go too close to the edges if I were you. Your fall would be eternal.” The Norn speaking appeared to be mocking him. It worked, and he shakily found his footing. With his mind still reeling, but his breath almost steady, he raised his vacant, yet seeing, eye sockets to meet their gaze.

“To what… do I owe the pleasure… of this privilege?” he stuttered within his mind. The Norn to his left laughed.

“Sisters, he is so formal!” She said with her eyes locked firmly on him.

“He needs to find his purpose. Let him walk.” The Norn to his right replied.

The Norn that stood between them smiled. “Yes. There is only one way to go Minstrel. Walk. Come sisters, we have a Tree to tend.”

And with that, they all disappeared.

The Minstrel stood alone in total silence. He looked at the instrument in his hand. He had forgotten it was there; it had changed its shape. He tried to coax a sound from it, but all he managed was a harsh and off-key noise that made his ears hurt.

He couldn’t go backward, so instead he put one foot before the other, and then again.

As instructed, he walked.

Looking beyond the horizon seemed pointless. A dense mist and falling snow now obscured all views. He continued forward for what felt like a year. He had very little weight to lose, and never once ate or rested whilst travelling. He noticed the skin around his bones growing tighter as the months passed, and his hunger turned into an animal inside him. He had never experienced anything like it as a mortal, not even whilst fasting. The emptiness within called for sustenance, but there was nothing available. He spotted no other signs of life for him to hunt, not even insects scuttling along the branch, or within the wide cracks of the bark.

Other trees have insects…

He continued ever forward till eventually; he spotted one of the Norns in the distance. She was sitting before a fork in the branch, 2 very different paths spanning out behind her. With her hands, she was shaping clay into bricks, with several of them already laid out by her side.

“Welcome, Minstrel.” She greeted him, not raising her gaze from her work. “I am Urðr.”

The Minstrel shuddered. Urðr was the Norn most associated with the past. Perhaps she could tell him who he was, or maybe… point him toward where he could find something to eat.

He bowed before her, unable to find any words of greeting. Her power radiated from her like a tangible aura. To his great delight, feint music could be heard in the distance. It was unclear, as though it wasn’t meant for him, but it was there. It was the first time since starting his journey that he felt vaguely… satisfied.

“You are presented with a choice.” She began, still not looking directly at him as she plopped a wet brick by her feet, grabbing another handful of clay in one swift motion.

He looked to his right. In the distance, he could see a small village. Children were playing outside. He noticed one was smaller and slower than the others, relying on crutches. To his shame, his hunger stirred violently within him, his mouth salivating almost instantly.

No!

He tore his eyes away from them, hoping to suppress this unnatural urge. To his left, he saw a banquet table. Filled with a variety of foods waiting for a grand host to attend. Oddly, it did nothing for him.

Urðr continued. “You are not truly alive.” She said, pressing her thumbs into the clay. “You are undead. And this unnatural state of being often comes with the Curse of Hunger.”

“I am starving.” He said, turning his gaze back towards the playing children. There appeared to be no parents watching over them. It took all his willpower to not go after the little one in that instant.

“Which will it be, Minstrel?” She asked him. “I will leave you now… No one needs to know.”

And with that, she was gone, and the music with her. His hunger raged inside him, pulling him to the right. He had never wanted anything more. The smell was intoxicating. However, the very thought of consuming human flesh appalled him.

He closed his eyes, pulling the small instrument from his pocket. It felt so much heavier than before. He tried to recall the little girl who had cried so much as she gave it to him.

What would she think of me now?

He knew he couldn’t play it, but just holding it was enough. He stepped left, towards the table laden heavy with food that did not appeal to him at all.

It's better than the alternative!

At its center, he found a large slab of meat. It was still dripping with blood. The iron within called to him, and without hesitation he stuffed it between his teeth.

Mutton!

He devoured it. Instinctively, he knew human flesh would have tasted better, but dared not look back upon that path.

When he was done, some of his hunger had abated. He found more meat, all freshly slaughtered slabs of goat, steer, and more mutton, and consumed them till at last, he felt almost full.

Forward...

The new branch was thinner than the one before and the horizon offered a view; he could see stars and a grand expanse of black contrasting heavily against other branches in the distance and lower down the tree. The change in scenery was refreshing, and he found himself picking up the pace.

It was another year before he reached the next fork. His hunger, only temporarily satiated, remained an unpleasant constant.

A new Norn was waiting for him with a bucket of water in her hands.

“Greetings Minstrel. I trust you had a pleasant journey?” She didn’t bother to look at him either. He bowed anyway. “I am Verðandi.”

“The Norn of Today. Or the Present.” He replied. The music had returned, this time louder than before; it bolstered his confidence and soothed his soul. “Can you tell me who I was, and why I am here?”

“Yes, and yes.” She replied. She had cupped a handful of water, and blew on it, turning it to mist before it gently rested within the deepest recesses of the bark. “But I won’t. Why didn’t you ask Urðr about your past?”

“I got distracted.”

Verðandi laughed. “I bet you did.”

“Am I to make a new choice?” He asked, looking both left and right. The options appeared identical to him.

A large gathering of people sat on one end of a long table, presiding over a sole individual in a chair furnished with shackles and chains. The back of the chair was facing the Minstrel, so he couldn’t identify its occupant. On either side stood 2 guards. Just behind this chair, closest to him, stood a large bell. It was engraved with runes.

“You must ring one of the bells,” Verðandi replied matter-of-factly. “The person in the chair is guilty, and a true monster without any sort of doubt. The bell to your left will call for their execution. The bell to your right will call for imprisonment, and ultimately afford them a chance for redemption.”

Before him appeared a hammer. He bent low to pick it up, and when he rose, Verðandi had disappeared. She too, had taken the music with her.

He considered.

Execution was effective and eliminated any concerns of having to deal with the monster in the future. There were other consequences, but at least a monster would have been removed from the world entirely.

Redemption required a lot more effort, and the risks associated with any type of relapse could be disastrous…

However, it hadn’t been that long since he thought of becoming a monster himself. He could still smell the tantalizing scent of human flesh within his memories.

He wondered what would have happened if he had only been presented with one option, with no other path before him… he didn’t have to think long.

He clenched his jaw, his eyes fixed on the bell to the right, and marched over with a firm determination. He lifted the hammer high and struck it with a strength he didn’t know he possessed.

It rang. Its resonance flowed through his emaciated frame like the boon of rain on parched soil. It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. The crowd and guards disappeared, sublimating into vapor before his eyes. The shackles clinked to the floor and the prisoner stood.

It was himself, but full-bodied and alive. He smiled shyly, averted his eyes, and then dispersed into fog like the others.

The Minstrel understood what was expected of him next. Not bothering to look back, he dropped the hammer and continued forward.

I must keep walking!

The new pathway-branch was thinner than any he had walked before. He could see other worlds in the vast distance, with nebulas and stars gracing their surfaces with radiant light.

Another year, with only his hunger for company, he found the final Norn. She was weaving a large tapestry of Yggdrasil.

“You must be Skuld.” He greeted her, bowing low. She didn’t reply, deeply focused on her stitching. He knew, without knowing how, that she was the youngest of the three sisters, and represented the future.

The music that accompanied her seemed clear, and the sense of peace that flowed through its melody washed over the Minstrel. The relief from his hunger nearly brought him to his knees.

He viewed his options. Once more, they appeared identical to him. 2 figures stood on either branch and nothing else.

“2 people; one is Evil, and one is Good.” Skuld broke her silence. “To the right, you can simply pass by. No one will know which is which, and they can both continue to live with complete anonymity. To the left, as you pass you will expose them. Evil will be cursed, and Good will be blessed. And all those around them will know them for who they truly are.”

The music stopped, and he understood that Skuld had disappeared as her sisters had before. He was left alone with his hunger.

Indifference would allow Good to continue without notice but afford Evil unfettered freedom.

Exposure would protect others from Evil, minimizing its capacity for harm, but Good will be open to exploitation by lesser humans, despite the blessing.

It was another unpleasant scenario, but far easier than any he had faced thus far. It was clear which was the better option.

With a heavy heart, he stepped left. As he approached the two figures, curious to see who was Good and who was Evil, they disappeared with a spectacular flash of light… and his feet felt wet.

He was back in the bog where he had been laid to rest. The 3 Norns were looking directly at him.

“Well done!” Urðr spoke first.

“Indeed. I think you will do nicely.” Verðandi continued. “Will you play us a tune?”

He frowned slightly but pulled the instrument from his pocket. This time, he knew exactly what it was.

A Lyre!

It called to him to play, and he did. Beautiful music filled the air. The hunger that had never truly left him disappeared completely, and he felt true peace for the first since taking Wisp form.

He closed his eyes and felt the instrument change into a bow harp. Despite this, the flow of his music continued without interruption.

His mind had been filled with knowledge, every instrument and every melody ever created, was now at his beck and call. He swapped between tunes and instruments effortlessly. Each one was more beautiful than the last. Tears stung his eyes and dripped between his teeth.

“We recommend that you never stop… unless you want your hunger to consume you and those around you.” Skuld warned.

He nodded, understanding that it was the only thing that could ever satisfy him.

With a firm finality, they chorused in unison. “We have a job for you!”