Nordic Compass Tattoo Novels & Stories

A date, 12-08-1994, was etched beneath the wolf's heart. Other than that, I saw a vividly drawn skull. A large knife was plunged through the top of the skull and cracks on the skull were shown around it. In capital letters ‘FEAR NO ONE’ was scrawled around the knife’s blade. In the very center of his back, a large wolf’s head with a majestic crown sitting on top of it was inked into his skin. Beneath it, a map of the North was drawn. On the left side of his back, I saw a compass tattoo.

His hand stops ruffling his hair and he says, "What, Heeriye?" "I… um… your tattoo. I mean, I want to ask, ``what does it represent on your body?" He frowns lightly and then eyes his hip, which contains the tail of the scorpion tattoo. "And also the direction on your arm," I add, pointing there. He raises up his eyes to meet mine. The look softens as it was emotionless when he was looking at his tattoos. "The direction on my arm indicates my decisions…" he walks closer and shows me his arm. I zero in on his arm and find the aesthetic compass is showing north only.

The four types of tattoos were the Alpha tattoo, the Beta tattoo, the Zeta tattoo, and the member tattoo. My tattoo had seven moons at the top of my back with two versions of the Helm of Awe on each shoulder blade. In the middle of my back was Yggdrasil, the tree of life with a wolf head coming out of the roots. Finally, below the wolf and running down my spine was my name in Old Norse. In the middle of Yggdrasil’s branches, the Alpha sign of our pack was cleverly blended in.

Harken just narrows his eyes, fed up with the night’s events as is, but lifts his shirt to rip it over his head, revealing the large mixed tribal and Celtic style tattoo that runs from his left wrist up his arm and to his chest, the intricate symbol of the Lewis tribe crest in the middle of his breast, and the large head of a wolf covering his shoulder, winding and thick brushed tribal designs covering the skin around them. “Guess again, asshole. If you’re so familiar with their markings, you probably know what my ink means.” Harken glares down at Karl, watching as the kids’ wide eyes wander over the tattoo, his fingers gripping his forearms. “Well, w-what’s that one then?” Karl asks and poi

She was shy away and hid her in my chest. I placed her in a hot shower, pressing her back to me and kissed her neck. I was stunned when I opened my eyes. There was an old Italian tribal tattoo on her neck. What is it doing here? It was an arrow design with a crown holding double letter A. It was a symbol of the deity of death.

“Oh my Goddess, yes, we so should.” Otto wanted to run his hand down his face, as his friends would. He doubted that he would be the last wolf to have wondered what had happened to Nora since no one had heard from her. He had a tattoo on his right shoulder, a Moon Lotus flower. He had it done two years after he couldn’t find her; he had noticed she used to draw them in the margin of her notebooks. He asked her once what it was for she told him it was a pack tradtion it was to allow the Goddess to see that these who marked their work with is to see that they had learned her teachings. He had it done to show the Goddess he had learned from his mistakes and the pain that he had caused. Instead,

His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and Janet noticed the ink on his wrist, which stretched upward and vanished behind his shirt as he raised his hands in surrender. Her eyes traced the intricate details of his tattoo, starting with a black rose blooming from his wrist. As her gaze moved along, she noticed the date 19.08.16 etched underneath. Her focus then shifted to the clock above the rose, frozen at eight, before finally resting on the compass.

The eyes of the wolf glow with white ink, glowing faintly under the overhead light. Scars…deep, long and old–slash through parts of it, like he earned both the ink and the pain layered underneath. I am staring too much and I force myself to look away. And immediately regret it. Because my eyes land on Nico. He's lifting weight, tattoos on full display, biceps bulging with each curl. His sweatpants ride low on his hips, teasing the dangerous V-line. His tattoo is sprawled across the left side of his chest, creeping down his ribs and disappearing into his pants. And another, a burning rose, thorns curling into flames that occupied his left arm and hand is rendered in dark, smoky ink.

Magnus glanced at it and shrugged. “It’s just a Norse symbol. When I did it, I thought it looked quite cool. Matched the penningar… I mean, the Norse coin I’ve had for years.” Without thinking of what it might do to either of them, she reached out and touched the tattoo on the left side of his chest. “It’s a Norse symbol alright. And it’s Loki,” she told him. Her hand slipped from his body until his hand reached out and caught it. “Loki is the blood-brother of… Odin,” she continued after swallowing hard.

I wasn’t going to get one, even though I knew exactly what I wanted. I saw a picture a while ago, a compass, it wasn’t a solid one, it was some sort of Celtic drawing, swirling around in a square. In the center of the square was a cross, with the N, for North, at the top. The caption spoke to me, “don’t look back, you’re not going that way,” something to help me remember not to look back at the past and let it define me. I didn’t want what my stepfather and stepbrother had done to me, to define how I live my life. The bruises fade, the hair grows back, and the bones heal. I was still alive, and I needed to live my life.