Norse Dreads Novels & Stories

As the door to her chamber swung open, the scene that unfolded before her eyes both exceeded and fell short of Lenore's expectations. Lenore was nestled in a seated position, legs folded neatly like a pretzel, a phrase Noah often used. Her attire consisted of loose-fitting sweatpants and a whimsical Scottish pub t-shirt, proudly displaying the emblem of The Wolf and Lamb. The vibrant green hue of the shirt evoked a sense of Scotland within her. How curious it was that a color could evoke such vivid associations.

one of the men mused, his foot braced on a veritable boulder which appeared tiny compared to his bulk. Beyla swallowed. His ice-blue eyes showed an interest she had not anticipated, having been sheltered from that kind of thing all her life. “And what is it wearing? Were you shipwrecked, my beauty?” another man asked, his broad chest wet from swimming. She recovered sufficiently to say, “Unlike you, you mean?” to general laughter. “It speaks Norse!” yet another member of the group cried. “Show some respect.” Njord had stopped what he was doing and was now standing close to the quivering, yet thankfully still-clothed, girl. “That’s Beyla, the Jarl’s daughter. He’ll have your heads if you touc

Her cold breath brushed against my cheeks while she whispered, “This will hurt!” Her mouth opened wide, showing rows and rows of knife-sharp canines. Several jaws, piranha, snake, and monster were all I managed to think of before she jolted forward, and they all pierced my skin. Like a chainsaw ripping my skin, knives piercing my flesh, the last thing I felt was her ice-cold tongue brush over my throbbing skin as her jaws bit down even further. -- The Norns were the Norse goddesses of fate, represented by three sisters named Urd, Verdandi, and Skuld. They lived underneath the world tree and wove the tapestry of fate.

It would be foolish to risk him having a clue and shutting up. “We have always been there. Ever since good has existed, there has also been evil. Edimmu, Jiang Shi, Ghoul. We were called Draugr in the Nordic countries. They have called us different things through time, but we are the same and with the sole purpose of creating fear in people so that they appreciate the good and correct. Some of us, however, have been just a bit theatrical, Lamia and Lillith, for example”. "What has that got to do with the pact ?"

"I'm Ragnar, son of the dwarves of Mistril Mountain." Dwarves? He didn't look like any dwarf I knew of. I guess I didn't have any true frame of reference for a dwarf in person, but he certainly didn't seem to fit the bill. I might have been closed minded though, because the only thing that seemed not so dwarf-like was his stature. His hair hung in a long brown and gray braid, and his beard was accented with silver charms and small braids. Ragnar had a collection of axes and daggers hung about his person, and was dressed in what looked like armor made of leather and steel.

"Images. Feelings. I don't know if they're real or dreams." "Tell me." He was quiet for a moment, staring into the fire. "Fjords. Huge cliffs of rock, with water so deep it looks black. Long ships with dragon heads on the front. And snow—endless snow, covering everything." "North Star lands," I said. "Your home." "Maybe." He frowned. "And I see faces. A man with a beard and one eye—he's laughing. A woman with hair like fire—she's singing. And a boy..." He trailed off.

The Alpha of the Norway pack had two sons and when the eldest took over the pack, the youngest ventured out with some of his most loyal and started his pack here. Alpha Einarr was more than happy to share all the information he had with us. The Alpha that started our pack was called Styrmir but he left that name behind and chose Tenebrous when he settled here. For a while, he kept in contact with the Norway pack but eventually, all communication stopped. By then the pack had become Ravenfield and from there, our pack grew. He was indeed a black wolf, as all wolves originally were, according to their legends. All wolves come from the first wolf, Fenrir and his children Skoll and Hati. That's

until the black wolf at the centre of it all shifted. Bones cracked, fur receded, and a towering man stood where the beast had been. His hair was dark as pitch, his build monstrous, muscles coiled with unnatural power. Around his neck hung a black jade pendant carved with jagged symbols that seemed to drink the light. His violet eyes swept the arena like a predator measuring the size of its prey. “I am the Dreadlord,” he announced, voice echoing with layered resonance, as though more than one being spoke at once. “You may call me nothing else.”

“There’s more to the story though, much more. I would encourage you to visit my bookstore soon so we can discuss in detail.” “You see,” Mr. Pendergast added, “I need your assistance, Mr. Haraldsson. My daughter’s life may depend on it.” Bjorn, befuddled, swung his eyes from one man to the other. Mr. Rosewood then added, “Mr. Haraldsson, you come from a long line of Vikings, famous Nordic warriors of old. They lived at a time when people believed in magic, powerful gods, and dangerous monsters. Nearly every Viking was a fierce warrior. The question before us is, are you a warrior as well?”

He has pair of icy-blue iris, an oval face, a sharp nose, and dazzling silver hair that charms everyone including Nora who was long-waiting for him to respond and accept her to be his mate. The ears Nora turned red in blushing to hear all the talking of other female dragons towards her room. One female exclaimed, “My hero has arrived” “Oh…Look my prince-charming is carrying our leader in his arms.” “Lovely….She must be lucky to be in his arms.” “I want to die…I want to be born as Nora…So I can be in his arms.” “I want to be born as air. So I can grace him, hoo.” “No one is equal to our leader. Only she deserves to be around him.”