Inception of the end times

It began like all the seers and stories foretold it so long ago - with a winter that would last three years. A winter so harsh and cold, that all the warmth of the sun could not pierce the icy winds and blizzards. The crops would wither, creatures would die and men would starve until they are but skin and bone, driven to madness by their hunger, so that brother will kill brother and father his son.

Nothing could have prepared the realm of men for the end of the world and the thing that was supposed to save them, in their most desperate hour, betrayed it's holder.

Just before it all began, the great Forger of Destiny did exactly what it was meant to do during the Twilight of the Gods - nothing. And nothing it did, except it trapped Yrsa within it's realm and while Ragnarök played out, she underwent her own, personal hell.

Forlǫgslá wasn't just a hammer, it was a sentient creature and it did not bow to just anyone. Like Mjöllnir, you had to be worthy and prove it, but this was a different kind of worthy. You had to be broken, alone and without anything else left to lose. And, you might wonder, what could a goddess with plenty of lifetimes under her belt lose? Everything.

Yrsa was sleeping peacefully, the light of the fire danced across her face, making her look warm and gentle, despite the many scars across her skin.

It was silent, except for the howling of the wind outside and peaceful crackling of burning logs. The house was empty and lonely, as Skadi and Dàinn left to hunt. Skadi sensed Fimbulvetr coming, because she no longer had power over the blizzards and winds. She knew it was time but she didn't tell Yrsa yet, because she didn't want to upset her until she was completely sure. They had a good thing going on and a new companion. She didn't want to be the one to ruin it as she had ruined so many things before, or at least that's what she thought.

Dàinn had warmed up to the two of them and seemed to develop strange abilities under the influence and tutoring of Yrsa. He had a raw and untouched magical source within him. Yrsa guessed it was due to his lineage, but it was unlike anything she'd seen in other elves. His talent seemed to be necromancy of small creatures and growth magic. Very useful and extremely rare among the elven crowd. He was lucky to have ended up in Midgard, otherwise he would've worked as a Foldvinr, a landmaster, for the rest of his life.

Next to the wall upon which all their weapons were hung, there was the Forlǫgslá, giving off a radiating glow. All the colours of the rainbow swirled in the gem and the head of the hammer. It levitated towards Yrsa and fell next to her with a loud thud.

It woke her from the peaceful nap she was having, and she touched the bottom, wanting to pick it up. In an instant, she vanished into thin air and the hammer was now an old, almost hollow piece of wood. The gem was a lump of coal and the head a rusty, uneven iron bar. The fire died out and it became cold.

In fact, it became unnaturally cold. The wind carried shards of ice as small as sand through even the smallest gaps under the door and between the walls, and it covered every surface it touched, because the carrier of the spirit of Yggdrasil was gone and the protection from both her soul and the fire disappeared into another realm, leaving Midgard exposed and vulnerable, ready to fall under the Great Winter.