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The Authorized Version goes like this, supported by the Oracle. From the meeting of Order and Chaos there came a giant being called Ymir, the father of the Ice Folk, and a cow, Audhumla, which licked at the salt that was in the ice and brought out the first man, Buri. From this I think we can all conclude that the cow was the primary instigator of everything that followed — War, Tribulation, the End of the Worlds. Lesson One: Never trust a ruminant.
Suffice it to say at this point: Never trust an oracle. And never trust a wise man to do the work of a felon.
Work. Like pain, I sensed that this was an experience I would want to avoid as often as possible.
Clever folk aren’t popular, by and large. They arouse suspicion. They don’t fit in.
Well, don’t blame me for being attractive. Demons are, for the most part. Besides, it wasn’t as if the competition was especially tough. Sweaty, hairy warlords with no polish and no address, whose idea of a good time was to kill a few giants, wrestle a snake, and then eat an ox and six suckling pigs without even taking a shower first, whilst belching a popular folk song. Of course the ladies gave me the eye. A bad boy is always appealing, and I’d always had a silver tongue.
Funny, how the things we say come back to bite us, like rabid dogs we once made the mistake of feeding.
Rumours of an impending war, omens in the winter sky, nightmares, sudden deaths, ominous flights of migratory birds — all premonitions of bad things to come for Mankind and the Middle Worlds.
