Scenario:Thorgal
Create my version of this story
I was born on a starlit night.
My mother was a beautiful woman, and she loved my father.
My father was the chief of the Vikings, and he loved my mother.
They had been married for three years, and they had no children.
My mother prayed to the gods every day, but they did not hear her.
One day, she went to the temple and made a sacrifice of a white goat with golden horns.
The gods were pleased with her offering, and they granted her wish.
Nine months later, I was born on a starlit night.
I was a beautiful baby, and my parents loved me very much.
They named me Thorgal Aegirsson, after my father's grandfather who had been a great warrior and had fought in many battles.
They said that I would grow up to be just like him, tall and strong with long blond hair and piercing blue eyes.
I was their pride and joy, and they doted on me night and day.
A week before I was born, the high priestess of the temple had come to my mother to tell her that the gods had spoken to her in a dream and had told her of a great prophecy.
The prophecy said that I would be born on a starlit night, and I would grow up to be greater than any man.
My name would be known throughout the land, and I would become a legend.
But there was one catch.
The gods had been angry with the high priestess, and they had not allowed her to speak for seven days, until she had made a sacrifice of seven white goats with golden horns.
Then, and only then, had they finally given her back her voice.
When I was born on a starlit night, the high priestess knew that I was the child of the prophecy, and she hurried to my mother’s side to tell her what the gods had foretold.
But my mother did not hear her.
For the gods had already arrived, and they had stolen my voice.
And so I lay there, alone in the dark and cold world outside my mother’s hut, unable to call out to her or even cry.
When my mother finally noticed me lying in the corner of the hut, she cried out in alarm and ran over to me.
She saw at once that I was still alive but had not made a sound since she had given birth to me.
And so she picked me up and held me close to her while she looked over my tiny body.
I was beautiful with my father’s blond hair and blue eyes and my mother’s delicate features.
I looked like a little angel wrapped in swaddling clothes, and I blinked up at her with wide eyes as if to say,
But she knew at once that something was wrong because she could not hear my cry ringing through the village or see the other women rushing over to celebrate my birth.
Before she could ask why I remained so silent, the high priestess pushed through the crowd and took me from her arms.
The old woman studied me carefully for a moment with her wise eyes, and then she spoke softly to my mother.
“Do you want him?”
she asked, “Will you love him even if he never speaks?”
And my mother replied,
I will love him with all my heart, even if he never speaks.
And so the old woman nodded and gave me back to her, and I snuggled up against her and fell asleep in her arms.
My mother decided right then and there that I should be named Thorgal, which meant “one who has been stolen” in the ancient language of our people.
She did not know that I had been stolen by the gods, but somehow she must have sensed it.
For when she looked down at me, she saw that I was not like other babies, and so she called me Thorgal.
Then she sat down on her bed and held me close while she waited for me to wake up and open my eyes.
She thought that if I saw her looking at me, I would surely smile back at her and reward her for all the pain and suffering she had endured to bring me into this world.
But it was not to be.
For while I slept, the gods were already planning what they would do next.
They had stolen my voice, but still, they were not satisfied.
They wanted more.
For they had marked me on the day I was born, and they would never rest until I paid for it with my own blood.
It was early in the morning when I first opened my eyes, and the sun was just beginning to rise over our village.
I lay there for a moment looking up at my mother, and then I blinked up at her and smiled.
She beamed down at me, and her green eyes sparkled with joy as she said,
Welcome to this world, little one.
I will always be there for you.”
And so I smiled back at her, and we sat there together for a long time until finally, I fell asleep again.
But when I woke up, my mother was gone, and so was everything else.
For on that day, the gods came to claim their prize, and nothing would ever be the same again.
The first thing they did was take away all that I had known and loved: my family, my home, everyone and everything.
I do not know what happened to them after that.
All I know is that when I woke up for the second time, I was alone in the world, abandoned on a rocky shore far from home.
I was naked and cold, and there was nothing there but a small knife lying by my side.
I did not know how to use it, but somehow I sensed that it would be important, and so I picked it up and held it close while I waited for morning to come again.
And then, when at last it did, I made up my mind to survive.
For I was not like other boys, and deep down, I knew that someday, somehow, I would find my way back to my family and make them pay for what they had done to me.
But before that could happen, I would have to grow up first.
And so that is what I did: day by day, month by month, year by year, until at last, I was no longer a boy but a man.
The gods had known from the very beginning that I would never live an ordinary life: that my deeds would be greater than those of any man and that someday, somehow, they would have their revenge on me for what had happened long ago.
And so they came for me even then, while I was still just a helpless child with no way of knowing or understanding what was happening to me.
They thought that by taking away everything that was dear to me –my voice, my family, my home –they could break me and make me into one of their own.
But they were wrong: for even then, I knew who I was and where I belonged, and nothing could ever take that away from me.
And so when they came for me at last, they found that they could not do anything but leave me there alone on that rocky shore with nothing but a small knife lying by my side.
I did not know how to use it then, but somehow I sensed that it would be important someday, and so I picked it up and held it close while I waited for morning to come again.
It was on the day my mother died that Jolan saw me for the first time, our eyes meeting across the frozen wastes as I fought for my life on an ice floe, somewhere in the middle of nowhere, surrounded on all sides by nothing but water and snow and ice.
My mother was dead, and I was hungry, and I had to eat, or else I would die too, and so I fought and fought until I had killed the bear, and then I dragged it across the ice and up onto the sled where Jolan had been hiding, watching everything through the eyes of a small child who has seen far too much already to be safe in this world of ours.
“What is your name?”
I asked him, when at last our eyes met, and he looked up at me with those same dark eyes as mine, but still somehow so different from mine, for while mine were cold and empty, his were warm and alive with all the magic of his mother’s blood.
I asked him, and he told me in return, “My name is Jolan.”
“What is it that you want?”
I asked him, and he replied in turn, “I want to be your friend.”