Ølrik Ægirsson - Timothy L
“Scared of him? Hah! Fafnir might be able to stop him, but I'm not on fire, so I don't stay dry in the rain. That's why I'm careful around the idiot.” - Unnamed Aesir.
“A god of hurricanes, storms and floods? And people worshiped him?” - Commander Morricone, UNITED.
The middle child of a union between Tyr (goddess of law and justice) and Aegir (giant and god of the seas) blessed with the power of the skies, Ølrik never had the responsibility of the eldest child, or the youngest child's ability to look at the many, many mistakes of the elder two children and, let's be honest, learn some valuable lessons.
As such, the youth of the middle Aegir child was wild and varied. Barrows were robbed. Ruins explored. Elves annoyed. A dragon very nearly successfully burgled - a few tellers speak of the time Ølrik lead the Aegir children to steal three dwarven artefacts from Fafnir's horde. Ølrik sports a scar across his torso where Fafnir's breath caught him as he fled (he, of course, would have gotten away with it had he not called out, “Hah! Not even Fafnir could stop us now,” as he pilfered the relics, waking the beast).
The lessons of a misspent childhood haven't sunk into Ølrik's Aesir brain. Taking on the mantle of hurricanes, storms, and all other forms of (exciting!) Bad Weather, he has become known for the boundless enthusiasm with which he approaches any task, bet, meal or mead flask. After all, Ølrik isn't known for skilled decision making. Most recently, he made a bet with his siblings to see who could make it furthest down the river Gjoll. To lose such a bet would send his name into disrepute, but to succeed…
Eternity
When the first elections were held in Tyr's Holt, Ølrik won his seat almost unanimously: as the founder of the city, most of the Aesir felt it dishonourable to refuse Ølrik his say in how it is run. Modest in his victory, Ølrik set about truly establishing Tyr's Holt as an Inter-world city. It is through his plans, and tireless physical efforts, that much of the infrastructure of Tyr's Holt was set up: most of the entire system of laws, taxes, and prescriptions for equality for all races came from ideas and writing set down by him. He also was seen to take very great care in building homes for those he considered his friends; such as Andr and Theresa Mathews, and the wolf couple Ormfird and Jormungand.
At the end of a prosperous and peaceful five years, Ølrik stepped down from his post on the council when everyone expected and hoped for him to stand for reelection. To Ølrik, the protection of Tyr's Holt from those that would hurt it was the foremost thing in his mind. So he petitioned the Dwarves to create an eternal protector for him: an automaton to carry his mother's sword and defend his city and the Bifrost. This done, Ølrik lived the rest of his life as a citizen of Tyr's Holt. He never again partook of Idunn's apples, stating that it is vital that he must die. He passed away in bed with a smile on his face.
This is where the story of Ølrik Aegirsson ends.
But the story of this soul continues.
On Ølrik's death, his soul passed into a WRAITH collar, and was implanted into the Guardian of Tyr's Holt, so that he may protect it for ever more. Such a simple plan, but these things never go as you plan them. During the War of the Eternals, in Niflheim, some of the fighting spilled across the Bifrost towards New Valhalla. Fulfilling his duty as always, the Guardian protected Tyr's Holt to the best of his abilities, but was destroyed in the battle.
But, due to a bargain struck an age before, Ølrik's soul was rejected by the Gjoll and returned on a winding path to Midgard, where it recovered a new body with which to return to his post.
—
The ages tick ever on, and story passes into legend, and into myth. The Guardian of Tyr's Holt, now known as Ølrik only by his sister, sits on the ravaged surface of Svartalfheim with a small metal plate in his hands. Times have passed when he and the World Otter, Reysa, have sat here telling stories to a grave. Things aren't becoming more desperate, they both have all the time in the universe, but they wish to try more direct methods.
Still no response. They would have more luck talking to the dead.
—
The Guardian and the Otter stand at the rim of the Well of Muspellheim, carrying the one who was once known as Skjoll between them. Without a word, the body suspended in time is cast in to the fiery well, and they can do nothing but wait. After what could have been the age of the universe, or merely a few seconds, a figure emerges from the well. It is not Skjoll, nor anyone either sibling recognises. But to Ølrik and Reysa, they recognise a sibling that could have been.