You're out walking when you stumble over something. When you pick it up, you realize it's a helm of a Valkyrie. Obviously, you try that on. Write a minimum of 250 words about what happens when you do.
If you roll a 1: You are transported back into the last battle the Valkyrie who owned this helm fought in. What happens? How does it feel watching and thinking while in someone else's memories? Do you survive?
If you roll a 2: You are taken into the memories of a Valkyrie sitting in a long house right before battle. But you find that you can move and talk as though it's you. What do you say? How do you prepare?If you roll a 3: You are transported into the body of an injured and lost Valkyrie. Do you panic? Do you find your way home? (You do not have any breed healing powers as the Valkyrie you're in does not).
[WORD COUNT 957]
Leviathan drifted through the silent majesty of his underwater world, his glistening, scaled form weaving through coral spires and kelp forests. Known as a guardian of the deep, he had explored countless wrecks and unearthed strange relics swallowed by the ocean’s relentless grasp. Yet, nothing had prepared him for what lay before him now.
A helm—ancient and impossibly radiant—rested amid a scatter of golden coins and rusted weapons. It was unlike anything Leviathan had seen. Its surface shimmered with runes that pulsed faintly, and an aura of power seemed to radiate from it, distorting the water around it like a dream barely remembered.
Leviathan hesitated, his gossamer fins fluttering with caution. Curiosity gnawed at him, a pull he could not resist. Slowly, he extended his slender muzzle, brushing the helm with the lightest touch.
The world shattered.
A rush of cold wind struck him, and the crushing embrace of water disappeared. Leviathan gasped, disoriented by the absence of his aquatic surroundings. The sound of waves gave way to the howl of distant winds. His body—no longer sleek and scaled—was heavy, battered, and alien. Feathers, bloodied and tangled, stretched from his back, twitching weakly as if trying to respond to commands he didn’t yet understand.
He was no longer Leviathan. He was someone—or something—else.
Memories not his own cascaded through his mind: battlefields drenched in the blood of mortals and gods, towering flames licking at a broken sky, and a desperate flight from an overwhelming foe. The name came to him like a whisper on the wind: Astrid. A Valkyrie. This body’s owner was injured, grounded, and lost in the mortal realm, far from the hallowed halls of Valhalla.
Panic surged, primal and fierce. Leviathan—or was he Astrid now?—staggered forward, her legs trembling under her own weight. He felt the sharp sting of her injuries—the torn muscles in her wings, the deep gashes on her arms. Her breath came ragged, her chest heaving with the effort of survival.
“This isn’t my body!” Leviathan’s mind screamed, but there was no answer, only the distant echo of Astrid’s memories urging him to act.
Panic threatened to consume him, but Leviathan’s nature as a guardian kicked in. In his world, panic meant death, and survival demanded focus. He closed his—her—eyes and steadied his breath. The surroundings began to take form: a desolate forest blanketed in frost, its trees twisted and blackened by an ancient fire. Snow fell softly, muffling the world in an eerie silence.
Through the haze of confusion, Leviathan focused on Astrid’s memories. Her last moments before collapsing here were chaotic—fleeing a battle against shadowy foes that sought to claim her soul. Her wings had failed, and she had plummeted to this forsaken wilderness. She needed to return to Valhalla. The helm Leviathan had touched must have been her anchor, her connection to the divine. Perhaps it had called to him, desperate for a way back.
But how? Leviathan—now bound to this broken Valkyrie—knew nothing of walking on two legs, let alone traversing a mortal forest. Every movement felt clumsy, each step a test of endurance. Pain flared with every faltering attempt to move, the cold biting at the open wounds.
Still, Leviathan pressed forward. He felt the Valkyrie’s will stirring within him, faint but persistent. Her memories revealed the faintest hint of a path—an ancient altar deep in the forest, a place where the boundary between realms thinned. It was his only chance.
The journey was agonizing. Leviathan stumbled through the frozen landscape, each step a battle against exhaustion and despair. Creatures watched from the shadows, their eyes glinting with predatory hunger, yet none dared approach. Whether it was the aura of the Valkyrie’s divine blood or the sheer weight of her injuries, the beasts kept their distance.
As hours bled into an eternity, Leviathan began to adapt. The Valkyrie’s body, though battered, was resilient, and her instincts started to seep into his consciousness. He learned to balance, to move with purpose, to wield the strength that coursed through her limbs. With every step, he felt less like the seahorse he had been and more like the warrior whose body he now inhabited.
Finally, after what felt like days, the altar emerged from the gloom. It stood atop a frozen hill, its ancient stones etched with runes that glowed faintly, mirroring the ones on the helm. Hope flared within Leviathan, a beacon in the darkness.
But as he approached, the shadows stirred. Dark figures materialized from the mist, their forms wreathed in black fire. These were the beings Astrid had fled—wraiths bound to claim her soul. They moved with otherworldly speed, their hollow eyes fixed on Leviathan.
For a moment, fear paralyzed him. But then something deeper rose within—a memory of Astrid’s battle cries, her unyielding defiance in the face of death. Leviathan roared, a sound both his and hers, and charged forward.
The battle was fierce. Each swing of her blade—summoned from the fragments of her divine essence—was met with the searing clash of shadow and steel. Leviathan fought with desperation, drawing on Astrid’s skills as best he could. Pain lanced through his body as claws tore at his flesh, but he refused to fall. With one final strike, he scattered the wraiths, their forms dissolving into the wind.
Staggering to the altar, Leviathan placed the helm upon it. Light erupted, engulfing the world once more.
When Leviathan awoke, he was back in his own body, drifting in the deep sea. The helm was gone, yet a sense of purpose lingered. He had seen a world beyond his own, fought battles not his own, and carried a warrior’s spirit home. Though he was once again Leviathan, he knew a part of Astrid would remain with him forever.
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