The Wiles and Trials of Utgardaloki-Fjalarr Part 1

The Wiles and Trials of Útgarðaloki-Fjalarr

Part One: The Encounter



South from the great Ýsetr, the flaming land of Útgarðr lied.

Without his famed chariot, Ökuþórr journeyed there with his friends.

The Élivágar is their famous path, and ashore their river-ride ends.

Þjalfi, the son of Egill, then notes the shortage of their supplies.



In the darkness of night, a massive structure loomed into their view.

The doorway was the size of the entire building, and five hallways were inside.

After settling for the night, the earth shook, as if the ground a blade did hew.

Frightened, the group took the middle hallway for shelter, but Ásaþórr did not hide.



The morning sun rose, and the party soon found a man taller than a fir.

Being awakened, the man rose quickly, mildly startling the mighty Ásaþórr.

Regaining his wits, Óðinn's son asked the man's name, which was told to be Skrýmir.

The man needed not ask for the Ásagoð's name, for he'd heard tales of him before.



The sly Skrýmir asked for his glove, which lied behind Þórr and his allies.

It was the hall the group had slept in during the night, much to their surprise!

After eating breakfast, the cunning man advised them to pool their supplies.

Doing so, they travelled for the day, Skrýmir taking large strides with thunderous thighs.



Evening came, and the group made camp underneath a tall, ancient oak tree.

Skrýmir advised the four to eat their dinner, which was inside his giant food sack.

But no matter how hard he tried, Þórr could not budge a single knot, nor set the strings free.

So then the mighty one grew cross, and hit the massive Skrýmir on his head with a whack.



"Did a leaf fall on my head?" the clever one asked, seemingly with an impervious hull.

Confused and frightened, the company retired under the oak, their night passing fearfully.

During this night, Ásaþórr rose, and swung at the midpoint of Skrýmir's gigantic skull.

"Did an acorn fall from the tree?" the cunning man asked, joking with him playfully.



Resolving to strike a third time, the Ásagoð waited patiently, until Skrýmir slept once more.

Raising Mjöllnir high, he buried the hammer up to the shaft into his temple, his aim surely true.

"Have birds dropped twigs on me?" the crafty Skrýmir asked as he rose, before speaking of the fiery land of yore.

"I am not a small man, but you will find many men larger still in Útgarðr, there are not only a few."



Advising against arrogance, Skrýmir headed northward to the mountains, his schemes underway.

The path to Útgarðr winded to the east, and the company of friends made it there by midday.

The fortress they found was so high, one had to bend their neck back to see over the ramparts.

Failing to open the gate, Þórr squeezed through massive bars, after which Útgarðaloki's fun starts.