On the edge of the storm-tossed sea, a warrior hefts his sword in the face of a horde of brine-soaked corpses surging out of the waves to stagger onto the beach, pitted iron weapons still clutched in their waterlogged hands. Channeling the strength of a giant's footfall into his blow, he strike the earth, and the beach heaves as the earth trembles, hurling draugar from their feet like discarded dolls...
In the mouth of a high mountain pass, the thunderous crack of falling ice sounds above the howling of the wind as a torrent of snow and debris avalanches down towards a slow-moving wagon train. At the head of the procession, a bent old woman with skin tinged an icy blue raises her arms and calls on the power of the Primordial Realm of Ice. Before her outstretched hands, the avalanche parts, flowing past the wagon train with a handspan to spare on either side...
Feet tearing at the blood-slicked grass, two rivals clash as other warriors battle on all around them. One cries out as the other's sword pierces his side, his hand coming up to grip the blade even as it cuts into his fingers and scrapes upon his ribs. His eyes blaze with the flames of the Primordial Realm of Fire, and under his hand his rival's sword begins to glow an angry red, the iron deforming in the heat of his grip...
In the shadow of an ancient barrow, a thick stone door bars passage down to the burial chamber where an ancient jarl was entombed with all his wealth and treasures. Hand pressed against the immovable stone, a young woman slips closer to the Realm of the Dead, her flesh turning to grey mist, and she passes through the door as though it were never there, descending into the hillside as silent and insubstantial as a ghost...
The Óttimaðr
Before any other living creature appeared beneath the branches of the World Tree, the giants were there. Children of the Primordial Realms of Fire and Ice, and heirs to the chaotic power of raw, unshaped creation, they were the masters of óttimáttr, sorcery that channels the power that churns in the realms beyond the Mortal World.
Giants are not the only practitioners of this grim art, however. Whether through service under a giant master, terrible research, or incautious exposure to the power of other realms, sometimes a mortal man or woman may find the secrets of óttimáttr within their grasp. An Óttimaðr must be cautious, however, for the use of these powers risks drawing the attention of the Jotnar who dwell in the realms beyond the Mortal World, and their scrutiny is a heavy weight for a mere mortal to bear.
The Power of the Realms Beyond
The powers of an Óttimaðr can vary widely based on the particular Primordial Realm from which they draw their magic. One with a link to the Realm of Fire is the master of scorching flames, blazing heat, smoke and ash, and molten rock and metal; while one connected to the Realm of Ice has at their command all the sleet, ice, snow, and freezing fog of winter. Stranger still are those whose powers are drawn from the Realm of the Dead, for their magic manifests itself in stone and bone, dust and grave dirt, and creeping putrefaction.
With the powers of primordial chaos in their grasp, an Óttimaðr can wield weapons of fire, ice, or bone conjured from nothing; shape walls and barriers of elemental matter; go unscathed into raging flames, freezing waters, or places of sickness and rot; and even manifest the landscape of their realm upon the face of the Mortal World. They can melt metal at a touch and vomit forth sulfurous smoke to choke the lungs and sting the eyes of their enemies, vanish into a swirl of snow like a phantom and imprison any foe they touch in a block of ice, or unleash plague and rot with upon their foes' flesh with every stroke of their weapons. Any way the raw stuff of the elements may be made useful, an Óttimaðr has open to them.
The Strength of the Giants
Alongside the sorcerous powers of the raw elements, an Óttimaðr is also able to channel the physical strength and endurance of the giants themselves. Giantish vitality flows in their veins, and they can draw on it to strengthen their limbs, quicken their thoughts, and project the force of their personality out from them. They can harden their skin to the toughness of a giant's hide, turning aside blows with their bare flesh as though it were armour, and they can surge with the physical power of a titan at a whim. In the most obvious expression of this power, they can even grow to a giant's stature themselves, towering over trees and longhouses at the height of their momentary transformation.
Using the Óttimaðr
This playbook is intended for spell-casters who wish to pursue a high-risk, high-reward style of magic that compliments direct physical action. Unlike other playbooks, however, I'm not sure this one can be summed up in a single image, nor does it have any direct analogues in the core playbooks of Dungeon World. It owes some inspiration to both the sorcerer and the warlock of other rpgs, and should be used in a similar context, to represent a spell-caster whose magic is either a dangerous bargain, a strange birthright, or some kind of metaphysical affliction. If it has any spokesperson, perhaps it is the shapeshifter Loki, wielding magic tricks and his giantish nature on a variety of adventures with his friend, the god Thor—at least before things went sour...
Bodil's Gap is currently in playtesting, and the playtesting version of the Óttimaðr playbook can be found here. If you have any insight or feedback, leave a comment or send an email to brazenhead@zoho.com.
Up Next
Next week I'll be talking about the Goði, a priest of one or more of the gods and goddesses of Bodil's Gap, and a leading or influence in the community.
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