Suttungr

From my mountain home, Hnitbjörg, I could see all the Nine Realms sparkle below. My name is Suttungr, and I was once the keeper of the most wonderful treasure in the world: a magical drink that could turn anyone into a poet. This is my story of guarding the Mead of Poetry. It all started with two sneaky dwarves, Fjalar and Galar. They had made this amazing mead from the blood of the wisest being, Kvasir, but they had also caused great trouble for my parents. To make things right, they gave me their greatest creation: three huge vats of the shimmering, buzzing mead. I named them Óðrœrir, Boðn, and Són, and I vowed to protect them forever in my stone fortress.

I hid the mead deep within my mountain, in a secret chamber where no one could find it. To make sure it was extra safe, I asked my dear daughter, Gunnlöð, to watch over it day and night, and she promised she would. For a long time, our treasure was safe. But then, a stranger came to my lands. He called himself Bölverkr, and he was very clever with his words and his tricks. He convinced my brother, Baugi, to help him drill a tiny hole into the side of my mountain. Before I knew what was happening, the stranger changed his shape into a slithering snake and wriggled inside. He wasn't a worker at all, but the great god Odin in disguise! He snuck right into the treasure chamber where my daughter stood guard, his eyes gleaming with a clever plan.

Odin, with his charming words, promised my daughter the world and convinced Gunnlöð to let him have just three small sips of the mead. But Odin was a trickster! His first 'sip' drained the entire vat of Óðrœrir. His second emptied Boðn, and his third drank up every last drop of Són. In a flash, he turned himself into a mighty eagle and burst from the mountain! I was furious! I became a giant eagle, too, and chased him across the sky. Our wings beat like thunder! He just barely escaped to his home, Asgard. Though I lost my treasure, Odin shared the mead with gods and with people on Earth, giving them the gift of poetry and song. The Viking storytellers who first told this tale said that every great poem or beautiful song was a little drop of the mead I once guarded. So even today, when you feel inspired to create something wonderful, you can imagine that a spark of that magic, which flew from my mountain long ago, has found its way to you.