#Nøkke

[useless-denmarkfacts]

Art credit: Johan Egerkrans

[thedenofravenpuff]

More fun with monster designs based on Scandinavian folklore, turning my OC Jens into a nøkke/nacken/nix to fit into an Enclosure AU a friend is building. 

Had fun designing his different shapeshifting forms, think they turned out pretty neat. 

Enjoy!

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[chasing-faith-and-fate]

hello! Sorry to ask, but could you give me an idea of what a taker is? Sorry, I’m a bit new around here and probably wasn’t around for the explanation

Yeah sure!

So takers are semi (read very very loosely) based off of mythical creatures I grew up with such as Huldra and Nøkke!

What Takers do is that they inhabit the hollowed out skins of the dead, either after they've passed themselves or by a Taker killing them. They strive to cover their whole body (which is a black void like being that comes in whatever shape they desire) if they cannot cover their whole body with one skin, they find other bodies to take from to create a patchwork.

They only take what they need, and leave the rest for other Takers.

They're very allergic to water, a bit of dew won't do anything but if they step in a puddle the skin they inhabit with start to corrode, and if water touches the void part itself- they will start smoking and burning away. This is the only way to kill them.

Takers are not intelligent, they're not sapient, they're barely sentient at all.

The only feeling they really have is anger, greed, and very rarely something akin to fear. They mirror and copy living cats if they somehow manage to live among them.

A Takers one goal is to live like sentient beings, to be a part of a community- not because of loneliness, but because that's simply what they do. It's what they've evolved to do. This is also why they're sticking around the clans, because that's the biggest collection of communal life in the area for miles upon miles. (Good thing as they could wreck human populations very quickly if given the chance).

They learn and grow as any species does. They've learned not to go after the younger members of a species, or the very old ones, because if a Taker has taken someone, that someone isn't alive anymore and therefore doesn't grow or die naturally.

There's a lot of Takers stuck in the rift because the older days the clans threw their taken members down there because they couldn't otherwise be killed.

Takers come from the Chasingclan lands, it's not been discovered why it how yet, but they do have a mirror world that only exists within the Chasingclan territory.

That should be everything? I believe so?

[folksaga-if]

S J Ö R Å ; MC ORIGIN

[ KEEPER OF THE LAKE | ++ CHAR / WIS / INT ]

background elements taken from Nordic folk legends of the Sjörå (Sweden), the Nøkke (Denmark), and the Nykur (Faroe Islands).

It had, at first, sounded like little more than a tale meant to frighten disobedient children: a monster that lives in the bowels of a lake, a doom-fated wanderer who steps into the water and straight to their death. It had sounded impossible until one story became two, and two became twenty, became fifty, became hundreds.

The folk who live near the shoreline share their rules with all who will listen: treat the creature kindly. Bring it gifts. Respect its domain.

If you see someone step towards the lake as if caught in a trance, do not try to stop them. Leave them to their fate, lest you wish to end up the same.

They are charmed.

They are lost.

They are already dead.

-

Compelling as they are clever, the SJÖRÅ is (typically) only a threat towards those with malicious intent or blackened hearts. Cheaters, wastrels, killers and brutes — none who have threatened the beast or its home have lived to tell the tale. Drowning accidents are not uncommon in the Sjörå’s domain.

Sjörå are known to have an affinity for music, form close bonds with horses, and are very fond of mittens. They can be identified in human form by their scaled forearms and webbed fingers, and may also have accessory gills or hooves in place of feet.

WARNING: limited or irregular contact with a water source may cause the Sjörå to grow agitated, unstable, and increasingly violent. In the event of disruptions to water availability, nearby humans are advised to run.

[theunseelieif]

Auberon/Aubera. The fae.

Age: 25

Gender: Selectable

Status: Nixie. Näcken. Nøkke. There are plenty of names for these water dwelling fae, and this one seems most curious about you.

[hapalopus]

My current list of recurring creatures/peoples from recent Danish folklore:

Basilisk (cockatrice)

Bjærgfolk (mountainfolk)

Brøndmand (well man)

Bukketrold (goat troll)

Bækhest (water horse)

Djævel (devil)

Drage (dragon)

Dragedukke (drawing doll)

Dværg (dwarf)

Ellefolk (alderfolk)

Ellekongerne (alderkings)

Gam (giant bird that lives in the ocean)

Gravso (grave sow)

Grønjæger (the green hunter)

Gårdbo (farm gnome)

Hamløber (skin runner/soul wanderer)

Havfolk (merfolk)

Havtrold (mertroll)

Heks (witch)

Helhest (hel horse)

Helhund (hel hound)

Hyldemor (eldermother)

Kirkenisse (church gnome)

Kirkevare (church grim)

Kludeeg (cloth oak)

Knarkevogn (creaking wagon)

Kæmpe (giant)

Lange mænd (tall men)

Lindorm (lindwurm, sort of)

Lygtemand (will o' wisp, sort of)

Mare (hag/night mare)

Mosekone (swamp crone)

Mælkehare (milk hare)

Natravn (night raven)

Nisse (gnome, sort of)

Nøkke (water man)

Ormekonge (worm king)

Pesttjørn (disease bramble)

Salamander (fire salamander)

Skibsnisse (ship gnome)

Skifting (changeling)

Skovfolk (forest folk)

Slattenpatten (saggy tits)

Småfolk (little folk)

Sømunk (sea monk)

Søorm (sea worm)

Søslange (sea serpent)

Trold (troll)

Valravn (wild raven)

Varedyr (protective animal)

Varulv (werewolf)

Æven (venomous little worm)

Åmand (stream man)

Åndemaner (ghost commander)

(not including one-off creatures like Hæslevædder and Ildhund)

[kelpiegry-art]

💚 Just some fancy water folk doing some fancy dancing 💙 Khmiró belongs to @7wildcrows !

[forbidden-sorcery]

The capitalist now attempts to explain to me that we have natural property rights - many a capitalist would say it guides our every personal ethic, or rather it should. But where does this so-called property right come from? The liberal responds that it comes from naturality. However, they fail to realize that rights are merely granted by a master, the master of a president, a minister, a king, a state, a god - ah, that old god, the old messiah which must dictate our every move. This old god is not limited to some epiphenomenal deity which has ascended us all, but rather many gods - the god of humanity, of law, of state, of morality. We reject all gods except for the god of one thing - that of the self.        "Why do you reject one god for another? What hypocrisy!” says the self-proclaimed nihilist, proud cynic, when they are nothing but a clueless fool! We are nihilists but we have lost the need and desire to cling to some petty godless nihilism and instead ascended to a realm of nihil where the only thing acknowledged is the self’s desires, the desire to be unique above all - then the desire to love, to own, and so on. This is our god, and our realm, and we challenge anyone and everyone to tear down the indestructible self.

Carson Nøkke

[legend-collection]

Nixie

The Nixie, Nixy, Nix, Näcken, Nicor, Nokk, or Nokken (German: Nixe; Dutch: nikker, nekker; Danish: nøkke; Norwegian Bokmål: nøkk; Nynorsk: nykk; Swedish: näck; Faroese: nykur; Finnish: näkki; Icelandic: nykur; Estonian: näkk; Old English: nicor) are humanoid, and often shapeshifting, water spirits.

The related English knucker was generally depicted as a wyrm or dragon, although more recent versions depict the spirits in other forms. Their sex, bynames, and various transformations vary geographically. The German Nix and his Scandinavian counterparts were male. The German Nixe was a female river mermaid. Similar creatures are known from other parts of Europe, such as the Melusine in France, the Xana in Asturias (Spain), and the Slavic water spirits (e.g. the Rusalka) in Slavic countries.

Pic from The Spiderwick Chronicles

United Kingdom

English folklore contains many creatures with similar characteristics to the Nix or Näck. These include Jenny Greenteeth, the Shellycoat, the river-hag Peg Powler, the Bäckahäst-like Brag, and the Grindylow.

At Lyminster, near Arundel in the English county of West Sussex, there are today said to dwell "water-wyrms" called knuckers, in a pool called the Knucker-hole. The great Victorian authority Walter William Skeat had plausibly suggested the pool's name of knucker (a name attested from 1835, Horsfield) was likely derived from the Old English nicor, a creature-name found in Beowulf. Yet the waters at the pool were badly muddied by a local antiquarian named Samuel Evershed, who from 1866 tried assiduously to connect the pool with dragons and thus with the tale of St. George and the Dragon. Any authentic water-sprite folklore the site may originally have had was thus trampled down by Evershed's enthusiastic inculcation of the local people in ideas about water-dragons.

Scandinavia

 Näck, Nøkk

The Scandinavian näcken, näkki, nøkk were male water spirits who played enchanted songs on the violin, luring women and children to drown in lakes or streams. However, not all of these spirits were necessarily malevolent; many stories indicate at the very least that nøkker were entirely harmless to their audience and attracted not only women and children, but men as well with their sweet songs. Stories also exist wherein the Fossegrim agreed to live with a human who had fallen in love with him, but many of these stories ended with the nøkk returning to his home, usually a nearby waterfall or brook. (Compare the legend of Llyn y Fan Fach in Wales.) The nøkker were said to grow despondent unless they had free, regular contact with a water source.

The Norwegian Fossegrim or Grim, Swedish strömkarl, is a related figure who, if properly approached, will teach a musician to play so adeptly "that the trees dance and waterfalls stop at his music".

It is difficult to describe the appearance of the nix, as one of his central attributes was thought to be shapeshifting. Perhaps he did not have any true shape. He could show himself as a man playing the violin in brooks and waterfalls (though often imagined as fair and naked today, in folklore he was more frequently described as wearing more or less elegant clothing) but also could appear to be treasure or various floating objects, or as an animal—most commonly in the form of a "brook horse" (see below). The modern Scandinavian names are derived from nykr, meaning "river horse". Thus, it is likely that the figure of the brook horse preceded the personification of the nix as the "man in the rapids". Fossegrim and derivatives were almost always portrayed as especially beautiful young men, whose clothing (or lack thereof) varied widely from story to story.

The enthralling music of the nøkk was most dangerous to women and children, especially pregnant women and unbaptised children. He was thought to be most active during Midsummer's Night, on Christmas Eve, and on Thursdays. However, these superstitions do not necessarily relate to all the versions listed here. Many, if not all of them, developed after the Christianizing of the northern countries, as was the case of similar stories of faeries and other entities in other areas.

When malicious nøkker attempted to carry off people, they could be defeated by calling their name; this was believed to cause their death.

Another belief was that if a person bought the nøkk a treat of three drops of blood, a black animal, some brännvin (Scandinavian vodka) or snus (wet snuff) dropped into the water, he would teach his enchanting form of music.

The nøkk was also an omen for drowning accidents. He would scream at a particular spot in a lake or river, in a way reminiscent of the loon, and on that spot, a fatality would later take place. He was also said to cause drownings, but swimmers could protect themselves against such a fate by throwing a bit of steel into the water.

In the later Romantic folklore and folklore-inspired stories of the 19th century, the nøkk sings about his loneliness and his longing for salvation, which he purportedly never shall receive, as he is not "a child of God". In a poem by Swedish poet E. J. Stagnelius, a little boy pities the fate of the Näck (nøkk), and so saves his own life. In the poem, arguably Stagnelius' most famous, the boy says that the Näck will never be a "child of God" which brings "tears to his face" as he "never plays again in the silvery brook".

On a similar theme, a 19th-century text called "Brother Fabian's Manuscript" by Sebastian Evans has this verse:

Where by the marishes boometh the bittern, Neckar the soulless one sits with his ghittern. Sits inconsolable, friendless and foeless.

Waiting his destiny, – Neckar the soulless.

(The source has "bloometh" for "boometh", but this is clearly an error; a bittern is not a plant, but a bird, and it is known for its booming call. A "ghittern" is a guitar. The spelling "Nickar" vice "Neckar" is sometimes used.)

In Scandinavia, water lilies are called "nix roses" (näckrosor/nøkkeroser). A tale from the forest of Tiveden relates that a father promised his daughter to a nøkk who offered him great hauls of fish in a time of need; she refused and stabbed herself to death, staining the water lilies red from that time on:

At the lake of Fagertärn, there was once a poor fisherman who had a beautiful daughter. The small lake gave little fish and the fisherman had difficulties providing for his little family. One day, as the fisherman was fishing in his little dugout of oak, he met the Nøkken, who offered him great catches of fish on the condition that the fisherman gave him his beautiful daughter the day she was eighteen years old. The desperate fisherman agreed and promised the Nøkken his daughter. The day the girl was eighteen she went down to the shore to meet the Nøkken. The Nøkken gladly asked her to walk down to his watery abode, but the girl took forth a knife and said that he would never have her alive, then stuck the knife into her heart and fell down into the lake, dead. Then, her blood coloured the water lilies red, and from that day the water lilies of some of the lake's forests are red.

In horse form

In Faroese, the word nykur refers specifically to a supernatural horse, described in one Faroese text thus:

The nykur dwells in water; at the bottom, down in the depths, he has his lair; from here he often goes onto land and it is not good to meet him.

Sometimes he is like a beautiful little horse which seems to be good and tame, and thus he lures people to draw near to him to pat him and stroke him along the back. But when they come to touch the tail, they become stuck fast to him and then he releases no-one, but he drags them with him to the bottom of the water.

Sometimes he encounters people in human form, as a handsome youth, to lure young women to himself, and promises them joy and gladness in his hall if they want to go along with him. But if they get a suspicion of who he is, when they are giving themselves away, such that they can call him by his true name — nykur — then he loses the power over them and must release them and go along into his waters.

It is said that the nykur can equally well change itself into the form of all quadrupedal animals, except that he does not know how to create the horn-points of a ram or a male lamb on himself.

But when he hasn't changed his form, he is like a horse, and it has come about that people gain power over him by carving a cross into his back and then they have been able to have him drag great stones by his tail down from the mountains to homesteads or houses. Some are still seen in Húsavík in Sandoy and on Eiði in Eysturoy and the big rocks that are gathered together there bear witness to how strong he is. At Takmýri in Sandoy, lies one huge rock, which they wanted to have him draw to Húsavík, but his tail broke here, and the stone remains there. One part of the nykur's tail, which was attached to the stone, is visible on it still.

The equivalent term in Continental Scandinavian languages is bäckahäst or bækhest ('brook horse'). It has a close parallel in the Scottish kelpie, and the Welsh Ceffyl Dŵr.

The bäckahäst was often described as a majestic white horse that would appear near rivers, particularly during foggy weather. Anyone who climbed onto its back would not be able to get off again. The horse would then jump into the river, drowning the rider. The brook horse could also be harnessed and made to plough, either because it was trying to trick a person or because the person had tricked the horse into it. The following tale is a good illustration of the brook horse:

A long time ago, there was a girl who was not only pretty but also big and strong. She worked as a maid on a farm by Lake Hjärtasjön in southern Nerike. She was ploughing with the farm's horse on one of the fields by the lake. It was springtime and beautiful weather. The birds chirped and the wagtails flitted in the tracks of the girl and the horse in order to pick worms. All of a sudden, a horse appeared out of the lake. It was big and beautiful, bright in colour and with large spots on the sides. The horse had a beautiful mane which fluttered in the wind and a tail that trailed on the ground. The horse pranced for the girl to show her how beautiful he was. The girl, however, knew that it was the brook horse and ignored it. Then the brook horse came closer and closer and finally he was so close that he could bite the farm horse in the mane. The girl hit the brook horse with the bridle and cried: "Disappear you scoundrel, or you'll have to plough so you'll never forget it." As soon as she had said this, the brook horse had changed places with the farm horse, and the brook horse started ploughing the field with such speed that soil and stones whirled in its wake, and the girl hung like a mitten from the plough. Faster than the cock crows seven times, the ploughing was finished and the brook horse headed for the lake, dragging both the plough and the girl. But the girl had a piece of steel in her pocket, and she made the sign of the cross. Immediately she fell down on the ground, and she saw the brook horse disappear into the lake with the plough. She heard a frustrated neighing when the brook horse understood that his trick had failed. Until this day, a deep track can be seen in the field.

Germany

The German Nix and Nixe (and Nixie) are types of river merman and mermaid who may lure men to drown, like the Scandinavian type, akin to the Celtic Melusine and similar to the Greek Siren. The German epic Nibelungenlied mentions the Nix in connection with the Danube, as early as 1180 to 1210.

Nixes in folklore became water sprites who try to lure people into the water. The males can assume many different shapes, including that of a human, fish, and snake. The females bear the tail of a fish. When they are in human forms, they can be recognised by the wet hem of their clothes. The Nixes are portrayed as malicious in some stories but harmless and friendly in others.

By the 19th century Jacob Grimm mentions the Nixie to be among the "water-sprites" who love music, song and dancing, and says "Like the sirens, the Nixie by her song draws listening youth to herself, and then into the deep." According to Grimm, they can appear human but have the barest hint of animal features: the nix had "a slit ear", and the Nixie "a wet skirt". Grimm thinks these could symbolise they are "higher beings" who could shapeshift to animal form.

One famous Nixe of recent German folklore, deriving from 19th-century literature, was Lorelei; according to the legend, she sat on the rock at the Rhine which now bears her name, and lured fishermen and boatmen to the dangers of the reefs with the sound of her voice. In Switzerland there is a legend of a sea-maid or Nixe that lived in Lake Zug (the lake is in the Canton of Zug).

The Yellow Fairy Book by Andrew Lang includes a story called "The Nixie of the Mill-Pond" in which a malevolent spirit that lives in a mill pond strikes a deal with the miller that she will restore his wealth in exchange for his son. This story is taken from Grimms' Fairy Tales.

The legend of Heer Halewijn, a dangerous lord who lures women to their deaths with a magic song, may have originated with the Nix.

Alternate names (kennings) for the female German Nixe are Rhine maidens (German: Rheintöchter) and Lorelei.

In a fictional depiction, the Rhine maidens are among the protagonists in the four-part Opera Der Ring des Nibelungen by the composer Richard Wagner, based loosely on the nix of the Nibelungenlied.

The Rhine maidens Wellgunde, Woglinde, and Floßhilde (Flosshilde) belong to a group of characters living in a part of nature free from human influence. Erda and the Norns are also considered a part of this 'hidden' world.

They are first seen in the first work of the Nibelungen cycle, Das Rheingold, as guardians of the Rheingold, a treasure of gold hidden in the Rhein river. The dwarf Alberich, a Nibelung, is eager to win their favour, but they somewhat cruelly dismiss his flattery. They tell him that only one who is unable to love can win the Rheingold. Thus, Alberich curses love and steals the Rheingold. From the stolen gold he forges a ring of power. Further on in the cycle, the Rhine maidens are seen trying to regain the ring and transform it back into the harmless Rheingold. But no one will return the ring to them; not even the supreme god Wotan, who uses the ring to pay the giants Fasolt and Fafner for building Valhalla, nor the hero Siegfried, when the maidens appear to him in the third act of Götterdämmerung. Eventually Brünnhilde returns it to them at the end of the cycle, when the fires of her funeral pyre cleanse the ring of its curse.

Descendants of German immigrants to Pennsylvania sometimes refer to a mischievous child as being "nixie".

[caracello]

um i think i am gona make my 2nd mon.kie kid s/i a nøkke bc then i get to pull some gay bullshit abt them being the water that reflects the sun and the moon back to each other to show how my s/i would cause mac and wukong to think more deeply about themselved and how they actually view the other. jesus christ

[ow-anteater]

Some incredibly self-indulgent Norse folklore inspired skins I honestly think I deserve at this point:

*Please note I’m just one Danish kid who was into folklore and mythology for a while, these creatures all have different versions, myths and even names depending on who you ask. Fellow Scandinavians, please don’t murder me*

- Elle (’elfmaiden’) Brig. A beautiful woman with long flowy hair dancing under the elderflower trees, but she has no back and if you join in her dance she’ll spirit you away. I feel like they could make something really pretty and unsettling and magical for Brig with this. Make her wear a flower crown but like in a spooky way

- Nøkke (’nix’ or ’neck’) Lúcio. A water spirit, typically a beautiful young man sitting in ponds and playing the most beautiful music you’ve ever heard on a fiddle before - again - spiriting you away (it’s a theme). I’m honestly just infatuated with the image of Lúcio sitting in a lake seductively playing drums. Also ties into the frog theme

- Mare Widow. Demonic creature in the form of a woman, who’d visit sleeping folks and animals (often horses) and cause nightmares by sitting on them. Give her a sick, creepy riding outfit and I can die happy. Also a great excuse to make the tattoo on her back a pentagram as it’s sometimes called a ‘mare’s cross’

- Mosekone (’the bog lady’) Ana. Technically not a true creature, but the low fog over a bog was referred to as ‘the brew of the bog lady’ and she’s become a figure over time. They could make something nice and swampy for Ana, her little satchels could be herbs and ingredients for her brew

- Lygtemand (’will-o’-the-wisp’) Roadhog. A mysterious creature carrying a light, specifically over swamps, possibly trying to lure you into deep water. The idea of the hook being reworked into a light that (quite violently) lures you in is such a cool design element

[official-cisphobe]

someone just called kelpies Scandinavian,,

KELPIES are CELTIC. fennoscandian water spirits are called: nøkken, näck, näkk, or näkki (Norwegian, Swedish, Estonian, and Finnish)

there's also nix, nikker, and nøkke which are German, Dutch, and Danish respectively

[laurasimonsdaughter]

I noticed in one of your stories is a nix, which I’m guessing is a type of fey, if you are willing I’d like to know more about them.

Of course! A nix is not a fae, but a specific creature from Scandinavian and Germanic folklore. They are water spirits, who have a habit of luring people into the water.

The Scandinavian versions (called nøkke(n), näck, näkk(i) etc.) are usually male and live in specific bodies of water or the sea. They are said to play their violin (or sometimes harp) on the shore of their waters, to lure people towards them. They were considered especially dangerous to women and children.

Some of them, unlike drowning people themselves, were seen as an omen that someone was about to drown soon. A bit like a banshee in Irish folklore. Some stories states that a Nix can be made to teach people to play their enchanting music, by bringing them various offerings.

This is a contrast with the Germanic Nixe and Nixie, which are a type of river-merman or mermaid, who seem to sing with the sole intent to drown people. The female Nixie are beautiful maidens intent on luring young men, very much like traditional mermaids and sirens.

Interestingly, in medieval Dutch stories our version of the Nix (the Nekker) is described as mischievous rather than dangerous. They were even described as cheerful and occasionally helpful. People could hear their laughter sound above the water and there are several stories of the creatures playing pranks on passers-by. In later stories their reputation got more grim, possibly under the influence of the German stories.

[lilbat]

🌊Nøkk in Nordic Folklore🐎

There’s a dozen reasons why I’m excited about Frozen II but Scandinavian folkore is definitely the biggest! There’s been a couple different confusing posts on what nøkk’s actually are so I thought I would clear it up a little bit.♡

The nøkk/nix/nokken/nekker/nøkke is a shapeshifting water spirit mentioned throughout Germanic and Scandinavian mythology and folklore, who often appear in the form of other animals - typically horses. While the tales share many similarities, I am going to focus specifically on the Scandinavian nøkk(näcken or näkki). There are many different names and stories of water spirits in Scandinavian folklore, so a few others will be brought up in reference and comparison! **Please note, most folklore is often based on oral traditions and tales so references will only go back so far.**

The Scandinavian nøkk are told to be male water spirits who play enchanting songs on the violin, often times luring women and children(sometimes men) to drown in lakes or streams. He is also a known shapeshifter, usually changing into a horse or man in order to lure his victims to him. 

However, not all of them are necessarily malevolent; a heafty portion of stories indicate at the very least that nøkk were entirely harmless to their audience. Stories also exist where the Fossegrim(water spirit, “Grim”) have agreed to live with a human who had fallen in love with him, but many of these stories ended with the nøkk returning to his home, usually a nearby waterfall or brook. Fossegrim, much like nøkk, are described as an exceptionally talented fiddler: the sounds of earth, wind and water are said to play over his fiddle strings. They can be bribed into teaching the skill. The Swedish Strömkarlen(Fossegrim) is said to have eleven variations! The eleventh one being reserved for the night spirits because when it is played, "tables and benches, cup and can, gray-beards and grandmothers, blind and lame, even babes in the cradle will begin to dance”. The stories go, that he is willing to teach his skills in exchange for a food offering made on a Thorsday evening and in private. You could bring him either; “a white he-goat thrown with head turned away into a waterfall that flows northwards,” :or smoked mutton(fenalår) stolen from the neighbor's storage(or your local Walmart lol) four Thorsdays in a row. But if there is not enough meat on the bone, he will only teach you how to tune the fiddle. If the offering is satisfactory, he will take the your right hand and draw your fingers along the strings until they all bleed, after which you will be able to play so well that "the trees shall dance and torrents in their fall stand still".

There isn’t a set description to how the nøkk looks, due to one of his primary attributes being shapeshifting. Perhaps he does not have any true shape! He could show himself as a man playing the violin in brooks or waterfalls(though in modern times he is often imaged as fair and naked, in folklore he was more frequently described as wearing elegant clothing) but he could also appear to be treasure, various floating objects, or as an animal—most commonly in the form of a "brook horse". The modern Scandinavian names(nixe/nikker/nøkke/etc) are derived from Old Norse nykr, meaning "river horse". Thus, it is likely that the figure and tales of the brook horse preceded the personification of the nøkk(and it’s derivatives) as the "man in the rapids". 

For some fun bonus info: the nøkk were also known as an omen for drowning accidents. He would scream at a spot of his choosing in a lake or river, in a way that was reminiscent of a goose, and on that spot, a death would later take place. He was also said to cause drownings, but swimmers could protect themselves against such a fate by throwing a bit of steel into the water. In Scandinavia, water lilies are called "nix roses"(näckrosor/nøkkeroser). A tale from the forest of Tiveden goes; that a father promised his daughter to a nøkk who had offered the father great hauls of fish in a time of need; she refused and stabbed herself to death, staining the water lilies red from that time on. The nøkk are also mentioned semi-frequently in folklore inspired stories of the 19th century including; a poem by E.J. Stagnelius, “Brother Fabian’s Manuscript” by Sebastian Evans, and more!

[folksaga-if]

Going for the sjörå since I'm vain as fuck and scales are so pretty!!! can still be one if we want a male mc? since it says they are all female? thank you!!!

hi hi!!!! the short answer: YES! there is no gender locking for the MC backgrounds or for the ROs. male MCs can 100% be sjörå :)

the long(er) answer: this is the biggest change between norse mythology and folksaga, and a big reason why the backgrounds are drawn from multiple different nordic countries. nykur/nøkke (iceland, denmark, norway, faroe) are traditionally only male, so they’ve been combined with the swedish sjörå. huldrekall, the male counterpart of the huldra (norway)/skogsrå (sweden) have been merged into the same folklore as the female because the males are described as little underground trolls, essentially.

the bergsrå can actually be any gender in folklore, but have also been altered to be more humanoid/more solitary to fit in with the storyline more.

tldr; yes, despite the gender specifications in norse myth and folklore, all origins are available to be played by any MC of any gender! ❤️

[mor-beck-more-problems]

Arcanum || Morgan & Mercy

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @cryxmercy & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Mercy and Morgan go witch hunting.

CONTAINS: Mild gore, blood poisoning

Morgan gave Mercy the details as soon as she realized the truth and before long they had everything they needed on her whereabouts. Jo Muscgraves was staying at the Haven Hotel, but of course that wasn’t satisfactory for the kind of butchery she’d been up to. So naturally she had rented out a storage unit for the month too. Under a freaking anagram, no less, like no one had ever heard of those before or would think twice about seeing Grace J Mussov on a list if they went looking. What kind of person thought a storage unit was really the place for doing whatever bullshit magic she was after? The backlash from any experiments were bound to affect anyone in the units nearby and potentially destroy anything unlucky enough to involve the wrong elements.

Morgan didn’t want to bother with knocking on her hotel door and playing nice. She wanted to go straight to the source and put an end to it all. She was taking the bolt cutters out of her bag when she realized the unit was already open. Her body went stiff with dread. This was what she wanted, she reminded herself. This was what Coraline deserved. Morgan exchanged a look with Mercy, trying to draw on some of her strength. The PI was a valkyrie, a fighter with more experience than anyone else she knew. And Morgan could still work her own will in the world, magic or not. She had to. “I’ll do the honors,” she muttered, giving Mercy an uneasy look.

She wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find, but white light and storage jars hadn’t been on her list. Jo had amassed more than your average witch’s cupboard. Along either wall that stretched deep into the storage complex were jars of herbs, flaked or ground rock, bottled elements in easy to work with states, and shelves of what must have been past experiments. Hybrid plants bowed and purpling with strain as they tried to grow in their new spliced state. Teeth from wolves and vampires thinned and warped into weapons or fused into impossible shapes Morgan could only imagine to be impossible. A pair of wings hung over the worktable at the end of the room, and on the surface itself, lit even brighter by a lamp, were the missing pieces of Coralaine’s body, most in jars ready to be worked with, but her scales were already fused with a piece of cotton, flaking and shriveled. Jo was in the middle of the room, wrestling with Marina Adams, Coraline’s older sister. Both women turned their heads at the sound of intruders. Morgan froze. Killing a witch was one thing; freeing a captive fae was another.

The strong preyed on the weak. That was the way of the world. Always had been. Always would be. It was the natural order. Be stronger than what wants to kill you... or die. Mercy knew this better than most. But she also knew that the laws of nature, the laws that most creatures that inhabited this world obeyed because they had no reason not to, and no choice otherwise, didn’t apply to humans. Or the supernatural. They killed because they could. Because they wanted to. Or because they held some antiquated notion that they had to. Not all, of course. An individual didn’t define them as a whole. But every species had evil in its ranks.

And the witch she had offered to help Morgan find was as evil as they came. So Mercy would have no qualms relieving her of the terrible burden of living. And thus ridding the world of one more evil creature that didn’t deserve the time she’d been given.

When they arrived at their destination, Mercy was fully ready for whatever came their way. She was just about to touch Morgan’s arm, to indicate that the doors she’d intended to cut open were already slightly ajar, but Morgan noticed. When she looked to Mercy, the Valkyrie gave her a nod of encouragement, and followed her inside.

What awaited them there was… horrific wasn’t the word for it. Despicable wasn’t right either. Monstrous was closer. But the only word that seemed to fit…. was evil. Mercy would be lying if she said this was the first time she’d seen something like this. Supernaturals being experimented on. Made into weapons. Killed and maimed and tortured for the sake of someone’s fucking curiousity. Or worse: profit. She wasn’t innocent of killing for money, but that was a lifetime ago now. And she’d never harmed the innocent or the weak. Not on purpose.

The wings across the back of the unit briefly drew Mercy’s eyes, but the struggling figures in the center of the room took precedence. Mercy glanced at Morgan as the other woman paused. “Courage.” She turned her eyes back to the witch and the young fae. Tilting her head curiously, Mercy started slowly forwards, peering at the shelves and their collection of items as if she were simply in the grocery store, trying to choose what to have for dinner. And not in the lair of a homicidal, psychopathic witch.

“You know, Jo - Can I call you Jo? - as much as I love the whole…” Mercy gestured vaguely. “- Island of Dr. Moreau vibe you got goin’ here…” She focused her gaze on the witch, hoping to hold her attention for as long as possible. “- I’m gonna have to ask you, from the bottom of my heart…. to stop being a murderous fucking cunt. And let the girl go.” Mercy’s easy smirk faded to something cold and unforgiving. Slowly, she pulled a small vial of dark blue liquid from her pocket and gave it a gentle rub with her thumb. The center bled a bright, angry red. “Or… I let my little friend here go. And we see if you new age witches still burn like the old ones did.”

Marina used the shift in the room to try to pull free. She twisted in Jo’s grip, dragging her feet over the edge of the circle to smudge it enough to be rendered useless. But something on Jo’s wrist (probably another fucking circle) made her go shrill with pain. She writhed, still pulling, wrenching as best she could. Morgan felt like a first class idiot for having assumed Jo was fae in the first place. She inched to the side, trying to close the distance between herself and Marina while Jo and Mercy had it out.

“You have no idea what you are getting yourselves into,” Jo said firmly, “Or that this ‘girl’--” she emphasized the word bitterly, “Is capable of. Turn around, walk away, and I’ll forget we crossed paths. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” she stomped her foot on the ground and sent out a ripple of power towards them. The ground went slick under Morgan and she fell hard, landing on her wrist, which snapped with an awful sound. Morgan grimaced and eased it back into place. Jo nodded with intrigue as she saw Morgan’s skin reshape itself with ease. “I’m not going to repeat myself,” she said evenly. “Trust me that this is not how it looks, and leave.”

Mercy stood calmly, keeping her eyes on the witch and the girl as Morgan slowly moved in the opposite direction. This was her show. Mercy was merely a player. Though it appeared the witch wasn’t going to take Mercy’s verbal bait. But for the moment, Mercy had her talking, bringing whatever spell had been in progress to a pause.

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Mercy huffed, pocketing the vial of blue liquid for now. “I know exactly what this girl is capable of.” Her eyes flicked to Marina, and it was to her that Mercy spoke this time. “I bet you’d like to drown her, wouldn’t you, little nøkke? Feast on her flesh for what she did to your sister?” But Jo sent out a wave of magic, turning the floor slick as ice beneath their feet. Mercy managed to catch herself before she went down completely, but still fell hard to her knees, hands splayed in front to steady herself. She saw Morgan go down as well, the woman’s wrist crunching unpleasantly. But she righted herself, so Mercy carefully pushed to her feet and turned her attention back to Jo.

Antagonizing the witch seemed like a bad idea, though the very air around Mercy hummed with the desire to do just that. But she couldn’t. Not while the young girl was still in the alchemist’s grasp. So maybe changing tactics would work. They needed time. And distraction. So Mercy could only hope that Morgan would catch on to what she was doing. And not think herself betrayed.

“Say I believe you.” Mercy’s tone was thoughtful, but cautious. “Say I believe that whatever this is,” She gestured towards Jo and Marina. “- it’s the girl that’s the real threat, and not you.” Mercy took a few steps closer, clasping her hands behind her back. “Say I turn around and leave, and forget about you and this place. Say I forget about all of it. And I make sure she forgets too.” Mercy tipped her head towards Morgan, while still holding the witch’s gaze. “What’s in it for me?” Another step, and Mercy’s fingers slipped idly beneath her jacket and curled around the hilt of a blade tucked into a sheath concealed across her back. “What can you offer me, Jo Muscgraves, so that I forget you ever existed? Because trust me when I say that whatever this girl is capable of… I’m capable of much, much worse.”

Jo had been in plenty of tight spots before. Taboo research to crack the code of organic supernatural magic would do that to you. So did obtaining live samples from murderous animals like the Adams girls. Jo really had been fond of them, to the point that it made her sick with guilt. After what they’d done in their hometown? Fae and beasts were just specimens with power they had no right to monopolize for themselves and use against humans. If Jo could just finish her work in peace, maybe she could find the key to sharing the wealth. But Marina was whimpering and moaning in a way that made Jo’s stomach twist, the circle was smudged, and the women/creatures before her were probably about to ruin everything. “You leave me, you let my work succeed, and you’ll be first in line. You--” She turned to Morgan, looking at the way her bones were rearranging themselves inside her skin. “You know about this world. You know what kind of power is being used to keep humans ignorant and underfoot. Don’t you think you deserve a piece of it too? Shouldn’t you be able to glamour yourself at will? To jump into the air and out of danger on wings?” Her gaze flitted back to Mercy, sizing her up. She might be less human than she looked, but Jo could hardly slip her some litmus right now to tell for sure. “What would you give in order to fly? To change your face, your form? This isn’t senseless, this is--”

“If it wasn’t senseless, you shouldn’t have dumped the girl who trusted you out with the trash!” Morgan snapped. “Shouldn’t have butchered her like a hack!” The words burst out of her before her mind could think of words like ‘stealthy’ and ‘careful’ and ‘no one will warn you you’re going to die this time’ could stop her. She staggered upright and lunged for Marina just as Jo sent a lightning streak of magic her way. The power crashed through her, but Morgan didn’t stop. She grabbed the girl’s hand and pulled. Maybe being a living dead girl was good for something after all.

“First in line for what?” Mercy asked, partly to keep Jo talking, partly out of a sense of morbid curiosity. Because Mercy - perhaps more than most - could empathize with the desire to know. The search for their origins, for the answer to how the abilities - the magic - possessed by supernatural (or preternatural) creatures worked, and where it came from, wasn’t a new quest. And Jo wasn’t the first person throughout history to go about their quest the wrong way. Through murder and butchery. Which was also something Mercy could understand. But not when it involved spilling innocent blood.

So Mercy watched Jo watch Morgan. She saw how the witch’s eyes lingered on the healing bones, the way the skin knitted itself back together. Mercy kept her hands behind her back, one wrapped around the blade that was now loose in it’s sheath but still hidden, and continued her slow pacing to try and flank the woman as Morgan moved opposite. She paused, however, when Jo addressed her again.

What would you give in order to fly?  

For just a moment, the Fury… considered. Of all the questions to ask… why that one? Mercy had wanted wings for close to 1200 years. It was one of the few things she felt she was owed after so long. Did Jo know something she didn’t? Did the witch have some uncanny sense of what might sway Mercy to let her live?

Almost everything. Mercy nearly spoke the words out loud. Her eyes flitted to the wings strung overhead. Where had they come from, she wondered. What creature had died, or more likely been killed, so that Jo could display them in such a vulgar, disrespectful way. And then offer them up as some sort of… reward. Mercy had a response waiting, but the witch’s words had fueled Morgan’s anger to a fever pitch and she reacted accordingly. Morgan lunged for the girl, ignoring the violent, sizzling magic that ripped through her body. The smell of sulfur and burnt flesh permeated the air, but the moment Morgan had hands on the girl, Mercy moved as well.

There was a soft ‘shick’ sound as the short-sword was pulled free. It spun in Mercy’s hand, a blur of motion as she brought it down with deadly accuracy, aiming to sever the witch’s hand at the wrist, and release the girl into Morgan’s arms.

Jo had only a second to see the blade coming and in that second one long equation fired in her head, racing to calculate the balance of her next move. Pull on the girl, hope she could be a shield. Maybe some scales would be damaged, maybe she preferred to remind them both how little her life was worth by testing the limits of her power personally, but her body would still be usable. She could risk some damage to her own body in an effort to keep Marina’s intact, and being injured might make the girl bold. She fought harder than Coraline, already, but that was a temporary state. She could let go, try to get her back later, or escape unharmed and try again in a different town. She had some contacts she could rely on, people who were counting on her to help them with her work. But how? And how did she know they wouldn’t chase her? Three supernaturals trapped in her vault, including a zombie? But Jo had a second, only a second, and in that time her body, not her mind, took control. She released Marina in time to catch the blade mid air. The sharp edge sliced into her palm for a moment, deep enough that she grunted with effort. Then the blade splashed down her sleeve and did away with any hope of keeping her circle charged, melted into water. “Nice try,” she said, and wound her fist up to land a punch. If she would get a hand on her, her tattoos could help her do the rest…

Marina crashed into Morgan as soon as she was let go. They toppled onto the slick floor together and scrambled to their knees. “There’s a car outside,” Morgan grunted. “Go. You’ll be safe inside.” She gave her a push as the girl scrambled to her feet. She flashed her teeth at Morgan. “Don’t touch me!” She spat, and staggered away. Morgan braced herself to her feet in time to realize Mercy might just be in some serious trouble if the tried hand to hand with an alchemist fast thinking enough to transmute at a moment’s notice. “Get back!” She reached to pull back her friend, but her mind hadn’t gotten around to calculating what might happen with a sudden distraction.

Over a millennia of life had given Mercy an advantage that most would never possess. Centuries upon centuries of time to hone the craft she had learned as a girl. So when the sword hit home, slicing through flesh and bone, Mercy wasn’t surprised. It was what she’d asked the blade to do, after all. But for all of the Fury’s deadly speed and accuracy, for all her confidence in those skills, when flesh and bone and blade connected because the witch caught Mercy’s sword with her hand - and in less than a moment the blade was gone, forge-hardened steel turned to nothing but a puddle of water -  Mercy was, for a heartbeat, well and truly surprised. Her eyes shot to the witch’s face as she spoke, but the single moment of shock seemed to be enough for Jo. Her fist caught Mercy square across the jaw. Mercy grunted, staggering slightly to the side and nearly slipping on the slick floor. But she righted herself almost immediately, her expression turning from shock to something else. Something that welcomed the faint taste of copper in her mouth... the hum of power in the air… the unexpected (and yes, thrilling) challenge of a witch that could change one element to another at will…

Mercy turned to face Jo again. “I can do better.”

Behind her, Mercy registered that Morgan was on her feet and shoving the girl towards the exit. She heard the girl scream and snatch away. She even heard Morgan’s voice calling out to her, felt the zombie’s hand on her arm, trying to pull Mercy away. “Go!” she told Morgan, though her eyes stayed on Jo. “Take the girl. This one doesn’t have the power to kill me. Do you?” Mercy taunted. Though she didn’t miss the circles inked onto the woman’s arms and the palms of her hands.

Jo didn’t squander her advantage. She closed in as Mercy stumbled, stabilized the floor with her boot, and grabbed her by the shoulders, pressing down good and hard with her tattooed palms. A flash of power passed from her body to the strange woman’s, unlocking her skin and her blood, flooding her with iron, enough to send her body into shock. She shoved her away and started to make a break for it. Right now she didn’t need a perfect kill. She needed to make sure she was alive to finish her work.

Morgan nearly left Mercy where she stood. She had what she needed and the valkyrie was a consenting adult. She could exercise her autonomy no matter what. But she saw Jo getting away, saw something bubbling under the surface of Mercy’s body and froze. She wanted to make the witch pay. She wanted Mercy to be okay. She wanted to stop her from grabbing Marina again and running off with her. She wanted, she wanted… Morgan’s hand shot out for the witch, but Jo was ready. Even Morgan’s dulled senses registered the pain of her flesh falling away from her bone. “Fuck!” She staggered back into Mercy, cradling her skeleton hand to her chest. That was gonna take a bit to heal.

A single moment of distraction cost Mercy dearly as Jo grabbed hold of the Fury’s shoulders. Mercy shot a hand out to grab the witch’s neck, while the other swung hard at the woman’s ribs. But that was as far as she got. She felt the sudden, sickening flow of magic as it was forced beneath her skin and into her blood. As it… changed something inside Mercy. Her healing factor pushed back instantly, trying to right what had so suddenly been thrown off-kilter. But the Fury still grunted at the sudden white-hot pain, like shards of glass soaked in acid  being forced through her veins. Mercy met Jo’s eyes for the span of a moment, the cold fury of the Valkyrie’s gaze both another taunt - Is this what you call power? - and a promise - This isn’t over. - just before she was shoved aside. She caught herself against the wall as her body started to slip into shock.

Fire laced through her belly, followed by nausea so intense she thought she might very well faint. It took all Mercy had not to double over. Everything hurt. Every movement, every breath, every heartbeat felt like it took a monumental effort. But then Morgan was being shoved towards her and the smell of burning flesh was in the air and Morgan was screaming…

Mercy tried to steady her as they collided, but she felt near to collapsing herself. Whatever Jo had done was making her feel weak. Tired. Underneath the pain and increasing systemic shock.  “Need to go...” Mercy said. “No good like this…” Mercy with her blood poisoned by magic and Morgan with her flesh peeled away from her bones. The Valkyrie coughed and spit red onto the ground. “We saved the girl. ‘S’what matters. For now…” Later, they would make Jo pay. For today. And for all the days before. But right now they were in no shape to continue. Live to fight another day and all that.

Morgan averted her eyes as the muscle and sinew around her skin stitched itself anew. On a fresh meal, it might have been done by now, but she was stretching out her feeding schedule to make sure she at least had raw strength going for her in this encounter. Apparently it hadn’t counted for much after all. At least she knew Mercy had seen worse. “Hey, you’re okay, right? You’ve made it twelve hundred years, a little hack job like whatever she did can’t knock you down now.” She braced Mercy against her shoulder and staggered out into the open air. There was no sign of Marina in the car. Figures. She probably wouldn’t have waited around in some stranger’s car to find out what would happen to her either. Wherever she’d gone, Morgan hoped she was safe. “I’d say at least you can sleep this off,” she said, laughing dryly, “But we both know that's gonna be a whole other hell of a time.”