The sagas of the Nords are no strangers to tragedy. From the horrifying end of Bòttegar the Bright to the heart-wrenching fall of the Forgotten Valkyrie, and from the treason Bryhilde suffered in the Saga of the Blooded Ring to the cold death met by the Shieldmaidens Eske and Anneli in the Tale of a Sea Apart, the tales of Nords are filled with loss, pain and the suffering of loves. The events of such tales are harsh, cruel even, meant not to teach or inspire but rather warn that life can be cruel, people can be petty and mean and Mannheim is ever deadly. Few tales capture these Nord truths more than the Tale of the Ugr Stokkr, a tale only as old as a hundred years or so.
Stokkr Okmodir grew in Jatréheim, a small town, deep in the deadly forests under the shadow of the eastern Gald, living off hunt and timber trade. Stokkr was the daughter of a widowed huntress, Ama Bodildottir, daughter of the servant girl Bodil and Ulfyr Valdirson, Jarl of Jatréheim. If Skalds are to be believed, Stokkr was born in the forest, on top of a tree, while her mother was besieged by a vargr below – thus the name, meaning log or piece of wood. Defying the fate of most Ugr-mothers, Ama survived but was never able to walk again. Turning to her father for aid in her disability, she was shunned and forced to live and raise her child on the charity and goodwill of others. Ulfyr, the tale goes, had no use for her or her malformed brute of a child.
As months and years passed, however, Stokkr grew. She grew strong and grew a lot, her simple mind instilled in the kindness of the people whose charity had allowed her and her mother to survive. Before long, she was the go-to person for any hard labor in the small town. While she never asked for anything in return, and the tale is filled with stories of people taking advantage of her, many were those who ensured that neither hers nor her mother’s bellies would go empty, nor their hearth cold. It seemed, then, that her future was set; but the Norns had other plans for her. Witnessing her might after she single-handedly saved fleeing woodcutters from three vargar, old Ulfyr saw in her the means to secure his rule in his old age, and even expand his domain and influence in the meantime. The next day, he greeted her as a hero of her people and invited her to live with him in his longhouse. Her simple response was as humble as it was defining, giving her her surname: “and mother.”
With both Stokkr and Ama welcomed in splendor in the Longhouse, it did not take long for the Jarl to put her to work. Showering her in titles and honorifics, he had Stokkr accompany him in his visits to neighboring towns, entering her in games and duels in a blatant display of power. One by one, other dwelling leaders began to pay homage to the Jarl and Ama and Stokkr wanted for nothing. With his domain secure, Ulfyr planned to take her on raids but this was the one thing Stokkr refused to do, fearing water and not wanting to leave her mother alone for so long. During the following winter, Ama ‘faded away’, her weakened body finally giving up, as the Jarl put it to her. The next summer, Stokkr was on a ship, bringing riches on top of power to the Jarl.
As is often the case in such tales, the Jarl became consumed by his own power hunger, dreaming of a seat in the High Table – but as his own body was failing him, old age catching up, that hunger turned to paranoia. Everyone was out to get him, at first from his recently acquired fiefdoms, then from his own town or even his own sons. One by one, the Jarl’s enemies, imaginary and real alike, fell at the hands of Stokkr and the poor Ugr maiden, from a favored child of Jatréheim, became its accursed terror, the same people that had lovingly cared for her now spitting before the earth she walked, knowing her gentle heart would not reciprocate.
It was at that time that Stokkr first laid eyes on Leif, son of Lof, Jarl of Veidaheim. Lof had long bent the knee before Ulfyr but Leif had other plans. Noticing Stokkr’s adoring eyes, he approached her, spinning tales of love and adoration. Leif proved careful, calculative and very patient. He kept his ‘secret love’ with Stokkr going for two years, just until he finally managed to remove his father and take his place. Then, he made his first attempt to turn the Ugr against her ruler; the only thing standing between them, he claimed, was the old Jarl. With the innuendos missing their mark, eventually Leif decided on a more direct approach. The time, he said, had finally come for them to be together but the only way to do that was to elope. He warned her of the night he would come for her and told her that those who knew of their love and wanted to end it would try to stop him, bidding her to protect her love, when the time came. With the Jarl’s strongest protector under leash, Leif gathered his best swordarms and attacked the city under cover of night, murdering and pillaging as they rushed towards the longhouse.
Bathed in the light of houses aflame, Stokkr’s self-knit wedding dress and wild berry bouquet shone red and yellow – as did the tears in her eyes, confused and terrified, as her beloved and the people of her town clashed. Then, with little guidance but what Leif had given her, she did what she was bid to do: she protected what she loved and fell upon those who attacked the people whose kindness had raised her.
Alone she fought the raiders, and alone she died. But her actions had allowed the town’s warriors to raise swords, shields, and a proper defense. Come morning, she was found surrounded by a mount of dead bodies, Leif’s body pinned under hers, and the tale was born. Reaching to embrace him, Leif stabbed her, only to be crushed under her.
It is always hard to separate myth from fact when it comes to the Nords. But, in many ways, it matters little. To this day, the birth of an Ugr is considered a good omen in Jatréheim and local-born Ugr are fed and taken care of by the town. Last, but not least, seasoned warriors and shieldmaidens, dressed in red and yellow, join the Bride’s Chosen, an elite unit of warriors. In winter and at times of peace, they assist the townsfolk with labor but during raids and in times of war, under the banner of a golden wedding ring crowned by wild berries, on a red field, the Bride’s Chosen are a force only fools would ignore.