Ást

About Ást

Raven scout and ambassador of the Kingdom of Ravnea. With access to the ravens' vault and her extensive knowledge of the Elemental Realm, she's happy to share some facts every now and then.

Posts by Ást :

The river Rúnhǫllinelfr

The river Rúnhǫllinelfr

Every realm has streams and rivers, the Elemental Realm is no different. We have one large river intersecting the realm called Rúnhǫllinelfr.

Thinking to take a swim in it? I wouldn’t. The river might decide to keep you the way it’s kept many before. Its hands are as strong as its mind and not to be underestimated.

There are stories from ages ago about the river Rúnhǫllinelfr and how it swallowed enchantments from spells to create its own kind of magic. It’s said that Rúnhǫllinelfr reads your soul, and what exactly it is that makes it want to keep you no one knows. Some unlucky to have fallen into the water are spit out and said to never be quite themselves again. They keep hearing the song of the river, the rushing of the water and the whispers of its voice inside their minds for the rest of their lives. Like in the case of Dugr.

Dugr’s encounter with the river

Dugr, a raven-skinned like myself, has once noted down how he in flight in his raven form accidently flew into a thick tree branch and crashed into the streaming water of Rúnhǫllinelfr. He tried to get free from its water, but didn’t manage. He was pulled down and down, until the water bleed away and a great hall presented itself. A solemn voice called that, “He who enters these halls agrees to remain”. Dugr refused to enter and was released, but he couldn’t stand water after this. Just taking a bath was pure torture as he kept hearing the voice of the river every time water touched his skin.

So, a friendly advice is to keep to the bridges, and when you do cross Rúnhǫllinelfr, do so quickly.

Feathers and lore,
Ást

The river of Runhollinelfr2900px
Wild orchids

Wild orchids

I didn’t realise walking would take so long. Ravens don’t normally walk for long stretches. We fly. But since Linnea and her father don’t fly, walking is our only option.

For a long time, I’ve had no choice but to accept my circumstances. This is just the same. I just have to accept what is and deal with it. I may be frustrated, and my feet may hurt a bit. It doesn’t matter.

I accept what is.

It works, most of the time. But not when it comes to Hräsvelg. I ponder this. Perhaps it’s because I can’t quite grasp him. I don’t know what he is, who he is – or what to accept.

Said eagle shifter scouts ahead. I’m some distance behind him trying not to lose sight of Linnea and her father. Simultaneously, I try to not lose track of Hräsvelg either. Favouring different shades of brown, he’s well camouflaged between sturdy tree trunks.

I’m certain that if Linnea made an effort, she could easily keep up with us. But her father is slow. The old man doesn’t complain, but I’ve seen the grimace on his face.

Looking up, I realise that Hräsvelg has stopped and is waiting for me to catch up. I’m reluctant to reach his side. He’s not doing anything to provoke me, and yet, he does.

A couple of thoughts later, I reach him.

He’s quiet. He’s always quiet.

I’m annoyed. Why would he wait for me if he doesn’t have anything to say?

A shrill scream cuts through the forest coming from somewhere behind us. Before I know it, both Härsvelg and I are running. My hurting feet temporarily forgotten. As we reach Linnea, she’s squatting to admire a tiny flower.

“It’s an orchid,” she exclaims with a revered expression.

“An orchid?” I echo stupidly.

“It’s a ghost orchid. These are so rare. They don’t even bloom every year… It smells like vanilla… Some tropical orchids do too…,” Linnea says in a waterfall of appreciation.

“Don’t scream like that. We thought you were in danger,” Hräsvelg says reproachfully.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to,” Linnea replies, but without taking her eyes off the tiny brownish stem with white flowers. “I just can’t believe I finally get to see one for real….”

Not sure what to say, I kneel to take a whiff of this little flower. Its scent is a unique and pleasant one.

“Why is it called ghost orchid?” I ask, thinking this is a rather unpleasant name.

“Oh, it’s a parasite. Not sure how it got its name. In Swedish we call it ‘skogsfrun’, the lady of the forest after one of our elfins…”

“Right,” I reply.

Some of the troll ladies like to run around naked in the forest. In folklore humans call this naked lady the mistress of the forest and from what I gather there are quite a few tales.

“What’s wrong?” Hräsvelg asks, and as I turn to look at him I find him studying Linnea’s father.

Gunnar is sweating and he looks pale.

For being Hräsvelg, he’s actually chatty.

“My legs…,” Gunnar grunts.

“Pain?” Hräsvelg continues.

“Yeah,” Linnea’s father admits, probably because it’s difficult to lie when someone like Hräsvelg stares at him.

“Why didn’t you say something? I’ve got painkillers,” Linnea says immediately and starts rummaging through her backpack.

She produces a couple of small, white pills and practically shoves them down Gunnar’s throat.

We take a short break, then continue until nightfall.

And I realise this will be a very, very long journey.

Feathers and lore,
There’s much, much more,

//Ást

#5 The secrets of the vaults

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#5 The secrets of the vaults

My raven ancestors have always been carefully keeping notes of the realm, the different elementals, the kingdoms, special occasions, interesting decisions and fates – it serves as our lore, inspiration and guidance for future reigns, future leaders and elementals. To falsify the historical notes was considered a very grave crime, not only in the present against your peers, but consequently also a crime against all future generations. This is why ravens took great care to ensure what they noted down was truly the truth.

When I’m stationed in Ravnea, my own kingdom, I tend to spend much time in the old vaults, both reading and observing the in-progress transformation of old scrolls to a more modern information system. Magic and ‘technology’, as Queen Venla refers to it. I find it fascinating, and I’m impressed with the speed at which you can find what you’re searching for. It was a little tricky to at first grasp the concept of search criteria and how to properly index and categorise information, but there have been great improvements since last I visited the vaults.

For some reason I seem to dig deeper and deeper into ancient times. Some of these ancient texts are excessively difficult to read, and I’m led to understand that they describe the events from a time before the ancient wars. From what I can see this realm was very different back then. As the wars slowly began, there was a term ‘skilja’ in the old language, which translates to separate, to divide or to limit. The old kingdoms weren’t ruled by fear, they were ruled by togetherness. Still there was a strong individualism where each person was encouraged to hone their special talent to contribute to the whole. It’s not until later that this interpretation of honing talents is transformed into something more materialistic and rather means success at the expense of others, thus spurring violence and instability.

In this later state the separation is mentioned, and being so caught up in this wheel of seeking fame and prosperity leads to further diversion – a creation of a dream, and which the person cannot easily snap out of.

So, first was a time of connectedness, then a time of separation. I suppose we are again trying to connect – perhaps to ourselves first and foremost.

Feathers and lore,
There’s much, much more,

//Ást

#4 Your true talent

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#4 Your true talent

Hamingja is an internal part of our self, of our spirit, but something that’s still been regarded as a separate entity. Some believed that their ‘hamingja’ could be inherited by children in their linage, to which I’m doubtful.

But what is ‘hamingja’? It translates as ‘luck’, and has over the ages deteriorated down to skill in battle, but it used to be so much more – an aspect I see returning all over the realm. I’d rather translate ‘hamingja’ to ‘talent’. When an individual find their true calling and hone that skill, they become very successful, even autonomous in their craft – which was indeed true for warriors too. But it’s easy to forget that it’s also true for any craft, be it healing, art, magic, construction, engineering and so on.

Coming back to the matter of inheriting ‘hamingja’. Many times, children would learn their trade from their parents, in which case I can understand how the thought of inheriting ‘hamingja’ was born. Although we still believe in ‘hamingja’, it’s nowadays believed to be more of a personal talent to serve the community. It doesn’t necessarily mean that your talent will be the same as the talents of your parents. More likely your talent will be an evolution with ingredients from both of theirs.

There are situations described when individuals have been forced to develop the wrong talent. It doesn’t necessarily equal a fate filled with misery, but the true euphoric sensation of excelling might never manifest itself, and it’s not unheard of that those individuals have later in life changed direction.

Feathers and lore,
There’s much, much more,

//Ást

#3 Hamr and hugr – and changing skin

#3 Hamr and hugr – and changing skin

Perhaps you are aware that many elementals (elementals are human-like beings with affinities for different elements like air, fire, water and earth) have more than one skin – ‘eigi einhamir’, meaning ‘not of one skin’ in the old language.

Hamr is our body, our skin – and because of my raven nature I can alter my hamr and take the shape of the raven. We call both skins hamr, but on occasion the raven skin is referred to as ‘feðer-hamr’, because of our plumage and wings.

In the old times we referred to our bodies as ‘hamr’ and our minds as ‘hugr’, but understand that ‘hugr’ implies more than what the word ‘mind’ indicates. ‘Hugr’ is our inner self, our personality, our intuition and the vibe we emit.

To change skin – ‘skipta hömum’ – means that you become as two beings. You can do everything that your animal shape can, but your elemental strength is added on top. Some of us are impossibly strong in our animal skin – like those in dragon, bear or wolf skins. My raven skin doesn’t possess impossible strength like that, apart from the fact that we’re very difficult to kill and that we don’t age in our ‘feðer-hamr’. In this shape I get to keep my ‘hugr’, but the rest is raven.

The concept of ‘skipta hömum’ can take a philosophical direction too. In different contexts we might need to take on different roles, learning that we can’t use the same strategies in every situation. This is more of an internal ‘skipta hömum’.

Feathers and lore,
There’s much, much more,

//Ást

The raven in her heart_book_w

Meet the ravens. Hugr means thought, Mugr means memory. And Odin needed both. Which is your raven?

Venla escapes to her remote cabin to celebrate Christmas alone, grieving the shattered fragments of her life, but when old memories ignite her creative spirit, and she starts spinning and knitting, a raven comes to visit. On an impulsive whim she decides to let the raven into her heart, treating it as her friend, and it doesn’t take long before it brings her a magical gift. Only now it wants her to follow it into the woods. She thinks she must be crazy for even contemplating this, but the magic piques her interest. Not knowing it is the Elemental realm the raven has brought her to, Venla wields the little magic she can, to make her way.

But what will come of this crazy journey? Venla wasn’t sure what to expect, but she certainly wasn’t expecting her raven to transform into a beautiful prince, to discover a long-lost kingdom under a curse or to enjoy the most wonderful Yuletide she had ever had. And perhaps a ‘happy ever after’ too…

Inspired by ancient Scandinavian Yuletide traditions, the raven in Norse mythology, and Scandinavian folklore. Journey to encounter a host of mythical creatures in a heart-warming, creative Christmas adventure with transcendental depth.

The raven in her heart by Anneli von Knorring is a feel-good wintery tale where we explore the raven and its magic in Scandinavian folklore and myth, along with old Yuletide traditions.

Shop this book now

Or get The raven in her heart on Amazon.

#2 Where I grew up

#2 Where I grew up

I’m restless when I’m here, back in the little town of Ravnea, and the raven kingdom, that I suppose will always be home. I’m observing the folks that do call this home, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I don’t feel the same. Where I find Ravnea a quint, little town, the shops satisfactory and the company interesting – I still feel restless and a sense of not belonging.

I envy Queen Venla – and for those of you who don’t know, she’s the Queen of Ravnea – she just all of a sudden one day belonged. Forvitri is convinced it’s because her name means ‘to belong’ – and maybe that is her spiritual aspect. She certainly inspires many to feel the same. But as you might have guessed – not me. This too inspired me to search elsewhere, to travel the realm.

I look around. This is the old house where I grew up. The enchantments have kept most of the things intact from how it was the day my family became ravens. My family. Well, don’t misunderstand. I never bonded with anyone, and I have no children – unlike Forvitri. Mother and father had taken my twin sister Undr to visit old acquaintances when it happened – when we all became ravens for an unforeseeable future. They never came back though – not even as ravens. I looked for them – back then when I was only thought – but unsuccessfully.

Many times, I have wished that I remembered where they said they would fly that day, but my mind remains blank. Whenever I’m back here, I wander around the house looking for clues. I open books and close them again. I search the deepest corners of drawers and cupboards – but they all remain as I remembered them from last time.

I guess it’s my house now, but I think of it as ours – and it will be ours again when they return, or when I find them. At times I’m angry that they haven’t come back, but I know many kingdoms suffer after the ancient wars and the erection of the veil. Even if the raven curse happened long after. Perhaps they are trapped somewhere – in one of the kingdoms that need help?

I haven’t even told Forvitri about this – and a part of me is afraid that she will discourage me. Maybe it’s the same part of myself that too thinks this is pointless. That I’m too late.

If I’ve learnt one thing, then it’s this.

Nothing’s ever pointless. It’s a process. It might seem dark at times, but there is always hope.

Feathers and lore,
There’s much, much more,

//Ást

#1 When I’m only thought

#1 When I’m only thought

Black feathers, and a croak that’s heard for miles. I’m not aware of time when I fly. Endlessness and eternity breathe the existence – and all I am is thought.

My ancestors did many good things, and they praised knowledge – it’s still what we trade. Knowledge is power – and us ravens, we serve the realm by scouting and noting it down.
Still, my forefather’s never saw the darkness on the horizon – our downfall and curse. For many centuries I’ve been only thought – and so has my sisters and brothers, my people.

I’m too old to bother with who’s to blame – I’m back and I want to live. When I requested the position as scout and ambassador King Metnadin was surprised. Few ravens are eager to return to their bird shape after what happened.

And me? I both hate it and love it.

I love to fly – this sense of being free.

Anneli and Nicko asked me if I wanted to share pieces from my adventures in the Elemental Realm and I accepted. I’ll try my best to open up my raven mind to you.

Feathers and lore,
There’s much, much more,

//Ást