The following is an original tale…
Listen, read, and enjoy.
Prologue
The Realms
My eyes are like the ocean. Teeming with life, they see all of existence. I am eternally posted to my watch -- to observe the realms. Nine in total, my duty calls to record their true history. I am the scribe that documents our universe--the wars, the weather, the lives and deaths of all living beings.
All is bound under Yggdrasil, the tree of life. Under her branches we blossom and wither back to the earth. For as it is told: “Cattle die, kinsmen die; the self must also die...” No god or man in the nine realms can escape Yggdrasil’s deathly vines.
After death without honor, there is Helheim: Realm of the Dishonorable Dead. Home to Hel, goddess and Daughter of Loki, she rules ruthlessly over her miserable subjects who were unworthy of Valhalla. They drift across the dead land, eyes poisoned with regret. No warmth finds their bones; they feel only the frozen wind from the sea.
Beyond the realm of death lie seven others. All carry the beauty of life and the threat of ruin:
- Muspelheim: Realm of Fire
- Jotunheim: Realm of Giants
- Vanaheim: Realm of the Vanir
- Alfheim: Realm of the Light Elves
- Svartalfheim: Realm of the Dwarves
- Niflheim: Realm of Fog and Mist
- Midgard: Realm of Man
Lastly is the ninth realm--Asgard: Realm of the Gods. Duty lies heavy here; for Asgard holds the keys of power in Yggdrasil. In the beginning, the Gods formed her branches--creating a blueprint for life in other realms. Master of Yggdrasil is the Allfather: Odin. He is my king and our leader, a god among gods, all-powerful and the only soul with sight beyond my own.
Odin’s abilities lie in magic, wisdom and warfare. So profound is Odin’s love for wisdom, he would sacrifice his very being to plumb its depths. To that end, he hung himself from the limbs of Yggdrasil for nine tortuous days until his death. His subsequent resurrection by magic granted Odin the greatest wisdom of all: foresight into the future, bound by secrecy.
Valhalla
Within the Realm of Asgard, Odin forged residences:
Gladsheim, a vast hall where he holds court over twelve judges, whom he appoints to regulate affairs of the realm.
Valhalla, a place of great reward for the worthy. Honest, truthful, and loyal souls pass unto its paradise--a great hall where Odin received the dead of Einherjar, a battle long ago. In Valhalla, souls find peace and rest--two things most precious in death. A heroic death will grant a soul’s passing onto Valhalla. Few make it to the warrior’s afterlife, most are cast aside. Favored souls of women become Valkyries, who gather those fallen in battle for the coming final fight of all: Ragnarok.
Lastly, Odin built Valaskjaif: a silver throne that sits atop the realm. From here, he rules over all. Two faithful ravens roam the nine realms with constant sight, keeping him informed of man’s affairs. Watching, he judges when to intervene.
Heimdell
Odin observes everything--even me. He is my commander. He is the watcher of the watcher; and I, one of his confidants.
I am bound to my post on the Bifrost; where the sky meets the heavens. Here, the realm of gods and men are connected.
I am Heimdell, watcher of the realms. Blessed with keen sight and hearing, I am posted to keep watch for danger. Mostly I look for signs of Ragnarok, the war to end all wars. I also watch Midgard, where the race of men holds a strong bond to my own. With Odin, I helped create the world of Man in this age. I form the clay that is life in Midgard.
I was not always bound to my post of strict observance. Like other gods, I used to walk the nine realms, visiting those who gave me peace and conversation. My favorite is Midgard. I can still taste its sweet nectars on my tongue. Feeling the gentle southern wind I would walk the forest paths, basking in human senses.
With the passage of time, I could not help but participate in the growth of Men. I created the social classes as they stand today. I also forged a bloodline in the Eastern Kingdom of Midgard--blessed with godly intuition and strength. These traits passed from me to their mortal blood, creating a royal heritage--the finest being the Good King Jarl.
It is with Jarl and the realm of Midgard that our tale unfolds, where there seems to be a scheme afoot. In this tale of Brothers and Princes vying for power, the deeds of gods are not always what they seem…...
Act I
Chapter 1: A Prince At Odds
The wind was cold and the night was black. Waves dark as wine licked the hull of Jarl’s ship as it sailed west toward Myrkviðr. A land of lakes and vast forests, where King Snerra ruled the Blindspor people of Myrkviðr with reckless abandon. Working his subjects to great fatigue, they mined the earth, harvesting gems and gold for him.
King Snerra’s greed pushed beyond his own borders, as he ritually plundered the shores of Gulltoppr, King Jarl’s Eastern Kingdom. The Good King Jarl, being an ever peaceful and level-headed man, never wanted to spread further bloodshed through the lands. He saw it prudent to sail west and parley with King Snerra. Under cover of a moonless night, he made haste for Myrkviðr on a mission for peace with the western kingdom.
The Elders, members of King Jarl’s council, were at odds with the Good King’s judgment. They viewed it as an open invitation for King Snerra to invade their shores and plunder their lands. Unbeknownst to Jarl as his ship set sail, the Elders called the king’s younger brother Jorik to Council.
With Jorik, the Council agreed the peace treaty could not come to pass. The deliberation was swift: a one-sided grasp for power. Prince Jorik was to sail west in pursuit of the Good King--to murder his brother under the darkness of night.
Jorik was to ease his brother into death’s arms with the point of his knife-- tipped with Wolfsbane. Once the Good King was dead, he would sail back east and pronounce himself the king of Gulltoppr, the land beloved most by the gods.
Alas, Prince Jorik’s plans would not come to pass. Sailing off Crook Keep, a storm blew in from the north. The clouds laid low, black as coal as his ship rode the massive waves. Wind beat the sails, his crew fighting to tie them down. Jarl’s ship was just ahead.
Suddenly, a mist crept over my eyes. I was blinded to pitch black and could no longer see the ships on the sea. By some dark magic, my sight was forbidden. But I know, as the storm hung, humbly low, Prince Jorik’s ship moved in to intercept the good King Jarl...
The point of a knife, is a point of a knife.
And the point of this knife is to take his life.
Fiercely do the crows blow my back adrift,
waiting in their cave.
Back from the sea, after my meeting with the king.
The Point of this knife, is the point of this knife
And with this knife, I will take his life.
The clouds rolling. tolling grey,
The ship now showing and growing,
It’s begun
The point of a knife...
The storm is hung, humbly low, over our heads.
The night blackened god gives us the gift.
The gift of surprise.
Don’t warn our sister vessel, no need to let her in.
We are the only hope tonight.
Our bloodline and our kingdom, unchanged and battered in.
His tyranny staved our brethren’s cry,
Tonight.
So join me on the portside,
Unsheathe your steel my men.
Wipe the rain and salt from your eyes.
This night we take our kingdom, back from their eldest son,
And like the birds of old we’ll rise,
Tonight.
No more silence, no more tonight....
The clouds are low, and the sea does stir.
Ancient waters do we sail.
The serpent’s legend tales, the beast of gods,
The thrashing of the sails.
Don’t warn our brother vessel, no need to let him in.
The sinuous serpent is alive.
You see the sea its swirling? Their starboard sinking them!
His tyranny brought his own demise,
Tonight.
No more silence, no more tonight...
No more silence...
Chapter 2: The Prince Who Gains
Swirling violently, the sea swallowed Jarl’s ship before Jorik’s eyes. Slowly, the waves returned to their calmer state and the sky cleared. A tremendous serpent had destroyed the Good King’s ship! Prince Jorik smiled to himself, thinking of the future. He and his crew were the only ones to see the ship’s fate. The truth mattered not--their objective was complete.
Jorik would sail back and claim his throne, raising a new military council. The Elders needed to be taught the nature of true power--those old crows wouldn’t be spared any mercy. The Prince saw this plainly: they couldn’t be trusted during Jarl’s reign, why should they be trusted now? As Jorik slept during the journey back to Gulttoppr, he was awoken from his slumber. Once again, a dark mist swept over my eyes and I was blind to the scene unfolding between Jorik and his mysterious visitor...
Here we sit with heavy hearts,
worried eyes and troubled starts, always.
But princes we, should never be.
Your time is now, to take the crown.
Forgotten in a world, with a mind on a swirl,
Slipping on the past that was laid before you.
Trekking up the path, with the shadow of a back.
Second in the line, of a throne,
illusive…pitch black.
By godly hand the sea swirl swelled.
The king, he fell, to greet his Hel, but we safe.
So take up your crown,
Take up your crown,
Long live the king.
My motive’s not a selfish act.
I’ve seen your thoughts,
and what you’ve planned, tonight.
By God’s Decree, they’ve summoned me to your aid.
So here you stand, by your own hand,
You will rule over them all.
Now I depart, but before I start,
Heed the words that I speak.
There may come a time, somewhere down the line,
when I’ll need your hand for a favor of the gods.
If you deny my request in the night,
you will lay slain by the path you’ve chosen.
By godly hand the sea swirl swelled.
The king, he fell, to greet his Hel, but we safe.
So take up your crown,
Take up your crown,
Long live the king.
My motive’s not a selfish act.
I’ve seen your thoughts,
and what you’ve planned, tonight.
By god’s decree, they’ve summoned me to your aid.
Wake up my men, for I’ve received a vision from the gods.
It was their deed tonight at sea,
By their decree, I am now your king,
Predestined and chosen.
Pull in the oars, for we’ve reached the land of our fathers.
My people and my nation abound,
I am your king, embrace my crown!
Good day old crows.
I’ve returned from the quest you assigned me.
Our god found me.
And now from he my will is just and divine.
My people and my servant s beneath,
I am your god, I am your king!
My people and my servants beneath,
I am your god, I am your king!
Chapter 3: The King Awakes
Jorik usurped his brother’s crown with rage and a swift sword and reckless abandon for his people. No mercy was shown to any of the council. The people fell in line quickly: Jorik was, after all, next in line for the throne.
Thought to be dead but instead alive, King Jarl found himself to be shrouded in a dark fog. Dreamlike visions surrounded him with ghastly, horrific images flashing through his mind. He’d been pulled down by the torrential waves of the sea. Rushing water, shards of his ship and drowning men battered his body.
Then, he caught a glimpse of the serpent’s tail. It thrashed his ship to pieces and the Good King felt the cold water drawing him down in a spiral. Thrusts of wind whipped his hair as he was pulled under once again.
All went black.
Opening his eyes in the cyclone of water, he could see nothing but the abyss stretching beneath him. Sinking faster now, Jarl disappeared inside himself. Trying to focus on his last shred of consciousness, he heard the howl of a wolf in the distance. Then he broke, giving his mind to the sea.
Through black, through nothing, he was dragged into a fever dream of darkness. Then, nothing but silence as the hours passed.
Suddenly, Jarl felt the burn of ice and a biting wind. Opening his eyes, he saw great prison bars wrought of iron and darkness. He felt the ground turn chill beneath his feet. Ice sprawling out on the ground, sown like a spider web. In disbelief, he watched as the queen of the underworld delicately appeared...
Foolish king, made of flesh and the earth.
You’re too easy a captive, for as much as you seem worth.
My brother, he pulled you under,
Whirl of water, and the snake.
My father, ever cunning,
Entranced your brother, now king, of the realm.
Pale king, there’s no color in your smile.
Nor the splinter of cunning, that your rumors aspire.
Your heart is beating harder, there’s no hope in your eyes.
Your brother, ever eager, for his crown to arise, upon his head.
You are the prisoning of the prophet,
And in silence you will fade.
Neither martyr nor coffin,
Here your body will remain.
I’ve been bound in the nether,
Enslaved as its queen.
Made to an orphan,
But never bereaved.
You will know my name...
Look into my eyes, I see your surprise.
You will suffer, you will suffer.
And you will know my name.
You will know my name.
Act II
Hear this call,
Through Hel’s own walls,
Your father, true to your blood.
You’ve grown wise,
And I’ve witnessed your life,
Though I’ve never spoken a word.
Distant and pining for our parlay
For I was the conceiver,
Laid as a guest,
In a bed made of straw.
Mother, Father, God.
And I am the watcher,
Witness to all,
Granted foresight I see.
Realms past and present to thee.
By Odin’s request, I speak to your direct.
My brave boy, your father is proud.
But there’s no time to waste,
Though I’ve enjoyed our pace,
I must dispel what brought me here.
Unraveling the scheme of your death.
My strong son, my finest heir, I am proud.
Lights off, we’re done in the kitchen.
All caught up and all filled in.
And I’m here, to deliver a message,
And Introduce you to your brother’s friends.
It all starts with a prince and his children.
One. Two. Three.
His plan sewn shut.
Mind you, to step over shadows,
Trust your light and trust your blood.
Sit back, relax, perchance, my map and braille are pure.
Cause it’s nothing but puppets and stories tonight.
Allow me to introduce myself,
And my progeny of three.
I am Loki,
Pleased to meet you.
For your present lot, thank me.
Off Crook Keep my son sat in wait,
Swirled your ship below the waves.
Away from the world you lay sequestered,
So weaker men can hold their sway.
Namely your brother, his power swells,
Through no will of his own.
And best of all, my iron prison,
Will make escape impossible.
How does it feel to be played for a fool?
You’re a puppet in this tale, glad ya figured it out.
How does it feel to be played for a fool?
You’re a puppet in this tale, glad ya figured it out.
Chapter 4: The Allfather Acts
Odin sat on his high throne in Asgard, looking down. The present events unfolded to his eye like the rising sun cresting above a grassy hill. The Allfather focused and breathed deep, weighing his mind.
After a time, he drew the conclusion he sought.
Odin turned his head to his ravens, Huginn and Muninn. His lips moved slowly as he spoke: ”Heimdell has intervened in Jarl’s course of events. While this comes as a surprise, it is in our best interest as well. Jorik must know the folly that has been unfolding around him. Go to him. Show him the puppet he has become as part of this scheme. Show him where his brother lives now. Show him the truth.” With that, the ravens took flight from the high throne and set out towards Midgard, towards Jorik, to change the tide of this tale...
Jorik knelt on the ground breathing heavily. He had been on his daily ride through Fillian Forest when two large ravens had knocked him from his horse. As the birds crept closer, they began to weave their minds through Jorik’s. Lucid visions began to flash inside his head. The ravens showed him terrible things--things that had already happened, and things that were yet to come.
First, they showed him the truth about Loki’s plot: how he deceived Jorik; how the god of mischief would soon turn on him and seize control of Midgard.
Then the ravens showed Jorik how his brother Jarl now lay sequestered in a Helheim prison under the wardenship of Loki’s daughter Hel.
Jorik wailed to the sky in irrevocable agony as the ravens flew off. He was still miles from his home and his people--the people he’d horribly mistreated. Unless he would run it to death, his horse needed rest. Deep in thought and onsetting pangs of regret, he camped for the night to decide upon his next move…
~*~
The sky over the large hill was drenched in the blood orange sunset just west of the city. A chill hung in the crisp air, signaling the oncoming winter. Two figures approached one another casting shadows eastward atop the hill: one in the shape of a hulking wolf, the other a man.
As my mind was no longer draped in shadow, I could now see everything unfold with clarity. The wolf was Fenrir...and the man: his father Loki. Dark clouds gathered overhead as the two figures began to converse and night engulfed the earth...
Who am I to bear the burden of danger to my lord?
It is I, your son, the beast, the wolf, untamed.
Well I tell you lord,
The men are safe and secure inside my jaw.
And only a fool would live, to waste this day.
To live again and take your throne.
As the sun recedes itself, and our shadows do grow long.
I the wolf, must embark on other designs.
I have a deal west with Tyr,
His iron fist it calls.
My path, my choice, my toil of godly games.
But you must live again and take your throne.
You must live again and take your throne!!
And, rule all these peasants,
These weak race of men.
You’ll bury their wicked,
And oppress their kin.
Oh you’ll pick all their pockets,
And their silly white smiles.
And you’ll Live long and prosper from the sweat of their lives.
For soon I’ll return,
To be at your side.
With my teeth and my anger and my temper on rise.
And together with Hel, well, our family will rule, over this race and this world,
And again and again, I say Take Your Throne!
Cool your breath, I’m not here to slay.
Instead I expect to: capture, bind and enslave.
I will be the foot at your throat, the whip at your back.
Do not tempt my godly game, for you’ll never relax.
For you’re bound to this favor,
And bound to the will I say.
Do you fear death?
Or do you fear your life?
Under my command, you will know fear tonight.
I will give you no option, there’ll be no reach outside my grasp.
No choice for freedom, you will die when I ask.
For I’m the killing of the profit,
I’m your god until the end.
For I am just in my reign as king.
If you know your place, centered under me.
My vassals, my property.
And I am the iron in your blood for strength,
I’ll seize the your spoils, but before I take,
Your dying breath,
Your dying curse,
Your dying wish,
Your dying words,
I WILL STRIKE YOU!
You are the first, in the dawn of my sway.
From here the realm, will bow as my prey.
I’ll be the foot at their throat, from the mouth to the shelf.
Ruling and contorting, the realm for myself.
I’m the killing of the profit and the warning at the end.
I’m the killing of the profit and the warning at the end.
For I am just in my reign as king.
If you know your place, centered under me.
My vassals, my property.
For I’m the iron in your blood for strength,
I’ll seize your spoils, but before I take,
Your dying breath,
Your dying curse,
Your dying wish,
And all those dying words...
I WILL STRIKE YOU!
Act III
Frozen winds embraced Gultopper as winter descended across the land. Even to these stalwart people, hardened against this icy brutality, the death and destruction wrought by Loki had been unthinkable.
But in truth, Jorik was as much to blame as Loki. While he’d been played as a mere puppet by the silver prince, it was his iron fist that had put the carnage into motion--and that was unforgivable.
Death himself had come to this city--to his home. Left unfettered, the ice would freeze solid the destruction upon these now destitute people, leaving Jarl to die in vain.
And yet… a hot flame inside him resisted this fate. With Loki watching his every move, Jorik had to be discrete in how he planned to set things right. He sent ravens carrying orders to only his most trusted advisors, each riding alone to avoid suspicion. Deep in the western woods of Gultopper sat the most secret place he knew of. It was there that he would reveal his plan.
His gamble paid off.
After carefully assembling his council of closest confidants, under the warm light of the hidden hall, they feasted on boar, bread and honey wine.
But unbeknownst to the gathered faction, from outside the cave door Loki peered inside, perched like a falcon on a rock. Everything was going to plan, he thought. Soon he would be rid of Jorik again. Loki narrowed his eyes, his steady gaze fixed on Jorik, and he planted his words inside the prince’s mind.
Then, as he watched, Jorik stood at the head of the table, raised his glass, and offered a toast...
When I go onto Valhalla,
Don’t you cry for me.
I’ll be gone, six feet under.
Or my ashes spread out to sea.
Things we’ve learned throughout the years:
Love is key.
If I had just a little more time,
What would I do?
Write more songs? Love more women?
I think I’d spend it with you.
When I go onto Valhalla,
Don’t you cry for me.
I’ll be gone, six feet under.
Or my ashes spread out to sea.
When I go onto Valhalla,
Raise a glass for me.
I call your name:
Goddess Hel of the underworld.
I call you forth,
To meet me at your gate.
I know your game,
I’ve seen how you treat my brother.
Release my king,
Unbar his locks and his armor.
Who are you?
Who are you?
Talkin’ to me like I’m your equal,
When you’re a weakling of the people
It’s clear you’re no threat to me,
You are small and you are weak.
I will wait.
I will wait you out.
I know your fate,
I have seen you inside my vision.
You cannot wait.
Who are you?
Who are you?
Speakin’ of distant visions,
and... (sniff) wreaking of fear.
I’ll toy with you like a mouse boy,
Are you deaf or can’t you hear?
Run away.
Run away little man.
I cannot say,
How exactly you will die.
For that is not your fate,
Shown to me through his eye.
But there will be blood,
Streaming down your leg.
And there will be blood,
Streaming down to your feet.
How dare you?
How dare you?
Abuse and twist your words into a spider web of fable.
I won’t ever move my tone boy, he’s here if you’re able.
There’ll be no show mercy,
And there’ll be no hesitation.
I won’t ever be defeated,
So it’s best you move along.
Run away,
Run away little man.
Run Away.
Run Awa—
Chapter 5: The God Prince’s Throne
Suddenly, Odin’s mighty spear struck Hel’s leg with a sudden mortal shift of full force--sending her to the ground in shame. Her knee buckled under the momentum, slamming into the ground. The Allfather had intervened; Hel lay ruined and incapacitated in her own great hall. Jorik looked on with stoic certainty.
Underground Jarl gazed to his loosened chains. Free at last, he creaked the unbarred Iron door to reveal a waning vision of Odin, whose voice rumbled through the cave hall: “Go forth, Good King. Your father sends his mind.”
Jarl emerged from his cell and wound his way up to the cave mouth. Immediately feeling his brother’s changed presence, pure and true. He passed Hel without consequence. He did not laugh, he simply ran. Untying the tethered horse, Jarl joined his brother to escape. Loki still lurked out there, somewhere--but they had to try. The brothers rode out of Hel in a rush of fury.
Loki watched with bated breath, waiting for the brothers to reach the cliffs outside of Gultoppr. Then he knew just what to do with them.
Oh! What a pair of ragged tramps we have here!
A king and his treacherous brother.
Everyone... bow down to them!
Hello prince…
Back in your rightful place I see...
And my king! You look weary!
You’ve traveled a long way. How is Hel?
There is soo much we must catch up on!
So … let’s chat…
Less you are brave, you should stop right dead in your tracks.
But you’ll make, nice slaves,
Whip marks lining your backs.
For you’re blind,
And you’re weak,
And you’re no match for a god.
Yes You’re blind,
And you’re weak,
And you’re no match for a god.
I’ve heard enough of your silver tongue.
You are a petty god.
A sad god,
And I do think I pity you.
I know you’re quite terrified and I’ve seen it in your soul.
Thought and Reason flew to me, giving visions of your destiny.
Your time is running out.
Your time is running out.
I have support; your people are mine alone.
So prepare yourself for the power of my wrath.
Give in.
Cave in.
For you’re no match for a god.
Give in.
Cave in.
For you’re no match for a god.
The storms of the evening are gathering in force.
Thunder and lightning now, and the former change your course.
Death does not await you, but you’ll be leaving through the sky.
Your brother’s wrath is great, with the the vision of Odin’s eye.
They have seen all.
Your time is running out.
But what if I’ve stepped wrong?
Does the fear behind my eyes show?
What if I’ve been wrong all along?
And I should let you take your throne.
Yes, I will leave you be, leave you be,
I will leave you...
I will leave you be, leave you be,
I will leave you...
With your reign.
My king of Midgard.
Petty King.
Night engulfs the dark clouds gathered overhead.
Hail me, praise me, inside the walls of this city.
I’ve grown and I’ve shown your abandoned what they’re missing.
Foolish blind of human mind,
I’m sorry to say you’re dead to me.
Your flesh and bone will never grow,
And your soul sewn to the sea.
You are spun inside my silken tomb.
Played and poisoned and delivered to,
Your doom,
Your death,
And yet,
My progeny will have revenge.
Behold the torrential rains,
Bearing down upon my final prey.
For I am the iron in your blood for strength,
And I’ll seize the your spoils, but before I take,
Your dying wish, your dying words…
I WILL STRIKE YOU!
Chapter 6: Thunder & Chains
The fit and fury dampened in an explosion of blood red light. The great fog that had descended upon the land was lifted, with the moon and stars visible in the night sky once again. Loki’s reign had ended at last, his undoing complete.
Thor had struck his brother down in an unprecedented act of godly intervention. But his stay would be brief--for he would return to Asgard with his disgraced brother in tow; Odin must decide Loki’s fate now. He turned to the brothers: “Go, men of Midgard. This pettiness has gone far enough. Reclaim the throne that is rightly yours, and rule as one in peace.”
Jorik and Jarl could only look at each other in dazed amazement, but one thing was clear: they would ride together back to Gultoppr to bring the good news of their triumph over Loki. The people of Midgard were free of Loki’s vicious spell and good would reign once again under their peaceful crown.
Breathe ease,
Breathe in the peace,
For we have returned, as your king.
The sun crests its light,
And the horn blows in the night,
To signal the storms that will weather you to me.
Visions in the haze of the old and ashen maze,
Will be blinded to the east,
The sorry, weakened beast will cower to our tide.
The ravens took his flight on the wing’d brooding fight.
To spear the fallen and silence the Silver Crown.
Visions of the haze of the old and ashen maze,
Will be blinded to the east,
The sorry weakened beast.
And this Peaceful Crown will rise,
As our country’s tears do dry,
And the tyranny and the guise, washed away…
Valhalla sing the song,
To this...
Peaceful Crown.
The End
Thank you for listening and reading Valhalla: The Progeny of Loki! We sincerely hope you've enjoyed the journey. This project had many hands in it and we'd like to give credit where credit is due:
- Cirkut Mob is Bryan Haney, Luke Ramus, Chad Snedeker
- All music written and performed by Cirkut Mob, featuring Jennifer Marschand Haney as Hel
- All tracks mixed by Cirkut Mob, except “Taking Up the Crown,” “Hel’s Song,” and “Puppets and Stories” mixed by Kevin O’Shaughnessy
- Mastered by Kevin O’Shaughnessy
- Artwork by Abby Culiver
- This website by Luke Ramus