Surt, The Black God
King of Muspelheim, The Ashen One.
A striking figure 'Not one you'd likely soon forget if you ever saw him'. His beard stained black as the smoke of his mountain home. His skin grey with ash. His feet buried deep; to the knee, in the black sand of his island home. Flame and fire flow freely through his veins! His eyes white hot with passion as he stands guard over these, his people. His throne? It lies where fire meets ice. Surrounded by watery depths; a great moat of freezing death. Of despair... His home, His people?
Those Mortal Men of Iceland. Land of Giants! The descendants of those who were possessed of courage 'or desperation' enough to sail unknown waters in search of refuge. In search of sanctuary. Sanctuary from a world gone mad with the lust for power and control. Lands of Kings and Priests. vying for riches. Riches more than any man could possibly require or deserve. The people relegated to nothing more than pieces upon a board. Sanctuary from those who had gone mad!
He is not merely a Fire Giant. No! He who is known as Surtr The Black, is Thee Fire Giant! It is he who holds the power to burn worlds! It is he who holds the power to defeat Gods renown as Freyr in single combat! Yet... His most notable act is not one of destruction, it is one of creation.
It is the mighty Surt who is the God that made Iceland, crafted it. It is Surt who is God of the Volcano which birthed it. It is from HIS throne which he oversees all of which he has created, protected, nurtured... Fathered.
However, Surt; as with all things, brings both gifts and curses.
The people of Iceland thank him not only for the land they walk on, built their homes on and fashioned their lives on, but also the smaller islands which are born from time to time off the coast of this blessed land. One cannot walk across Iceland without seeing the handiwork of Surt and his consort Sinmara. The trees, the grasses, the cooling waters and the hot springs. These are as much his domain... his gift. As the fires which boil hidden just beneath the surface. They also thank him for his fires which warm their homes, and powers their industry. It is Surt which bakes their bread, and heats the healing hot springs they so treasure.
So in their turn, in his caves and holy sites. The people. His people. Leave him gifts and thank him for his kindness and warmth. They leave him gifts of bread and meat, they leave him cloth, they leave him art, and tools, and stories! They give to him freely. Not out of fear. They give to him out of love and respect. The people of his land will tell you his mountain throne, while not safe to sit upon, is of little if any danger to the people. Yes it bubbles and boils and spits and froths from time to time. But this is just a playful reckoning. A way of reminding them that he is still there. That he is still watching. That he still protects and loves them.
These people, they know that one day he might burn everything to cinder. But until that time. They are his as he is theirs.