Across the stars of the universe are told many tales of the gods of Asgard, supreme among the Nine Realms on the branches of Yggdrasil. Some are true, some are not...and some may be wholly one nor the other, for the gods are strange and unfathomable, their lives not like those of mortals. This story is of Skurge, he who in Asgard was oft called the Executioner, and of Amora, she whom many spoke of as the Enchantress.

Of the early years of Skurge's life, they were hard and cruel, and little tenderness did he experience. His father was a storm giant of Jotunheim, and his mother a woman of Skornheim, whose people were of distant kin to those of Asgard. Upon Skurge's birth, his mother gave the infant to his father to raise, for she hated to be reminded of her union with the giant, and so Skurge grew up knowing not she who had given birth to him. Though tolerated in Jotunheim, young Skurge was never loved by his father's people, for he was a half-breed and considerably smaller in stature than them, and in his youth a frequent target of mockery and bullying.

But this wretched life was not to last, for as Skurge grew to manhood, he began teaching himself to fight, to defend himself against those who persecuted him. The day finally arrived when, being greeted with the usual taunts and coldness, Skurge turned upon and violently slew his first storm giant. Stained with the blood of his victim and forced to flee Jotunheim, he vowed to himself that many more giants would die at his hands before he met Hela in death.

So it was that Skurge made his way to shining Asgard, where he offered his services as a warrior in the army of King Odin Borson. Some there were in Asgard who looked with suspicion on this foreign wanderer, but this was the time of yet another war with the giant races; the Asgardians needed any fighters they could get.

Armed with a great war-axe, Skurge stood with the Asgardian forces on the battlefield as they faced the horde of giants of storm and frost. With a roar that shook all of Yggdrasil, and made even the dread dragon Nidhogg pause in its' eternal gnawings at the roots of the cosmic ash tree, the armies clashed. Gripped by battle-lust, Skurge slashed, hewed and crushed, his heart singing as more and more giants fell before him. None slew more than he that day, and the Asgardians cheered him at battle's end, shouting "Hail Skurge, the Executioner!"

Skurge sat in the royal banquet hall that night for the victory celebration. The fires blazed in the hearths, the air was filled with the scent of roasted boar, and goblets were filled near to overflowing with golden mead. At the head of the great hall, Lord Odin himself sat upon his throne, a horn of mead in his hand and his single eye surveying the merriment. At his sides were his two sons, Thor and Loki, and his trusted messenger-ravens, Hugin and Munin, perched atop his throne.

Sitting among the feasting and laughing warriors, Skurge found himself little interested in the merry-making, wondering how soon it would be until Asgard was again threatened and his fighting skills would again be called on. He had found a purpose in the grim business of warfare, and looked forward to drenching his axe in giants' gore again.

It was then that, turning his head, he happened to catch sight of a young woman entering the hall, and his breath caught in his throat and his heart fluttered in his breast. In that one glance the woman's beauty stunned him: Her long hair a maginificent shining gold as it cascaded over her finely-formed shoulders; her skin smooth and white as marble. She was clad in a dark green dress, the tightness of which flaunted her every enticing curve. The dress ended just above her slender legs, upon which she wore lace-up boots almost to her knees. As she walked towards the throng, her hips and full breasts swung tantalizingly, and she greeted the lingering eyes of the men with a playful batting of her own emerald eyes.

Skurge could not take his eyes off the woman as she strode smoothly and alluringly about the hall. At that moment he felt a heavy hand clap upon his left shoulder, and he turned to see the warrior sat next to him, a red-bearded and large-bellied fellow named Volstagg, laughing in amusement. "I see you have been bewitched by Asgard's Enchantress!" he chuckled. "Aye, you be not the first man to fall victim to the Lady Amora's considerable charms! But let me now offer you caution in wooing her, for she has eyes only for Prince Thor!"

At Volstagg's words, Skurge's eyes shifted to the Odinson, who at this moment was carousing with a dark-haired woman, barely acknowledging Amora as she glided by with a seductive smile and wink. "Odin's heir does not appear to reciprocate the Lady Amora's attentions," Skurge muttered.

"Thor's heart belongs to the Lady Sif," Volstagg explained. "Nonetheless, Amora is not one to be denied; she will use anything, from her body to dark sorcery, to have her way! Take her not lightly, friend Skurge!"

The revelry stretched on far into the night, the singing of songs and the clashing of mead cups echoing into the small hours. But amid the throngs of merry warriors, Skurge sat silently, his thoughts aflame with the golden-tressed Enchantress who now encompassed all his lust. In the deepest depths of night, finding no satisfaction in the sweet liquid imbibed by those around him, he set aside his half-full flagon and went for a stroll about those parts of the hall less densely crowded. The object of his desire had long since vanished; no doubt she had found someone to occupy her...

...And there she was. His eyes wandered to one of the windows overlooking the city, and he saw her stood alone there, her back to him, gazing out at the lamp-lit streets and star-speckled sky. Her hair, falling down her back and over her emerald cloak, seemed even more wonderful, and Skurge, again drowned in lust, quite forgot the words of Volstagg earlier. His heart hammered in his chest and his temples throbbed as he approached her, and said "My lady?"

She turned at the sound of his voice and looked at him with her sparkling orbs. At first she seemed slightly unsure, but then the corners of her mouth turned up in a smile, and she said "You are Skurge, are you not? The one the warriors call the Executioner?" Before Skurge could even think of a response, Amora stepped forward and softly brushed her hand, clad in an emerald gauntlet that reached above her elbows, leaving only her slender fingers bare, against his broad chest. "Oh, yes, I know you are," she cooed. "I am honored to be in the presense of such a valiant hero." Skurge's head was awhirl as she leaned her face closer and whispered huskily in his ear "I have felt your eyes upon me all evening. You flatter me with your desire..."

Again Skurge was prevented from replying, for it was at that instant that a roaring laugh boomed out from the recesses of the hall. Amora's had whipped round and she beheld Thor howling with mirth at some joke, surrounded by his friends. Noting that Sif seemed to be absent, Amora sauntered in Thor's direction without another word. She goes to offer herself to the Odinson again, Skurge thought, his euphoria withering in disappointment. Refusing to accept defeat, he followed a few paces and gently touched her shoulder, prompting her to stop and glance back at him quizically. "Lady Amora, if I may be so bold," he told her, "'Tis plain to me that the prince of Asgard cares little for your company. I implore you, spend your time with one who appreciates such divinity as yourself?"

There was silence between the two of them as Amora absorbed Skurge's words...silence broken as she burst out with laughter. "Oh, Skurge," she said sweetly, once her amusement had died down, "You are a sweet soul. But..." And her gaze drifted back to Thor. "...I have already made plans." With that, she swayed away, leaving Skurge stood alone.

Watching her disappear, Skurge's hear grew cold, colder even than dim and distant Nifflheim. Faintly trembling with anguish and frustration, he made his way out of the hall without speaking a word to a single soul and, mounting a horse, rode off into the darkness. To the Plain of Ida he rode in solitude, where he kindled a fire and made camp, nursing his bitter regret. Brooding in the gloom, he felt that nothing could ease his heartbreak.

With the coming of dawn he rode further, and not far from the borders of Alfheim, homeland of the light elves, he was set upon by a band of marauding trolls. With his axe, Skurge made the loathsome creatures regret attacking him, as he split their bodies apart and painted the rocks and grass with their blood. As the survivors fled screeching in terror, he bellowed after them "You have encountered the Executioner this day! Fear me, as all soon shall! None can withstand me, and what I want, I will have, though I must tear down the Nine Realms to gain her!"

But as he vented his frustrations, he did not realize that he was at this very moment being observed by very interested eyes. Within the walls of Asgard, Amora the Enchantress lay on a luxurious silken bed and watched Skurge in a crystal globe that floated in the air before her. "My, my, I have beguiled him," she murmured. "It is sweet, in a way, is it not, Loki?" she asked of the figure stood near her, also watching.

Loki, the god of mischief, stroked his chin thoughtfully, and his eyes glimmered with cunning thoughts. "I suppose you could say so," he replied. He gave a short chuckle. "Oh, Amora, I know you. You've found a new toy. You'll string him along, tantalizing him with promises of unimaginable ecstacy in your arms...if he does this for you, or that for you. But it will never be enough, will it, Enchantress? You'll have him on your leash a long time yet." And as he walked laughing away he thought to himself And perhaps I can make use of both of you...