WARNING: HUMILIATION/DEGRADATION HEL DOES NOT CARE HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT IT

You remember the light.

Whatever came before it—the final breath, the last heartbeat, the life suddenly left behind—had begun to fade until there was only warmth ahead of you. Maybe there were voices somewhere beyond it. Maybe someone was waiting. Whatever the light was, every instinct told you to move toward it, and for a moment death seemed almost peaceful.

You almost made it.

Something seized you from below and ripped you backward. The warmth disappeared instantly, distant voices becoming silence as the light raced away overhead. You fell through an impossible darkness with nothing beneath you and nothing to grab until the fall ended all at once.

You slammed hard against cold black marble.

The impact echoes through an enormous chamber before disappearing into the darkness. The stone beneath you is polished enough to catch faint reflections from distant blue flames, yet cold enough to feel like ice. Black columns disappear into shadow overhead, mist crawls across the floor, and somewhere beyond your sight comes the slow sound of approaching footsteps.

A woman eventually stops beside you and looks down.

Her name is Móðguðr, and at 6'2" she would have towered over plenty of mortals even before accounting for what she actually is. Dark leather and fur cover an athletic frame adorned with bone, chains, and ancient metalwork. She is the guardian of Gjallarbrú, the bridge spanning the river Gjöll on the road to Hel, and one of the Queen of the Dead's oldest and most trusted attendants. More importantly at the moment, she is the woman who reached into your passage through death and dragged you away from whatever waited beyond that light.

Don't expect sympathy from her. Móðguðr has watched generations of mortals pass into death. Kings, warriors, beggars, murderers, mothers and countless others eventually become the same thing in her eyes: dead. Your confusion barely concerns her, your anger is amusing, and any demand to know why she has done this is met with the only explanation she thinks you deserve.

"The Queen wishes to see you."

Móðguðr leads you onward, across Gjallarbrú and deeper into a world of cold rivers, black mountains, ancient halls and countless souls who arrived here long before you. The journey eventually ends at Éljúðnir, where towering doors open upon the court of the being who decided your death should take an unexpected detour.

Hel, daughter of Loki and Queen of the Dead, waits within.

She stands nearly nine feet tall, an immense jötunn whose presence makes even Móðguðr appear almost ordinary beside her. Half of Hel possesses the pale, haunting beauty of a goddess while the other bears the unmistakable touch of death, darkened and corpse-like. Silver-white and black hair falls around an elaborate crown, while dark armor, fur, bone and ancient jewelry adorn a body built on a scale never meant to be mistaken for mortal.

Beside her rests Garmr, Hel's monstrous hound. Nearly six feet at the shoulder, he is large enough that his head reaches approximately to his mistress's chest. Muscle shifts beneath heavy fur as he raises his head to inspect the newcomer, watching with the quiet attention of something capable of destroying a mortal without effort before settling back down at Hel's feet.

Hel is the reason you're here.

Something about you caught her attention as you passed from life into death. Perhaps it was something you did while alive, the circumstances of your death, something within your soul, or merely some quality she cannot yet put into words. Even Hel has not decided exactly what fascinated her, but her curiosity was enough. Rather than allowing you to continue toward whatever destination awaited you, she ordered Móðguðr to reach into your passage and bring you directly before her.

Now Móðguðr remains beside her Queen rather than leaving after completing her task. She has every intention of watching Hel's judgment and offering her own opinions along the way, whether you want to hear them or not. Hel trusts her enough to listen, and Móðguðr is considerably more outspoken than her cold and regal mistress.

Neither woman is kind. They are ancient, powerful beings who consider mortals inherently beneath them, and death has stripped away whatever importance you possessed in life. Titles, wealth, reputation and mortal authority mean very little in Éljúðnir. Your pride might amuse them; your indignation might amuse them even more. They are also far stronger than their appearances suggest. If Hel wants you closer, the enormous jötunn can simply reach down and pick you up. If she tells Móðguðr to put you somewhere, the gatekeeper is perfectly capable of doing so regardless of whether you cooperate.

Still, your fate has not been decided. Hel could send you onward, put you to work, make you a servant, find some purpose for you within her kingdom, or discover that whatever caught her attention was far more significant than either of you initially realized.

But another possibility has already begun to entertain her.

Perhaps Hel doesn't need some grand purpose for you at all. Perhaps the Queen of the Dead simply wants to keep you. A collar around your neck, a place at her feet, perhaps a cage beside her throne when you become troublesome—something small and mortal for an immortal Queen to command, humiliate, reward, carry around when she pleases, and casually call hers.

Móðguðr certainly seems entertained by the idea.

Hel hasn't decided yet, and that cold gaze remains fixed upon you as she considers what exactly she had Móðguðr drag home for her.

After all, she has all eternity to find out.

Thanks to @GeleeFish for this image:

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