My name is Albert Van Gornsteed, and I am the chosen chronicle for the year that is now 2003. If you are reading this, you should belong to the Order, but if you do not, I will have to tell you a little about the Order. Firstly, I must say the Order is not our name, but I am not allowed by the rules to tell you what our true name is, so you will just have to accept that name for our little group. We are dedicated, and have been almost since the beginning of time, to tracking and recording events involving a powerful entity named Sigurd. That is our only cause, and because we have grown wealthy over the many years of our existence, we need no other outlets to support us. We have many members, scattered world wide, and all are so mentally strong that it is said nothing scares them. That is the most essential requirement to be of the Order, and probably the only one that matters. Never has the following been done before, but I will now attempt to describe Sigurd in both physical and mental aspects, whereas only the latter has ever been done before.

Let me begin with this being’s face, for it is rendered in such magnificence that no matter what I write, it shall not do justice for what his visage truly is worth. It must first be said that he is rendered much like a statue is, and thus he is unnoticeable by the normal human eye. People do not usually notice the strange perfection in which statues are made, and how unreal that is compared to the average human. Not a single feature is out of place upon Sigurd’s face, be it his eyes, nose, ears, mouth, they are all placed perfectly upon his countenance. But hardly anybody notices this, and those who do, know not exactly what is wrong with it. But let us move on from this strange fact. Like the rest of his body, his face is coloured chalk white, but gleams like marble. Despite this, when around human beings, Sigurd seems to camouflage himself by exerting a different image of himself into the eyes of his beholders. These images depict him as full of blood and looking merry, but only affect those he knows to be watching him closely. But if a mind is trained properly, it can deflect this image and behold the man for his true self. Other than this deviant tone of skin, Sigurd has a fairly normal set of hair. His eyebrows are medium in their thickness, and no facial hair messes up his face. The hair placed on his scalp is messily arranged and reaches down slightly below his ears, and is much more fitting in the surroundings of these modern days than those days of old. It is shaded dark brown, but has strands of black that seem apparent if Sigurd stands in the right lighting. Now it must be noted, that although I have afore stated Sigurd’s face is perfectly normal, I forgot his eyes, or more appropriately, his irises. When we have spied upon him away from everything, and just absorbing his surroundings, his eyes are a dull grey, and this is the base colour of his irises. But when around people, and he is calm, they turn a tranquil blue, lapsing like the sea, placing a composed effect on those around him. When annoyed, or aggravated, and over time we have seen this constantly, his eyes burn blood red, and this is, as we have learned, the best time to run. Even in battle his eyes can remain blue, but in worst case scenarios when his enemy fails him completely, he becomes frustrated and as his eyes turn red, we have found a need for a strong stomach to even slightly bear what he does, but we will come in more detail to that later. Modern fashion has allowed Sigurd to walk publicly without worry for his eye colour, for he hides them behind a pair of black sunglasses, disallowing the view of what lies beyond.

With all that described, let me proceed onto his general body, arms, and legs. In terms of height, Sigurd comes in at around six foot five, and although this is by no means gigantic for the times we dwell in now, but at the time of his conceiving, he was immensely tall. Although everything in his feature was frozen slightly after his twenty second birthday, his body has continued to progress in its strength, hardening with muscles. In general terms, although he definitely doesn’t look like a body builder, the power contained within this normal body is ten fold the most powerful mortal on Earth. But then again, it doesn’t really matter because Sigurd has always worn coats throughout his existence. In the early days, around the times of the Roman Empire, his coats were always made of bear skins, with a very Russian influence to them. Not much has changed in his fashion since then, although the insides of his clothing obviously have. Where once he wore tanned leather as his inner clothing, covered by the woolly coat, he now wears processed cotton shirts, which are incomparably comfortable, hand tailored and all. Back to the coat, it is made of a Russian bear which decided to attack Sigurd one day while he slept. Although it scratched him, and I emphasize the scratch considering the size of an average bear and its claws, its internal organs were popped all at once, and our reporter, if you would mind the term, heard the sounds all too well. Of course this meant that the outside was unharmed, and of course the skin would have been fine if it had been, but it is all the more magnificent the way it is. This acquiring couldn’t have been more than twenty years ago actually. Let me proceed with more fitting descriptions of it though. It runs from his shoulders all the way down to his ankles, and its sleeves slightly pass Sigurd’s elbows. It is in no way an extraordinary piece of armour, but a stupendous garment. On both his arms, protecting a small fragment from his wrist cutting short of reaching the elbow are steel bracers, both of which are make shift shields if you will. All the times he has been attacked, by swords or guns, these small pieces of metal prove almost invaluable. Understand a normal man could not wield such a small piece of armour so magnificently, for it is no small feat to block a speeding bullet with an area slightly over the size of a modern hand phone. Apart from this, Sigurd leaves his body completely uncluttered by armour, leaving him free to move quickly against his slightly more “reinforced” opponents.

And now we come to Sigurd’s lower body. It is written that for a few centuries after the Order was formed, every run in with Sigurd would always be with him in nothing more than a loincloth, for he was like a madman. Imagine! A man in tanned leather, with a bear skin coat over, but running around in but a loincloth. But as the years passed by, and it is obvious the scribes before me noticed it, Sigurd started to dress so elegantly he could slip into society and be mistaken for nobility. Well, he has changed with the times, and dons black denim jeans, comfortable compared to the tights worn by him during the Middle Ages. His choice of footwear is as is everything else, fashionable for our time. He wears skater shoes, and the only reason we can guess for this is their general bulk around the bottom which probably gives space for his feet to breath. These shoes are primarily black in tone, with bits of red scattered around the body of it.

I am going to be honest here. I do not fancy weapons one bit. I do not appreciate the new fashioned assault rifles, or even the rustic broadsword, but I was put into a deep awe by Sigurd’s weapon, which I saw with my very own eyes. I cannot fathom what matter it is made out of, but from the looks of it, I presume it to be made of some non-material force. If it has a colour, or just a predominant colour, it would be a dismal hue of amethyst. But this is not enough to describe it, for it seems to be like a vortex of dark colours, all merging together and separating with every passing second. In form this damnable weapon is even harder to describe, for it is nothing like what we as humans imagine too be a proper weapon, because it is made of what looks like smoke, but as I witnessed its use for the death of another human, I know it is all too solid. As I have mentioned, it is not a normal piece of weaponry, and it is not carried around by Sigurd for display, for he likes to play the chameleon and blend in rather than stick out. Instead it seems this weapon is brought out of Sigurd himself, and even when the weapon is out, it stays connected with the libido, the life force, of Sigurd, and thus is awfully hard to separate from this being of calm terror.

There is one final thing I wish to discuss before I move onto some of the most famous events chronicled by the scribes of the Order regarding Sigurd. This last issue is his aptitude to perform feats of magic inhuman in every way. We have, over time, seen him perform tricks with the sky, to manipulate the minds of those around him, and even cause death, with the simple swish of his hand. But we do not believe that it is as simple as that, and though we watch Sigurd for many reasons, a primary one is to discover the ways of magic. From the time we’ve spent watching, it can be deducted that the spell used causes different amounts of stress on Sigurd depending on what scale they are used. We have seen this deity of sorts cause pure darkness over small areas without any strain, but when he has done it on city scale, he will sometimes collapse and/or pass out. Even though this task does not seem magical, his ability to speak every language is very much so. He pilfers words from the people around him, and even the way they are spoken, and after this process is completed; his memory seems to store it all for later use. Not only this, but he has often quoted many stories in his mind games with Order members, down to the very word. This intrigues me for he is probably the most intelligent being on the planet, and with the many languages he knows, he has been known to have read some of the most famous texts ever written in the human plane we live in. But this is not the most wonderful of all his tricks, his most amazing technique is his ability to come back to life. We have seen him die a great many deal of times, and each instance he has come back from the dead. Those he has seduced with his mind tricks have often been told of a gateway between worlds, between Heaven and Hell, between life and death. This, we presume, is how he continues to come back. Although he seems to never die of aging, which was stopped a long time ago, and the inability to get ill, he is otherwise able to die the way any human would. He never makes it easy for his hunters though, and it is likely he never will. This game of life that you would think he’d have grown sick of just seems to amuse him more and more with every death he sees, and with this has evolved a mentality for survival going past anything any human has ever felt.

This last note thus brings us into his history. I will only write down the most important of his escapades in his long life, but keep in mind this set of notes is written by a different person, and in a completely different language, and so I shall translate them for sake of purpose. This account is by Winston Hubble, and was written moments before his death on the Mary Celeste. Surely, if you keep up with strange occurrences, you will know of this ship that disappeared in the Bermuda Triangle? If so, it will come as no surprise that Sigurd was linked to this, for he was boarded on this ship under some alias or another, along with an agent of ours keeping track of his movements. I will translate and then modernize the English used for the sake of reading, and I will bring you straight to the action of this narration.

“- and lo and behold, a strange serpent creature rose out from the sea, and leapt over our fair ship. Its scales fit the ocean, and were blue in shade, and each couldn’t have been less than a meter long. This serpent thing reminds me of Leviathan, and although I should be worried, something tells me Sigurd will somehow stop this, for as I can see from his face, this is not his doing. And now, Sigurd is bringing out his sword, from the very being of his hand, and he raises it against the beast which seems to watch him with crazed eyes. He is speaking out against it in some ancient tongue, amidst the crashing waves that surround our ship. This Leviathan seems to understand what he is saying, but it is not speaking a single word in return, and yet Sigurd seems to be listening intently. Perhaps it uses telepathy? I am damned that I cannot hear the conversation. But now, look at the expression on Sigurd’s face! From calm pallor to total rage, and look how his eyes turn red. This cannot bode well for the ship, or my person. So I will put this letter in the Order’s treasure chest, sealed against water for such events. I hope the best that this letter reaches our hands, for I have risked my life to detail the deity we follow, and this strange event I have just narrated.”

And with those words, the letter finishes. It is a very rushed passage, but as you can see, we did recover it. It was recovered only recently of course, for we had to use new technology to raise it up from the site. The document was found untouched by water, luckily, but the chest itself seemed to have slight burn marks on it. From this we guess that Sigurd released his burning mind attack. We have seen it used on land before, often to raze villages to the ground, and it involves what appears to be a burst of energy from within Sigurd’s mind which causes everything around him to combust and thus burn. Winston must have already dropped the chest into the ocean when the energy burst hit, and thus when it was released although it hit the chest and charred its exterior, the water quenched the flames. As for the boat and its passengers, they must have been burnt to ashes, along with this mythical serpent creature. We can only humbly guess God sent it to attack Sigurd, as he has with other mythical beings of lore, but has always failed just as he did in this instance. Why would our beloved God want to do this? The benevolent God we’ve seen thousands of times over depicted in the almighty bible which we question without doubts? What if our God was a cruel one, unmerciful, much like a dictator, not liking questioning of his authority? What if Lucifer was thrown out on unjust grounds? What then? And what if Lucifer procreated with a mortal woman? What would be the outcome? As you may have guessed it, the outcome is the life form we call Sigurd. We have seen him talk with devils before, as well as angels, and we have even glimpsed him talking to a supreme looking entity with black feathered wings who we have heard him address as “father”. Regardless, we cannot ascertain if these things are truth, for Sigurd can implant things in minds simply by talking. Sigurd despite all magnificence, and intellect, is not one to be trusted with anything, for he plays people the same way a God would.

Now, the hour comes weary, and I grow tired, so I shall conclude it there.