The tale of Starkad the Old is a saga of blood, iron, and the heavy hand of fate. Starkad was no ordinary man; he was a giant by lineage, the grandson of the eight-armed Starkad Ala-Gnyr who had once been slain by the god Thor for kidnapping a princess. When Starkad the younger was born, he carried the mark of his monstrous ancestry in the form of extra limbs, which Thor, the hater of giants, tore from his body, leaving him with two powerful arms but a soul forever marked by the gods' interference. Starkad became a figure of immense strength and tragic destiny, caught in a celestial tug-of-war between Odin, the All-Father, and Thor, the Protector of Mankind.
One night, in a dark forest clearing, Starkad was summoned by his foster-father, Hrosshars-Grani, who revealed himself to be Odin in disguise. There, beneath the boughs of ancient trees, Odin and Thor sat in judgment of the giant's fate. Odin, who favored the grim warrior for his capacity to bring about glorious slaughter, bestowed upon Starkad three human lifespans so that he might serve as a champion for generations. However, Thor, still resentful of Starkad’s giant blood, countered every blessing with a curse. For every lifespan Odin gave him, Thor decreed that Starkad would commit a 'nithing deed'—a crime of utmost shame. To the gift of unmatched prowess in battle, Thor added the curse that Starkad would never possess land or wealth. To the gift of poetic genius, Thor added the curse that Starkad would never remember his own verses with pride. Thus, Starkad was destined to live three lives of misery, wandering the North as a rootless mercenary, feared by all and loved by none.
Throughout his long centuries of existence, Starkad served many kings, including the legendary Vikar and the Danish King Frotho. His first shame came when he was forced by Odin to sacrifice King Vikar, his own friend and benefactor. What was supposed to be a mock hanging turned into a real execution when the willow-wisp rope turned to iron and the reed-stalk spear became a sharp blade. Starkad fled into the wilderness, haunted by the murder. In his second life, he served the sons of King Swipdag and later participated in the Battle of Bravallir, where the greatest warriors of the North slaughtered one another. Starkad was a mountain on the battlefield, his body a map of scars, yet he could not find the peace of the grave. He grew to despise the changing world, mocking the new generation of Vikings who preferred perfumes and soft silks over the iron and salt of the older age. He was a relic of a harsher, more primal era, outliving everyone he respected.
As his third lifespan neared its end, Starkad was a hollow shell of a titan. His eyes were filmed with cataracts, his hearing was faded, and his massive frame was wracked with the pain of a thousand old wounds. He wandered the lands of Sweden and Denmark, carrying a heavy bag of gold around his neck—the price for the murder of King Olo, which was his third and final shameful deed. He did not want the gold; he wanted a man brave enough to kill him. He felt that it would be a mockery for the greatest warrior in history to die of old age in a bed of straw. He sought a 'death-mate,' a person of noble birth who could claim the honor of ending the giant’s life.
Starkad eventually encountered Hatherus, the son of Lenno. Starkad had years earlier slain Lenno, and now he goaded the young prince to take his revenge. Finding Hatherus in the wilderness, Starkad offered him the bag of gold and his own legendary sword if the youth would strike off his head. Hatherus was hesitant at first, for even in his decrepit state, Starkad radiated a terrifying aura of power. But Starkad persisted, using his poetic tongue to mock the youth's hesitation and promising that the one who slew him would inherit his martial luck. Starkad sat upon a stone near Uppsala, baring his thick, weathered neck. He instructed Hatherus that as soon as the head was severed, the youth should run between the falling head and the slumped body. Starkad claimed this would grant Hatherus invulnerability, though in his heart, he likely intended for his massive body to crush the boy in a final, involuntary spasm of giant-strength.
Hatherus took up the sword and swung with all his might. The blade bit through the ancient muscle and bone, and the head of Starkad the Old flew from his shoulders. As it struck the earth, the head is said to have bitten the grass in a final act of ferocity, the teeth grinding against the soil even as the light faded from the eyes. But it was the body that provided the most horrific spectacle. Instead of collapsing, the headless torso of the giant remained upright. Fueled by a supernatural vitality that refused to acknowledge death, the body began to stomp and run across the field. It was a macabre dance of death; the massive arms flailed, and the legs pumped, driving the trunk of the warrior forward in a blind, headless charge. Hatherus, sensing the danger and suspecting a trap, did not run between the head and the trunk as instructed. Instead, he watched in awe as the legendary warrior’s body finally stumbled and crashed to the earth, the impact shaking the very ground of Uppsala.