A Deceiver's Helfor
A Deceiver's Helför
Reveling in my vile ways, the time had come to go,
My chest ceased to rise and fall, and my eyes were shut in their sockets.
I had not been a nice man, the Virtues I did not know,
Many men and women I cheated, their shining gold filled my pockets.
Now that I am dead, my course has been plotted,
It lies deep within Jötunheimr, that monstrous country.
The path, Helvegr, is one all of the dead are allotted,
Silently I made my way, with no greetings or pleasantry.
My feet are bare, so the road ahead is unpleasant,
Through a field of thorns I venture, with no way around.
These feet of mine are bleeding, no Helskóar are present,
My harshness toward others is now sorrow profound.
I came to a river so wild, and filled with iron weaponry,
Gjöll roared nearby, with its fitting name.
The floating boards would not hold me, nor my treachery,
And I waded through in pain, my heart full of shame.
Again I cross the Gjöll, but not through its bite,
I fare o
A Warrior's Helfor
A Warrior's Helför
The corpse-dew clings stubbornly to my clothes, flowing freely from my head.
An arrow fired from afar has hit its mark; Today I shall soon be dead.
Before my eyes roll back in their sockets, I look up into the cloudless sky.
Riding through the air like wayward rockets, I see the fabled Valkyrjar fly.
Those divine choosers of the slain, they fly so swiftly through the air!
Though their spears are drenched in blood, their beauty is beyond compare.
My body laid still-warm in the dirt, my flesh giving the ravens their rightful share.
Taking me in her arms, I am held tightly by one with braided locks of golden hair.
Turning my dead eyes up to her own, she flashed me a smile, divinely sweet and fair.
My journey to Hel was like any other; I was judged exactly like other mortal shades.
The thorns touched my feet not, for there was Helskóar in the trees of former glades.
The boards on the roaring river Gjöll held me fast, my ghostly form unharmed by blades.
Weregild Not Required
Weregild Not Required
My sister lies dead, her blood stains the floor,
Those bastards fled quickly, their honor no more.
Before Wyrd makes me draw my final breath,
I will send those four fiends to their grisly death.
My rage is too pure, no Weregild will suffice,
There will be no mercy, for my heart is as cold as ice.
With axe and blade, I will hunt them all down,
And bury them deep, into the earth so brown.
The first coward that I found, he fearfully watched me arrive,
His head was bit deeply with my axe, he was thus no longer alive.
My sword sought to rend, and it did so to his friend,
His guts twisted and bleeding, he met a sloppy end.
Two whores down, and two to go, I head further South,
One fool that I found by the river, I planted my spear in his mouth.
Ymir's blood rinsed the point, now gleaming in the sun,
Four vile men accosted her that day, now there remains only one.
He peered out of the church, what a foolish plan to conspire,
His shelter became a prison, his executioner, m
This Pagan Man's Plight
Why must I abide with this forced conversion?
Why should I have to change how my family and I live?
When was my faith in the Gods suddenly an unholy perversion?
To whom, my devotion and offerings, should I instead give?
You say that your almighty God is just and kind,
And you also say that his love is beyond beautiful.
But all I see you do is push his teachings upon my mind,
As if my faith in him and his son should already be unconditional.
Why should I change, for what is your righteous reason?
Or is there none to be found but a blade at my throat?
Or maybe, for not abiding, you can charge me with high treason.
Perhaps you could burn my home down, and deprive me of far more than my filthy coat.
As witness to MY Gods, I refuse to humbly kneel,
For your stones and swords will not sway my heart tonight.
And once you've decided my fate, and those tortures I feel,
Thus will abruptly end this Pagan man's plight.
The wind was strong this high up, and it blew around him relentlessly.
His quest for knowledge had brought him here, and his destiny waited restlessly.
To rule the Nine Worlds, he needed to know the many secrets that one could not learn for free.
In order to be worthy of this, Óğinn impaled himself with Gungnir, and hung from Yggdrasil, that juicy Tree.
As the nine sunny days turned to nine chilling nights, the pain wracked his body endlessly.
The sacrifice he made, himself unto himself, showed his devotion to ruling selflessly.
As his vision blurred, a miracle occurred, right before Hangatır-Óğinn's very eyes.
Arcane symbols, the sacred Rúnar, displayed themselves proudly across the starry skies.
Reaching out for them, Alföğr took hold of these secrets, and fell from Yggdrasill.
Much power do they contain, and many Jötnar and men will use the Rúnar for good or ill.
One should not forget Óğinn's sacrifice, for it was a very noble act indeed.
For there are not many m