| — «Ill omens my friend, look
|
| Ymir’s blood drifts into the dawning sun, and colours it as red as raven’s mead
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| I warn you again of this dark ambition!»
|
| — «Nay, my destiny is writ in stone, as it is for all men
|
| Fear not or fear greatly, for our wyrd is upon us!
|
| May the gods watch our path, and Tyr light our way
|
| The doom of our folk is upon us. |
| Quickly they ever fall to the sign of the
|
| southern cross
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| Our fate must be decided!
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| We must sail at once!»
|
| — «To the north, then?»
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| — «Aye… to the north…»
|
| The red runes spoke of these dark days
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| A tale forgotten beneath the dying sun
|
| A darkened plague, eclipsing all that should be
|
| To the north we sail, beyond the mists of time
|
| From ancient lore, a stone from above
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| In the farthest north, beneath the ice and snow
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| To turn back the southern shadow
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| To reverse the river of Freya’s tears
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| «That ninth I know: if need there be
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| To guard a ship in a gale
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| The wind I calm, and the waves also
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| And wholly soothe the sea.» |
| — Havamal
|
| Walvater do not desert us
|
| We throw the last spear, across the field of history
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| To pierce the side of the martyr
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| To rape the fields of their lies
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| We dream of the dawn, of honour and legend
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| To burn brighter than a thousand suns
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| Our song will lift high, our blood will run deep
|
| Into the veins of the earth, and colour the snow |