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[srda-sabre]

The White Dragon

After driving Hengist and his Ingaevones back across the North Sea, Vortigern looked to reestablish his power over the Romano-Britons. He sought to build a mighty fortress to serve as a beacon to his enemies. After weeks of searching, he found the perfect place to build his fortress. Mount Snowden.

Over the next several months, building progressed quickly, with only one small hiccup. The discovery of a cave in the mountain. The workers built the foundations of the fortress into the roof of the cave, confident that it would hold fine. Once the fortress was finally complete, it stood proud for a few days until a great earthquake broughr it crumbling down.

Annoyed at this, Vortigern ordered it rebuilt. The workers did as he commanded and rebuilt it. A few days after it was finished, another earthquake brought it down. Infuriated, Vortigern demanded an explanation. One of the men who came to his court introduced himself as Merlin, a Druid Priest from near to Mount Snowden.

Merlin explained that the cave beneath the fortress housed two dragons, a White one and a Red one. These dragons, he told, had once been locked in a mighty battle, with neither gaining the upper hand. Their fighting brought destruction to the people’s lands and all attempts to slay them ended in disaster. Eventually, a plan was hatched, to have them land in a clearing on the side of the mountain. The warriors from the local tribes sent archers and spearmen to harass and shepherd the dragons towards the plateau, after several days, the two dragons landed and the locals triggered a rockslide, trapping the two dragons inside the cave. Exhausted, the dragons fell into a deep slumber. Once the workers began construction, these dragons had awoken and continued their futile struggle.

Vortigern asked what he could do to fix the problem, to which Merlin explained that the dragons must be freed if he wished for his fortress to remain standing. Vortigern decided that this was a necessary evil and ordered the cave to be opened. As the cave was revealed, the two men watched from a nearby clifftop. As soon as the two dragons emerged, locked in battle whilst they soared high into the air. Merlin exclaimed that the creatures were just as beautiful as they had been centuries ago when they were sealed away. Vortigern pondered for a moment, then asked what Merlin meant, seeing as Merlin was old and wise but he couldn’t possibly have been centuries old.

Merlin exclaimed that he had seen the two in a vision. Vortigern asked what this vision had been, to which Merlin exclaimed he had seen two mighty armies on either side of a field, one adorned with green and white, flying a banner adorned with a Red Dragon. The other was dressed in Red and White, and flew a banner adorned with a White Dragon. Both of these armies sounded mighty war drums, and soaring high above them, were the dragons that had adorned their banners. The White Dragon seemed to gain the upper hand initially, but as the Red Dragon’s army seemed on the verge of breaking, the Red Dragon let forth a mighty roar and lashed out at the White Dragon, severing it’s head with it’s sharp claws and the Red Dragon Banner flew victorious over the battlefield. When asked who the two armies were, Merlin explained that the Red Dragon represented the Wealas and the White Dragon served the Saxons.

Inspired by this, Vortigern ordered his armies to adorn their armour in Green and White and paint Red Dragons on their shields. He also sent a Saxon prisoner to recount the tale to the Saxons, in an attempt to demoralise his enemy.

Upon hearing this tale, Hengist let forth a hearty laugh and exclaimed that he would not only break the Britons’ bodies but that he would break their spirits too by exposing their druids as liars. He ordered his united Ingaevonic Army to dress in Red and White and adorn their sails, shields and tunics with the White Dragon.

Many years later, after Vortigern lay dead, the Wealas broken and forced out of large swathes of Britannia, and the Ingaevones fully in charge of what would become England, the Banner of the White Dragon became the battle flag of the Kindom of Wessex (West Saxons) and adorned the battlements of the many fortresses that stood between the Ingaevones and their many enemies (such as the Wealas, Scots, Picts and Gaels). Safe to say, the prophecy was proven false to the Wealas but the Ingaevones celebrated that they had defeated the red dragon once and for all.

[srda-sabre]

The Wudugast

For centuries, roaming among the leaves, my ghostly voice, haunting and whistling, through the trees. Rarely seen, but always my presence felt, a lonely soul, trapped between life and death, condemned to dwell.

Here, in these woods, my spirit shall stay. Until time will take this forest away.

A man of war, wearied and battle-stained, then came my fate, by an arrow felled but here remained. A sorry heart, my thoughts my only friend, wandering on, and I fear my pain shall never end.

Some say they’ve seen me, floating from tree to tree, hooded and clad in green, shrouded in mystery. Some say they’ve heard me, singing my mournful song, crying for anyone, to set my spirit free.

Here, in these woods, my spirit shall stay. Until time shall take this forest away.

Wudugast, (Old English/Ingaevonic, meaning “Wood-Ghost”), are the spirits of slain Ingaevonic warriors, whose bodies have not been laid to rest according to Ingaevonic (Anglo-Saxon) Pagan tradition. These spirits haunt the forests near where they were slain. The reason behind their choice to dwell in forests is unclear, but likely has something to do with the Germanic people being closely associated with and drawn to the forests of Germania.

Appearance-wise, Wudugast all appear similar. Green and white hose and tunics, covered by a chainmaille hauberk, leather gloves and boots, green hooded cloaks cover their backs and heads. Either “Sutton Hoo” helmets with maille hoods underneath or almost-spagenhelm-like helmets with maille face-protection are seen in place of a human face, though human eyes can be seen through the helmets’ eyeholes. Wudugast are seen armed with bows, seaxes, swords, axes, spears, shields or any combination of said weapons.

It was long thought that the Wudugast were Migration-Era warriors, and were a phenomena exlusive to England, however, sightings of Wudugast in the forests of North America show that wherever Ingaevones may be found, regardless of century, the Wudugast can also be found. The Wudugast have been seen to watch over and guide Ingaevones who enter their forests and stalk those who are not Ingaevonic but the Wudugast have never been seen to harm anyone or anything, almost as if they are merely watching. It seems the Wudugast are timeless and seek only to be set free, so the may feast in Walheall. Perhaps one day they shall be laid to rest, but the day the last Wudugast disappear will be a sad one indeed.

[srda-sabre]

The Ingaevonic Invasion

The 5th Century AD. Britannia. The Romano-Britons, under command of Vortigern, are desperate. The Roman Legions have abandoned Britannia. The Romano-Britons are under threat from several fronts. The Scots, Picts & Gaels to their North are seeking to dominate them and the sea offers no respite, for a fierce, brutal people are raiding and sacking their coastal settlements. The Saxons. The Romano-Britons, in a desperate bid to survive, call for a meeting with the Saxon Generals, Hengist and his brother Horsa. The meeting takes place over several days and ends with the following terms: - The Saxons are to cease raiding Romano-Briton settlements. - The Saxons are to engage in war with the Scots, Picts & Gaels. - The Romano-Britons shall bare no grudge against the Saxons for past transgressions. - The Romano-Britons shall gift the Isle of Thanet to the Saxons as a base for their armies. The Saxon Generals agree to these terms and, for a few years, stick to them. However, as more and more Ingaevonic Warriors (from the Ingaevonic Tribes (Angles, Saxons, Jutes & Frisians) (Who would later be known as Anglo-Saxon and, later still, as the English)) arrive on Thanet, in search of the riches they have heard they can acquire by slaughtering the Northern Celts of Britannia, Hengist & Horsa ask the Romano-Britons for concession after concession. Vortigern, knowing that he and his people NEED the Saxons' protection, has no choice but to give them what they ask for. These concessions culminate with Ingaevonic Troops being stationed on the mainland, in what is known today as the region of Kent (named by the Jutes who, at the time these concessions were made, constituted the majority of the Ingaevonic army as well as the majority of Hengist & Horsa's advisors and subordinate commanders). This was met with loathing and hatred by the Romano-Britons in the region, who gradually left as more and more Ingaevones arrived. Eventually, Vortigern and his advisors decided that the Ingaevonic settlers had outstayed their welcome and (after hiring Frankish mercenaries to bolster his own forces) ordered a full-scale onslaught against the Ingaevones. This onslaught cost the lives of many Ingaevones. Warriors and civilians alike. The most notable casualty in this war however, was Horsa, Hengist's Brother. After Horsa was slain, (dying a valiant death on the battlefield, as befitting an Ingaevonic warrior), Hengist and his forces retreated across the sea, much to the Romano-Britons' happiness. However, this happiness would not last long, as Vortigern soon after heard the prophecy of the White Dragon (which I shall make another post about, possibly later today). Hengist, his surviving commanders and his daughter Rowina, sought counsel with the Saxon kings. Upon hearing Hengist's tale, the Saxons marched for war, uniting under the banner of the White Dragon (just as the prophecy predicted). Not long after the Saxon banners unfurled, they were joined by the banners of their Ingaevonic brothers, the Angles, Jutes and Frisians. With their combined armies, the Ingaevonic horde crashed onto the shores of eastern Britannia. With fire in their eyes, they set settlement after settlement ablaze, razing all evidence of the Romano-Britons. Mass grave after mass grave, Romano-Briton blood was spilled, litres of it for every drop of Ingaevonic blood shed. The Romano-Britons fled in terror, whilst the Northern Celts watched on in horror. The wrath of the Ingaevones seemed endless, yet, as quickly as it started, it stopped. The Ingaevonic advance halted, and, to his surprise, Vortigern recieved an invitation to a peace treaty from Hengist, with even a promise of Rowina's hand in marriage. Vortigern sent his son, Vortigerm, in his place, fearing a trick. Upon arrival, Hengist ordered the Ingaevones to leave their weapons outside, and Vortigerm ordered his men to do the same. The night was filled with friendly competition between the two peoples, many a Romano-Briton filled his belly with as much drink and meat as he could handle. Vortigerm spent the night in conversation with Rowina, flattering her as best he could. All was well, but, a Romano-Briton felt something was off. He knew the food & drink hadn't been poisoned because the Ingaevones also ate and drank. They ate and drank, sure, however, this man noted that they hadn't eaten nearly half of what they had been given, strange considering they had a reputation for having large appetites. Curiously, they also hadn't drank much, despite having a reputation for loving ale, wine & mead almost as much as they loved fighting. Indeed, it was strange. Vortigerm asked the Ingaevones if their reputation for merryment had been exaggerated, then suddenly stood bolt upright, blood pouring from his neck. Rowina, stood behind him with an elongated dagger through her "future husband"'s throat. Hengist heeded his daughter's signal and ordered his men to do what they do best. Kill. This peace treaty was nothing more than a ruse, a ruse that was known as the "Night of the Long Knives". These "Long Knives" were called "Seaxes", the weapon that lends it's name to the most warlike of the Ingaevonic tribes, the Saxons. These weapons had been concealed about the Ingaevones' clothing. Ordered by Hengist himself. The Ingaevones sent messengers to Vortigern. Brave souls who knew this would be their last act. These men carried the heads of each of the Romano-Britons who had attended the peace treaty. Many of whom were commanders and diplomats. Vortigern was crushed. His son AND his half-son both lay dead. The message Hengist had sent with them dictated that their deaths were in revenge for Horsa. Vortigern became too mournful to lead effectively, and the chief of the Wealas tribe of Romano-Britons took command of the Romano-Briton forces. As soon as the massacre was done and Vortigern became too weak to lead, Hengist ordered the Ingaevonic assault to continue. Over the next few years, Hengist routed the Wealas time and time again, culminating with forcing them in the modern day nation of Wales. The Romano-Britons tried breaking out of Wales several times, each to no avail. The aftermath of this war was the formation of the Anglo-Saxon Heptarchy, (The formation of the kingdoms of Northumbria, East Anglia, Mercia, Wessex, Sussex, Essex & Kent), which would later unite under the banner of Wessex and gain the name "England" (Land of the Ingaevones).

[srda-sabre]

How Odin won the Runes.

Who wended his way Through wild wood and wasteland, To spear his own soul At the murk-rooted tree? Only the Raven-God, Ruler of Asgard, Odin, All-Father, Lord of the slain. Why did he go there, Storm lashed in solitude? What did he seek there, What did he do? Symbols he yearned for, Speech carved in silence, Thoughts drawn in lines, Secrets and spells. He hanged himself, dangling, Speared himself, starved himself, Cast his own sacrifice, swung from the tree. How long did he hang there, Hankering, hungry, Whipped dead by wind in the cold, Boundless gloom? Nine nights he suffered, Thirst-scorched, famished, Screaming through gales, Grappling with death. Who took his sacrifice, And answered his prayers? Who drank his blood, Those nine nights through? Odin himself both gave and consumed blood, Lost himself, won himself, Stretching and grasping, Until knowledge came. What did he find there, Hanging in darkness, dying, Delivered on the murk-rooted tree? From one cut came many words, From one stain, many signs, From one deed, much was done. Nine songs sung softly, Blood spawning sorcery, Symbols and runes. And then what of All-Father, Self killed and reborn, At the end of nine nights, On the sacrifice tree? His strife brought healing, Grief spawned freedom, Foes' blades blunted, arrows repelled. He was reborn as Rune-Master, Charm-Chanter, Wind-Queller, Carver of messages, Thwarter of witches, Winner of lovers, Quencher of fires, Subduer of seas. Remember how the runes were won: Carve them carefully, Sacrifice unstintingly, Tell tales truthfully, For all gifts seek a fair return.

[srda-sabre]

The Dwarfs' Treasures

Dark and austere is the realm of dwarfs, damp and airless. It’s tunnels stretch far under the ground, deep into the mountains, an endless, murky labyrinth. Caverns open out from them here and there, echoing with the clangour of hammers, stinking of soot and scorched metal. Night and day are meaningless in this place, for the dwarfs take no rest from their work at the forges, their gnarled faces thickly crusted with endless years of smoke. The gloom is overwhelming, broken only by smithy fires and sparse flickers of gold.

An outsider descended into this realm, slipping easily along the low roofed passages like a shadow or a sigh of wind. Each time he reached a cavern, he slipped inside, pestering the dwarfs who inhabited it until they shook their heads angrily and forced him to retreat.

At last he entered a smaller chamber containing only a single smithy. When it’s two occupants saw him, they wiped their hands on grime-encrusted cloths and shuffled towarfs him.

“Help me!” the outsider entreated them. “For what reason should we do so?” the elder dwarf replied. “Because I’ll pay you well.” “What do you want?” “A head of hair spun from gold.” “Golden hair. That’s a tall order, who’s it for?” “Sif, a god’s wife.” “Which god is she married to?” “Thor. He’ll kill me if I return without it.” “Thor! If HE’s after you, there’s no escape. What’s your name? Why do you need it?”

The outsider fidgeted from one foot to the other. In the glimmering light of the smithy fire, his eyes darted about, his smirking face smooth as a snake.

“I’m Loki. I need it to replace all of Sif’s hair because I cut it off while she was asleep, and dumped it in a midden.”

The dwarfs nudged each other and turned away, murmuring. The younger one hissed over his shoulder, “That’s disgusting, why did you do it?”. “Mind your own business,” Loki snapped. “But I’ll pay you this whole bag of silver - if your skills are up to the task.”

The dwarfs bristled. “You’re not questioning our mastery, are you?” said the elder. “Don’t you realise? We are the renowned Ivaldi’s sons. We can make anything anyone desires and fashion it even better than their most extravagant fantasy. No one can rival our craftsmanship. Stand aside, Loki, while we get to work.”

Loki rooted himself to the floor of the rock chamber and waited. Ivaldi’s sons shut themselves away in their forge. Eventually they emerged bearing an enormous box, overflowing with a drift of finely wrought, golden strands. As they carried it towards Loki, the gold rippled gently, like seaweed under water.

Loki peered at it and slipped his long fingers through it’s mass, gasping at the silky texture. “It’s good, I’ll take it. Here’s the promised fee.”

The younger of Ivaldi’s sons snatched the bag of silver from him and tipped it onto the floor. The two dwarfs counted it carefully and conferred again. Then the elder said, “You’ve paid us generously, Loki. For the same price, we’re willing to throw in something else. Say what you want.”

Loki sniffed, scratched himself and shrugged. “You’ll be in trouble with the other gods for bringing Thor’s wife a treasure and nothing for the rest of them.” said the elder dwarf. “Who’s most likely to vent their anger on you?”. Loki considered, then said “Odin, he reckons his wisdom entitles him to even more tribute than Thor’s brawn.” “Then we’ll make something for him too.” said Ivaldi’s sons.

They went back into their workshop and hammered feverishly again. When they emerged, they brought out not one, but two treasures. The first was a superbly fashioned spear. It’s iron head was welded into swirling patterns like the branches of the world tree, Yggdrasil. It’s oaken shaft, inlayed with silver bands, was so long that even the tallest mortal man would have to crane his head to see it’s end.

“Give this to Odin, tell him it’s in honour of his dominion over battle.” the elder dwarf said. “It’s name is Gungnir. We guarantee it will never fail him or stop in it’s thrust.”. Loki took it then sneered at the younger dwarf. “And what’s that trinket you’re clutching?”

Into Loki’s outstretched hand, he dropped the perfect replica of a ship, no longer than a mortal’s finger, complete with miniature oars and sail. “Give this to Frey. Mortals are always heaping praise onto him, so no doubt he’ll feel entitled to a treasure too. It’s name is Skidbladnir, don’t be fooled by appearances, this is no model but a real ship, folded up for easy carrying. When Frey wants to go sailing, it will immediately transform to a full-sized vessel and it will always catch a fair wind.”.

Loki snatched up the three items, balancing them awkwardly in his arms. Then he turned his back on Ivaldi’s sons and staggered away with his load, into the gloomy passages.

However, he could not find a clear route out. He made steep descents, rounded convoluted corners, then climbed a flight of rough-hewn steps right up through the murky heart of the mountain. He saw no glimpse of daylight, only more chambers and caverns.

At last, he accosted another dwarf and asked directions. “I won’t tell you,” the dwarf replied, “until you’ve told me something first. What’s that you’re carrying?”. “The best handiwork in all the worlds.” said Loki. “Who says so?” demanded the dwarf. “Ivaldi’s sons.” replied Loki. “And who are you to believe them?” the dwarf inquired. “I live amongst the gods,” Loki answered, and he told the dwarf his name.

“Well Loki, you gods’ arse-licker,” said the dwarf, “My name’s Brokk and I can tell you unequivocally that Ivaldi’s sons are wrong. My brother and I can make far finer treasures than them.”. Loki raised his eyebrows scornfully, “Liar!” he exclaimed. “Insulting me are you?” cried Brokk. “I tell you what Loki, we’ll get to work straight away in our smithy. The gods themselves can judge us. And if they prefer our treasures over yours, my brother and I will have your head. There, that’s a formal wager, shake hands on it.”.

“I can’t.” said Loki. “My hands are full.”. “You’re not getting out of this so easily,” said Brokk, “whether you agree or not, the wager’s on.”. “I can’t be bothered to argue,” Loki replied, “but we agreed another deal, before you started drivelling on about unwanted wagers. I told you what I’m carrying, so you’ve got to reveal how I can get out of this loathsome mountain where you and your kind lurk like slugs.”.

Brokk laughed in his face and told him. Loki stumbled away, still holding his treasures. But as soon as he was out of sight, he put the treasures down, transformed into a horsefly then flew back into Brokk’s cavern and alighted himself on the lintel of the smithy.

Brokk had gone back inside to tell his brother, Eitri, about Loki and the wager. The two dwarfs discussed the situation at considerable length, rubbing their twisted hands together as their ideas grew. Finally, Eitri said, “Make a start on the hog, while I nip out to fetch some bits of metal.”. He pulled out a hunk of rawhide from a wooden chest, muttered some obscure words over it and tossed it into the furnace. Brokk got to work on the bellows. Eitri watched as the fire flared up, then scurried away down a low tunnel.

Loki buzzed down onto Brokk’s arm and bit him hard. Brokk swore, brushed away the fly and continued squeezing. Loki crawled down onto Brokk’s fingers where they gripped the bellows, and bit him several times more. Brokk didn’t react, but just carried on sweating over his work. Loki flew off and perched on the rough cavern wall.

As Eitri returned, Brokk pulled the forged rawhide from the furnace. At once, it sprang to life as a gigantic boar, covered snout-to-tail in gleaming golden bristles. “I name it Gullinborsti,” he said. “It can run across sky and sea faster than any horse, and it’s bristles will light up the night. It’s for Frey.”.

Eitri nodded approvingly and tossed a nugget of gold into the fire. Brokk set to work on the bellows again, while Eitri went out on another errand. As Brokk blew up his flames, twice as hard as before, Loki flew over and bit his neck - also twice as hard. Brokk ignored him and kept dilligently at his work. As soon as Eitri came back, Brokk pulled a second treasure from the furnace - a splendid golden ring. “Behold, Draupnir.” he said. “Every ninth night, it will spew out eight more gold rings, each one equally heavy. We’ll give it to Odin.”.

“Nice.” said Eitri. “Now try this.”. He threw a lump of iron into the flames, then sat down on his stool. Brokk got back to the bellows. Loki buzzed around the cavern, then settled on Brokk’s eyebrow. He crawled down onto one of the dwarf’s eyelids and bit them both viciously. Blood spurted and dripped into Brokk’s eyes, temporarily blinding him. “Keep blowing, brother.” Eitri urged. So Brokk worked on. At last he drew from the furnace a magnificent iron hammer head, polished as richly as silver, deeply carved with mysterious flowing designs, so heavy that he could scarcely carry it. He nailed it to a thick shaft of ash wood.

“I name this Mjolnir,” he said. “It will never fail to hit it’s target, and it can be thrown to any distance required, yet always return to it’s master’s hand. We’ll present it to Thor.”. The two dwarfs scooped up their handiwork, then hastened out, hard on the heels of Loki.

In Asgard, Odin had hauled Loki up before the gods’ assembly. He was accused of stealing Sif’s hair and thus desecrating her transcendent beauty. Loki neither feigned his innocence nor admitted his guilt. Instead, he laid the treasures made by Ivaldi’s sons before Odin’s feet. “Inside this box,” he said, “You will find my vindication for this deed. It contains far better hair than Sif lost, made of dwarfs’ gold. She’ll love it and so will Thor. I have a marvellous gift for you too, All-Father, and also one for Frey.”. Odin didn’t even glance at the treasures. He said “Any gift from you is bound to be treacherous, Loki; and one made by the dwarfs will be even worse.”.

Loki had no chance to argue, for at that moment there was great commotion as Brokk and Eitri burst in. They marched up to Odin and bowed deeply before him, laying their own treasures at his feet. Brokk said “Forgive us for intruding, my lord, but we have come to help you arrange the perfect penalty for this scoundrel. He has already accepted a wager…”. “I haven’t.” cried Loki, but no one heeded him. “…a wager,” Brokk continued, “for you gods to decide whether the gifts he’s brought are better or worse than ours. Since you have not yet looked at any of these offerings, please permit us to display all six before you without revealing which treasure comes from whom. Then let each god examine his gifts objectively and reach his own decision. If it is decided that any of Loki’s treasures exceeds all of ours, then he will be the winner and to honour that, you must spare him. However, if one of our pieces is chosen as the best, Loki has agreed to sacrifice his own head.”.

“I’ve agreed nothing.” Loki cried, but his protest was ignored.

Odin considered the matter carefully and accepted the dwarf’s plan. They said which two treasures were intended for Odin, which for Thor and which for Frey. However, they gave no clue as to which they crafted themselves and which were made by Ivaldi’s sons on behalf of Loki.

The three gods considered each item carefully, murmuring amongst themselves. At last, Odin said “It’s impossible to choose between this spear and the golden ring; for each is equally marvellous.”. Frey concured, saying “Likewise, this folding ship and the golden boar are both truly exceptional.”. So the casting vote fell to Thor.

He picked up the golden hair spun by Ivaldi’s sons, turned it slowly around and trickled it through his fingers. He nodded approvingly, then walked over to a dark corner where his wife, Sif, was sitting alone, concealed in an enormous shawl. Thor coaxed her out and gently unwrapped the shawl, to reveal that her head was completely shorn. He spread the golden hair tenderly over it. As soon as it touched her, the hair took root and came alive, falling in a dazzling cascade across her shoulders and flowing softly down her back. Sif put her hand up to stroke it, then tossed her head about, swinging the extraordinary locks this way and that. She flung her arms around her husband, her lovely face wreathed in smiles.

The whole assembly broke into applause and Loki let out a sigh of relief.

Now Thor picked up Mjolnir, the hammer that Brokk and Eitri made. He weighed it in his hands, then hurled it carelessly across the hall at the carving on a roof-post. The hammer hit the target square on. Everyone cheered. The hammer spun round - and flew straight back into Thor’s hand. The cheers grew louder. Thor turned it over in his hands, admiring it’s ornamentation.

“A very fine piece of handiwork” he said, “though not perfect, for the shaft is a bit short for a big fellow like me. A pity.”. He tugged at the ash wood handle in frustration, then shook it…..and at once, something amazing happened. The hammer extended to enormous size, twice as large as before, and the handle lengthened exactly in proportion. Thor grinned and tried shaking it again, this time the hammer shrank so small that it fit inside his clenched fist.

“An ingenious gift indeed,” said Thor, “I’m inclined to think it’s the best one. But what do you think All-Father?”. Odin replied “Each of the other gifts will be much appreciated by it’s owner. However, there is no doubt that EVERYONE in Asgard will be grateful for this extraordinary hammer. For the giants are threatening us, with each day and night that passes, their harrassment grows greater and worse. Now, this hammer will enable you to strike them down.”.

“You’re right, All-Father,” Thor said quietly, “With this weapon in my hand, I can swat giants like flies and be the saviour of all who need my protection. I agree with your judgement, the hammer is the greatest of all the gifts”.

Odin turned to Loki and asked “Speak, Loki. Is this hammer gifted by you?”. Loki snarled and said nothing. Brokk bowed before Odin. “My lord, Loki cannot deny that the hammer was made by me and my brother Eitri. And the forfeit that Loki agreed to pay for losing this wager was his own head.”. “There can be few in Asgard who will be sorry to see it cut from his body.” said Odin.

“Ha! But you’ll never catch me,” cried Loki, “for I’m wearing shoes with power to carry me away faster than the wind!”. Even as he spoke, he was rushing out and launching himself into the air. The gods stared after him in dismay. But Thor shook Mjolnir up to full size and flung it after Loki. It soared into the clouds and found it’s mark. It clubbed Loki across the head, swung round and returned to Thor’s waiting hands.

Thor pulled Loki free of the hammer and held him in an armlock. Brokk drew his knife and moved it towards the trickster’s throat. “Whoa!” sniggered Loki. “My head is the price of losing the wager, but not my neck.”.

Thor gave a roar of exasperation. “It’s impossible to behead him without cutting through his neck. So we can’t inflict this punishment without compromising our honour.”. Brokk said “True, but the head itself is ours and we can easily subdue it.”. He pulled an awl from his shirt and pierced a series of holes along Loki’s upper and lower lips. Then he drew out a leather thong and sewed the lips together, rendering the trickster speechless.

[srda-sabre]

The Viking Creation Belief

In the beginning, there was nothing, just emptiness and dark. Suddenly, from nowhere, a spring began to flow. Faster and stronger it ran, growing, dividing, spilling it’s waters into eleven great rivers. From these rivers, there rose clouds of poison. They froze into ice and were blown by the wind to the north. In the south, there was fire. Sparks danced up from it and flew at the ice. Thus cold and hot mingled together, then gave birth to the first living creature, the giant named Ymir.

For a long time, this giant slept, enveloped in dampness and heat. Green things grew all around him. Creatures, both male and female, crawled out from his armpits and the creases of his thighs. At last Ymir was woken by a cow formed of frost. He found he was ravenous and thirsty, so he crawled beneath her and drank greedily.

Afterwards, the cow slaked her own hunger by licking salt from some stones. The warmth of her tongue melted the frost, and on the first evening a man’s hair emerged from it. On the second day, this was followed by a head and on the third day, a complete man stepped out, handsome and powerful. His name was Buri. He begot a son called Bor, who married a giantess called Bestla. They had three sons. One was name Vi, the second was named Vili and the eldest of the three was Odin.

Odin attacked the giant Ymir violently, stabbing him to death. So much blood flowed from Ymir’s wounds, that most of the giants drowned in it. However, one managed to float away on a box with his wife and settle in the frozen lands. All other giants and giantesses are sprung from them.

Odin and his brothers dragged Ymir’s corpse to the middle of the void and chopped him into pieces. From his flesh, they crafted the earth, his skull was made into sky, his blood became the sea and lakes, from his bones they raised the mountains, and from his teeth they created stones and scree.

All this time, the earth was floating like a feather. So Odin circled it with ocean to keep it steady. Then he and his brothers created four dwarves called East, West, North, and South, setting them to hold the sky in place above the world.

Vili, Ve and Odin then created the first people, on a lonely beach by the sea. From the waves they hauled two birch logs and breathed life into them, filling them with conciousness, movement, hearing, and sight. They taught them how to speak, clothed them and gave them names, calling the man Ask and the woman Embla. Finally Odin and his brothers wove Ymir’s eyelashes into a stronge fence and set it around the edge of the earth, to keep out the giants. They called the land inside this fortification “Midgard” - the middle place - and set Ask and Embla safely inside it. They are everyone’s ancestors.

At first, there was no day or night, only vague, unchanging twilight. So Odin called up the giantess Night, and her youngest son, Day, and gave each a horse and chariot. Night’s horse is called Frosty Mane: every morning, foam drips from his bit and falls to earth as the dew. Day’s horse is Shining Mane, and his brilliance lights up the world. As for the sun and moon, they were once a youth and a girl who were stunningly beautiful. The gods were so jealous that they snatched them away and tossed them into the sky to be endlessly chased by a pair of fierce wolves from Ironwood. The gods also caused the seasons to be born. Winter is the son of Wind-Cool and Summer the child of sweetness.

Odin is the allfather, very wise and powerful. He is the lord of wars and battles, and of warriors who die fighting. The valkyries work for him, fetching half of those slain in battle to feast in his hall. Two wolves lay at his feet, and two ravens gather news for him from across all the worlds. Always be mindful of Odin and on your guard, for he often travels through our own world in disguise, and meddles in people’s affairs.

Odin’s eldest son is Thor. He is the strongest of all the gods, and can easily double his power by donning his Girdle of Might and his Iron Gloves. Thor is the arch-enemy of giants and his greatest joy is smashing his hammer against their skulls.

Of the goddesses, Odin’s wife, Frigg, is the highest. However, Freyja is the best beloved and most glorious. She rules over love affairs; yet her hall is called Battlefield, and she shares each day’s tally of slaughtered warriors with Odin. She has a brother, Frey, who rules the weather, crops and wealth.

You should also know of Loki, who lives amongst the gods as a trickster and a traitor. He is clever yet crude, handsome yet fickle and sly; he’s a shapeshifter, and he’s fathered several monsters.

All the gods and goddesses live in Asgard, where each has a magnificent hall with hundreds of doors and rooms, surrounded by wonderous treasures. They often meet together in solemn assembly; but they also love to amuse themselves with contests, games and feasts.

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The Origin of Stories: The Magic Mead

Perhaps the only aspect of Viking society that survives to this day is their penchant of telling tales of great deeds and events. Even today, Iceland boasts the highest number of books and authors per capita. So prevalent is this tradition, that saga expert Gisli Sigurdsson recalls his father and friends gathering each weekend to share tales "hung up on various branches of their family trees - which they knew by heart, backwards and forwards. They constantly spiced up their stories with rhymed, syllabic and alliterated verse - similar to the oral art of Viking Age storytellers". But where did this tradition come from? How did men learn to weave such tale? Well let me tell you: There was a young giantess called Gunnlod Suttungsdöttir. She was buxom and very beautiful, but she had never lain with a man. One day, her father, the giant Suttung, arrived home, pulling a wagon. Inside were three vats. He beckoned Gunnlod over to see them. They were filled with a curious liquid, the colour of dark amber. "What is it?" asked Gunnlod, "Magic Mead" Suttung said. "What do you mean by magic?" Gunnlod inquired. Suttung replied "I mean that anyone who drinks this mead will find their head bursting with knowledge and stories about everything in the world". "Who brewed it?" Gunnlod asked, "Fjalar and Galar" answered Suttung, "Two despicable dwarfs". Gunnlod sniffed and said "It smells like stale blood". "It's the blood of a man named Kvasir, the gods themselves created him from their own spittle, and moulded him to be wiser than anyone in all the worlds. Fjalar and Galar were so jealous of his talents that they murdered him, stole his blood and mixed it with honey. In this way, they brewed the magic mead" said Suttung. "How did you get hold of it?" inquired Gunnlod. "It's a long story" replied Suttung, "Remember how your grandfather, giant Gilling, was drowned at sea? And how, while your grandmother was still grieving for him, a millstone fell on her head? The truth is, neither of these tragedies happened by accident: Fjalar and Galar killed your grandparents too". "So you took revenge on them?" asked Gunnlod. "Of course, I chucked both dwarfs down a sheer cliff. But instead of falling into the sea and getting washed away as I intended, the little rats landed on a skerry and started cravenly pleading for their lives. In the end, we struck a bargain: I set them free and in return, they gave me the magic mead" replied Suttung. "Have you tasted it?" asked Gunnlod, "No" replied Suttung, "and I'm not letting anyone taste it either. It's much too valuable. For now, I'm just going to store it somewhere safe, deep inside a mountain". "But if the mead is so precious" exclaimed Gunnlod, "Surely there's a danger of someone breaking into the mountain and stealing it. Who will you set to guard it?", "You" Suttung said. So he lead the young giantess down long, secret tunnels to a cave in the very heart of the mountain. There he carved her a bed on a rocky ledge and gave her a pile of soft sheepskins to cover it. He set lamps to burn in crannies around the cold rock walls. He showed her where a freshwater spring dripped from the ceiling, and gave her enough dry biscuits and salted meat to last her many months. Finally, he set the three vats of magic mead in the centre of the floor. "I forbid you ever to touch them" he said, "and if anyone ever finds you here, no matter whether it's a giant, a man or a dwarf, don't you dare let him drink any of it, protect the mead with your life". "But...what is the point of owning it, if you never use the mead or even see it?" Gunnlod asked. "To increase my prestige, of course" replied Suttung, and with those words, he turned his back on his daughter, strode out of the cave, sealed up the entrance and hurried back to the sunshine. How long did the gentle giantess languish in that dreary, shadowy solitude? How did she pass her time there? Did she have wool to spin or a loom to work at? No one can tell. But at length she was wakened from restless slumber by a curious sound, creaking and twisting like an auger boring through wood. Soon this gave way to a soft hissing, growing closer and closer. At last, from a tiny hole in the rock wall, a snake slithered out and thrust itself into the cave. Gunnlod screamed. The snake rose up, shook itself - and suddenly transformed into a handsome, powerfully built young man. He spoke softly, soothing away Gunnlod's fear. After a while, he came to her rock bed, lay down beside her and took her in his arms. They spent three very pleasant nights together. Then the man asked Gunnlod if he had healed her loneliness, and whether she loved him. She said he had, and that she did. "Then will you give me a gift?" he asked her. She said that she would like to, only she had nothing to offer. "But you do" he said, "you have the magic mead". "I can't give you that" Gunnlod exclaimed, "I've sworn an oath to my father that I would never let a single drop of it pass the lips of a giant, man or dwarf". He laughed. "What giant can slip through an auger's hole? What man can shape-shift into a snake and back again? What dwarf can love a giantess so sweetly? You won't break your oath, Gunnlod, for the one who asks for this drink is a god". She glanced again at her lover - and saw now that his handsome features were a mere illusion. There was a dark void in his face, where one eye was missing. There were claw marks on his cloak, where ravens had roosted. She gasped and shuddered. "Are you... Odin?". "Let me taste it, Gunnlod" Odin replied. She dared not refuse, but, desperately seeking a way to avoid her father's anger, she cried, "Only three draughts, Odin, I beg you - no more!" Odin nodded. He seized the first vat and emptied it dry in one mouthful. He seized the second vat and did likewise. He seized the third vat and emptied this too in a single draught. His mouth was awash with magic mead. Gunnlod was helpless. In the gloom, Odin seemed to shimmer, then suddenly he transformed again - this time, into an eagle. The mountain then split asunder, revealing a dark, star-spangled sky, the eagle rose and Gunnlod saw no more. In the world outside, in the icy wastes of Jötunheim, Suttung spied the eagle. He knew it was Odin; he guessed his daughter had been seduced and tricked. Suttung too had shape-shifting powers; he too mutated into the form of an eagle, then rose into the sky, winging his way after Odin, heading towards Asgard, closing in fast. The gods saw them both coming, they hastened out with a great cauldron and placed it in an open spot amidst their golden halls. As Odin sank down to land, he caught sight of the cauldron and disgorged the magic mead into it. However, in his hurry, he spilt some. It trickled down the great walls that surrounded Asgard, and from there fell like dew into our realm. These drops of magic mead are the liquid seeds from which all great tales are born.

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Left: ‘The Seer’s Vision’. Right: ‘Odin and the Seer’.

Völva and Seidr

In the Germanic Folk Religion (especially the Norse Variation), shamans and seers play an important role, from offering advice to performing rituals. Perhaps the most famous of these are the Völva, the wandering witches. Said to be well respected by all, these women were welcomed at every hearth and campfire they visited and could walk through even the most dangerous places without fear of being attacked. Often viewed as being connected to Freyja, these women spread their gifts far and wide, wandering from town to town, farm to farm and performing commissioned acts of magic, in return for room, board and often other forms of compensation. Accounts of the Völva are sadly rare, but what we do know is that the Völva devoted their lives to the craft, often to the chagrin of many Norse men, these women opted to remain childless.

The Völva were practitioners of Seidr, a powerful form of Norse magic that allowed the user to see and alter the web of destiny itself, spun by the Norns. To do this, the Völva would enter a trance-like state and travel, in spirit form, through the nine worlds (which I will cover soon) and accomplish her task, often fulfilling a prophecy, receiving a blessing or being cursed. Other forms of Seidr were used for less spiritual reasons such as: Healing the sick or wounded (Fun Fact: If a wounded warrior was brought to a Völva, she would feed him a broth made from several vegetables then smell the wound, if she could smell the stew from the wound, it was too deep and so she would leave the warrior to die), bringing good luck, controlling the weather, calling game animals and fish. Alternatively, Seidr could be used for the opposite reasons: to curse an individual or venture (such as a raid, battle, business venture etc), to blight the land and make it barren, to induce illness, to lie about a person’s destiny and send them on a path to disaster, to injure, maim or kill in domestic disputes and especially battle.

Seidr is a traditionally female role, in Norse society, men who practiced it were called ‘Ergi’ (Old Norse: Unmanly (the worst insult for a Norseman)). The foremost of these Seiđrmenn was none other than Odin himself (even he didn’t escape being called Ergi). Regardless of it’s ‘Unmanlyness’, Seidr was obviously very powerful, seeing as it could change destiny itself, so perhaps the loss of social prestige for these abilities was a price some were willing to pay.

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Left: The Valknut. Right: A depiction of the Valknut found on the Stora Hammars I Stone in Gotland, Sweden. The Valknut. The Valknut, pronounced (VAL-Knoot), is one of the most widely-discussed yet enigmatic symbols associated with Norse Paganism. Visually, it is comprised of three interlocking triangles. It appears on several runestones and pictorial memorial stones, dating back to the viking era, that stand on the Swedish island of Gotland as well as on grave goods from the Oseberg ship burial in Norway. The name 'Valknut' is not actually an Old Norse word, it is instead a Norwegian compound word that means 'Slain Warriors' Knot'. What is the meaning of this symbol, you might ask. The simple answer is, no one knows, the long answer is as follows. Archeologically, the Valknut only appears in connection with the cult of the dead, as in the aforementioned runestones and ship burial. Similar looking symbols can be found on the cremation urns of the Anglo-Saxons, another Germanic people closely related to the Norse linguistically, ethnically and in terms of their pre-Christian worldview and religion. In most cases, where the Valknut appears, Odin is also present. Even in instances where Odin himself is not present, symbols closely associated with him are usually found, such as the Anglo-Saxon urns depicting horses (in reference to Sleipnir) and wolves (in reference to not only Fenrir, but also Odin's pet wolves, Geri and Freki). In literary sources, Odin and his Valkyries often use binding magic. 'Odin had the power to lay bonds upon the mind, so that men became helpless in battle, and he could also loosen the tensions of fear and strain by his gifts of battle-madness, intoxication and inspiration'. Among the most accepted theories is that the Valknut is a symbolic representation of this binding magic, but seeing as we have no hard evidence, the true meaning of the Valknut may forever remain a mystery.

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Various interpretations of Valhalla. Valhalla Valhalla (pronounced "Val-HALL-Ah", from the Old Norse "Valhöll", "The Hall of the Fallen") is the hall where the god Odin houses the dead whom he deems worthy of dwelling with him. According to the Old Norse poem "Grímnismál" ("The Song of the Hooded One"), the roof of the "Gold-Bright" Valhalla is made of shields, with spears for the rafters. Seats made of breastplates surround the many feasting tables of this vast hall. It's gates are guarded by wolves and eagles soar above the hall. The dead who reside in Valhalla, the Einherjar, live a life that would be the envy of any warrior. All day long, they fight, performing many valourous and amazing deeds along the way. Every evening, their wounds heal and their strength is restored. Surely, they must work up a very large appetite from all those battles, and their feasts do not disappoint. The Meat comes from the boar Saehrimnir, who comes back to life every time he is butchered and slaughtered. To wash down the food, they drink mead, which comes from the udder of the goat Heiđrun. Thus they enjoy an endless supply of fine food and drink, and are waited on by the beautiful Valkyries. However, the Einherjar won't live this charmed life forever. Valhalla's battle-honoured residents are there by the will of Odin, who collects them for the perfectly selfish purpose of having them come to his aid in his fated struggle against the wolf Fenrir/Fenris, during Ragnarök. A battle in which Odin and the Einherjar are doomed to die. So, how does one enter Valhalla? The only Old Norse source that provides a direct statement about how people gained entrance to Valhalla is the Prose Edda of Snorri Sturluson, a thirteenth-century Icelandic scholar. Snorri wrote many generations after Norse Paganism had given way to Christianity, and ceased to be a living tradition, and he often went out of his way to artificially categorise the disparate material in his sources. According to Snorri, those who die in battle are taken to Valhalla, while those who die of sickness or old age find themselves in Helheimr (aka Hel, Helheim and Niflheim) after their departure from the land of the living. While entrance to Valhalla seems to have ultimately been a matter of who Odin and his Valkyries chose to live there, rather than any particular impersonal standard, it seems reasonable to surmise that Odin would select those who would serve him well in his final battle. The ranks of Valhalla would therefore predominately be filled with elite warriors, especially heroes and rulers. Therefore, the common misconception that warriors had to die in battle is incorrect, in order to gain entrance to Valhalla, one must impress Odin with their lives, by being honourable and strong, however, by doing so, they may catch the attention of Freyja, ruler of Folkvangr, who has first pick of people to bring into her realm, warrior or not, so you may end up with the Goddess of Love and Fertility and her Valkyries in Folkvangr.

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A depiction of Yggdrasil. Yggdrasil. The world tree of Germanic mythology, connecting the nine worlds. A great ash tree at the center of the Germanic spiritual cosmos, which grows from the well of Urđr. The name 'Askr Yggdrasils' probably strikes most people as awkwardly complex, however, it translates to 'the ash tree of the horse of Yggr' (Yggr means 'The Terrible One' and is an alternate name for Odin). Odin rides his horse, Sleipnir, up and down Yggdrasil's trunk and through it's branches on his frequent journeys throughout the nine worlds. A poem in the Poetic Edda describes Yggdrasil and the Norns like thus: There stands an ash called Yggdrasil, A mighty tree showered in white Hail. From there come the dews that fall in the valleys. It stands evergreen above Urđr's well. From there come maidens, very wise. Three from the lake that stands beneath the pole. One is called Urđr, another Verđandi; Skuld the third; they carve into the tree The lives and destinies of children. These three maidens are the Norns and their carvings consist of runes. In addition to the inhabitants of the nine worlds, several beings live in, on or under the tree itself. An eagle perches in the upper branches, a number of dragons and serpents, most notably Nidhogg, gnaw at the roots from below. A squirrel (Ratatosk) carries messages (most likely malevolent) between Nidhogg and the eagle. Four deer, Dain, Dvalin, Duneyr and Dyrathror nibble the highest shoots.

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The Norns deciding the fate of a child. The Norns. Do you ever wonder where fate comes from? Fate is, of course, not a straight line, but rather a web, weaving back and forth, but who, or what, spins the web? According to Germanic mythology, fate's web is spun by the Norns (Old Norse, Singular: Norn, Plural: Nornir), female beings who rule the destiny of both men and gods. The three foremost Norns are Urđr (Wyrd), Verđandi and Skuld, who reside in a hall standing before the well of Urđr. They are responsible for drawing water from the well and sand from it's shore, which they pour over Yggdrasil, so that it's branches do not rot. These three are described as powerful maiden giantesses (or Jötunn), whose arrival from Jötunheimr ended the golden age of the gods. Besides those three, there are many others who appear at a person's birth, in order to determine his or her future. In Norse society, the Norns were thought to visit newborn children. There are both malevolent and benevolent Norns, the former are the cause of all malevolent and tragic events in the world, while the latter were kind and protective goddesses. The three foremost Norns weave fate like a web (or alternatively they are also said to carve destinies into Yggdrasil, in the form of runes. However, unlike the 'fate' of Hellenic mythology, this fate is not final and can be altered by individual actions. The well guarded by the Norns, nestled between the roots of Yggdrasil, can teach the secrets of the world, but in exchange for a drink from it, the Norns demand a sacrifice, as Odin discovered when he sought to drink from the well in his quest for knowledge, the Norns demanded one of his eyes as payment.

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The Ethics of Raiding.

Europe, the Viking era. A time and place in which death could come from a number of sources. Disease, wild animals, starvation and by the sword or axe, in battle or as a result of an argument. If you lived on the coast or close to a river, however, death could come at the hands of 'heathen Northmen', as could enslavement or worse. Imagine, if you will, what it would have been like to be on the receiving end of a raid. You sit on the hill overlooking the coast and see a few ships land on the beach. Armed men disembark and gather around a man who is clearly the leader and listen to him speak in a foreign tongue. You return to your village to tell your leader. Suddenly, you hear a warhorn, and the men you saw storm the village, several of the men draw their blades (most likely Seaxes) and go to attack these men, only to be cut down immediately. They then proceed to break down doors and take everything of value. Anyone who interests them is bound and dragged back to their ships, most likely to be used as slaves or sold to other groups. They raid the farms and foodstores, taking what they can carry, burning the rest. After razing the village, the warhorn sounds again and they fall back to their ships. In the aftermath, you pick through the remains of your village, looking for your loved ones. Even if they're alive, you lost everything. Your neighbours and friends are most likely dead. These devils left nothing, it seems as if they only sought death and destruction. Now put yourself in the raiders' shoes. Your clan need supplies, your men need food, you're far from home and the locals won't give you anything, seeing as you're outsiders. They laugh at your 'backwards' pagan beliefs and charge you a ridiculous amount for supplies, which you can't afford. Your people have a reputation for raiding. Your clan elders speak of how the gods bless raiders and warriors, you remember this and seek the Gods' blessing. By raiding, you can bring honour to your clan and give them bragging rights at the next 'Thing' (Viking counsel). So you decide to raid, not only to secure supplies but also to strike out at those who demonise your beliefs. You see a small village on the coast, undefended. You land on the beach and disembark, you tell your men what to grab and how to act, they have to look intimidating but if you could avoid violence, that would be better than just fighting. The warhorn sounds and you charge in, the villagers watch you with fear in their eyes, 'who are these wild looking men?', some draw their Seaxes and attack, forcing your men to kill them in self-defence. In the scuffle, one of your men is killed, a man who fought beside you time and time again. The rest of your men give into their anger and begin butchering the villagers, they storm homes, taking anything of value they find. After pillaging and looting, you and your men leave. As you sail away, you look back at the burning village, your men celebrate a successful raid, but what about you? Do you feel remorse for it getting out of hand? Do you bask in the glory of a successful raid with your men? Do you feel proud that your clan are now feared by the locals now? Every story has two sides, which do you sympathise with? The villagers just trying to live their lives and survive in a time of suffering, or the desperate raiders who never intended for it to get out of hand?

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The Origins of the Northmen.

Vikings. Heathen raiders from a land of bitter cold and (in some places) endless nights. Often portrayed (incorrectly) as giant, angry, bloodthirsty barbarians. Many questions about these people remain unanswered to this day, but one thing in particular has plagued historians for centuries. Where did the Northmen come from? We all know they came from Scandinavia, but how did they end up there in the first place? Well, to answer that, we have to go all the way back to the beginning. Although many believe that we first evolved in Africa around 64,000 years ago, that is untrue. Geneticists have, in over a dozen studies, concluded that, whilst we are all human, we are genetically distinct from those of different races. The European race first evolved in the Caucasus mountains (in modern day Russia) and spread out across modern day Europe, (likely pursuing prey or looking for viable land to settle and farm). This race of proto-Europeans (who would eventually mix with neanderthals to form early modern Europeans) split into separate groups, with those who stayed close to the point of origin becoming the Slavs, those who moved into modern day Greece becoming the Hellenics, to their west lay a collection of tribes who would become the Romans, further west lay modern day Spain and Portugal, whose proto-European settlers became the Iberians. Northwest of the Romans lived the mainland Celts, on the Islands north of their territory were the Brythonic Celts (or as the Roman Empire called them, the Britons). Nestled between the mainland Celts and the Baltics (of modern day Estonia and surrounding countries) lay the Germanics and to their north, lived the North Germanics, who came to be known as the Norse (or in the case of Sweden and Denmark, the Danes). These are the major European Ethno-Groups, who no doubt developed their various cultures and identities over the course of millenia. Contained within these groups are smaller tribal groups (such as the Ingaevones, who I covered in a previous post), which are further divided into individual tribes. The North Germanics (who I will henceforth refer to as Scandinavians) arrived in Scandinavia as Ice-Age Hunter-Gatherer tribes. Now, they were not the first to inhabit these lands, the native population was the collection of Sammi tribes (often referred to as "Suomi", I will cover these people in a future article). The Scandinavians lived in these lands for thousands of years, keeping to themselves for the most part, though occasionally warring amongst themselves and the Sammi. Over the years, some groups left (such as the Visigoths, who, after helping sack the Roman Empire, settled in modern Spain). As civilisation advanced, Scandinavian traders opened up naval trade routes (one of which was called the "Northern Way", which gave Norway it's name, seeing as this route followed the Nation's coasts) for their ships, which then turned into raiding routes, and finally into highways of conquest. After the raid on Lindisfarne, these "Heathen Northmen" emerged from Scandinavia, aboard their Dragon-Prowed Longships, roaring with the fury of the gods and soon, almost brought Europe to it's knees.

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Top Left: St. George slaying the dragon. Top Right: St Edmund. Bottom: St. Edmund being used as target practice by ‘heathen’ Northmen.

The Patron Saints of England.

So, today, the 23rd of April, is Saint George’s Day in England (and several other countries). Many people do not seem to be aware that England had a patron saint long before George however, Saint Edmund.

Saint Edmund was an English king, ruling over the kingdom of East Anglia, who valiantly fought the vikings. The story goes that Edmund was captured by the Northmen, who demanded he renounce Christianity, when he refused, they tied him to a tree and used him as an archery target. When he still refused, they decided to behead him and tossed his head into the forest. Later on, when local Englishmen were searching for the head to reunite it with the king’s body for burial, they found it after following the sound of a wolf crying ‘Hic! Hic!’ (Old English for ‘Here! Here!’). His remains were buried in the grounds of the Abbey at Bury St. Edmund’s. Ironically, Edmund was not born a Christian, he converted later in his life. He claimed lineage to Woden, in order to secure his claim to East Anglia’s throne. He would have been seen as a heretic, except for the fact that English pagans and English Christians actually got along pretty well.

Now, St. George, however, was born to a Christian, Byzantine family. According to legend, St. George was the saviour of the desperate crusader army that captured Nicea during the first crusade. After seizing Nicea, the crusaders camped for a few nights. On the second night, Ottoman forces assaulted the camp. In the confusion, many knights were slain, many more managed to get dressed and mounted their steeds, however, their leader noticed that the civilians were undefended and, knowing what fate likely awaited the female civilians, screamed at his knights to dismount and form a shieldwall around the civilians. Despite thousands of arrows, hundreds of spears, exhaustion, constant attempts to bait them into breaking rank (and leaving the civilians vulnerable) and constantly seeing their comrades fall one by one, the shieldwall stood steadfast in their defence. After eleven hours, the crusaders were on the verge of breaking. The civilian women made the decision to risk their lives to bring the exhausted crusaders water and the priests began to sing, joined soon after by the rest of the civilians.

As the Ottomans prepared a final assault, as the sun began to rise and to the sound of hundreds of civilians signing hymns, a second army of crusaders smashed into the Ottoman flank, led by a valiant Byzantine knight named George. After routing the Ottomans, the crusaders burned the Ottoman camp and slaughtered the Ottoman leader.

Later on, after supposedly moving to England, this knight 'slew a mighty dragon’. This most likely refers to a campaign of slaughter against the English pagans, seeing as a dragon is representative of serpents, which were often used by Christians to represent pagans.

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Top Left: The Vegvísir in the Huld Manuscript. Top Right: The Vegvísir. Bottom: The Vegvísir surrounded by the Elder Futhark Runic Alphabet (which I will revisit soon alongside the Anglo-Saxon Futhark). The Vegvísir The Vegvísir (or "Runic Compass" as it is more often called), meaning "Sign Post" or "That Which Leads The Way" in Icelandic, is a Viking stave, much like the Ægishjalmur. In practical use, the Vegvísir was used to help sailors and even land-travellers find their way, even in bad weather or at night. This use is attested to in the Huld Manuscript, collected in Iceland by Geir Vigfusson in 1880 (but consisting of material from much earlier). A leaf from the manuscript provides an image of the Vegvísir, it's name and, in prose, declares that "If this sign is carried, one will never lose one's way, in storms or bad weather, even when the way is not known'. The spiritual symbolism of the Vegvísir is apparent in it's common name of "Runic Compass", guidance, especially in matters related to war, exploration and, most importantly, Odin himself. In modern usage, many Germanic pagans wear this symbol in the form of amulets and tattoos. As with the Ægishjalmur, this symbol can both amaze and intrigue those who lay eyes upon it. The Vegvísir is representative of confidence in one's direction or path, as well as intention to never lose one's way.

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The Ulfheđnar.

The Ulfheđnar, Odin's elite fighting forces, personal guards of the Norse Royalty and the fiercest Norse Warriors. The information surrounding these elite warriors is shrouded in mystery and myth. It is known that only the best achieved the title of 'Ulfheđnar' (from Old Norse, meaning 'Wolf-Warrior'). How they were named as such is unknown, some tales claim these warriors were fed hallucinogens and set against opponents (who/what they faced varies by tale, Wolves, whose fur would be turned into cloaks and whose heads would be fitted onto the helms of these warriors, to signify rank. Bears and Human opponents, ranging from slaves to Huskarls (Housecarls, personal guards of lower nobility). One tale asserts that they were sent to a shaman, who would invoke the spirits of the forest, most notably wolves (for their cunning), bears (for their ferocity) and owls (for their wisdom), and then combine them with the warrior's soul. Other tales contain assertions that a bounty was placed on a prospective warrior's head, and if they survived for a full month, the bounty would be called off and they would be inducted into the ranks of these elite warriors. (Members of the warrior's own clan were allegedly forbidden from claiming this bounty, the purpose was to entice warriors from rival clans). Whatever the truth, the Ulfheđnar were certainly feared, both on and off the battlefield. Several tales speak of these 'Wolf-Warriors' holding their own against larger forces. One tale claims that the lone warrior who held off the English army at Stamford Bridge was not a 'Berserker' (as is often claimed) but an Ulfheđnar. This would make sense, given their role as personal guards to the kings of Scandinavia, as well as the presence of King Harald (Hardrada). No matter what, these Ulfheđnar were certainly worthy of their status as Odin's Elite, they would certainly have been welcomed into Odin's hall of Valhalla and would no doubt love their legendary reputation.