King Thorvald Sails South

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Written by Toki Redbeard in drottkvaett. In October of A.S. 39 King Thorvald Halvorsson, called “Thorson,” led the Eastern Army to Crusade against Atlantia. After a hard-fought day, the East was defeated.

Full-armoured on fall day,
a fierce horde of sword-trees;
Southern killers calling,
sailed quickly these mailed ones.
Fast otters from east-way,
eager they for slaying.
The grim ship-heads gaping,
hard gusts filling yardage.

Eagle-hearted oarsmen
rowed iron-studded dragons.
The warships were laden
with wild men from Freehold.
Killers sailed from Coldewoode,
cruel veterans of bear-pits.
Old baresarks and armed-ones
and Ouglies were gathered.

Eager king, was urging
effort from his Northmen
who swiftly rowed swan-road
south. Earth was born frosted.
By night ships were sheltered
at shoreline and skerries.
Warrors sought woodfire’s
warmth. Earth was born flaming.
Ships filled coastal shallows.
Swords sharp each one hoarded.
Each crew commenced rowing.
King’s fleet sailed to meeting.
Weird’s onslaught awaited.
Wounder-storm was forming.
Starved for strife was Thorson.
Stately Janos waited.

Iron earls of tumult
open-tilled lands brainy.
Fierce, their fighters cutting
furrows red and garish.
Seeds were sown for eagles;
swords filled wolf-kin’s bellies.
The fields rich and fertile;
farmers wrath-filled, deathly.

Stir-heaters. Strife worsened.
Stricken ones. Oaks toppled.
Piercer-storm. Points reddened.
Pale-sundered. Helms splitting.
Whistle-shafts. Wolves lurking.
Wound-flow. Earth painted.
Hilts clattering. Hewn ones.
Hanging-god. Wolves sated.
Volsung howled. Wolves sated.

The steel draw wands
struck the tough ones,
as sunshine dripped—
dripped over hills.
Falling til dark,
at dusk, men tired.
Horns called Eastrealm
to homeward sail.

Mighty the king.
Mighty North’s son.
Eager the eagles’s friend.
Leading men from--
Leading men to--
cold wrath and cold Northern lands.

© Michael Dixon

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