A wrought iron tablet that has the runes of the Northmen gouged deep into its surface.
Whoever went through the trouble of fashioning it must clearly have wished for the recorded tale to stand the test of time.
Fellowship in kin is wealth to all
Treasured as polished gold.
Each must bestow it freely on the other
To gain honour in sight of sword-thanes.
First among them
A pillar of wisdom and a comfort to the wise
A blessing and joy to underlings.
The bonds of blood
Kept on pain of death
To the end of days.
Terrible then is the kinstrife
Most unholy of sins!
It forces a path within bloodlines
As the eagle's beak through bone and marrow.
When a hearth's warmth fades
It is time to depart from one's homestead.
Blood is thicker than water
Thicker still; the covenant of battle
Blood spilt willingly
Amongst shield-siblings.
Mettle have they who range
Long over moors and mountains
In pursuit of battle-brethren.
Those Wolf-hearted move swift
Great cunning and strength of will
Are theirs.
The Bull-horned are proud
The aurochs, a savage beast
It fights with courage and great fortitude.
Joy is for two shields or more
Locked in teeth-gnashing battle
Against the enemy
Baneful in his ways.
Then to gather as friends
In halls of meat and ale
Beams of elm and oak
Circled by wisps of fire-smoke.
Work aplenty there is for iron
In that land of green fields
And lush forests
A crossroads of ancient Kingdoms.
Marks to be made
And remembered
Long after thanes fall
And bones turn to dust.
Each shield must have its wall
Each wall its Hall
Each Hall its Hovding.
Great deeds emerge from such places
They can stand the test of time
If a Hovding resists rage and wanderlust
Longings that make fools of all.
Woe to the Wolf-hearted
The wilds call to them
And so too the Bull-horned
For they are loyal
And will not forsake battle-brothers.
Alas the Pale Hind
Resolute as the frost
For she loves them both.
Three lineages continue
Of Raven-born
And Shieldings
Borne into the white land
That of their forebears.
The Wolf-hearted hunts
The Bull-horned grazes
The Pale Hind nurses her young.
What fate befalls the hunter
Who wanders without his pack
Battle-brethren far from his side?
Joy or woe?
