"I wot that I hung
On a wind tossed tree
All of nights nine
Wounded by spear
Bespoken to Odinn
Bespoken my self to my Self
Upon that tree of which none telleth
From what roots it doth rise
Neither horn they upheld
Nor handed me bread
I looked below me
Aloud I cried
Caught up the runes
Caught them up wailing
Thence to the ground fell again
From the son of Bolthorn,
Bestla's father
I mastered mighty songs nine
And a drink I got
From out of Odroerir
Then began I to grow
To wax eke in wisdom
One verse led on to another verse
One poem led on to the other poem!"
Mighty Wolf-Lord; Holy Rune God; One Eyed Warrior King...
We know your tales and we heed them well. They feed our souls and their inspiration pulses through our veins. Your words push us ever onwards and your deeds inspire us to be more and to do more. Let us become bold men and women who drive our folk to a glorious new dawn. Let our actions inspire those around us and let our tales of glory be told around the sumble fires long after we have left Midgard to tread the Hel-road.
Hail Odinn!
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