Hail the Hammer Cry of the Warrior
Hail to the Hammer:
The Cry of the Warrior
The echoes of battle rings and sails the sky, with the dying screams of men and Jotun a like strike the sky. The clashing of blades of iron and steel against the giants of Jotunheim and the cracking quakes of the earth below the crumbling bodies of the fallen Jotun. Brother-warriors pull their wounded brothers out of the piles under the active fighting, to raise them with their shaman and his runic shamanism, then sending them back to the fiery fray of battle; in the belly of the beast. Those brave and heroic warriors who fell in battle were chosen by the Valkyries and rode with their new sisters to Valhalla, the golden hall of the Allfather Odin. Those who were left behind marched down into the depths of Midgaard and to the gates of Nifilheim, where they wait for Ragnarok. In respect of the brothers of warriors, they honor their fallen by smiting the foul giants of Jotunheim. To take their lives before they too fall to the blades of the Jotun.
By the swords in their hands, they fight alongside their berserker brethren of the Allfather who become enraged or induced rage by hallucinogenic mushrooms, spill the blood and brains of the giants who wish to decimate their gods, their immortal family and those here on Midgaard. Wielding humongous great swords or wielding sword and axe in each hand. Their rage-filled battle cries and howls send mortal men fleeing with their tails between their legs and angering the Jotun to strike them. Such beauty in the art of war with the berserkers and their endless rage to protect their homes and realm and only the crimson blood sooths the hungering blades; Wearing the furs of slain bears and pelts of wolves to stir fear in the eyes of the enemies of the realm of Midgaard, even the Christ-god.
With the sound of wooden shields cracking when blade cuts through them. Sounds of bones breaking under the weight of the clubs of whetstone and the bashed skulls of the Midgaardians and Jotuns, and the spraying of the crimson essence of all living beings!
Battle cries rings in the air as warriors shout battle prayers to Odin, Thor, and Tyr for favor and guidance through the deadly encounter with the decedents of Ymir the first Giant.
Jotuns give their battle cries to crush man and to spread chaos with the warriors of the Christ-god, who promised to destroy the mighty and truthful gods.
As the warriors charged to the battle, many lay on wet soil soaked with blood. Chainmail tattered with a mighty swing of a whetstone of a Jotun and the spears they carry with the deceitful knights. Only to the warriors, their gods are at their side when others can't see them; as the Christ warriors die alone as they fight. Death spreads long and wide in the forest and the creeks of Northern Germany. All the death and destruction as no end, it does not cause the warriors to waver but to inspire them. To rid Midgaard of all the chaos and hearts of faulty tales of a nameless and shapeless god; pushing back those to Jotunheim with hearts of bitter contempt. Nothing stops the robust Asatruar of all of Northern Europe.
Horses charge and their riders drive through the wavering traitors of all Midgaard. Shaking the ground with such power, their helmets shine as the sun goddess Sunna gave those blessings before them as they blind the Giants before they clash. The pounding hooves sound of Thunder from Thor's Mighty hammer, Mjollnir, when it strikes the sky. The cowards run as the Norsemen chase them down and end their pathetic claims of a single and powerful god. The Hooves strikes blinding fear in the eyes and down of the back of the traitors as they run. Ridden down before the mounted warriors, they fall before the cross that held the lies.
The frenzied screams send men running from the berserker's unimaginable strength. Cutting the wyrd of those who stand in their way; sending those to their empty end. The Jotun fell before the sharpen blades of the warriors cut into the flesh, spilling the life giving blood from the wounds. The river flows as the blood spills from the wound of dead or dying men. Blades rest in the hands of warriors. They lay before the Valkyries, whose choice decides who goes where. Half go to Freya in Folkvang and the rest goes to Odin in Valhalla. Those who dedicated themselves to a specific god or goddess go to that god or goddess's hall.
To spend the rest of their time with their kin, immortal brothers, sisters, mother, and father until Ragnarok comes.
But the battle rages on for hours, then into days. With the end of the crushing defeat of the Jotun and the complete annihilation those who threaten the gods and Midgaard. The Jotun flee as the fearless Norsemen chase them down and put them to death; insulting Utgaard-Loki, as he hears the tales of fearsome and awesome warriors, sending the heads before him as a token and a threat.
The shouts and cries of battle did not stop, it echoed in the mountains and plains of all Midgaard. Rallying those brave enough to slay the giants under the banner of the Aesir, never bowing before man or deity; not even a foreign and jealous god.
Never to cower, never to sway when they swing their blade when they are called by the gods to fight the wretched foes who wish to disrupt the order of the world. As the tales of mighty heroes and warriors march, the ground trembles as the battle continued onward towards the northern star. The sound of shields breaking, swords clashing, and bones breaking and shattering echoes in the sky and sent tremors through the earth! Hail to the Aesir! Hail to the All-Father Odin! Hail to Thor! Hail to the Hammer!
The bitter cold of the mountains stings the lungs of man and kisses the skin of the Jotun as they slay one another to the bitter end. To most, the cold would drive back many; but the Norseman refuses to leave due to the cold. They stay to fight to live or die for victory or death against the beings of chaos. And in the eye of the all father, favor goes to the bravest, fittest, and wisest warrior as they fight. When they fall, rewarded in death for loyalty is gifted with immortal life with the gods.
The winds breeze against the furs, chainmail, and hair of the warriors flow as they charge into the eyes of evil and chaos; sending those who betrayed their own and those who seek to cause total destruction, to a bitter crimson end, eyes wide as they meet their enemy in the fields of combat. In the battle that lasts forever, is the sight of those who fell to blade and ax. And the bodies litter the ground as the battle proceeds near its end. The sounds of battles still go on, louder than before. The cries of dying men and Jotun who grip their wounds as they slowly bleed from the wound. Those who were dead saw the end of the battle have seen it for a thousand years.
Yet, the battle is over and the foes are dead, the war still rages on between the Aesir and the Jotun with mankind caught in between.
Whoever chooses a side, will determine their fate and their wryd cut in time…