lived the kin of King Hring Hardknud, lord of the South march.
Long was their reach, long was their rule, wide-spanning was their law,
rich blood bubbled in the kin of the old king,
the blood of kings, free and wild, did spill the blood of lesser men.
cradled from the roaring and dangerous sea,
they built their ships of bark and timber,
the dragons of the waves, studded and high sailing, swift and true.
Yet turmoil in the house of the old king did erupt,
Thurgrim elder son, envious and proud, filled with lust and rage.
Struck down his brother, Vestein in combat, slaying him
his rage quenched, he bedded his own dear sister Gesli and made her his.
The grim king did turn his gaze away, as a babe was born to them, a son
Roreth, son of Thurgrim and Gesli,
treader of the underworld and the avenger of his family name.
Roreth so fair, grown from evil spawn he rose, yet defied fate so.
Praise the gods, praise all the holy ones and the sprites in the deep grove,
For Roreth so fair did bid his time, amidst his father's men, fearful of him
For vision of a tool of his vengeance came to him in the pale dusk,
a blade with blood upon its mind,
sent high from the gods to right the wrongs of the kin of Hring.
the dry blade of the night wished to be wetted,
in the blood of kinslayers and kin-layers,
its call sang out to him, the boy turning to a man,
sang in tongues of old times to him.
Out cried the wolf in the meadow, seeking prey to feed,
out cried it with a shrill and shriek
the whispers of the forest did cry aloud,
"Seek our blade and hear its call"
Battle lust cried out across the land
death reigned now, death and vengeance.
let spill the blood of the foe, the foe of right,
the friend of wrong, blood begets blood
Roreth went out in search of the destined blade,
the blade of his dreams and his nightmares
dread glory would be his now and forever,
the sin committed long ago would be made right
A song of evil was sung, a song of ill deeds,
coming upon vain ears, who did not understand the words
ride out, oh son, ride out for the blade calls to you,
calls for righteousness and rage!
For the pup was young, silly, and filled with unright dreams,
The wolf must grow, cry for blood, and see it shower in his nightmares.
Hringr Hunassen, called Hardknud or "Tough Knot" for his hairstyle. Hringr's son Hartharing or "Half-Hring" was the founder and namesake of the Hartharing dynasty.
Upon the first bright moon, it was found, in a cave of mystery,
besides then the arms and armor of heroes of ancient times
heroes of ages past, their glory fading,
guiding new blood to the den of their tombs,
their eyes glittering in moonlight, watching,
waiting for their chosen to claim his prize.
Yet so it did not come easy,
for the old fathers did not hand their treasures out easily
When the prince stumbled upon the cave, their grip upon sword arose,
and old battle lust returned
they spoke, their voices hoarse and dead and dreadful,
"Harken here boy, come to claim our glory of yore,
claim thy fate or be slain by us,
whom fate slew long ago when wind ripped and tore.
we who made the earth tremble in our might,
we who brought empires to wane,
we who won renown, and riches and brought such fame,
we who filled the dead halls of battle with the slain.
We say to thee, thee are not our blood, thee are not worthy of our name!"
Their dead words bit at the honor of the prince and a fire was lit within him,
Roreth did so battle them, his forefathers so proud,
their dead flesh glistening in moonlight,
their powers woken by the high ones,
their brows furrowed and they struck like mad.
Their arms, splendid and adorned with runes, terrible in power,
their armor rusted gold, beaten and caved in, withering and ragged,
swung their swords and their axes upon him, swift and horrid
The spark of battle ignited in the cave,
the ghosts of the past singing aloud in battle fury,
their might was strong, they who had beat the drum of conquest so long ago.
Their shadowed weapons, shrouded in fog and darkness,
they, drunk with new bloodlust, flew upon him their might was made known.
A dark song erupted from them,
in step they fought, each in step with the other.
"Blood! Blood! Taste so sweet,
We go on, we go on!
Glory and Death!
Glory and Death!"
Their dread tune sang out, bouncing from the cave walls,
and their swords swung, ripping through the air.
Doom brought down upon Roreth, yet he remained strong.
So did Roreth let out a howl, his mouth black, beating sword to shield
His teeth were bare, spit and drool coming forth like wolf-skinned warrior,
The fury of the prince was laid out,
his anger and rage bringing the red dawn upon the land.
the Horn of Elding sounded then in the cave,
bringing the dawn to the restless fathers,
Roreth, blade in hand, slew them and put them to rest,
old glory set aside for rebirth.
"Your glory is ended, your bones are dust,
your blood old and tired, you are dead and forgotten!"
Roreth's lust for battle burned and burned,
with a roar, he sent the old fathers away in shame.
Rage and fury now burned at Roreth's soul,
he welcomed the fate destined for him,
the high fields called to him, his destiny was chosen,
honor and vengeance would be his.
Prince Roreth fights the reanimated warriors of the cave of Dautheim.
Roreth's ride to the Deadlands began,
further, did he tread, unafraid of the dead screams around,
atop his fine horse Lydesa he strode unafraid,
death did not follow him as he went.
Visions of dread all around, long dead warriors clamoring for food and drink,
their eyes put out, they wailed on and on with terrible cries.
he rode past them, throwing earth and water to them
as he went on, his gaze hardened.
He went so to the depths, to the throne of Noba the Dread Queen,
to her shadowed halls true,
So fine did he ride, the dead beckoned him on and praise to him.
"Brave soul, rider from the high land,
Venture into the depths unknown,
Through this realm of the restless dead,
Where the past and future are intertwined."
"Fear not the void, the darkness vast,
For in your heart, a fire burns bright,
A flame of courage to light the path ahead,
to the truth that lies beyond this eternal night."
"Press on, press on, our valiant lord,
Through the land that lie ahead,
a destiny to demand, by bright heart and strength,
The destiny that's been decreed by our warden."
and before the stinking sea of the damned,
those doomed to suffer in their misery,
did cry aloud in pride,
one who had brought their relief,
and so Roreth's ride to glory shined on.
Roreth came to the throne before the Dead Queen,
she who saw first moonlight and the night before the stars
she who culled the world and felled the great giant with speartip
she whose gaze none can escape, who none can flee from.
Before her throne all great earthen glories withered and died, reduced to nothing.
She said aloud to him, far away yet near to the heart,
"Hark son of kin, son of unright blood,
what business have you brought before your Queen?"
the whispering words of the Dread Queen did come forth,
like blade upon wire and with a shrill.
yet so he said unafraid and undaunted, praise of the dead between his ears,
"Give me the tool of my vengeance, the blade of my nightmares,
my blade of the night."
the prince did step further from Lydesa, her hair billowed
she neighed loudly, frightened by the dark hall,
yet so did Roreth calm her, the dead were not there for them,
they could not claim them before their time.
"What deeds have they done worthy of the blade?
What good have ye done worthy of its dark touch?
What have ye done worthy of approaching my shadowed throne so eagerly?"
Her words stung at him, her bright eyes shone out,
like stars in the night and pierced him,
"Glory and fame are alluring, yet their mirage can lead the vain to doom,
pride leads to the darkest road and one is doomed to walk it alone
Shall you answer the test, not of your sword arm but your mind, what say you oh prince?"
Roreth answered with a solemn nod as he sent Lydesa away.
"The vain turn from me, the wise see me,
In darkness, I hold sway, but to light, I fade away, what am I?"
Roreth pondered but a moment before he answered "Shadow"
and so the queen nodded and looked on
"I am a weapon with no blade, I may cut deep with what I've laid.
A double-edged sword I say, for I can cut both ways, what am I oh prince?
Roreth once more pondered the words of the queen,
yet before he spoke aloud words he stumbled
he pondered deeper still and whispered "Words"
the Dead Queen burst aloud with praise,
her gaze of anger lessened upon him and she spoke
"Good boy, you may have a brain upon your shoulders yet,
one last test for you then."
Next, her words came out tender and soft,
softer than they had been previously,
"Who am I that holds my fate,
who am I that brings forth light and darkness, justice and vengeance,
good and evil, who am I that must walk the realm near and far?
Beneath the surface I roam, yet in wisdom, I become known, who am I?"
Roreth pondered deeply, the answer within reach,
he thought for many moments before he answered
"Myself" he whispered, no pride in his voice,
humbly he kneeled before her, pride vanishing from him.
"Young prince, your heart carries a burden unquenched.
I bid you to abandon vengeance, it's taste is great but fleeting,
no solace does it bring only a hole to be filled.
May this blade bring what you seek,
let it spill the blood of the unjust,
but be sheathed when its time is done."
then at once, from her palm did arise Náttsvert, the Night Blade,
the tool of Roreth's justice.
Noba, the Iolan queen of the dead and of the underworld.
So Roreth did emerge from the cave,
Rán's curse was laid forth around Hardknud's hall.
Many winters had come to pass
the prince of Gesli's loins had not returned.
Many bid the King to send out parties to search for Roreth,
but Thurgrim King did not send them.
"Let the pup come back a wolf,
lest he starve and die, let him grow strong." barked the King
Yet so, Queen Gesli did worry endlessly for her son
and she sent out riders to search for him.
Once such was Thrasir son of Gren, prized for his wide gallop
he went out in search of the prince,
to the far north did Thrasir's journey go,
to the lands of dancing light, the land of whirling whispers and dreams
for Thrasir heard by crow's call, that the prince was there.
So at the setting of the crimson sun was the prince found, wandering
Overjoyed yet in confusion, Thrasir questioned the prince,
"Where have thee been my prince so long forgotten?"
what deeds have thou done, what sights have thou seen in journey?
have thee seen the raven gorge upon battlefields far away?
Have thee sat in grand halls and drank thy fill from the horn of honor?"
Brought out from his daze, Roreth answered sternly,
"Quiet now, soaked in blood has been the land I tread,
my deed is done, sword at my side I return to my own lands.
I fought eight of my fathers, their blows a sounding thunder,
their sword swings yet glanced from me and I slew them,
for I have traveled far and wide, I have seen many sights.
But by valor and duty, I have returned, to this land to bring justice.
And so I bring the tool of my justice, here before you."
And so did Roreth bring forth Náttsvert
its dreaded shimmer was seen by Gren's son in awe.
"Return to my home, claim you did not find me,
bid my mother to run and hide,
for when my vengeance returns she must seek safety, bring her to it."
And so, Thrasir returned to the hall of the King,
he spun a grand and wide-spanning tale of his fruitless journey.
As Thurgrim laughed, at the news of his son's proven weakness,
noble Thrasir told the Queen of her son's words.
The return of the prince was put away, all thought him dead now,
save for Queen Gesli and Thrasir who knew the truth and kept it to them.
And so, Roreth then mounted fair Lydesa, his loyal steed,
atop her, he rode south to the hall of his vile father in haste.
In the night, the night sky spoke tales of the prince's ride,
it whispered its tale of his return from death,
A number of predators prowled the land,
cattle ran away from pens and into the vast wilderness,
dogs howled and barked like mad wolves, for their pack leader was coming,
each dawn was red, for Roreth's rage burned the sky thusly,
the bringer of the crown's doom was coming.
Rán's curse laid forth upon the hall of Thurgrim the Cruel,
his servants and thralls cowered in fear,
omens of ill followed the King, his fields were bare and empty and hall silent,
he questioned all manner of wise men and women on their meaning
all gave him the answer which brought further confusion to him,
The wind speaks of shadows cast,
Hidden truth, deed done at last.
A father's actions, a soul to mend,
After darkness, the sun will ascend.
Beware the night, when stars do align,
For in their midst, light will shine.
A shadow looms, the beacon is alight,
The shadow rides to face the fight.
In a fit of rage and despair, Thurgrim's heart turned black,
He lashed out, his anger uncontrolled and fierce.
He drove away all who dared attend his court,
Punishing those who spoke of his coming doom.
Those who dared to bring him grim prophecy,
He gutted them all, their words though echoed on.
Their pleas for mercy fell upon his unlistening ears,
As Thurgrim's fury grew, his fears consumed him.
The seers and scryers met a cruel and terrible fate,
Tied to stones on the seashore, left to the tide.
Thurgrim's rage knew no bounds, no mercy shown,
As he sought to silence the voices that plagued him.
Alone he stood, the king had none to trust,
His heart was consumed by worry and the shadow on the wall.
The kingdom suffered, as his mind grew blind,
His doom approached, destiny thundering behind.
Roreth's father, King Thurgrim of Holvika
In the shadows of his reckless hate, a son returned,
Roreth's heart burned white hot, and he came forth.
The stage was set, a reckoning soon to unfold,
As father and son faced a destiny shared.
Rorach returned, bursting forth to his father's once-proud hall.
His father, the king's court was now empty,
no wise men or women, no courtiers to be seen.
Echoes of their wisdom were replaced by paranoia and wrath.
Roreth's steps echoed loudly in the vast, empty space,
As he approached, his father's gaze flew to him.
Thurgrim, broken now and consumed by fear,
Now faced the son he once thought weak and lost.
For the pup had grown indeed, the wolf approached
No words were spoken, only silence in the still air.
His father's anger and cruelty now were past,
As Roreth surged with justice upon his mind.
He spoke not of his deeds, of the trials he'd faced,
his gaze only hard and furious toward his king and father
silence spoke louder, than any words shared between them.
The once-mighty king, now a helpless villain,
In the presence of his son's return, shadows cast all around.
As Roreth unsheathed Náttsvert, an eerie silence fell,
The air grew heavy, and time seemed to stand still.
The blade's dark gleam, reflected on Roreth's face, filled then with fury
Shadows danced manically along the long halls of Thurgrim's keep.
Náttsvert's shriek startled the once proud king,
its shrill echoed through the hall, empty as it was.
Thurgrim, once so proud and so mighty, now knew,
behind his son's sharp gaze, justice had finally come.
As Roreth approached the throne, strong in step and determined,
King Thurgrim looked on proudly, his face betraying his fear.
His eyes darted to the unsheathed blade in Roreth's hand,
he knew that his time had come but he wished to defy fate before him,
Thurgrim's eyes fixated on the gleaming weapon in his son's hand.
He knew that his life hung in the balance.
"Ah, what a blade you bear oh son," Thurgrim said, his voice trembling
"What a magnificent weapon, crafted with fine steel,
I see. It will suit your gloy well my son."
Roreth's grip on the hilt tightened,
his resolve did not yield to his father's flowerful words.
"This blade is not meant for glory," he replied sternly.
"It is meant to bring justice to those who deserve it."
"I see, so you've come to finish what you started,"
Thurgrim King said, his voice shaky. "To end my life and claim your vengeance?"
Thurgrim laughed nervously, wishing to delay further.
"You say justice is your cause? A noble cause indeed, my boy.
But think of what you could achieve with such a weapon in your hands.
Glory and power beyond your wildest dreams.
Imagine the kingdoms you could conquer, the lands you could rule!"
Flashes of his father's words danced in the head of Roreth,
his father was indeed correct,
glories like those of his forefathers danced in his mind.
These glories could be his,
all the bounties of the world laid bare for their master.
Yet that was not what he sought, his mission remained.
Roreth shook his head, his eyes never left his father's.
"I have no desire for glory or power,
all I seek is to right the wrongs that you have committed against our family."
Thurgrim's facade of fatherly love festered away, he spat back
"Oh are you so above glory and fame,
such a worldly prince you have become.
What great deeds have you done that have made you refuse such acclaim?
As Thurgrim spoke, a twisted smile crossing his desperate face,
he couldn't resist one last taunt.
"Your mother, she begged for your pitiful life when she bore you,"
he sneered. "If I were a better man then, I should have had you smothered."
Roreth's blood boiled and burst forth his rage,
his father's words stirring up a storm of emotions inside him.
His grip on his blade tightened till his knuckles grew white.
The blade at his side seemed to hum in anticipation of blood.
The shadows on the walls seemed to dance more manically,
and the anger that surged through Roreth's veins burned hot.
Roreth saw not the man who once was his father,
but the monster who had caused so much pain and suffering.
All the cruelty, all the atrocities, all the shattered lives,
All the terror he had brought, all the suffering, all the pain.
With a primal scream of rage and sorrow,
Roreth raised Náttsvert high above his head
bringing it down with a ferocious strike.
The blade met its mark, slicing through the air like a bolt of lightning.
Time seemed to slow as it cleaved through Thurgrim King
striking soundly and truly as iron tore through flesh.
Thurgrim's vile and taunting words were silenced forever
the blade had found its mark well.
The room was filled with an eerie silence once more,
broken only by the hard thud of Thurgrim's lifeless body hitting the floor.
Anger, disgust, and sadness still lingered in his heart,
this storm of rage threatened to consume him then.
He looked down and discovered his baby brother Halvaldr,
crying out in the cradle, a flicker of his rage still alight within him.
Roreth realized Náttsvert's allure was not of justice
it whispered more, and it wished only for blood.
The sword whispered promises of more and more,
of rending the life from one who would one day seek him out in vengeance.
With a deep breath, Roreth sheathed Náttsvert,
its dread whispers fell silent.
He turned away from his father's fallen body
and approached Halvaldr's cradle,
cradling the babe gently in his arms.
"Hush now, little one," he whispered softly to soothe the crying child.
Then did the allure of vengeance ebb away from the prince,
Justice was won and his rage slowly left him.
Now as the time to mend what had been broken,
to fix what had been destroyed,
Roreth's forgiveness erased the stain of Thurgrim's villainy
under his care, Halvaldr came to the crown of the land,
the glories of the blood of Hringr returned,
all was well when the bonds of blood had been mended
and peaceful stillness came upon the land once more.
Náttsvert's call echoed unanswered, and the blade came to rest
Its purpose was fulfilled and justice was met upon Thurgrim King,
Náttsvert's insatiable call for blood was finally silenced.
Roreth, now wise and loving, knew the dangers of such a weapon,
To ensure that it could never bring harm to anyone else,
the Prince made a solemn decision as he came to rule the land.
As the years went by and Roreth's reign went on,
he carried Náttsvert with him, never letting it leave his side.
a reminder of the past and a symbol of darkness overcome.
With each passing day, the blade's bloodlust seemed to lessen,
it's once gleaming rage was now replaced by Roreth's peace.
When Roreth's time finally came,
to join his forefathers in death,
the blade was entombed with the fair king.
It would forever remain there at his side.
it would never again be claimed by another,
it rested at his side, its bloodlust dormant.
King Roreth laid to rest, with his sword Náttsvert gripped forever.
After King Roreth's death,
the descendants of his brother Halvaldr grew and came to lead,
Halvaldr's children, Brynjar, Haakon, and Ingrid,
each grew into formidable leaders,
each contributing their unique strengths to the kingdom.
For gracious was he in rule, Brynjar Bear Beard,
who ascended to rule as King.
He was wise and just, admired by his people
for his strong leadership and fair rule.
the lessons of his just forefathers remained in him
and he was guided to do good for his family and his people.
Wise in rule and terrible in war, he defended the land.
Haakon, his younger brother, stood by his side
as trusted advisor and a loyal companion,
known well for his kind words and gentle touch,
as well as his great valor in battle.
Ingrid daughter of Halvaldr King, skilled in counsel as she was in strategy.
Her wisdom and keen insight, an invaluable asset to her brother's reign.
Years passed, and the bonds between the three siblings grew ever stronger,
their unity ensured the prosperity and stability of the kingdom.
Brynjar, as a father, raised his son Hrōðgār with great care,
in him were forever, codes of honor, justice, and compassion.
As Hrōðgār grew, he learned further from his father's wisdom
he was aided in counsel by his cousins Ingrid Haakonsdottir and Erik Grensk,
Hrōðgār's reign marked a period of prosperity for Holvika,
with trade flourishing and the kingdom's influence spreading
Holvika came to rule over neighboring lands.
to his Thralls and Karls and Hersirs,
he was Hrōðgār Stoeradi, Hrōðgār Strong-Ruler.
Under Hrōðgār's rule, the Hartharing family was once more renowned.
Across the land their wisdom, generosity, and strength were made known.
the people of Holvika revered their rulers once more
and the kingdom continued to grow in power and wealth.
Yet so, with wealth and power,
did the goodness of the kinsmen of King Roreth ebb away,
power and glory now loomed larger and larger in the halls of Holvika.
Power and glory bit away at them,
the great hall of Holvika, the seat and long hall of the Hartharing dynasty of the city.
King Gudrod Gulskeg, known as Gold-Beard. Gudrod was the father of three sons, Eystein, Sigurdr, and Olaf who each ruled Holvika.
In Holvika's realm, three brothers stood tall,
Sons of King Gudrod Gold-Beard, they came to rule,
Eystein White Legs, swift in thought and just in deed,
Sigurdr the World Sailor, upon the waves he treaded.
Olaf the Sea-Bitten, beneath the sea he would lay,
Together they ruled, each in their own way.
Their sights set afar, in far lands beyond the wide sea,
Holvika thrived, and its people grew wealthy and fat in glory.
Yet though they ruled, their hearts were still separate,
In quests and journeys, their minds remained elsewhere,
A kingdom at peace, iron, and steel swung far away,
With each brother's rule, Holvika's land came to be grand.
In Holvika's long halls, Eystein reigned with might,
His rule was just and firm, with scepter in hand, he ruled.
With wisdom and care, he tended the land of his fathers,
A ruler beloved and feared, powerful and proud.
Sigurdr set sail, o'er waters unknown,
A wanderlust called him and he answered with iron,
as his shipmen knew no bounds, they plundered the west and south.
Tales of the Northmen spread far and wide, he grew proud and rich.
Olaf, the valiant, youngest of the three,
stood tall as his kinsmen and just as proud
yet envious was he, of his brother's successes.
And so the sea's call was strong, it drew him away,
In a tempest's embrace, he met his fate beneath the waves.
A tragic fate, Olaf's life met its short end,
Leaving behind no legacy of his own,
His little son Knut remained, as Hrósa and Hróarr would sail away,
