11/12/2023 0 Comments Norse realms 10th![]() ![]() One after the other, every man in the horde repeats the solemn words. With great difficulties, he repeats the words spoken by Áskunnr: Ek sver í fóstbrœðralag. His skin has become gray like stone, and he has stopped shaking. In a deep, assertive, and cavernous voice, as if coming from the deepest realms of the earth, Áskunnr slowly starts speaking the sacred words: Ek sver í fóstbrœðralag. ![]() The men are positioning themselves on each side of Áskunnr to form a perfect ring around the naked man. They add two more circles, followed by eight branches, forming overall an elm. They are now combining their own blood in the drawing of the forneskja symbol, so ancient that it preceded the beginning of times. Like their bróðir who started drawing the stave, they are as well protected by wolf skins from the waist down, with their upper bodies completely exposed, showing a impressive display of raw masculine force and power. He is soon surrounded by more men, similar in stature and appearance, but distinct from each other by the color of their beards. He sketches two Þurs, back to back, together forming a circle. With the man’s blood now mixed with that of Áskunnr, he starts drawing the Úlfagaldr with his index finger. He wipes the blood from the naked man with his hand, uncovering a freshly engraved Þurs symbol on the upper left of the man’s back. Like the frozen giant, his legs are covered in wolf skins, his muscular and defined upper body is bare, and he is wearing a steel helmet with steel horns, contrasting with his red beard. Drops of blood are falling on the back of the kneeled man, blending with his own blood, and slowly dripping down his spine.Īnother man quietly appears from the blackness of the boreal forest. He takes a knife from his waist, resembling a sword to the common mortal, lifts his arms over the naked man, and carves the Þurs rune in the palm of his own hand. The ice crystals on his legs are breaking in a melody straight out of Álfheimr. Slowly, the frozen giant, Áskunnr, appears to be awakening. He is not making a sound, and not even his labored breathing is interrupting the absolute silence of the Norwegian winter. Behind him, in the gloom of the winter night, the shining blade of a knife slowly cuts through the skin on his back. His legs are covered in wolf skins and layers of ice crystals shining in the twilight.Īt his feet, a man is kneeling, unrestrained, naked, and vulnerable. Heavy droplets of sweat are running down his chiseled chest and abdominals, like a mountain spring cascading down summits, plateaus, and valleys, following a treasure trail of gold to rugged wilderness. The muscles on his bare, pale and almost hairless upper body resemble a sculpture carved out of raw ice. His eyes, of a nearly incandescent blue, pierce through the night and light up the surrounding winter darkness. The wild dance of the northern lights, not so high above him, is reflected on his silver horned helmet and his golden beard. He is standing on a cloud of swirling snow. ![]()
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