Asgard tales from the Golden Hall.



  Asgard

  By

  Gary Mark Lee

  Copyright Gary Mark Lee

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  Asgard.

  Come sit with me beside the fire and I will tell you an ancient tale.

  Of warriors strong and dragon ships with tattered bloodstained sail.

  The long dead saga of those fair haired men is a story filled with pain.

  For they died with reddened sword in hand and now lay beside the slain.

  How long ago we have forgotten their deeds so brave, wanton and true.

  They turned the oceans red with blood that forever had been so blue.

  They drank leagues deep of sour wine and sang the glory songs of yore.

  The broke their backs and steel breed hearts pulling at the wooden oars.

  All the world feared their coming and the air was filled with prayers.

  God protect your flock and save us now from the coming of the slayers.

  But no stone or golden idol could turn away the Northman on his quest.

  For his soul is filled with wanderlust and burning freedom fills his chest.

  But now there are no men of the sea and the war drums no longer sound.

  For the past has vanished into dust and holy salt now covers the ground.

  Where do Gods go when they die, does brave Odin’s spirit sit and weep?

  Has Valhalla’s golden hall now crumbled in to dust and all a midden heap?

  Is there no victorious place for me to go when my poor time is ended here?

  No fabled land of wonder to take my weary soul, no place of sword and spear?

  There must be a world beyond this cold rock where a man can roam at will.

  A hardened land of towering jagged cliffs and mighty oaks from hill to hill.

  A forest land filled with red wine and booming song that will never pass away.

  Oh golden Asgard in the clouds open your door to me and forever let me stay.

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  Beast.

  I hunt the elusive Palangar beast with fangs of ivory white.

  With hide as hard as Damascus steel he is a fearsome site.

  His breath is like the fires of hell that smell of sulfur and brine.

  In all the worlds beyond this world there is no horrible kind.

  I faced him oh so long ago when I was young and strong.

  I carried a sword and battle ax, a chain with steel thong.

  I found him in a haunted woods where brave men feared to go.

  My speed was like the lighting shaft, but alas I was too slow.

  He took my arm and left me for dead and I cried out from the pain.

  But I swore an oath to all the Gods that the creature would be slain.

  And so I wandered through all the lands from Taract to Moray.

  The promise burning in my soul to find him one dark day.

  Year upon year I heard the tales of a creature beyond man’s grasp.

  A monster of the darkest depths who’s mere site made brave men gasp.

  On and on I walked the shadowed lands and sailed over haunted water.

  And everywhere I traveled I beheld his endless crimson slaughter.

  In Vandergar I saw red eyes gleaming hatred in the dark.

  I thought I caught his chilling roar above the soaring lark.

  Near the land of Gorn I heard a tale of a creature from the Pit.

  I heard the wailing of his victims when the sacred fires were lit.

  I followed the broken road to its lair, a rocky place of dred.

  A land of shadows and dark souls, a place fit only for the dead.

  All about me I heard the wail of foul beings great and small.

  “Turn back weak human” they called to me, “or you shall surely fall.”

  And now I see him in my path his red eyes burn with hate.

  I laugh and thank the Gods on high that brought me to this fate.

  “Come to me foul beast of old, I returned from the land of death.”

  “I never turned from my path; I never gave up my wanton quest.”

  “I know your face” the creature said in a voice that chilled my soul.

  “I feasted on your good right arm and now I’ll eat you whole.”

  “Try your best oh beast of hell” I cried with all my heart.

  “We fight this day, and end this day, never shall we part!”

  And now we rush together like a long lost lover and his love.

  The air was filled with my battle cry as storm clouds rose above.

  His jaws snapped shut, my ax bit deep and all was pain and gore.

  But at last I slew the foul beast but my vengeful heart wanted more.

  I cut his head and held it high with my one arm raked with pain.

  “Look ye Gods at what I have done, list him among the slain!”

  Then I fell upon the ground and my eyes beheld the setting sun.

  Death took me in the land of Gorn, my long journey now is done.

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  Honey Mead.

  Honey mead, honey mead such sweet taste that burns my mind.

  I have traveled far and never found a brew finer than your kind.

  Keep the tainted wines of Gaul and the bitter grapes they grow.

  Their men are of a weaker kind and they reap just what they sow.

  The fabled wines of the roman lands are bitter to my tongue.

  Leave the purple sour grapes on the vines on which they hung.

  The wines of Africana are dusty and smell of wild beasts.

  They are not fit for man to drink or serve before a feast.

  They say the silver cups of Huns hold only foul smelling brew.

  Something made from mares sweat and outcasts from a stew.

  The Hindu gods no nothing of drink that demons never sip.

  Dark Kali knows only the taste of blood upon her burning lip.

  And so I say that honey mead is the potion that brings forth peace.

  I lift my mug and call for more and pray my cravings never cease.

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  Lorli.

  When I was just a beardless youth I knew a young maiden by the name of Lorli.

  With golden hair and skin of milk and soft eyes the color of the morning sky.

  One warm night we made our lovers pack and I promised to never to leave her side.

  I gave her a silver ring made by skilled hands and said our hearts were forever tied.

  She kissed me and we held each other tight and gave to me her virgin treasure.

  Our hearts were beating like a mating drum my soul knew no greater pleasure.

  We lay together under cloudless skies and I she told me of her cherished dreams.

  To have a home nestled by the sea where she can sit and watch the sunlight beams.

  But I was cursed with a roving heart and so I sailed for far off unknown lands.

  A strong warrior in a dragon ship an oaken oar gripped in my hardened hands.

  I sailed from the rocky shores of Vineland to the marbled halls of far Cathay.

  And forgot the sweet love of the golden haired girl who love I had betrayed.

  The long years passed and I spent my time in the perfumed dens of painted lips.

  Drinking dark red wine that numbs the mind and beckons forgotten men to sip.

  On battlefields I stood my ground and fought for weak kings I did not know.

  Golden coins my pay but I tossed them away like so much sour grain to sow.

  And now I long for my home of youth and the girl that I once loved oh so dear.


  But the thought of seeing her again fills my heart with a dreadful doubting fear.

  Has she forgotten my face and will she still be waiting beside the emerald sea?

  Has her love grown weary or was it all a lust filled dream never meant to be?

  I sail for home and the blue eyed girl with a strong wind blowing at my back.

  And dark woe to the green sailor at the helms wheel if the ship is off its tack.

  I return to you my one true love my broken heart calls out in a silent cry.

  For I would trade all the days of my life for one sweet kiss from my Lorli.

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  Nefelhiem.

  The rocky land of Nefelhiem is barren, broken and forlorn.

  A place of endless shadows that wise travelers will ever scorn.

  The men who dwell upon that earth have souls as black as night.

  They hide in caverns cut from dark pitch and never see the light.

  They sing no songs of wars well fought nor dance beneath the stars.

  Their thick bodies are twisted hulks and their faces filled with scars.

  Their dark eyes speak of crimson horrors that few have come to know.

  They listen only to the blackbird’s call a wretched wailing cry of woe.

  But once they were a proud tall race with hair of golden strains.

  The laughed and sang and danced their days upon the golden sand.

  Then a stranger came and spoke to them with a smiling face of trust.

  “The Gods have done you wrong my friends; they all are far from just.”

  “What do you speak?” the people asked, “Our Gods are wise and kind.”

  “Never will we turn from them for they bring true visions to the blind.”

  “Oh foolish people” the stranger laughed, “how childish the words you speak.”

  “Tear down the sacred alters built to their kind for I have all you seek.”

  And with a wave of hand he made their base iron turn to shining gold.

  The woolen sheep that wandered in the grass he added a full tenfold.

  “This man has power” the people cried, “what need have we for Gods.”

  And so they crumbled towers tall and trampled them into the darken sod.

  And then the stranger laughed again as lighting filled the rumbling sky.

  A sharp laugher filled with black betrayal, dark words that were a lie.

  “I win again you Godless folk, how easily you betray your greediness.”

  “A few empty tricks, a bar of gold and your hearts are filled with bliss.”

  “I leave you now” the demon spoke, “I’ve gotten that which I seek.”

  “I cannot see your future but I’ll wager heavy it will be rather bleak.”

  And so he vanished into dust and the people cried out in wanton pain.

  And in the cursed land of Nefelhiem the stranger was never seen again.

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  The Celtic Queen.

  Long ago in the fabled isle of the Celts there lived a noble queen.

  Strong of heart and bearing proud her fate was never foreseen.

  Ruler of the Iceni tribe who’s warriors painted their bodies blue.

  They battled on side by side and to the Gods their faith held true.

  But the demons of Rome came to their world and all the land ran red.

  They kill the strong and the weak even nursing mothers in their beds.

  With fire and sword they conquered all and Nero laughed with glee.

  “All their lands are mine” he smiled, “from the mountains to the sea.”

  But Boudica refused to bow and for that she was scarred by the whip.

  But no scream of mercy was heard, no whimper from her bloody lip.

  As for her sweet young daughter the soldiers ravaged her one by one.

  And the Celtic queen had to hear her screams till the setting of the sun.

  Strong are the stones of the Northern isles and forever will they stand.

  But not as strong as the vengeful heart of the Queen of the Celtic clan.

  “Rise up with me” she shouted loud, “rise and take back your warrior pride!”

  “For I am proud Boudica of the Iceni tribe and the war Gods fight at my side!”

  Then came forward a wrinkled druid priest with the face of a wounded boar.

  “But you are just a woman frail and cannot lead the northern tribes to war.”

  The Celtic queen smiled and drew her sword and swung it with all her might.

  She cut off the head of the doubting man and held it up in the firelight.

  “A woman I am and proud to be, so let no foolish men call me weak.”

  “I’d strike down the Gods if they insulted me, revenge is what I seek.”

  And so they followed her with swords in hand, war drums filled the air.

  The Romans fled from her wrath but died like scared rabbits in a snare.

  Soon the land of Celts echoed with a single voice “death to the legions all!”

  And from across the land the warriors came heeding wise Boudica’s call.

  They burned Londinium to the ground as thousands fled her bloody wrath.

  “Enough” called some but the Celtic queen would never turn from her path.

  And so at last the Romans hosts returned in wooden ships by fat Nero sent.

  The Celtic warriors faced them strong but at long last their strength was spent.

  The Iceni queen shouted her rage “I am beaten this day buy soon I will return,

  For my soul will never rest in peace and in my heart vengeance forever burns!”

  Her words live in legends from dark days long ago and the Iceni are no more.

  Yet on still nights you can see her ghost standing on a rock cliff by the shore.

  An immortal guardian of the land, a warrior goddess for all to know and see.

  And she will live as long as men are strong and waves break from the sea.

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