The Great Wyrm

The Wyrm

The Great Wyrm descended like an avalanche,
its teeth and scales the colour and fury of a blizzard.
Its origin transcended time,
where all evil starts,
where all life begins.
It spared none in its path.
It was annihilation,
a white death over the land and water and sky.

Skalds voiced woeful poems across the land,
how the Great Wyrm tormented us,
how no jarl, no matter how brave,
could hope to defeat it.
Our people suffered the worst of sorrows,
felled in stand after stand.
No family was unscathed.
The evil was too strong.

At last it slithered into the Hjalmarr Mountains,
nesting in the jagged rocks and eternal ice of Tårn.
It watched the world with a conqueror’s eyes.
Every heart felt its cruel gaze.
The beasts of the fields and forests grew sick and died,
fish sank deep into the waters,
the ground refused to release its harvest.
These were the Worst Days.

Our bodies were broken
by the Great Wyrm’s wrath.
It demanded we forsake the Good Ways,
but our souls remained strong.
Never would we yield!
Twenty–five mighty jarls went to Sanning Dal,
a valley in the Hjalmarr Mountains.
This was the first Althing.

“It took the greatest of all people from the Norvik Isles to defeat the Great Wyrm. Now there only a handful of Vestenmannavnjar tribes with any power left and the Vendel deny the Wyrm was ever real.
If the great horror of this lands past is awaiting the right time to strike. We should prepare. Though I don’t know how” – Viktor Lorentz

The Great Wyrm

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