Cursed Blessing
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zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] › Legends/Myths/Lore
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
37
Views:
2,896
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0
Recommended:
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Currently Reading:
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Category:
zMisplaced Stories [ADMIN use only] › Legends/Myths/Lore
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
37
Views:
2,896
Reviews:
0
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
"Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited."
3
(( The poems and songs are from a wonderful website. www.odins-gift.com. All copywrites were checked and followed. Ben Waggoner, Michaela Macha, Karl Donaldsson, Frigga Asraaf are the authors of the following. Now on with the story))
On Midsummer Day the sun is singing her song.
Radiant her round through heavens high.
Golden glow of grain, flower filled fields.
The land and living enjoy light of day.
On Midsummer Day the sun is singing her song.
Bonfires flame fiery and fair.
Solstice bestows midsummer´s might
As wyrd is well woven this numinous night.
Poetry of summer was shared as the sun set and the fire burned. Many villagers knew them and recited right along with the poet. She caught herself saying them and smiled. She enjoyed them almost as much as the songs.
Gods of my life, my greetings to you
Gods of my people, my praise to you
Gods of my heart, my thanks to you
Gods of my soul, my hail to you.
Frey, give us frith and a good year
Thor, protect us, always be near
Njord of the sea-shore, grant us wealth
Eir of the healing hands, give us health
Odin, teach us ecstasy´s ways
Freya, give passion to our days
Frigga of home, and Sif of grain
Gods of my life, my greetings again
Gods of our ancestors, to you we call
Gods of our families, bless us all
Hear us singing as we stand true
Aesir and Vanir, our hail to you.
She elbowed the man sitting next to her. “That one is my favorite. I look forward to it every year.” The man smiled and nodded. The crowd applauded as the poet bowed and took his seat once again.
Drums began to beat, vibrating through the air, joined by flute and Lyre. The music was almost alive. More wood was tossed upon the fire; sparks flew up into the night. Young and old joined the music in dance. Voices took up the song and sang of Vikings old, Hunts and battles.
An old tune rose into the night and the old woman closed her eyes listening. Her lips began to move as words forgotten came from her.
Chorus:
Battle-worn Freyja, the warmth in the cold
Calls half of the Einherjar into her fold.
Sweet, loving Freyja, who sheds tears of gold
For she cannot find her husband, Oð.
Long, long ago, in a far-away land
Lived the bane of the Ases, who called themselves “Van.”
They knew how to work with the earth, sun and sky,
And they made it rain when their fields had run dry.
Chorus
One day came the Æsir unto the Van’s glade,
Each bore in his hand a spear or a blade.
As they crept through the forest, no sound had they heard
‘Til the sound of The Lady in the form a bird
Chorus
As the Æsir and Vanir moistened the ground
A peaceful solution needed be found
An exchange for the folk of the other side’s kin
Let the two become one and let both the sides win
Chorus
Together in Asgard did both the clans live
Each one to the other their strength did they give
With no single king or a queen on a throne
With the strength of sweet Freyja and the luck of her Stone
Her feet and head kept a beat of its own.
“I never knew that song had words.” The man to her left noted. She turned and looked at him. “It is another forgotten thing of the youth I am afraid. So much is lost as every generation grows.” He nodded in reply.
The music stopped and the crowd dispensed. A man stepped forward wearing clothing made of animal skins, a wolfs hide draped over his shoulders and on his head a helm with large antlers sticking out from both sides. Her eyebrows shot up.
“I thought this was the midsummer festival not the bloody American holiday of Halloween.” She grumbled.
The man walked slowly around the fire and recited yet another poem.
We are the ones who remember
the hearth-fires that long have been cold,
the kings of the land, who with generous hand
gave forth treasures of silver and gold;
the heroes most mighty, most eager for fame,
who stood on the field when the battle-day came,
who fought for their folk and who slew and were slain --
and we are the ones who remember. . .
We are the ones who remember
the Gods who once shaped the Nine Worlds:
of Ymir\'s blood and bone they made sky, sea and stone;
sparks of flame in the heavens they hurled.
Then three Gods shaped men by the shores of the sea:
one shaped human forms from the trunks of two trees,
one gave breath, one gave wod, Askr and Embla stood free --
and we are the ones who remember. . .
We are the ones who remember
tales that tell of the time that shall be,
when a host, bold and fell, sails a ship out of Hel,
and a Wolf breaks his chains and runs free.
The Sun and the Moon will be torn from the sky,
the Serpent rise up, and the fires blaze on high.
Gods and men stand and fight, one by one they shall die --
and we are the ones who remember. .
Once his poem was finished he raised his hands above his head.
“I am a storyteller, listen to my words. I will tell the tales of the old.” He walked around again making sure all eyes were on him. He began with the story of Valhalla and Odin. Thor and his mighty hammer followed next.
“BAHHHH!” She exclaimed and stood. “Enough of that rubbish. You quote from books and call yourself a storyteller. Pitiful is what I call it.”
The teller stopped in mid sentence and turned to face her. He gave her a gentle smile. “Why do you interrupt old one? All here were enjoying it.”
“Perhaps those who have not yet fallen asleep from it.” She approached the man; she heard snickers from the crowd.
“Go sit back down. You are creating a scene.”
“Me? I am not the one dressed like a great idiot.”
Laughter rang out.
He looked around. “I am dressed like this to honor our ancestors.”
“If you had ever dressed like that boy, those ancestors would have killed you. No one dressed like that.”
“Well I suppose you would know you seem old enough to have been there in person.”
“Oh. Now the boy gets lippy. As a matter of fact I do know a thing or two about that time. I am a real teller of stories. Go sit down and learn something.” She poked him in the chest with her cane. “And remove that stupid helm. “ She just stood there and glared at him until he moved away and sat.
“Now, listen to my words. I will tell you of things not written but told through history, a grand tale of great warriors, battles and beasts.”
“MOMMA MOMMA THAT’S HER!” an excited voiced called. She turned towards it and saw the small boy from earlier in the day. Bob asleep at his feet. She smiled and waved at the lad.
“I speak of a time before there were writings. Great ships of Vikings sailed the seas with crew of men with strong arm and back. Honor, treasure and family was most important.”
Flames from the fire grew in height, shadows of people and boats danced over them. Some in the crowd turned to see where the images were coming from.
“I speak of one warrior, mighty and strong he was. He was fair in his dealing with those he conquered, great was his wealth and land. His story spread before him when he sailed. Few fought against him, knowing it was easier to lay down their sword, then die by it.”
Scenes in the flames showed a blond Viking, wide of shoulder and tall in stature. His braids fell around his shoulders and a large sword was strapped to his back. People murmured and pointed.
On Midsummer Day the sun is singing her song.
Radiant her round through heavens high.
Golden glow of grain, flower filled fields.
The land and living enjoy light of day.
On Midsummer Day the sun is singing her song.
Bonfires flame fiery and fair.
Solstice bestows midsummer´s might
As wyrd is well woven this numinous night.
Poetry of summer was shared as the sun set and the fire burned. Many villagers knew them and recited right along with the poet. She caught herself saying them and smiled. She enjoyed them almost as much as the songs.
Gods of my life, my greetings to you
Gods of my people, my praise to you
Gods of my heart, my thanks to you
Gods of my soul, my hail to you.
Frey, give us frith and a good year
Thor, protect us, always be near
Njord of the sea-shore, grant us wealth
Eir of the healing hands, give us health
Odin, teach us ecstasy´s ways
Freya, give passion to our days
Frigga of home, and Sif of grain
Gods of my life, my greetings again
Gods of our ancestors, to you we call
Gods of our families, bless us all
Hear us singing as we stand true
Aesir and Vanir, our hail to you.
She elbowed the man sitting next to her. “That one is my favorite. I look forward to it every year.” The man smiled and nodded. The crowd applauded as the poet bowed and took his seat once again.
Drums began to beat, vibrating through the air, joined by flute and Lyre. The music was almost alive. More wood was tossed upon the fire; sparks flew up into the night. Young and old joined the music in dance. Voices took up the song and sang of Vikings old, Hunts and battles.
An old tune rose into the night and the old woman closed her eyes listening. Her lips began to move as words forgotten came from her.
Chorus:
Battle-worn Freyja, the warmth in the cold
Calls half of the Einherjar into her fold.
Sweet, loving Freyja, who sheds tears of gold
For she cannot find her husband, Oð.
Long, long ago, in a far-away land
Lived the bane of the Ases, who called themselves “Van.”
They knew how to work with the earth, sun and sky,
And they made it rain when their fields had run dry.
Chorus
One day came the Æsir unto the Van’s glade,
Each bore in his hand a spear or a blade.
As they crept through the forest, no sound had they heard
‘Til the sound of The Lady in the form a bird
Chorus
As the Æsir and Vanir moistened the ground
A peaceful solution needed be found
An exchange for the folk of the other side’s kin
Let the two become one and let both the sides win
Chorus
Together in Asgard did both the clans live
Each one to the other their strength did they give
With no single king or a queen on a throne
With the strength of sweet Freyja and the luck of her Stone
Her feet and head kept a beat of its own.
“I never knew that song had words.” The man to her left noted. She turned and looked at him. “It is another forgotten thing of the youth I am afraid. So much is lost as every generation grows.” He nodded in reply.
The music stopped and the crowd dispensed. A man stepped forward wearing clothing made of animal skins, a wolfs hide draped over his shoulders and on his head a helm with large antlers sticking out from both sides. Her eyebrows shot up.
“I thought this was the midsummer festival not the bloody American holiday of Halloween.” She grumbled.
The man walked slowly around the fire and recited yet another poem.
We are the ones who remember
the hearth-fires that long have been cold,
the kings of the land, who with generous hand
gave forth treasures of silver and gold;
the heroes most mighty, most eager for fame,
who stood on the field when the battle-day came,
who fought for their folk and who slew and were slain --
and we are the ones who remember. . .
We are the ones who remember
the Gods who once shaped the Nine Worlds:
of Ymir\'s blood and bone they made sky, sea and stone;
sparks of flame in the heavens they hurled.
Then three Gods shaped men by the shores of the sea:
one shaped human forms from the trunks of two trees,
one gave breath, one gave wod, Askr and Embla stood free --
and we are the ones who remember. . .
We are the ones who remember
tales that tell of the time that shall be,
when a host, bold and fell, sails a ship out of Hel,
and a Wolf breaks his chains and runs free.
The Sun and the Moon will be torn from the sky,
the Serpent rise up, and the fires blaze on high.
Gods and men stand and fight, one by one they shall die --
and we are the ones who remember. .
Once his poem was finished he raised his hands above his head.
“I am a storyteller, listen to my words. I will tell the tales of the old.” He walked around again making sure all eyes were on him. He began with the story of Valhalla and Odin. Thor and his mighty hammer followed next.
“BAHHHH!” She exclaimed and stood. “Enough of that rubbish. You quote from books and call yourself a storyteller. Pitiful is what I call it.”
The teller stopped in mid sentence and turned to face her. He gave her a gentle smile. “Why do you interrupt old one? All here were enjoying it.”
“Perhaps those who have not yet fallen asleep from it.” She approached the man; she heard snickers from the crowd.
“Go sit back down. You are creating a scene.”
“Me? I am not the one dressed like a great idiot.”
Laughter rang out.
He looked around. “I am dressed like this to honor our ancestors.”
“If you had ever dressed like that boy, those ancestors would have killed you. No one dressed like that.”
“Well I suppose you would know you seem old enough to have been there in person.”
“Oh. Now the boy gets lippy. As a matter of fact I do know a thing or two about that time. I am a real teller of stories. Go sit down and learn something.” She poked him in the chest with her cane. “And remove that stupid helm. “ She just stood there and glared at him until he moved away and sat.
“Now, listen to my words. I will tell you of things not written but told through history, a grand tale of great warriors, battles and beasts.”
“MOMMA MOMMA THAT’S HER!” an excited voiced called. She turned towards it and saw the small boy from earlier in the day. Bob asleep at his feet. She smiled and waved at the lad.
“I speak of a time before there were writings. Great ships of Vikings sailed the seas with crew of men with strong arm and back. Honor, treasure and family was most important.”
Flames from the fire grew in height, shadows of people and boats danced over them. Some in the crowd turned to see where the images were coming from.
“I speak of one warrior, mighty and strong he was. He was fair in his dealing with those he conquered, great was his wealth and land. His story spread before him when he sailed. Few fought against him, knowing it was easier to lay down their sword, then die by it.”
Scenes in the flames showed a blond Viking, wide of shoulder and tall in stature. His braids fell around his shoulders and a large sword was strapped to his back. People murmured and pointed.