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Hlidskjalf
Ansuzgardaraiwo

Voices from the spirit world can be heard through the dark
winternights, the heartbeats of the spirit. It is the holy twelve
days of Yule. Dark shapes can be seen in the sky; riders of
death. They suddenly charge down from the clouds in wonderful
wilderness; kings and chieftains, thieves and murderers - all in
the same phalanx, drifting mysteriously through the air on spirit
horses, arriving when least expected. Black shields, furs from
bear and wolf, shining blades, open wounds and ropes still tied
around their necks; they are Wuotan's pack of warges, the undead
and the dead - the immortal warriors of Ansuzgarda! The
werewolves haunt the sacred twelve days of Yule in packs, looking
after the living; hail the sacred traditions, hail the spirits of
the dead, hail the holy ritual of Wuotan, or face the wrath of
the Ansuz and the hooves of Sleipnir. Face the Ansuzgardaraiwo!


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Fijo's Golden Tears

Alone in the night, Fijo is crying; she has been left by her
husband who had to leave to fight the darkness of matter.
Thoughts of what once was flow through her mind; their play in
the green grass and under colourful trees, wonderful fields of
flowers, fresh fruits and berries, and beautiful music from the
elven choirs. Running waters make them dream, lakes where they
bathed, riverfalls and marvelous clouds in the sky. They were
happy, they had their Golden Age. Now, all she has left are her
Golden Tears, that run from her skyblue eyes, as a witness to
what once was - to what is lost forever; until a New World is
born, after Ragnarok. In the meantime, give our dear Fijo some
warm thoughts, to help her through the cold nights.

Це повідомлення відредагував ЗАПРАВЩИК: Dec 8 2004, 17:28