Once Sent From the Golden Hall
As his life's blood leaving, I hold my son, my only son, and tears fill my burning eyes. While his skin turns pale as snow, butchered he lies here bleeding in my arms. Slewn by the men of the single God, hatred burns in my chest. Rain falls from a raging heaven, the wind howls like wolves at the moon. I will seek vengeance for my son, I swear I'll avenge my first born one. I ride fast through the woods, my friends are by my side. Dark hatred burns in my eyes: Slaves of Hvitekrist today you die! "Mäktiga gudar, i gyllene salen. Hjälp mig i striden mot sondräparna. Den höge skall för huggen hämnas, och blod skall gäldas i blod." Our cloaks fly in the wind, as we ride in the cold dark night. We're closing in our enemies, we rage in our hearts burning bright. The clouds scatter in the northern wind, a full moon rides the pitch black sky. Now, hounds of Hvitekrist, your time has come to die! Kneel before my sword! No mercy, your time has come to die! This is the ride for vengeance!
Submitted by Grave666 — Apr 22, 2025
Alone he stands in the doorway, his family's still asleep. Gazing at the starlit horizon, and the moonsparkling sea. When dawn comes he must leave them. His home, his children and loved. For his destiny beyond those waves, known only to the Norns. He's already dressed ready to leave, his four friends are waiting by the shore. Each with a Dragon Ship, and one hundred men prepared for war. He returns to his bed, kissing his sleeping wife goodbye. And as he leaves his youngest son, a tear rolls from his eye. They set sail with the first morning rays, heading for glorious wars. And as the five ships steer out from the bay, their hearts pound like never before. The wind is strong and the sun is warm, their Dragons fly across the waves. No greenfaces are seen here onboard, only a crowd of braves. Many nights passes, and days long as a year. They await the battle, they await without fear. On the morning of the fifth day, before the sun is arose. They hear bells chime and see pyres, torched at a nearby coast. "Lower the sail, grab your oars. Now men, it's time to act! Row loke the wind to the shore, row like the wind to attack!" Attack, attack! Row like the wind to attack!
Submitted by Nargaroth — Apr 22, 2025
I see without fear my destiny, as the raging skies begins to fade. Pouring rain licks my wounds, as my blood flows from my torn flesh! As I die I hold my sword, my only friend! And pray that Oden, will take me home! The battle rages! But I hear only raindrops falling, like in slow motion to the ground. Death release me, free me from my earthly pain. Oden I ask thee, please take me home! Without fear I die! As I look to the sky, the heaven is lit, and Valkyries in shining armour descend. I rest my head on the ground and close my eyes. I know that Oden's sent for me, as I die. Without fear I die! I hold my sword, and die without fear!
Submitted by Celtic Frost — Apr 22, 2025
Ten heavy feets walks the bloodsoiled ground. With rhythm these five warriors march. No matter how much the bleeding wounds, from enemy swordcuts hurt to the bone. The revenge they sought, was taken in blood. No mercy was showed! No mercy was showed! They ignore the pain that hammer like pounds. From falls, of slain horses, to the ground. No signs of weakness, no signs of weariness. Not even a glimpse of remorse in their eyes. They slew men ruthless, fed the wolves with flesh! And now they leave, this land side by side. Now they're headed home, five swordsmen who fought repentlessly. Their story will be told, of five brave men endlessly. All sorrow is left for the women to bare. The children cries, they live in fear. No man was spared, no house or farm remains. No christian woman unraped! Their church consumed by flames... Their steel shines red with enemy blood. It sings of victory, granted by the Gods. And as they return, bleeding but proud, the horizon burns and the song is ringing loud.
Submitted by BloodShrine — Apr 22, 2025
Salt water licks my face, and wind fills the sail. We head for wars on distant shores. My friends are all with me, and so they'll always be. We'll never bend until the end. We cross the open waves, on course to far off lands. Thor guides our ships, with his strong hands. Across the waves our Sea Snakes fly, carried like ravens in the sky. By heavens breath on wings of death. Blood will run red, as we sever bodies from their heads. We maim and kill by pure will. We hail our Gods, sacrifice in blood. Our altar is the battlefield. Death is something we don't fear, though it's always near. Ygg brings us home when time has come. We are five of us, friends of the suncross. Strong and brave to the grave!
Submitted by Iron_Wraith — Apr 22, 2025
They came riding down the slopes, five fearless men prepared to fight. We heard with fear the rumbling earth, in the mid-day light. Surprised we saw all terrified, the brave northmen's run. The fearless five with power ride, attacking us in the mid-day sun. Their charge was fast, no alarm was sound. They broke right through our lines. I felt the cut it threw me to the ground, and now I feel has come my time. I lie here in my blood, and see my family get killed. I feel abandoned by my God, I fear death's chill. I see Hel's gates towering high. And dark are they, I don't want to die! No, I was wrong! Denied the true Gods, and now I'm doomed! I trusted foreign men, and their God's son. But now, when I need them, they are gone! I see Hel's gates towering high. And dark are they, I die! They ride across the planes, and punish those of false belief. All resistance is in vain, as they caress them with cold steel. They are the punishers, and they will never bend. They are power the five of them, from Asgard they are sent. The power they have in all they do, the Christians non will feel. No one can escape them, no! They will make them kneel! Their fight is through, they must return. No one here survived! And as the blood red sky begins to burn, to Valhall they will ride!
A storm rolls in from the sea, covering the land with black thunder clouds. Rain whips the ground at their feet, as they come ashore in this foreign land. Thunder breaks the silence, of fivehundred men assembled ashore. Gazing through the misty rain, at the mountain not a mile away. So dark and silent it stands there, the mighty Amon Amarth. Reaching for the cloud cloaked skies, so grim and fearful in might. With the wind in their backs they start walking, decisive men of the north. They strive through this darkened land, with only Mount Doom in their sight. The closer they get to the mountain, the clearer their eyes can see. A forest of one thousand spears awaiting, awaiting the battle that will be. A cry of war emerges, echoes over the field. Warriors run, like wolves up the slopes, boldly charging the enemy lines. With weapons so fearsome and sharp in their hands, and shields of oakwood and steel. They slit open stomachs and split skulls to the jaw, intestines cover the field. The defenders are weak in this brutal war, the northmen have power and guts. A bloodshed like no one has seen here before, none can escape their cuts. Arrows with fire fly through the air, touching houses and shields. The Vikings can feel victory is near, as the enemy headlessly flees. A gust of wind blows in from the north, clearing the clouds away. As twilight falls and the stars come forth, and the Sea Wolves return to the bay. Corpses lie scattered all over the field, for the ravens to eat as they please. The mountain is now left there behind, as they sail with the first morning breeze.
Submitted by Finntroll — Apr 22, 2025
Rumbling thunder cracks the sky, and rain starts pouring down. Lightning strikes a cold bright light, upon the blooddrenched ground. The sword play is hard, and many fall. Steel bites sharp in flesh! And upon a mountain, towering tall, stand the messengers of death. Five horsemen in armour bright, waiting in the flashing light. Looking down upon the field, where Vikings fight with axe and shield. On stallions black as night, with eyes burning red. They ride with thunder to the fight, deliverance of certain death. A warcry loud as Heimdall's horne, echoes across the land. Enemies who hear it freeze to the bone, friends of doom proudly stand. They ride faster than the wind, with lightning speed they strike. Black ravens follow where they've been, to feed from those who died. With power they wield their swords, as they ride down fleeing men. Sending them to Hel's dark court, to never come back again. The warriors ride once more, to the mountain from which they came. Once sent by the Gods to war, and they never return in shame.
Submitted by NecroLord — Apr 22, 2025