Darkness envelopes the land,

Leaving folks at mercy of long crippling winters, and fleeting summers;

When even seasoned farmers must take up arms,

To guard their stores and each other from raiders or rivals of every variety;

And abide the long nights,

When, savagery is the only birthright,

For, in this unforgiving cold:

You fought and lived, or resigned to die;

No room for the weak, when the divide is so slight;

Hope guides the hand,

And in that calloused grip is an axe drenched in blood,

Wielded decisively in the heart of battle,

In a practised ritual of blood sacrifice,

For the Gods’ are rarely merciful,

And an honourable death, worthy of the glory of Valhalla,

Is the only vaunted prize.