| — «Ill omens my friend, look
 | 
| Ymir’s blood drifts into the dawning sun, and colours it as red as raven’s mead
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| I warn you again of this dark ambition!»
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| — «Nay, my destiny is writ in stone, as it is for all men
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| Fear not or fear greatly, for our wyrd is upon us!
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| May the gods watch our path, and Tyr light our way
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| The doom of our folk is upon us. | 
| Quickly they ever fall to the sign of the
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| southern cross
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| Our fate must be decided!
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| We must sail at once!»
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| — «To the north, then?»
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| — «Aye… to the north…»
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| The red runes spoke of these dark days
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| A tale forgotten beneath the dying sun
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| A darkened plague, eclipsing all that should be
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| To the north we sail, beyond the mists of time
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| From ancient lore, a stone from above
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| In the farthest north, beneath the ice and snow
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| To turn back the southern shadow
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| To reverse the river of Freya’s tears
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| «That ninth I know: if need there be
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| To guard a ship in a gale
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| The wind I calm, and the waves also
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| And wholly soothe the sea.» | 
| — Havamal
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| Walvater do not desert us
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| We throw the last spear, across the field of history
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| To pierce the side of the martyr
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| To rape the fields of their lies
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| We dream of the dawn, of honour and legend
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| To burn brighter than a thousand suns
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| Our song will lift high, our blood will run deep
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| Into the veins of the earth, and colour the snow |