"And so it comes to this
And thus are we undone..."
The foundations of our fathers' truths
Eroded by the cruelties of fate
Thus enslaved wear their yoke like a crown
And their dishonour like the finest jewel
The profane usurps the sacred
The sacred defiled as profane
Unquestioning blindness proclaimed to be sight
The denial of death and the sourging of life
And so it comes to this
But thus are we undone?
The Curse on ruinous currents ascends
Born by winds we dare not name
Its corruption taints all in its wake
Its ravenous shadow enshrouding the earth
Where is our courage?
Wherefore is our pride?
When good men do nothing
Whilst tyrants scar the skies
The lonely forest whispers
An oaken eulogy
A battlecry for those who stand
Before this poisoned tide
Against the Eye that glares incandescent
And those who conspire that great deeds fail
Our banners crack and flutter in forewarning
The threatening promise of tempests to come
Hearken to me!
Seek not for Gods to break our chains
Seek strength and will to break the chains ourselves
Seek for the essence of the wind's true name
That we might command our fate once more!
It's the sacred fire cross
Woven in the belts of priests
It’s the sign of God Pērkons
That adorns the banner of ours
The banner under whom we are born and we die
The banner by which we are standing with arms in our hands
We stand together as one
For the land of our fathers
We're not gonna bend
We can only be killed
There' no other way
To call yourself a Semigallian warrior
If you are not ready to spill your blood
And let it flow through this land
The sacred fire cross
Let its fire burn in our hearts
You're not allowed to tremble
When brother falls killed by your side
Don't cry or pray when the enemy's slashing
What the sons yet unborn then will judge about you
Will it be worth to be born on this ground
But now my heart shivers in pride
When I’m standing on the forefathers' land
Their blood has not been spilled in vain -
The fire cross still flames in our banner!
Στο Όνομα και προς Τίμηση του Μέγα Τεχνίτη, του Λιγομίλητου Θεού μας
Ηφαίστου, προετοιμάζουμε και καθαρίζουμε την Επιβώμια οικιακή Εστία μας
και τους Τελετουργικούς Πυρσούς μας, ώστε να ανάψουμε το αναγκαίο Φως
που θα μας συντροφεύει καθώς θα οδεύουμε στο βαθύ σκοτάδι του χειμώνα
έως το Χειμερινό Ηλιοστάσιο.
In the name and Honoring of the Great Crafts Master, our God Hephaestus,
we prepare and clean the fireplace of our household Altar and our ritual
Torches to light the necessary Flame that will accompany us as we are
heading, into the deep darkness of winter, towards the Winter Solstice.
Candlemass - Where The Runes Still Speak from the 1992 album "Chapter VI"
Rain and thunder, fire and wind
Come with me, I leave with the tide
I wrap my cloak closer 'round my shoulders
To keep me warm from the raging storm
The spirits are here to guide my journey
Over the edge of the world
A thousand wounds cry in my soul
Love and pain, a bleeding heart
Where the runes still speak
I'm coming home...
Where the runes still speak
Alone I stand on this stony coast
Winds of spring whisper through the trees
The grey horizon gives me life again
Tee, and stone, the voices of the gods
No woman can show me where the fire burns
No preacher can tell me who I am
My blood is calling me from Asaland
I'm on my way home in the end
A homeward son will claim his heritage
walk the soil of this earth
The pen will be his mighty sword
And the truth his defence
I've travelled roads that lead to wonder
I've seen cities rise and fall
The burden, the cross of a pilgrim
I bear no more, the son is coming home
You closed the door, but I won't give
Somewhere my new life will begin
Countless treasures I shared with you
The only one left is my solitude...
All copyrights are property of their respective owners
Οι Lord Weird Slough Feg έπαιξαν ζωντανά στην Αθήνα, μαζί με τους καταπληκτικούς Ruthless Steel, τους γεμάτους ενέργεια και ζωή Demolition Train, και τους Έλληνες κυρίαρχους του doom/heavy, Wrathblade.
Από όλους εμάς που παρεβρεθήκαμε στη συναυλία αυτή το βράδυ της Κυριακής 2 Σεπτεμβρίου, ένα μεγάλο Εύγε για όλα τα παιδιά από τα Ελληνικά σχήματα που πραγματικά,το ένα ήταν καλύτερο από το άλλο και όλα μαζί ένας ογκόλιθος metal Μουσικής!
Όσο για τους Slough Feg..
Μακράν από τις καλύτερες εμφανίσεις Μουσικών στην Ελλάδα. Όποιος δεν τους είδε ζωντανά έχει ένα κομμάτι λιγότερο έμπνευσης μέσα του. Δεν χρειάζονται περισσότερα να πει κανείς για αυτή τη νύχτα.. Up the Hammers!
Θησέας Λύκος We ll meet again, in another world, in another place!
By Harry S AOR
Nothing could escape Odin’s eye when he sat in his High Seat of
Hlidskjalf. He would cast himself onto its velvet upholstery, and let
his mind move over all the worlds. One particular day, not so long ago
in the memory of our people, he sat there and gazed over the multiverse.
In Asgard He saw Thor leaving his halls for Jotunheim, he saw dwarves
in their smithies in Svartalfheim, in Hel he saw a black host of
mouldering bodies bemoaning and lamenting their fate. Nothing struck him
as unusual, or different from the many other days he had watched:
Jormungandr still lay coiled under the seas, and Fenrir still struggled
against his bonds far below the surface of the earth. In Midgard
however, he saw a tower being erected incredibly high and on its crest
was a mighty golden wind vane. It swayed in the wind, glinted in the sun
and seemed nearly to touch the blue dome above, while many men scurried
too and fro below busying themselves with cranes and stonework. This
intrigued Allfather, for he loved nothing more than watching the Sons of
Heimdal use the skills given to them by Odin, Villi and Ve. The more he
looked, the more he wondered and in Allfathers mind was arisen
curiosity and the desire to find out what was going on. He left
Valaskjalf in the guise of an old man, crossed the rainbow bridge and
entered the world of men. Odin could see the tower high on the horizon
though he knew he must be many miles away, such was its height. The
journey was long and gently sloped through beautiful pine hills. The
dead leaves below and the smell of the sap gave the woods some ethereal
aspect as the god walked along his way. Not one person did he meet until
he came at last to the village where the tower was being built. There
were thralls dragging uncut stones about and grunting in difficulty.
They stank of sweat and manure. There were some of Jarls kin gathered in
a corner of the site with a map. These were drinking water while
overseeing the thralls, and it was the Jarls who cut the stones into
blocks. Odin came up to one of the Jarls and said:
“Hail! This tower grows high and graceful into the air, a beacon of
direction for the Sons of Men. What design caused the massing of men at
this place, to cut and stack rocks so skilfully?”
The Jarl looked at the old and shaggy wanderer and replied:
“We are building a tower to venerate the White Saviour who died for
our sins. We are fashioning the stones God gave us with the skills he
gave Adam and Eve to make a mighty church; a bearing for the righteous
faring far, and a stronghold against sin. It is by command of the King.
We have been building it in these lands for hundreds of years, and we
are nearing completion. You must have come from far away if you hadn’t
heard about it.”
“I am Vegtam the Wanderer. I please myself where e’er I go. Who is this White Saviour whom you venerate. Is he a Hero?”
“He died on the cross far in the East that we might get to heaven.”
“And what heaven is that then?”
Odin secretly smiled at his joke. It was plain that ignorance had
come on the people, and this was no laughing matter. The jarls had given
up on their old gods and old ways. The blood of their forefathers and
all that they represented were being forgotten. The runes would be lost
in time. That was an idea that chilled the Allfather and he wondered
about his ravens. Why had they not been to this place and warned him
that such ignorance and forgetfulness grew like weeds in the minds of
men? Where were Thought and Memory now?
“And what of the heathen grove that once stood here? And what of the pagan folk?”
“It was torn down and smashed, burned and destroyed. The heathens and
their demon-gods were severed at the neck, or singed in the fires of
righteousness. We wrecked their statues in Christ’s’ name, and
dispatched the heretics to the great judgement, and stained the sacred
groves with their gross and sinful blood.”
Odin ignored the insult. From such a man, words meant little.
“What is your name Jarl?”
“Ivar Thorsson”
Odin smirked at the irony but inside he knew he looked on a severe and growing problem the folk would face.
“You have turned your back on your own people and angered the Gods.
The Aesir will not favour you or your descendants”. He spoke calmly but
his eye glinted with the bubbling fury Adam of Bremen spoke of.
“What will out” he thought and he retreated from the site, saddened
by the sacrilege. He had found out the reason for the tower, and having
sated his curiosity he ventured back to Asgard.
Thor was eager for action, having endured a long boring winter that
had lacked the grisly music of hammer against Jotun-skull that he loved
so well. As spring arrived he knew it was once again time to wield his
hammer among the skies and hallow the ground for growing. It was also
hunting season and he set off for Jotunheim keen for action and
adventure. He put on his belt of strength and donned his gloves.
Thrudheim would miss him while he was gone; Sif had no joy for the
lonely nights. But all the Aesir and Vanir knew how imperative it was to
fight against the enemy that would depose them, kill them, and blacken
the sanctity of Asgard. Thor kissed his wife goodbye, and cradled Magni
and Modi in his broad arms.
“Goodbye my darling and hail to the sons of Thunder.” Thor gripped
his hammer and left the Realm of the Gods. He crossed the rivers that
separate Asgard from Giant-home with relative ease. As he got deeper
into Jotunheim the landscape grew much more rocky and bleak. No man
could ever tame this land, and plants would never grow. The sky became
blacker and darker until the passing of days and nights blurred. Thor
had no idea how long he had been travelling when he came across his
first Giant. It was a Mountain Giant, made of rock, asleep on the floor
snoring quietly. Thor had battled many such before and knew how hard it
was to crush their skulls. He crept up quietly to the sleeping giant and
raised his hammer high. He was just about to bring it crashing down
when the giant jumped and begged for his life.
“It would not become a member of the Aesir to kill me while sleeping
and unarmed. Asa-Thor would not gain much reputation to behave like a
midnight thief.”
“I would kill you just for insulting me. For that I will grind you
into dust and let the winds keep you from any rest!” Thor once again
raised his hammer to strike. “Heroes do not bandy with cretins.”
“I have heard of you Thor, “Hrungnirs’ Bane” they call you round
here, though the Giants have names enough for all the Aesir. I am not
scared of you. But listen to this first and take heed. There are Giants
in these dark lands a hundred times stronger than Hrungnir, and a
thousand times wilier than Utgard-Loki. The Jotuns in these parts make
Utgard-Loki’s magic seem like mere sleight of hand. They will make you
look like a ginger pipsqueak: a harmless ball of anger and lightning”
Thor listened and ignored the insults.
“To kill me would be easy and afford you no fame. I have no weapons
no armour… Instead I have the strength of the mountains in me, and my
resolve is like granite. Let us have a competition of power, the
strongest as the victor. I’ll stake my head on it that you are not as
strong as me.
“Very well” said Thor lowering his hammer. You may have the strength of mountains, but I am the son of all the Earth.”
The two went to an open space. There would have been fields if grass
could grow in that forsaken land but alas! It was a large valley with
high mountains on either side a thousand leagues from anywhere else. A
black river of oil poured slowly through below. Its viscosity was
sickening.
“The victor will be able to throw furthest. I trust this valley is big enough Thor?
“A fine place to defeat you”
“What will you throw?”
“My hammer. It always returns to my palm. You?”
“A javelin. Best of three”
The giant took up an enormous javelin, made of stone and sharper than
a wolf’s tooth. Slender it was and well balanced. With a long run up,
the giant let fly the rod with an ear splitting roar that echoed all
around. The javelin sailed through the air for ages before finally
burying its point over seventy miles away. The giant looked pleased at
Thors’ worried expression but Thor knew in his heart that he could beat
that.
Without even a few paces run up he hurled Mjollnir high into the sky.
Its spinning was like the fury of a storm that raged in the air and it
came by more than mere luck, to land in the same spot as the javelin,
shattering it into a thousand pieces and denting the landscape
unalterably. It then returned to his hand.
“A good throw, certainly, but I think I can better it still.”
The giant took his second throw. His second javelin sailed higher and
faster than before and seemed to slip out of Jotunheim altogether! Thor
watched as it settled nearly at the threshold of Asgard. Point downward
the javelin landed and buried itself half a mile into the earth. Magma
bubbled up and a volcano was born. The giant celebrated his own strength
crudely. Thor realised then what a threat this giant posed.
With a medium run up Thor threw his hammer a second time knowing he
had to beat the giant. Untamed strength of that magnitude and a
hostility to the Gods could cause unprecedented damage to Asgard and
Midgard and Thor could not allow that. The hammer left his grip at a
speed unheard of. The noise of the storm shook the very boughs of
Yggdrasil itself. The hammer flew crackling through the air like a
spinning swastika and landed in the magma pool from the giants’ throw,
splashing liquid rock all over Jotunheim. Heimdal saw the storm it
caused from beyond the rainbow bridge and looked on in wonder.
“It seems Thor, that we are matched in strength equally. If I were to
throw any further, I would pierce the roof of Valhalla and stab
Allfather to his chair! But there is one thing I know of that is far out
of my reach. I would call you victor if you could hit that Tower on the
horizon with the golden crest. The one in Midgard.
Thor looked at the distance. Sure enough, the Tower had been built so
huge that it could be seen as a tiny glinting dot on the horizon,
higher than the mountains of Jotunheim. It was worlds away, but Thor had
to beat the Giant.
“Very well, I’ll bring down the tower and have your head in no time”
His words were bold but Thor felt a doubt that even he could throw that
far.
With the strength of the Thorn and the Auroch Thor would hurl his
hammer. Runes of strength he knew he would need. He gathered his powers
and took a long run up. Then Thor, son of Mother Jorth let his hammer
fly through the air with such fury unknown to man. He let out a bellow
as he released his pent up aggression- the sound felled mountains.
In Midgard the Jarls were packing up their work tools. Ivar Thorsson
had left the site, for that days work had been done and his home awaited
him. As he ventured he saw a sight that made his nerve fail. In the air
was the most magnificent and terrible gathering of clouds and winds he
had seen. The sky grew dark and the setting sun was blotted out. Within
seconds the pleasant afternoon sun and breeze turned electric and now
heavy raindrops were falling. There was a vibration in the air that
excited and scared him. As the clouds gathered and darkened, the storm
picked up the pace. Lightning flashed all around and the noise was
deafening. Families took cover beneath their tables and feared that the
very earth would split apart. Cattle urinated in fear. Babies cried out
in fright and even the boldest men quailed. Ivar Thorrson could only
think about that one eyed stranger and his words, and thought this storm
must have had something to do with Vegtam the Wanderer. He fell to his
knees, debased himself, and prayed to a foreign deity to protect his kin
from Thor the Giant Hunter and protector of Midgard. The irony of that
moment was vaporised in the massive electrical discharge from the sky
that struck at the tower and the surrounding houses causing grandmothers
to die in surprise and fear: The most epic storm of all the ages of the
Earth raged around them, striking at the tower and rattling it with
wind and rain. Finally, well made though it was, the tower fell and its
steeple came crashing to the ground torn utterly asunder. Thunder
blotted out its ghastly sound and lightning struck again and again at
it, lashing at it like whips of divine aggression.
*****************************
The hammer had struck the tower with all of Thors’ force. When it
returned to his hand after many hours flying in the air the Giant was
dumbstruck. The Son of all the Earth looked menacingly at the giant, and
knew what time it was.
“It is mete that I should die like this, for you Thor have won and
will always be strongest. Alas that my bloodline should have such a
fearsome foe and such sad a fate.”
Thor swung his hammer and ceased the giants’ woeful laments. All in a
moment the Jotuns’ head was turned to sand and swept away in the wind.
Thor was alone, victorious and carried on his way.
When Thor arrived back in Asgard, Odin summoned him to his halls and
interrogated him about his endeavours. His cold hard eye glinted when he
heard of the jotun’s oafish ugliness and defeat.
“I have never seen a jotun so skilled in throwing. For a while I
feared a tie would be the best outcome, but it was his suggestion to
crush a building somewhere in Midgard. But Odin, I am the protector of
men and this wasn’t to my liking. Have I done wrong? No matter- I swung
my hammer low, and crushed him to dust. He’ll never bother the gods
again.”
“I think you have not done wrong my son. I think you have protected
men in ways you cannot see. I look deep into time, which sadly your eyes
cannot perceive.”
Odin smiled, dismissed him, and sat back muttering into his beard.
Ironic laughter escaped him like a smirk. Who indeed was this precocious
Jotun?
*****************************
Back at the site of the tower, the next day the villagers packed up
their things and moved out. They had angered the Gods of the Pagan North
by daring to desecrate that bounteous territory. They would find no
satisfaction anywhere within the borders of the Odal lands, for the Gods
still walk amongst the folk there, watching and waiting for the Folk to
remember them.
Plants grew among the ruins of that place and after a few summers
most traces of the village were overgrown. After ages people gathered
there again and found the well hewn rocks. They carved the Idols again
and made circles of the Bones of Hymir. The land was hallowed and mead
splashed in ritual to the eternal generosity of Mother Earth, and the
songs of our forefathers echoed again in the deep parts of that forest.
