Ragnarok

A plethora of stars gleamed and winked in the black lacquered sky. An unheard mesmeric voice whispered to me of legend and ancient dreams. Of bulls and swans and mighty deeds,
of bears and ploughs, beasts and men, and strange things, the like of these.
Heavens, the Hades, of warring Gods. The stars the campfires of great hosts. An archer knocks his bow. The tormented one rattles his chains. The Asa the Vana sunder the night. Ragnarok, doom of the gods. Runes are cast; fates have spoken. Men will die; "��Ever was
it so."��
Empty benches in doom laden halls, silent, waiting; mead to flow cup and horn.
Dogs whine and slaver, bite at their wounds, wolves howl and snarl at a bleeding moon. Swordslain sing death'��s song, wailing, gnashing their teeth. Maidens rend their flesh.
Bards lamenting the fallen, chant dirges to the dead. Burning pyres, entrance to the halls.
But there in the void, the stygian darkness, a malevolence, an ancient foe; "��Cast down at last,"�� flees from the my frenzied gaze; I the "��All seeing, Odin one eye."��
Let the Battledead approach my hall for I have spent their lives; even in great need, but none fell unseen, none unmarked. They have been tempered in fire. Let them feast and sup as is the wont of those who come sword in hand. They, and they only shall sit at my benches.
The mead to flow cup and horn, for the shieldwall is thirsty work, and drinks men greedily.
Of those who fled, let them vie with the dogs and wolves for meat and drink, till their shame drives them from this place of warriors, and mortal men forget their names, and sing no songs of them.
But what of the foe skulking in the void? let not Gods or men forget them. There they wait licking their wounds, festering their hatred. Aye, be warned lest warriors of great renown cease to be vigilant and the foe come upon us again, out of the stygian darkness.