Þarmarmal

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Written in fornyrðislag and ljóðaháttr by Magnús hvalmagi.

"Please rewrite from the point of view of Magnus." -A smart-ass apprentice

Challenge accepted.


"Away from his arms
in the open field
A man should fare not a foot;
For never he knows
when the need for a spear
Shall arise on the distant road."

These are the words
of the wisest god.
Safe from most harm
will Hangi keep you.
But unseen are some
who seek your end.
I speak these spells,
to spare your guts.

In the yard-hawk
and haste-dragon
lurks a loathsome monster.
It wants a meal
of white metal
and belches out brimstone.

Deep the ash-roots
Deeper is Hell
Deepest the mind of Mimir.
But not too deep
digs another foe,
hiding from air and eyes.

A thief I caught,
Caged like a beast,
his trouble trapped with him.
But Egil's kin
the cage will seek,
and feast on farm's bounty.

The Hanging One
wishes to breathe -
a corpse craving the wind.
I know another
that never breathes,
and bloats from breath hidden.

To Thyng we ride,
to think and rule
and feast with friends scattered.
An enemy waits,
winding through hands,
till feast is famine-stricken.

Hear the spear-clash
Heed the battle-cry
Ruin the rowan of warfare.
Lop off his head -
still Loptr is plotting,
laying a trap for travelers.

These words I weave,
warning of danger.
A man should be mighty -
as much we know -
but strength is fleeting,
and favor also.
Keep wits always,
and keep your life.