What is the howling of the winds different than the far cry of our ancestors? What is the rustling of the shore but a soothing speech before battle? We have a deep admiration for our makers’ hands, though we fear their fury. We cherish the rough mountain sides as we love our sons, the seas are our daughters. And the gods? They are on our sides as a loving wife in times of glory and despair.
Sons of Vegtam! Tonight we sail! Have no fears when we stride the serpent lord his mighty halls. Either we return, or we dry our clothes at the high fires. The blood of our enemies shall cover the green fields, as if they were cloaked in red.
May our axes guide us to victory! Sail now! To the horizon!
