And…… On this earthly part of Odin’s life tome,
Viking remembered…..‘Tis said this command is writ deep upon the Thunderstone…
“Strike away three times with thy hammer Thor,
Conjure dust from death to blot the sunlight out, to Shower thunderbolt and lightning down upon this curs-ed land, now and forever more”…………..

Aye too…..It lights our travellers way ‘cross that curs-ed land of wode!

So it was that even though this journey, was by the dark Elves forbode,
Out across this stenching marsh, Viking and Elf, our two hero’s strode.
For Myrkwood, the evil chameleon that it was, had changed now they saw,
Since last time they entered its darkened, leafy, gaping maw,
Everywhere, the all pervading odour of rotted wood,
Where something had killed the proud monoliths of fir where they stood,
Providing now, just a dull, Slimey, wet crunching underfoot of branch, trunk and root,
A sinking secret pathway, of a now lost to history route.
Following, always following……white green eyes would shine from bush like creatures of the night that slithered and moved,
And that the marsh was inhabited was thereby proved.
A Hellbat on occasion, mouth opened, baring white glistening fangs, would try its luck,
Would swoop too near, not fast enough, frozen in a lightning flash, a tendril, out would lash, and, from the air the luckless creature pluck.
An agonised, half choked scream would then ensue,
The utter evil eeriness of the marsh renew,
Echoing in unison with the dying thunderbolt against the empty fog,
The occasional upturned rotting log,
Intermixed with the unsettling, unremitting whispering, whispering, of the thing that would beat them, eat them, devour them if it could,
The creature thing that is all absorbing, the creature thing that is…….Myrkewood!

Wodegeld!
The demanded currency here for transgression is Viking’s and the Elf’s pure soul,
To be savoured and supped, from this most poisonous, most evil part of Myrkwood’s rotted bole.
With every sucking step, near every moving, tripping root,
Groping, slithering, slippery things tried to gain purchase upon each presented boot……..
In the far off distance now, across many leagues of murk and mire,
Stood a stone tower, a threatening funereal pyre,
For, atop this tower is but a single room,
That, never in its lifetime has seen a broom,
Aye…….All across this sea of muck is their goal and a bargain that must be struck,
For, in the middle of that room, on a plinth roughly hewn, sits the Thunderstone………..
And, to it chained…..Starving and alone…..
The first queen of all Odin’s Valkeryies, shivering with no modesty, winged helmet, spurs nor steed,
And too….With Odin’s unborn son, of rescue, is in direst need,
So this is the task….The quest…..On which our two hero’s have been sent,
Not this time, it seems ………For Odin’s idle amusement meant!