[PROLOGUE]

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So. The men of Banahgar, children of the dragon

in the distant past had come to greatness.

The land that birthed Haennich Buirraidh, he who began,

had itself begotten many heroic sons. Harps are struck,

and the bright voice of a bard may ring, bold and true,

telling the many tales of the how old magic flowed.

The forest-gift was strong in those faraway days,

Feeding all and thus being fed. In this way,

Giving back what they took, the tribes of men prospered,

And embattled they became as one. Brave and strong,

they banished He who sought the ruination of all.

It was Tostig, Harael-son, tall and true he stood.

He led the many tribes as one, powers waxing full,

As one of the Rissi of old. They were still hard pressed,

Battle's fury merciless and full of malice. Defeat near,

Tostig stepped forward, his strength supplied,

the line was unbroken. Bearing his ancient blade,

Himinn-forged Sverthfiota, he struck his foe down.

Thus were the tribes of men triumphant,

And was the trouble-maker made bereft of life.

Favourite of the ancestors, Tostig the powerful one,

Was then renowned until death took him from the land.

Afterwards, his sons ruled in his stead, judgements wise,

Strong of arm, souls as one with the old country.

One of that line, ring-giver to Banahgar and a wise man,

Set his mind to hall-building. On the arching backbone,

The hills called the Helm of Kings, he set to work.

Hanaeld, favoured by the ancestors for his insight,

Carved defences of the very living rock, mighty ramparts,

And on the summit he set foundations. Labour of men prevailed,

And soon bowed timbers and thatch kept out the stars.

This was to be the seat and throne-room of kingship,

Called Rekke-hoell. The kings of the Land sat here,

And thenceforth did within make laws, and give rings,

And thus it became a place of great honour and power,

The men of Tostig's line occupying it in turn.

One hand bore the sacred Sverthfiota, bane of darkness,

While belted across their backs remained Svertillar.

This blade wielded the worst of omens, and was never drawn.

So did the lords of men in Banahgar govern the land.

Braedthurnir Tolfsaga - The Tale of the Twelve BrothersWhere stories live. Discover now