War Of The Athelings Poem by Franc Rodriguez

It was thus foretold by the soothsayers,
the Vikings would be slighted by wrath.
The death of the bold king's son Halldor,
at the hands of the athelings was seen.
The Gods would unloose upon the clans,
the dreaded berserkers upon their warth.
And amidst the fortnight their swift anger,
was felt upon the thorps of the clansmen.
A bode would betide and gar the kinsmen,
such a wicked and much tholing fright.
A fight for onwald and a never-ending war,
soon befell upon them in the unwitting end.
And upon an eerie night a blustery storm,
struck the shale of the strand with might.
The deafening bellows of the berserkers,
they heard within the howls of the wind.
The blood of the clansmen was splattered,
from the gory brine onto the thick dales.
A spate of wanton fiends sliced their brynies,
and crushed the depth of their hearts.
They shook like a thunderbolt sweeping then,
the souls of the fallen men in the swales.
And the daring that stood squirmed in death,
with the sharpness of the whetted darts.
And the berserkers plundered without ruth,
the thorps beyond the endless knolls.
The howling pack of wolves they heard nigh,
within the shade of the night.
In bear skins and swarthy mire on their guises,
they strode abreast the wizen trolls.
Like a horde of slayers they feared nothing,
as they came within sight.
The werd of the northern clans was upheld,
by the lave of the wayward men.
It was a dreary bode that would be foretold,
and forewritten by the living elders.
The walls of the kinsmen did not withstand,
the raids and they tumbled again and again.
They fought with a mettlesome stubbornness,
and fell like brave-hearted sons and fathers.
But yet weaned from amongst the berserkers,
were three brothers who fought their thraldom.
The Gods would unleash the brother's wrath,
upon the athelings of the southern thedes.
Sigurd, Drengr, Ingiald, the sons of the king,
sought at last their lovesome freedom.
The soothfastness of the sons of Valdimarr,
would not be forgotten or their deeds.
Therefore within the span of eight nights,
they rid from their lands the berserkers.
They tore the sinderly bond between them,
and the might of the athelings in the end.
And upon the back of a whirlpool of winds,
they rode slaughtering their keepers.
The Gods had forsooth not forsaken them,
instead rode with them amongst the wind.
And the bosom mothers highblissed their tir,
and heried them as bilewit warriors.
As the years yode the wars amongst the clans,
grew as they spread and never ended.
The tale of the three brothers would be told,
around the fire among their sundry followers.
The war of the athelings began and their souls,
the kinsmen felt through the lands they wended.