Visigothic_The Barbarians Of Midgard

by Jay P Newcomb

  Chapter I

  Skald Lothar’s tale

  From the Skald’s Tale:

  Now the men of story did come and wove to our people this story, this our tale, this memory of days long since faded into foggy mists and burial shrouds of time. Let them rise from the earth one more time! Let our Visigoths be remembered long after we are gone, we noble few who are left, we noble few who go to our own fate on the morrow of the rising sun to Saracen slaughter! There sits King Roderick, my children, and beside him those noble few; those his Thanes of the gallant Visigothic Black-horsemen! Should we live, or die, remember them well, for they would not see you enslaved to their evil moon god of war, Al-Iilya, and his crescent banner! If there be any Scops or Skalds left after the morrow, let them sing all of what we now say of our noble scions. It is written in the Book of the Dim time in the scroll of Beginnings.

  I am Lothar, Skald of the Visigoths, singer of songs, teller of tales, and keeper of the sacred Rune Stave. Once upon a time, in the days of the reign of Roderick, King of the Visigoths, the Nobles of the Kingdom gathered in the Mead Hall, for to hear my tale of their noble forbears. Children sat on the laps of their mothers to hear the tales of warriors, wizards, witches and kings and tales of terrible Ogres and Goblins, dimwitted Trolls and of tiny Leprechauns. To hear of magical swords and fortresses of doom! To hear of legendary beasts and dragons long since dead in the tar pits of the east! They would hear of Thor and Wotan, angelic Warriors from Heaven! Now the children would know of Elves and their Shining Kingdom of Light, and the gritty, ale-drinking Dwarves and their great Kings.

  Hear thou, my people, from the songs of Lothar, Skald of the Visigoths, herald of our race and of times now dim and distant. Oh, my Visigothic family, hear my tale of our fathers, as we sit around our warm fire in the noble royal Meadhall of our honoured, and beloved, Roderick, High King of the Visigoths, to hear me tell the tale and sing the song, that you may know from whence we came. We shall spend this night and indeed many more remembering those who have gone before us, my children, for if one does not know where his people have been and from whence they came, how can he then know where they are going?

  Do ye all here remember how Ronan Sigurdsson the Goth was great king and father of the Goths and a noble scion of Terving, son of Gomer? He was born in the early spring, in the Royal Mead Hall at Thorstadt, and was the first son of King Sigurd Rothgarson and Queen Gwynnalyn Volsungsdottir. That was the same Sigurd who was the son of Rothgar; who was the son of Visgar, who was the son of Ashkenaz, who was the son of Gomer, who was the Son of Yapet, who was the Elder son of Noach.

  Oh, Ronan, the Skalds sing of your braveness, kindness and wisdom. They sing of the great trek from Scythia to Scandza, and how you gave us freedom, so coming from him our honoured name Goths! Though now our tribes be twain, Visigoth and Ostrogoth, yet brothers are we, arm in arm. This Noble Roderick, who sets before you on this story night, is of the noble blood of beloved Ronan, son of a mighty King and Powerful Shield Maid Queen.

  What of Sigurd’s birth? Queen Aslaug, wife of the Mighty King Rothgar of the Getic, gave birth to him. He was bathed in water and Rothgar called him Sigurd. The King was pleased when he saw the sharp, piercing eyes of the boy, and he declared, “None shall be as great nor shall any be his equal.”

  There in that land of both plains and misty mountains, was Sigurd raised and all said of him that none was his match. All showed him great affection. As we here speak of great renowned, ancient Kings, Sigurd the Good must be counted, great in zeal and valour, and accomplished strength. At that time, of all these qualities, Sigurd possessed more than any man of Midgard. Sigurd grew up there with King Rothgar Visgarsson and his Getic and was loved by all. Wotan was his guardian Angel.

  The Minstrels sing of how, when the Slaughter-Wolves came, those men of Scythia did not prevail against King Goth or his father. Those hateful ones from the land of the Rha, who mingled their enemy’s blood with wine and drank it from goblets made from the skulls of the fallen, did not have chance against King Goth, noble father of the Goths. He has brought us to a land far away from Cimmerian and Scyth, when that age of ice was no more. His Thanes were loyal and fearless and under him the Witan of Ealdormen (Earls) of the people, the Goth Lords, surrounded King Ronan in the Mead Hall, singing praises and hearing the Skalds sing of the times of high adventure! Times when those who fell in battle against the Slaughter-Wolves came into Valhalla in honour! There they wait for the day of Ragnarok when Surt the Fire Giant will cover Midgard in the flames of judgment!

  Before I can tell thee all here in this Mead Hall of King Ronan and the Goth Lords, I must tell thee of the times of his father and mother. Of these we must know, my Visigoths; lest we forget those whose struggle gave rise to King Ronan’s dream of brotherhood and peace for all the great land of Midgard. From whose love came the birth of so noble a scion? Let I, Lothar the Skald, sing now of who! Let the Scop (time-keeper) say when and together weave the glorious tale of Gothic Glory! For indeed his birth had been prophesied by the Elves to be the Man-Child.

  It was during those days that all tribes from the borders of the Goblin Reich in the south, to the Great Mystic Marshes and dark evil forests of Myrkvidr in the north; from the mountains of Dakkia to the Mountains of Ariemel were subjected by the dark and evil Empire of the Scythians; first called Slaughter-Wolves by King Rothgar. Though valiant and brave, he could not defeat the Slaughter-Wolf horde. Humiliated, he ruled the Getic tribe from the broken ring fortress and Mead Hall at Wodenburg, as a mere puppet to the Empire. Sad was his face and great was his humiliation.

  Lady Gerda groaned in the fiercest of all labour pains! Her sweating brow crossed with furrows of pain, as the first of two babes emerged from her womb. The first was the girl, whom the Great Volsung bathed with water and gave unto her the name, Gwynnalyn. The boy did not seem to want to emerge and Lady Gerda screamed and was wreathed in pain. The new and young High Priestess Byrnhilda, healer and midwife, gave Gerda a soothing elixir of herbal broth for to somewhat dull the pain. “The greater your pain, the greater your love for the children, My Lady,” counselled the Priestess.

  Two more hours and the boy emerged and Gerda passed out from exhaustion and pain. His father, the Great Volsung, did call him Gedron. Thor became the guardian Angel of babies Gwynnalyn and Gedron. The children grew up with secret Elf Norns to guide them.

  The years passed by and it came to pass that the Lady Gwynnalyn Volsungsdottir came to reign as the Mightiest of Queens in equality with her husband the King. She was the most beautiful Gothic woman ever to walk the face of Midgard, with piercing eyes. They were eyes which melted her man’s heart with but a single glance. While still a young girl, she was trained, alongside her twin brother Gedron, in the bear pits. She was to become a Shield Maiden by the will of her Father, the mighty Warlord Volsung.

  She was around five feet nine inches and weighed at times from 125 to 140 pounds, depending on the time in her life. Her hair was a deep dark red, a colour known as red-raven, and its thick locks fell below her waist. She was apt to wear her hair in a unique style, in which there were two braids starting over her ears and then those two braids were then joined behind her neck into one long braid, tied off at the end in the middle of her rear end. She wore leather boots and long dresses. After becoming Queen, her dress was usually purple. Out on the hunt or in battle, she wore her golden royal, horned helmet, a plain brown blouse with trousers and chain-mail armour. She was almost a human Valkyrie and her swordsmanship and hand-to-hand fighting skills were renowned among the Barbarians of Midgard.

  Chapter II

  The Secret of Steel

  From the Skald’s Tale:

  Once upon a time, in the misty past, there came Slaughter-Wolves to attack the camp of Sigurd the Good. This happened in the five hundredth and ninetysecond year, after the great Deluge, in the age of Noach. These Scythian men, nay not men but savage Berserkers, desired slaves and women not their own, the wives of other men! Sigurd a
nd his warriors had stood up to them and had driven them back. How so and with what weapons did he manage such glory? Who was he to dare challenge such power? I, Skald Lothar, shall sing the Skald’s prose to you, oh people of Visigoth, as ye sit here in this Mead Hall, and drink down the ale to thine heart’s content. And so to kinder here this night, warm by the fire, close thine eyes and see in your dreams the faces of those gone before us into Valhalla, and let them live again, as I, Lothar the Skald, tell thee of the saga!

  S igurd Rothgarson was a great and powerful Gomerian Northman standing six feet and nine inches tall, with long blond hair flowing over his broad shoulders, which were covered in the finest of chain-mail armour. In the past it was rare for these Tervingians, also called Gomerians, to have such armour. But King Sigurd had obtained his from the finest of armour craftsmen way south in the land of Assyria. Now, indeed, all Gomerian people were endowed with such protection. There also his sword had been crafted in the forge works of Nineveh. It was of the finest Assyrian steel, but carved with Gomerian Runes at the behest of Sigurd, who wished it to be the weapon of his sons and their sons to come, whenever they should be born. The runes, etched on both sides of the thirty-two-inch-long blade, read, “Honour of the just King”. The sword master had folded the blade itself 200 times during production. The handle was carved from the tusk of a massive sabre-tooth cat. The handguard resembled a crescent moon with sharp pointed ends and was plated with gold and silver swirling together like the currents in a flowing river. The hilt was rounded, and in its pommel was a green emerald with the King’s rune-seal engraved.

  This was the Sun Rune, for the reign of Sigurd was meant to be one in which the sunlight of happiness and good fortune should shine upon the Getic tribe. That was the hope embodied in the forging of the Tervingian. This sword was to bear a more famous name, being called after the homeland of the Gomerians, Tyrfingr or Tervingia. Thus, as the sword was handed down, it came to be called The Tervingian. But how came the Northmen by such armament? Come, let us see.

  Sigurd Rothgarson was King of the Getic, who were an ancient tribe of our people, and we were then called the Gomerian or Tervingian Nation. His horse was the great white steed of Legend called Yggdrasil. Other tribes of this Great Nation were the Gepids, led by King Osrik the Bald. As well, there were smaller tribes, the Massagetae, Issedones, Gutthiuda and Thyssagetae, who fell within the Tervingian League in the days before the United Tervingian Kingdom. There were others of this stock who did not join the league: the Vandals, Burgundians and Thuringians, as well as Franks, Norse, Angels, Saxons, Danes, Jutes, Friesians, Hagobards, Langobards and Teutons. They scattered far and wide, most going west beyond the Great Mystic Marshes and dark forests of Myrkvidr into Vandalia. Indeed, there are many more, but so many are they, that we cannot name all here now. King Rothgar’s tribe was trampled down and subjugated by a Scythian Army under General Korgan Tal, and during this attack, the Getic Forge Master Haldorr was killed. The tribe, now unable to make weapons, was forced to pay annual tribute and to send away captives to the cruel King Idanthrsus. Fourteen winters of humiliation and degradation went by, and old Rothgar took ill of a breathing disorder and thence died. He was sadly mourned by his beloved wife, Queen Aslaug.

  After the funeral pyre of King Rothgar Visgarsson, Prince Sigurd Rothgarson, aged twenty-five years, now wed to his beloved and most beautiful Gwynnalyn Volsungsdottir, assumed the crown and the sceptre of his father and vowed to free his people from the yoke of tyranny, imposed upon them by the Slaughter-Wolves at the urging of the Dark Wizard of Dakkia and Mad Alchemist, Hister! We needed stronger weapons and so began the Quest for Steel. King Sigurd and a small Army of his Getic marched south across the great Lofty mountains of the Goblin Reich of Fuhrer-King, Zukhi. On down past the Vannic Kingdom and through the lands of the Hurrians he came, for the King and his Ealdormen had heard of a great Assyrian craftsman in the art of the sword forge, known as Shalmaeser. King Sigurd had said to his Witan of (Council) Ealdormen, “Is not this land big enough for all men? Why must they come for us? I know of a sword maker in Ashur. We will go to him, and thus our weapons will be greater than those of the Slaughter-Wolves!”

  He looked at Gwynnalyn, his beloved wife and Warrior Queen, aged twenty-five years, and their eyes locked in love’s deep gaze. She was a Shield Maid and the honour among women and only together as one did they lead their Kingdom.

  They set out in spring from Tervingia after the passes in the Lofty Mountains had cleared of snow. They must be careful to avoid the vile Goblins, lest their intentions be made known to their enemies. The Getic would go forth into Assyria under the guise of trade, lest their evil King learn that they had come for weapons; for it was not lawful for Assyrian sword-makers to arm the Barbarians of Midgard, lest they become the equal of the cruel Assyrian warlords. One young Getic Ealdorman, the metallurgist Teobalf, son of Haldorr and age twenty at the time, was left in Nineveh disguised as a slave, to learn from the Forge Master Shalmaeser. Teobalf would learn the secrets that would allow his Getic tribe to become the match of the Slaughter-Wolves. For Master Shalmaeser knew the secret of steel which made iron nearly unbreakable! For some strange reason, Shalmaeser agreed to do this, and it had come as quite a shock to King Sigurd and Queen Gwynnalyn that the Forge Master had agreed to do so. Most of the Gomerian tribes were armed with bronze swords which would hold an edge. Although iron was much stronger, and there were many iron swords as well, iron does not hold an edge very well. The Gomerian Kings began hearing of a secret of Alchemy, by which iron weapons could be made much stronger and as well to hold an edge; to also be hardened and be much less brittle. They experienced this first hand, as their Scythian Conquerors learned the secret of steel and enslaved all the tribes of the steppes between Dakkia and Yuralia! King Rothgar had fallen in defeat in the face of such armament. When Sigurd assumed the Getic throne, he was determined to arm his nation with steel and free them from Scythian oppression and he hoped to form a league with the Dwarves. And thus did he send out the head of a spear, calling for all Tervingian tribes to answer the call and join a rebel alliance.

  This journey was fraught with danger and was paid for in the bitter loss of the Queen Mother, fifty-year-old Queen Aslaug, widow of Rothgar, and mother of Sigurd the Good and his brother Rognir. Crossing a river in the Lofty Mountains, swollen from a mysterious flood, his beloved mother was lost as well as his brother, Prince Rognir, who was four years the younger than King Sigurd, for he had been with her in the wagon. Tears were long and bitter when finally parts of their wagon were recovered. Their bodies were swept downstream and over a waterfall, and never seen again on that day!

  But on and on they journeyed on the Quest for the Secret of Steel, for mourning must be done on the march from the backs of their horses and in the bellies of their wagons. Some weeks later, standing before them was the great city, Nineveh, astride the deep and wide river Tigris. The Assyrian Army allowed them access to trade but eyed them with extreme suspicion. The true intention of King Sigurd must not be made known to the rulers of this vast and evil empire of the Tigris and Euphrates River lands.

  Once allowed in the city, by quiet word, was the arsenal of Shalmaeser the Forge Master shown unto these Getic Northmen. In the shop of the Assyrian craftsman were a man of the Hellenes, Demetrius by name, and a son of the city of Byzantium, who spoke in many tongues of man. How many none there knew, but for Shalmaeser he spoke easily to the light-skinned Northmen. “I have been waiting for you, Noble King. Waiting for you and the Shield Maid Queen,” stated Shalmaeser.

  “How did you know this?” asked the King.

  “Word came from an old friend, a White Wizard from Gobekli Tepe. But we shall speak no more of him now, for the time is not at hand for him. Lodge with us until that which you seek is unveiled.”

  Some days later, King Sigurd stood, Queen at his side, as the Tervingian was brought forth to him by Shalmaeser. He held it high to the heavens and chanted something which no Getic could understa
nd. There came a swirling cloud in the night sky! The wind began to blow hard! The fire on the burning torches was pushed to the breaking point and dust filled the air! Lightning flashed and thunder boomed. Fear gripped everyone and a thundering voice came out from the midst of the cloud, saying, “I am Thor! It has been given to me and my Brother Angel Wotan, by the Creator God Shaddai to be rulers over the airs of the great north of this Midgard!”

  Suddenly, the Angel Wotan appeared in a blinding flash of light! Looking at Sigurd, he said, “I bless this Blade of the King for Sigurd and his sons for all time. You shall call it the Tervingian.”

  Then the forge master brought a second sword, forged for the Getic Warrior Queen, Gwynnalyn. Thor’s voice thundered, “Daughter! Shield Maid, Queen of the Getic, use this righteous scythe for the sake of honour, for thy sons and daughters to come. Though you have been barren until now, from your womb shall come the first-born son of the King! You shall call him Ronan, and he shall be known as the Goth! Ronan shall be both King and father of a new gathering of peoples. He shall wield the Tervingian and so shall your scythe be his saviour. And it shall be, that any man of any race of Midgard who seize upon it for to biddings of evil, that enemy shall be stricken with a plague whereby his eyes shall consume out of his sockets and his tongue from out of his mouth! Away shall his skin be as it dries and his dead skeleton becomes a heap of ashes! His soul shall descend to the Halls of the dishonoured dead, Halja, there to await the coming of Ragnarok! This Gwynnian Scythe shall be for the defence of the innocent children, and the scourge of those who murder the sucklings of your people! I have guarded you since birth, as has your Norn. Listen to her counsel.”