(the tale written by Runahild)
Galdrheim...described by the old ones as the strongest of all...there has arisen one of the bravest heroe of all time, Heimar was his name and his chant tell of this legend until now aslept in the deep dark valley from Midgard...waiting for the return of the warrior and his Siegerune to be singing again...
There were great moutains standing strong as the will of the old pantheon...always by snow covered, reflecting the bright distant light of the stars at night in each falck... they surrounded a village of heathen people, Thorsson was the name of their chief, noble and honorable...there was the domain of Galdrheim...
But since some years, the old faith began to be threatened by the roman empire..great battles took place and grand fighters lost their lifes to ensure the freedom of their folk..countless bloody battlefields witnessed the bravery of our ancestors..loyal and worth..honesty made their honor..as they fight sword in hands enduring pain and suffering to gain victory, the enemies used falsehood and treachery...as foes died by the blades in a loyal fight, people of our own blood died by arrows piercing them in their back.Thorsson, the fair, was one of them and let behind him his wife Hildr and their son Heimar thus all of his folk...
After the death of the great chief, Heimar, too young to rule a land, saw his place taken by Thodalv, a friend of his father..but in time of war and doubt, soon the domain lost its strenght...
One cold morning of winter, the same year as the death of Thorsson, saw the departure of Heimar...telling to the one who gave him life:
"My soul can hear from far away a voice that is calling me and my heart know it is time for me now to leave...my quest for wisdom and knowledge has now began...I shall ride toward uncertain horizon..but know one thing, alone or with a proud army, I will come back and fight to save my heritage as my fallen forefather did..."
Riding on Altyr, his black horse, the young boy crossed many plains and river, hills and moutains..only the wind guided him in the vast lands...
His travel ended at the border of the realm of Vargrheim...there where wolves lived since an age untold in the middle of a dark forest..there stood on the path an old man wearing a long cape flying in the wind...he held a Gandr with the mighty Runes engraved on it...and like if his voice came from the past, he began to speak:
"I welcome you in my realm Heimar, son of Thorsson! Since the stars can speak to me, I learnt from your coming...you, from noble blood shall find here what your mind need...I shall teach you all I know and when you will be ready, time will come for you to speak true to your people..."
Thus Heimar learnt the swords fightings and the magic of Runes but also the grand ancestral knowledge and wisdom...he learnt the langage of wolves and crows..and his heart became as strong as ice...
It was a dark night as dark as the raven wings, 10 years after the departure of Heimar..as he walked through the forest, he met a furious wolf with the eyes red as the flame of Surtur...the silent tree witnessed a fight until death...where the steel met the blood and where the might of 2 spirits join the will to survive..In spite of the blood shed on the soil, the blade of the warrior stood raised and a deep strenght in his heart led the last wound that summoned the victory of Heimar...as he planted his weapon on the earth as a sign of glory in front of the wolf, the wind was blowing stronger and stronger and he could see the face of the wolf turning into the one of his father...the shadow of Thorsson talked:
"My son, this was your test, you won tonight and it is now your time!go my son, our folk is waiting for your courage!!
No More Tears, I shall see you in Valhalla and I will great you there, for I know your fate will be the one of a brave..."
Then, he smiled and he disappeared with the wind...
