A WRIT | To Konan-Thegn

[Werew0lf 24181]

 

Never walk away from home ahead of your axe and sword.

Always rise to an early meal but eat your fill before a feast.

 

Heill þik,

 

To the Konan-Thegn, 

 

I hope that you have been fair in health, completeness, and live long, die fighting, and make way to the great halls of Valhalla.

 

It has been twenty long years–unfortunately, I have forgotten how to write, or read, and during my time, I have forgotten how to walk on two legs, to eat food with cutlery, or how to wear my own clothes. My house has been the trunk of a tree, my body, it is battered.

 

Konan, do you know of any stories? You're no stranger to stories, I can tell. Not just by how you speak, but how you walk, smell, and hear. It is the air you carry yourself with; it reeks of stories. The way you play their shapes against your teeth, and taste their passions against your tongue, and you devour them, the stories, because you are starved of shape and passion, and have goals to strive towards, and people to protect. There have been no stories in this forest. 

 

And in my solace, broedr, I have started to pray. I have become religious–during the day, I have taken to dancing in circles upon flaming pyres, swinging a trenchant of animal bones from left to right, listening to their rattle. I hear voices, they keep calling to me, but I think that this is not from the Gods, but from insanity. So I call them:

[♜] Odin  [Nemissae] God of War Patron of the Dead   Odin! Wise and powerful ruler of Ásgarþr, god among the gods! Grant that I may be shielded from misfortune and death. I call on you here to go against my enemies!

[♜] Tyr  [Cernunnos] God of War Patron of the Hunt   Hail to the One-Handed God! Let your bow strum and your arrow strike, god of the hunt! Grant me the power to defeat my foes! I call on you here to go against my thoughts!

 

I do not know when I will return, if I shall be man, or become a beast. I do not wish to die outside of battle, for then I lose the key to Valhalla, and can no longer sit with our long-lost champions in Odin’s halls.  Yet know this, broedr, that in my head you have been, a tithing voice, and for the countless prayers that I have sung, that I hope you are alive and healthy–I hope that you have finally married, and have sons and daughters to pass on your legacy. 

 

Við sjáumst seinna.

 

Written by Thor’s companion,

 

[This post is a private writ addressed to M1919. One may discern the handwriting is not the same as Thor’s own. The letter would be sent to Konan by means of a black raven, with wet, crimson eyes; the parchment seems to be shredded by claw marks].