Hall of the Glorious Dead

Beneath the shadowed mountain's crest,

Where ravens cry and warriors rest,

A calling voice, the battle’s drum,

The time has come, the time has come.

Blades will sing and shields will break,

A hero's stand for honor’s sake.

No fear shall linger, no heart will yield,

For glory waits upon the field.

To the Hall of Glory, where the brave shall dine,

With horns of mead and endless time.

Through the flames of war, through the battle's breath,

We ride to meet a glorious death.

The earth runs red with fallen kin,

The storm of steel, the clash of sin.

Yet through the haze, the Wenarii soar,

To carry us to Athelheim's shore.

Our names etched high in Skaldic song,

A tale of courage loud and long.

No chains shall bind, no grave confine,

For death in war is fate divine.

To the Hall of Glory, where the brave shall dine,

With horns of mead and endless time.

Through the flames of war, through the battle's breath,

We ride to meet a glorious death.

Let the winds howl cold, let the skies burn red,

We do not mourn the honored dead.

For life is fleeting, a fleeting flame,

But death in battle is eternal fame.

To the Hall of Glory, where the brave shall dine,

With horns of mead and endless time.

Through the flames of war, through the battle's breath,

We ride to meet a glorious death.

Raise your sword, embrace the fight,

Through endless dark, the guiding light.

In Volnen’s hall, we’ll find our rest,

For those who fall are truly blessed.