Date to be Announced

Now comes the ninth telling from the Viking village of Vigra — where the sea mist curls through the long grass and the sound of oars echoes from ages past. The hearth burns low, yet its flame is steadfast, casting gold upon the faces of those who listen.

Here, tales are not merely told — they breathe. They rise from the soil, from the salt of the waves, from the memory of men and beasts who lived, fought, and sang beneath northern skies.

So gather close once more. Let the wind through the thatch carry whispers of the gods, of warriors and wanderers, of laughter, loss, and the quiet between storms.

For this is the Ninth Session of Vigra’s Stories — where the Skald’s voice meets eternity.

Now comes… the ninth telling… (ninth telling… ninth telling…)

From Vigra’s shore, where sea-mist creeps,

And echoes of oars drift through the deep.

The hearth burns low — but still it lives.

Beneath the sky of winter flame,

Old names are called — none sound the same.

From salt and stone, their spirits climb,

To weave their tales through wind and time.

Oh Vigra calls again! (again… again…)

Through storm and stillness, loss and gain.

The gods still whisper through the reed,

The north still hums its ancient creed.

From laughter loud to sorrow’s cry,

The tales of men shall never die.

Their hearts are ships — their dreams the sea,

Their words the runes of memory.

Listen…

Do you hear them, traveller?

The breath between storms…

The silence that sings of home?

Oh Vigra calls again! (Vigra… Vigra…)

Through ice and flame, through night and pain!

The Skald’s voice rises — strong, untamed —

And names the world that gods once named.

The hearth burns low… (low… low…)

But the flame endures.

The Ninth Session begins…

And eternity listens.