Runestones

Where the grass grows underfootAnd the sky is blue overheadThere will always be a hearth and a home

Long ages past, when the Allfather Oden united the worlds, he threw down the Vanir, the giants and those creatures older than any others. The greatest of them could not be killed but were instead Forsaken, exiled here to Valheim for eternity.When they tread the earth, the lesser creatures jump like crumbs on a drumskin. You will know them when you see them.

Give thanks to Frey for the rain and sunFor the shoots that break the earth's skinAnd the fruits of the vineGive thanks to Oden for the flesh and boneThe smoke from the cooking fire, the warm peltAnd the strength of your arm

Hold, traveller, and bear witness to my warning. We are many who have come before you, carried here by Oden's will to do his work. The path ahead is hard and the dangers great. If you hold your life dear, keep to these meadows and make your dwelling away from the trees. Fear the Horned One and the creatures he will send against you.

Heed these words of Ulf, a poor settler in a strange land. You will find here good stone and wood, all you need to build a house. You will need to craft a roof to keep out the rain. Then you will need walls to stop the roof from falling down. Finally, you must have a door or it will be much harder to go in and out.These things Ulf has learned for himself. Now he writes them on this stone to help others. Pray to Oden for his soul.

I was Astrid, a shieldmaiden of the forest. I know nothing of my life before I came here but my arm remembers the sword and my eyes see the course of the arrow. Now the raven guides me and I fight the great beasts in Oden's name.

Blue-eyed shufflers in muck, the neck are small lizards native to Valheim. Surly and mean-spirited, they will attack on sight and must be destroyed like vermin. They stay near water because the creatures of the land loathe and abhor them.Yet no creature is all bad. Their tails are delicious.

Sisters and brothers of the shield-wall, lift up your hearts! You are the greatest warriors, chosen by the Allfather himself for your courage and valor. Now death has brought you to a land where you can remake yourselves in battle and toil, winning favor and honor from the Gods! Leave your memories to rot in Midgard along with your sins, the finest part of you is here!

On this spot a tree fell on my head and I cursed the Gods. So I leave this stone in praise of them, that they might forgive my reckless words.

Pause, traveler. You are well come to the last and most lawless of the Ten Worlds. In Valheim, the air is pure, the water deep and clear and the forests overflowing with bounty. Here is adventure, joy and glory for the taking!

A full bellyA full sailThe weight of a spear to your handAnd a song on your lipsLet all the mountains crumbleAnd the seas boil to saltOne day in the sun is a life well-lived.

Beware the deep trees, beware the true dark. When the night comes, keep close to your fire.

Beneath the ground, the roots of the forest twine together on a great loom. Pluck one thread and the whole weave will move. Chop down one tree and all the wood will know. Make yourself known to the One Who Walks, and he will seek you out.

I was Harald, a man from the coast. I remember nothing more of my life in Midgard except that I was a warrior. In my dreams I see the faces of those I killed. I leave this stone that at least my name will remain.

Rest awhile and remember Ulf, who carved this stone with his own hand but could think of nothing to say.

Beware the Old One. The ravens say that in ages past he was a shoot of great Yggdrasil itself and a force of wisdom in the days when men and trees were friends. Now he scorns the axe and sets himself against the works of the Gods themselves. Oden banished him here for his pride but his roots are deep.

We who were carried here by the Valkyrie are not the first men in this land. I have seen with my own eyes the halls they made beneath the ground and the ruins of their towers. Will the same fate await us?

Eight were the creatures banished to this world by mighty Oden in the first days of his kingship. Eight Gods and monsters too proud to bear his yoke. I have heard the tread of the Old Ones in the forest and have crouched in the shadow of the Mountain Mother when she flies. Of the others I know little. I will add to this stone when I have seen more.

The trolls of Midgard may be fading from your memory, as indeed they are from all the race of man. Few and forlorn, they crouch in damp caves and gnaw on the bones of the weak and foolhardy. The will of Oden has pushed them back into the dark places.But in Valheim they have flourished. It has been centuries since any in Midgard saw the great trolls stamp flat the land and bring down the trees for joy. Look upon this great and noble sight, wanderers in a strange land! Then take to your heels and run...

Raised by the Old Man of the Forest from seeds of sin, the greydwarfs clothe themselves in the human forms they once knew, but there is no longer any warmth in their hearts. They live now only to serve the Elder and to protect the wood. Do not let pity for them stay your hand.

Which among you was a murderer, a kin-slayer, a renegade? Who turned a blade in their brother's back? Who tore babes from their mothers' arms, set fire to the houses of the plundered? Consider it a blessing that you remember nothing. Each among you is a great warrior, and warriors' souls are never clean.But Oden has gifted you a second chance... Praise the Allfather!

Look to the sky where mighty Yggdrasil reaches out, called by the Forsaken Ones to join itself once more with this wayward world. It is a glorious sight but a dreadful one. For as the great tree bends out across the void, its branches strain and crack, felt in the remaining nine worlds as quakings of the earth, great storms and holy fires. The Forsaken must be slain and balance restored.

Astrid will not look at me twice. I leave this stone to honour great Freya. O goddess, grant me a beard like Bjorn's that I might win her heart!

I have been reborn many times in this world. I have died again and again only to awaken in my own house. Yet still I wonder how many more times I will return like this. Frida was taken by a serpent and her bed lies empty still. Bjarni was bitten in half by a troll and neither half has been seen since...All around are the ruins of those who came before us but where are the hands that built them?Perhaps, when a warrior loses the will to remain here, they can no longer return...

Heed the words of poor Ulf and do not build your house beside the murky waters. Bad dreams and a soggy bed are all you will find. I leave this stone as a warning and go now to make my dwelling on higher ground.

Linger not, traveller. The air is pestilent and the water poison. The Draugr walk here and the thing I will not name stirs below the surface, a bitter mass of bone and sin. Tread carefully and quickly until you feel the sun on your face once more.

In this gloomy region you may yet find something which shines. War-flesh, warrior's gold, bread of the forge... Bright iron is here for those who will take it!

You who pass, remember me. I am a man whose home was once in the mountains of Midgard, carried here when I thought to earn my rest, to find a life after life in Valheim. There were seven of us before the Greydwarfs came. Now Oden will not hear me and the seas refuse me. Soon this stone will be all that remains.

Beware the surtlings, embers of a great fire long ago stamped to ashes. They are drawn to the swamp in numbers but their lights can be seen from afar. Keep to the high ground.

In centuries past, the Draugr walked these lands just as you do now. Pity them, caught between the living and the dead in a shadow of the world they once knew. To destroy them is a mercy.

Below the mist and murkBone speaks to boneRemembering flesh.

For long ages, Oden's eye was turned from Valheim. Yet while the Gods ignored it, other creatures crept or fell through cracks into the forgotten world. Trolls, goblins and men found their way along these secret paths. Kingdoms rose and fell, and are buried deep beneath the ground.Walker among the dead, you tread a grave with every step.

At this place I killed seven of the draugr and ended their long years of fighting and misery. Now who will end mine?

I am Gudrun, no man's wife, no father's daughter. Only my name remains to me. But sometimes when I wake I feel the weight of a babe at my breast and I cry. Great Freya take pity on me.

Fear not that the Gods have abandoned you. Valheim drifts from the world tree and the Vanir cannot come in arms to this world but still they watch from afar. Keep them ever in your mind. If your faith is strong, they may send you a sign.

There is no death that does not bring new life. As worms feed on the battlefield, so did the great corpses of Oden's enemies bring new life to Valheim. Lesser creatures fed on their flesh, fattening themselves on the ancient magic that still clung to them. Their spirits trickled into the earth to renew the soil, or sought out new bodies for themselves.Do not scorn the dead, you who are dead yourself.

Few of us found our way to these mountains. We were twenty and now we are two. Agda is dying, a Draugr arrow lies near her heart. I will bid her farewell beside this stone and give her ashes to the wind. Then I will turn my face to the highest peak and seek out the Winged One. May Oden give me death or glory.

This marks the spot where the great drake was first seen by me, Ulf, in the third summer of my life in Valheim. She stopped here to leave a pile of dung holding the bones of deer, boar and the skull of a greydwarf. I will never come near this place again.

Halt and listen, traveller. On the highest peaks of Valheim, the air is thin and fragile. From here you can sometimes catch sounds from other places, the ring of battle on Midgard, the roar of a feast in Valhalla or the shriek of a Valkyrie as she crosses the space between the worlds.

Where this stands I once saw the great drake flying above me and I hid in a bush until she passed. Ulf the Brave carved this stone.

Let those who read me know not to tarry on these slopes, far from their hearth and the safety of the greenwood. The beasts of the mountains are fell and fierce, hungry for meat, and the worst of these beasts is the cold wind itself. Wear thick furs, build strong fires and keep your bow close at hand.

Great cities do not rise of themselvesHarden your heart, settler in a strange landBuild from the ground upwards

This stone was placed by me, Astrid, in my seventh year in Valheim. At this spot, the Allfather spoke to me. I awoke from a deep sleep to find his words scattered around me on the ground, frozen to pebbles by the deep cold. When I warmed them in my hands they thawed and spoke his message to me, one word after another.Slay the Forsaken. Chain their heads. I will come.

Watch for him in moonlightHaunter of the night.Soft of footSharp of toothSlow to stalkQuick to bite.

When first I awoke in Valheim, I pleaded with Oden to show himself to me. Where was he? Why had he abandoned me?For many moons I braved storms and fierce beasts in search of answers. Where were the Gods? Was this to be my reward? Where was Oden?But now I know. When I pulled up the greydwarfs like weeds from a field or stamped out the surtlings like embers, I did Oden's work. And when I matched my strength against a great wyrm and smote off its head with one blow, I felt Oden's joy within me, deep and proud.We are Oden's hands, each one of us, and our worth in life is to work his will.

Upon this spot, Otho and Bjorn fought a mighty duel to decide who has the finest beard. Now I, Bjorn, must carve this stone to say that the beard of Otho is as bright and beautiful as a corn-field in summer. May almighty Thor tear my own beard from my face if I lie.

In Midgard of old, the armies of man pushed back the drakes from the mountains just as the Vanir threw down their mother and cast her into Valheim. But here they have recovered their strength and their numbers. The beat of their mighty wings echoes among the peaks. They are fierce and noble creatures, true foes worthy of battle. If they scorn to meet your blade, send your arrows to greet them.

In these mountains I cannot throw a spear without hitting something that wants to kill me. But from the heights I have seen sunny plains where life will be easier. I go now to make my home there. These are the words of Ulf.

There are friends in Valheim but you must seek them amongst your enemies. Old friends, fire-kin, moon-singers. For centuries they have hunted alongside you, now you must remind them of the old covenant between your people and theirs. Flesh is their delight and must be your offering.

Where no rain fallsAnd no crops will growStill the ground can give up treasures.

This place was too hot for Ulf, a man used to brushing snow from his beard. He carved this stone and moved on.

Still your mind, traveller. Oden speaks to those who listen. Here in this barren land, one of the Forsaken Ones dwells. He is an ancient sorcerer twisted by bitterness, dragging what remains of his broken body across the sands. Surely Oden will smile upon the warrior who can vanquish this abhorrence.

In a land far from here I once saw a star come unfastened from the great curtain of night and fall into the sand. It glowed red when I approached but by morning was cool. Blessed sword-flesh, furnace-food, a gift of strong metal from the Gods!

Good friend, lay your hand on this stone and remember Harald, who carved it. In Midgard I lost my life on the battlefield but in Valheim it was restored to me. Yet still my battles continued.In the green meadows I fought Eikthyr the Great Stag and lost an eye to his horns.In the deep woods I gave my shield hand to the Old Man of the Forest, and took a draugr arrow below my ribs that my fingers can still feel.On the mountainside I fought the Mother Drake and she bit off my leg at the knee so that I must walk always with a staff.Now my last battle must be at hand. When I sleep this time, where will I wake?

In my dream, Oden came to me as an old man leaning on a stick, a wide-brimmed traveller’s hat on his head. He told me to trust the ravens who carry his words under their tongues and to carve this stone that others might know his will. We must kill the Forsaken to find our places in his hall at Valhalla.

Beneath the ground are the halls of men and women long since gone, ancient tribes who lived in Valheim even before the Allfather turned his eye upon this place. Delve deep to find their treasures but beware, some amongst them do not yet know they are dead.

From the mountaintop, this plains looked peaceful and pleasant. But I have found it worse than anywhere else. I always hear the buzzing of those thrice-damned insects. My beard has turned as white as snow. I will build a boat.

What joy it is to roam abroadWith the wind in your hairAnd a blue sky before you.And what joy it isTo stand tall against your foesAnd speak plainly to the world.And then, what joy it isTo come home from your travelsAnd find the fire still bright in the hearth.

On these plains, only the greatest survive to read my words and heed my advice. So heed me now.Great Oden is not a loving father, kind and gentle, speaking honeyed words. Nor is he a stern liege-lord, arms banded with gold, commanding his thralls on pain of death.He did not send you here to fight his foes for love or fear of him, but because his foes are your foes. His joy and honour are yours also. You will fight and win just as he once did.Sons and daughters of Oden, rejoice!

Here on the plains you will find the dwellings of the Fuling, that ancient race who once built towers and cities to rival those of men until Oden punished them for their pride. He trampled the Fuling armies, their armour cracking like snail shells beneath his feet, and tore down their cities.Only Yagluth, the great sorcerer, would not bend or break before his fury. So Oden tore his body in half and cast the remains into Valheim, where he bled into the earth and crumbled to dust, wept over by the last of his people.Now the Fuling rule over the plains of Valheim, savage and wild with only hatred and fear in their hearts. But Yagluth is with them still, an unseen force that the Fuling shamans draw upon for their crooked magic, growing again in strength as his people spread across the world...

The lox are mighty creatures, great earth-shakers who roamed the plains of Valheim long before the Forsaken were banished to this realm. They are quick to anger and will crush any who are foolish enough to approach them unguarded, but they have known the hand of man and can be taught to love it again.

Know, traveler, that while you cannot die in the world of Valheim, yet you can cease to be reborn. Many are those who have come before you to work the will of Oden, only to find their own will failing...

Here lie the Jotunn, most ancient of all Oden's kin and fiercest of all his adversaries. In life they were bringers of ruin but now, in death, they nurture new growth.What is living must die, and what is dead must be born again.

Where the air is thick with magicAnd the earth is quick with life,The mist breeds wonders.

Trust nothing in the mist. I passed through here in a group of seven people but every time we stopped to count, we counted eight. We do not know who the eighth was, but by morning they were gone.

The Dvergr are the descendants of the great smiths of old, delvers in the deep earth, seekers of hidden treasure.Here in Valheim they mine the bones of the Jotunn and distill eitr, the stuff of magic. If left alone, they are happy with their own plans and care little for the lives of others, but when raised they will defend themselves.

The raven showed me how to make a staff that set my beard on fire. I will meddle no more with such things.Weary of mist and magic, Ulf carved this stone. Now I go to find a less troublesome place.

Heed the words of Ulf and do not take the hats of the short ones from their heads. They have no sense of a jest and the only cure for insulting them is to kill them. Also, their hats do not fit common heads.

Wanderers in fog,Where do you go?Not knowing what you were,Nor seeing where you go.

Know, child unborn, that this was once the greatest kingdom in all Valheim. Here lived the Sons and Daughters of the King of the Emerald Flame. Beneath his wing, we knew strength and security. In his sight, we grew like green shoots.Now we set this stone among rubble and turn our backs on the land of our birth. May future ages take warning from us.

In the forests of the far North, our scouts came across a sleeping boy, sitting naked in the deep snow with his back to a tree. They wrapped him in furs and brought him back to the king, asleep all the while with only his eyelids moving.We named him the Winter Child and we took him to be a good omen. May the gods have mercy on fools.

It was known throughout the land that the two would often sit together as if in talk, the king coiled about the sleeping child with his face close, straining to catch any murmured words.Nobody knew what passed between them but all saw the change in the king. Justice flared into wrath and caution deepened into fear. Laws were passed that must be broken and each time the lawbreakers were punished more harshly.Tyranny came in a spiral, like a great storm.

When the King of the Emerald Flame flew away to visit the wizard king of the Fulings, his own thegns rose against him and torched the palace with the Winter Child inside. All of us who were alive at that time heard the shriek that sounded for the nine days of the fire and echoed in the city's streets for many weeks longer.Those were the last good days any of us knew, before the return of our king.

When the king saw the charred remains of his great hall, he swore to show his foes a fire far greater than the little spark they had kindled. With his breath, he razed our city to the ground and then brought war to all the land. Some of the people stayed faithful to the king but many sought to quench his fury.Brothers fought against brothers, sisters against sisters. The Kingdom of the Emerald Flame tore itself apart. Now only these charred ruins remain, within which not even the dead can find rest.

The stones tell of a great tragedy in this land, many centuries ago. It is hard to believe the creature who stalks this ruined city was once a noble beast and a wise king. Yet we will not stay our hands on this account. When we kill him, we will count it a mercy.

I have not been happy for more than a day in any place since I came here but this place is the worst of all. Most things are on fire and the fishing is not good. These are the words of Ulf.

The pure fire of a grand drake has the power to give life and quicken the dead earth. Once, they blessed the land and seas with their cleansing flame, bringing new life wherever they passed.But for those who are burned by a drake's fire, the blessing is a curse. They are killed and quickened at the same time, caught forever between death and life. Such are the unfortunate souls who wander this ruined land, with flames for flesh and agony in every moment. They cannot be destroyed, only pitied.

If the tales are true, the gods long ago abandoned this world. The King of the Emerald Flame was the closest to a god we knew but our prayers to him have turned to ashes in our mouths.This is the last of our strongholds and in the morning we will die defending it. We offer no more prayers and wish only for clean, free deaths, unburned by the flame.

It is folly for the free folk to say they need no gods. Nobody needs gods and the gods need no one. They owe nothing to men.But still the wise will seek the powerful as vines will seek a mighty tree to climb. We give our swords to the King of the Emerald Flame because without him there is only death.

War is a fireAnd men are fuel.When the heart-blaze kindlesTheir bodies are dry wood.

I am Astrid of the Long Arm. I came here after much hardship to fight the beast and break the curse that keeps me here. The raven has returned a memory to me and it will not let me rest. I will die as many times as I need to die to see my son again.

I have watched many warriors throw themselves against the beast again and again, losing a little of their will each time until their beds lie empty. If this is my fate, so be it. These are the words of Björn, who was once a farmer.

The Deep North. The final obstacle before I can prove myself worthy. The trials have been many, and so have the deaths. I have lost friends dear to me. But at last I am here.

It seems peaceful enough. So far, the wildlife doesn’t appear to care much for my presence here. I should be able to gather some valuable resources from them if I need to. It’s my survival or theirs, after all.

I have to be on my guard. Few places have been peaceful since I first arrived here, and it would be foolish to believe these lands to be different. No matter how well I fight, I might still be overcome by the inevitable cold of the place. I’d best find some shelter.

So far I’ve been left alone. Despite that, I can’t shake the feeling that something is watching me.

I found an old building, but it was deserted. It’s hard to say for how long, but I don’t believe I’ll find any friends here.

I don’t like to think about what could have happened, had my axe not been as sharp nor my senses as keen. After all, there is no one left to come to my aid. I may have lost my companions. But it is for their sake that I must continue. The ruler of these lands must die.

It’s strange. I can’t help but feel like there should be people here, just waiting to welcome me. I think the winters looked like this when I was a child, and any moment my father should be welcoming me home. But he isn’t here. No one is.

I have been haunted by dreams lately, in which I am a raven. On great, black wings I soar across this world that I’ve come to know, but it is not the same. The landscape has gone from green and fertile to cold and barren. Perhaps it is just this frozen north that has been getting to me. Yet...what if it’s not?

I know now where I need to go. The Ancestors have pointed me in the direction of the one who rules these lands, the one they tried to keep in chains but whose power now shackles the very world. If I can just slay this foe, this hateful being, I will have proven myself once and for all.

At first this seemed a good home for Ulf, who liked the cold and the snow. Then came the mean little creatures, intent on dragging me below, and I was forced to reconsider.

If what the raven says is true, there is only one more forsaken I must slay. But what comes after? Will my son truly be returned to me, or I to him? Astrid raised this stone for her son, should he follow in her footsteps before she gets to see him again.

These lands seemed so familiar, awakening memories buried deep within our minds. We should have known they were not all that they seemed.

Heed the words of Kata, who once thought the trolls of the forest were mighty foes. Their kin in these lands are tall as the tallest of towers, and harder than the hardest of stones, but those who manage to slay them stand to reap a glimmering reward.

When we first arrived here, this place was rich and prosperous. But the winters are colder and longer now, and we fear they might soon take over altogether. Yet, here we have built our homes and here we have grown our roots, so here it is that we shall stay.

In the farthest north Where magic dances in the skies Offer to call forth What just below the surface lies Let the coals burn bright Ancestral wisdom waits for those Who should stand to fight Their elders' mighty blades and bows

Beware of false trees! Chiming icicles and creaking branches might not just be moving in the wind...

Signe raised this stone in memory of Eigil, who fell in battle. He had yet to learn that not everything here is as frozen as it first seems.

Buried beneath the snow, deep within the north, bonds harden like frozen earth as truth begins to thaw.

HUNT HIS KIN

BURN THEIR YOUNG

COOK THEIR REMAINS

SACRIFICE HER SPAWN

AND HIS DYING SOUL WAS SPLIT AND SHARED AMONG ALL HIS KIN

RING HIS PRAISE

HALT THE INVASION