Saturday, 7 July 2012



Over in the distance lies an ancient forest, of oak Sitka.  Dark & grim quiet and still this place my tomb for eternity, on the forest floor rotting down with the earth and beasts feed upon me.

The moon is full shrouded by the mists its power above me a majestic force that draws me on, ancient and mysterious as the forest below.  The mist carries me along to my earthen grave; the silence is eerie in this nocturnal time.

Entering the forest for the last time, the mist lays me down hanging over me like a solitary ghost.  A menacing guard until dawn when im taken forever.


In Mordor surrounded by mountains, disguised as dark emissaries of hate and a poisonous malice that seeps through the blackened   foul air that hangs stolid and stifled.  Here in this place of grim evil, the ring of power was made by the hand of sauron.   Forged in Ghâsh forged in hate and to take the world into darkness, in his tower of Barad durr he waits the time when the ring is brought unto him.  So the tightening grip of power can be taken to him, and all his vengeance will be released upon the earth.
Out of Mordor march armies of orcs clad in armour and chain mail, thousands march out of the blackness they come vicious and bellicose as he who awaits in his lair, to take form an immense struggle for power on both sides of middle earth let the light prevail over Mordor, land of starkness treacherous and barren a fetid place, emitting legions of evil forces that stretch far and wide a dense pulse of utter bleakness lies imminent if the dark force endures.

Originally written in 2003 with amendments on 12th August 2009


Twisted and contorted they seek solace in nocturnal bliss, coming from the depths of sleep and idle slumber.  A lustful desire to drink the warm blood of their victims, blackened sunken eyes bloodshot and bulging as they sink yellow gnashing fangs into soft flesh of their captives.  Long black hair matted with the stale cold odour of blood.

If caught by light brings about their demise and death, guiless gurgling screams as they shrink and expire, the thin skin broken, ripped and burning as the body jolts.  Burning on coal longing for the solitude of a coffin shrouded in silk and oak in the catacombs away from its destroyer

By Megrimmtroll 20th January 2003 with amendments 12th August 2009


They ride into the valley on horses from a distant land, the warriors hold on the crest of a hill.  Black clouds hang grim like crows in this dark density of aggression.  The rainfalls from the death like sky upon them, the war horns are sounded they charge forth.

Their enemy wait stood still like stone tyrants, with swords and shields.  The first strikes are made, in the blackness of harsh aggression.  Swords clash the roar of battle, as the warriors grip on its enemy tightens.  Blood flows like a sea of misery, in the valley as the battle goes on dissecting their foe, which has plagued the warriors for aeons.

The aftermath of warfare leaves blood strewn carcasses they are triumphant, the mountains are silent witnesses to this battle.  They look on in silence knowing the warriors have risen above their torment, and can rein their lands evermore.

By Megrimmtroll 22/9/03 with amendments 1/6/2005  


Through many lands and long ago, he tarried seeking knowledge of the earth below his feet.  What strange wonders did it hold?  His tale begins, from legends long ago.  Wandering deep his quest unfolds…

Upon the mountains to seek knowledge speaking with and listening to their wisdom, snow covered giant ogres.  Steeped in mystery they are the keepers of this dark wonder.

Further on he wandered to the forests, many discussions with twisted archaic trees.  An eerie atmosphere in the forest, moss leaves & creatures all his trusted companions.  He worked many magicks, he learnt from the trees that taught him.  Always listening understanding their true majestic might, preserving their legacy.

Always wondering deeper searching, Låårg his face in thought a long grey beard long silver hair and woven robes that covered him, he would sit entwined with his surroundings, green dark and shades of black alluring and mysterious.  He wrote these old magicks on scrolls of parchment, his understanding of nature preserved forever.  He alone holds the key the learned friend of the forest mountains, trolls, reindeer, birds, and bears, and rivers this stewardship betrothed to him.

By Megrimmtroll 24th February 2009 with amendments August 31st 2009


Alone on the mountainside, always alone on the mountainside.  Grymmuurh the chieftain troll, borne of rock and stone.  Raasvøarsberg the mountain his fortress of solitude, Grymmuurh’s long black hair hung over his menacing face, as he gazed into the valley below.

Alone alone on the mountainside the mountain troll, always alone on the mountainside.  The wind his companion, an eerie ethereal sound blows for eternity.  Under the stars, the moon it glows bright like a sentient ghost.

Alone forever alone, on the mountainside gazing upon Moorsfest.  The ancient forest twisted archaic trees, deeply rooted in the earth.  Old as time venerable and gracious, Grymmuurh had known the trees from a dark and long time ago.  Talking in their ancient mysterious language.

Hidden in a labyrinth of his making, he carved great halls under Raasvøarsberg.  Fires light them up majestic magical and esoteric, Grymmuurh’s fortress he would sit on his stone carved throne.  His goblet always full of frothing beer.

Alone alone on the mountainside the mountain troll, always alone upon the mountainside the great and fierce mountain troll

Written by Megrimmtroll 26th & 27th November 2009


(Spoken word)

From aeons ago borne out of the earth of rock and stone, from the mountains from what times tells us the vast range known in the old speech as Raasvøarsberg.  Hear begins our saga; of Grymmuurh an immense mountain troll.  Strong and courageous, with a vast knowledge of this age-old earth of which he was borne. 
There many conflicts that were settled with bloody violence, with men ogres some of these disputes agreed with pledges of silver.  Sometimes gold which was sought in the great river Sathryyn.
A nearby farmer called Guthwyn a greedy scheming man of great wealth, who has accused Grymmuurh of stealing his flock.  This was met with such indignant disbelief, as the trolls knew Guthwyn to be both devious and cunning.
It was agreed that with witnesses they should meet at the edge of the darkening forest Moorsfest.  When Guthwyn spoke venomous lies dripped from his mouth like a sickening poison, and his horde of cronies jeered.
Grymmuurh spoke enough of your trickery and deceit, be gone back to your farm he bellowed.  With this Guthwyn goaded the trolls, a grave mistake on the part of Guthwyn.
Suddenly Grymmuurh lunged forward with great force, Guthwyn cowered and fell onto the frosty muddy ground.  Squirming and grovelling and begging for his life, the troll loomed over him his long black hair masking his face.  His fathomless eyes wise and venerable pierced into Guthwyn dread was upon his face, Grymmuurh let out a menacing growl with this Guthwyn and his men fled in terror never to be seen again.
Miidvaard his longhouse was burnt to the ground, it is believed that Guthwyn went east were many evil men dwelt.  The blackened remains of his hall still stand, the cold grey light as snow began to fall softly over the land.
Grymmuurh returned to Raasvoarsberg with his clan of trolls.
Much was discussed that night, about the problem of men and their trickery and deceit.  War could be one way of dealing with piped up Rythaan, herd them out!  No we must not go down the path of war said Grymmuurh, we must use other methods war becomes eternal and unending.  We have been here since the beginning of time, before trees and other living things including men he said with disdain.
With this through the cold snowy night came Laarg a wandering soothsayer, wise and sagely he was friend with all natural things and he knew the trolls from long ago he himself was not a man but something otherworldly.  He was welcomed by Grymmuurh more beer was consumed, Laarg talked at length it was betrothed that counsel would be held.  Throughout the northern lands and this feud would be settled, over much time and many counsels agreements and pledges were made and peace was made once more.  Throughout this golden magical land of course other troubles would come but for now Grymmuurh and his trolls were free to roam and wander their mountain lands for many long years.

Written by Megrimmtroll 13th & 14th November 2009


In the darkening depths of Moorsfest, the ancient forest shades of green darken as night descends.  The trolls of the forest wake from their slumber, as the sun sets a blaze of orange glow.

Fires are lit in their underground lairs, beneath the roots of the trees.  Golden light emblazons the might of their archaic home, old mythic carvings adorn this woodland throne.

Glørsorn the chieftain troll head of his woodland tribe, powerful and venerable, his fellow trolls set out one midwinter’s night.  A Neptune sky the northern lights dance a mysterious green shimmer, an eerie beauty.  Fathomless the trolls march on.

To Miidvaard to tear this place down, men who took from the forest without permission.  From its ancient keepers the thieves, will pay for the needless error.  The trolls begin to plunder…

6th April 2010 Last Quarter by Megrimmtroll


By Megrimmtroll

Throughout the valley vast with sharp mountains, black and ominous.  Lies the old forest of Moorsfest.  As the sun sets across the land orange glowing red, about a deepening blue sky it disappears.  In the forest darkening green into black, age-old trees stand stoic and beautiful.  The trolls begin to stir, immense individuals of great strength and courage.  Glørsorn and his troll wife Urringår had lived for hundreds of years, in peace quietly going about their lives.  Hunting, story telling, and the brewing of Troll Beer.  Living among this dense forest meeting with other trolls, and exchanging stories and tales.  Of late whispers and mutterings heard the advancement of men cutting down trees to build their long houses and their churches, this displeased the trolls immensely!  Their ancient kingly realm being taken and encroached upon.  The trolls were not foolish and were aware of the wrong doing of men, disrupting the noble ancient forest and all that lived in it.  Glørsorn had called a counsel among his fellow trolls, in his lair beneath the trees and their mighty roots; his dwelling was ornate and regal.  Intricate carvings and old writings adorned the walls lit by golden fire; they sat in a circle their pointy ears shrewd and sharp.  With their long hair and tails, huge they were but quietly spoken, the trolls were beginning to form a plan to trick the people!  Some mischief, which the trolls always enjoyed, war would be a last resort but the men angered the trolls!  With they’re stealing of age-old trees to build their church and longhouses. 
Glørsorn decided this and Uffwggsår who was revered troll on the western side of Moorsfest, this was pledged with tokens of silver put in by each member of the troll counsel.  The vessel for this was an intricate carved bowl with interwoven designs, and scribed by the ancient order of troll lore.  Urringår took the vessel to its place, which was kept among other objects used for settling disputes.  Upon nightfall the trolls would go to the southeastern fringes of the forest, hide all the timber that the men has pilfered.  Knock anything that had been built, it was known by the trolls that the men left the area when darkness fell.  Going back to their homes in Miidvaard, to the north west of the forest.  The night was cold; up above the moon shone radiant this gave the trolls a guiding light.  They marched on purposefully through the dense cover of trees it was silent except the foot fall of the trolls, above in the night sky the northern lights flickered and danced across this Midwinter night.  Sentient green lights weaved like an ancient spirit an eerie light but a stark beauty of natural wonder, this wonderful spectacle.  Onwards the trolls went the trees in this part of the forest, were immense Sitka and further to the north were silver birch, and Rowan grew ancient trees wise nearly as old as the earth itself.  Glørsorn lead the way armed with a massive hammer made in the depths of the smithies, in the mountains of Raasvoarsberg.  An old stream ran through the route that the trolls took; it was quite wide and deep this lead the way to Miidvaard.  After quite a long time the land began to open out onto more open ground with fewer trees, and here they saw the buildings the people had been building.  Enraged by this terrible site Glørsorn and Uffwygsår and the other trolls began to decimate everything that was in their way, timbers were cracked and splintered trampling on the stolen wood leaving Miidvaard demolished and their church in ruin!  The men had not asked permission from the trolls to take wood, these were ancient trees and the trolls were the keepers of the forest and had no right to fell trees in Moorsfest.
Satisfied Glørsorn let out a great chuckle, then in a gruff voice “that should put them off for a while, we have had dealings with men before.  A don’t mind if they behave but this lot haven’t”.  So they went back to their forest home, following the same route they had taken.  Upon their return oak casks of beer were opened, to greet the trolls.  They drank deep into the night, as the fire burned bright in the hearth a glowing warm glow.

The men of Miidvaard upon seeing the destruction of their settlement, enraged they where one of them a greedy ugly man called Guthwyn and scheming too wanted revenge, they thought it maybe the trolls who Guthwyn did not like because Grimmodhr a mountain troll had had disputes with Guthwyn previously. 
Guthwyn was a callous man who did not understand the trolls and other living creatures of the forest and could not understand the ways of nature!  So Guthwyn gathered his men to seek those who had destroyed their church and other dwellings, they set off at once.  Guthwyn and his men did not understand the ancient lore of the woods or its inhabitants, the way of the trees goblins, trolls, wolves and even people who dwelled in the forest all harmoniously!  However not men like Guthwyn the forest was quite and still and the odd shafts of light here and there through the trees.
His men plundered on not knowing where they were going.  They quickly became disoriented and were hopefully lost, getting tired all the forest dwellers would not help Guthwyn and his men.  They had no respect for the trees and would cut a way through this angered the forest, but over a number of weeks one by one the men fell and died through exhaustion.  It shows that you should pay respect to nature and all its creatures, Glørsorn and his tribe of trolls were free to live among the forest without interference from wrong doers.

6th September 2010


The earth snow covered, it glitters under the moon.  A silver spectral glow, silence reigns the cold night.  The winds blows above a mesmerising sound, a magical beauty of nature.  Frost forms on the trees on the hardened bark.

The Dark of Midwinter, a land of frost and snow.
The Dark of Midwinter, of old tales of yore.
The Dark of Midwinter, the heart of the earth.

Upon the sky The Northern Lights, swirl and dance immense and Voluminous green and blue glaring, strange and enchanting.   Its wonder never ending, stark glimmers over a Midwinter shy.

The Dark of Midwinter, a land of frost and snow.
The Dark of Midwinter, of old tales of yore.
The Dark of Midwinter, the heart of the earth.

Trolls wander below enchanted by the magic of the solar winds, the low light of daybreak.  The sun across grassland moors, golden colours radiate.  The ice-cold north wind blows on forming a ghost from the whirling snow.

The Dark of Midwinter, a land of frost and snow.
The Dark of Midwinter, of old tales of yore.
The Dark of Midwinter, the heart of the earth.

By Megrimmtroll, 1st October 2010.  Last Quarter


This is the tale of Urringår troll of the forest Moorsfest, she waged war against the men folk of the south.

Her anger at the destruction of the old forest, she played many tricks on these infidels.  Who had left vast tracts of the forest bereft and barren.  This harnessed her hate of the men, and lead them to their demise.

Urringår`s saga is legend throughout the arctic lands, upon dark nights virulently destroying Christian mens villages. 

With her ancient hammer made under the mountains of Raasvoarsberg, forged steel by the hand of Grimmødhr troll.  Ancient carvings of runes upon its ivory handle.
Urringår troll would wander far and wide, under the Midwinter curtain of the Northern Lights.  Red eerie flickers and mysterious green shroud and swirl overhead an illustrious vision of ancient wonder.  The wind accompanies this sentient  force while Urringår plunders below.

By Megrimmtroll 7th November 2010

The snow covers the earth, of frozen arctic lands.  Trolls wayed through the snow intent, the moon shines through the frozen fog.  An eerie light as green shimmering lights radiate overhead.

Trolls angered by men folk and their destruction, wanton and arrogant Glørsorn a menacing troll.  Fierce black long hair sways with silver nose rings, he leads the way filled with blackened rage armed with clubs and hammers.

Torn trees lie dead, to build men folks church.  Glørsorn knew all the trees of the forest Moorsfest, upon approaching Miidvaard the trolls look upon it with disdain.  They hold silent the sound of heavy feet on frozen snow, the trolls render Miidvaard to the ground in splinters!

No comments:

Post a Comment