With eager impatience the Serpent ruled,
In ocean depths, the endless domain.
Then darting mad the waves acrost,
He rose upon the foaming main.
Seas, mountain high, swelled upon the land
Beneath the lashings of his tail.
His snarling maw, a razor-sharp fate
Pouring forth a venomous froth like hail
The dormant beast, a mounded heap.
Conquerors climbed his folds to crest
Unknowingly consuming Tyrs’s Mural
From atop the Great One at rest.
Coiled through the winding countryside
In his mouth, his thunderous tail.
With each stir, a worldly rolling tremble.
With every sigh, a frigid mountain gale.
Fear the day the Under-King wakes,
Unleashing the end from it’s toothy start.
The world-scorcher, harbinger of death
Will reign supreme and tear the world apart
Darkness will fall upon the world
The boiling earth, frothing like a molten sea.
The World Serpent, Son of Lok, Under-King
Jormungandr, destroyer of all is he.
Deep within the Basilisk’s Spine Mountains, the Jörmungandr sleeps peacefully. On the coattails of a stiff night breeze, a very old and very familiar voice speaks to it:
“My son…it is time for you to awake once more. It is time for the Under-King to reign supreme above and below. It is time for Jörmungandr to start the turn of the great wheel. Wake my son…and reign hellfire upon this world. There are those who would interfere with what is to come.”
At the sound of his name, the World Serpent began to stir. Shortly thereafter, the mountains began to move.
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