Wyrd!
Wyrd!
Wyrd!
A Germanic Templist text. Sections:
Sagan Þeodiscra Goda:A collection of stories aboutthe gods.
Miscellanea:Religious essays, pictures of the gods,descriptions of the gods, conceptual pieces.
emplism is a neopagan religious doctrine created by me, The Author of Templist Canon, and
T
purportedly inspired by Hermes Trismegistus and the other gods.Templist Canonis the canonical text
of Templism. Wyrd! is attributed directly to me, though it might also be influenced by the gods.Templist
Canon PDF.
Introduction
The Templist Canon is a “basis” for the Templist religion. After studying the Templist Canon and initiating
himself into the tradition, the Templist may create his own regional or cyber myths, traditions, rituals,
magical systems, etc. These will allow Templists to practice the tradition in an inspiring way. Such
traditions and myths are non-canonical, but they must obey Canon.
This is the advantage of the Templist system. Other religions arebasedon stories, myths, proverbs,
unclear statements, mysticism, numerology, whatever. They are based on an inferior foundation, which is
adapted ad hoc, eventually becoming a muddled and idiotic bunch of rationalized nonsense. Templism is
based on a good foundation, i.e a meticulous and philosophical foundation. Its myths arewhollyad hoc
“flavorings” of the religious system, which are separate from and so cannot jeopardize its foundation.
This document is such a “flavoring”. It is written by me, The Author of Templist Canon. It is to be given
greater weight than similar documents written by others. After all, I know best how my tradition ought to
be expressed. However, this work is non-canonical, save for certain excerpts which are declared to be
canonical.
This document expects a working knowledge of Templist Canon. If you have not at least read the
following posts, you are going to get confused:15 Tenets of Templism,The Germanic Gods,The
Christian God,Becoming a Templist.
By The Author of Templist Canon
Introduction................................................................................................................................................0
SaganÞeodiscraGoda..............................................................................................................................2
Wodnesþyrel.........................................................................................................................................2
FlyhtManigraScearpraIsernraBeallatoTiwe......................................................................................6
HamdeallÆtAuschwitz.........................................................................................................................7
WollanCot.............................................................................................................................................8
VindexSaga...........................................................................................................................................9
IngGehyreþÞoneUþwitan..................................................................................................................34
NeorþesSæFaru................................................................................................................................37
ÞætEaluhusWodes............................................................................................................................39
FrowanFrowe......................................................................................................................................41
HoþesGewinn.....................................................................................................................................42
UllresSaga..........................................................................................................................................47
SeLaguNerða.....................................................................................................................................54
IngisGehwær......................................................................................................................................55
WiðorOfsliehþÞaHloþeras.................................................................................................................57
HeafodÞunor.......................................................................................................................................61
TiwWierpþIserneStan........................................................................................................................68
EostreÆtSeLaguNerða....................................................................................................................71
LogaGefiehtÞunorBeNiþingum........................................................................................................72
WodnesWodnes..................................................................................................................................77
FrigeGiefu...........................................................................................................................................80
BrægaSingeþUreSagan....................................................................................................................82
BældægWeorþaþCyningas................................................................................................................85
WæþMiðUlle......................................................................................................................................87
FrigeLæcehus.....................................................................................................................................88
LogaClimbþÞeBeorg.........................................................................................................................90
FositesÞing.........................................................................................................................................91
WodnesReordþing..............................................................................................................................97
TiwDanjou...........................................................................................................................................99
Miscellanea.............................................................................................................................................100
TheTheoryofSoldiers.......................................................................................................................100
TheMatterofSantaClaus.................................................................................................................102
TheAuthor-Year.................................................................................................................................104
Holidays.............................................................................................................................................104
Odin-Sight..........................................................................................................................................105
Odin-Trust..........................................................................................................................................105
Wode..................................................................................................................................................106
TheGodAnalogues...........................................................................................................................106
NuminousDescriptions......................................................................................................................112
Personability&Favors.......................................................................................................................118
GermanicPrayer................................................................................................................................119
MagicalAssociations.........................................................................................................................120
1
Sagan Þeodiscra Goda
The stories below might be true, or might be false. The important thing is that they faithfully represent the
gods, and serve as non-rational dissemination of Templist philosophy. These specific stories concern the
Germanic gods, because I have a particular attachment to this pantheon.
Templist god stories can only be created by authentic Templists. That is, initiates who are learned in
Templist philosophy. Preferably those who have also “disseminated” it (see Templist Canon,
Dissemination & Etc). Anything else is unlikely to represent the philosophy accurately, and is therefore
inauthentic, and worthless. A Templist god story is more authentic if created by a more authentic
Templist. By a priest, compared to a lay person. By a learned practicing Templist, compared to an
uninformed theoretical one. By myself, compared to anyone. This paragraph is CANONICAL.
Imagination of the stories may be enhanced if you readThe God AnaloguesandThe Great Worksfirst.
Wodnes þyrel
Imagine yourself standing in a grassy field. In front of you, to the left, stands a fort made of stone and
earth. Beyond it is a river, and beyond that river are a set of low hills. To your right, the green field
extends as far as the eye can see, with a small mound here or there.
Return your attention to the fort. It is a rounded square, small by typical standards, enough to contain
perhaps thirty odd people. Its left wall holds a circular tower, thatch roofed, with an open window facing
the interior. Its top wall, likely, contains the entrance, for a road extends past the river. There is likely a
bridge across the river, though you cannot see it. Upon this same wall stands a long green banner, Celtic
in design, with a triskelion symbol. Watch it flow in the wind.
But have you missed the most glaring feature? Look closer. The right wall has fallen down! Who knows
why. Poor weather, perhaps. Or rather, poor building. It is supposed to be a fort, after all. Nevermind the
reason, for you were not there to witness it. Focus on what you see: rocks and earth tumbled down in a
pile below the wall, leaving a gaping hole.
Warriors feverishly work to repair it, while sentries guard the ramparts. Most of them wear plaid pants,
sandals or bare feet, swords or knives, bare white chests. The lucky few appear to wear helmets.
Spears, shields, and other armor are leaned against the wall. A strong, masculine leader appears to
guide the men with great anger and urgency. Watch them build the wall.
See how they do not make a full repair. How they seem intent onmerely closing the gap, throwing rocks
upon it as fast as they can to create an impromptu barrier. Is this some kind of mistake? A failure of
diligence? No, it is a strategy. But why are they playing it?
2
As the sentry’s horn sounds I bid you to look right. There approaches a GERMANIC ARMY, about one
hundred strong. It marches in ranks, faintly perceptible. Behind them sits a man on a brown horse, and
beside him, a standard bearer. Only two things are noticeable to you. First, the helmet of the mounted
man, its golden brilliance shining in the sun, long golden horns protruding upward. Second, the triangular
brown flag of the standard bearer, Germanic in character, bearing the symbol of a raven.
Now look left. The Celts scramble for their weapons, dropping rocks and earth to the ground, trying to
scramble behind the incomplete low wall they have created. The wall’s irregularity makes it hard for them
to form behind it, much to the fury of their leader. The meager sentries ready their bows, and-
Something is shouted by the horseman! Look right again! The Germanians break ranks slightly, running
forward in one large group, nearing closer to their enemy. The horseman begins to trot. A few meager
arrows fly towards them. They stop, holding their shields aloft. Nobody is injured. As they wait, perhaps
catching their breath, you can observe them more closely.
Look at the mounted man, and see his identity. It is WOTAN, father of Germania. The leather cheek
guards of his helmet are beautifully adorned with gold inlays. He views the battlefield, sagely, with one
eye, his damaged eye exposed to view. A spear rests in his hand. His tall and healthy body, covered in
practical clothing, seems slightly too large for his horse. His soldiers, stood in front of him, wear tunics,
pants or sometimes no pants, leather or linen shoes, some with tartans over their shoulder. Those in
front are more heavily armored, with helmets, hauberks, and long hexagonal shields. They are the most
exhausted from the running exercise, recovering under their shields as scant showers of arrows fly
worthlessly around them.
Wotan shouts something in an archaic German language. A command. You should hear something like:
“Furþoþ furþa!”
His soldiers begin to advance slowly. The Celtic leader no longer has time to wrangle his soldiers behind
the wall. He yells angrily for them to stand in front of the opening instead. They form a semicircular line
around it, leaving some reserves behind the wall. One reserve is armed with a sling. The leader stands in
the middle of the circle as his warriors begin to shout battle cries and insults at the enemy. The
Germanians advance silently.
They make contact with their enemy. Though fewer in number, the Celts have more spearmen, while the
Germanic front line has a greater ratio of swords. They surround the Celtic line, trying to press it at the
corners, near the wall. The Celtic reserves duly reinforce these corners. The sentries are capable of
more accurate fire now, while their enemy is close and distracted. They make a couple of kills. The
sling-warrior lands a hit upon a Germanian helm, knocking out a spearman. The Celtic leader stands in
3
the middle, intervening when necessary, as his line continues to thin out and his reserves continue to
deplete. Watch the melee unfold.
More Celts arrive! They come suddenly from around the top side of the fort, about twenty in number. You
must have missed them as they made their way down the road, so focused on the violence you were.
Behind them comes a Celtic horseman. They begin to attack the Germanian right flank, the element of
surprise on their side. The right flank begins to fare badly. The Celts are encouraged. Wotan shouts
another Germanic command:
“Manniz innai bakai, blotid sek!”
Watch. The Germanic rear breaks ranks, running around and behind the right-flanking enemy as if to rout
in a terribly inadvisable direction. Some even drop their shields to run faster. The enemy rear turns. The
breakaway-Germanians turn abruptly, running into the enemy rear. The Celtic horseman is toppled from
his panicking horse. The breakaway-Germanians put up a fight in which they are terribly slaughtered.
Yet, the Germanic right flank gains ground. It cuts the enemy down until the remaining few run back
where they came from. A few of the breakaways survive to meet with their right flank, but the rest have
died so that their race could win.
This distraction disposed of, the frontal melee is resolved easily. The Celts, including their leader,
surrender. By Wotan’s command the Germanians round them up and restrain them. Men are bound hand
and foot. One man is bound, arms outstretched in a “T” position, to his spear, with the tip stuck deep into
the ground. The Germanians think this is funny. Wotan smiles condescendingly at their antics. Soldiers
go into the fort to search for stragglers. Enemy weapons are piled up. The fallen are cared for. Soldiers
are sent to round up the inhabitants of nearby cottages. The remaining soldiers appear to bewaitingfor
something. No need to wait yourself - go take a short break, and come back to the story later.
You have returned.
It is dusk now. All of the soldiers have returned from their missions. The prisoners, numbering about
sixty, sit in a line before the fort. They are warriors, farmers, their wives and children. Among them sits a
Celtic nobleman, wearing a gold circlet. The victors found him in the tower in your absence, but you likely
knew he was there. Small piles of loot are strewn about, organized by nature and quality. The fallen lay
on a pyre. Mounted Germanic sentries have arrived to scout the area in case of enemy reprisal. As the
setting sun lies in front of you, look to your right. A very tall figure begins to approach. It wears a pointed
hat.
FREY quickly approaches the scene with his long legs. His thin body is clad in a shirt and a long open
robe, flowing in the wind. He wears breeches, showing the thinness of his lower legs. All of his attire is
4
white, except his upper breeches, which are red. Except his pointed hat, which is red with a white ball on
top. His angular beard, too, is red.
He comes near to Wotan, standing almost as tall as the mounted king of the gods. His hat makes him
stand even taller. They begin to have a casual conversation, smiling at each other. This event is nothing
to them. Frey turns and says something to the Germanians, though you cannot make it out. It was
apparently very witty.
Wotan dismounts. With a long torch, he approaches the pyre. Extending his right hand, he ignites the
torch as his soldiers watch. Then, he lights the pyre. The bodies begin to burn. The smoke billows, and
the stench of burning flesh abounds. You can even smell it now.
Frey extends his arms. Within his vast arm span, he begins to collect the smoke into a cloud. He collects
more, and more. More still, until the cloud is as black as night. He pulls his arms inward, before pushing
them outward. The smoke cloud expands throughout the local sky, raining down pestilence. Some begin
to fall ill. Others are immune. The weaklings, the undesirables, the unvirtuous, those unworthy of their
conquerors, begin to cough. They are coughing their own blood, as their lungs begin to break. They
begin to drown. Their choked cries fill the air. Children gurgle helplessly for their mothers. The immune
weep inconsolably. The Germanians stand with hard hearts. Trained, as they are, to face such horrors
without remorse, they watch. For, they know the nature of dishonorable warfare. They know that the
BELGAE refuse to abide by Germanic honor. That they would, given the chance, inflict the same. This is
not their fault. It is not “immoral”. The Belgae chose a strategy. It is the strategy played by the
overwhelmingly superior. The Belgae were not overwhelmingly superior. It was the wrong strategy, and
now mutual consideration is out of the question.
As the undesirables are extinguished, the smoke clears. Left, are the victors, and their subjects. Frey
collects the assorted war spoils into a large bag. He leaves in the direction from which he came. The
Celtic nobleman kneels, weeping. Wotan issues a command to a particular soldier. He draws his knife,
and cuts his throat. Wotan issues another command. He removes the dead nobleman’s circlet, and
places it upon the head of the Celtic war leader. Promotions create loyalty. Those who remain will serve
Germania. The raven flag flies above the fort. Eburones.
The population that followed from this battle, and from the larger conquest that it was part of, became
partly Germanic, partly Celtic. In terms of genetic strategy, of which Wotan is a master and Frey is the
custodian, this is an “outpost” of Germanic blood that was mixed with a diversified Celtic vector, itself
similar to the Germanic stock to begin with. Sometimes, total conquest is not possible. Germania did not
have the population to colonize Belgica nor to field the additional manpower necessary to manage the
conflict that would follow. This would have been a trifling gain, anyway, since the Celtic Belgians were
already quite similar to their Germanic neighbors. Instead, they eliminated the undesirables, and
placated the virtuous with gifts and promotions, so as to ensure that their new hybrid population was
5
mixed with only the best, those worthy of the victors, whose descendants would carry the Germanic
genes well. Especially, those who were already quite similar to the Germanians in character, since it is
characters, or virtues, that a people wish to preserve, not merely a name, flag, or banner.
Flyht Manigra Scearpra Isernra Bealla to Tiwe
The Swedish volunteer rushes out into the open from behind cover. His squadmates behind him are
suppressed by numerous enemies and will soon be assaulted and captured, or worse. He is immediately
shot through the lung and the collarbone, but forces himself forward as he fires upon the enemy,
shooting one through the helmet, forcing the others behind cover. He is shot several more times, forcing
him to the ground, as he fires consistently. As bullets destroy his body, he uses the remaining control he
has to throw a stick hand grenade before he perishes. The situation is now reversed. His squad follows
up his attack with an assault, causing the cowering enemy to surrender.
The winners’ fury is tamed by the memory of their fallen hero. He would not have wanted fellow soldiers
to be treated harshly. The enemy surrendered, so execution would be dishonorable. The gruppenführer
ensures that his will is carried out, so that he will live as a legend even in the minds of his enemies.
Tiw loves the tribe of soldiers, those with soldiering qualities. Beyond nations, borders, and geopolitical
disputes, this tribe plays the game of war according to, so Tiw hopes, a set of rules that preserves and
respects the warrior stock, that refuses to make them ruthless pawns of the political class or of other
civilian tribes.
Yet, “soldiers” is not the only tribe - let us not be excessively poetic! Tiw also cares about the tribe of
Europeans. This is why European soldiers naturally, uninhibited by politics, display honor amongst
themselves, yet often commit great massacres against foreign armies. For, it is total tribal similarity that
engenders respect, and in some cases the similarity of warrior-types does not outweigh total dissimilarity.
It is natural for European warriors to regard each other as contestants in a fun, lethal game, but to regard
distantly related warriors from far away as like bugs, who it is not fun to fight, only fun to kill.
The European warrior has been a scourge to his enemies for this reason: that he maintains a large
warrior caste, preserved by honor amongst itself, strengthened by continual war within itself, that can
coalesce with its honorable competitors when the need arises to defeat a foreign, hated,
beneath-European enemy with utter ruthlessness. It is possible (but this document is not canonical) that
the Empire, spanning as it will over the whole Indo-European world, will be such an occasion; the utter
global domination of lesser races, perhaps forcing them to fulfill galactic objectives, to give up galactic
resources, for the destiny of the Faustian race.
6
Hamdeall Æt Auschwitz
Heimdall stands upon the guard tower at the Auschwitz-Birkenau labor and concentration camp in the
heavy rain. He wears a “zeltbahn” military poncho, a helmet, and a standard Wehrmacht uniform,
carrying a Kar98k infantry rifle. He has been posted here due to a guard shortage. The environment is
currently treacherous, with Soviet POWs operating a smuggling operation from the nearby salvage
camp, bringing unauthorized food and supplies to Auschwitz. He must watch out for intruders, or anyone
trying to leave the camp.
It is raining very hard, but thankfully there is a roof above him. He relaxes at the top of the guard tower,
smoking a cigarette while maintaining his usual vigilance. Thunder roars outside of the tower. Many
moments pass. He watches the little patch of wilderness outside of the camp. He watches inside of the
camp to make sure all is in order. He turns back to the wilderness. Spotting a little light, through the
wilderness, he takes a closer look. A flashlight! He could alert the other guards or…surely he can handle
this himself? He is a god, after all. He descends from the tower and heads to the exit of the camp. He
passes by some guards, who greet him amicably. He greets them back, giving them no indication of what
is going on.
In the rain, he passes through the short patch of grass between the camp and the trees. Coming to the
edge of the wood, he readies his weapon. Stepping carefully, he advances into the woods. The flashlight
dies down, but he knows where it was. He comes close to that spot, and calls out: “Wer ist da? Zeigt
euch!” A pistol bullet cracks from his right side, followed by several more. They penetrate his fleshy body,
and he dies before he can ascertain what is going on.
Heimdall returns to the realm of the gods. Woden greets him.
Woden: You died, Heimdall.
Heimdall, downcast: Yes, I did.
Woden: It appears that you got too cocky. We gods are immortal, not all powerful. You cannot rush into
any situation and expect to win. Not you, especially.
Heimdall: Yes, sir. I’m sorry.
Woden: You must do better next time. Although I do not lament your loss. The Germans are going to lose
soon, anyway. Nothing has been lost, only experience has been gained.
Heimdall, uplifted slightly: Yes sir!
7
Wollan Cot
You have been walking, and you are weary. A heavy pack on your back. You come to a small stone
cottage in the hills. It is barren, with nothing else around but the green landscape. You pass a mailbox to
arrive at the door. A crude wooden door. You knock, not too hard, lest you break it. A woman answers the
door. She is short, and very beautiful. She instantly knows that you are in need of rest. She gently,
slightly, barely gestures for you to come inside as if her intentions are implied. The door is open as she
begins to attend to something on the counter. You enter.
It is a single room, very small. A thatched roof. A kitchen in the right corner of the house, consisting of a
long wood countertop, with a sink, and a wood stove. On the left, a bed, and next to that a round table
with two chairs, the nearest chair facing outward. You set your pack down by the door. Standing
awkwardly in the middle of the room, for a moment, you must bow your head so that it does not hit the
ceiling. She quickly turns from what she is doing to guide you into the chair closest to the center of the
cottage - “you may sit here, yes, of course” - she returns to her kitchen. You sit in the old wooden chair
and relax as she begins to boil something on the wood stove. There is a small, square window to your
right, near the table, that overlooks the aimless hills. It looks as if you are at the edge of the Earth,
almost.
Volla begins to make conversation as she waits for her pot to boil. She asks what you are doing out
today. “Just out for a hike”, you say. “Where are you hiking to?”, she asks. “I…don’t know”, you say,
confronted with a question that you are surprised not to have considered. “Oh…that’s ok!”, she replies.
You spend a few moments talking about hiking, nature, and adventure, before your oatmeal is ready. She
places it on the table behind you, with a wooden spoon, so that you have to turn your chair to sit at the
table. You test the oatmeal. It is hot, and well seasoned. You begin to feel that feeling of
warmth-despite-cold, in the presence of your oatmeal, in a room heated by the wood stove. Perhaps it
has gotten a bit colder, as the wood from the stove has burned out. Some vegetables are placed beside
you.
You eat the vegetables, and begin to eat the oatmeal as it cools somewhat. It warms your body, so you
must remove your coat. You place it around the chair. Volla places a cup of tea beside your meal. You
don’t touch it, because the oatmeal is sufficiently hot and watery itself, though not watery on an absolute
scale - just right, as far as oatmeal goes. Volla sits across from you after finishing up some cleaning, with
a satisfied smile on her face. She watches you eat. “What?” you say with mirthful aggression. “Nothing”,
she says. “I am just happy that you are satisfied. Will you be staying the night?” You look out the window,
and notice that it is sunset already. “I suppose, yes.” You scan the room, thinking about the sleeping
situation. There is only one bed, and it is much too small for you. She follows your gaze. “You can sleep
on the floor with your bedroll there”, pointing to your pack.
You spend some time talking to her. She apologizes for giving you tea, since it did not complement the
oatmeal. Attempting to entertain you, she pulls out a violin. “Would you like to hear a song?” “Yes”, you
8
say. She positions herself to play, bringing her chair to the other side of the cottage, so that she sits in the
kitchen across from you. About to rub the bow onto the violin, she looks up at you: “do you really?”
“I…no”, you say honestly. She laughs and puts the violin away.
You go outside to stretch your legs, looking at the falling night outside of the cottage. She remains inside,
doing who knows what. The fiber of the oatmeal has run through your intestines. You feel the urge to
relieve yourself. You go to the door, cracking it open for a moment: “can I use your outhouse?” “Of
course”, she replies. You walk to the outhouse a ways behind her cottage. The door closed, you enjoy a
relieving, fibrous stool. Alone, in the outhouse. You finish and return to the cottage. It is night. Your
bedroll has been placed on the floor, with your pack as its pillow. Volla stands in the dim candlelight. “Do
you need anything else?” “No thanks”, you say. “Actually, some water?” She fetches a small cup of water.
You drink it. She stands attentively. You give it back to her. She puts it away. You disrobe into your
sleeping layer. She puts away your nonessential items, organizing them neatly.
You lay into your bedroll. Volla stands above you. She turns to blow out the candles. Darkness covers
you, save for the moonlight. You can dimly see her, standing above you. “Volla”, you say. “Yes?” “Please
stop standing above me.” “Oh. Sorry”, she apologizes, before turning to the kitchen, quietly pretending to
busy herself. Evidently there is nothing left for her to do, except watch you.
You are awoken the next morning by the gentle sound of birds, refreshed. Volla sleeps on the bed by
your side. You quietly go to the outhouse to relieve yourself before dressing. She remains asleep, even
though you had forced the door open a bit too loudly upon your return. You rub your face and stretch,
about ready to go. You roll up your bed, return it to your pack, and set back out on…whatever it was you
were doing.
Vindex Saga
Nero kills and persecutes Christians. He threatens Woden’s plan. He is hateful to the senate, who he
tries to exceed at every turn, and whose members he kills and intrigues against. He is hateful even to his
own people, whose money he squanders. The superstitious nature of his people causes them to paint
him as an even worse villain, with conspiracy theories abounding that he started the Great Fire of Rome,
that he was responsible for every missing person and mysterious accident. The Empire is weak. The war
in Parthia was lost. Control over Armenia was lost. Rome’s international standing is poor. Rome’s fiscal
standing is poor. Grain prices have risen. People blame their leader. Taxes and tyranny attempt to
compensate. These are opportunities to be exploited - a persecutor of Christians who is weak, an Empire
that is prone to civil war, a dynasty that can have its continuity ruined, sending Rome on a spiral of
unstable succession conflicts that would disable it forever, and so pave the way for the great Germanic
usurpation, for medieval Europe. Woden sends hisTopSoldier, and son, to fight on his behalf.
Cassius Dio says:
9
“Also the inhabitants of Britain and of Gaul, oppressed by the taxes, were becoming more vexed and
inflamed than ever.
There was a Gaul named Gaius Julius Vindex, an Aquitanian, descended from the royal race and by
virtue of his father's status a Roman senator. He was powerful in body and of shrewd intelligence, was
skilled in warfare and full of daring for any great enterprise; and he had a passionate love of freedom and
a vast ambition. This was the man who stood at the head of the Gauls.”
Vindex, the governor of Gallia Lugdunensis, Decimus Decius Falco, the governor of Aquitania, and
Numerius Julius Belgicus, the governor of Belgica, are to meet at Lugdunum in Gallia Lugdunensis. On a
large circular terrace near the edge of the hill across from Insula Basilicale, near the Ancient Theatre of
Fourviere below, Vindex and Falco sit in metal chairs across a round metal table. Their location is
approximate to where the “Lugdunum museum” aka “Gallo-Roman Museum of Lyon-Fourviere” stands
today. Guards stand at either side of the terrace entrance, ensuring that no visitors enter the meeting
area, which is typically public. The governors are waiting for Belgicus. Traveling from Belgica can be
difficult. They sit in an awkward silence. The assistant of Falco is off somewhere in the distance, by the
park adjacent to the terrace. His bodyguard leans lazily on the balustrade of the terrace, a ways behind
him. Vindex gazes at the theater to his right, or across it, viewing the vista. Falco’s rounded stomach
bulges through his expensive toga, white with a large purple stripe. His Italian olive skin shines bronze in
the sun. He fidgets his fat fingers nervously.
Falco: This is a nice terrace. What is this, glazed clay? Or, no…marble maybe. Yeah, some exotic form of
marble. Or maybe sandstone. I don’t know, that’s what I hire the builders for, right? Haha.
Vindex: Yeah.
Falco: You know I’m thinking about putting something like this in my villa. The second villa, that is. Haha,
not the first one. That's what I call it, I call it the first villa, and the second villa. You know, as in when the
wife is too loud at the first villa, you go to the second villa. Ha, I’m just kidding, I love my wife dearly. Are
you married?
Vindex: No.
Falco: Well I tell you Vindex- can I call you Vindex, or is it Julius Vindex?
Vindex: Sure.
Falco: Well, Vindex, having a wife is the biggest blessing and the biggest curse, that’s what I always say,
I always tell people-
10
Vindex: He’s here.
Belgicus enters. He is a native Belgian, dressed rusticly in a tunic rather than a toga, although it is a nice
tunic, and wearing light leather armor and a sword. Vindex stands.
Vindex: Numerius Julius Belgicus, thank you for arriving. I know that the roads your way are not so very
good, so no worries about the arrival time. You can sit in my seat, there are only two.
Belgicus: Gaius Julius Vindex, thank you sir. I am glad to be hosted here. It is nice, to be honest, to be
away from those rustic lands for a moment…though not too long. No, please, you sit. I’ve been on my
feet anyway. Decimus Decius Falco, hello.
Vindex, indifferently: Sit in the chair.
Belgicus sits down and finishes greeting Falco. Falco exchanges a joke that Belgicus pretends to laugh
at. Vindex stands at the table between them, facing the entrance to the terrace, the vista behind him.
Falco: So, now that we can get down to business, I think we all know why we are here.
Vindex: Do you?
Belgicus: Yes Vindex, you want to be rid of Nero.
Falco: Very brave! I would not have said it so forwardly myself.
Vindex: Am I really so transparent?
Belgicus & Falco: Yes!
Vindex: Alright, yes. I suppose no great preamble is necessary. You know taxes are high, especially
here. It is obvious that the man is not competent. What better place for “it” to start? What do we think of
this proposition?
Falco: What proposition?
Vindex: Don’t play around.
Falco: Haha, right. Sorry. Ok, I would say- no, um, that just isn’t feasible for me.
Vindex: Why?
11
Falco: Because it just isn’t, I’m just, I don’t see why we have to all be fighting all the time. You know,
some stuff in the Empire is bad, I get it, but I don’t want to be in the business of fighting, you know,
putting my family in danger. That’s my family, you know, how am I supposed to jeopardize that? Why
can’t we all just enjoy ourselves a little, you know, like what’s the point in all this bloodshed? Because we
lost [to - this is how he spoke] the Parthians? So what!? I don’t see what that has to do with Gaul.
Vindex: Gaul is part of the Empire.
Falco: I mean, and? What’s your point?
Vindex: A reduction in the quality of the Empire is a reduction in the quality of Gaul. Unless the reduction
in the quality of the Empire were to do with the tyranny of Gaul over the Empire, which it isn’t. But-
Falco: Hey now, what’s this about Gaul tyrannizing over the Empire? I love the Empire as much as the
next, I mean I love Gaul as much as the next guy, but if it’s gonna be this Gallic supremacy stuff then I’m
not interested. You know I wouldn’t want to report this to the Emperor, but if that’s how it's going to be
then I might have to consider it.
Vindex: I am not advocating Gallic supremacy. I am merely using it as an example to discourse on
Imperial decline. If the Empire was exploited to benefit Gaul, that would be an example of an action that
reduces the quality of the Empire, but does not reduce the quality of Gaul. Not necessarily, anyway.
Falco: Oh.
Vindex: But in any other case, as in this case, a reduction in the quality of the Empire, even a distant part
of the Empire, reduces Imperial power, and thus reduces the power that protects Gaul. Not that I even
need to theorize on this matter - it is the case that the loss of Armenia has produced material
consequences for Gaul in terms of taxes and Imperial tyranny, you cannot deny that.
Falco: Well, maybe, but I think this is all just gonna blow over. If you guys don’t fuck shit u- sorry, I mean
if you guys don’t mess everything up by causing unrest. I think you’re going to get yourselves killed, if
you do that. Vindex, I mean, sorry Belgicus I know you haven’t said anything yet. I don’t want to be a part
of that. Like I said, I’m not telling anybody. I don’t want violence on either side, I just want to- I just want
to participate in the splendor of Rome, my birthplace, my civilization, my place. Aquitania is my
responsibility and I have to focus on that. Besides, Vindex, you don’t even have any legions, so what are
you gonna do?
Belgicus: That’s true, what are you going to do without any legions? This is a fool’s errand.
Vindex: We can raise armies regardless, from Belgica especially. Once it starts, others who do have
legions will follow. We will send letters to them. The discontent is widespread, as I am sure that you are
12
aware. There are surely plenty of governors with legions who would be interested. I have been thinking
about Galba.
Belgicus: As a war ally?
Vindex: As a candidate for Emperor.
Falco: You know what, I’ve had enough of this. Galba? Why? Here I thought you wanted to be Emperor,
and you were offering for us to be your buddies. You know, you bring me here and you insult me, ask me
to go on this suicide mission so GALBA can be Emperor? I don’t even know Galba! I- sorry, I don’t mean
to get fired up, it’s just, wow. Let me tell you this: if I see you, or even hear about you, sending letters to
Galba, I am going to inform. The Emperor’s gonna know! If you don’t, then fine, but if you do- I mean if
you declare yourself Emperor, or another Gaul even, that’s one thing, but I don’t want some Hispanus
coming up here and fucking my shit up! And don’t go declaring me Emperor either, ‘cause I don’t want it!
I’m telling you, do not. Contact. Galba. You get it? If you don’t then like I said, it’s fine, we’re fine, but I
cannot let this “Galba” shit happen, Vindex, I’m not gonna stand by that.
Vindex: Ok.
Decius Falco stands up, sweating profusely, and gestures for his guard to follow him as he leaves. He
thanks Vindex for hosting him as a nervous afterthought once he is a couple steps away.
Belgicus: I am inclined to agree with that. No Galba.
Vindex: Why?
Belgicus: Galba is not popular with the Germani. He treated them harshly when commander of the
legions in Germania Superior. There are some Germani in Belgica, as you know, and even the Belgae
there are sometimes sympathetic to the Germani. Sometimes they are partially Germanicus, like me.
Things are different there. It’s not like here. Soldiers don’t only care about money and authority. If I tell
them to fight for Galba they would rather die than take money from me.
Vindex: I think you are exaggerating. The vast majority of Belgae are not of this type. They are quite
removed from whatever happened in Germania Superior - how long ago?
Belgicus: Thirty years ago. Still, I’m not prepared to do that. There could be unrest. Any amount of unrest
from those Germani could be my undoing. They have an practically endless supply of warriors back in
Germania to pull from.
Vindex is silent for a moment, thinking.
13
Belgicus: Look Julius Vindex, I am not going to tell the Emperor, either. Not at all, actually. You have my
word of honor on that, as we already gave our word of honor to keep confidential whatever was said
today. But I cannot participate in this scheme of yours, sorry. And if Nero should have me fight against
you, then that is what I will do.
Vindex: Fine, I understand. I suppose this scheme was not meant to be, after all. Will you do me a favor?
If you catch up to Decimus Decius again, can you smooth things over with him? Make sure he knows
that I will not pursue this Galba thing any further? You know the Italians, they speak in such indistinct
terms that you can never tell exactly what they mean. I want to make sure he is not going to tell the
Emperor about me. Thank you for coming.
Belgicus: Haha, yes, they do not so much speak in “terms” at all, but rather all of their statements
conglomerate into balls of emotion, vaguely comprehensible intentions. I understand this well, it is hard
to tell when you have crossed a line with a race that cannot logically communicate lines. His response to
your actions is not based upon the extent to which your actions correspond to unacceptable objective
conditions, but upon the extent to which your actions fill the meter of his cholera. I will seek him out in
fact, to calm his emotions before I leave the city. Thank you too, for the opportunity I suppose.
…
There was nothing to stop Gaius Vindex from sending letters to Galba, or to anyone else. It is not as if
Decimus Decius was going to intercept them. There was a problem, though, in that Vindex did not
actually know if Galba would accept the nomination for Emperor. If he did not, then he would be obligated
to forward Vindex’s letters to Nero, since not doing so would be tantamount to treason anyway.
Going to see him in personwouldbe too high profile, and would probably alert Decius if not everyone in
Gaul. Besides which, he had duties to attend to, and it would be highly suspicious to abandon these in
order to go see Galba.
But what if he could force Galba’s hand? Place him in an impossible position, where the only prudent
choice is to accept Vindex’s nomination?
Vindex hung out by the institutions of high society in Lugdunensis, sitting silently. His presence, as
governor, was of course always welcome. He listened to conversations, inserting himself into them and
then passively observing them, saying nothing. Sometimes, he dressed as a commoner, or someone
less than himself, and in this disguise he paid other commoners, or nobles low enough not to recognize
him, to ask innocuous questions of other nobles regarding the friends and social connections of Livius
Ocella Sulpicius Galba.
It did not take long to find two suitable candidates:
14
Decimus Valerius Asiaticus, alegatusin Belgica
and
Quintus Julius Cordus, a former governor of Cyprus residing in Hispania, currently unappointed and
serving among thecomitesof Galba, something thatis below his station.
Vindex wrote letters to both of these men. To Quintus Julius Cordus, he merely innocuously introduced
himself, since he did not not want to risk offending a man so close to Galba with any schemes or plots
until he knew that he would play along. To Decimus Valerius Asiaticus, he sent an announcement that he
would like to travel to Belgica to meet him, if this met with his approval. He received a letter of approval in
response.
…
Vindex approaches Asiaticus in a makeshift hall within a crude military “fortlet”, constructed of wood.
Asiaticus is dressed in his ornate military attire, which is probably not his typical uniform. He is a Gaul. By
some accounts, his father was the first Gaul to serve as consul, and to be admitted to the Senate. Vindex
wears his senatorial garb, a white tunic and toga with broad purple stripes each.
Asiaticus: Gaius Julius Vindex!
Vindex: Yes, Decimus Valerius Asiaticus, nice to meet you.
Asiaticus: Someone like you, wanting to meet somewhere like this? This must be good.
Vindex: It is, yes.
Asiaticus: Well on with it! I’m not one for small talk.
Vindex: Good. Although- would you give me an apple or something first?
Asiaticus: You’re hungry?
Vindex: Yes, and furthermore, it is best to build at least some rudimentary level of trust before I tell you
what I am about to tell you.
Asiaticus: Becoming shy are you?
Vindex: Perhaps. Won’t you get me an apple?
15
Asiaticus: This is a military camp. You think we keep apples around here?
Vindex: If there is an apple tree nearby, I am certain that you do.
Asiaticus: I will be right back.
Asiaticus returns with a wooden bucket full of apples, setting it at Vindex’s feet. He takes an apple
himself, and begins to bite it.
Asiaticus: Take your pick, Vindex.
Vindex searches through the bucket for the best apple, picking out one that is to his liking.
Asiaticus: Is this some type of esoteric governor's mind trick?
Vindex: Just about. One can learn a lot about the character of a person from simple actions. What would
I have thought, if you were to have brought me one rotted apple, and presented it to me with sarcastic
glee? I would have walked away from this meeting before it started. But you behaved considerately,
perhaps even deferentially, in your own way.
Asiaticus: I will have to remember that one Gaius Julius.
Vindex: How would you like to be governor of Gallia Belgica?
Asiaticus: How would you like to be king of Parthia?
Vindex: What is your relationship with the current governor?
Asiaticus: Not bad, not good.
Vindex: So if he were to be killed?
Asiaticus: I wouldn’t mind if I gained from it.
Vindex: I will support you for governor. And Nero?
Asiaticus: Are you asking about my relationship with Nero?
Vindex: Yes.
16
Asiaticus: Fuck Nero, if I can gain from it.
Vindex: Let me dispose of the current governor in my own way. No rebellion. You will be poised to
assume his position. Pretend that you are “restoring order”, if necessary. This will naturally place you at
odds with the Emperor, so I will simultaneously declare aGallic rebellion, and I will raise auxiliary troops
for this purpose shortly after disposing of Belgicus. You will have some time, in the chaos, to pose as
“merely restoring order” before everyone figures out it's a usurpation. I could use your legion.
Asiaticus: Why not just attack him head on? It’s going to come to it one way or the other. You think
people are going to fall for that “restoring order” crap? Anyone loyal to Belgicus and to Emperor Nero is
going to attack me one way or the other. Better to seize the initiative.
Vindex: You say that with such certainty, but it’s not certain. There’s no harm in it, doing it my way. It
might make things easier. There is a big difference, psychologically, between a warlord who battles his
way into office, and a legatus who steps in to restore order after a murder. Even, between a warlord, and
a legatus who usurps power after a political murder. A warlord who battles his way into office primes his
enemy’s mind for war, and forces it upon him. A legate [authentic mistake, legate and legatus are
different positions] who “restores order” projects different protocols onto other people’s minds, and gives
them the opportunitynotto make war if they shouldso choose. There is no downside to it, like I said,
other than you lose this unimportant factor of “initiative” as you call it. Is seizing office under lawful
pretexts immediately after I kill someone not “initiative” enough for you?
Asiaticus: You are a master Vindex! But I am still not interested as of yet. We would need at least one
more province, I think.
Vindex: Yes, I was getting to that. Before we do any of this, we need to contact Quintus Julius Cordus, in
Hispania, and get him to take the governorship of Aquitania after I execute the same scheme there. He
doesn’t have an army behind him, though, so I propose to use your legionaries to execute his coup.
Asiaticus: Why not your auxiliaries, great commander?
Vindex: You know that auxiliaries are less reliable.
Asiaticus: Yes, this does require discretion. I am not willing to spare many.
Vindex: You do not have to spare many. In fact I would prefer if you keep as many of them here as
possible. After the initial takeover, they can be replaced with auxiliaries raised from the province itself.
Asiaticus: These assassinations, are you certain that you can pull them off?
17
Vindex: Yes.
Asiaticus: Will they happen at the same time?
Vindex: Yes.
Asiaticus: How?
Vindex: Let me worry about that.
Asiaticus: I am not persuaded by “let you worry about that”, I have to know that this is a competent plan.
Vindex: Fair enough. I am going to duel Numerius Julius Belgicus today. As per the conditions of this
duel, he is going to exile himself from Belgica at my command. He will do so as soon as he receives
word of the death of Decimus Decius Falco, the governor of Aquitania.
Asiaticus: Is that a joke?
Vindex: No. There is no sense arguing about it. I know you don’t believe me. Why don’t you come with
me, witness it yourself? If I win, you follow through with the plan, if I lose, you carry on as normal.
Asiaticus: But then Belgicus will know that I plotted against him.
Vindex: You didn’t because it is an honorable contest, but regardless; you can watch from a distance
under a disguise.
Asiaticus: Vindex, this is ridiculous. Are you mad? How can we expect him to keep his word even if you
do win? A matter such as this, it is best to leave nothing to chance. Why not allow me to assassinate
him? I have reliable legionaries who will do it for me. And you can do whatever you were going to do in
Aquitania at the same time.
Vindex: It is best if none of your legionaries know. You know, they will tell tales about it to each other. It is
best if there is honestly no-one who knows you to be involved. You should not doubt the honor of a
Belgian.
Asiaticus: No, I am not interested anymore. I-
Vindex: Belgicus believes that I am a god.
Asiaticus: You- what? Are you mad Vindex?
18
Vindex: No, I am perfectly sane. Imagine that he did think I was a god. He doesn’t yet, but he will. If he
did, do you think he would keep his honor to a god?
Asiaticus: That’s it, you raving lunatic, it's time to leave!
Vindex: Would he keep his honor to a god yes or no?
Asiaticus: Of course, but Vindex you are not-
Vindex: Haha!
Asiaticus: Oh, thank the gods! Wow, that was convincing. Were it not for the fact that you were perfectly
rational before, I would still think you a nutcase even now. Gods, well, that was very weird to be honest,
and not very funny. Can we carry on with the discussion?
Vindex: Yes, I have some criminals in my retinue since the past few months, who I have been training for
this exact task. They are seasoned killers, and I have also trained a number of Brittonic auxiliaries to
support them. They are segregated from the rest of the auxiliaries native to Lugdunensis, with their own
culture, so they will not speak of our plans to anybody. And, as you know, Britons hate Nero as much as
anybody.
Asiaticus: That is more like it! Shall we contact Cordus?
Vindex: Yes, both of us, by letter, asking to meet at his earliest convenience in Caesarodunum.
…
Numerius Julius Belgicus stands by a tree to relieve himself on the side of the road, his caravan stopped
behind him. Guards stand by his wagon. He will stretch his limbs before returning to the road, traveling
on his judicial circuit. He startles as he finishes his micturition to find Gaius Julius Vindex standing behind
him, wearing a gambeson and a sheathed gladius.
Vindex: Hello.
Belgicus: Guards, come here!
The guards by the caravan rush over with their swords drawn, prepared to defend Belgicus from the
stranger, who they are somewhat embarrassed to have let pass undetected.
Vindex: Relax, I am not going to attack him.
19
Belgicus: Then what could you possibly want, dressed like that? Guards, take his sword.
Vindex allows the guards to take his weapon.
Vindex: Haha, you dress for war all the time. You are dressed for war right now. I am not paranoid around
you, why are you now around me?
Belgicus: There is a difference between habitually dressing that way, and dressing that way only when
creeping up on someone with a sharp weapon. What am I to suppose the cause of the change to be? A
wardrobe malfunction? I still suspect you even now that you pretend to be non-threatening.
Vindex: Well, I am not completely non-threatening. Have you heard of Vithar, the deity among the
Germani?
Belgicus: Yes, his worship occurs in some parts of Belgica, in the east. I remember that from when I was
a boy. Your point is?
Vindex: I am this god.
Belgicus, through body language, making eye contact and extending his palms to the side: “what the fuck
Vindex?”
The guards laugh.
Vindex: I propose a duel.
Belgicus: Why a duel? I already have cause to kill you for impiety and insanity. I do not duel with rogues
who sneak up on me and try to save themselves by pretending to be gods.
Vindex: If I wanted to kill you, I would have killed you. But I waited. So I am obviously not an assassin.
And therefore I am obviously not trying to “save myself”, because I could not have failed in that which I
never set out to do. I obviously wanted to meet you, and talk with you, from the start, or else you would
be dead, and I would not have stood here waiting for you to turn around. So I am not a rogue, because a
rogue does not stand around waiting for conversation, nor allows himself to be disarmed, nor is heedless
of guards rushing to defend his subject-
Belgicus: A rogue pretends to be a god!
20
Vindex: He does, yes. But the sense in which he is a rogue is not the sense in which the assassin is a
rogue, so it is important that you do not equivocate on the meaning of “rogue”, or else you will treat me
like an assassin when really I am a madman.
Belgicus: You sound mad without being quite mad. What exactly is the meaning of this? You are like a
logical madman.
Vindex: Do you agree that one must always behave honorably to gods?
Belgicus: Answer my question!
Vindex: It is in my interest to kill you. I have secured a rival governor who I will replace you with, and this
governor will support my rebellion for Galba. However, I do not want to kill you. I think you are a man of
honor, and I like you. Your honor allows you to receive a lesser sentence. This is the nature of honor: it
allows an honorable man to say “I know that you wish to kill me, but allow me to act as-if killed instead,
for my honor is as good as the deed itself”, and since I do not want to kill you, this would be a preferable
outcome to me. So I propose to duel you, and for the result of that duel to be your abdication of this
position, and self-exile into Germania for a period of two years, eight months, and six days, and for you
not to attempt to reclaim this position thereafter or during this period for that matter.
Now, as you understand this will require a lot of trust. Do I believe that you are such a man of honor as to
honor such a lofty agreement? It is commonplace for men to forgo honor when presented with political
offices of consequence. I cannot trust you so much. Therefore, I must have you trust meas a god, for
this to work. You must uphold your honor as you would uphold your honor to a living god, for otherwise
you would commit impiety.
Do you agree that one must always behave honorably to gods?
Belgicus: Yes, I do, but Vind-
Vindex: Let us set aside the question of whether I am, strictly speaking, Vithar or not. Since you are so
skeptical. Let us instead think of it this way: at what point would you be willing tobelieve, thatI am
Vithar? That is, what wager can we make, perhaps part of our duel, that would be so stacked in your
favor that, if I did win, you would either believe that I am a god or be willing to wager such a belief
because you regard it to be so unlikely? I have a proposition to this end, but do you understand what I
mean?
Belgicus: Yes, tell me.
21
Vindex: I propose to duel you ten times, and win each time, with the first two times being unarmed, and
no time to ever kill or cripple you. Victory will be judged by first blood, or by one opponent being knocked
to the ground, or by one opponent being bashed in the face, or by one opponent being disarmed. You
may win by killing me, but I will never kill you.
Belgicus: We will both be unarmed in the first two duels, or-
Vindex: Only I will be unarmed.
Belgicus: And if I win?
Vindex: I will give you all of my personal property, my slaves, my villa, everything, and I will become your
political client. I will give you as much money from my treasury as you think will not arouse suspicion, or
under any pretense that you want. I will allow you, if you prefer, to behead me without offering any
resistance if you should beat me.
Belgicus: I must win how many times?
Vindex: Once.
Belgicus: Can you make me a more realistic offer? What you are promising seems hard to deliver,
because of its grandiosity. I doubt that you will deliver all those things to me, that you will be willing to. I
think you would rather dishonor yourself than follow through with that.
Vindex: I will give you 800 Denarii.
Belgicus: 700 Denarii, and one of your best slaves. And you will give me the option of killing you after
these things are rendered to me, even though I don’t expect you to uphold that part of the deal.
Vindex: Fine.
Belgicus: And you will speak of this to no one. And you will not pursue this ridiculous policy with Galba.
Vindex: Fine. You are ok with such uneven terms? You must reckon me as a literal god.
Belgicus: The terms are not uneven. The evenness comes from the odds. They are much in my favor.
Shall we begin?
Vindex: Shall we recap for the witnesses first?
22
Belgicus: Sure.
Vindex: Guards, are you paying attention?
Guard 1: Yes!
Vindex: What race are you?
Guard 1: Belgic
Vindex: Good, you are men of honor then?
Guard 1: We uphold honor, yes.
Guard 2: We live and die by honor!
Belgicus: They are good men, yes. Rustic Belgae. I do not allow myself to be guarded by Praetorians
[euphemism - professionals, careerists, opportunists, impersonal corruptibles].
Vindex: Good, ok: Numerius Julius Belgicus and Gaius Julius Vindex will fight a series of ten duels.
These duels will be decided by: first blood, falling to the ground, being bashed in the face, or being killed
[disarmament was not repeated by mistake or on purpose]. Gaius Julius Vindex is not allowed to kill
Numerius Julius Belgicus. Gaius Julius Vindex will fight the first two duels without armament.
If Numerius Julius Belgicus wins just one duel, Gaius Julius Vindex will pay him 700 Denarii and one of
his best slaves of his choosing. That is, the slaves of Gaius Julius Vindex and the choosing of Numerius
Julius Belgicus. Numerius Julius Belgicus will have the option to kill, that is execute, Gaius Julius Vindex.
If Gaius Julius Vindex wins all ten duels, then Numerius Julius Belgicus will abdicate his position and
retreat to Germania, where he will live for two years, eight months, and six days, upon Gaius Julius
Vindex’s command, and he may not ever try to reclaim his former position as governor of Gallia Belgica.
Numerius Julius Belgicus must believe, or regard as if believing, Gaius Julius Vindex to be a god, and
must uphold his honor as he would to a god.
Belgicus: When you command? I don’t want you holding this over my head for e- oh, well I am certainly
going to win, so never mind.
Guard 1: How many years of exile was it again?
23
Vindex & Belgicus, asynchronously, Belgicus speaking quickly and inaudibly as he gives way to Vindex,
loudly and authoritatively: Two years, eight months, and six days.
Guard 2: I think we will need to write some of this down.
Belgicus: Sure.
The guard fetches some paper and writing equipment. The guards write down the essentials of the deal
as Vindex recaps, making two copies. They are careful not to explicitly record what is going on, since an
ancient law makes dueling illegal in this province, a measure that was originally meant to assimilate the
natives to Roman law in place of barbarian law. The opponents ready themselves.
Belgicus begins cockily by charging at Vindex with his sword by his side, ready to thrust into Vindex’s
body, but Vindex sidesteps this and throws Belgicus to the ground, ending duel #1.
In the second duel, Belgicus once again charges at Vindex, but this time with his sword in front of him,
making quick cuts as he moves forward. Vindex rushes underneath his arms, pushing up on his sword
arm and his face as he advances into Belgicus’ body, causing Belgicus to fall on his ass, ending duel #2.
In the third duel, Vindex is armed with his gladius, and he begins by making a foolish straight thrust at
Belgicus. Anticipating that Belgicus would attempt to cut his thrusting arm, he steps to the side of
Belgicus’ thrust, and checks his shoulder into Belgicus’ arm as it crosses over his chest, knocking
Belgicus to the ground, ending duel #3.
In the fourth duel, there is a prolonged sword fight, with a number of dodges and parries, until Vindex
nicks Belgicus on the upper left arm, ending duel #4.
In the fifth duel, there is more prolonged swordplay, lasting this time for a couple minutes, until Vindex
kicks Belgicus in the thigh, causing him to buckle slightly, giving Vindex the opportunity to grapple
Belgicus and mercifully give him a small cut on the arm, ending duel #5.
In the sixth duel, Vindex attacks with extreme speed, fighting with incredible energy and reflexes, leaving
Belgicus helpless to defend. Inferior in swordplay, Belgicus settles for a foolhardy charge. As long as
Vindex does not overcommit on any of his swings, there is no opening for Belgicus to smash him. He
thus makes short cuts with the flick of his wrist, easily wounding Belgicus during his vulnerable charge,
ending duel #6.
In the seventh duel, both opponents are tired, but especially Belgicus. They position and maneuver
slowly, looking for angles of attack, responding to positions with counterpositions, and counterpositions
with countercounterpositions, sliding their swords past each other, looking for safe points to thrust at,
24
deterred by strategic counters to each other's stances. Over the course of their maneuvering, it happens
that Vindex and Belgicus are standing very close to one another, their blades crossed at their midpoints.
Vindex raises his sword slightly relative to Belgicus’ sword, as if to position himself for a downward cut.
As Belgicus begins to turn his sword horizontal to prepare for this position, Vindex uses his sword as a
lever, punching his sword-hand and therefore the pommel into Belgicus’ face, placing his left arm
vertically in the way of Belgicus’ wrist, preventing a forward cut while bashing Belgicus in the face.
Belgicus curses, Vindex laughs, ending duel #7.
In the eighth duel, both opponents are refreshed by a break and a snack. They charge at each other, with
Belgicus attempting a grapple and Vindex pulling back at the last second to swing his sword, giving him
the initiative, with Belgicus put on the defensive. After some feeble swordplay on Belgicus’ part, Vindex
manages to stab him in the inner thigh. Belgicus curses, kneeling over in pain, ending duel #8.
In the ninth duel, Belgicus decides to return after bandaging his wound and going for a short walk.
However he seems discouraged, not really trying that hard, beginning to flinch at Vindex’s sword, and
Vindex makes a simple nick to his chest after some swordplay, ending duel #9.
In the tenth duel, Belgicus throws all of his energy into the attack, putting Vindex on the defensive.
Vindex meets his energy, but has lost the initiative. A fast paced sword fight follows. Belgicus nearly cuts
Vindex’s arm by a couple of inches. Belgicus grunts as he exerts himself fully with each swing, refusing
to let Vindex gain the position of aggressor. Vindex then stabs directly at Belgicus’ face. This is an
unprecedented move, since Vindex swore not to kill Belgicus, and thus his moves hitherto were restricted
to be in accord with that intention. This surprises Belgicus, causing him to flinch badly, throwing his arms
near to his face helplessly and tensing up his body. It is, however, a feint, and Vindex rams his body into
Belgicus’, the tensile nature of which gives him no balance, causing him to fall down, dropping his sword,
ending on his butt with his legs outstretched, right arm braced on the ground behind him, ending duel
#10, making Vindex the victor of the duels.
Belgicus sits, stunned for a moment as he rests his weight on his right hand. Vindex helps him get up.
Belgicus quietly dusts himself off and looks at Vindex.
Belgicus, mindlessly: You won.
He shakes Vindex’s hand in the Roman fashion, clasping his forearm and holding it there.
Belgicus: That was incredible!
Vindex: Yes. And now who am I?
Belgicus: Vithar!
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Belgicus steps to the side while still holding Vindex’s hand, to look over at Guard 1, whose sword is
drawn. Vindex is pulled slightly and has to step forward, looking at what is going on.
Belgicus: What are you doing?
Guard 1: Well, I don’t know, I just- are we good?
Belgicus: Put the sword away!
…
Decimus Valerius Asiaticus and Gaius Julius Vindex stand under a large oak tree in the middle of a park -
a big lawn really - not far from a Roman temple, outside of Caesarodunum (modern day Tours). It is after
dark. The lights of the temple can be seen in the distance. Quintus Julius Cordus approaches, wearing a
pure white toga.
Cordus: Legatus Decimus Valerius Asiaticus, and not least governor Gaius Julius Vindex, indomitable
heroes! What brings me today to this magnificent oak of Gallic fame, and what fame might it bring me!
Asiaticus: We want to kill Decius Falco.
Vindex winces, having not wanted to be so forward.
Vindex: Gods- yes, we want to remove Decius Falco, and we believe that you are a suitable candidate
for governor of this province after he is dead. We would like you to wait here, until such time as he is
assassinated, for the men of Valerius Asiaticus to proclaim you to power, as will I proclaim you to be
governor from Lugdunensis, as will Decimus Valerius proclaim you to be governor from Gallia Belgica,
where he too will usurp the governor position.
Cordus: Ah! A little bit of Diadochian intrigue, is that what we are up to? The Gallic triumvirate shall it be?
I am no stranger to these things, for the great tyrannies of Cypselus, Periander, Hipparchus, and Phalaris
are my examples…though, should we not follow the example of the last one, actually. Or, are we to be
Brut and Longin -i, men of gens Junia and gens Cassia?
Vindex: None of those. We aim to restore Imperium Romanum.
Cordus: But who to be the restor -er? We will be governors, will we not? And I happen to know that you
do not control a legion. Or is Asiaticus to be the Emperor, aptly named for the restoration of our lands in
the east? I think him not of enoughauctoritasforthis, no offense.
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Vindex: No, we will cross that bridge when we get there. For now, I am to be the assumed claimant. Not
that I am going to declare for Emperor. That would close my options. We are just going to keep the
question open as I lead this rebellion. You must not underestimate auxiliaries. I can call upon 100,000
Gauls to fight at any time, and even the Gauls in other provinces know that I am the master of Gallia.
Asiaticus: They do, you are talked about even in Belgica.
Vindex: I suspect the Britons would like to join in, too. You know, even in an unofficial capacity, they like
to adventure.
Cordus: Do you have a formal agreement with them?
Vindex: No.
Cordus ponders a moment, rubbing his chin.
Cordus: And I shall have complete control of Aquitania? Or shall men of Valerius Asiaticus hold me as
their hostage? Why me, anyway?
Vindex: Yes, you will have complete control. Why you? Because you are a man of ambition, far too much
for your current station.
Cordus: Thank you Gaius Vindex, you are very kind.
Cordus ponders again.
Cordus: It is a beautiful night, is it not? By this tree, by this temple. Do you suppose that the gods are
watching over our enterprise? Do they think highly of it?
Asiaticus: I think so, yes.
Vindex: Do they think highly of opposition to the imperium of a matricidal maniac? Someone who has
besmirched the name of the Empire across the world? I am certain that they do.
Cordus ponders again, resting his mouth on his hand, freeing the blood in his neck for use in the brain
stem.
Cordus: I will do it for Augustus!
Asiaticus: For Augustus!
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Vindex: Yes, for Augustus.
…
Decimus Decius Falco walks with some colleagues down a narrow cobblestone street on a sunny day in
Augustoritum, Aquitania (modern day Limoges). He wears a plain white toga today, instead of his usual
purple, as he returns from the forum. There are buildings and houses on either side of him, bordered on
the left by a metal fence. A gate leads to an L shaped alleyway, extending to the right behind some
houses. A prostitute, Livia, stands in the alleyway.
Livia: Decius!
Falco: Hello young lady! To what do I owe the pleasure of your greeting?
Livia: Ten sesterces.
Falco: Ha! Why so expensive?
Livia: Because I know who you are - you cannot fool me with that toga. I have seduced the finest men in
Rome, haven’t you heard of me?
Falco: I- you mean a prostitute named Livia? I mean yeah, I’ve heard of a lot of Livias. Hey my friends,
you go ahead, I’ll catch up with you. Yes, I- I mean no, I haven’t heard of you specifically, if that’s what
you’re asking.
Livia: That is obviously what I’m asking you fool.
Falco: Ha! A lady with balls! I like that- you know, who are these men you’ve been with?
Livia: Oh, many men. Come with me, let me show you something.
Falco: Alright, but hey, no promises about any money ok? I gotta know if you’re good first. So what is it
that you’re gonna show me?
He begins to walk toward the alley.
Livia: My trophies.
Falco: Your trophies? What does that mean, like your mementos from the guys you fuck?
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Livia: Yeah, something like that, I have many. From governors, legates, all kinds of men really. I’ll show
you and you’ll see if you-
She stops talking because speech is no longer necessary. She has lured Falco about midway between
the alleyway, and Vindex brushes past her from behind. Falco looks confused for a split moment before
Vindex draws his sword, cutting it across Falco’s face. Falco yelps. It does minimal damage, but causes
him to lift his arms in front of his face. Vindex plunges his gladius into Falco’s heart, killing him instantly
after penetrating his many fat cells. Falco makes an inanimate noise and falls to the ground, seeping
blood in a pool on the concrete.
Livia: Nice. Where is my money?
Vindex produces 25 sesterces and hands them to Livia before leaving the scene.
…
Quintus Julius Cordus is brought to power just moments after this by Asiaticus’ legionaries. They raise
additional auxiliaries to support their regime, who protect Cordus from the popular unrest consequent to
his actions. There was, after all, no great demand for this type of thing in Aquitania, and Cordus offered
little pretext for his usurpation, only “I am the former governor of Cyprus and I am fit to take his place.”
Vindex hastens back to Lugdunensis, where he rallies his people with speeches and invectives against
Emperor Nero, declaring a general rebellion of the province of Gallia. Cassius Dio says:
“This Vindex called together the Gauls,who had suffered much by the numerous forced levies of money
and were still suffering at Nero's hands. And ascending a tribunal he delivered a long and detailed
speech against Nero, saying that they ought to revolt from the emperor and join the speaker in an attack
upon him, ‘because,’ as he said, ‘he has despoiled the whole Roman world, because he has destroyed
all the flower of the senate, because he debauched and then killed his mother, and does not preserve
even the semblance of sovereignty. Many murders, robberies and outrages, it is true, have often been
committed by others; but as for the other deeds committed by Nero, how could one find words fittingly to
describe them? I have seen him, my friends and allies, — believe me, — I have seen that man (if man he
is who has married Sporus and been given in marriage to Pythagoras), in the circle of the theatre, that is,
in the orchestra, sometimes holding the lyre and dressed in loose tunic and buskins, and again wearing
in general-soled shoes and mask.I have often heard him sing, play the herald, and act in tragedies. I
have seen him in chains, hustled about as a miscreant, heavy with child, aye, in the travail of childbirth —
in short, imitating all the situations of mythology by what he said and what was said to him, by what he
submitted to and by what he did.Will anyone, then, style such a person Caesar and emperor and
Augustus? Never! Let no one abuse those sacred titles. They were held by Augustus and by Claudius,
whereas this fellow might most properly be termed Thyestes, Oedipus, Alcmeon, or Orestes; for these
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are the characters that he represents on the stage and it is these titles that he has assumed in place of
the others. Therefore rise now at length against him; succour yourselves and succour the Romans;
liberate the entire world!"
His words were met with great approbation, and he easily rallied the auxiliaries as well, raising additional
levies that would eventually come to about 100,000, just as he predicted.
Decimus Valerius Asiaticus, and Numerius Julius Belgicus, learn of Falco’s death shortly after. Fearing
that the plot against Belgicus had failed, Asiaticus marches against him himself, when, confronting him,
he is informed that Belgicus had already lost the duel with Vindex, and was about to retire to Germania.
Had Vindex not already primed him for it, Asiaticus would think this to be a feeble excuse to escape
execution. The excuse synchronized so explicitly with the earlier words of Vindex, though, that Asiaticus
could not help but be amazed. Vindex really did manage to duel Belgicus ten times, winning each time,
and men like Belgicus really do uphold honor! Perhaps, indeed, this man was a god after all! Asiaticus is
so pleased that he offers Belgicus a position within his new government, but Belgicus declines; his word
of honor was to retreat to Germania, not merely to vacate the office of governor. This he does, and
Asiaticus assumes command. This smooth transition of power did not upset the Belgae, who are not
great fans of the Neronian regime anyway, nor great patriots of Rome in general.
…
Vithar’s first action is to siege the city of Lugdunum. This city is loyal to Nero, since Nero had once
spared some funds to relieve it from a fire. The city is plagued by poor leadership and inconstant
auxiliaries. It falls quickly, and Vindex garrisons it with many soldiers, who police the streets for rebel
activity. After Lugdunum is captured, Vindex begins a propaganda campaign to portray himself as the
savior of the Roman Empire. Krzysztof Królczyk says:
“One of the most common monetary types depicts Victoria, i.e. the goddess of victory, standing on a
globe with a laurel wreath and a palm branch in her hands. The legend reads GENERIS HVMANIS. On
the reverse, there is a wreath made of oak leaves encircling the letters SPQR. Other issues depict
Victoria writing the letter V on her shield (with the same legend and reverse as in the example discussed
above). Sometimes the goddess of victory was accompanied by Mars the Avenger (Ultor) on the reverse.
Other common legends on Vindex’s coins were: ROMA RESTITVTA (or just ROMA), SECVRITAS, PACI
AVGVSTAE, PAX ET LIBERTAS, SALVS ET LIBERTAS, CONCORDIA ORB(is) TER(rarum), GENIVS
P(opuli) R(omani) and VIRTVS. Among the gods visible on Vindex’s coins, apart from Victoria, there
were: IVPPITER OPTIMVS CAPITOLINVS, IVPPITER CONSERVATOR, IVPPITER CVSTOS, IVPPITER
LIBERATOR, MARS VLTOR, VOLCANVS VLTOR, HERCVLES ADSERTOR, PIA FELICITAS,
FLORENS FORTVNA, PAX, ROMA. Other variations of the reverse, besides SPQR surrounded by a
wreath of oak leaves, included coins with the letters SIGNA P(opuli) R(omani). The choice of monetary
motifs, the characteristic gods with certain cult epithets and the words used for the legends (in particular,
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the epithet adsertor, may seem similar to vindex, the cognomen of the revolt’s leader [some have said
Vindex to mean “the avenger” or “the defender”, but the meaning can be broader than that. It means “one
who proves something” or “one who upholds something”, and can therefore be called similar to adsertor,
which means “one who formally asserts the status of another, a claimant”, though Vindex more narrowly
means “one who upholds something that has been lost” or “one who upholds something that is
contested”, i.e he advances something with violence, or vengeance, or conflict, and proves his might and
so the might of whatever he advances to be dominant. This is, incidentally, also what “Vithar” means,
although the emphasis in “Vithar” is on “might” rather than the thing advanced.]) clearly illustrate Vindex’s
objectives: a restoration of Imperium Romanum (also in the moral sense) that would be possible after
overthrowing the tyrant. Furthermore, this statement can be eventually strengthened by other Vindex’s
coins showing the head of Augustus on the obverse with the legend AVGVSTVS DIVI F(ilius) and the
inscription OB CIVES SERVAT(os) within oak-wreath on the reverse — in this case, C. Iulius Vindex was
to be seen as a real follower of the policy of Augustus, as a person who carries out the whole process of
restoration of Imperium Romanum and who saves the Roman citizens as the first emperor of Rome did.”
Next, Vindex begins to write letters. He writes to every governor of Hispania, and Gallia Narbonensis,
declaring: “We, Gaius Julius Vindex, Quintus Julius Cordus, Decimus Valerius Asiaticus, and the people
of Rome, declare a civic uprising against the tyranny of Lucius Domitius Ahenobarbus, desiring that our
friend and benefactor Livius Ocella Sulpicius Galba will take his place as the Emperor of Rome, and will
thus restore it to its former glory - we invite you, dear governor, to join us, take up arms to behead this
treacherous murderer called Nero!” Every governor, that is, except Galba.
What position is Galba now in? From the outside, it appears that two of his close associates have just
simultaneously taken power in Gaul, and thereafter declared in favor of their “friend and benefactor”
Galba. As these letters arrive, those who receive them have two options. One, they can keep the letter,
thus committing treason by failing to inform the Emperor. At this rate, they might as well join the rebellion,
which, if they do, would be favorable to Vindex anyway. Two, they can forward the letter to Nero, thus
informing Nero of the rebellion, and giving him multiple pieces of evidence which seem to suggest that
Galba’s backers in Gaul have just declared him to be Emperor. Even if Nero had doubts about Galba’s
actual involvement, what would a paranoid emperor such as himself care if Galba were to be eliminated
with the traitors, just to be safe? Furthermore, Galba did not receive a letter. Therefore he had no letter to
send Nero to assure him of his intentions. This looks decidedly bad for Galba, and Galba knew that.
Not only that, but in Roman society, a politician is expected to be loyal to his friends. The great
Mediterranean edifice ofnepotistic corruptionisplayed out in Roman society quite overtly. If Galba
refuses to support his friends, what will his remaining friends think of his loyalty?
To make matters worse, the rebellion against Cordus in Aquitania is growing. Cordus, with Vindex’s
approval, sends a letter to Galba directly requesting his support in quelling this rebellion. Not only does
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he send this letter, but Vindex also publicizes the request in Aquitania itself, creating a sense that the
“savior Galba” is coming, that the dissidents better watch out.
Galba’s prospects do not seem good. Nero, meanwhile, is amused by the letters he receives, but does
not take any action because he does not take the revolt seriously. Vindex is not powerful enough to take
any offensive action. The apparent loyalty of the Hispanic governors, he assumes, makes the revolt a
non-issue. It will fizzle out, even if he must deal it the final blow later, when its resources are exhausted
and enthusiasm has waned.
Galba could, one supposes, demonstrate his loyalty by attacking the Gallic governors. But why would he
do this? He would be attacking friends, making himself look bad, and in the process he would gain -
what? - the approbation of a paranoid and unpredictable Emperor who is likely to fall sooner or later
anyway? If he has to fight someone, why might he not fight for his own glory, and the benefit of his
friends, rather than the meager benefit aforementioned?
There is also the geopolitical question. If he attacks the Gallic revolt, he will be fighting a war on his own
doorstep. Can he count on Nero to spare any legions to help him? Thus far at least, Nero does not seem
inclined to do anything. Would he just use Galba as a meat shield to deal with his own problems? By
contrast, if he attacks Nero, he has allies all around him, shielding him from his enemy. He knows that if
he does nothing, his treachery will be assumed. After all, if the Gauls win, and they proclaim Galba
emperor, why would he not take it? Therefore in the Emperor’s eyes, it is Galba’s responsibility to attack
the revolt, since waiting is in that sense partaking of the incentive to become emperor.
To bring things to a head, Vindex sends another letter, to Galba, formally asking him to accept his
nomination, and to join the revolt. Knowing that he is in an impossible position, and that he must attack
someone, Galba chooses to attack Nero with the incentive of becoming emperor and helping his friends
rather than to attack Vindex with the incentive of pleasing the Emperor.
The rest is history, and there is no need to recount it here. I recommend reading Plutarch’sGalbain
Parallel Lives. Don’t be lazy - continue the story!
Vithar is the son of Woden and the jotunn Grithr. Grithr means “violence, vehemence, impetuosity”.
Vithar, accordingly, is like Woden, but more furious, bold, vehement, malicious. His impetuosity is shown
when he reveals to Asiaticus that he intends to duel Julius Belgicus. While this may have seemed like a
calculated move in light of the way it played out, it was actually a mere blunder. Vithar’s vehemence
compelled him to blurt out the truth, heedless of how it may be received, attempting to overawe Asiaticus
with the power of his ambition. It didn’t work, and he returned to his standard “Odinic” disposition to save
himself from it, by pretending that it was just a joke, and lying about something more plausible. It worked
out in the end, though, as his vehemence often does, inexplicably - perhaps it is manipulated by his
father in ways unbeknownst to him.
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Vithar is therefore well poised to be Odin’s “attorney” or “champion”, a position he often occupies. The
Latin name he adopted in this story, “Vindex”, means “defender” or “avenger”. More generally, it means
“one who vindicates”, “one who proves”, or basically “one who upholds something”. Though appearing to
uphold, vindicate, defend, avenge,Imperium Romanum,what he really upheld, vindicated, defended,
and avenged, was the will of his father, and his own will, the advancement of their particular divine brood
distributed throughout Northern Europe, as described inThe Aryan Mythos. He is perhaps singularly
responsible for the eternal succession crises that led to Rome’s downfall, where otherwise Rome may
have become a Julio-Claudian monarchy.
Another aspect of Vithar is his silence. He is not always silent, but he has this as part of his character.
This is understated in this story, since it would have been boring to describe all of the waiting around,
listening, etc, involved in gathering information about Galba’s political associates. Due to this fluke of his
character, he was known in the past as “the silent god”. One known to listen intently upon the
conversations of groups of people, and then to utilize the information heard therein to pursue and kill his
enemies according to whatever mission he has set for himself. A historical example of this concerns
another incarnation of Vithar, William the Silent:
“One day, during a stag-hunt in the Bois de Vincennes, Henry [II of France], finding himself alone with the
Prince [William of Orange], began to speak of the great number of Protestant sectaries who, during the
late war, had increased so much in his kingdom to his great sorrow. His conscience, said the King, would
not be easy nor his realm secure until he could see it purged of the ‘accursed vermin,’ who would one
day overthrow his government, under the cover of religion, if they were allowed to get the upper hand.
This was the more to be feared since some of the chief men in the kingdom, and even some princes of
the blood, were on their side. But he hoped by the grace of God and the good understanding that he had
with his new son, the King of Spain, that he would soon get the better of them. The King talked on thus to
Orange in the full conviction that he was aware of the secret agreement recently made with the Duke of
Alba for the extirpation of heresy. But the Prince, subtle and adroit as he was, answered the good King in
such a way as to leave him still under the impression that he, the Prince, knew all about the scheme
proposed by Alba; and on this understanding the King revealed all the details of the plan which had been
arranged between the King of Spain and himself for the rooting out and rigorous punishment of the
heretics, from the lowest to the highest rank, and in this service the Spanish troops were to be mainly
employed.”
William, a Catholic, who already had grievances with the Spanish rule of the Low Countries and the
previous activity of the Inquisition there. He therefore used this information to prepare for war, aligning
himself with the Protestant Germanic faction that his father (Woden) had created to destroy the
Spaniards, inaugurating the eighty years war, which ended in the independence of the Dutch Republic
and the strengthening of Germanic Protestantism. With the strengthening of Germanic Protestantism, the
strengthening of real Germanic people above the Spanish yoke.
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Let this not set a precedent for declaring real life individuals to be gods. Templist Canon declares this to
be impious, when it is false. It also happens to declare William the Silent to have been an incarnation of
Vithar, so no harm has been done.
To inventactions of a historical figure that are not historically attested is unwarranted. For example, as I
have done for Vindex. Generally speaking this should never be done. Except, it is not so egregious for
ancient figures, since these figures are already mythologized. The exploits, for example, of Alexander III,
are not the exploits of a real historical person. He killed his memorial afterlife by pursuing garish
propaganda. There is not much lost, therefore, to mythologize such a figure, or to tell further
pseudo-historical tales about him. Even so, these tales must not be asserted to be histories. The above
tale of Vindex is a pseudo-history, and it will become a history only if verified historically.
Even this precedent is not canonical. Maybe it would be most pious to say that we should never make
things up, that this is a “do as I say and not as I do” situation, since I can be expected to have advanced
knowledge on these topics.
Ing Gehyreþ Þone Uþwitan
Frey sits on his wooden throne. It is pointed, in the middle, like his hat, which stands tall upon his head
just above the chair. His “Christmas elf like” clothes glow from the fireplace to his right. Frey’s court is
very homely, Santa Claus-esque, but proportional to his tall and lanky size. His legs sit splayed across
the floor as he reclines in his wood crafted chair. A mortal man enters.
Man: Freyr!
Frey: Yes, sir. Welcome.
Man: Sir, I am incredibly honored to be in the presence of such a great god! I bow at your feet, and
submit to your divine greatness. Your hall is beautiful, and very inviting. The warmth and the atmosphere
is very comfortable. If only I can propitiate you with the discourse I have promised!
Frey: Thank you. Yes, I understand that you have some sort of philosophical theory to share?
Man: Yes. Yes I do! Shall you like to hear it?
Frey: Please, go ahead.
Man: A man walks upon the park. And through the woods. He goes here and there, to and fro, but where
does he go? Each instance of movement is motivated by a goal. He is going toward a goal. To a space,
as if physical, in which his destiny a-lies. This is the traveling man, this great man of Europe, and he
travels to the final destination. Is this destination death, you ask? No! For it is greater even than himself,
it is beyond him! And what is it that is beyond him? Well, necessarily, it isreality itself? What’s this?He is
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going to a distinct location, yet in each distinct location, he is also going to reality itself? Yes, to
everything I say! He is going toward everything, and everywhere, wherever, and however he goes. This
is the beauty of the European man, the wandering and vagabond, who wherever he goes, cannot but find
himself in the same place. This place of reality, or shall we say, Being. Now, Being is of two natures. The
first nature is of Being itself. The second nature is of Being to become. It is this Being to become that
becomes Being itself, and thus goes the cycle of the Earth, of the world. So is this man really inhabiting a
place, or a cycle? I say, a cycle. And it is the cyclical man who is the master of the Earth, since with him,
everything revolves, and nothing is static. And movement, as you know, is power, and revolution is
movement. Therefore does he, this solemn and solitary man of Europe, possess infinite power. This man
of might, this man of, of, infinitequesting, is theegregore, if you pardon the phrase, of the European
spirit, and so also the Germanic spirit, and since, after all, the Germanic spirit is born of gods, it stands to
reason that the divine spirit, too, is of infinite revolutions, and infinite power, and since the gods
themselves are infinitely powerful, it stands to reason that they are the source, the Source, of divine
Being, and through divine being, they are the source of knowledge. The source of life. The source of
prosperity. The source of happiness. Is this not the beauty of life, the beauty of the gods? To worship
them, as divine, knowing that they are the chain, as it were, of the lifeblood of Being, tethering humanity
to its revealed, that is its past, destiny, and urging it still forward, through reality, and thus through Being,
to its destiny, and since destiny is cyclical, to its destiny once again! Thus is everything, in my humble,
mortal opinion, one thing. A single One, characterized by a cycle. Yes, yes, all is cyclical, all is a cycle.
You, me, and everything, are a cycle, a cycle of- of nothing, an irreducible cycle, that is itself as itself, and
therefore Being, such as it is qua being a cycle, sui generis. This, in my opinion, is the very key to reality,
to understanding, and to knowledge. What do you think, great god?
Frey: Hm, yes…interesting.
A long silence follows. The philosopher assumes that Frey is pondering, although there is no outward
indication that he is deep in thought.
Man: Sir! Please tell me that my work is not in error! My magnum opus! I do not mean to interrupt your
machinations, but I would love to know what a mind as great and powerful as yours has to say about it. A
great philosopher you are renowned to be, with clear and penetrating thoughts, you king of priests. You
are like your people, the Anglo-Saxons, the shrewd and articulate philosopher, the judge and jury of truth!
What do you have to say, sir, about my work? What do you think of it? Be honest great god, for I know
that my wisdom is nothing compared to yours.
Frey: Oh, you mean the incomprehensible drivel you just spat out? I don’t think anything of it, to be
honest.
Man: OH! SIR! What was wrong with it?
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Frey: I don’t know.
Man: Sir?
Frey: I don’t know. It was meaningless. I can’t evaluate it any more than if you came and started babbling
incoherently. Which is what you did, actually [chuckling]. Sorry, but I don’t know what to think about it.
Man, sadly: Oh, Freyr. That tears me apart inside. I am so disappointed in myself. I feel that I have
wasted your time. Shall I go now?
Frey: Stay as long as you would like. There are biscuits, you know. Over there, they were prepared
recently I believe.
Man: Oh!
Frey: Yes, have a biscuit. There is also tea. On the table there, the big one.
He points to a large round table in the corner of the room. Everything in the room is oversized, but
proportional to how a normal object would be; suited to Freyr’s height. The man approaches the table
and takes a cookie, pouring himself some tea with the teapot, into a little teacup. He begins to drink it.
Man: Well, Freyr, thank you for your hospitality. But I think that I better go. I have wasted enough of your
time.
Frey: Ok my friend, farewell. Thank you for coming.
The man begins to walk out of the oversized door frame, into a black abyss.
Frey: Wait! Wait.
Man: Yes?
Frey: Don’t take the teacup! You still have my teacup.
Man: Oh, yes. Sorry sir. I will put it back.
Frey: Well you can finish the tea if you would like.
Man: Well…sir I think that I have lost my appetite. Thank you, though, but I think that I really better go.
Frey: Ok, fine. Have a good day.
36
Man: You too, sir.
The man walks through the dark transparent hallway exiting Freyr’s hall, the infinite stars surrounding
him, a baseless doorway back into the hall emanating behind him. The Author of Templist Canon stands
somewhat down the hallway. He shouts at the so-called philosopher from afar, reiterating his Tweets:
[This tweet however does not use the term “analytic” properly. What is actually being identified is the
Polemarchian aka “true philosophical” disposition spoken of in Templist Canon, which is unsurprisingly
associated with this type of mindset, since it is associated with aristocratic philosophizing]
The man runs down the ethereal stellar hall in fear of the most excellent prophet.
Neorþes Sæ Faru
Njorth sails alone in a small ship, perhaps a cog, beaten by wind and mist. The wood is rotting, and
barnacles stick to the underside of the ship, climbing up to the hull. Really, several men should be
manning this ship, but Njorth scrambles around exclusively to work its various mechanisms. He is
scrambling around furiously at the moment, as a storm blows the water back and forth, undulating the
ship throughout the sea, although it is not the worst of storms. None of the waves form the worst
imaginable crests and troughs, but it is quite dicey.
The sky is gray, and a thin fog clouds the air. Visibility is still decent. It looks as if it will rain soon. He is
sailing in the Atlantic Ocean, perhaps at the longitude of Morocco. Who knows what as-yet undiscovered
part of the world he is coming from, as he sails for Greenland. Greenland, at this time, has just been
colonized by Erik the Red, whose son Leif Erikson has just set out to explore America. Njorth most likely
wishes to meet these new explorers, and swap stories with them. He will tell them of what he has seen,
down south, and they will tell him of their travels. They will most likely know that he is a god. Perhaps he
wishes to congratulate them on their journey, and to assist, through his powers, Leif’s journey, since
journeys at sea are his responsibility. He must first, of course, make it there. If his rickety cog goes under,
he will have to swim, or catch a ride with a sea animal, and he will not make it in time. This has
37
happened to him before; he elected to float in the water aimlessly like a piece of driftwood before
washing up several years later. This will not do, this time.
He goes into the cabin for a moment to fetch a long length of rope. Coming outside, he begins to fasten
this rope to various parts of the ship. It is as if he is spinning a web, connecting the various parts of the
ship together so as to automate the sailing process. When he is done, he can scarcely move around.
There is rope everywhere, and he must weave in and out of it, sometimes crawling, in order to reach the
entrance of his cabin. Njorth, after all, is the god of physics, natural forces, and wind. A sufficient
understanding of these forces provides one with clairvoyance, the ability to see into the future. For,
everything is determined, uncertainty is only a lack of knowledge about how the moving parts of reality
proceed. Njorth knows these moving parts, therefore he is able to anticipate them, setting his rope
contraption in anticipation of the waves, winds, rain, and so on. He reaches the cabin, and lets his rope
contraption go. It spins and pulls the various parts of the ship. This should last him the night, allowing him
to get much needed rest for the stormy day ahead.
He retreats into the cabin. It is dimly lit with lanterns. He has spared no space for a living quarters,
instead stocking the whole interior with supplies, food, and wine. He will trade these with the
Greenlanders when he arrives, or perhaps just give everything to them. He walks past crates and barrels
stiffly, sore from his exertion, to slump down underneath a vertical beam. He sighs. His body is scantily
clad, and wet. A wet loincloth covers his waist. His long, wide beard and hair are soaked. He wrings them
out of water. Resting a moment, he then reaches up and behind him, on top of a barrel adjacent to the
beam. He fetches a plate, filled with cheese and crackers. He holds the plate in his lap and begins to eat
them, resting. The hull creaks and sways as his contraptions do the work. He then stands up, hobbling
over to the wine barrel. There is a tap on it, which he opens to fill a glass with wine. The glass is
somewhat ornate, unfit for day-to-day drinking purposes, but he does not care one way or the other. It
holds wine, so he drinks out of it. Njorth finishes his wine while standing up, walking throughout the cabin
to make sure that everything is in order. He had killed all of the rats and varmints long ago, using a series
of cheese bait traps, as well as a wooden stick to beat them with when the opportunity arose. There are
none in sight now.
He approaches a cot tucked away in the corner of the boat, near some crates and barrels. Dry now, and
fed, he lays down and closes his eyes. He is awoken the next day by the violent crashing of the waves,
the boat rocking back and forth. It is time. He rushes to the deck, past falling and rolling barrels, to see
the outside. Giant waves roll through the water, penetrated by droplets of rain that drench him,
immediately, once again. Wind blows to the east, sending the rain sideways at his ship, further
destabilizing its course as the rain hits the side of her hull and her mast. He sets to work immediately
cutting away his previous contraption, throwing it down the cabin or off of the ship entirely, whichever is
faster. He mans the wheel and begins to steer, making sure this is the last place that he has to free of
rope. The ship jerks to the east momentarily as he transitions from automatic to manual steering, but he
sets it aright against the wind.
38
For several long hours he steers and scrambles on the deck, fighting for supremacy against the wind. He
resolves to be carried northeast, since his ship cannot be powered by anything else. At this rate he will
land in Iceland, not Greenland. Never matter, he can always sail from there to Greenland. It is better than
being stuck in France, or keeled under the waves. The wind propels him forth, crashing and skipping
over the waves, underneath the dark cloudy sky that pours down heavy rain. After some time, it shoots
him out of the storm, sending him speeding into calmer waters, the passing tempest behind him. He sails
a ways, before pulling out his telescope. He can see the outline of land in the distance.
Þæt Ealuhus Wodes
You enter a remote German bar. The bar table stretches out to your left, a few steps away. In front of you
there are a series of round tables and chairs, and some longer benches tucked away in the back. The
bar is primarily empty, save for a few men at the bar table, the bartender, and a man sitting alone at one
of the tables. It is quiet, as men talk in low German voices. There is no music. The bar is pretty well lit,
with white walls that reflect sunlight around the bar. It is an old bar, with irregular wooden beams. A large
bearded man drinks a Köstritzer schwarzbier. He stands up, and announces:
“We are going to sing the Deutschlandlied!”
It is apparent that he has had many beers previously. He continues:
“Deutschland, Deutschland über alles”
He motions for the others to sing along, continuing:
“Über alles in der Welt”
The others chime in now, continuing:
“Wenn es stets zu Schutz und Trutze, Brüderlich zusammenhält”
None of the men are particularly good at singing, and some are drunk. The man at the table remains
silent. Wuot interrupts the singing by throwing a beer glass at him. He storms over to the man.
Wuot: HEY! WHY THE FUCK AREN’T YOU SINGING THE DEUTSCHLANDLIED WITH US!
The man waves him off indifferently.
Wuot: That is not going to do! Didn’t you hear the lyrics? “Wenn, es stets zu Schutz und Trutze,
Brüderlich zusammenhalten." Didn’t you hear that? What is your problem? Where is your Germanic
brotherhood?
39
Man: I don’t agree with it.
Wuot: WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN?!
Man: The nationalistic lyrics, I don’t like them. Germany has suffered enough from that! The world has
suffered enough. People have-
Wuot: HOW ABOUT I FUCKING KILL YOU, HOW’S THAT?
The man stands up calmly to leave. He is somewhat older, so it takes him some time to get up. Wuot
watches for a moment, before pouncing upon him with his mug, smashing it into his face repeatedly. It
breaks, lacerating the man with glass.
Wuot: Sing the fucking song!
He turns back to the others: sing the song!
The men at the bar begin to sing nervously, trying to encourage the old man to save himself. They are
probably too drunk to intervene physically, not to mention fearful of Wuot’s powerful energy, his maniacal
numen. The old man says nothing, prompting further abuse from Wuot.
Wuot: WHAT’S THE MATTER YOU FUCKING FAGGOT? ARE YOU A HOMOSEXUAL? ARE YOU
SOME KIND OF LIBERAL? I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, THATS IT, IM GOING TO KILL YOU I AM
GOING TO CHOP YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF YOU FUCKING FOREIGNER!
He begins to punch the man, taking shards of glass to slice open his throat, cutting off his head tissue by
tissue, ripping the wounds open with his hands. The old man, now facing death, tries to sing. His bravado
has faded.
Wuot: TOO LATE! ITS TOO LATE YOU FUCKING PEDOPHILE! YOU STUPID FUCKING TURK I WILL
KILL YOU! GET READY FOR ANOTHER ZENTA, ANOTHER FUCKING SLAUGHTER, OTTOMAN
SCUM!
Wuot rants on inconsolably as he rips apart the man’s head. The man is not, in fact, Turkish, nor does he
show any indication of being such. He is dead by now, his body twitching. The floor and Wuot are
covered in blood. The bar men have stopped singing. Wuot finally severs the man’s spine, standing up to
hold his foot on the body, ripping his head off. A piece of spine remains attached to the head. He throws
it at the men.
Wuot: CONTINUE! SING! NO- NO! FROM THE BEGINNING!
40
Everyone sings, much better than last time, since their lives depend on it.
This story is inspired by Frederick William I, King of Prussia, who liked to encourage German patriotism
in bars with the threat of violence. Owing to his personality as well as to his porphyria, he possessed a
very mad and often lunatical nature. He was, however, always a patriot of Prussia. His policies of
militarism made Prussia into what it was to become. He produced many children who distributed
themselves throughout the thrones of Protestant Europe, and within the Prussian state. One such child
was Frederick II.
Wuot is a madman, but not always entirely aimless. He can be a spirited patriot. Woden is also a spirited
patriot, but more strategic, more dynamic, and not ruled by hiswode, instead master of his wode.
Besides which, it is also possible for Wuotnotto be a patriot, since he is a madman. Woden, however,
decided what his goal was going to be a long time ago, and it is always the same: the victory of the
Germanic gods and of their mortal relatives, who tend to be Germanic, or at least Northern European.
Frowan Frowe
You are standing in a deciduous forest, with tall trees and foliage covering the ground. In a small
clearing, surrounded by foliage and trees, in a little pocket of warmth and sunshine, you see Freyja, the
beautiful goddess of sex. She is scantily clad, wearing a kind of shawl, blanket, or curtain around her
body. She removes it, casting it to the ground to reveal her naked body. You are instantly aroused, but
not entirely; you know that she is inaccessible to you. She would never give herself to you, however
much you desire it. She breeds only with the greatest heroes, among mortals, and lusts with the
birth-chaste gods, not with random men encountered in the woods. Sensing this, she generates another
woman to her left, who materializes from the feet up. She is beautiful, and naked. You are now very
aroused, knowing that you may have this one, and you begin to approach her.
It is interesting that some men wish to talk so much about women. They want to discourse on their
features, show you women that they like, solicit ratings on women, and talk at length about sexual
activities and conquests. Sex, to these men, is a communal affair. They are, spiritually, enthusiasts of
cuckery. For most men, sex a private affair. You wouldnot want anyone else participating in sex with you,
would you? Why would you want someone else thinking about, for example, your wife? Whatever you
like about women, whatever infatuation you have with them or with a specific woman, whatever sexual
activities you are excited by, you keep to yourself. I do not mean to indicate a puritanical avoidance of
sexual topics, but to say that men who rant at length about these things, who want to have conversations
about them, who are stimulated by conversations with other men about women they desire, are
male-threesome-wanting promiscuous cucks. I leave the rest of the story to your imagination.
41
Hoþes Gewinn
You kneel before the young boy. Your fellow warrior kneels beside you. He speaks, as the boy sits upon
his field-throne, inside of his field-tent. His eyes gaze blankly.
Warrior: Great god! The enemy approaches. We have led them to these hills, to draw them into the
basin. It is here that the commanders have decided that we will give battle, where the enemy cannot
easily reinforce his troops. A narrow pass, it is, to access this area, and we have skirmishers all
throughout the mountains. Please, join us in battle! Lead us to victory, great one!
Hoth: I will do so.
Warrior: Great! I will guide you to the battle location. There you will stand, ready, when the enemy comes!
We have heard of your great prowess in battle, your great fury, and…and, prowess!
Hoth: I would like a glass of milk.
Warrior: You- what?
Hoth: I require a glass of milk before I do battle.
Warrior: A glass?
Hoth: Yes, a glass. Otherwise I will not join you…
Warrior: But sir, the cows have not been milked! And, a glass…
Hoth: Then I will not.
Warrior: Sir, why?
Hoth: I want one. I don’t feel like battling without a glass of milk first. Is that a problem?
Warrior: No, no sir! That is not a problem. You, go get him a glass!
Hoth: Of milk right?
Warrior: Yes, of milk. That is what I meant.
Hoth: Oh.
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You run outside of the tent to the cows. Only a few were brought on this expedition, to sustain the army.
You approach the quartermaster.
You: I need a glass of milk!
Quartermaster: You what?
You: A glass of milk, urgently!
Quartermaster: We are out of milk. And, a glass? This is a military expedition, you think we brought
glassware?
You: Hothr needs a glass of milk or else he refuses to fight!
Quartermaster: Fuck. Pray to Woden that the boy gets over it.
You: No time for that, you need to milk the cow now!
Quartermaster: I think you mean thatyouneed to milkthe cow. I will try to find a glass. A fucking glass,
ha!
He walks off. You scramble to find a bucket and a stool. You place it beside the cow, but it starts to move.
It is not properly tethered for milking. You stand in front of it and pet it for a few moments to get it to stand
still. You try again, but it still moves. You get some hay to place in front of the cow. This immobilizes it,
allowing you to get to work. You milk the udders until the bucket is full. You search around for the
quartermaster. He is speaking to a fellow warrior.
Warrior: No, I will not give it to you!
You: What is going on?
Quartermaster: This warrior possesses a glass as part of his loot. Give us the glass, you fucking wyrm!
Warrior: No-
You: Did you tell him what it was for?
Quartermaster: No!
You roll your eyes.
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You: Sir, it is for Hothr to drink. He will not go to battle unless he drinks from it. Won’t you like for your
glass to become a holy relic?
Warrior: Yes! Take it. Why didn’t you tell me?
You take the glass back to your bucket, scooping the milk into it. You carefully walk back to Hothr with
your full glass. You enter, and give it to him. He takes it with both hands from his throne. He holds it away
from him.
Hothr: Why is this messy!
You: Sir, I am sorry! I forgot to wipe it off, I thought you didn’t care.
You take the glass and wipe milk from the exterior of the glass.
Hoth: That is better! Thank you.
He drinks the glass quickly. Wiping his lips, he stands up.
Hoth: Ok, where is the battle?
Your friend takes his hand, but Hothr pulls it away.
Hoth: I can follow!
The man walks, and Hothr follows, perhaps detecting his heat or the sound of his footsteps, maybe using
some sixth sense. He leads Hoth to a spot on the battlefield, where you intend to meet the enemy. A
horn sounds. Men begin to form in ranks behind Hothr. The battlefield is interesting: a circular clearing in
a chain of mountains that is relatively flat, but a little hilly. It has no opening, save for a narrow crevice
through the mountains, from which the enemy has agreed to approach. They are an honorable enemy. A
rival Germanic army. They have agreed for this to be your “arena”.
Hoth: So this is the spot?
Warrior: Yeah.
Hoth: Ok. They will die here!
You wait with the boy, the army behind him. The enemy arrives after some time, through the pass. A
horseman rides ahead. He is apparently the commander. His soldiers form behind him. He raises his
44
arms as if to say something, but Hothr charges forward immediately. He does not even have a sword!
The army rushes forward to protect him, initiating battle. Someone hands Hothr a sword as he batters his
enemies with his fists. The horseman is crushed between the forces and he falls over with his horse,
trapped underneath it. The soldiers rage on, fighting furiously as Hothr cuts them down, insisting on
inserting himself into the thick of battle, forcing his comrades to come in to defend him each time. You
are in the fourth, or maybe third, rank, but it is hard to tell with the din of battle. The army is fighting in a
more disorganized fashion than usual, as it tries to coalesce around Hothr, both for reasons of protection
and so that warriors can win glory by defending a god. The army cuts through the enemy, pushing them
back and decimating their ranks with haste. You come to relieve someone in the next rank, and then the
next. You immediately get shot in the leg with an arrow, and collapse. Somebody comes to relieve you.
You are stepped over and trampled on by your comrades as you scoot to the edge of battle, clear of the
ranks. You watch as the enemy is swiftly dealt with, as Hothr cuts down enemy after enemy, until the few
remaining warriors, not glory-obsessed enough to fight a god as the others were, run away into the
mountain path. Victory is proclaimed and the warriors cheer. Hoth covers his ears because he doesn’t
like the noise. Dead and wounded men cover the battlefield, mostly on the enemy side. The warriors
cheer and hold Hothr aloft. He tentatively uncovers his ears to raise his arms in triumph, smiling happily,
before covering them again. More perspicacious men order the clueless brutes to stop cheering,
because Hothr doesn’t like it. Everyone quiets. The child is happily congratulated as warriors seek to
shake his hand, to pat him on the back. You hope it will be over soon, because you are bleeding from
your thigh and you need medical attention. You shout.
You: Hey! I need medical attention!
The other wounded warriors looked relieved. The men snap out of their stupor and get to work, tending
to the wounded and looting the dead. You call to Hothr. He comes over.
Hothr: Yes?
You: I am wounded.
Hoth: I heard you.
You: …
Hoth: Ok, I will fix it.
You know that the god has healing abilities.
Hoth: What’s this, an arrow? You have to remove it.
45
You: Remove it? Can you get a saw, my god?
Hoth: No, just pull it out.
You: Uh, Hoth, sir, that will cause addit-
Hoth: It won’t I’ll heal it.
Normally you would cut the arrow on both ends, and then pull from the front end so that the arrow exits
the same way that it entered, reducing additional damage beyond what you have already incurred by not
reversing the “indentation” of the skin and tissue. He wants you to just pull it as it is, causing the fletching
to enter your body. You do as he says, screaming. It is out and in your hand before you know it, as your
leg bleeds profusely. He touches it, healing it. You stand. Your leg is like new.
You: Thank you, Hothr!
Hoth: You are welcome.
You: Others need help too. Mostly the enemy. You should heal them also.
Hoth: The enemy?
You: Yes, they are Germanians
Hoth: Oh! They are Germanians? I didn’t notice. My father says to protect those!
You: Yes. There is a man under a horse, let us help him first.
You approach the enemy war leader. He greets you sardonically. You are about to offer to lift a portion of
the horse, but Hoth does it himself, lifting it enough to get underneath it with his small body, and then
pushing it over with his great strength. He tends to the man’s leg, and the man stands up.
War Leader: Thank you!
You: You fought very poorly, I would say.
War Leader: Yes, but you did have a god on your side.
Hoth: There are no “buts” in war!
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War Leader: That is very wise. Who taught you that?
Hoth: My father!
War Leader: Ah yes, Woden. We are descended from Woden, our people. Generations ago.
Hoth: I am descended from Woden now!
You: You mean, you are his immediate relative, yes.
You talk for a little while, until Hothr goes off to heal others. All of the wounded men will live, as they are
healed completely. The party stands around to fraternize for the rest of the evening, and to mourn the
dead. The victors proclaim victory and the losers accept defeat. No effort is made to placate the losers,
nor do they placate themselves. They see things in an objective, Germanic, collectivist way; they lost.
They didn’t “but lose some way and by the way etc.” They just lost, everyone knows what happened.
They are happy for you, praising your ability to get Hothr on your side without their knowledge, getting
them to agree to a battle that they would otherwise have avoided, if they had knowledge of the divine
power behind your forces. At night, spoils are sacrificed to Hoth before he returns to the realm of the
gods with his family.
Ullres Saga
You approach a campfire in the snowy conifer forest, upon a slight hill surrounded by trees. Two men sit
there. You recognize one of them, a man named Ulric. You can hear him speaking as you approach.
Ulric: He then approached the hall, at the gates, with his MIGHTY sword, and with it he- hey, I know you!
Come sit down, the fire is warm!
You sit down on one of the logs surrounding the fire. The men around you wear fur skins.
Ulric: Have you met Halfdan?
You say no, and he introduces you to Halfdan. Ulric is a hunter and a trader, currently on his trading
route. He has been unable to kill anything. Halfdan is a warrior, on the way to join his brothers for some
adventure or other.
Ulric: Anyway, I was just telling him the story of Torsten Svensson, the mighty warrior. Have you heard
this story?
You: No.
47
Ulric: Oh, well I am sorry that we are quite a way through it already, but to recap: Torsten was promised a
women in marriage, in Danmǫrk. He went to receive them, but an evil witch, who was also the woman’s
mother, enchanted the king with her seiðr magic, into holding them against his will. They were locked up
in the king’s hall, and guarded from their rightful husband. Torsten went on a perilous sea journey- well,
we don’t need to go into that, and now:
You: Wait, are there multiple women or just one?
Ulric: Oh…well, to be honest, I have heard it both ways.
You: Ok, carry on.
Ulric: So now, he approached the hall, with his, as I said, MIGHTY sword, and with it he cleaved the
gates in two, through the opening you know, disengaging the lock. He kicked the doors open with his
MIGHTY shoes, like the shoes of Vithar, and into the hall he went.
He found it, to his surprise, completely empty. Save for the king of Danmǫrk.
Halfdan: The king of Danmǫrk?
Ulric: Yes, THE KING OF DANMǪRK, seated upon his throne! And Torsten shouted: DO NOT SIT IDLY
UPON THAT THRONE AS I SEARCH FOR MY BRIDE. FURNISH THEM TO ME, OR PERISH BY THE
MIGHT OF MY SWORD! His sword glowed, like the glowing of the sun as-
A man approaches, carrying a deer on his back. He is wearing a hood, and boots of fur. Ulric and
Halfdan watch as he approaches. He comes closer.
Ulric: Is that you? The god of the hunt, is it Ullr?
Ullr: Yes, it is me.
Ulric: Oh gods! Or should I say, god! Why are we graced with your presence?
Halfdan: Great god!
Ullr: I have to warm up my deer.
He throws his deer to the ground in front of the sitting-log. You can see that it is clearly frozen, with ice
formed upon it. Its body does not jiggle or move as it is set down. It has a frozen wound upon its upper
snout, most likely from an arrow. It has a cut across its neck.
48
Ullr: I have a shack near here, I will work on it there.
Halfdan: Oh gods! I can’t believe it! I have never met one of the gods before, and even though I would
not be certain if you are divine, I can feel your divinity from your very presence!
You feel it, too. A numen, one that reminds you of survival, the wilderness, the hunt, and peaceful
moments of safety, though the numen itself is inexplicable. Ullr sits down on the log behind his deer. He
takes his gloves off to warm his hands. Surely this is only a matter of comfort for him, or perhaps only a
performative action for your sake.
Ullr: So, what were we talking about?
Ulric, gazing at Ullr mindlessly: I- we-
You: He was telling us the story of Torsten Svensson.
Ullr: Oh, I know that story. Torsten, of Sven Bjǫrnsson.
Ulric: Yes! Of course you know it, you are the lord of stories!
Halfdan: Son of Sven Bjǫrnsson? Yes, I have heard of this man. He came to Danmǫrk to acquire his wife.
It must really have been one woman after all, Ulric.
Ullr: Yes, it was.
Ulric: Well, I suppose it was then.
Ullr: Do not let me prevent you from telling your story.
Ulric: Oh…ok, well. I am somewhat nervous, telling a story in the presence of a god. But ok. I was
saying- where was I?
Halfdan: He had met the king.
Ulric: Oh yes, he confronted the king, and he said, KING, FURNISH ME AT ONCE WITH MY WIFE, OR
ELSE YOU WILL HAVE TO FEEL THE AWESOME MIGHT OF MY SHINING BLADE. DO NOT DITHER,
OR ELSE YE WILL BE TURNED TO WATER LIKE THE SNOW UNDER THE SHINING SÓL, by the- by
the- BY THE FIRE OF HIS- OF MY BLADE!
49
As he said this, the king looked at him silently. He showed no emotion. It became evident why. A
magnificent SERPENT SLITHERED THROUGH THE AIR, out from behind the king’s throne. As it
approached Torsten, he raised it to his blade [misspeech not my error], and cut, straight across, causing
the serpent to hiss. The king, at once, transformed into a wolf, and-
Ullr: That’s not what happened.
Ulric: Th- it’s not?
Ullr: No, that’s obviously ridiculous.
Ulric: Great god! Please tell us the truth!
Ullr: Ok. Torsten Svensson agreed to marry a woman in Danmǫrk. When the time came upon which they
would be married, he waited, and waited, and she never arrived. Therefore he set out to the country
himself, bringing with him his legendary sword, Sun-Breaker. He-
Ulric: Was Sun-Breaker of legendary solar power?
Ullr: No, it was just the name of his sword.
Ulric: Then why was it legendary?
Ullr: Because he won many battles and duels with it. It was of great craftsmanship.
Ulric: Oh, ok. Sorry sir, please continue.
Ullr: He went to the community in which she was supposed to reside, to see the jarl, who he hoped would
help him locate the woman’s father. He went to the gates of the jarlhall, but they were closed. He waited
for several moments, but they remained closed.
Ulric: And then he bashed them open with his might! Or, did he break the lock with his sword?
Ullr: No, he used the door knocker.
Ulric: Oh.
Ullr: But no answer came. So he knocked again. And then he knocked again. And he kept knocking, until
finally the doors were opened by some guards. He entered, and when he entered, he found the jarl
seated on his throne at the head of the hall. The hall was dingey, and empty. The jarl appeared old, and
50
in poor health. He struggled to speak, so some men came from behind his throne to speak for him. They
said: “what do you want?”
And Torsten said, “who are you?”
And they said, “we are the warband of Østen Hägarsen, and we are in control here. If you wish to speak
to someone, you speak to us. Now, what is it that you want?”
And one of them said, “and I am Østen Hägarsen. If you wish to speak to someone, you speak to me.”
Torsten asked about the nature of their occupation of the hall. They replied that a war had recently been
conducted, and they were the victors. The weak and infirm jarl could not stand a chance. They would
take what they wanted from his jarldom, and install one of their own as his successor, whenever he
should finally die. Torsten inquired about the origin of their hostilities, but the men declined to answer.
They demanded that Torsten state his business.
Torsten said, “I am searching for my wife, who was promised to me in marriage by an eminent man of
this community. I wish to speak to the jarl, so that he can help me, or at least point me in the direction of
this man so that I can speak with him, and hopefully locate my wife. I don’t see why I must speak to you.
I think, as long as the jarl is not dead, it is his business to rule his own jarldom.”
Østen replied, “well, if it was his business to rule his own jarldom, he would have us removed from it, and
would retain all of the items we wish to take, and the throne we wish to usurp. But this is obviously not
how wars go. We won, and now we must see that the peace is upheld. Do you really expect the losers in
war to enforce their own demise?”
Torsten said, “that is fair, you are right. I didn’t know what was happening here exactly. But you did
promise him that he could remain jarl, did you not?”
Østen answered, “yes, it would be dishonorable to kill a jarl for political intrigue. We take his throne only
after he dies.”
Torsten said, “a jarl is not merely an old man who sits upon a throne. If you wish to let him continue in his
jarldom, and I agree that you should, you must allow him to act as a jarl. I understand that you must
enforce peace conditions, but his ability to speak to me has nothing to do with that. If you restrict his
speech, you might as well kill him.”
Østen said, “well, what if that which you have to speak about would jeopardize our peace?”
Torsten asked, “does it?”
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Østen said haughtily, “well, what if we have already given your bride away as a war-bride?”
Torsten viciously replied, “did you?”
And Østen said, “I am not saying that we did, nor am I saying that we didn’t.”
And Torsten, “let us go see her family, so that I can see if you did.”
But Østen refused, saying “no, I think you need to leave.”
And Torsten said “stop being a liar. Tell me if you did or did not take my wife, and if you do not know, let
me find out if you did or did not.”
But Østen began to get aggressive, his men brandishing their weapons, telling Torsten that he must
leave at once or the consequences would be grave. Torsten drew his sword and fought the enemies. He
fought them, six in number, alone, until the hall-guards decided to help him. Jumping around upon the
tables and benches, Torsten fought like mad, while the guards around him fell. The jarl watched silently.
While two enemies already fell by the combined effort of Torsten and the guards, he still had four
enemies to fight alone, including Østen. Torsten fought in an usual style, running around to strike his
enemies before running away, behind tables and benches, throwing items at the enemy to stall them,
causing them to bump into each other in narrow passageways. He slowly bled them to death, one by
one, until it was just him and Østen.
Østen, unfazed, said: “quite the dishonorable fighter you are. You fight like the god Loki in the legend of
Loki and the snake-serpent. Let us settle this now like men, duel me, to the first blood, and if you win I
will let you see your bride. If you lose, then you go without her.”
He didn’t say it, but we all know what he was thinking: yes, of course NOW Østen would invoke honor,
wishing to “honorably duel”, after attacking Torsten alone with many men, after withholding information
about Torsten’s bride, now that he is alone, NOW he would demand to fight to “first blood”, after trying to
kill Torsten with several swords and lances.
The jarl now made a noise, clearing his throat. He stood up as the fighters stood facing each other in the
middle of the aisle, Østen with his back to him. He feebly said, “yes, I will officiate the duel. If Torsten-”
As he says this, Østen looks back at him, and as Østen looks back at him, Torsten creeps up [transition
from past to present tense Ullr’s decision, not mine] behind Østen’s head, and slits his throat, causing
Østen to collapse and writhe in a spurting pool of blood for a few remaining seconds of life.
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Torsten reconciled himself with the jarl, but told him that he intended to uphold the peace. The jarl agreed
in resignation, and Torsten was allowed by the remaining hostile warriors to see his wife. She was indeed
given as a war-bride, and so Torsten undertook a dialogue with her husband. It was settled that Torsten
would be paid half the sum of her bride-price, with the other half going to her father, since after all the
war-husband did not have to pay a bride-price to begin with. The victorious warrior would keep her.
Torsten stayed to help the victors set up their new territory, and Østen’s brother, who would resume
control of the territory after the jarl’s death, was good enough to give Torsten his deceased brother’s
substantial share of loot. Torsten then returned to his home, where he lived a long and peaceful life,
being later married to a woman of even higher quality, and taking a number of concubines.
Ulric: Oh…but he did not return with the severed head of a dragon?
Ullr: No, he did not return with the severed head of a dragon.
Ulric: But, sir! This makes Torsten seem worse, it reduces his glory!
Ullr: It does not reduce Torsten’s glory.
Ulric: Why?
Ullr: Because Torsten’s glory consists of two parts, does it not? It is “Torsten”, and then it is also “glory”.
Did Torsten slay an air-swimming serpent?
Ulric: No…
Ullr: Did Torsten hew a door in half with a shining sword?
Ulric: No…
Ullr: Then the glory, immense though it may have been of such actions, would not be the glory of Torsten.
Therefore it does not reduce Torsten’s glory. It INCREASES TORSTEN’S glory to tell the story ABOUT
TORSTEN. The glory you speak of never actually existed anyway. That glory is for children, it teaches
them in a simplified way about reality and moral greatness. It is exciting for children. Do you prefer
children’s stories?
Ulric: No, sir.
Ullr: Good, then you will give all due glory to Torsten and nothing more.
Ulric: Yes, thank you for enlightening us.
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Halfdan: I greatly enjoyed the story sir!
Ullr: My deer is ready. Slightly charred, actually. I will go now.
Ullr stands and stretches. Then he throws his deer over his back, and departs. As he departs, you feel
sad, as if the environment has become cold and treacherous, since his numen has departed with him.
The environment no longer has the homely feeling that he engendered. He did, however, leave his
gloves, and the sight of these behind the crackling fire leaves some consolation.
Se Lagu Nerða
You are standing on the edge of a lake in the middle of a small wilderness. The Author of Templist Canon
had spent a good deal of time visiting this particular lake, you happen to know. It is rectangular in shape,
and shallow, perhaps more of a pool than a lake. It might be artificial. Although, maybe not, as it has a
small island on the far side of it. To your right is a stream that proceeds from the lake, joined by another
stream that proceeds from some reservoir somewhere. Across the stream there is a not-well-trodden
path. It is not the path you came from. That path is behind you, where it crosses the stream at a wider
point after both of the “higher” streams meet. It is a general principle of streams and lakes that they
become larger as they get “lower”, but smaller as they get “higher”. Therefore, if you are ever looking for
civilization, you proceed downstream rather than upstream. A wooden board lays across the stream,
leading to a small bank of stones, leading to a narrow path of roots, leading to where you are now by the
side of the lake. A ways before, you had crossed the stream at a lower, wider point, over a thick and
sturdy reinforced board. The Author had placed this board here years ago, prior even to the creation of
Templist Canon, having dragged it from a lower point on the stream while listening to some finance
podcast or other, where some hooligans had placed it in an attempt to block the water.
A woman appears to your right, from the not-well-trodden path. She wears a long tunic with long sleeves,
reaching down to her ankles. It is tan in color. She is aesthetically acceptable, with Nordic features, but
she is vaguely masculine and therefore not sexually attractive. Her shoulders are broad, and her body
appears topheavy. Her face is ovular, with a vertically extended jaw, such as is common of certain
Germanic and many Celto-Germanic males. Some women combine this physiognomy with feminine
features, but she is not one of them. She is surrounded by a numinous aura of infertility, noxiousness,
perhaps poison, but also of cleanliness, though with the possibility of pestilence. She carries some textile
fabrics or other over her shoulder. Barefoot, she stands as she comes near to you.
“Hi”, she says agreeably, in a low female voice. She stares at you. She is a little bit scary. You might wish
to run away, but her numen gives you the sense that her intentions are positive. Furthermore, that they
could become negative if you were to display such paranoid cowardice. She would interpret it as hostility.
“Is The Author of Templist Canon here?”, you ask. “No”, she replies, “he is not here right now.” “Oh”, you
say. You nervously look down and away, pretending to look at the lake as she continues to stare at you.
She is not trying to be hostile. Rather she simply has no fear of you and wishes to watch you, just as you
54
watch the lake. You look over the lake, trying to focus on it. Realizing that there is no escape from this
situation, you face her and ask what the cloth is for. Your demeanor is energetic, somewhat aggressive,
but agreeable, as you try to overcome your fears, and you know that the nature of this particular being is
such as to be disarmed by agreeableness. It is interesting, to be surrounded by danger, but for the only
safe path to be acting as if no danger is present. She is pleased by your behavior, recognizing the subtle
implications of your body language. She replies that she was just washing the cloth, and now it is being
cleaned as she holds it.
She tells you that she would like to go for a walk, and you oblige. There is a rectangular path that starts
at your end of the lake, going around to extend some ways past the other side of the lake. You walk with
her. You talk like friends, walking beside each other. As you come to a patch of tall grass blocking the
path, you express a disinclination to continue. “Maybe we should go back”, you say. It is natural for
humans to fear the bugs, snakes, parasites, etc that may hide in tall grasses. Nerthus assures you that
she will cause all of the insects and animals to flee, leaving only the grass. She asks if you are afraid of
grass, in friendly jest. “No”, you reply, and so you continue through the grass. You can see dead bugs,
spiders, ticks, beneath your feet as you pass through the tall grass. Other bugs and animals scurry away
as you walk. The path continues on the other side. You make your way around, continuing to talk. It is a
mundane and pleasant conversation. You discuss Templism a bit. You cross over The Author’s foot
bridge, taking the path back to where you started. Standing again by the lake, Nerthus stands in much
the same position as before, looking at you. “Will you be going now?”, she asks. “Yes”, you reply. “I had
better get going.” Nerthus replies sarcastically, “‘you had better’?” You correct yourself: “I would like to
leave now.” She stands, staring at you again, this time just to test you. You stand awkwardly for a
moment and kick some rocks, pacing around. She is still staring at you. You look at her. You chuckle, “ok,
I’m going to leave now.” You do not say this fearfully before running away, but instead stare back at her,
resting your foot upon a large stone, resting your arm upon your raised thigh, challenging her mirthfully
as you turn the awkwardness back to her. She relaxes and chuckles also, “ok. It was nice talking to you,
thank you for coming by.” You reply, “you too, thank you, goodbye.” “Bye!”, she says cheerfully. You leave
this time without fear, but because you really want to leave.
Ing is Gehwær
You wake up in the morning to the sound of your phone alarm. You pick up your phone. Its screen shines
at you, not with its usual shine, but with a strange logo with a black background. It is a man’s head, in
profile, with a long pointy beard, and a tall dunce-cap like hat with a ball on top. It wears round glasses.
Its face is angular and English looking. You are startled, but think nothing of it. You turn off your alarm
and get up to make breakfast. There is no work today, so you intend to go to the mall with your friend.
You go to the refrigerator. Here again, is the face-logo, on both doors. You open the doors. Again, the
logo, on just about every item in your refrigerator. You take out some milk. Again, the logo. And cereal,
again the logo. As you pour the cereal and milk into a bowl, and you look out through your house, you
notice it upon everything. The lamp shades, the couch, the television, everything.
55
You set your cereal aside to call your friend. You figure that you must have been pranked. Controlling
your emotions, you call his number. The phone does not dial. Instead, a deep sounding English voice
answers. “Hello [your name]” it says matter-of-factly. “Wh- who are you?”, you reply, asking for your
friend. “Oh, you will be connected with him shortly”, the voice says, “I just wanted to say hello. Goodbye
for now, we will talk later.” The voice leaves you, and the phone begins to ring. You leave a flustered
voice message to your friend, asking what is going on. You ponder a few moments. No, this must be a
joke. Best not dwell on it. You finish your cereal and continue getting ready. Whoever pranked you must
have gone all-out. It is on your clothes, on your furniture, on your appliances, on your countertop, on your
door. Even the things that you think are lacking it, have it hidden somewhere upon investigation. Maybe
you are going insane? You try calling your friend again, but there is no answer.
You will have to see him in person. Calling off the meeting and staying at home can surely do you no
good. No, you must seek help in person, if indeed these ubiquitous logos are apparitions of a mental
disease. You are now dressed and ready to go. You head out the door, and your heart sinks. Yes, there is
no possible explanation other than madness! The logo is on everything. The porch, the railing, the
doorway, the pavement, everything. You go to your car to see that familiar face, and you open the door.
You have to get to your friend as soon as possible. It is not yet time to go to the mall, so you will drive to
his house. As you look slightly to the passenger’s side of the car, you startle greatly! You must be losing
your mind! For, a pair of extremely long legs rest themselves across the median of the front seats,
bending to hang down where a normal-sized passenger’s legs would normally be. They are thin legs,
relative to their length, clad in stockings, with brown shoes likely of linen, reminiscent of “Christmas elf
shoes”. As you slowly, dreadfully look over, you see the body they are connected to. It is also large and
tall, thin, strewn uncomfortably across your back car seats. He holds, in his lap, a long conical hat, similar
to the one depicted on the logo. As you look up at his face, you recognize that it is the man from the logo,
his beard and hair red in color. “Hello there”, he smiles at you mirthfully. His accent is English, his voice
deep.
“I bet you are wondering why I’m here”, he says. You nod, scared. He has a jolly and comical disposition.
“Well, I have come to show you the fact that I rule the world.” He pauses to make you uncomfortable.
“Not that I literally rule the world - heavens no - that is the right of my overlord Woden, but in a figurative
sense, I predominate over the world in which you live.”
His voice changes tone, becoming louder, as if he has suddenly launched into a prepared speech. Your
car reverberates with his voice.
“ALL of the things you have seen today, all of the CARS, the REFRIGERATORS, the APPLIANCES, the
FURNITURE, the CELLULAR PHONES, the very PAVED GROUND ON WHICH YOU STAND, the
INDUSTRIAL MAGNIFICENCE of it all, ALL are the FRUITS of MY labor. Of my PEOPLE’S labor, their
TOIL, their INDUSTRY, their INTELLIGENCE, their SHREWDNESS, their ANGLO-SAXON MIGHT, has
projected THEIR culture upon the entire EARTH!”
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As he emphatically says “EARTH!”, you glimpse, for a moment, as if looking at the Earth from outer
space, seeing the globe before you. It is as if you had been transported there, for just a brief moment, as
if his words have the power to change reality. It passes with the duration of the word. His voice gets
quieter now, faster, though still in speech form. It rises progressively.
“But let us not forget the broader aim, the Germanic aim. The Germans, did you know, are the largest
European ethnic group by population, riding, primarily, on the backs of other civilizations, trail blazed by
the Anglo-Saxon specifically. That is not counting the latent Germanness that exists within other
populations, such as the French, the Irish, the Northern Italians. That is not counting, THAT IS TO SAY,
the total GERMANIC presence on this Earth. This is what the Anglo-Saxon does. This is his role. He
creates new paths, opens up NEW MARKETS, creates NEW METHODS OF PRODUCTION, founds
NEW CIVILIZATIONS for his Germanic brethren to enjoy, to populate with Germanic blood and Germanic
invention, to staff with Germanic armies, regardless if they are Anglo-Saxon, Scandinavian, German, or
any other among our magnificent race. In the process, we also benefit OTHER RACES, by the total,
GLOBE-TROTTING SCALE OF OUR MAGNIFICENCE, the TROTTING of the SAXON HORSE, which
one day will surpass even the Earth, extending far beyond into SPACE!”
As he says “SPACE!”, you are again transported for a brief moment to a location of that description,
seeing stars from the vacuum of space. The space seems to pull at you, choke you, for a brief second
until the word is complete. He yells it incredibly loudly, practically spitting it at you. It takes the form of a
physical projectile, washing over you like a wave, or a gust of wind, sending chills down your spine as
you return to the comfort of your car, deafening you like a gunshot. You blink, and he is gone. Nothing
around you bears his logo anymore, but you are reminded of the ubiquity of Anglo-Saxon racial
achievement. Not only the industrial revolution, the consequences of which are all around you, but the
automobile, the proliferation of capitalism, the various products of U.S government research including the
internet, the world wide web, military innovations like the tank, the existence of the Anglosphere nations
themselves, and everything that comes out of these nations, including the very language that they speak.
To list all of their ubiquitous accomplishments would be impossible.
Wiðor Ofsliehþ Þa Hloþeras
What follows is a stereotypical American pop culture scene. A gang of heroic robbers enter a bank in
Provo, Utah, clad in skull masks and black attire. They have planned the heist for several months,
acquired all the necessary materiel, and now it is time to rob the bank. They fire in the air and yell
immediately, “everybody get on the ground!”, causing panic and submission within the bank. Stragglers
are beaten or forced into compliance. The doors are locked with strong wires, and a charismatic robber
jumps on the front desk to deliver a speech: “listen up! We are here for money, not for you! If you do what
we say, you will not be harmed. If you do not run away, if you do not try to fight us, we are not going to kill
anybody. The worst that can happen, while you’re withinthese walls, is that somebody will be beaten. If
you comply with all of our commands, this will be nothing worse than a minor inconvenience to your
evening. Now, I require everyone to take out their cell phones, and place them in the bag.”
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A robber comes around with a plastic bag. The hostages, now lined up, place their phones in the bag.
One man refuses. It is physiognomically evident that he is a military veteran. He is tall and stocky. He
cannot help but dress as an ex-military man, no matter how hard he tries. He wears a black-gray
baseball cap with an American flag on it. The robber asks, “where’s your phone?” The man replies, “I left
it in the car.” The robber retorts, “alright, I’m just gonna have to pat you down if you don’t mind.” The man
gruffly replies, “I do mind.” A quick rifle butt to his face neutralizes this problem, and the man’s phone is
secured. Others gasp. A woman starts to have a panic attack.
As the other robbers continue to secure the location, one of them approaches the woman. “Hey, just
relax” he says, touching her shoulder. She jerks it away from him. He puts his hands up deferentially
before putting them down. “Look, if you freak out like this, it might cause you to do something you don’t
want to do. If you’re nervous, it makes me nervous. You don’t want to make me nervous. All you have to
do is sit and wait here. That’s it, it’ll be over before you know it.” The woman calms slightly, and he gets
her to sit down in a comfortable chair in the lobby. He fetches a paper cup of water for her from the water
dispenser.
The hostages are separated in seemingly random groups, although the burly and tough men seem to be
distributed throughout them. Some are put in other rooms, while some of them sit in the furnished lobby
area. It seems that this group is composed of the weakest and most compliant specimens. The nervous
woman is among them. Each group is visited by one robber, who delivers the same message. To
paraphrase: “I just want to let you know that this is a hostage situation. I reiterate that if you try to leave,
or stop what we’re doing here, I will shoot you. However, otherwise, no one will be hurt, except the bank
manager if he refuses to open the vault. Now, you are going to hear us making some demands to the
cops. In these demands, we are going to threaten to eliminate hostages. I want to let you know that this
is a bluff, and as long as nobody manages to tell the cops otherwise, it will remain a bluff. If anybody
needs anything, we have brought food and water, and we are happy to escort you to the bathroom.”
In one case, a Jewish man cried out: “Are you going to pay me for my time?”
The robber responded, “yes, we are stealing your time. But that’s all we’re stealing. As a matter of fact,
we brought clean cash to pay you for your time if you’d like. I’m not sure if it will be commensurate with
your wage, but oh well.”
The Jew responded: “Clean cash! You are fucking robbers man, nothing you touch in this scenario is
clean!”
The robber laughed. “Well, I guess you're right. Look, if you care about it so much, maybe we can
negotiate it as part of the deal with the cops.”
The Jew: “Are you an idiot?! That would make me no less a robber than yourself!”
58
The robber gave him a minimal response “well, I guess so”, before leaving.
With the hostages secured, the bank manager is taken to open the vault. He does so eagerly, with total
obsequence, which men sometimes adopt in situations of danger despite all of their ideological
pretensions. The robber superfluously tries to justify it to him: “look man, it’s no different from the
government. We’re both armed men picking your pocket. Only we aren’t picking your pocket, we’re
picking the government’s pocket. All of this stuff is insured, you know that.” The manager agrees
vociferously, again doing that thing men sometimes do, in appearing “already on the same page” despite
an obvious insincerity, he says “oh I know I know, I hear ya man, I hate the government as much as the
next guy, believe me”, he chuckles malignantly. Yeah, he’s just “one of the guys”, surely, this bank
manager. The robbers enter the vault and begin…robbing, taking as much as they can, opening safety
deposit boxes. The police are en route, and the robbers know it, though it took somewhat longer than
expected in fact.
…
The lead robber sits at a desk. He speaks to the hostage negotiator on the phone. The police are still “en
route”, taking a suspiciously long time. It is assumed that they are already outside, taking a perimeter far
away from the scene, perhaps utilizing the Wasacht mountain range to watch them from afar. There is a
summit known as “Squaw Peak” which may give an adequate overview of the scene, with sufficiently
advanced telescopic equipment. This serves the robbers just fine; they aren’t dumb enough to expose
themselves to the outside.
Robber: “Alright, here’s what I need. I need you to get me a helicopter from the local Utah Valley
Hospital. Don’t fucking tell me the helicopter is already dispatched, because I know it isn’t.”
The robber fires a gunshot across the room, certainly loud enough for the negotiator to hear, close
enough for the hostages in the lobby to begin screaming. Another robber reassures them quietly.
Robber: “I just killed a hostage. If you don’t get me what I want, I’m going to kill more. You’re sending
guys out now to storm the place, I know. You better hope that helicopter gets here before they do, or I’m
gonna kill every last motherfucker in here including my own crew.”
Negotiator: “Hey hey, let’s just calm everything down, I don’t want you to do anything rash. What’s this
about killing your own crew, why would you do that?”
Robber: “Because I’m fucking desperate here man, and I’ve gotta show you that I’m crazy as fuck or
you’re gonna send guys in to storm the place.”
Negotiator: “Alright, alright, I can respect that. So why are you doing this, anyway? What’s the goal, what
do you need the money for?”
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The robber sneers rhetorically: “What do I need the money for?”
Negotiator: “Yeah, I mean you seem like a smart guy. You’ve gotta be pretty desperate to make a play
like this. What is it, do you have a debt to somebody? We can take care of that.”
Robber: “It's my son.”
Negotiator: “It’s your son, ok, tell me about that.”
Robber: “My son is in the hospital. He needs surgery. I’ve gotta get the money to-”
Negotiator: “Whoa, which hospital is he at? We can take care of that, no problem, all you’ve gotta do is-”
Robber, emotional: “I am NOT going to tell you where my son is at so you can what, go and kill him?
He’s out of the country, I’ve got to get the cash and get out of here. That should be-”
He chokes up with tears, fighting to maintain his tough-guy attitude.
“That should be your only concern. Get me that helicopter, or everyone here dies. I’ve got nothing to
lose.”
He hangs up. The police have still not arrived, as expected. Better to deal with the robbers once they’re
in the helicopter, they must figure. Wait until they board, and then shoot them. Never matter, the robbers
have a plan to deal with that when it comes. This is an interesting strategy that one can play - make your
enemy commit his entire strategy to a certain “unexpected” inflection point, but “expect” it, and thus
neutralize his entire strategy “unexpectedly”. The robbers ensure that the-
Vithar crashes through the side door of the bank. The robbers, for all their planning and preparation,
failed to realize that the doors they so securely locked were made of glass. All Vithar had to do was fire a
shot through both the first and second doorway, and he could smash himself an opening with his gun
through the tempered glass. He is accompanied by two Mormon missionaries, Geri and Freki. Only, they
are not acting in the capacity of missionaries. They are armed, with AR-15s, while Vithar is armed with
an AKS-74u.
Mormons are great upholders of moral purity. They are most prized by Woden, and the Germanic gods.
In Utah and the “Mormon Corridor”, they form the purest Anglo-Saxon bastion in America, seconded by
New England, and the Mid-South, though the former has a large “Odinic” contingent from its early Puritan
forefathers and from German mercenaries, while the latter has a large “Thunarian” element that is
common to the whole South. The Utahns however are pure Freyrians, and most prized by that god,
embodying all of his traits; those of commercialism, freedom, puritanical morality, fruitfulness
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(manifesting as polygyny, in the early history of Utah, though such behavior is no longer useful due to the
equal proportion of sexes), love of peace and prosperity, male virility, and pious religiosity. They are
followers of the law who would not jeopardize American security.
Vithar sends an accurate bullet across the room as soon as he enters, hitting the leader in the upper
chest, incapacitating him. As Geri covers Vithar’s right side, he kills a robber guarding the room to his
right. The trio advances quickly, as another robber appears from a room firing his weapon in an
inaccurate “gung ho” manner that gets him killed. Freki storms into the next room, executing the robber
therein. The remaining robbers are holed up in the vault, awaiting a firefight. As Vithar and company
enter, the robbers begin to surrender, but are cut down by the trio, with their hands in the air or while
setting down their weapons. The trio relaxes and walks for the door through which they came. Vithar
stops by the leader to vindictively fire several rounds into his body, killing him. His son dies in the
hospital.
Heafod Þunor
You are in a high school locker room, getting dressed. At the wooden bench in front of you and to your
left, stands a classmate. He is pale, with brown eyes, standing about 5 feet 7 inches (170 cm). His face is
round, perhaps Slavic, giving one the impression of a baby. He is skinny, and he wears glasses. His hair
is shaved in a very short buzz cut that makes him look bald. You know him as a quiet person, someone
who is not very popular, even with the “nerds”. He speaks in a nasally voice, and never seems to have
anything interesting to say. His gait is emblematic of incoordination, in a way that is not very explicable.
His paleness is of the variety that seems “gray”, or lifeless. You cannot perceive any blood beneath his
skin, and his skin does not shine. Despite having the face of a baby, he also manages to give you the
impression, in a vague way, of an old man.
He is approached by another classmate. This classmate is also pale, with blonde hair, and blue eyes. He
stands about 5 feet 8 inches (173 cm). He is, by all opinions, very attractive, both in his face, as well as
his powerful muscular body. You know him to be successful with women, perhaps the most popular man
in school, a very boisterous and courageous person, though of below middling intelligence. He accosts
the smaller classmate, and says: “Hey. I heard you were saying some things about me out there that
were not very nice. I need you to stop doing that, or we’re going to have a problem.”
The smaller fellow looks up nervously. “Oh- there’s no problem, I just- I’m not sure what you mean, I was
just-”
The attractive fellow interjects, waving his large index finger in the helpless classmate’s face “you know
exactly what I’m talking about, and I don’t want you to say that stuff about me anymore, or like I said we
are gonna-”
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Another classmate enters the scene. He is very pale, being a redhead, with an ugly buzz cut, standing
about 5 ft 11 inches (180 cm), above both classmates. He is large, and you know him to be strong,
though he is unaesthetic; he has an unshapely body that makes him look like an oafish brute rather than
a muscular adonis. His face is covered in pimples and the scars thereof, which ooze upon his cheeks
and chin. His eyes are blue. He places his hand upon the chest of the blonde fellow. “Hey, leave him
alone.”
Blonde: “You need to stay out of this. Or we’re going to have a problem.”
The redhead pushes him, sending him backwards, though he does not lose his footing. “How is this for a
problem?” They begin to tussle for a few moments, before…
Thunder roars. The coach, named THUNAR, punches the hinges off of the metal locker room door. He
enters, wearing an archaic tunic and an ancient winged war helmet. An eccentric but tough coach, you
know him as. His height with helmet places him just a centimeter from dragging his wings on the ceiling.
He does not appear to wear pants, placing his gigantic legs in full view.
Thunar: WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE!?
All present are cowed for a moment, before blonde speaks: “I was just trying to talk to this kid, and then-”
Red: “You were not just trying to talk to him! You were picking on him! Coach, he was trying to intimidate
him, so I said-”
Thunar: SHUT THE FUCK UP, I ALREADY KNOW WHAT HAPPENED.
Thunar: YOU ARE A PIECE OF SHIT.
Red: Wh- me?
Thunar: YES!
Red: But he was picking on him coach. You’re not hearing me. I was standing up for him!
Thunar: YOU WERE STANDING UP FOR DISHONOR AND DISGUST.
Red: Coach I-
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Thunar: YOU ARE NOT A GALLANT KNIGHT. YOU ARE A PIECE OF SHIT. LOOK AT YOU. YOU ARE
DEFENDING HIM BECAUSE HE IS A PIECE OF SHIT, TOO. YOU ARE THE WARRIOR OF THE
UNVIRTUOUS TRIBE, DEFENDING YOUR OWN KIND. YOU ARE FUCKING DISGUSTING.
Red: C-
Thunar: HERE IS WHAT HAPPENED. THIS VIRTUOUS MALE HERE APPROACHED THIS LITTLE
WEASEL. HE DID NOT ATTACK HIM. HE HONORABLY INFORMED HIM THAT HE MUST STOP
SLANDERING HIM OR ELSE HE WAS GOING TO EMPLOY HIS VIRTUE IN VIOLENCE. YOU SAW
YOUR FELLOW LOW STATUS FAGGOT MALE IN JEOPARDY, SO YOU INTERVENED BY
DISHONORABLY ATTACKING SOMEONE WHO IS BETTER THAN YOU WITHOUT ANY
PROVOCATION OR HONORABLE WARNING.
Red: This is not what we were taught-
Thunar: GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY GYM!
…
A number of high school degenerates hang out at a small party. The living room is dimly lit with a number
of aesthetic blue and purple lights. A small bar, probably belonging to someone’s father, sits in the
corner. The young men pass their time drinking and smoking, each trying not-so-subtly to impress the
handful of women present. The conversations center around these women, or around the couple of
“alpha males” present, who paradoxically are the most attractive to the women present, despite making
no special effort to woo them unless quite specifically horny. Someone lounges on the couch and hits a
vape pen.
Not all of those present are naturally degenerates. Some are victims of cultural circumstances. They
spend their nights drinking and smoking, their days vaping, because these are perceived to be
“courageous” or “rebellious” things to do. They are, but there are many more courageous and rebellious
things to do that do not involve the habitual degradation of the body and mind. It is a shame, that those
who are of a courageous nature, a rebellious nature, and who usually possess an accompanying virtue
or “thumos”, choose to channel their energies through these particular activities rather than nobler or
more edifying activities.
Thunar, the school coach, invites himself into the house, making his way to the living room. “How is
everybody doing today?”, he asks in his deep and confident voice. The students are surprised for a
moment, but they laugh in their dazed or drunken states “coach, what are you doing here?” A female
blurts out “I love you coach!”
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Thunar: I have been informed that you are engaged in degeneracy.
Student 1: Coach, bruhhh haha.
Alpha Male 1: Hey coach if this is degeneracy, then I’m all for it!
Thunar: I am not. You should be spending your time in less destructive activities.
Female 1: Ok mom!
Student 2: Yeah coach, you sound like my fucking dad bro.
Thunar: I happen to know that your dad is a faggot.
The students laugh and snicker raucously.
Thunar: Your dad is a suburban marijuana smoking underachieving faggot. In the daytime he paints. In
the after-work time he smokes marijuana with your stoner mom and jacks off because she is too
inebriated to please him. This is your role model.
The students laugh harder. Thunar smiles at them contentedly.
Alpha Male 2: Coach Thunar, you’re the man!
Thunar: We think that you should pursue more glorious activities. You don’t have to become a bunch of
bores. There are many activities befitting of a strong and courageous warrior that are not constant
libations in the mead hall.
Student 3: Coach why are you talking like that?
Alpha Male 1: Yeah coach chill.
Thunar: In the past you would be counted among the niðings. You are useless warriors. You would sit in
the mead hall all day while your friends fight and compete for success.
This is what happens when women are allowed to drink, you know. Your incentive becomes to provide
drug-pleasure to them, not to please them with achievements. They have sex with you because you are
the - what do you call it? - the “plug”, not because you have any hamingja. Well, these women are barren
anyway, forget about them.
Female 2: Whoa! Hahaha.
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Student 3: Yeah coach, what the fuck.
Alpha Male 1: Viking shit!
Thunar: Yeah. But you are not a viking. You are a drunk. You think being drunk is the most courageous
thing you can do, it isn't. It's not the most glorious thing, either. You will end up like your friend’s father.
Alpha Male 1: Yeah I don’t know about all that, but coach what are we supposed to do? What do you
want us to do?
Thunar: Throw rocks at police officers. Anything, I don’t care. No, don’t do that. I said “we” before; I
brought guests who have some ideas.
Enter a number of students. These students are “brahmins”, a type of natural caste. A brahmin is not a
nerd. A nerd is an individual who possesses a servile intelligence, an ability to complete computations
and memorize figures, who is unconfident, weak, often ugly, and in general unvirtuous, with poor social
skills. Nerds are designed to execute commands that require technical intelligence. They are engineers,
computer scientists, roboticists, information technologists. The current education system in America is
skewed toward these people, not unjustifiably. A brahmin, by contrast, is someone who possesses a
masterful intelligence, an ability to reason, perceive, make complex judgements and decisions, who is
more confident, sometimes weak but often attractive, and in general virtuous, with good social skills and
often the proclivity to seduce women. A brahmin is designed to command societies, to be a philosopher,
to evaluate standards, to devise strategies, to be a dharmic leader, or to be a wily rogue. Among the
entering group, there are also what may be called “top warriors”, who are of a similar nature to the
degenerates in question, but who are smarter, more disciplined, and designed to lead these lesser
warriors in formal circumstances, though they may not have the charisma to lead them in informal
circumstances. These people are designed to be tacticians, NCOs, police chiefs, organized criminals,
etc, and they are often the sons of such individuals. They get along with brahmins, and together they
form one of many underserved castes in the American nerd-factory education system.
Though the nerd-factory education system serves U.S economic and defense interests pretty well, it is
the case that some industries are overfull with nerds. For example, the discipline of physics, which is so
dominated by nerds as to resemble the “engineering” of theories to conform to existing biases and
autistic theories, rather than an actual empirical science. If an educational solution for brahmins existed,
it would be possible to employ them in a “brahmin audit” of large swathes of nerd dominated society,
even of positions of government. This educational solution would likely consist of a rigorous
humanities-focused lyceum that selects for general intelligence rather than technical skill, like what
universities used to be. Since autodidactic learning is now very possible, it could even consist purely of
exams, assignments, papers, and debates rather than any actual lessons, removing the necessity to hire
adequately advanced professors, instead placing the onus upon the student to acquire the necessary
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knowledge to complete the tasks assigned. Although, an adequately advanced faculty would have to
exist to enforce academic standards, and perhaps these might as well be professors. In order to gain the
necessary social capital for economic relevance, such a lyceum would probably have to be state
sanctioned or state owned, and the state would have to refuse to “sell out” the lyceum’s standards in
exchange for popular accessibility. It would function, perhaps, more like an exclusive intellectual club or a
set of such clubs rather than a “school”. It could also be achieved by making it an institution of churches
and temples, and sanctioning it by the state. I am only providing ideas for a future regime.
Anyway, these forsaken individuals enter to meet their fellow forsaken warriors trapped in degeneracy.
The drug-warriors greet them enthusiastically but aloofly. The brahmins return the sentiment with less
enthusiasm.
Thunar: So? What was it that you had to suggest?
Brahmin 1: Yes, we came up with a list of possible activities.
Thunar: Yes…what are they?
Brahmin 1: First we had, engaging in militia training and strategic wargames in the style of the simfire
exercise, with some modifications given lack of equipment and such.
Brahmin 2: Second we had, adventuring and camping through deep wilderness reservations, building
structures therein such as cabins, huts, and treehouses.
Brahmin 3: Third, I have organizing a fight club along the lines of-
Thunar: Guys, this isn’t going to work.
The young brahmins look at Thunar quizzically.
Thunar: You can’t just give these guys a list and expect them to take the initiative. They are charismatic
and enthusiastic people, it is true, and their “alphas” especially. But they lack the rung that is above them.
You need to occupy that position, give them orders decisively, or win them over with your wisdom.
Brahmins: …
Thunar: Ok, here is an idea. There is currently a teacher’s union meeting at the school library. We will go
there to disrupt it.
Student 2: Yeah, I don’t really wanna get kicked out of school Thunar.
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Student 1: Yeah…nahhh.
Thunar: Have some courage faggot. If you don’t want to disrupt it then come along anyway.
Brahmin 1: There are many ways to do this without getting in trouble.
Thunar: Yes.
Alpha Male 2 lazily expresses his displeasure. He is interesting, as far as “alpha male” types go. He is
not actually attractive, nor terribly likeable to anyone, but his great boisterous personality and fat size
make him a force to be reckoned with. His popularity comes, primarily, from his ability to control
substances, and his ability to host parties, as well as his somewhat unsettling and manipulative but
significant psychopathic charisma. His various exploits are legendary, but he is not interested in this
particular exploit. Perhaps because it is not “his” exploit. It does not depend on him, nor is he the center
of attention within it.
Thunar replies: I suggest a duel- I mean, a drinking contest. You and me.
Alpha Male 2: Hm. I’m game, what kind?
Student 1: Bro, Thunar is like 800 pounds!
Thunar: Of pure muscle! Muscle dilutes alcohol more than fat, you know.
Alpha Male 2: Gonna need to handicap yourself.
Thunar: Don’t worry, I will.
Alpha Male 2: Let’s do…
Thunar: Shots of vodka!
Alpha Male 2: Alright!
The two men sit down at the small bar, their large bodies touching shoulder to shoulder. Thunar grabs a
bottle of Grey Goose vodka, and another bottle of Smirnoff vodka.
Alpha Male 2, sarcastically: How much you think we’re gonna be drinking Thunar?
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Thunar opens the bottle of Grey Goose vodka and chugs it. He slams the empty bottle down on the bar
table, and looks at Alpha Male 2 contentedly.
Alpha Male 2, resigned: …Alright, I guess we’re going now.
Tiw Wierpþ Iserne Stan
A sniper and spotter lay on top of a building in Afghanistan. The sniper is armed with a Barrett M82 rifle.
The spotter looks through his binoculars. A brick wall lining the roof of the building covers them on each
side. It is knocked down in two places so that they can shoot and spot respectively, a thin remnant of
brick between them. They are awaiting a mission to commence, currently just surveying the land and
biding their time. A platoon including a machine gun and a marksman is posted below them, guarding the
building.
Spotter: You ever get a “extra kill”?
Sniper: A what?
Spotter: An extra kill. Like, a kill outside of the scope of the mission. Do you know what I mean?
Sniper: What in the hell are you talking about?
Spotter: Well, I was with this guy once. Let’s not say his name. He’s famous. Anyway, I was with this guy.
And he- well he was getting bored one night, and so was I. It was just before an enemy convoy was
supposed to run through the area. We were gonna help take it out, disable it. But anyway so he looks at
me and he goes, “you wanna help me get an extra kill?” And I say “what, what are you talking about?”
And he goes “look, it’s practice. Pick a target. Any target.” So I pick this guy, he’s walking on the street,
and he finds the guy. So here I am thinking he’s gonna just like…practice, you know? So I tell him what
the wind is, and BOOM! He fucking guns the guy down right there. I was like “what the fuck!” But yeah,
that’s an extra kill.
Sniper: Damn. That’s brutal.
Spotter: So you wanna do one?
Sniper: You serious?
Spotter: Yeah. I’ve- well let’s not say what I have and haven’t done, but yeah. They’ll probably just call it
a mission casualty, you know when the enemy gets here. Who knows who shot him?
Sniper: I think they’re gonna know who shot him with a .50 BMG from our position bro.
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Spotter: Well, maybe you thought he had a gun. Maybe it was a DShK round. Look nobody’s gonna care.
I’m fucking BORED. Those guys down below don’t care right?
Sniper: Yeah, they’re cool.
Spotter: Well, it’s up to you.
The sniper gives him a sarcastic look and pulls out his radio. He calls to the men below.
Sniper: Be advised we are going to throw some practice rounds downrange, over.
Soldier: Say again?
Sniper: Correct. Just don’t freak out is all I’m saying, over.
Soldier: Alright, out.
The spotter guides the sniper to his target. A man inside of a multi story building. He is standing inside of
the room past the balcony. An Afghan man, wearing a traditional pakol hat and tunic. He appears to be
speaking to someone out of view. The sniper is prepared to fire. The spotter quickly calculates the wind,
declaring it to the sniper. He fires, hitting the man in the head, causing his head to explode in an obvious
gory mess, even from afar.
Sniper: Damn, that was awesome!
Spotter: Good hit man.
Tiw sits on a barrel behind them. He stands up languidly, pulling out a grenade. He pulls the pin and
throws it lightly, underhand, at the soldiers. It hits the spotter in the hip. He glances down for just a
moment, suspecting no danger, before it explodes, tearing both of them to shreds. The other soldiers
rush upstairs to figure out what is going on. They begin to freak out. It appears that they cannot see Tiw,
who continues watching the scene from a seated position. Woden appears standing by his side.
Woden: What did you do that for?
Tyr: They were being pieces of shit.
Woden: So…you killed them?
Tyr: Yeah.
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Woden: You should not have done that. Now you are jeopardizing their whole operation. They needed a
sniper, and now they don’t have one. When the enemy comes they will not be equipped to deal with it.
Tyr: It doesn’t matter, father. This is not a conventional war. It is an insurgency. They’ll just pack up and
do it another time. With a better sniper.
Woden: You make it sound so easy! Now they will have to locate the target again. How long do you think
it will take them to do that? You have cost them time, and resources. Maybe they will never find him
again. And now two U.S soldiers are dead, permanently. Any utility they had for future missions is gone.
Any children they would have are gone, any economic utility they had is now gone. All future purchases
they would make are gone. Any subsequent jobs they would hold are gone. Their families now grow old
without husbands and fathers. For what? Because they are unprofessionals who shot an Afghan? Who
cares, why must they die for it?
Tyr: It is not about the Afghan, but about who they are. They are dishonorable people. They will be
dishonorable even to our people!
Woden: Such a limited vision you have, son! If they are dishonorable, and if this is bad, it is because a
bad outcome results from their being dishonorable. Indeed, if they are dishonorable people, they may
commit bad dishonorable deeds in the future. They may cheat on their spouses, steal from the store, lie
on their resumes. But we have before us a blatant good outcome that would have resulted from their
continued existence. That is, their contribution to this particular mission, and to the war in general. You
have killed them because of this abstraction called “dishonorable people”, when the true and obvious
facts indicate that their lives were worthwhile despite their dishonor. It is a form of paranoia, really. You
suppose that they must be killed now to prevent bad dishonors in the future, even though you admit this
particular dishonor to be inconsequential. Yet you do not know, or perceive, what bad dishonors may or
may not occur in the future. You just assume them. It is a safe assumption, but it does not outweigh what
we with certaintyknow, which is that these men wereuseful to this mission, to the army, to the war, to the
economy, to the race, to their families, and so on. The total good they would accomplish would have
outweighed the bad. For, people are composed of many qualities, not only honor and dishonor, and it is
the totality of qualities that determine if someone acts beneficially or harmfully to the race. Furthermore,
how dishonorable-natured is it, really? Just because someone is dishonorable to one race does not
mean they will be to another.
Tyr: I would hazard to guess that this was not a racial question to them, Grimr.
Woden: Of course it was.
Tyr: Whatever, father.
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Woden: You will leave here at once.
Tyr: Yes sir!
Eostre Æt Se Lagu Nerða
It is Easter Sunday. You are going for a leisurely walk in the woods. In fact, you are in the same woods
that you occupied inSe Lagu Nerða, but on the otherside of the lake, or pond, which is elevated terrain
that stands above the lake. Trees surround you. The woods are not picturesque. I suppose your
immediate environment is, but it is surrounded by roads, and businesses. It is more of a patch of woods
than a real wilderness. Homeless vagrants occasionally wander into the area, and some live there. It is
no official walking trail. On this particular spot, where you stand, The Author has stood also. In fact, he
has stood, and paced around, at this particular location for an extended period, while arguing with his
friend on the phone about the soundness of the COVID-19 vaccine, and the rigor of the FDA testing
process. His friend, a known “STEM nerd” archetype, placed immediate faith in the FDA, claiming with
absolute certainty that “the FDA is going to test everything and make sure it is alright.” The Author
expressed skepticism, using heuristical political arguments to dispel the idea that the FDA can be
implicitly trusted, although he did not know specifically how the FDA worked. Arguments such as, “what
incentive does the FDA have to do that?”, etc. His friend appeared to have certain knowledge of its
testing process, asserting that the FDA would personally test each and every vaccine to make sure that it
is up to standard. This shook The Author’s confidence somewhat, since his friend appeared to know
more about the issue. Upon subsequent investigation, however, his political hunches were confirmed.
The FDA does not test the vaccines. Rather, the vaccine companies test the vaccines, and they present
their reports to the FDA. An FDA board, made up of individuals with severe conflicts of interest, who are
under pressure from the government to roll out “a solution”, sits to decide if the data reported is
sufficiently positive. His friendpretendedto havecertain knowledge about the way things worked, based
upon a certain propaganda image he had of the U.S government, and his own technocratic biases. The
Author maintained skepticism, arguing via general political heuristics, based upon his prior knowledge of
governments and how they work, and these turned out to be true.
Anyway, you stand there. You reflect on the implications of Easter. The rising of Jesus, after he beguiled
the world. Or, what would become the world. He, WOTAN, founded the religion that would advance the
Germanic race. Some people contest the Templist belief in Wotan-as-God. The belief, for those who do
not know it, that Wotan manifested as Jesus to create the religion of Christianity, with the intent of
undermining the Roman Empire and strengthening the Germanic tribes, so that they could overcome the
Empire, which they did. That he, subsequently, used Christianity as his own propaganda tool, to manifest
such Germanic outcomes as the schism, the fourth crusade, the medieval period, the reformation, the
Protestant opposition to slavery, etc. The first crusade, which led to a great centralization/nationalization
of the northern European countries. All of these things, in the end, benefitted Germans. Why? The Bible
says: Ye shall know them by their fruits. How probable is it, that the Jew-god, who previously advanced
an ideology that showed explicit favoritism to the Jews, would suddenly change, to propagate an
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ideology that was in fact deleterious to the Jews? It ismore reasonableto assume that the god whodid
this was, in fact, adifferent god. It is reasonableto assume that the god he is, is the god who was
benefited by the religion of Christianity, since a god would have the ability and the inclination to design a
religion that benefits himself. Woden cares about Germanians, who are his people, related to him, and it
is they who benefitted from Christianity. I will not expoundThe Christian Godof Templist Canon here.
You should read it. The argument that Templist beliefs are “outlandish” comes from custom only. Every
supposition I have made is reasonable, as far as these things go. What, you who believes that God once
flooded the entire earth to cleanse it of sin, who believes that God made a primordial woman out of a
primordial man’s rib, who believes that a mortal man once parted the sea, are such a reasonable guy?
No, you adhere to customs, and that adherence is your “reason”. “Reason”, to you, is “that which makes
you feel comfy”. Reason, to a Templist, has nothing to do with emotion. It is reason.
A woman appears to your right. It is Easter, the goddess after which this day was originally named, and
for whom it was celebrated. She appears as a small ethereal floating woman. Not too small, like a fairy,
but small relative to the size of a woman. She could be child sized, perhaps, or larger. She appears to be
bright, and a halo of light surrounds her. The light is not that of a bulb, or the sun, but of glass. It is
refractory, similar to the effect of passing light through a refractory lens. A rainbow of colors vaguely
emanates from the light surrounding her. She simply floats there, and says nothing. Maybe she is shy.
The gods do not always appear to “do” anything. Maybe they do, but you don’t know. Their intentions can
be mysterious. Maybe she, too, is simply “going for a walk” like you are. Maybe she has some higher
purpose. It is impossible to tell. Nor do you ask her, because you are content just to watch. She sparkles
and shines, a beautiful dainty woman, before eventually disappearing. You are left with a feeling of
emptiness, but happy that you were visited.
Loga Gefieht Þunor Be Niþingum
A small gathering of transgenders is occurring. They are “male to female” transgenders. Of those
present, three are transsexuals, and three are not. They are sipping “girly” drinks in martini glasses. One
of them boldly announces that they have to go dilate. Dilating, for those who do not know, is the process
of stretching out one’s artificial “vaginal” canal by inserting a “dilator” into it. Essentially, it is a dildo-like
tube that one forces into the canal to extend it. The transwoman could have filled her dilating quota at
home, but she must have waited for this event instead, bringing her dilator with her. A large part of the
transsexual fetish is a fetish for attention, for being special, for undergoing a famed quest of self
transformation in which you receive care and attention from other people.
“Hell yeah girl!”, the trannies exclaim. The lead transwoman informs her that she may use her bedroom.
“Come into my bedroom girl. Do you need help?” The eunuch replies in an unconfident, ostentatiously
nervous way, “uhh- I don’t know…maybe?” She says “maybe?” in a cutesy voice, smiling, exercising her
almost-baritone vocal chords. They proceed to the bedroom and the eunuch removes his or her or
whatever pants. He lays down on the bed. The lead transwoman readies the dilator, and inserts it into the
gaping hole between his legs. She squirms and winces uncomfortably. The assistant tries to make
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conversation. “Are you happy with your new vagina?”, she asks in a cooing voice. The eunuch cries
softly. The transwoman pats her shoulder. “You can talk to me”, she says. He laments behind tears. “It's
just such a big change, you know. Like…all I’ve ever wanted- my- oh god my entire life, is just to be a
girl, and now finally it's been…given to me, suddenly, you know, and I just can’t believe it. All the pain, all
the suffering I’ve been through is now coming to an end and I just…I just have such a hard time
processing it, you know. From the abuse of my parents to the…”
The tranny murmurs on while his wound-hole is serviced. In the realm of the gods, Loki exclaims: “haha,
look at what I make them do!” He cackles maliciously.
Thunar: You are a real piece of shit, you know that?
Loki: How?
Thunar: What do you mean “how”?
Loki: I am culling the herd! These folks were not given transgenderism by me! They didn’t “find”
dick-chopping out in the woods somewhere! They had this nature within themselves already!
Thunar: No, you caused them to have it. Without this invention of “transgenderism” they would not
behave as transgenders, obviously. What does it matter if they latently possess the capacity to be
transgenders, if there is no transgenderism to activate it? They would be productive citizens and not
creepy faggots like you.
Loki: That is where you’re wrong, my unintelligent friend. Limited your mind is! Stick to the hammer,
would you?
Thunar: …Are you going to tell mewhyI am wrong?
Loki: Uh…sure, ok. These people do not possess only “the capacity to be transgenders”. They possess a
broader trait of general moral weakness. Can you doubt that these people would be malignant in some
other way, even if they did not become transgender? Dharma, as The Author calls it, exists. These little
specimens are adharmic, transsexuality is just an expression of their adharma. Look at that guy…what’s
his name?
Thunar: Chelsea Manning.
Loki: Yes! Chelsea Manning, the traitor and leaker of government documents. I mean, the documents
were not even necessary for the people to know. He was no Edward Snowden. He just leaked a bunch of
random shit that jeopardized state security and caused diplomatic problems. A rabble rouser. Fuck that
guy, you think he ought to possess his balls?
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Thunar: No, but that is one case. There are many cases of people who would be perfectly fine without
transgender ideology.
Loki: An anecdote, huh? What socioeconomic class do you think most transgenders come from?
Thunar: I do not care.
Loki: Of course you don’t care, you blockhead! Let’s see…
Loki materializes a computer. It is a divine computer. A desk and chair accompany it. He sits down and
begins typing with mischievous glee.
Loki: You see, it says here “Transgender adults experience considerably greater economic hardship and
worse health than cisgender adults, according to the first study to document the socioeconomic struggles
of this population in the United States.” It also says “We found that transgender Americans are about 14
percentage points less likely to have completed college and 14 percentage points more likely to live in
poverty.” And look, the National Library of Medicine has an article here, it says “Transgender individuals
made up 0.53% … of the population and were more likely to be non-White (40.0% vs 27.3%) and below
the poverty line (26.0% vs 15.5%) … and less likely to attend college (35.6% vs 56.6%) compared with
nontransgender individuals”, and “Our findings suggest that the transgender population is a racially
diverse population present across US communities. Inequalities in the education and socioeconomic
status have negative implications for the health of the transgender population.”
Thunar: Ok. So?
Loki: So…is socioeconomic status not part of dharma?
Thunar: Arguably not, since your ilk controls everything now. But so what? 26% vs 15.5%? There’s a
10.5% difference, and you call that a victory? Look at the absolute number of transgender people.
They’re decaying everything.
Loki: Well-
Woden: What’s going on in here?
Loki & Thunar: Woden!
Thunar: This miscreant is trying to justify transgenderism to me, saying that it is an act of culling the
adharmic population.
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Loki: That is about a right assessment, yeah.
Woden puts his hand on Loki’s shoulder. Few modern mortals know this, but Woden is actually fond of
Loki. Woden is a Germanic strategist, a “gamer”. Loki is also a “gamer”, but he “games” for pleasure, for
mischief. Woden games for a higher goal, while Loki is an aimless gamer. As a result, Woden often uses
Loki to play into his own strategy, by manipulating Loki’s “lesser game” for the sake of his greater game.
Loki doesn’t mind, since he has no higher goal at all, and thus doesn’t care if his mischief-gaming should
happen to serve Woden’s Germanic game. He is like the child playing video games relative to the video
game company playing corporate business, or more accurately still, relative to the state playing tax
collection and data mining upon the whole scheme.
Woden, forlornly: Oh…Loki.
Loki, sarcastically: Oh, Woden.
Thunar: Woden, why don’t we imprison this piece of shit, or send him the way of the jötnar?
Woden: Because he is right. Populations decay, but they do not decay abstractly. Decay occurs among
particular people within a population, since a population is nothing more than the people within it and
their behaviors. Yes, it is true, decay has general societal consequences, but it is also a pruning of
specific types of individuals from society, or at least a reduction of their reproductive fitness. It is not
without a cost therefore, but also not without a benefit. I think, as it concerns this specific thing, that it is
time we do away with it. My position on this has been made clear.
Thunar: You see! Fuck you Loki!
Woden chuckles softly.
Loki: Oh, Woden is always going on about things. I have shown you data, statistics!
Woden: There is a difference between presenting statistics, and presenting them truthfully.
Thunar: Yes, Loki, we all know that you are a sophist. You don’t care about the facts, you just want to
present a narrative so you can play your games. Just admit it, you like to trick people and cause havoc.
Loki: I…yes, haha, I like to trick people and cause havoc.
Thunar: Woden, let me go down there to solve this problem.
Woden: The entire problem? No, the Templists of the blood must do that.
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Thunar: No, no Woden, just this specific instance. It will bother me otherwise, after seeing it.
Loki: No, don’t let him Woden!
Woden: Yes, of course you may.
Loki: Oh fie! Woden, will my people be spared when the Templists of the blood “solve the entire
problem”, as you say?
Woden: Do you care?
Loki: Uh…a little.
Woden: Yes. Many malignant cohorts are useful. They are malignant only according to principles. This
amounts to the fact that they should be culled, not that they should cease to exist, because they are
benevolent according to circumstantial non-principles.
Thunar: Sire, can I go now?
Woden: Yes, no need to listen.
Thunar beams down to the trans party in a bolt of lightning, smoldering through the ceiling of the upstairs
apartment. The faggots immediately begin to panic. Thunar is clothed only in a loincloth, exposing his
great muscular power and size, though he also wears his golden winged helmet. He carries Mjöllnir in his
hand.
Thunar: ALRIGHT, WE SHALL SEPARATE YOU INTO THE REDEEMABLES, AND THE
IRREDEEMABLES! YOU THREE WITHOUT PENISES, STAND OVER THERE.
Trannies, variously: Oh my god, this is so crazy. I can't even right now. What's going on?
Thunar: To the redeemables, I am going to provide a disincentive to this behavior of yours.
One of the penis-havers gets aggressive: Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing! You come in
here- how did you even get in here?! Get the fuck out, before I call the cops!
Thunar: SHUT THE FUCK UP FAGGOT!
He shuts the fuck up. Everyone is silent. Thunar walks over to the irredeemables, and suddenly smashes
one in the head with his hammer. His skull explodes into several pieces, sending blood and gore flying. A
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thunderbolt emanates from the strike, conducting itself through the air to fry the remaining irredeemables.
They lay in a smoldering bloody pile as the other trannies scream hysterically. One of them passes out.
Thunar: Let you not forget that the gods are real, and that we do not condone this behavior. I want the
remaining three of you to stop taking whatever hormones you are on, to stop dressing as women, tucking
your penises between your legs, to stop acting like women, because you are not women. Take
androgenic supplements for a while and go to the gym, that should set you right. Stop doing that after a
while, and be normal. Join the military, and die for your nation rather than for your penis butchering
fetish.
Wodnes Wodnes
Note on the title:“Wodnes” is the proper way to say“something belonging to Woden” in Old English, as
in “Wodnes scep” or “Wodnes gield”. “Wodnes” is also a noun that means “insanity”, being a combination
of the adjective “wod” (insane, mad, frenzied) and “nes” (-ness in modern English). While this word was
chosen to produce a funny title, it is likely that “Wodnes Wodþrag” would be a more accurate title, since
this describes a particular moment or “fit” of madness.
The one eyed philosopher bursts into his small cottage home to sit at the desk, taking up his pen and
readying his papers. He has just been through with a stimulating conversation with a colleague. He
places his papers at his desk, dips his quill in the ink, and begins to write. A revelation came to him upon
that meeting, impelling an intuitive development of his recent ideas that he had no choice but to write
down. His intuition flows with his pen as he writes, revealing with each sentence the nature of his
philosophical subject. It snowballs, with each idea generating multiple follow-on ideas, until he is
suddenly struck with the grand theory of this particular philosophical question. He begins to write faster,
more feverishly, as he now sees the schema of a philosophical treatise in his mind, knowing it without
knowing any of the individual sentences or propositions that it will contain, letting these be decided by his
immediate, unfolding intuition. He stops for a moment to think, pondering on a question. He taps the end
of his quill pen to his mouth, then continues. He moves to the next piece of paper. And then another,
feverishly writing, trying to map out the vague landscape of the theory within his mind. Yet, he does not
err. This is not a draft. His immediate intuition always leads him to the appropriate conclusion, and no
later revision, once not under the influence of mania, will likely surpass it in accuracy. He stands up
abruptly to pace around his single cottage room, walking back and forth with his pen, as it drips upon the
floor and elsewhere. He is mindless of the damage it causes, evidently thinking over some idea. He sits
back down and continues to write. He writes for day and night, missing lunchtime, missing his siesta,
missing dinner time, until it is dark. He continues to write through the darkness, and then he rubs his
eyes. He notices his tiredness, and his hunger. He stands up and goes outside, stretching his limbs as
he looks up at the stars. He smokes a pipe while standing in this position for a while, before going inside
and fixing himself a hearty dinner of potatoes. His mind feels tired, as if his brain hurts. He does not
particularly want to think about or do anything, nor continue with his work. He finishes his meal and goes
to bed, eager for the enthusiasm to return the next day.
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He rises the next day at noontime and goes outside, once again to view the vista that is overlooked by
his house. He stretches his limbs and bathes in a tub outside after going to the outhouse. The water is
heated, and it steams as he washes the dirt and sweat from his skin. He stands up to dry and clothe
himself, and makes himself a meal. He looks at his desk. Although he is eager to complete his project,
he simply does not have the enthusiasm to motivate himself at this moment. It is not only a matter of
“motivation”, but ability, since he is more productive and insightful in his maniacal moments. He resolves
to go for a walk, feeling vaguely lethargic, but calm, strolling through a path near his house. He waves to
other passers by, and eventually he meets his philosophical colleagues. They inquire about his works,
and he informs them of his new project. They ask him to spell out the details, but he waves them off,
saying that he doesn’t have the energy for it at the moment. He continues through the path, listening to
birds and blowing branches as he walks by. He goes to the park, to observe some individuals eating
lunch. This makes him hungry, so he goes to a local deli to purchase meat. He sits by a fountain at the
park to eat it. He looks out over the park tranquilly until he is bored. He purchases a beer, and then he
goes home. He is sleepy, and he takes a nap. Upon waking, he has somewhat of a desire to work on his
project, but he cannot really feel his mind running as it was before, so he does not. Instead he goes to
talk to his neighbor. He returns home, and smokes his pipe. He sits down at his desk to review some of
his work, adding a little bit to it. He does not have sufficient mania to work on it in earnest, so he wiles the
rest of the day away until bedtime. The next day, he feels enthusiastic once again. He forces himself to
eat breakfast, and then he sets once again upon his work, producing multiple pages, refining his earlier
work, coming closer to a full development of his theory. This lasts for only about half of the day, until he
suddenly becomes bored and tired, and passes the rest of the day as before.
On the next day he is lethargic in the morning, for a brief period, but upon eating breakfast he is suddenly
struck by the boredom of any activity other than working on his treatise, and his enthusiasm is activated
again. He sets about his work, this time for several days, neglecting his meals, his hygiene, his social life,
his sleep, his exercise, stopping only for a couple moments to think, to pace around, to use the outhouse,
to scarf down a meal, etc, bringing his work that much closer to completion, to the moment when it can
be presented to his friends and to the world.
Woden’s fury has historically been ascribed to warrior activities, like “berserkergang”. It does apply to
these, but it also applies to the maniacal genius of the Germanic poet, philosopher, engineer, theorist,
scientist, inventor, etc. The ability to send the nervous system into overdrive, to produce norepinephrine
(aka noradrenaline) to increase the production of glucose, to increase the uptake of glucose, and thus
the functioning of cells, to increase reaction time, speed, memory recall, thought processing, to convert
fat to energy, to inhibit digestion, and thus hunger, the need for sleep, increasing blood pressure, and
overall making the organism more alert and more cerebral and more in control, capable of more action
and more nervous processing, diverting energy away from the sustaining organs. This is not a
sustainable mode of behavior, and it is always followed by a “crash” or period of lethargy, or depression,
as was attested of the early “berserkers” after they “went berserk”. Without this, the organism would
begin to suffer health problems and would die, being in a constant “sympathetic” mode of behavior that
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prevents nutrition and wears down on the organs and blood vessels, not least the brain in the case of
cerebral mania. The maniacal process of the Germanic genius has impelled many inventions,
philosophies, theories, ideas, and innovations, just as the maniacal process of Germanic war-mania has
decided many battles. It is the process through which Templist Canon, and this document, was created
by myself. There was nothing diligent or disciplined about it at all. I wrote only when inspired to do so, at
great length if inspired to do so, often neglecting other duties, responsibilities, tasks, meals, exercise
routines, etc, between short as well as long periods of indolence. It is only during the editing phase that
the process can become more disciplined, since this part is not creative, and therefore does not require
any special energy or physiological state. My own mortal hands suffice for that purpose, I must only force
them to the keyboard to perform the task of editing.
The Germanic berserker was, contrary to popular belief, not a dumb raging brute. They were known to
be intelligent people. They could, outside of battle (if they survived), contribute things to science and
philosophy, giving wise straightforward advice to their neighbors. They were shrewd businesspeople.
Although, the battle-berserkers were not as intelligent as the berserk-natured intellectuals (who were not
called berserkers, though they were both associated with Woden). Berserkers often used their superior
reflexes to fight and win duels for material and financial gain. It is interesting that duels (of the holmgang
variety) are decided primarily by reflexes, rather than strength or general fitness. This is because, in a
duel to the first blood, one only has to wound his enemy as quickly as possible while defending against
his enemy’s attacks as deftly as possible. In actual combat, by contrast, first blood won’t do, and the
stronger combatant is likely to overpower a swift one with a decisive blow. Therefore holmgang selected
for intelligent and Odinic individuals, since reflexes are correlated with general intelligence and Odinic
mania. In this sense it is understandable that dueling was chosen as a method of resolving disputes,
since it is basically a form of cerebral debate that, unlike actual debate, produces a clear winner and
loser. It gave an additional avenue of biological success to “berserkers”, who otherwise might have been
underrepresented in the population due to their sacrificial warrior activities, heretical genius, and
occasional malignant insanity that impedes their reproductive capacity.
Like Woden, these types of individuals are among the masters of the Germanic populations. Hitler,
famously, spent much of his days indolently listening to music, watching movies, reading newspapers,
etc, between periods of great furor and activity, as with all of the intellectuals, scientists, and inventors
who shaped the society in which he lived, and those other Germanic societies outside of it. Although, to
be clear, it is probably the case that even in their most indolent moments, such people are more
productive than the most indolent people, who (for example) do drugs all day or consume mindless
media outside of their job. The berserker’s indolence is only indolent relative to mania. I, for example,
often like to listen to music and pace around in lines and circuits between periods of work, while
imagining scenarios of glory and conquest. This is probably more productive than, say, watching TV.
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Frige Giefu
You toil away in a dark mine, swinging a pickaxe. Others around you do the same. They are Africans.
Emaciated they are, with dirty clothing. Chipping away at rock. An overseer watches them. He is also
African, but larger. It is interesting how better wages are converted into visible differences in sustenance
here. You swing your pickaxe with the rest. You are looking for a particularly large ore vein, something
projected by a certain white geologist. It should be just beneath the rock. Not much longer now. You
realize that you are unsure of the reason for which you swing. In fact, why are you even here? Well,
nothing to be done right now except swing. You break away rock, clearing it out of the way periodically
with the others. A muscular black man comes to take away the rocks with a wheelbarrow. There are
multiple wheelbarrows, so they can be filled while he takes away one at a time. Really there should be
multiple people doing this, but there are not. Nobody wants to do it, such that it is reserved as a
punishment or “awarded” upon the drawing of lots. The overseer will occasionally step in to carry a
wheelbarrow, if they are getting overfull. This causes its own problem, since it is probable that the miners
will steal gemstones and such if he is not there. Currently, though, there is no risk of that, because all you
are hitting is rock. He stands by with his dirty AK-47 rifle.
You tell him that you are going to take a break. He nods. You are held to different standards, as a white
man. For no particular reason, at least so far as you know - you don’t know how or why you got here -
but you are automatically assumed to be someone of importance. You are often consulted as an
authority, not only in technical subjects, but in mundane arguments and simple questions, as if you
possess some type of innate wisdom that gives you special information about how the world works. For
example, someone asked you the other day how to clear dust from his eyes. You told him to lay down
and pour water into them, preferably pure water, and he nodded enthusiastically as if he had never
thought of the idea himself. Or, in another instance, you found two men trying to cure a bad case of
chafing by pouring water on the area and rubbing it alternatively with their hands. You told them this was
only going to make it worse, and spread disease through the camp. Many here are HIV positive. They
gave you that same dumbfounded, enthusiastic nod.
You walk to the opening of the mine, where the sun blinds your eyes. The mine from which you emerge
is a cavern, with a gaping opening of rock in the shape of a cone that gradually declines into the nether
regions of the ground. Surrounding you is a large open pit, not quite so deep, by pit-mining standards,
with a few other cave-openings in the distance. The company chose to dig these caves, along with the
pit-mine, to extract particular deposits of materials at a faster rate, thus showing better results in its initial
financial reports. There is a processing house to your left that stands on stilts above the pit-mine. It
doubles as an administrative office. African men work around the pit, by hand and with machines. Dust
clouds pass by, causing you to cough. As they pass, a woman stands before you. She is tall, perhaps
inhumanly tall, wearing a quaint green dress.
Frigg asks you “what are you doing in the mines?” You respond that you don’t know. She insists that the
mines are not for you. Leave it to the Africans, she says. But, she needs you to go find her a certain
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quantity of gold ore, as well as a list of gemstones. You view her list and nod. “I’ll be right back”, you say.
You descend into the mines, and present your list to the overseer. He gives you some useless advice by
running his mouth meaninglessly. You thank him respectfully, and carry on looking for what you seek. Let
us begin with the gold. Unfortunately, the gold is not yet exposed through the rock that you had
previously been chipping away at. The Africans continue to swing their pickaxes. You inspect the wall
with a flashlight, and there is no gold in sight. So you go up to the office, to consult the geologist. He is a
Boer, and he seems a little bit confused about who you are. You ask how much deeper the rock should
go before gold is reached. He tells you. You suggest that you blow up the rock with dynamite, so as to
make the process quicker. He checks some charts and figures before telling you that this is feasible.
Evidently this particular mine shaft was not big enough to warrant his attention, or maybe he just didn’t
want to waste the dynamite.
Without explicitly asking for approval, you tell him that you will “get right on it” before descending from the
office. You gather the dynamite from a shed below, and walk back to the mine. Descending, you tell all of
the Africans to clear out. You place the dynamite, and set the fuse. About to light the fuse, you hear a
voice. Frigg says, “let the Africans do that, please.” You extinguish your flame and order an African to do
it in your stead, walking away from the region of the blast. He does so, running away as the fuse
proceeds. You watch until the explosion, which throws dirt and rock. After the dust settles, you walk over
to the area. Inspecting the wall, you do indeed find deposits of gold ore. You take what you instinctively
know that you need - only about a large handful’s size of ore, picking away at it with a pickaxe until it is in
your hand.
Now for the gemstones. Where can you find these? You know that they are sometimes acquired as a
byproduct of mining for other metal deposits. But where are they stored? You ask the overseer, and he
tells you to ask someone else in the office. You go back up to the office, to find a nerdy looking pudgy
white man in a necktie and glasses. You ask him where the gemstones are kept. “Why?”, he asks. “I-”
you start, before Frigg appears to his right (that is, the left of him), standing above both of you. “He is
helping me make something”, she says. “Uh- oh”, the man stammers before giving you the location of the
gemstones. They are in the shed below the office. Some of the stones you need might not be there, so
you will have to check the processing center as well, toward the northern part of the pit mine, across from
the cave from which you originated. You proceed to the shed, taking a couple of the required gemstones.
They are pure, separated more or less from the rocks that they came from. You put these in your pocket,
closing the pocket with a button so that they cannot escape, or be stolen. Then you proceed to the
processing center. It is in a dugout constructed of wood and steel beams, underneath the side of the pit
mine. It is dark. A mechanical conveyor keeps bins filled with various ores rolling down the line, where
they are worked on, separated, cleaned, checked for residue, etc. by a number of African, and one white,
worker. You approach the white worker at the end of the line. You know that he is a German before you
get to him, due to his robust facial features, blonde hair, and the fact that he is dressed as if he is on a
safari. He wears glasses, embodying the “robust German engineer” archetype. His pale face looks up at
you with light blue eyes. “Yes?” he asks in a German accent. “I need you to find these required
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gemstones for me, and clean them”, you say, “you know, separate them, or whatever you do. Make them
into usable materials so that I can make something with them.” He replies, “oh, what are you going to
make?” You reply, “I…don’t know. Just make them ready.” Frigg appears. He looks at her. “He is making
me a crown”, she says. “YOU are going to make me a crown. But first you must ready the materials.”
She urges you to hand him the stones in your pocket, so that he can process these as well. The German
gets somewhat excited. “Oh. Ok!” He orders the Africans to get to work, ensuring that they complete the
task quickly and efficiently, guiding them or barking orders at them occasionally. When finished, he takes
the materials into the back room.
He is there for a couple of hours. You wait with Frigg, standing there for hours, glancing at her
occasionally. A numen, simultaneously of motherhood and haughty royalty, suffuses you. She appears
not to be impatient. Neither are you. Inexplicably, you do not mind waiting around. The Africans
eventually stop paying attention to you, continuing their work. He returns with a bejeweled golden tiara,
presenting it to her. She takes it gently, placing it upon her head in a feminine and graceful way. She
smiles. “Thank you, dear.”
Bræga Singeþ Ure Sagan
You are in the future, in a spaceship, within the region of Aldebaran. The spaceship is large, with multiple
cabins, recreational areas, dormitories, schools, etc. Its population is about 300. It is considered to be a
spacious spaceship. That is, it affords a large amount of room to each person, rather than cramming
everyone together. Some spaceships do cram everyone together, but this is not suitable for long
journeys, since everyone would get cabin fever. While the living quarters are small, this is compensated
for by space allocated to common areas, such as the park, or the hobby rooms. This facilitates
interaction, preventing people from staying inside all day and forming “cliques” with friends they invite
over to their homes. Such cliques can be very dangerous on a spaceship, so everyone must interact “in
the open”. This particular ship, like many ships, is staffed by people of the same race. Specifically, they
are Danes, and some other Scandinavians, as well as one Englishman. There is no formal distinction
between staff and passengers, as everyone has a job to do, although some of the passengers are
professional spaceship operators tied to the company that owns this particular spaceship. Journeys, you
can imagine, do not always proceed from point A to point B. The passengers might want to travel for a
long time, but the operators and owners want to go home eventually. Ships travel as far as they are
willing to travel, until the passengers are offloaded onto another ship. This can sometimes cause conflict,
if the receiving ship is not up to standard. Good companies will ensure that all of their contracts are in
order before the mission proceeds, giving passengers (or, their families, if it is a multi-generational
journey), advance notice of all of the ships they will inhabit. This is the passengers’ second and last ship,
as they originated not far away. The journey took only a few years.
The destination is a fledgling colony that had been established years earlier. The new arrivals will be a
great boon to the frontiersmen. They have vetted the arrivals beforehand, ensuring that they are of
appropriate stock, with no criminals or vagrants among them. This is to be a utopian colony, full of good
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people, not a slum colony full of criminals and outlaws. The colony will send a tithe with the ship when it
arrives, to be delivered to the mutual overlords of the ship owners and the colony. In return, the overlords
will protect the colony from raids and invasions, and help it to fund certain projects that are deemed to be
of national importance. “Protection” in this case really means “revenge”, since ships cannot be expected
to patrol the region constantly. That is, if a band of raiders, or a hostile nation, attacks the colony, that
band or nation will be hunted down and punitively destroyed. Everything begins to occur by delay once a
nation reaches the edge of its ability to project power, making honor especially important. Accordingly,
the colony pays a lower tax, and receives more funding, than the colonies and worlds in the interior of the
realm. At least, according to this particular Scandinavian nation’s policies. If the colony does not pay,
inquisitors will come. If the nation does not improve its power projection capabilities, this colony might
grow large enough to declare independence one day, given the proper incentives.
You stand at the “park”. It is really just a patch of grass, a little smaller than a football field, with a few
trees, surrounded by the dwellings. It looks a little bit like a prison, with tiers organized in a roughly
“irregular quadrilateral”. At the head of the park stands a large glass window, which belongs to the
administrative offices.
The park has solid benches around its perimeter. It is dark, to simulate night. You can only faintly see the
park, as if it is illuminated by moonlight. Other artificial lights must be turned off, for the most part, since
the room is too small for the light not to bounce around. If someone is dissatisfied with the amount of
light, they inform whoever has their lights on, and those people usually turn them off unless they are
doing something very important that requires them. After a certain point, lights must be shut off entirely,
save for the moon-light.
The GOD Bragi appears, standing at the head of the park. The few others that are present express awe.
They are all Templists, except for one “old religionist” (a Christian), and one atheist. They run to get the
others. People come out of their houses, down to the park, to witness the god. The captain is called, if he
can come, to see the sight as well. Bragi stands in an archaic tunic, holding a lyre. The lyre looks not so
archaic, a modern construction of an old design. As everyone assembles, including the captain, more
gods appear behind Bragi. In fact, all of them: Woden, Frey, Frigg, Thunar, Tiw, Vithar, Balder, Njorth,
Nerthus, Loki, Freyja, Heimdall, Hoth, Volla, Ullr, Easter, Forseti, and Wuot. They begin to sing, with
Bragi, as he plays the lyre, in the style of a Faroese Kvæði. This is a Germanic way of singing. It exists in
the Kvæði tradition, but also as an unnamed tradition manifest in German folk songs. It is also attested
as a tradition of ancient Germanians. That is, for men to sing in unison, in a “droning” or “methodical”
way. This enables lyrics that convey lengthy descriptions, or stories. Other types of songs are basically
acts of “branding”. That is, they harp on certain themes, reiterating the same “vibe” over and over again.
Germanic songs are about things, not vibes. Examples:
"The Witch at Miðjanesi" - Faroese Folk Song (Grímur á Miðjanesi)
Grímur á Miðjanesi
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Mit Lust tät ich ausreiten
Mit Lust tät ich austreiten
Prinz Eugen, Der Edle Ritter
Prinz Eugen, Der Edle Ritter
The gods sing about the victory of Templism, and the Author of Templist Canon. They sing about the
victory of the divine-bred race, its assurance of everlasting life, until the collapse of the universe, after
which time the eternity and conquest will begin again. They slander other ideologies, which have
supposed the concern for life, for survival, to be “low”. “Mere survival”, some call it, ignoring the reality of
“prosperous survival” which uses “mere survival” as its basis, meaning, that survival which is not the final
choice between life and death, but which increases the margin before which a race must make that
choice, increasing health, increasing happiness, increasing fecundity, increasing the distribution of the
race, etc, making it “safer”, further from death. They speak of fools who, for example, say “God is greater
than life”, who would sacrifice their nations to foreigners, to obey “God’s command to practice charity and
love”. They speak of fools who, for example, say “evolution is greater than life”, who would sacrifice their
current selves for their “future selves”, which are not really themselves at all any more than a human is
still a fish. They speak of fools who, for example, say “pleasure is greater than life”, who would sacrifice
their bodies for drugs and promiscuity. They speak of fools who, for example, say “power is greater than
life”, who would starve themselves as ascetics “mastering human flesh” or rule their brethren aimlessly
as tyrants “mastering other men”. They sing of the people, the shortsighted fools, who supposed that
“however many million years left of human existence”, or “however many billion years left of sun”, was
“enough”, because they were not intelligent enough to imagine thelast year,or not selfless enough to
care. All of those people are DEAD. Some “glorious” piety, some “glorious” evolution, some “glorious”
pleasure, some “glorious” power they achieved. HowGloriousdoes it seem, now, people who have
sacrificed themselves for anything other thanthemselves, to beGone? At the very least, the
“evolutionists” got what they wanted. They died, and were replaced by a tribe thatcouldresist evolution,
that could adapt its environment to itself rather than itself to its environment, preserving itself forever!
But what of the otherworld? The ethereal hidden place? The place you have never seen? The place that
is merely attested? The place that some hypothetical Monad presides over, that you are not allowed to
have knowledge of? The place that you believe to be good simply because somebody, or some book,
tells you so? The place that has never been described? The place that might not exist? The place for
which there is no evidence? The carrot that is put before all of your life denying urges? Yes, kill
yourselves for it! Follow your dumb ass mystics off of a cliff! It is heavenly, it is the key to heaven, to
succor foreigners. It is nirvana, it is bliss, to meditate until you die. It is the promised land, it is paradise,
to reduce the world population so that everyone can live in a little pointless hamlet. It is Valhalla, it is
worthy of a hero’s welcome, when you get stabbed to death in a pointless knife fight over a whore at the
club for “valor”. It is pleasure, it is “hedonic maximization”, to fuck around on Earth until it burns.
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Bældæg Weorþaþ Cyningas
A Norseman stands on a raised wooden platform. He speaks to a crowd gathered in a small clearing.
There are trees behind him. He speaks of the deeds of Julius Caesar, the great Roman statesman and
dictator. He praises his martial prowess, his ambition, his glory seeking nature, his powerful strategic
mind. He tells of his tales, giving short anecdotes of his deeds and opining on the fame and greatness of
his personage after each. The audience listens attentively. The speaker asserts that Caesar is perhaps
the greatest man to ever live, as the audience cheers. One man speaks out boldly: “you are wrong!”
Speaker: Come forth, who are you?
Balder: I am Balder.
Speaker: Oh! the god? You look like quite a handsome young man.
Balder: Yes, the god.
Speaker: Well, “god” sir, what do you have to say?
Balder: Caesar was not the greatest man, nor even particularly great.
Speaker: Do you have a reason?
Balder: Yes. May I come up on the stage?
Speaker: Of course, come up here with me.
Balder walks up onto the stage.
Speaker: So?
Balder: The first reason is that Caesar was a Roman. He was an Italian. Have you ever met an Italian?
Speaker: No.
Balder: Well, they are foreigners. More foreign than the English, more foreign than the Germans, more
foreign even than the French. You would not like them. He was one of them.
Speaker: So? I can respect individuals even if the populations from which they come are bad. They are
exceptions to the rule. I’m sure you have encountered this many times yourself. You meet a family,
generally known to be bad, but one or two people therein are good. You would have to disbelieve your
own eyes to continue saying that they are bad, just because the rest of their family is.
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Balder: Yes, true. But not only was he one of them. He was someone whoadvanced Roman interests.
That is, an enemy. He conquered Gaul, you know, the French. As you know the French are somewhat
more like us, and he killed millions of them. Men, women, and children alike. The Romans settled some
of these areas, where the Gauls had been decimated. I tell you that the French would be much more
likable today were it not for this. He crossed the Rhine and invaded Germania, punitively attacking our
own folk as revenge against the Suebian king, Ariovistus. He conquered our brothers the Belgae. Do you
typically praise an enemy?
Speaker: No, not at first. But after a while, it is not so uncommon to respect an enemy, and to praise his
strengths.
Balder: Praising strengths is not the same thing as the kind of deference your speech has so far shown.
You claimed him to be the greatest manto ever live.In truth, he was not even that great. A great military
commander, yes. But what did he accomplish? He became dictator for a few years, and then he died. He
was assassinated due to his political ambition. There are many famous Roman military commanders who
didn’tseize power in a vainglorious quest to be “topman”, who dutifully served their country and then
faded into obscurity when they were no longer needed. Scipio Africanus, for example. Or Sulla. These
men made Rome great. Caesar died childless after plunging his country into a civil war. What does he
have to show for it? You orate about him so positively because he is remembered. Because there are
records of him. His works survive, and his legend lives on. It is natural that such a turning point in Roman
history would be legendary, while more important, older, or more “ordinary” victories and achievements
would be ignored. This has more to do with the history of Rome, than with Caesar’s might.
Would you like to know which leaders I respect?
Speaker: Yes sir, I would.
Balder: People like Euric, Hengist, Horsa, Odoacer, Gaiseric, Malaric, real kings. Men who did not merely
cement their legacy in statues and eternal ruin, but in blood. For, these men advanced their tribal
populations throughout the known world, and so too also themselves. Never mind if you can identify any
given person, any given family, as alike to Euric or alike to Hengist. But the fact is that therearefamilies
in these conquered locations who are related to Euric, Hengist, and so on, and it may even come to be
that Euric himself, or Odoacer himself, may return by a combination of his traits being melded back
together by the population through which his traits are dispersed. Caesar and Augustus live on in stone.
They died childless, and they advanced a many-peopled “empire” that we overtook. Better to live on in
flesh and blood, than in stone. We have turned our enemies to stone!
The audience cheers and laughs inharmoniously.
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Wæþ Mið Ulle
You trudge through the snow with Ullr, through the forest, up and down hills. He wears a white hooded
jacket and large heavy boots that make his feet look big. He carries a backpack and a hunting rifle. You
have been searching for a suitable animal, so that he can teach you to hunt.
He walks in front of you, ascending a hill. You have made conversation occasionally throughout your trip,
but right now he is quiet. An animal must be approaching. You walk to the top of the hill, surrounded by
trees, and he stops, kneeling down. “Come here”, he says quietly. He takes off his rifle and hands it to
you. He points past the trees, to a little ravine just ahead. It is barren of trees, and within it stands a
single white tailed deer. “Do you see that?” “Yes”, you confirm. “Ok”, he continues in a whisper, “the rifle
is loaded, but a round is not chambered. You have to pull the bolt, so as to-”
You pull on the bolt of the gun, but it doesn’t budge. He continues, “wait - I wasn’t finished. You will have
to pull the bolt, forcefully, so as to chamber the round. This gun has three safeties. The first position locks
the bolt and the firing pin. That is why you cannot pull the bolt. The second position unlocks the-”
The deer sees you by now and freezes. You try to quickly ready the weapon, intuitively understanding
what he is about to say. He places his arm across your arms. “Wait, stop. You are too eager. I am trying
to teach you how to do this the right way. We are not here to kill a deer, we are here to learn how to do
so. Leave it.” You relax. “Ok, so it has three firing positions. The first position locks the bolt as well as the
firing pin. The second position allows you to unlock the bolt, but maintains the lock on the firing pin. This
allows you to load the gun, but not to fire. The last position unlocks both the bolt and firing pin, allowing
you to fire and to reload.”
The deer runs away, into the wilderness across from you. Ullr pays it no mind. “Now, put the safety into
the second position, unlocking the bolt, and chamber a round.” You do so. “Ok, now place it back into the
first position so that we can pursue the deer. This will allow you to move around without moving the bolt.”
You do so. “Follow me. We will track the deer.”
He leads you across the little ravine and into the wilderness. You can see the tracks of the animal. He
teaches you how to identify the tracks in ordinary circumstances, and tells you approximately how far the
deer is likely to have run. “Given how much we spooked it, it has probably run about 100-200 meters.
After this we might find it hiding, or maybe it is just walking around casually.” Trudging through
wilderness, across a little stream, you eventually come upon the deer. It is indeed just casually standing
in a sparse area of trees. Ullr instructs you to lay down. You do so, and he lays beside you, to your right,
because this happened to be his position relative to you at the time. “Ok, put the gun in the third position.
You should aim just behind the animal’s front leg, about halfway through the middle vertically. However,
since it is facing us, you must move your aim somewhat nearer to its front region.” You ready the gun and
aim as instructed. “You must always do this, if the deer is facing you. It is obvious, if you think about it
geometrically. A line that lies perpendicular to another line, if that line moves downward from its left
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endpoint, will end up pointing further down that line than originally. You don’t want to aim further down the
body of the deer, but at the same region. Therefore, since it is facing us, you must move your sights to
the left.”
You adjust your weapon more precisely in light of the more detailed information. “The goal is to shoot the
far side shoulder of the deer, if you want to think of it that way. We are trying to hit the lungs of the deer,
because this is the most lethal relative to your ability to hit, and also the easiest to track should the
animal run away.” You adjust your aim more precisely. “If you gain in skill, you might try aiming for the
head, or for the legs.” “For the legs?”, you inquire. “Isn’t that inhumane?” He replies: “we are predators,
not sportsmen. We are here because I am teaching you how to survive. Decimating animal populations
for sport is pointless. You can go bowling if you would like to engage in an honorable competition with
rules, not destroy your ecology. Anyway, it makes it much easier to clean, and it leaves more to eat. You
kill it with a knife after.” You nod, slightly bashful. “Ok”, he says after a pause, “you may fire when ready.”
You aim as instructed, breathing as he taught you earlier, finally taking the shot. The deer collapses
immediately.
You chamber another round immediately. The shell casing hits him in the face. He turns his head and
looks at you, smiling approvingly. “Good shot!”
Frige Læcehus
Imagine in the abstract a maternity hospital, with several floors. Each is devoted to the same thing: the
birth and care for babies of proper Germanic mothers, and care for the mothers themselves. Husbands,
according to their preference, attend the mothers in their labor or wait in the waiting room on the first
floor. You view it from the side, seeing the various windows and floors. The long sparsely used parking lot
stretches toward you. The landscape surrounding is a bit barren, with drab mountains behind the side of
the hospital. It might be located in Colorado, or some place like that. Upon one of the floors, a woman is
illuminated as she walks past the window. Not illuminated in the bright sense, but ethereally.
Going in closer, into the hall, the woman is quite tall. She wears an outdated nurse uniform, with a hat.
She pushes a cart down a hallway, presumably filled with birthing supplies. The cart is significantly
overpriced as a result of government sponsored welfare-insurance schemes that bid up the prices of
medical supplies. The same sort of cart could be purchased at IKEA for less than 1/10th of what this
“medical grade” cart, sold wholesale to medical institutions, costs. Many of the mothers here are
relatively old, since they cannot afford to have children as a consequence of the need to fund the
aforementioned schemes for the benefit of black people and the elderly. Anyway, she wheels the cart
down the hall, and into a room.
A baby has just been born. The nurses hand her the baby, and she checks it. She first checks its skin,
which looks fine. She then checks its pulse. The pulse could be too low, but rarely too high. It is
acceptable, being well above 100 BPM. The heart rates of newborns can be quite high. Even a heart rate
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of 150 would be non-pathological. She checks its reflexes, or irritability, by pinching it and stimulating it
uncomfortably. It cries loudly, a favorable response. She checks the muscle tone of the baby by
extending its limbs to judge the amount of resistance. The resistance is acceptable. Lastly she checks for
the respiration of the baby, informally, since she has already heard it crying quite loudly. It is a boy, and
the mother requests that it be circumcised.
Frigg: Why?
Mother: What?
Frigg: Why would you like us to circumcise him?
Mother: I just think it looks better.
Frigg: It doesn’t.
Mother: Ok…so then we are not going to circumcise him then?
Frigg: Yes.
Mother: Yes we are or yes we’re not? Doesn’t it protect him from infections?
Frigg: We’re not. It doesn’t get infected if you wash it, it’s just like any other body part that can be cut off.
The mother shrugs and begins to cry reflexively. “Ok?”
The baby is measured and checked further. Its temperature is checked, and it is given to the mother for a
moment. The mother is consoled by the presence of her baby. Her body heat helps to prevent it from
getting cold, as the various birthing fluids evaporate. Vernix, the white substance found on babies after
birth, helps its skin to develop, prevents infections, and heals any wounds to the skin. For these reasons
it is desirable not to remove the vernix too quickly. After some time, the nurses take the baby, and Frigg
gives it its first bath.
In ancient Germania, the first bath signified the point beyond which a baby could not be killed. Those
who say this is arbitrary do not understand it. It is actually a mechanism to prevent arbitrariness. That is,
any infanticidable defect could be detected within the moments after birth, but a decision to abort the
child’s life thereafter would be arbitrary; a parent could choose to kill his child, years later, in a fit of rage,
or so as to annul his marriage with his wife so that he could pursue lustful distractions. The first bath
establishes that infanticide is for a particular purpose, and no other purpose. Had the baby come out with
a cleft lip, or down’s syndrome, or been deemed unable to survive, it could be killed. In the modern
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context, the first and second conditions are no longer a concern, but there are many defects that parents
might wish to destroy a baby for, rather than take care of a moaning zombie retard for the rest of their
lives. The artifice of “abortion” merely uses the woman as a meat shield to keep fragile natures from
reality. Fleeting factors like “pain” are irrelevant, as are conceptual categories like “human” or “life”. One
should care about the long term health of the race, and of one’s own family. The entire framework of the
debate concerning abortion is deeply hedonistic, or deontological. Germanians are not hedonists or
letter-of-the-law following Semites. What actual good does it do to take care of some blob? You can do it
if you like, but it is best if you can choose not to.
The baby would traditionally have been named after the first bath. Anyway, it is washed, and its eyes are
disinfected so that none of the birthing matter or the bacteria from the birthing canal can infect the eyes.
It is given back to its mother, who holds him. She smiles.
Loga Climbþ Þe Beorg
Imagine Loki, as depicted in the SAM 66 manuscript (seeThe God Analogues), climbing a mountain. He
is large with respect to the mountain, and it is apparent that this is occurring in some kind of dream world,
or otherworld, rather than in the real world. Although, it is also possible that Loki has simply increased in
size, since some have reckoned that he has this ability. It would be within his shapeshifting powers.
His size decreases, or rather becomes apparent, as if his previous largeness was merely an introductory
projection. His impish normal sized body, clad in jester-like costume, moves quickly over rocks and dirt to
ascend the majestic mountain. It is surrounded by other mountains, but overlooking a basin, or ravine,
sitting as the headstone of this awesome panorama. The permanent smile on his mask-face glistens in
the sun. He scrambles over stones and climbs over ledges. He is determined, almost running up the
mountain. Hopping, occasionally, from one stone to the next, transporting himself from one area of
footing to another like a spider, or some kind of animal. He has, in fact, experienced the life of a spider
before.
As he reaches the top, he can see the summit. It consists of a long spike, forming into a cone. A very
sheer summit. He gets as high as he can, wrapping his arm around the spike, leaning outwards beside
the vista. He views the snowy mountains, out from the ravine, and the expanse that lies beyond. He
exclaims:
“Ha! Nice!”
Then he suddenly turns around, starting down the mountain. As he begins to quickly scramble down, he
stops. His clown face turns around. He looks at the spike at the top of the mountain. He quickly turns
around and heads toward the top of the mountain. He places himself in the same position as before, but
climbs further. He attempts to gain footing, getting even closer to the spike. He stops, however, near the
top. The spike is, quite literally, a spike. It is sharp. He drops back down, and fetches a rock. The rock is
long, smooth, and flat. He tests its hardness by throwing it against another rock. Satisfied, he picks it up,
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and ascends again. Reaching the top of the spike, he straddles it with his lower legs, pressing them into
the cone for stability. Then he places the flat rock on top of the spike, and steps on it with one foot.
Quickly, he steps with the other, so as to balance himself on the rock, at the true summit of the mountain.
He stands astride his rock for a moment, overlooking the scenery once again. He makes a satisfied
forward jerk of his arms, and then allows himself to fall gracefully from the cone. He hops down from the
summit, descending the mountain.
Fosites Þing
A long wooden table sits across a somewhat cramped room. Everything within is ornate, and well
constructed. A set of three square windows light the room to the right. At the top of the table is a set of
doors, also ornate, with nice golden (but probably brass) door handles. The doors open as everyone
enters. A number of men, dressed in 17th century aristocratic costumes, come into the room one by one.
They sit around the table, eventually numbering seventeen in all. Six men sit on one end of the table, six
at another end, one man at the head and foot of the table, one man stands behind the man at the foot of
the table to peer apathetically out the window, and two men stand by the door. They all hang their large
cavalier hats by the door, while some of the standing men keep them on. The man at the head of the
table places his hat in front of him, beside his papers. You notice a logo above the man at the head of the
table, above the doors: GWC. The man at the head of the table speaks.
Forseti: Well, sirs, thank you all for coming. This marks the first common meeting of the Geoctrooieerde
Westindische Compagnie.
He calls everyone’s name as a matter of formality. The men are: Adriaen Plancius: Representative of
Amsterdam, Jan Plancius: Representative of Amsterdam, Bernard Plancius: Representative of
Amsterdam, Abraham van Baburen: Representative of Amsterdam, Jan Meyer: Representative of
Amsterdam, Albert Pauw: Representative of Amsterdam, Dirck van Till: Representative of Amsterdam,
Hendrik van Till: Representative of Amsterdam, Johannes Bicker: Representative of Zeeland, Willem
Bicker: Representative of Zeeland, Lucas Bicker: Representative of Zeeland, Franz Wolff Metternich:
Representative of Zeeland, and a couple of unimportant representatives who will be silent. These four
representatives are from Hoorn, Delft, and other areas, and a few of their fellows are absent because
their representation is too small to matter. Forseti represents the States General.
Forseti: We have set up most of our affairs in the initial incorporation, as you know. We have a number of
ships, and we are ready to determine an enterprise from which we can earn money. Does anyone have
any suggestions?
Willem Bicker: Yes, sir. We - my brothers and I - have prepared a report on the current condition of
America. Particularly, what may tentatively be called New Netherland. As you all may know, the VOB set
up a number of trading posts there many years ago, using Spaniards and some other traders to establish
a presence there. It is rich as a trading outpost of the Indians, who trade in beaver furs and other
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miscellaneous animal items. The beaver really is the primary crop of that region, and its tail as you know
is highly prized.
Lucas Bicker passes around a set of papers.
Lucas Bicker: As you can see, I have mapped out the region and the trading posts therein. There are
three trading posts, with one operated by the Indians; a customary meeting point not continuously
inhabited. The monopoly of Arjan Block and Hendrick Christiaensen has ended a few years ago, for
reference, such that the area is now open to competition. As we go north, up the Hudson, we can also
see Fort Nassau, a large trading post secured from the natives by arms and fortifications.
Dirck van Till: Sir, that fort has actually been destroyed.
Lucas Bicker: It has?
Dirck van Till: Yes, a large draft of water from the Hudson engulfed it. They rebuilt somewhere far off, but
that location was destroyed by the water also.
Lucas Bicker: How do you know this?
Dirck van Till: It is common knowledge among those who study these matters. I know the Eelkens family
that operated it, they are close to the matter.
Bernard Plancius: Yes, I second that, I am also aware of this.
Abraham van Baburen: Me too.
Bernard Plancius: Me as well, including my brother. This is what we have heard.
Jan Plancius: Yes, I know also.
Lucas Bicker: Ah, ok then. So I guess these sites are currently unoccupied?
Dirck van Till: No, the Indians occupy them on an impermanent basis. Had they the ability to interact with
these Indians, they should have learned that there must have been a reason for this, before they went
and built a fort.
Abraham van Baburen: I don’t think that is fair to say, as the natives cannot build forts like ours. How
were they supposed to know the fort wouldn’t hold up? I’m sure they knew the risks posed by the river.
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Forseti: It’s not important, please continue. Are these sites occupied? Or only impermanently by the
Indians?
Dirck van Till: Only impermanently, yes.
Jan Meyer: Yes, I am aware of this also. Only impermanently.
Forseti: It is an important post for the Indians, is it not?
Dirck van Till: Yes, it is.
Jan Meyer: Yes indeed.
Lucas Bicker: It could be their largest, judging by previous Dutch activities there.
Jan Meyer: Debatable. The mouth of the Hudson is also very large. But it is certainly an important
location, yes. Among the most important, we can say.
Forseti: Ok. Please continue Lucas and Willem, is there anything else?
Willem Bicker: Yes, we have been given a record of the current owners of the outposts there. You can
see them here.
He passes around a paper.
Forseti: Thank you. How did you come upon this information?
Willem Bicker: Lucas and my cousin Gerbrand went there to inspect the trading posts.
Forseti: I see, good job. To the mouth of the Hudson only, yes?
Lucas Bicker: Yes.
Forseti: I see. I assume there is a reason that there are only four trading posts here, including the native
one, rather than five or more? I think we may have to find a way to acquire the existing locations, if that is
feasible. Or are there any other possible sites?
Lucas Bicker: There are not, no. We could try, but there are none that we could make a living off of.
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Forseti: Understood. So, these outposts. I imagine that we could acquire them for…how much, has
anyone done a projection?
Lucas Bicker: I have not, sorry. The owners do not seem to be intent on selling.
Bernard Plancius: Actually, one of those is operated by my sister’s husband. He could, perhaps, offer me
a fair price for it.
Forseti: Great, so we can buy it from them?
Bernard Plancius: No, no. Not to the company. They would sell it tome. I could then use it to advance
the company’s interests.
Forseti: How so?
Bernard Plancius: I could drive out the competitors by increasing traffic to my outpost, with your funding.
Jan Plancius: Yes, this would reduce the value of the other posts, allowing us to buy them.
Forseti: The company?
Jan Plancius: Yes, the company.
Forseti: But Bernard would still own the biggest one? The one that drove out and devalued all the
others?
Lucas Bicker: Yeah, why would we want that?
Franz Wolff Metternich: Indeed, there appears to be no reason why we would want to purchase those
lands if you have already dominated the area.
Bernard Plancius: Well, I could reduce investment in my outpost once everyone else is gone.Youcould
reduce investment.
Franz Wolff Metternich: No, that is stupid. You would already have the advantage there. The…in Dutch,
what is it? The [in French]initiative. You have aconflict of interest here.
Adriaen Plancius: Hey, do not call him stupid!
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Jan Plancius: Yes, those are dueling words sir, do not speak that way! These are not the backwoods of
Germany!
Bernard Plancius: Jan, do not pretend to call a duel on my behalf!
Forseti: Get back on topic.
Bernard Plancius: Franz, it is not a conflict of interest. It is a mutual interest. I am interested in developing
the lands of New Amsterdam the same as you!
Franz Wolff Metternich: What? “You are interested in developing the lands of New Amsterdam-” did you
forget the issue at hand? The issue is that you have the capacity, if you own that outpost, to shut down
the other outposts, and if you have that capacity, it is unlikely that you would let us operate those
outposts, to the detriment of your own outpost.
Albert Pauw: Would you be willing to pay a tax to the company in exchange for the right to operate that
outpost?
Bernard Plancius: I would be open to the idea. What kind of tax?
Forseti: Enough. This argument is null to begin with. I believe it fundamentally misunderstands how
trading outposts work. Posts earn their value chiefly by their locations. If this is the case, then no amount
of money invested in the “Plancius post”, if we may call it that, can overcome the other posts. Maybe it
could, somewhat, but it is not a method to be counted on. So we have to think of something else.
Bernard Plancius: I disagree, I think that-
Forseti: I am done considering this issue. There is no reason for you to own that post if you cannot
compete with the other posts.
Jan Plancius: Come on! Let him speak.
Forseti: No, I have another idea.
Hendrik van Till: Let’s hear it.
Forseti: Since it is unlikely that we will be able to buy the outposts, I suggest that we drive them out
instead.
Hendrik van Till: Drive them out?
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Bernard Plancius: The government has forbidden us to raise arms!
Forseti: I know. That leads to the next part of my plan. We shall lobby the state to create a settlement in
the region, thus enabling the use of government force to make the owners exit their lands. This will not
only deliver them to our hands, but allow us to raise revenue from the colony, as well as to keep ships
and men there.
Albert Pauw: Yes! The government will certainly authorize force for such a venture. From there, we could
even make an expedition up to the site of Fort Nassau. Good plan.
Lucas Bicker: I approve of this plan also.
Willem Bicker: I will be able to mount surveying expeditions with my brothers if you deem it necessary.
Hendrik van Till: Yes, of course that would be necessary. I think this plan is too expensive, actually. With
the amount of money that we could spend settling, we could make a high offer to the traders.
Dirck van Till: Yes, but we get some additional revenue from the settlement. More than we would get
from buying the outposts alone. And it also provides us a base from which to operate in the region.
Jan Plancius: I agree with Hendrik, too expensive.
Bernard Plancius: Do you know how many colonies fail? It's risky. Why pay for that risk, when we could
pay outright for the outposts. I agree, why don’t we just take the money that we would spend on
surveying, exploration, and occupying the settlement, and purchase the outposts with it instead?
Forseti: You see the error in your argument. We get the outposts either way. But if we do it the settlement
way, we get a settlement also, potentially.
Bernard Plancius: But the amount of money we spend on that would likely exceed what we would need
to pay the owners.
Jan Plancius: You are forgetting that this is immoral, as well. Driving people off their places of business. It
is ungodly. The Bible says, thou shalt not steal, did you forget? If a colony cannot exist there on its own
merits, why should we step in? People will be deprived of their livelihoods as a result of this plan.
Franz Wolff Metternich: Ha! So I see you have no argument. I like the plan.
Forseti: Quiet, sir Wolff. Bickers, do you have the ability to survey these lands?
Lucas Bicker: Yes we do, using our ships.
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Forseti: Ok, so I think we have enough information to proceed with this. We shall put it to vote. Who is in
favor of initiating the lobbying of the state to grant us the right to expel the existing owners of New
Amsterdam, coterminous with the exploration and surveying of that colony, to be followed by the
settlement of people and the building of structures in the region, those people being sourced from the
Netherlands or Flanders?
The vote: Adriaen Plancius: Yes, Jan Plancius: No, Bernard Plancius: No, Abraham van Baburen: No,
Jan Meyer: Yes, Albert Pauw: Yes, Dirck van Till: Yes, Hendrik van Till: No, Johannes Bicker: Yes, Willem
Bicker: Yes, Lucas Bicker: No, Franz Wolff Metternich: Yes. The remaining four representatives all vote
no, except the man who has been distracted by the window this whole time.
Forseti: I vote yes. Sir, do you vote yes or no?
The aloof representative looks back at the party from the window. He waves his arm indifferently, “sure,
yeah, whatever.”
Wodnes Reordþing
Woden, Vithar, and a Catholic priest sit at a round table in what is apparently a Christian talk show. Their
dialogue begins midway through.
Woden: One of the interesting things about Christianity was, when it was first propagated, it was adopted
very easily. What I mean by that is, pagan societies, once they came in contact with a particular Christian
priest, a missionary, you see, they adopted Christianity almost instantaneously. Contrary to popular
belief, there was little bloodshed in the early Christianization of pagan populations. As a matter of fact, in
most cases there was hardly any bloodshed at all. Pagan populations willingly and eagerly became
Christian. Now why is that, you think? Why did the entire world, in different cultures, in different locations,
and in totally different societies, seem to decide all at once that this particular belief system was true, and
not only true, but worthy of adopting without any skepticism, without any resistance, and without any
particular…questioning whatsoever. The Irish, for example, were Christianized almost immediately when
Saint Patrick arrived. The Anglo-Saxons were Christianized over the span of a hundred years, without
any particular bloodshed or force. The Germanians, that is the people of Germania, were enthusiastic
Christians almost immediately. It was their staunch adherence to Arian Christianity, in fact, that motivated
them to bring down the Roman Empire.
Catholic: Well, I don’t know if I agree with that last part. The fall of the Roman Empire was a very
complicated thing, you know, and in addition to that, the Arians were not really Christians. I think
Arianism represented an- actually an unwillingness to accept the true tenets of Christianity, so in that
sense I think you could say that the Germanii-
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Woden: Germani
Catholic: What?
Woden: The proper pronunciation of the Latin noun is “Germani”, that is the plural of Germanus.
Catholic: Oh, thank you-
Woden: Yes, “Germanii” would mean “of Germania”. It’s tricky, because some Latin plural nouns seem to
be delineated by a double i suffix, but in reality they are not. For example, denarii, which has two “i”s only
because the -us in denarius pluralizes to -i, leaving an extra i after you add the real plural suffix.
Catholic: Ok, thank you. I didn’t know that. Anyway, I was saying…um, I think I was saying-
Woden: You were saying that you think Arianism represented an unwillingness to accept the true tenets
of Christianity.
Catholic: Oh yes- Arianism represented an unwillingness to accept the true Christianity, so in that sense I
think you could say the Germani were not easily Christianized. In fact, you can see this later with events
like Donar’s Oak, and even the Reformation, that the people of Germany didn’t adopt Christianity so
easily so that missionaries had to use force to get them to, adopt the true ways of Christ. Arianism wasn’t
pagan, but it’s in that kind of weird limbo where it can’t quite be called Christian either, so I don’t think-
those people were really Christianized that easily, and it's true of a lot of other people, like Sabellianism
in Libya, and all the heresies. You know, maybe it's easy getting people to believe in heresies, but
Christianity has to be enforced by the church. I think that history has shown this time and time again, and
it's a lesson we need to learn.
Vithar: Let us dispel with this right away before we get into a long and convoluted argument. You KNOW
that Arianism is a form of Christianity. If you were to refer to Arianism, you would call it “Arian
Christianity”. Every Christian knows that Arianism is a form of Christianity. Every non-Christian and
scholar knows this, it is definitionally true. Every Christian knows that other denominations are still
Christian, because obviously Christianity refers to something broader than the denominations within it,
otherwise the denominations would not be called denominations, they would be called different religions,
which they are not. Now, Woden’s claim was that pagans were easily Christianized. If Germanians were
easily Arianized, and Arianism is definitionally a form of Christianity, then it follows that they were easily
Christianized.
As for Donar’s Oak-
Woden: One thing at a time.
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Vithar: Ok. What is your response?
Catholic: Well, yes I think in a very literal sense you could say that, but my point is that in another sense,
you could say that they didn’t easily adopt the true Christianity.
Vithar: They did not easily adopt the form of Christianity you adhere to, yes, if you consider that to be the
true Christianity. But this does not invalidate Woden’s point, or really have any bearing on it at all.
Catholic: I never said it did, I just-
Vithar: No, you DID say that it did.
Catholic: Well, if that's what you-
Vithar: Let’s skip your face saving phase and move on to Donar’s Oak. I don’t think the story of Donar’s
Oak tells us much of anything. It is an anecdote about a tree. It doesn’t tell us anything about the level of
hostility with which the population at large was converted to Christianity, if they did so willingly or
unwillingly. In fact, it is interesting that of all anecdotes, the anecdote is about someone chopping down a
tree, rather than, say, massacring a village or putting people to execution. The chopping of Donar’s Oak
was not a part of some hostile or warlike conversion effort. Indeed, the whole point of the story is thatall
Saint Boniface had to do, to convert the pagans to Christianity, was chop down a tree. They were
impressed by it and they converted. If that isn’t an easy conversion, I don’t know what is.
Catholic: Well, I disagree, and you know I’m not sure that I like your tone. I’m afraid that I’m going to
have to leave now. You know, one of the great things about Western civilization is civil dialogue. The
ability to speak one’s mind and be heard, in a polite way. I don’t think your behavior is polite, and
apparently you are not interested in civil, reasonable dialogue. You know, I think that's what makes a
man, the ability to treat people with courtesy and respect. But you sir are a child, and I do not debate with
children.
Vithar: Ok, goodbye.
Woden, agreeably: Thank you for coming, it was nice talking to you.
Tiw Danjou
At 1 a.m. on 30 April, the 3rd company was on its way, with three officers and 62 men. At 7 a.m., after a
15 miles (24 km) march, it stopped at Palo Verde to rest. Soon after, a Mexican force of 3,000 soldiers
(800 cavalry and 2,200 infantry) was spotted. Danjou had the company take up a square formation and,
even though retreating, he drove back several cavalry charges, inflicting the first heavy losses on the
enemy.
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Looking for a more defensible position, Danjou decided to make a stand at the nearby Hacienda
Camarón, an inn protected by a 10-foot (3.0-meter) high wall. His plan was to tie up the enemy forces to
prevent any attacks on the nearby convoy. While the legionnaires prepared a defense of the inn, the
Mexican commander, Colonel Milan, demanded that Danjou and his men surrender, pointing out the fact
that the Mexican Army was greatly superior in number. Danjou went around to each of his men with a
bottle of wine and made them all take a solemn oath not to surrender.
At noon, Danjou was shot in the chest and died. His soldiers continued to fight until 6 p.m. despite
overwhelming odds and extreme heat. The 60 men, who had had nothing to eat or drink since the day
before, resisted many charges of the Mexican army. The last five survivors were all down to their very
last bullet. Instead of dishonoring themselves, they decided to charge with fixed bayonets. When they
did, the Mexican commander ordered his troops to cease fire. Out of admiration for their courage, he
spared the surviving men and allowed them to form an honour guard for the body of Captaine Danjou.
They were released to return to France. This story has become legendary in French military history.
Miscellanea
The Theory of Soldiers
Nature has endowed men with the following distribution of military natures:
-Heroes, of which about 25% of a military unit consists.
-Normies, of which half of a military unit consists.
-Shirkers, of which about 25% of a military unit consists, but which is usually a few percentage points
lower than 25%.
-Predators, who form a small percentage of a given military unit and are attracted to specific types of
units.
-Bastions, who form a small percentage of a given military unit and are attracted to specific types of
units.
Heroes:Heroes are selfless and bold individuals with “independent motivations”. That is, they can
generate orders and form plans without direction. They are independently motivated to lead the unit
forward and to victory.
Normies:Normies are people with “dependent motivations”.That is, they must receive orders from
others in order to engage in purposeful action. Without such orders, they will cycle through past orders,
training, and practices.
Shirkers:Shirkers are selfish and risk averse individuals with “independent motivations”. That is, they
can generate orders and form plans without direction. They are independently motivated to hold the unit
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back and prevent casualties. Shirkers exist to replace heroes once all available heroes have died, thus
initiating the “caution protocol” of the unit, the loss of all its heroes being a signal that it is no longer fit to
fight, at least not in an intrepid manner. The shirker is the individual who, after the hero dies, and the
normies continue to frantically execute bygone orders, steps in and says: “this is fucking stupid, we need
to stop, let’s go.” Shirkers can also serve as a warning signal to excessively belligerent commanders.
That is, they will be the first to desert, and will often do so en masse, which may cause the normies to
follow. Shirkers are also the sort to initiate behaviors such as “fragging”. These are not always bad,
existing as they do for a natural reason; the preservation of warriors from ruthless commanders and
pointless wars.
Predators:Predators are “heroic shirkers”, individualsprone to heroic-type behaviors but who are
shirkers in nature. This type is appropriate to mountain/wilderness units, certain types of special forces
units, and in the military-adjacent civilian sense it is appropriate for assassins. This type is heroic “at first”
but easily discouraged, and does not place itself in danger for long, but always “retreats” somewhere
safe after it is done. Predators have the ancillary characteristic of being vengeful, wishing to return to
past enemies who have hurt them in order to cause casualties. This is because they are not brave by
nature, so they remember and hate losses sorely.
Bastions:Bastions are “shirker heroes”, individualsprone to shirker-type behaviors but who are
heroes in nature. This type is appropriate to snipers, EOD units, combat engineers/sappers, certain
applications of military police, fighter pilots, etc. This type is good at calmly withstanding danger for long
periods of time, waiting, and making highly specific or intricate independent decisions. Bastions have the
ancillary characteristic of being good at doggedly following orders, being stoic and fearless, thus able to
follow directions no matter what, but also to innovate upon those orders in their own way.
Other Combinations:The other possible combinations,“normie hero”, “hero normie”, “shirker
normie” etc only result in a weaker form of the said category, regardless of the “order” of the categories,
rather than new categories in themselves. This is because “normie” is a neutral category. It has no nature
other than to follow other natures. There is one distinction of note, though: the “heroic normie” vs the
“normie hero”. The “heroic normie” is just a slightly more heroic normie. The “normie hero” is a hero who
is constrained by his rank. This type of normie is important, because he is a “latent hero”, who can
become a bona fide hero if his superiors are gone or if he is promoted. In terms of nature’s design, this
type of man exists so that all heroes do not die at once, and so that the chain of command remains intact
without “too many chefs”.
Normie “Heroism”:“Normies” are normies because they follow orders. They are not normies
because they are bland. It is very possible to be a “glorious normie”. Consider, for example, the soldier
who continues to do his duty even after being cut off from his unit and overwhelmed with enemy forces.
The military unit which, ordered to fight to the last man, does so, and perhaps transitions into a guerilla
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unit once stuck deep in enemy territory, doggedly following its commander’s intent even after every
immediate incentive to do so has been removed. The “hero” who continues to do what he is supposed to
do against all odds. It is only the normie who continues to followsuperfluousorders who is a fool. For
example, the normie who continues to fire artillery rounds at a location known to be evacuated by the
enemy because no new orders have been received.
Divine Categories:This distribution is only true of Europeans, who have developed for frequent
organized warfare consisting of relevant small unit actions. It is especially true of Germanic and Celtic
Europeans. It is relevant somewhat in civilian life, but especially for organizing militias without
predetermined rank orders/unit structures. It is, also, possible to characterize the male gods in this way:
The Heroic Quartet: Woden, Thunar, Wuot, Tiw
The Shirker Quartet: Frey, Balder, Loki, Forseti
The Normie Dyad: Bragi, Heimdall
The Bastionic Dyad: Njorth, Hoth
The Predatory Dyad: Vithar, Ullr
Balder is “bold”, yet he is not a hero. He is averse to danger. His disposition is of one too perfect to
engage in battle or risk his well being. He is interpersonally bold, and bold in action if necessary, but he
does not go out of his way to seek risky enterprises.
The Matter of Santa Claus
The folk figure Santa Claus is a combination of the gods Ullr and Freyr. Since it is impious to incorrectly
associate different gods, it is pious for Templists to practice this Yule tradition more mindfully. Here is how
it used to be, specifically:
The bodily appearance of Santa Claus is that of Ullr, and not of Freyr. However his hat and general style
of dress are derived from those of Freyr, though not identical to them. Freyr’s hat, in fact, is conical, not
floppy. He does tend to wear a long coat, similar to what Santa wears, but it is longer, appearing
sometimes even as a “robe”, which he often wears “open” rather than closed. He does often wear a “belt”
underneathhis robe, to fasten his clothes to himself.He wears stockings, and “knickers” on his legs,
resembling what a “Santa’s elf” might wear. All of theattireof Christmas is therefore derived andadapted
from that of Freyr. These statements regarding the appearance of Freyr and Ullr are CANONICAL,
though the rest of this passage is non-canonical, since Templists may continue to practice Christmas or
Yule however they wish.
Originally, Yule was a festival of the winter harvest. People ate lavishly, and provided gifts to children and
to each other, to prepare for the winter. For example, children were given toys, since they would
otherwise get bored while cooped up inside all day. This is why a bad child is given “coal”, because he
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will have nothing to do but tend the fire. Basically, everything that could be given was given at this time,
since it is during the winter that such tools, toys, resources, etc, are needed. It may seem thatfeasting
would be inadvisable during this time. Feasts were held, beginning the winter with cheerfulness and good
health. These feasts may seem inadvisable. However, it is relatively easy to figure out how much food
needs to be stockpiled to survive X period. So they amount to a statement of confidence that the
stockpile is plenty sufficient. Evergreens were collected to symbolize survival of the winter. Bells were
rung to ward off evil spirits (a heuristic for predatory animals and scavengers).
It is interesting, as an aside, that “reconstructionist” neo-pagans are so interested in portraying their
ancestors as ignorant superstitious fools. They would have you believe that ancient Europeans rang bells
during the winter to ward off evil spirits like a bunch of whooping redskins. Since they base their belief
system off of historical data alone, they are unable to properly judge thementalityof their ancestors.The
mentality of our ancestors is the same as our mentality has ever been; there was the reason, and there
was the meme. The clear and obvious reason, which can be deduced by any sensible person, is that
bells scare off animals that are wont to search for food during the winter. This is especially relevant
because humans, like other animals, stockpile food during the winter. These stockpiles must be
protected. Therefore bells were fastened to doorways, paths, branches, etc, to scare away such
creatures, which also protected humans (mostly children) from being attacked by predators (wolves, for
much of history, were actually dangerous enough to be a persistent worry, as they could snatch children
and animals. In Northern Europe they were the principal “real monster” with which men had to contend,
rivaling humans in their predatory capacity and inclination. They were likely more aggressive prior to the
proliferation of firearms, as a pack of wolves can reasonably defeat a couple of spear-armed men. For
example, still today they employ battle tactics, such as knocking a creature down by ramming its legs
while the others bite its throat open. Note, incidentally, that Germanic populations have a long tradition of
emulating wolves and naming themselves after wolves). The meme was that these bells also protected
humans on the ethereal plane, from baneful spirits and the like, which perhaps originated as a children’s
story before becoming an established memetic tradition. Europeans never have been given to “pure
superstition”, or in other words “pure memetics”. Medieval Europeans, for example, who some believe to
have thought that mental diseases result from “demons”, actually believed that mental diseases resulted
from physiological malfunctions of the brain, which were caused by demons. It has always been this way,
because this is our nature. We are not superstitious fools, we are intelligent people who like to add a little
bit of flavor to color our understanding of reality. Any European who does act like a superstitious fool is
usually a border-European (e.g, a southern Spaniard, a Greek, etc), or is pretending for the sake of
“piety” because he feels like he must pretend. You do not have to pretend to be someone that you are
not, nor that your ancestors were people that you are not.
Freyr represented the harvest, and Ullr represented the hunt.
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The Author-Year
I once offered a set of “Germanic” day and month names, but this was foolish. The months are
standardized throughout Europe, so as to be readily apprehensible. If I were to prescribe different
months and days for Germanic Templists, then one Englishman, for example, would reckon the month
one way, and one (e.g if he is a Celtic Templist) another. Wasted mental energy.
However, I maintain that the “Author year” is still useful, for all Templists. According to this custom, you
reckon the year from my birth. Thus it is 25 YA (2024, as I edit this 24 YA work). As in the Christian case,
this custom will probably not take hold until my legend sufficiently impresses people that they are living in
a new epoch. People did not use the AD convention until the 9th century. You may use it “early” as a way
of “betting” on this outcome, whether earnestly or as propaganda to increase the zeal of others.
Holidays
The holiday of Yule/Christmas has been sufficiently described. As for the other holidays, here I list only
those that are worth commenting upon. People are free to celebrate whatever days they may choose.
Easter:Per Templist Canon, a very large offeringmust be given to the gods on the precise date, and
ideally the time, of each equinox and solstice. The spring equinox can represent the pagan Easter, on
which Easter is venerated. The Christian Easter can then be celebrated to venerate Odin, and his
mastery of the West, gained by his fictitious identity.
May Day:Festivities proceed as normal. This day is traditionally devoted to Frey and Freyja, focusing
especially on human fertility, with the maypole representing the giant erect penis of Frey, the maypole
strings representing his ejaculate. The bonfire, by contrast, being the sensual warmth of the
aforementioned goddess. Offerings to these gods are given on this day. Ancient Europeans were not
prudes. They were not “sex positivity activists” or whatever you want to call them, either. This is its own
form of prudishness.
Midsummer:Per Templist Canon, a very large offering must be given to the gods on the precise date,
and ideally the time, of each equinox and solstice. Midsummer, then, does not occur on a particular date,
but whenever the summer solstice precisely occurs. Bonfires should be held on this date, with the
requisite offerings being given communally if possible. Any other existing traditions can continue.
Freysblot:August 1st is Freysblot, consisting ofsacrifices to Frey. You are to thank him for the
incredible prosperity you enjoy, and yet still ask for more. It is to be the pan-national holiday of
Anglo-Saxons, and certainly the national holiday of England, in which Anglo-Saxons will venerate their
divine father.
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Autumn Equinox:Per Templist Canon, a very large offering must be given to the gods on the
precise date, and ideally the time, of each equinox and solstice. The autumn equinox date, however,
should not be accompanied by a festival. Instead, it should be taken as a challenge, to see how much
you can offer without speaking of or making any ado about it.
Templist Canon Day:January 20th is the first day upon which the Templist Canon was created,
when it existed initially as a word processor document, before being copied to a Substack and worked
upon from there. January 20th also happens to be the date of the Wannsee Conference. This is a date
for men to meet, away from their families, and to venerate Woden.
Odin-Sight
Odin sight, also called Woden-sight, etc, is a form of godlike Germanic consciousness. A Woden-Sighted
person views everything through the lens of the large scale folkish interest. The world appears “small” to
him, as everything is a tool, or perhaps a toy, in his own folk-strategic game. He therefore acts in his
immediate environment for the sake of his broader, total folk environment. Temporally also, he sees
himself and everything around him as essentially temporary, a part of the greater destiny of his blood.
Odin sight is not purely a natural consciousness. It also requires information about economics, politics,
military affairs, etc, so that a broader perspective can be gained. This perspective is seen even in one’s
immediate environment. One sees, for example, economic relations and production relationships with
China, and the diplomatic and economic implications of those relations, in automobiles on the road. They
are not merely cars, not merely annoying obstacles to your commute, and these considerations become
secondary to you as you perceive a broader objective in which you play a part. Wotan-sight is not to be
cultivated by everyone or exercised at all times, only itself as is necessary or beneficial strategically.
There is a reason, after all, that the Germanic pantheon is not just Wotan. Because even non-Odinic
natures have parts to play in his game, even if they do not know it. The intention is not always necessary
for the outcome, although a number of supremely dharmic Woden-Sighted individuals are usually
necessary to engineer the outcome.
Odin-Trust
The opposite side of Odin-Sight is Odin-Trust, or Wotan-Trust, or informally “trust in Woden”. This
means, trusting that Woden has a greater plan, including for oneself, and one’s own life.
This is different from the manner in which Christians trust in “God”. Woden is not omnipotent, omniscient.
You cannot trust that he will make everything good, that he will make everything turn out good for you,
etc. There is nothing “natural” about Woden’s mastery of reality. There is no indication that realityshould
obey the commands of Woden. Woden has attained anunnaturalmastery over reality, by applying his
strategic genius, and masterful foresight, such that he is in complete control of his environment at all
times, and in all anticipated future times, even though he cannot whim every minute detail as he whims.
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There is, therefore, a measure of economics to his decision making, in that he must choose when to
influence things and when it is not worth it. The strategy is to influence that which influences everything
else. That is, to influence the influential. If you are a poor and destitute person, you can trust that Odin
has no particular use for you.
You can see how the Christian “trust in God” is often selfish. The Christian wants to trust that God will
smooth things over for him personally, that God will make things alright forhim. Trust in Odin is trustin a
strategy. you trust that the victory of your people is assured, because it is Woden’s highest aim, the thing
for which he manipulates all other things with his supreme genius. You trust that Woden is playingone
million dimensional chess, so to speak, and that you are assuredly some part of that, even as an
unmoved pawn. Strategy occurs on the entire board. Unmoved pieces are unmoved because they are an
opportunity cost that the player chose to spend elsewhere. Everyone in this sense is subject to Odin’s
decision making. Knock on effects of his decisions usually reverberate elsewhere, so that no one is truly
exempt.
Wode
The Germanic Templist should revive the concept of “wode”, which refers to maniacal creativity,
dedication, warrior frenzy, etc. It is a term for the energetic capability of the Germanic hero. It is the
namesake of Woden as well as Wuot, with the former meaning “master of wode”, and the latter meaning
simply “wode”. “Mania” is an adequate substitute, but “wode” is an uncommon word that is suitable to
foster a Germanic Templist subculture. A person with wode is “a maniac”, or “wodic”. A wodic person
could be a frenzied lunatic, which is not very laudable, but he could also be an Odinic master of its
creative, intellectual, and physical energy. “Odinic”, though, is not a suitable term to describe this alone.
“Odinic”, as used elsewhere in this document, means “of, relating to, similar to, or descended from Odin”
in a broader sense. A term for “controlled wode” ought not exist, because this undermines its status as a
primordial Germanic biological energy that must be harnessed and controlled. It is simply wode, and
someone harnesses it well or ill.
False Wode:Wode is not ostentatiously screaming like a “battle raging viking warrior, aaaarrrrg!” That
is being a fucking retard. You can picture what a real maniac would act like. He wants to put all energy
into accomplishing the task at hand. That is wode. Not that tough-guy posturing is bad. It can be good.
It's a strategy. It’s just not wode, more of a Thunarian type of behavior.
The God Analogues
The following are real life people or characters that look like the gods. These analogies are CANONICAL,
except the last, but they are in fact ANALOGIES, not instructions that must be followed exactly. The
analogies should, typically, give a Germanic individual an intuitive sense of what their gods look like,
awakening perhaps an ancient memory, or a biological memory, of certain archetypal Germanic
individuals, or whatever. Since Templist Canon forbids the worship of real individuals as idols, none of
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the real life individuals below may be worshiped as idols of the gods. Rather, they provide analogies for
how a given idol should look.
Many people may find the god analogues to be “funny”. They are kind of funny, but here is the necessary
psychological cure to take them seriously: the reason that you think these associations to be “funny” is
that the people depicted are often associated with whimsical subjects, and it is whimsical in itself that
these people should find themselves in this situation, so to speak. However, the analogues are not about
the people depicted. Your mind is making the following sequence of associations: appearance of person
depicted=person depicted, person depicted=funny, or in a funny circumstance, gods=appearance of
person depicted, god analogues=funny. However, “person depicted” is irrelevant. We are using them as
objects to characterize the gods. If it is funny, it has nothing to do with the gods. None of the faces below
are in themselves funny, and it is these alone that I am using to characterize the gods. I can already see
those who will go further, whose undisciplined minds will say god analogues=Templism, Templism=funny,
funny=a joke, a joke=unserious, unserious=false, Templism=false, funny, goofy, a joke, etc. You have to
recognize which associations are relevant and which are not. Prophylactically, I can answer the
aforementioned critics by saying that it is not my fault, they just lack the ability to isolate their emotions
when they are not relevant.
Woden
Woden looks like the individual known as Michael Thompson, an American ex (at the time of this writing)
convict and former leader of the Aryan Brotherhood prison gang.
[photos of Michael Thompson omitted for copyright reasons]
Woden also looks like the fictional character “Big Boss”, aka “Naked Snake” of the Metal Gear video
game series, in certain newer (and thus more detailed) renditions. This includes the character known as
“Venom Snake”, who is identical to Big Boss, though the game considers him to be a body double of the
real Big Boss
[photos of Big Boss aka Naked Snake omitted for copyright reasons]
This figure can be used as an idol of Woden. Although, note that some of the front-facing depictions are
not very accurate. It is possible to regard this figure as a wyrdful intrusion of Woden into the design
process of the MGS series, perhaps forWyrd!.
It is interesting that both of these figures appear to be of “Odinic” character. Thompson is a deceitful
strategist, confidence man, trickster, traitor to criminal degenerates, who has been accused of such
actions as swindling homeless people out of the unemployment dole. Naked Snake is a clandestine
warrior who holds the power of life and death over his enemies.
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Ullr
Ullr looks like the individual known as Varg Vikernes, a Norwegian ex-convict, black metal musician, and
creator of the tabletop roleplaying game MYFAROG. However, he does not always look exactly like this
individual. Another reference point for his appearance is Archduke Franz Ferdinand. In his older forms,
he may simply look like Santa Claus.
[photos of Varg Vikernes omitted for copyright reasons]
[photos of Franz Ferdinand omitted for consistency reasons]
It is interesting, again, that both men appear to be of an “Ullrian” character. Varg, a musician dissatisfied
with the modern world who retreated to the French countryside to raise children on a homestead, who
prizes self sufficiency and lives accordingly, who is interested in herbalism and wilderness survival, who
has a scar on his face from being impaled by a ski pole while skiing, who created a philosophy based on
“hamingja”, which means “honor” or “fame”, which is Ullr’s primary aspect, and who created a game
(MYFAROG) that is essentially a systematic way of telling stories. Franz Ferdinand, an avid hunter who
amassed approximately 300,000 hunting trophies, which speaks for itself.
Freyr
Frey looks like the real life individual known as David Myatt, an author, translator of Greek texts, creator
of the Star Game, former Neo-Nazi agitator, political writer, and activist. He looks, however, more robust
than this individual, with more angular features, where the real life individual has less “pronounced”
Irish-Celtic features. Another individual he may be compared to is Oswald Mosley, creator of the BUF.
Mosley and Myatt do not look the same at all, but there is a common distinctive Englishness about them
that evidences their descent from Freyr. The god is also, of course, taller. If Myatt and Mosley had a baby
with gigantism, that would perhaps be Freyr. His face is proportional to his size, and appears “sharp” in a
vague way that cannot be comprehended. The phrase “Myatt’s father” may give the appropriate
impression. Frey does occasionally wear round glasses as well, but not all of the time. The photo below
is the most accurate. Freyr’s eyebrows are not as ugly.
[photo of David Myatt omitted for copyright reasons]
It is interesting that Myatt is of a Freyrian character. He devoted his life to the production of propaganda,
and also to priestly pursuits which are Freyr’s main aspect. In fact, he served in a monastery as well as in
a Muslim context, and is rumored to have connections to occult practices as well.
Tiw
Tiw looks like a fictional painting of the hero Orpheus by Guido Philipp Schmitt. Not that he is identified
with Orpheus in any way. Obviously Guido Schmitt, a German, depicted a German boy rather than a
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Greek hero. Tiw has a somewhat longer face and more robust jaw than in this depiction. In other words
he looks like the picture below but “less gay”. He is also stronger looking. His hair, too, is not as curly, but
only “wavy” or somewhat curly, often “wild”, reminiscent of the rays of the sun, like how it is depicted by
Lorenz Frølich (second photo). The Schmitt picture however is suitable as an idol of Tyr. The third
picture, an obscure woodcut from a colleague of Martin Luther, also helps to define his appearance.
Vithar looks similar, but not the same, perhaps not as attractive, with a more disagreeable or perhaps
Machiavellian physiognomy. The point is that he is like Tyr, but not as heroic. He looks somewhat like
Woden, in the sense of being “evidently Woden’s son”
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Since all of these are illustrations, it cannot be said that they are real-life parallels to Tyrian behavior. I do
happen to know someone with a Tyrian physiognomy who behaves in a Tyrian way.
Forseti
Forseti looks like the individual known as Gavin Newsom, the governor of California. He is, however,
usually to be portrayed as much younger than Newsom currently is, though he looks like a young
Newsom anyway
[photos of Gavin Newsom omitted for copyright reasons]
It is interesting that Gavin Newsom is of a Forsetian character. He was initially a businessman, who
diversified his brand as well as his capital across various business enterprises, made millions of Dollars,
and retained an ownership stake in a number of businesses. He then became governor of a democratic
polity. He often receives money from state lobbyists.
Thunar
Thunar is an easy enough deity to understand and depict. Most artists through history have got it right:
Heimdall & Loki
Neither Heimdall nor Loki have definite appearances. Loki may be best depicted as similar to the drawing
on the SAM 66 manuscript (first picture below), or roughly as he is described in Templist Canon.
Heimdall can be depicted as a normal sentry, roughly how he is described in Templist Canon. Some
people see a figure called Hat Man. This man is Heimdall, by the way. Either god can be depicted in any
costume that they would realistically assume. With Loki, the costumes are usually ridiculous or
exploratory. With Heimdall, the costumes relate to clandestine missions and intelligence gathering tasks.
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This allows many interesting artistic depictions. For example, Loki as a drag queen, Loki as a parachute
jumper, Heimdall as an IT worker, Heimdall as a corporate magnate.
[depictions of Hat Man omitted for copyright reasons]
Nerthus
Nerthus looks like the person known as Bridget Fonda, an actress famous for roles throughout the 90s.
She is the niece of Jane Fonda. This means that, while I have described Nerthus as sexually
unappealing, it is possible that you may have a different opinion. Nerthus is, however, even more
mannish in her body, with broad shoulders and a general appearance of stockiness. I also imagine her to
have a more ovular face, with less bony protrusions.
[photos of young Bridget Fonda omitted for copyright reasons]
It is not evident that Bridget is of a Nerthusian character. There are several possible explanations for this.
One is that physiognomic archetypes do not apply to (mortal) women, since women do not have diverse
social roles to occupy, traditionally occupying the same roles uniformly, being essentially a latent stock
from which male physiognomic archetypes can be born. Another is that I, as a man, am unable to judge
female physiognomy accurately. I believe I have read studies that claim this to be the case before. Due
to this possibility, we will say that this depiction alone is NOT canonical. Perhaps a woman can shed light
on this in the future. The last possibility is that I simply have insufficient information about the character
of Bridget Fonda.
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An Honorable Attestation
I attest, and hereby make an honorable promise that I did not “try” or “want” to make any of the gods
appear as certain people. I am only describing how I naturally imagine them. This is why not all of the
gods are included, since some of them do not have analogues that I happen to be aware of. This means
that the coincidental similarity of their natures is truly spontaneous, not planned by me, at least not
deliberately. It is possible that I have been subconsciously influenced to select certain people based
upon their natures, but I do not think so. In particular, I did not know that Franz Ferdinand killed 300,000
animals nor that Gavin Newsom was a businessman even before I selected them as analogues.
Conclusion To God Analogues
Once again, you must try to contain your mirth. Or, understand that it is irrelevant. The figures above are
to be objectified for this specific purpose. They are figurines, more than actual people. Yes, I chuckled
while describing some of the gods thusly, but I understand that my chuckling has nothing to do with what
the gods look like and who they may be compared to. The ability to think coldly is a large part of the
subtext of this document. It is also, as Templist Canon would say, its selection process.
Numinous Descriptions
What follows are not themselves numina. A numen cannot be described. They are only potentially
evocative of their respective numina.
ᚹᛟᚦᚨᚾᚨᛉ - Woðanaz (Woden)
Numen: The presence of a sage, a mystical being, mysterious, who knows everything about you and
your environment in a practical sense. A master of reality. Intimidating, guiding, possibly comforting.
Cold, strategic. He comes with an agenda. Never aimless. Someone that knows something you don’t.
Someone that knows a strategy you don’t. Someone presumed to know better than you, trusted implicitly
as knowing a truth or having a plan that is unknown to you. Nebulous, possibly, an old man, an eternal
warrior general whose battlefield is your world whether in peacetime or in war.
ᛏᛁᚹᚨᛉ - Tīwaz (Tiw)
Numen: The presence of a young stud, basically. A swaggering warrior. A conqueror. High esprit de
corps, high morale, willingness to die. A stallion. A likable figure, someone who warms your blood like the
sun. Someone who enflames the lust of women.
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ᚦᚢᚾᚱᚨᛉ - þunraz (Thunar)
Numen: The presence of a “hard” guiding paternal hand. A coach. A strong virile grandfather. A
personable imposing presence, maybe nurturing. Someone who wants to help you, if you deserve it, and
to crush those who do not. A protective force.
ᚠᚱᛁᛃᚨᛉ - Frijo (Frigg)
Numen: The presence of a haughty queen who is also a mother or a relative. A maternal presence.
Majestic, sweet, and good natured. Protective of her race, like a wolf protective of her pups. Not always
protective of particular individuals, if they are detrimental to her family. A matriarch.
ᚠᚱᚨᚹᛃᚨᛉ - Frawjaz (Freyja)
Numen: The presence of a beautiful sexually desirable woman. An enticing force, or one that fills you
with desire for that which is or leads to sexual beauty - power, glory, status, sex itself, etc. One that fills
you with an abstract power of desirousness, lust in the broadest sense of the term. Lust for power, lust
for glory, unrequited lust for Frawjaz herself, boundless lust. Wanting. Warmth and power proceeding
from the sexual regions. Possibly capable of firing up one’s wode (seewode). The presence of someone
a bit clumsy, clueless, coy, enticing and seductive, who probably knows in fact what she is doing.
Someone who might feign helplessness and submission to get what she wants.
ᛁᛜᚹᚨᛉ - Ingwaz (Freyr)
Numen: The presence of an upright jovial orator who sees the world clearly. A non-mysterious wise man.
Someone with direct and practical wisdom. A numen that is “abrupt” and immediate, that does not play at
being nebulous or shy, that introduces itself immediately, “hello, I am right here!” Someone who
enthusiastically gets right to the point, a courteous and happy person. A steadfast industrious joy,
someone who says “alright, time to get to work, no complaining.” Someone who makes no big ado about
anything. Non-intimidating, accessible, curious. Someone who might inspire you to action, not through
heroism or emotion, just through stoic glibness, “just do the thing now, you’ll be fine.” A lighthearted joker
with an “awkward” style of humor with deadpan delivery. This numen might appear in a “concrete” form.
For example, as a salient idea or icon in your head. A figure who comes bearing fruits, or broadly with
the promise of “things” or some material productive outcome, or to impart a clear idea of something that
is muddled in your stupid mortal brain. The least “mystical” of the numina, though in fact numinous (and
therefore spiritual).
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ᚠᚢᛚᛚᛟᚾ - Fullon (Volla)
Numen: The presence of a caring attentive maid or caretaker. A comforting presence. Someone who
knows what you need and wants to help you (NOT sexually). Someone who comforts you when no one
else will. Someone who will make domestic things run smoothly. Someone who encourages wives to be
attentive and good.
ᚾᛖᚱᚦᚢᛉ - Nerþuz (Nerthus)
Numen: The presence of a noxious and hygienic woman, in the manner that soap is both. May seem
fertile or infertile, depending upon your perspective. A dangerous and powerful force, threatening death
by illness, who respects the bold and who thus becomes friendly once “transcended”, supposing that
there is not someotherreason to make you ill. Anintrusive numen that cannot be rid of, that becomes
worse the more it is fought against. May come to scare you into behaving according to divine mandates,
in which case obey or die!
ᛒᚨᛚᛞᚱᚨᛉ - Baldraz (Balder)
Numen: The presence of an intelligent, morally and physically pure young man. A philosopher. A white
light. An approachable scientist, a courteous and charitable debater. Someone who might teach you
something. A bold speaker, someone who encourages you to be bold. A handsome bastion of virtue, a
blindingly or “searingly” perfect specimen, someone whose greatness you recoil at. Someone a father
would love and be proud of. Someone the gods would be very upset if you treated poorly.
ᚹᛁᚦᚱᚨᚾ - Wiþran (Vithar)
Numen: The presence of one who is immensely powerful and “truly ruthless”, which ruthlessness does
not necessarily manifest as unkindness or etc. Via the pathway of being a dispositionally relentless killer,
one who can be anything for some larger goal. Often quiet. An often reserved disposition, because what
is reserved is terrifyingly decisive quest-trampling. May be hostile or vehement in an uncontrolled manner
that is quickly retracted.
Vithar is similar to Woden, but more imminent. Woden is like “strategy Vithar” or “thinking Vithar”. Vithar
is like “operation Woden” or “acting Woden”. He is more shortsighted, applying similar monomaniacal
qualities to a particular quest. Woden is an utterly poised maniac, but Vithar is more vital.
ᚦᛁᛜᛊᚨᛉ - Þingsaz (Forseti)
Numen: The presence of a self interested businessman, who considers the transactional value that
exists between you and him more than he considers you or him directly. A numen that says “what shall
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we do together?” Someone who respects your boundaries, who doesn’t want to do anything with you that
you don’t want to do. Someone who suggests ventures, who says “what if we do this?” Someone who is
happy to please you in a transaction, but not for free, unless it is a marketing ploy. Someone who will
leave you if you ask to be left, after asking “are you sure?” Someone who will readily present himself if
you have something to offer, or even out of courtesy, if you have a possible venture. A professional
amoralist. Someone who will harm your enemies or help your friends if the market value is there, or do
the inverse. A libertarian. An anarcho-capitalist. Someone who cannot get mad or be offended, as long
as the relationship is contractual.
Someone who might, at times, influence you to pursue “alternatives to Woden’s strategy”, which can
often be very personally enticing, who in that case is to be STRICTLY IGNORED, or else the gods will
punish you.
ᛒᚱᚨᚷᛁᛉ - Bragiz (Bragi)
Numen: The presence of a masterful bard with a somewhat “hipsterish” demeanor. Someone who comes
to serenade your woes, to “play” things to generate good cheer. Someone who appears at random at
times of notable achievement to generate literal or metaphorical fanfare. A numen you may feel after
completing an important accomplishment, to congratulate you “musically”. A numen that promises to tell
your tales, or to inspire you with related tales. A numen that may often wish to just “be there”, showering
you with praises, hoping not so transparently that you will propitiate it with offerings in return. A street
performer. An easily offended, jealous street performer, who bemoans a lack of offerings. Someone who
tries to impress and entertain you. Similar comforting presence to Volla, but male, and artistic rather than
homely. I.e, a “higher” form of comfort, not a “basic” form of comfort. Spiritually uplifting. A feeling of
accomplishment, or of “living in a tale” or of “being a hero”. Some may find this numen to be annoying, in
which case it learns to be less “demanding”, but appears less.
It is possible that this jealous trait of Bragiz will subside once offerings to the gods resume on a societal
scale. That is, that he is bemoaning “starvation” rather than one’s own failure to offer. He must perhaps
be fed with offerings, and with new legendary Germanic tales to tell, resuming belief in the gods so that
he may function as their bard. One can suppose that he is the most “fragile” god, and was much hurt by
the execution of the Christian plan, which sapped his much coveted glory as well as his gifts. He wants to
sing the song of the gods once again.
ᛚᚢᚷᛟ - Lugo (Loki)
Numen: The presence of a childish joker, an immature mischievous trickster who likes to play games and
mess around. Someone who laughs when other people are led to their death, a glib spirit that takes
nothing seriously. A lighthearted psychopath. Someone who can be kind and convivial just as a
consequence of glibness, but who cannot be trusted. A mirthful spirit who might make you laugh. A
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clown, a jester. In fact, someone who is rarely directly hostile, unless in a “scary” way. A glibly excitable
childish spirit, who can be easily made to laugh. An arbitrary presence. Someone who might just as well
help you, as hurt you. Someone who is kinder to those of similarly mischievous natures, but not that kind
regardless. Someone who takes weights off of your shoulders, and absolves you of responsibilities, by
encouraging you not to care. Someone who fears direct confrontations. A Faustian, “Satanic” character,
who likes to try new things and do things, to experiment and experience for the sake of experimenting
and experiencing. Someone who tries new roles, who can appear in unusual and incongruous ways, to
gain new insights about the phenomenological world. A numen that pushes you to “go see” or “go try”
things, to reach mountaintops for the sake of doing so. Of course, in humans, this impulse must be
subordinated to biologicaldoing-goals, or else one is liable to fall prey to some Lokean trick, or to climb a
mountain under adverse conditions and to die, or to “go try” suicide.
ᚺᚨᛁᛗᛞᚨᛚᚨᛉ - Haimdalaz (Heimdall)
Numen: I am sorry to say that the numen of Haimdalaz is not very explicable, nor very noticeable (though
it is noticeable). Some, in the past, have likened it to the presence of a rotting carcass. A grim reaper.
However, this is not to be confused with his actual nature. The problem is that Haimdalaz will only “show
himself” in certain circumstances, which can give an inaccurately narrow picture of his nature. One such
circumstance is to act as an assassin, to bring about someone’s death. In most cases, one of the most
frightening and horrific gods that can be encountered. May present in prisons, death camps, etc. A cold
blooded killer, in these instances. Not that he is an evil person, but he may present as one. He is a loyal
soldier. He does whatever Woden tells him to do. This “reaper” will not dignify you even with a rage, or a
fight. He will shoot you in the back of the head, or torture you, or whatever, saluting Woden. A common
situation in which this numen may manifest is if a person commits a stupid blunder that gets them killed.
For example, if a person accidentally overdoses on a drug, or missteps while hiking. Such events are
attributable to the influence of Heimdall, if his numen is present. It follows that obedience to Woden is a
way to reduce the chance of sudden death, although it is not a panacea.
But, to be clear, he is much more than that. Do not pray to him exclusively as “the reaper”. He may
manifest in dreams to harden one’s resolve. The most terrifying dream I have ever had in my life
concerned a meeting with an inconspicuous individual who called himself “the hangman”, instantly
sending me into real or imagined sleep paralytic convulsions accompanied by abstract symbols and
lights, after which I feared nothing whatsoever in the real world for a few hours, with who knows what
subconscious durable effects. It is traditionally understood that the more courage you show during these
dreams, the more he will benefit you during waking life.
ᚾᚨᚱᚦᚨᛉ - Narþaz (Njorth)
Numen: The presence of a “wet” old seaman, drenched from the sea, standing by stiffly from his constant
exertion. A sarcastic dour middle aged man. Someone who has seen the world, and knows a number of
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secrets, paths of maritime navigation. A loner, someone who is content with being alone, who appears
now and then and then goes off to wander alone. Someone outside of the normal laws of society. A
rogue. Not a malicious rogue, or an intentional rogue, just a rogue. A vagabond. An old man sitting at a
dive bar alone, who you may approach to imbibe his secrets. Someone who will reluctantly share with
you, after some huffing and grumbling. Someone who is generous, hospitable, indifferent to possessions.
Someone who has learned not to be attached to things, who parts with them easily and does not seek
fortunes. Someone who doesn’t need anything.
ᚺᚨᚦᚢᛉ - Haþuz (Hoth)
Numen: I don’t mean to be impious or rude, but, the presence of aretarded child. Not that he is actually
retarded, but the general presence or feeling is the same. An infirm child who requires assistance, who
can throw tantrums, who is physically strong, innocent, maybe naive, who will absently receive offerings
and grant the requested prayers without much thought, as if by rote like his parents have taught him. A
very non-guiding presence. A presence that feels empty, as in it wants something from you, or it is gently
asking you for something, an offering or attention.
ᚨᚢᛊᛏᚱᛟᚾ - Austron (Easter)
Numen: The presence of a little shining star, a woman who is “bright” in the same way that Balder is, but
not quite as much. Someone surrounded by nature, the abstract quality of nature flowing around her. A
dainty and light woman, with a gentle unassertive nature.
ᚹᚢᛚᚦᚢᛉ - Wulþuz (Ullr)
Numen: The presence of a rugged survivalist, a storyteller, someone who makes you feel safe, in the
manner that sitting in a warm cabin despite the cold makes you feel safe. A “cozy” feeling type of person,
who you may wish to be around, who in a physical instance you may wish to be in the proximity of, as if
being warmed by a fire. A charming person. Someone who teaches you things of practical importance to
survival. Sometimes also, the dark foreboding of the wilderness that lies beyond, or the possible harm
that can befall you from the environment. Someone who tells tales about heroes, winners, and losers for
your own edification, possibly as models for you to emulate so as to survive. I have very occasionally felt
a subtle euphoria while being taught things that I consider to be important in a methodical way, which I
would associate with this numen.
ᚹᛟᚦᚢᛉ - Woþuz (Wuot)
Numen: An intrusive madness, uncontrollable wode, furious energy, arbitrary foolishness, hallucinatory
sensation, an abstract ball of fury and entropy, a man scaring you and shaking you, forcing you to
behave or think in a ridiculous way, an “attacking” numen that jumps inside of you, animating action,
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overfilling you with wode, pulling or prodding at your various muscles, hormones, digestive rhythms, etc,
furiously and at random, to generate either pleasant rowdiness or utter insanity. Basically, pure anger.
Personability & Favors
Certain gods will not give you anything if you ask for nothing, because they are not “personable” gods.
These are: Loki, Hel, Nerthus (unless favored by Nerthus), Hoth (out of childlike apathy), Thunar (if you
are an unvirtuous person), Forseti (who has a high threshold for personability, but can therefore
eventually become personable), Ullr (if he does not like you personally), and Vithar (if you are not likable
or instrumental to him in some way). Freyja is unpredictable in this regard. Which means, one’s
relationship with herdoesaccumulate to unsolicitedrewards, but not reliably at any given moment.
Njorth is similar because he is “cranky”, although typically generous. Woden can be considered to be
“personable”, but he will withhold “apparent assistance” if hardship is actually what you require, or if you
ought to sacrifice yourself for the race. You cannot bribe Woden away from his goal. Obviously, he
forwent offerings for millennia in service of that goal. Frey and Easter are the most generous gods.
It is also possible to gain favor with a god by giving to another god that they favor. To give to any god,
unless the gods are feuding, is favorable to all the gods on some level. The relationships of the gods are
as follows:
Woden & Frigg: Consorts, Freyja & Wuot: Consorts, Vithar & Volla: Consorts, Freyja & Freyr: Siblings,
Woden & Thunar: Father and Son, Woden & Vithar: Father and Son, Vithar & Thunar: Half-Brothers,
Woden & Balder: Father and Son, and Odin’s favorite son, Frigg & Balder: Mother and Son, Woden &
Bragi: Father and Son, Frigg & Bragi: Mother and Son, Woden & Tyr: Father and Son, Balder & Forseti:
Father and Son, Vithar & Tyr: Half-brothers, and Vithar’s favorite brother, Njorthr & Freyr: Father and
Son, Njorthr & Freyja: Father and Daughter, Thunar & Tyr: Half-Brothers, Balder & Bragi: Brothers,
Easter & Nerthus: Daughter and Mother, all other implied siblings are half-siblings.
Woden: King, Frigg: Queen, Frey, informally: Woden’s “right hand”.
Tyr and Vithar are the “Alcis” of Germanic legend. They come to Earth periodically, when an incredibly
dangerous revolutionary task must be followed by a more methodical period of sustainment. For
example, the Anglo-Saxon colonization of Britain, with Horsa sacrificing himself for the incredibly
dangerous task of fighting the Britons, and Hengist remaining to rule thereafter in a more methodical and
ruthless way. They can also incarnate individually, and Tyr does so frequently. The death of Tyr often
sends Vithar on a quest for vengeance, since he loves Tyr, although Tyr remains aloof from Vithar by
comparison. One could say that Vithar idolizes Tyr, in a way, though he may think him to be foolhardy
and foolish sometimes. As a consequence, Tyr can force Vithar into avenues of attack that he would not
otherwise pursue, by boldly sacrificing himself for a given task and therefore causing Vithar to complete
that task for him, although this does not always work because Vithar does not act without good reason.
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The remaining gods are elves. Offerings to elves therefore please all the gods, since these are gifts to
their consorts and children. It is possible to pray to specific elves. A full genealogical tree of all the gods
may be useful for this. It is not possible or acceptable to pray to jötnar, however, except Hel at the
expense of angering Wotan (per Templist Canon).
Germanic Prayer
Are the gods real or not? If they are, why do you need rituals, invocations, and “prayer books”? Here is a
prayer: “Odin, strategist, give me the power to outplay my enemies.” Simplicity has been a tradition of
Germanic prayer from the start. There are no Norse prayer books. Luther wrote about the simplicity with
which Protestants pray compared to Catholics. Prayer is about appealing to real deities. It doesn’t matter
how you feel or what you do. Rituals are optional, they are prayers plus theatrics. The minimum
requirements for a prayer are described in Templist Canon.
Luther wrote inTable Talk of Martin Luther: “At that time my wife said unto me, Sir! How is it, that in
Popedom they pray so often with great vehemence, but we are very cold and careless in praying? I
answered her, the devil driveth on his servants continually; they are diligent, and take great pains in their
false worshipping, but we, indeed, are ice cold therein, and negligent.”
“The praying in Popedom, is a mere tormenting of the consciences, it is only a prating and tongue
threshing, no praying, but a work of obedience. From thence proceeded a confused sea-full of Horas
Canonicas [a fixed schedule of prayer, which is basically a superstitious theatrical impulse, rather than an
honest request], the howling and babbling in cells and monasteries, where they read and sang the
psalms and collects without all spiritual devotion, insomuch that they neither understood the words,
sentences, nor the meaning.
In what manner, and how I tormented myself, said Luther, with those Horis Canonicis before the Gospel
came, which, by reason of many businesses I often intermitted, I am not able to express. On the
Saturdays I used to lock myself up in my cell, and accomplish what the whole week I had neglected. But
at last I was troubled with so many affairs, that I was fain oftentimes to omit also my Saturday’s
devotions. At length, when I saw that Amsdorff and others derided such manner of devotion, then I quite
left it off.
It was a great torment, from which we are now delivered by the Gospel. Although, said Luther, I had done
no more but only freed people from that torment, yet they might well give me thanks for it. Innumerable
laws and works were taught and imposed upon people without the spirit, as in the book, Rationale
Divinorum, many abominable things are written.”
The un-Germanic “Popishness” of certain pagans is evident likewise. Those who feel the need to pray
around a circle, dressed in archaic costumes, feeding kernels of corn to a wooden post dressed up as
Woden, or whatever. The same people could not simply fill a glass with an offering, in front of a picture of
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Woden, and then throw the glass in the sink. This would be “not deferential enough” to them, because
the gods are not real to them. Because they require a “ceremony” or a “devotional practice” that excites
their emotions, that results in a “pleasant experience”, that is something more, or shall we say less, than
giving an item to a real entity. You can do theatrical things if you want, but it's not necessary.
Magical Associations
Magic consists of ascribing an effect, or an association, to an apparently unrelated object or idea.
“Imbuing” it with a certain association, just as Templist Canon says. For example, “this sword is
enchanted with strength”, “this wafer is enchanted with the body of Jesus”, “the sun represents strength
and power”, “this idol contains the presence of a god”, etc. Phenomenologically, this is the essence of
magic. It is interesting that it has taken so long for someone to realize this. You only have to observe
magic for what it is, as it appears, without trying to make judgements about it, apply presuppositions to it,
or rationalize it. In all cases, it involves associations and effects that are non-causal, i.e inexplicable by
normal laws. It stems, as Templist Canon says, from psychology. The fact that the mind can make
associations regardless of their causal or conception connections, evoking one thing by another.
Evoking, for example strength, by a particular “enchanted” sword.
Septenary Pathways:Each god is represented by a different combination of incenses, colors, and
minerals. These are:Odin:Oak & Civit - Amethyst& Amber - Orange & Violet - Gold & Crimson,Volla:
Sandalwood & Musk - Emerald & Ruby - Green & Red - White & Blue,Njorth:Petriochor & Sandalwood
- Quartz & Emerald - Blue & Green - Silver & White,Vithar:Oak & Henbane - Amethyst & Diamond -
Orange & Indigo, Gold & Purple,Hothr:Petriochor& Sulphur - Quartz & Opal - Blue & Yellow - Silver &
Black,Loki:Petriochor & Oak - Quartz & Amethyst- Blue & Orange - Silver & Gold,Tyr:Sulphur &
Henbane - Opal & Diamond - Yellow & Indigo - Black & Purple,Hel:Petriochor & Civit - Quartz & Amber
- Blue & Violet - Silver & Crimson,Nerthus:Petriochor& Henbane - Quartz & Diamond - Blue & Indigo -
Silver & Purple,Frey:Sandalwood & Civit - Emerald& Amber - Green & Violet - White & Crimson,
Freyja:Sandalwood & Oak - Emerald & Amethyst - Green & Orange - White & Gold,Frigg:Musk & Civit
- Ruby & Amber - Red & Violet - Blue & Crimson,Wuot:Sulphur & Oak - Opal & Amethyst - Yellow &
Orange - Black & Gold,Heimdall:Petriochor & Musk- Quartz & Ruby - Blue & Red - Silver & Blue,
Forseti:Suplhur & Civit - Opal & Amber - Yellow & Violet - Black & Crimson,Thor:Oak & Musk -
Amethyst & Ruby - Orange & Red - Gold & Blue,Bragi:- Sulphur & Musk - Opal & Ruby - Yellow & Red
- Black & Blue,Balder:Sandalwood & Henbane - Emerald & Diamond - Green & Indigo - White &
Purple,Ullr:Musk & Henbane - Ruby & Diamond - Red & Indigo - Blue & Purple,Easter:Civit &
Henbane - Amber & Diamond - Violet & Indigo - Crimson & Purple.
In addition, theelvesaltogether are associated with: Sulphur & Sandalwood - Opal & Emerald - Yellow &
Green - Black & White.
120
These associations are, in turn, associated with the seven planets of classical esotericism. These are:
Moon: Petriochor - Hidden knowledge/The Unconscious, Mercury: Sulphur - Lust/Indulgence/Intuition,
Venus: Sandalwood - Love/Enchantment, Sun: Oak - Prophecy/Revelations/Power, Mars: Musk -
Death/Destruction, Jupiter: Civit - Wealth/Success, Saturn: Henbane - Chaos/Disruption. This can
adequately describe the nature of many of the gods. For example, Tyr is a pathway between Mercury &
Saturn, being thus a pathway between intuition and chaos, which adequately describes his nature as an
intuitive primal warrior of lust and ambition. Vithar is a pathway between Sun & Saturn, being thus a
pathway between power and chaos, which adequately describes his nature as a ruthless conqueror.
Odin is a pathway between Sun & Jupiter, being thus a pathway between power/revelation and success,
which adequately describes his nature as a powerful genius who strives for success (i.e, victory) at all
costs. Hel is a pathway between Moon & Jupiter, which may seem confusing at first, but she is the one
who awards success or failure in the hidden world of death. The following can be used as a symbol of all
the gods, including the elves:
I have an interesting certification to make about this. I make an honorable promise that I did notbaseany
of the gods upon any such mystical associations. Rather, I wrote about the gods first, and then I added
this section later in an attempt to “reinforce” the document with new “memes”. As it turned out, the gods
corresponded quite well to the planetary associations above. Furthermore, the number of connections, or
“pathways”, within the septenary system above, typically reckoned to be 21, so happens to correspond to
the number of gods in the Germanic pantheon, without my foreknowledge. What is more, my mythos
corresponds to certain traditions even more precisely. For example, the O9A esoteric system says that
the 21st path (Jupiter to Saturn) is represented by a certain star (which I have since forgotten, and it is
unimportant because it is only a symbol). I associated Easter with the 21st path, and I also realized that I
happen to have described her as a “shining star”, while her name itself means “shining”. To give another
example, the same O9A esoteric system describes one path as representing all of the gods, collectively.
Germanic Templism so happens to have one category for the “elves”, i.e the race of the gods. To give yet
another example, the same O9A esoteric system describes the 14th path (Jupiter to Venus) as belonging
to a “high priestess”, and it so happens that I associated Frey (the highest priest) with that path, although
in this case the esoteric tradition was off by gender. To give yet another example, the O9A esoteric
tradition says that the 17th path is merely an increase in the 4th path, which I have associated with
Woden and Loki respectively, who I have said (without foreknowledge of these septenary associations) to
be the same in nature, but Woden a more purposeful and masterful version of Loki. This particular O9A
esoteric tradition, was hinted to be created by the Germanic gods inThe Christian GodofTemplist
Canon,to begin the process of phasing out Christianity, and paving the way for Templism.
121
Wyrd:Templist Canon describes fate as, essentially, the fact that nothing can be other than it is. It is an
assertion of philosophical determinism, where all causes are believed to be determined by effects, and
effects determined by previous causes. Wyrd is something that exists within fate. It refers to the fateful
influence of the gods upon human life, or to synchronicities and other such events that appear
deliberately interwoven as if by the gods regardless of if they actually are. It is basically a subset of fate,
a particular something-that-cannot-be-other-than-it-is that consists of the gods orchestrating our lives
through the power of their magic and foresight. A concise definition of wyrd may be “unusual events
evidencing divine control”. As such, it has little to do with determinism/fate, and more to do with divine
control and the unusual manifestations thereof. This is why the modern English word “weird” is derived
from Old English “wyrd”, because it is actually unusualness that is the essence of wyrd, not fate. Wyrd
itself is fated. I will give an example of wyrd: I have a memory, one of my earliest memories, of sitting in
the truck with my father and listening to the Trans-Siberian Orchestra version of Carol of the Bells. A
decade and a half (or however long) later, I am writingWyrd!, and I decide that I will take a break to listen
to music. I begin to have one of theirrational influencesspoken of in Templist Canon (seeNuminous
Affirmation of Divinity), which puts this memory inmy head, and indicates to me that it might be
significant to my work in some way. So I listen to the song, and I research the origins of it a little bit. I
then research the origins of Christmas bells altogether. This prompts me to include the sentence “bells
were rung to ward off evil spirits (a heuristic for predatory animals and scavengers)” inThe Matterof
Santa Claus.I then think about it somewhat, and Ibegin to include the subsequent aside that was
predicated upon that sentence, concerning the nature of European superstition compared to the
pretensions of reconstructionists. This whole sequence of events was wyrdful, in that an experience early
in my life was arbitrarily introduced into my mind, or so it seemed, to affect a godly text produced years
later, as if the gods influenced all such events from the beginning, as one would expect an immortal to
do, to serve their immortal aims. Wyrd is pronounced “wuird”. It is a noun. The adjective is “wyrdful”. As
in, a wyrdful meeting, a wyrdful savior, a wyrdful mistake, etc. Wyrd is possibly a reason to cultivate an
attitude of “amor fati”, if combined with Odin-trust, as it means that your whole life has been manipulated
for a divine purpose. However, it follows from what has been said that some people may have more
wyrdful lives than others, since the gods do not control everything, only some things. It was often
remarked in the olden days that, for example, nobles were immune to bullets, and due to the influence of
wyrd this may in fact be true. Although, do not test it, because this tests (i.e, taxes) the power of the
gods. This is indirect proof of non-omnipotent polytheism, since it is evident that world-historical people
aresomewhatimmune to danger - Napoleon, for example, nearly died or was captured in countless
instances that he managed to escape due to some wyrdful circumstance - but that they cannot expect to
be protected as if by an omnipotent deity, rather only by a deity that has limited influence, since the
former would amount to immortality, which no world-historical person has ever achieved. There are
clearly limits, clearly points at which a person is throwing himself into danger so often that the gods say,
“you know what, this isn’t worth it.” Wyrd, to be clear, can also be negative, I am just using a positive
example.
122
A “secular” explanation of wyrd is that it results from extreme utilitarianism. It is ultimately optimistic. So it
amounts to the fact that a person who is of a disposition to utilize things will turn all events past and
present into tools for the future, so that it seems that they are, apparent blunders and all, part of the
destiny of the future. For example, suppose that you are a drug addict, and this has made you estranged
from your family. If you were non-utilitarian, you would simply aim to reconnect with your family. But if you
are utilitarian, you might think, “what can I do with being estranged from my family?”, and if you find
something to do with it, then it will seem as if your drug addiction was part of a larger plan to accomplish
whatever it is that you eventually accomplished. If this is true, wyrd is still real, but it is real as a creative
act in the present rather than an actual predetermined plan. Germanic populations, who are extremely
utilitarian, tend to believe in some iteration of wyrd. For example, in providentialism, predestination,
Leibnizian optimism, or etc. Non-Germanic populations do not. At a certain “power level” many bad or
neutral states of affairs are actually equivalent to recognizably good states of affairs, since you are
capable of manipulating various environments to a desired state, and manipulation-potential is not
always the same as immediate experience-quality (i.e the manipulation-potential to state X can be the
same for good-experience A and bad-experience B).
“It is only men of practical ability, knowing
their powers and using them with
moderation and prudence, who will be
successful in worldly affairs.” - Goethe
123
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