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A Warrior Asks: Who Will Remember My Name?

A Warrior Asks: Who Will Remember My Name? A Norse Funeral Dirge | Ironcore Spoken Word What happens to a warrior after the last breath? Who carries his name when his feet leave no tracks? Who sings him into memory as he walks death’s road to the World Tree? This is a Norse-inspired funeral dirge, spoken in Norwegian, voiced from the dead warrior himself. Not fantasy fluff. Not soft myth. This is iron, oath, blood, and memory a final reckoning before Odin, the All-Father. This piece is about: • Legacy and remembrance • Death, honour, and earned names • Norse mythology and warrior culture • The fear of being forgotten • Song and story as survival after death If you’re drawn to: Norse myth • Viking poetry • warrior philosophy • spoken word • ritual voice • Ironcore writing • Odin • Valhalla • death rites • ancestral memory you’re in the right place. Listen with headphones. Listen slow. Let the words bleed into you. If this spoke to you, like, comment, and share the algorithm only carries what the living keep alive. Who will remember your name? Eg er fallen. Blodet mitt har gått i jorda. Marka ligg stille bak meg. Eg går no dit pusten ikkje følgjer. Sei meg— kven skal bera namnet mitt? Kven skal lyfta det frå molda og leggja det i munnen på dei levande? Kven skal binda gjerningane mine i song og hogga meg inn i soge, så eg ikkje berre er bein som kjølnar i jord? Vegen er mørk. Stega mine set ingen spor. Frosten tek dei bak meg. Eg går den lange vegen. Eg går daudsvegen. Ravnen ser. Han ser alltid. Han veit om eg stod eller braut. Framfor meg reiser røtene seg. Verdstreet ventar. Borken hugsar meir enn menn. Der skal eg stå for Den Einøgde Faderen. Han spør ikkje mildt. Han viser inga nåde. Han spør kva eg tente. Så tal, de som andar. Tal namnet mitt. Kvæss det på tungene dykkar. Syng meg hardt. Syng meg sant. Lat sogene gå der føtene mine ikkje kan. For eg går no dit songar blir vegde, og stilla er endeleg. --------- I am fallen. My blood has gone to earth. The field is quiet behind me. I walk now where breath cannot follow. Tell me— who will carry my name? Who will lift it from the dirt and set it in the mouths of the living? Who will bind my deeds to song and cut my shape into story so I am more than bones cooling in the ground? My road is dark. My steps leave no mark. The frost takes them as I pass. I go the long way. I go the death-road. The raven watches. He always watches. He knows whether I stood or broke. Ahead, the roots rise. The World Tree waits. Its bark remembers more than men. There I will stand before the One-Eyed Father. He will not ask softly. He will not be kind. He will ask what I earned. So speak, you who breathe. Speak my name. Sharpen it on your tongues. Sing me hard. Sing me true. Let my story walk where my feet no longer can. For I go now where songs are weighed, and silence is final.