By Bronze And Blood

Echoes of the Frost Fangs, voices of the old,

In the cold, beneath the ice, a new story unfolds.

No longer in the shadows, the Thenns rise high,

Guardians of the ancient kin, beneath the snow-laden sky.

From the icy peaks, they carve their path,

Last of the First Men, born to wrath.

Old Tongue whispers in the dark,

Sons of snow, igniting their spark.

Magnar’s voice, a divine decree,

Bound by law, fierce and free.

In the valley, disciplined and proud,

Their ancient spirit, unbowed.

By Bronze and Blood, their oath is sworn,

Swords in their hands, eyes of dawn.

Warriors of ice, fierce and bold,

Stories of glory, forever will be told.

Fighting alongside giants, standing tall,

Bound by honor, answering the call.

In the cold, they find their might,

Clash of bronze in the frosty night.

Clad in armor, forged in frost,

Lost in the chaos, but never lost.

Slick with discipline in blood and rain,

Vowing never to break, never to wane.

Led by the Magnar, a god among men,

Their hearts burn bright, a blazing pen.

In the depths of the mighty Karhold,

Stand the brave, the fierce, the bold.

By Bronze and Blood, their oath is sworn,

Swords in their hands, eyes of dawn.

Warriors of ice, fierce and bold,

Stories of glory, forever will be told.

The Thenns endure, through storm and snow,

Guardians of the old, in ice’s glow.

By bronze and blood, their legend grows,

Last of the First, the Spirit shows.