Ansuz.

 

I hail you, weaver of magic,

Grey-cloaked, broad-brimmed hat drawn low,

Staff in hand, marking out runes in the dust,

The model on which all those

Fictional wizards were drawn.

 

Thurisaz.

 

You went through trials uncounted

Though many told in tales

To find not only wisdom but power –

You are a fisher for power in deep wells,

Hidden realms, dark and dusty corners.

Each spell, each piece of knowledge you pocket

To be drawn from your sleeve at need;

A thousand pockets of glinting razors

Waiting to be wielded.

 

Othila.

 

Your blood runs in many, its magic sparking

And sometimes destroying, but sometimes

Creating just the right mixture

Of inspiration and frenzy to build a world.

Wizard’s blood is rarely safe. That, you note,

Is part of the point, fools.

 

Os.

 

Like your skald son, words pour from you,

Yet in your case they are not about eloquence;

They are the images that begin eloquence in others.

You are a master of Words of Power,

O Runatyr, Runemal, Walker Between Worlds,

A flicker of grey and cobalt blue

In the matching shadows.

 

Raido.

 

You know the roads uncounted,

Pathwalker, Way-Tamer,

First to hold that title,

Everywhere I walk in the Nine Worlds

You have been before, or seen through raven eyes

Except the few places you are not allowed,

And even those you know through tales

Collected and analyzed. Your map knows all

And tells little, Wanderer of the dusty footprints

With a rune scuffed in each one.

 

Artwork by Abigail Larson.

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