I was told of a great chief A man of honour and pride He ruled the land of Gardariki With firm and just hand One day deep into the forest he rode But as the sun went down over the treetops He saw by a huge and ageold rock The silhouettes of two dwarves Sigrlami drew his sword over them And demanded of them their names One was Dulin, the other Dvalin Renowned were they for their craftsmanship Sigrlami spoke Forge me a sword that will bring victory It shall bite iron like cloth And never rust! The dwarves reluctantly accepted the task For they held their lives dear They went to their ancient smithy To begin the work on the enchanted blade Day and night they worked The hammers fell heavily on the anvil And on the final day when the sword was complete Sigrlami claimed what was rightfully his This curse Dvalin spoke May that sword be a mans bane each time it is drawn! It will be the death of your kin! Furious with this treachery Sigrlami attacked the dwarves But they sprang back into the rock From whence they had come Sigrlami took with him the cursed blade He gave it the name Tyrfing Never could Tyrfing be wielded without killing a man Always covered in warm blood it would be sheathed Thus the forging of the sword came to be
sigrlami, dvalin, tyrfing, dwarf, sword