Years ago Aegir was a great warrior. Aegir the Big-handed, they called him. In many a battle his sword had sung, and he had sent many warriors to Valhalla. Many swords had bit into his flesh and left marks there, but never a one had struck him to death. So his hair grew white and his arms thin.
Battles are still.
So one day Aegir came to this rock. Initial text entry and proof-reading of this chapter were the work of volunteers Ingrid Olsson and Dona Wunschel .