[risk]

Ah, ah,
We come from the land of the ice and snow,
From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.
The hammer of the gods will drive our ships to new lands,
To fight the horde, singing and crying: Valhalla, I am coming!

On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore.

Ah, ah,
We come from the land of the ice and snow,
From the midnight sun where the hot springs blow.
How soft your fields so green, can whisper tales of gore,
Of how we calmed the tides of war. We are your overlords.

On we sweep with threshing oar, Our only goal will be the western shore.

So now you'd better stop and rebuild all your ruins,
For peace and trust can win the day despite of all your losing.

[night reader]

Brave Beocat!
Hearthpet of Hradmin Moderator in whose high halls;
He slayed ten thousand DemonRats;
Whose lies and rants fell from besotted lips.

Lapkit of the Valkyrie, Shield Maidens of Valhalla;
Battlecat of a thousand tales of glorious victory;
Wielder of Thor’s Hammer;
He hurls bolts of Zot as mortal man doth cast spear and battleaxe.

Fiercest of a fearsome brood,
Broodmate of the heroes of sagas and runes yet unwrit;
But boasted of in the high halls of fame and glory,
And hissed in caves of dread and darkness.

Grandsire of all the Kits of Viking lore,
Whose sharp ears stand like spear tips;
Upraised, erect, listening for evil-sounds,
The lies that fall from lips of trolls not good.

Fangs of iron; claws of steel;
Maw dripping with the black blood of evil doers;
Terror of Trolls, ruiner of Rats, destroyer of Dims;
His muzzle darkened with evil gore.

Now he purrs;
Brave Beocat!