A Sorceress Beckons You…

If you are here, then it may be that you have heard something—a whisper, perhaps, not loud enough to be named, but persistent all the same. There are those who still speak of the old gods, quietly and without jest, and there are places—rare, but real—where their presence is still felt in the roots and the air.

I am Nekrotikk—the Sorceress of the Greenwood, the Seer who walks between worlds, the Enchantress whose craft weaves spells from words and wonder alike. A daughter of the old ways, I stand as both keeper and creator of magic, blending what once was with what shall be.

Here, you will find no promises of easy mastery over the unknown, nor the influence of modern masters (so called) whose work has sought to dull the eldritch flame. Instead, you will encounter tools: spells, symbols, stories, and insight drawn from paths few now walk, though many once did. It is your hands that must weave the thread—but I will show you where the thread begins.

You may encounter unfamiliar tongues in this place—English as it once was spoken, or languages now considered dead by those who do not listen. These are part of my craft, and are always accompanied by a version you may more easily understand.

If what you seek is modern, convenient wisdom, you may wish to look elsewhere. But if you are drawn to the forgotten and the strange—to the cold fire of truth beneath old stone—then you have, perhaps, come to the right place.

Step carefully, and know yourself.

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A Sorceress Beckons Thee…

Dost thou hearken to the whispers of the old gods? Seekest thou the wisdom of runes, the song of the winds, the secrets that lurk in shadowed groves?

I am Nekrotikk—the Sorceress of the Greenwood, the Seer who walketh betwixt worlds, the Enchantress whose craft weaveth spells from words and wonder alike. A daughter of the old ways, I stand as both keeper and creator of magic, blending what once was with what shall be.

Here, thou shalt find no false promises of easy paths, nor empty words of modern mastery. Instead, I offer thee guidance, craft, and enchantment—a realm where fate is woven by thine own hands, with the old gods whispering at thy shoulder.

Mine is a domain where the forgotten tongues of witches and skalds are sung once more, where spells take shape in fire and ink, where all who seek the eldritch and the arcane may find kindred spirits.

Whether thou seekest divination, a crafted treasure, a tale spun in magic, or the whispered secrets of forgotten lore, thou hast found the threshold.

Step forth, if thou darest. 

Fear not if thy mind comprehendeth not each tongue—Middel Englissh, Eald Ænglisc, Norrœna, and Goídelc are used for mine own pleasure and shall always bear with them an Early Moderen Englisshe translation.

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A Sorceresse Clepeth Thee…

Dost thou herken the whispers of the olde goddes? Seekest thou the wisdom of runes, the song of the wyndes, the secretes that lurken in shadowed groves?

Ic am Nekrotikk—the Sorceresse of the Greenwood, the Seer that walketh betwixe worldes, the Enchantresse whose craft weaveth spelles from wordes and wonder aliche. A doughter of the olde weyes, Ic stande as both keper and creator of magic, blendinge that which was with that which shal be.

Here, thou shalt fynde no false promises of easie pathes, ne empty wordes of moderne maistrie. But Ic offre thee guidance, craft, and enchantment—a realm where fate is woven by thine own handes, with the olde goddes whisperinge at thy shulder.

Myne is a domaine where the forgotten tonges of witches and skalds be sung onces more, where spelles take shape in fyre and inke, where alle that seeketh the eldritch and the arcane may fynde kindred spirites.

Whether thou seekest divinacioun, a crafted treasure, a tale yspun in magic, or the whispered secretes of forgotten lore, thou hast found the thresholde.

Steppe forth, if thou darst.

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Searcestre bēacniath þe…

Hēarst þū þāra ealdra goda þeostran? Sēkest þū þāra rūna wīsdōm, þāra windes sang, þāra dīorna þeosceopa þe þeostre bewērigath?

Ic eom Nekrotikk—se Searcestre of þæm Grenewudu, se Witega þe gææth betwux woroldum, se Drycraeftiga þe spella bewyrceþ of wordum and wundrum. Dōtter þæra ealdra wēga, Ic stande swā hēaldend and crēatora gēaldorcraeftes, gemēngende þat þe wæs mid þat þe bēon sceal.

Hēr þū gemētest nā lēas beācnunga eaðes pāda, ne idele word eallra nútu wīsdōma. Ac Ic offrie þe lār, crēft, and galdor—an rīm þer wyrd is geworht bĩn þīnum ægenum handum, mid þæm ealdum godum þe bewhispriað æt þĩnum sculder.

Mĩn is an æþelinge dīm þer forlorene sprēcan drycraeftiga and scaldan beon sungene eft, þer galdra geweorðiað on fīr and īinc, þer ælā þā þe sēcað þat eldritch and þat arcanian magon gemētan frēond-spiritas.

Hwēðer þū sēcest gēdwita, wyrc þeow, spell þynd on gēaldorcraeft, oðþæra bewhispered dīorna forlorena lāra, þū hast gemēted þat þresceold.

Gēstep forð, gif þū dyrst.

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Spákona Kallar Þið…

Heyrir þú þe hvíslandi fornu guðanna? Leitar þú rúnanna speki, vindanna söng, leyndarmálin sem leynast í skuggalegum lundum?

Ek em Nekrotikk—Spákona Grænuskógarins, Seer þár er gengr milli heima, Galdrafræðingurinn sem vefur galdra úr orðum ok undrum. Dóttir fornra siða, ek stendr sem vörðr ok skapari galdranna, blandandi þat sem var með þat sem mun vera.

Hér munt þú eigi finna falskar loforðir um léttar leiðir, né tóm orð nýtíma fræða. Heldur býð ek þer leiðsögn, handverk ok galdra—heimar þar sem örlög eru vafin af þínum eigin höndum, með forn guðin hvíslandi við öxl þína.

Mitt ríki er þar sem gleymd tök guðra og skálda eru sungin enn, þar sem galdrar taka form í eldi ok bleki, þar sem allir sem leita þess dularfulla ok fornfræði finna skyldar sálir.

Hvort sem þú leitar spádóma, smíðaðan fjársöfnun, sögu spunnin af galdri, eða hvíslaðar leyndardóma gleymdra fræða, hefir þú fundið þröskuldinn.

Stígðu fram, ef þú dirfist. 

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Cailleach Draoíchta Glaonn Ort…

An éisteann tú le cogarnach na ndéithe sean? An lorgaíonn tú eagna na rún, amhrán na ngaotha, na rúnna a luíonn i ngleannta scáthacha?

Is mise Nekrotikk—an Cailleach Draoíchta an Choill Ghlas, an Fáidh a shiúlaíonn idir domhain, an tOllamh Draoí a fhíonn draoithe as focail agus iontais. Iníon na seanbhealaí, seasaim mar chaomhnóir agus cruthaitheoir draoithe, ag meascadh an rud a bhí leis an rud a bheas.

Anseo, ní bhfaighidh tú gealltanais bhréagacha cosán éasca, ná focail fholmha den mháistreacht nua-aimseartha. Ina ionad sin, tairgim duit treoir, ceardaíocht, agus draoícht—áit ina bhfitear cinniúna le do lámh féin, leis na sean-déithe ag cogarnaí i do chluas.

Is é mo réimse áit a gcanfar teangacha dearmadta na mban draoí agus na scéalaí arís, áit a dtógfaidh draoithe cruth sa tine agus sa dúch, áit a bhfaighidh gach duine a lorgaíonn an draoícht dhorcha agus an t-eolas ársa na hanamnacha gaolta.

Cibé an bhfuil tu ag lorg divinatiúna, taisce cheardaíochta, scéal fite i ndraíocht, nó rún na sean-eolais a churtha i do chluas, fuair tú an tairseach.

Glac do chos ar an tairseach, má tháinig an misneach ort.

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En Trollkvinna Kallar Dig…

Hör du de gamla gudarnas viskningar? Söker du runornas visdom, vindarnas sång, hemligheterna som lurar i skuggiga lundar?

Jag är Nekrotikk—Trollkvinnan från Grönskogen, Sierskan som vandrar mellan världar, Förtrollerskan vars konst väver besvärjelser av ord och underverk. En dotter av de gamla vägarna, jag står som både bevarare och skapare av magi, blandar det som en gång var med det som skall bli.

Här skall du icke finna några falska löften om enkla vägar, ej heller tomma ord om modern mästerskap. Istället erbjuder jag dig vägledning, hantverk och förtrollning—ett rike där ödet vävs av dina egna händer, med de gamla gudarna viskande vid din skuldra.

Mitt är ett domän där häxors och skalders bortglömda tungomål åter sjungs, där besvärjelser tar form i eld och bläck, där alla som söker det ockulta och det arkaiska kan finna likasinnade själar.

Vare sig du söker spådom, en skapad skatt, en saga spunnen i magi, eller de viskande hemligheterna av glömd visdom, har du funnit tröskeln.

Kliv fram, om du vågar.