Välkommen tillbaka till Fensala, Loreseeker!

As the wheel of the year turns toward summer in the northern lands, we gather once more under a different light. The Mist Moon has passed, carrying with it the veils that once separated the realms, and now we stand beneath the Seed Moon. A time of awakening, of dormant power, begins to stir.

In the Ninth Realm tradition, the Seed Moon is when blood-magic runs strongest in all living things. The sap rises in the trees. Creatures emerge from their winter slumber. What once lay hidden beneath soil and snow now pushes boldly toward the light. This moon is sacred to the völur of growth, those wise practitioners who understand the power of beginnings.

And speaking of beginnings, I have something to share.

Something new is coming.

If you have been around for a while, you know this isn’t new. It's been growing in the dark for years, like a seed awaiting its moment. I’ll tell you more when the next new moon rises, but for now, let me just say:

The ground is shifting. The threads are stirring. The stories are ready.

Fensala Mead Hall is warm against the spring chill. The hearth crackles with freshly split wood, and the air finally smells of possibilities again. So, come find your place by the fire and let’s share good food, fine tales, and the wisdom of awakening together.

A NOTE ON TIMING

Beginning with this newsletter, our Moon Moots will follow the actual lunar cycle rather than the calendar month.

This means you'll receive each new missive just before the full moon it honours so we can experience its magic together in rhythm with the sky.

For April, that means we're gathering a little earlier than usual. The full Seed Moon rises late on Saturday the 12th or early on Sunday the 13th depending on where you live.

Found this old auction catalogue while researching in Myrnäs. Something about Lot #27 caught my eye... What secrets might be hiding in “a mixed collection”? #VintageFascination #HiddenTreasures

Have you ever felt a prickling on the back of your neck while holding an ancient artifact?

Have you ever traced your fingers over runes and felt, just for a moment, like they were trying to speak to you?

This May, with the rise of the new moon, something ancient is about to awaken.

In Tales of the Ninth Realm: Blood and Moonlight, a woman makes an impulsive purchase at a country auction in the quiet locality of Myrnäs.

Among paperbacks and photo albums, kitchen crockery and farm tools, she discovers a curious wooden distaff, carved with unusual runes. A discovery that will change her understanding of the world... and of herself.

What makes this story unique is not just what it tells, but how it will be told—in rhythm with the moon itself.

With each lunar phase comes a new step in the story unfolds. Some chapters will be available to all Loreseekers. Others will be reserved for paid subscribers, but we’ll all walk this path together.

Through light and shadow.

Through blood and moonlight.

The Power of Seeds: Beginnings in Norse Tradition

In Norse cosmology, beginnings carry tremendous power. The world itself sprang from seed-like origins within the primordial void of Ginnungagap, where fire and ice met to create Ymir, the first being, (Edda does not approve of this version of the creation myth, but it’s the one we’ll have to use for now.) From Ymir’s body, the world was shaped. From the meeting of seemingly opposed forces, creation was born.

This pattern of powerful beginnings born of tension and transformation repeats throughout Norse mythology. Odin and his brothers created the first humans from driftwood they found on a shore, humble materials transformed through divine intention. The World Tree, Yggdrasil, grew from a seed to become the axis of all nine realms. Even Ragnarök, the end of the world, concludes with new beginnings: a fresh world rising from the waters.

The Seed Moon honours this sacred power of inception. It’s a time when what begins carries special potency, when intentions set may grow with unexpected vigour. Our ancestors knew this. They planted not just by season, but by moon phases, recognising that timing matters when you call something new into the world.

In the völva tradition, this moon is especially important to those who work with blood magic. Not the dramatic, distorted version seen in modern fiction, but the old, subtle understanding that blood carries memory, power, and potential. The "blood" in blood magic refers not just to the literal fluid, but to lineage, to inheritance, to the dormant potential that flows through generations, waiting for the right conditions to express itself.

This is the essence of what we'll explore in Blood and Moonlight. How ancestral memory, awakened under the right conditions, can transform an ordinary life into something extraordinary. Just as a seed carries the entire pattern of the tree it may one day become, so too does our protagonist carry a potential she never expected.

As we gather under this Seed Moon, consider this:

What seeds are waiting in you?
What potential is quietly reaching toward the light?
What intentions will you set now, in this powerful time of beginnings?

Edda’s Spindle: Blood Memory and Inherited Wisdom

The Seed Moon always brings a restlessness to my studies. The well water rises, clear and cold from the winter's rest, and in its depths, I see not only what is and what was, but what might yet be. This is the moon of potential, of possibility coiled tight like a seed before it unfurls.

Lately, I have been contemplating the nature of inheritance. No, not the mundane passing of objects from one generation to the next. I mean the deeper kind. The knowledge, the gifts, the burdens that flow through bloodlines, whether we acknowledge them or not.

Humans, I’ve found, have a curious relationship with inheritance. Some are convinced they are entirely self-made. Others cling so tightly to the idea of ancestral traits that they mistake the echo for identity. But the true nature of blood memory is neither denial nor fixation. It is both pattern and potential. Both root and shoot.

In the old stories, heroes often discovered unexpected inheritances at crucial moments. Gifts from divine ancestors, sudden abilities in times of need, buried knowledge rising when all else failed. These were not convenient plot twists; they were reflections of an older truth: that we carry more within us than we realise, and that some of our dormant potentials only grow when the conditions are right.

The Seed Moon asks you to consider: What sleeps within you? What knowledge, what gifts, what strengths have you inherited that might be stirring now as the light returns? Look deeper than your grandmother’s recipes or your father’s nose. What runs beneath those things? Look for the wisdoms that don't wear names and the stories that shaped your bones.

For those with the blood of the Ninth Realm, this awakening can be particularly powerful. Like the woman in Saga’s upcoming tale, you may find the world shifting around you or perhaps you’re suddenly sensing patterns and connections that were always there, just waiting to be seen.

This is not mystical fantasy. It’s a truth your ancestors knew in their bones: We are never truly separate from those who came before. Their wisdom and their wounds live in us. Their stories shape the ground we grow from.

The Seed Moon comes with the right conditions. This is the time to listen to the whispers of your ancestral memories. This is the time to pay attention to what stirs within you as the world awakens from winter's sleep.

What seeds of potential are germinating in the fertile soil of your being right now?

Saga’s Scrolls & Lore

The Seed Moon brings with it wisdom about beginnings, awakenings, and the power of dormant potential. As the world around us stirs with new life, let me share what has found its way to my hearth this month:

▫️A Nugget of Wisdom: Blood Magic in Norse Tradition

As I’ve been preparing for Blood and Moonlight, I’ve found myself drawn again and again to the question of blood magic. Not the spectacle or the superstition surrounding it, but the subtle and ancestral force that is deeply rooted in Norse tradition.

Blood, memory, and magic are intimately connected in the old stories. In the Hávamál, Odin hangs himself from Yggdrasil, pierced by his own spear. It’s a sacrifice of blood that grants him access to the runes. His ordeal is more than pain–it’s a passage. The wisdom he receives doesn’t come from outside. It’s unlocked from within, through blood, suffering, and surrender.

Elsewhere, blood oaths forge unbreakable bonds. Blood sacrifices call down blessings of fertility, protection, or truth. Again and again, blood is treated not as something merely physical, but as a carrier of power, memory, and intent.

In Blood and Moonlight, we explore how these ancient understandings might echo into the present. What does it mean to carry dormant power in your bloodline? What might awaken if the right moment, object, or choice acts as a catalyst?

Just as the Seed Moon calls seeds to life, so too might a story—or a rune, or a forgotten spindle—call forth what has always been waiting within.

▫️A Moment of Wonder: The First Green

There is a moment in early spring when, walking through a northern forest that has been brown and dormant for months, you suddenly notice the first hint of green. It’s a subtle shift in colour that suggests rather than declares the coming change. Blink, and you might miss it. Yet a week later, that same forest will be unmistakably awake, perfectly vibrant with new life.

This liminal moment, the first stirring of what will become abundant growth, is the very essence of the Seed Moon's magic. It reminds us that the most powerful changes often begin almost quietly, that transformation rarely comes with bells and whistles, and that the line between dormant and awakening is thin indeed.

In the Tales of the Ninth Realm, these threshold moments are often when magic stirs. When dormant abilities awaken. When what has long been hidden becomes visible to those with eyes to see. The veil lifts not with a roar, but with a breath.

Have you ever felt that kind of moment in your own life? A time when something shifted, subtly at first, only to grow into a change that reshaped everything? The Seed Moon invites us to notice these first greens, these gentle beginnings. To honour them. Because in their quietness, they carry the blueprint of transformation.

▫️A Timely Wyrd: The Thread of Awakening

The Norns work with particular focus during this moon, for this is when the threads of possibility grow most malleable. What was tightly wound begins to loosen. What lay dormant begins to stir. What seemed frozen in pattern begins to flow with new potential.

This is when Skuld, guardian of what may come, works more closely than ever with Verðandi, keeper of the present moment. Together they weave patterns that would have seemed impossible in winter’s grip. The loom of fate softens, its threads more open to change, more willing to be shaped by intention.

In practical terms, this makes the Seed Moon a potent time to set intentions and begin projects that reach beyond surface-level change. The soil of possibility is especially fertile now—receptive to what we dare to plant in our lives.

But that doesn’t mean transformation is effortless. Even the most promising seed must push through darkness, weather shifting conditions, and stretch itself toward the unknown. Growth demands struggle, and the path from potential to fruition is never linear.

In Blood and Moonlight, we’ll explore how awakening follows this same pattern: not as sudden miracles, but as quiet shifts that must be nurtured, challenged, and shaped. The gifts we carry are rarely handed to us fully formed. They must be grown.

Something to consider:

What dormant potential within you is reaching toward the light?
What thread that might alter the shape of your pattern to come could you begin weaving right now?

Myth & Mirth: The Völva's Prophecy

When we speak of awakening dormant power, better than the story of the völva's prophecy in Völuspá, the first and fiercest poem in the Poetic Edda. (Don’t tell Edda I said that–she’s currently rewriting it to “correct that wretched Snorri’s lies.”)

This isn’t exactly a tale of mirth. Not unless you count Odin knocking on graves like it’s door-to-door prophecy season, but it is a tale of awakening, and the power of seeing what lies dormant beneath the surface of the world. A dead woman stirred to speech. A god who insists on knowing more. A prophecy that unspools the entire weave of existence.

The poem begins with a völva, a seeress, long dead and none too pleased to be disturbed. Odin, in his usual style, decides he simply must know what she knew, so he comes to her grave, performs the necessary rites to rouse her from the eternal sleep (aka necromancy), and asks her to share her ancient knowledge.

Her first words tell us exactly how she felt about that: “You have made me speak, me who was unwilling.” And seriously, I can relate. If I had a pound for every time I’ve been dragged out of a nice, quiet rest because some man wanted me to dish out ancient wisdom on demand, I’d be richer than that author in Scotland who spends all their time prophesying what people have in their trousers.

Anyway, once awakened, once the dormant knowledge within her stirs to life, the words pour from her like spring melt from the mountain. And she doesn’t just give the bugger a glimpse of the future, she delivers the entire arc of existence from creation to destruction to rebirth. Literally reciting the very heartbeat of the cosmos.

What makes this tale so fitting for our Seed Moon gathering is how it reminds us that knowledge doesn’t die. It sleeps. The völva’s wisdom wasn’t gone; it was simply waiting for the right ritual, the right moment, the right questioner. Sounds familiar? It should, because I’ve mentioned it before,

We see this pattern repeated throughout Norse myth. Odin’s runes weren’t new, they were reclaimed. The post-Ragnarök world isn’t a blank slate, it’s a rebirth with old roots. And power doesn’t always arrive with thunder. Sometimes, it yawns, stretches, and growls, “Fine, I’ll do it one more time.”

In the Tales of the Ninth Realm, we explore this same rhythm with characters who discover abilities they never knew lay dormant within them. Or truths buried so deep in blood and bone that only crisis, or clarity, can call them forth.

The seed contains within it the entire pattern of what it will become, just as we carry within us inheritances and potentials we may not yet recognise.

This is the deeper lesson of the Seed Moon. So let me ask you again:

What memory might your blood be holding, just beneath the surface?

What dormant wisdom might be stirring within you as the world awakens?

What ancient knowledge might your blood remember, if only you create the conditions for it to speak?

Until the Rune Moon…

As the Seed Moon wanes and the first green of spring deepens around us, our time together in the Mead Hall draws to a close. But the seeds we’ve planted in our conversations, the questions raised, the intentions set, and the possibilities glimpsed will continue to grow in the fertile soil of thought and imagination.

In the days ahead, as spring fully establishes itself across the northern lands, we will begin to see the manifestation of what has stirred beneath the surface. The Rune Moon approaches. A time when carved symbols call most clearly across realms, when inscription magic reaches its peak, and when the rune-carvers of old would have turned their hands to stone and stave alike.

It is under this Rune Moon, on May 7th, that we begin our journey into Blood and Moonlight—a tale of awakening power, of ancient knowledge rising, of blood remembering what the mind has long forgotten.

Until we meet again, may the seeds of possibility take root in your life. And may what awakens bring you wisdom, clarity, and strength.

Love and light,

//Saga ☽🤍☾

Välkommen tillbaka till Fensala, Loreseeker!

Last month, under the Frost Moon, we gathered in the hall as winter held its grip. The ice spoke its wisdom, and we listened to the silence of the frozen world. Now, as winter begins to soften its hold, we meet again under a different light.

The Mist Moon brings with it a special kind of magic: the thinning of boundaries. It’s a time when the veils between realms are thinning, when prophecy flows more freely, and when the far-seeing eye can glimpse what normally remains hidden. True to its name, this is a moon of both revelation and obscurity, of seeing through the mist to what lies beyond.

The Norns themselves are said to be most active during this moon, weaving threads of fate with particular care as the world prepares for renewal. In the Ninth Realm tradition, this is a time to listen closely to your dreams, to pay attention to the symbols that appear in your daily life, and to trust the whispers of intuition that come unbidden.

Our mead hall is warm against the lingering chill, the hearth is lit, and the doors stand open. So come find your place by the fire, and let us share food, tales, and the wisdom of the mist together.

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Runes of Reflection: Prophecy in Norse Tradition

When we speak of prophecy in Norse tradition, we're not just talking about the foretelling of future events. True prophecy, the kind we honour during the Mist Moon, is something far more complex and nuanced. It’s the ability to see the patterns that underlie all things, to recognise how past and present weave together to create what will be.

The völva, the wise women of Norse tradition, are no simple fortune-tellers. They are seers in the truest sense. Women who can see the hidden structures of reality itself. In the Poetic Edda, the Völuspá (The Prophecy of the Seeress) begins with the völva saying: "Hearing I ask from the holy races, from Heimdall's sons, both high and low; thou wilt, Valfather, that well I relate old tales I remember of men long ago.”

She doesn't guess what might come—she remembers what has been and, because of that, she understands what must follow. True prophecy, you see, is memory turned forward.

In the thin-veiled time of the Mist Moon, we can do something like this too. Not through tricks or tools, but by listening to the whispers that come through when the boundaries fade. The ancient practitioners knew that we can't force visions to find prophecy, but we can create conditions for true seeing to occur naturally, like the mist forming as the disir dance at dawn.

Here at Fensala, we practise a simple form of this tradition. We sit in silence by still water (you can use a bowl or a cup if you don’t have access to a natural source) and wait until our reflection steadies, then we ask a single question. Not what will happen, but what pattern is forming. And then, most importantly, we listen with our whole being. Sometimes the answer comes in images, sometimes in feelings, and sometimes in words that seem to bubble up from nowhere.

This is not divination, as many understand it today. It’s a conversation with the very fabric of reality. It’s remembering forward, seeing backward, and resting in that space where the soul knows what the mind forgot.

Perhaps, in some quiet moment, you can try this yourself. Don’t ask what will come, but what pattern you belong to. Then be patient and listen for the answer that has always been there, waiting for you.

Edda’s Spindle: Secrets of the Norns

The Mist Moon hangs heavy outside my window tonight. Its light is diffused and strange, as if even Máni himself is unsure of what he sees. The well speaks more clearly now as the ice retreats, its whispers rising with the evening mist.

I have been contemplating the nature of boundaries this month. Not just those between realms, but those we create within ourselves. Humans are so fond of certainty, of clear divisions. This is right, that’s wrong. This is possible, that’s impossible. This is memory, that’s imagination. Yet the Mist Moon teaches us that such divisions are rarely as solid as they appear.

Us Norns understand this better than most. Urðr, Verðandi, and Skuld (you often translate their names as Past, Present, and Future) are not separate entities working in isolation. They are sisters, their work intertwined, their knowledge shared. What was shapes what is, what is shapes what will be, and what will be reaches back to influence what was. This is the great secret of fate—it is not linear but cyclical, not fixed but fluid.

And though they are the first and most named among us, they are not the only ones. There are many others, and first of them, the daughters of the well, kin of the thread and spindle, sisters in all but origin. We too listen. We too weave. Some whisper, some sing, some write. But all of us tend the pattern.

In my long years, I have found that the greatest misconception humans hold about prophecy is that it reveals a future set in stone. This is not so. True prophecy reveals patterns, tendencies, currents in the great river of wyrd. To see these patterns is not to be trapped by them, but to gain the wisdom to handle them with greater skill.

The myths speak of Ragnarök as inevitable, yet even within that greatest of prophecies, choices still remained. The gods knew what was foretold, yet they prepared, they fought, they sought to understand. They did not surrender to fate. They engaged with it as active participants.

This is what the Mist Moon asks of us: to not passively accept what we foresee, but to actively engage with the patterns revealed. The mist does not obscure so much as it transforms our seeing, showing us the world not as solid and unchangeable, but as fluid and responsive to our participation.

When you look into the mist this month, remember that you are not an observer of the pattern, Loreseeker. You are part of it. And the boundaries between seer and seen are just as fluid as those between the realms.

Saga’s Scrolls & Lore

In this time of thinning veils, knowledge from beyond often finds its way to those who listen closely. Let me share what has drifted to my hearth this month:

▫️A Nugget of Wisdom: The Völva Tradition

As we prepare for the upcoming Blood and Moonlight tale, I've been thinking a lot about the völva traditions of the North. As I mentioned earlier, they were not the witches or fortune-tellers that modern media likes to make them out to be. They were respected, feared, and essential figures in Norse society. Women who dared to stand at the crossroads of the realms.

The word ‘völva’ itself comes from ‘völr’. It means ‘staff’ or ‘wand’ and refers to their characteristic tool. The seers travelled from settlement to settlement, carrying knowledge of herbs, healing, and the hidden workings of fate. When a völva arrived, she was given the high seat in the hall, a position of honour usually reserved for the head of the household.

There are archaeological findings that suggest that the seers often carried elaborately carved staffs with symbols that were quite similar to those found on ancient runestones. In my conversations with Edda, I have learned to see the connections between these carvings and certain moon phases, and understand how different runes were activated under specific lunar conditions.

What fascinates me the most is how these women operated at the boundaries between life and death, between the seen and unseen, between the human community and the wild. They were liminal figures in a world that understood the power of veils and thresholds. During the Mist Moon, when boundaries thin, we can almost imagine how they found their powers heightened and their visions clearer when they listened deep within. Some of them could even open doorways between realms during this time.

In the Blood and Moonlight series I’m about to release, the main character is about to learn how this tradition has evolved and persisted even into our modern world. For those who carry the blood, the call of the völva traditions never truly fades. And sometimes, the boundary between past and present can be as thin as mist.

▫️A Moment of Wonder: The Mist Between the Worlds

There is a place in Jämtland, in northern Sweden, where, on certain mornings, the mist rises from the lakes and marshlands in such a way that it seems to form pathways through the air. To protect the exact location, I’ve named it Myrnäs.

Local folklore speaks of those who walked through this mist and briefly found themselves elsewhere, seeing visions of ancient settlements and encountering beings not of our world. And of some who simply experienced time in a different way.

This phenomenon, while perhaps explainable through natural means, reminds me of the power of liminal spaces in Norse cosmology. Mist is neither air nor water, it’s neither here nor there. It is transformation made visible, boundaries made tangible. In the old stories, mist often accompanies the appearance of beings from other realms, or marks places where the boundaries between worlds have grown thin.

In the Tales of the Ninth Realm, Edda explains that the mist we see is the dísir dancing. They both conceal and reveal, hiding what casual eyes are not meant to see. Yet they may offer those who know how to look a chance to discover deeper truths. The mist is not an obstacle to seeing–it’s a different kind of seeing altogether.

Have you ever walked in mist and felt that strange sense of possibility? The feeling that the world you know has been temporarily suspended? That is the magic of the Mist Moon—the invitation to see differently, to move differently, to understand differently and to understand the world in a way that can’t be put into plain words.

▫️A Timely Wyrd: The Thread of Prophecy

So, we’ve talked about how, in Norse tradition, prophecy is closely tied to weaving, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. The Norns weave the fates of gods and humans at the roots of Yggdrasil, and the völva's prophecies are often described in terms of pattern and fabric.

This is no coincidence, for both prophecy and weaving are about recognising and creating patterns that connect seemingly unrelated elements. It’s not a map of what must or will happen, but a never-ending list of possibilities. The seers read these threads by sensing how they tug on each other.

During the Mist Moon, the thread of prophecy feels closer. If you allow yourself to sit quietly, you may find yourself drawn to a certain memory, a recurring dream, a moment that echoes more than it should. These are your threads. Not instructions, but invitations.

In practical terms, this is a powerful time for those who wish to understand the deeper patterns in their own lives. Look back at the events of the past few months—not as isolated occurrences, but as the threads of a larger weaving. What connections do you see? What happens when you follow one thread backward and then forward again?

This moon does not come with answers, but it does give sight to those patient enough to look beyond the obvious. Like the völva with her staff, stirring the mists of possibility, we too can reach deep into our mists and find the patterns that have always been there, waiting to be recognised.

Something to consider:

What thread is pulling at you right now?
Where does it want to lead you?
What does it want you to see?

Myth & Mirth: The Wisdom of Mímir

When we speak of prophecy and seeing beyond the veil, I can think of few stories that capture the essence of this wisdom better than Odin's sacrifice at Mímir's well. It’s a tale that reminds us that true seeing often comes at a cost. And what we gain may not be what we expected.

Mímir's well lies beneath one of the three great roots of Yggdrasil. Its waters hold wisdom and deep intelligence. Indeed, Mímir, who was its guardian, was renowned for his great knowledge and wisdom. The water from his well is crystal clear, and to drink from it is to gain an understanding of the things that are hidden.

One day, Odin, ever in pursuit of knowledge, came to the well and asked for a drink. But Mímir, knowing the value of what he protected, demanded a price: one of the Allfather’s eyes. Odin didn’t even hesitate. He plucked out his eye and cast it straight into the well, and Mímir offered him a drink.

Now, Edda can tell you the full story of what happened that day, but the traditional version is interesting too. Odin drank and got something far more valuable than what his eye had ever given him. He learned to see beneath the surface, into the patterns behind all things.

This is the paradox at the heart of prophecy and mist-seeing: sometimes we must give up clarity to gain understanding. Sometimes the partial view reveals more than the full picture. And sometimes, what feels like a limitation becomes the key to insight.

In my Tales of the Ninth Realm, we explore how different characters tackle this paradox. Some, like Odin, make deliberate sacrifices for greater insight. Others are forced into different modes of perception by circumstance, bloodlines, or fate. But all of them must learn the same truth: Wisdom does not always come from seeing more. It often comes from seeing things differently.

The Mist Moon teaches us the same lesson. When the world is wrapped in mist, landmarks vanish. Distances blur and the familiar looks strange. And yet, in that disorientation, we notice things we’ve never seen before. We hear sounds usually drowned out by certainty.

So perhaps, this month, we might experiment with Odin’s approach.

What happens if we limit one sense to awaken another?
What if we tried to navigate by sound alone for a few minutes?
What if we looked at an old problem through a whole new lens?

If we step into the mist–what wisdom might be waiting for us there?

Until the Seed Moon…

As the Mist Moon wanes and new clarity begins to rise from the shifting vapours, our time together in the Mead Hall draws to a close. The boundaries between us thicken once more, but the connections forged in this shared space endure.

In the days ahead, as winter finally loosens its hold and the first signs of growth stir in the earth, we may begin to glimpse the manifestation of the patterns we saw through the mist. The Seed Moon approaches, bringing with it a time of awakening. A time when dormant powers begin to rise, when blood-magic flows strongest in all living things, and the völur of growth hold sway.

Before we part, I invite you to carry a thread of mist-wisdom with you into the month ahead. Perhaps a question that came to you during our time together. Perhaps an image or insight that hovered at the edge of your vision. Like seeds planted in fertile soil, these small beginnings may one day grow into unexpected harvests.

Until we meet again, may your seeing be clear even when the path is not.

Love and light,

//Saga ☽🤍☾

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Please Note: The Tales of the Ninth Realm draw inspiration from Norse mythology and Scandinavian folklore, but they are my creative reimaginings rather than scholarly interpretations. While I honour the essence of these traditions, I've deliberately altered elements to serve the narrative. If you want to know more about my creative process, and the choices I’ve made, you can find that in About Us.

Välkommen tillbaka till Fensala, Loreseeker!

Last month, under the Frost Moon, we gathered for our first open Moon Moot in the hall. The fires burned bright, the mead flowed, and for the first time in centuries, the doors stood open to all who wished to join us.

The Frost Moon is a moon of stillness and endurance, a time when the world holds its breath beneath the winter’s frozen veil. It’s a moon of quiet strength. The patience of ice before the thaw, the hush before the first birdsong of spring.

Like the Norns weave their threads in silence, we, too, must learn to listen. To the wind that whispers through bare branches, to the wisdom in old stories, and to the quiet truths hidden beneath the frost.

But now, the wheel turns anew, and another moon rises. The mead hall is warm, and the hearth is lit. Come inside and make yourself at home. Find your place by the fire and let us share food, tales, and wisdom once more.

Runes of Reflection: The Stones That Mark the Moon

Long before the modern calendar bound time to the rhythm of the sun, our ancestors followed the cycles of the moon. The waxing and waning of its silver light guided them through the seasons, marking the passage of time with quiet precision. Each full moon had a purpose, each dark moon a meaning, and the ebb and flow of the lunar cycle shaped both their daily lives and their understanding of fate.

Even now, in certain places across Scandinavia, you can find ancient stone circles and alignments that track the moon’s path, their purpose hidden in plain sight. Unlike the great sun-driven monuments such as Stonehenge, these forgotten timekeepers were set to follow the moon’s course, revealing its standing at key points in the year. Some align with major lunar standstills, rare celestial events occurring roughly every 18.6 years when the moon reaches its most extreme positions on the horizon. Others seem to map the moons of the year, much like the old Norse calendar, which divided time into moon cycles rather than fixed months.

The Viking Age and earlier Norse societies still carried echoes of this lunar way of reckoning. Many old festival names and agricultural markers point to a time when the moon, not the sun, dictated the rhythm of life. The division of the year into mánuðr (moon-months) was practical, rooted in observation rather than abstraction. Even the modern Scandinavian word for month—måned in Danish and Norwegian, månad in Swedish—remains a whisper of this past, its name derived from the moon (máni).

In Fensala, we honour this ancient tradition through our own lunar practices. Here, where the veil between realms grows thin, we follow the rhythm our ancestors knew by heart. Under each new moon, we plant a new seed in our moon garden. A whispered intention or fervent wish given to the dark sky. Then, as the moon waxes and grows, so too do our intentions.

When the moon is full we gather for our Moon Moot and tend to our moon gardens together. We share wisdom like water, we prune away our doubts, and celebrate the first tender shoots of our manifestations. This cycle of intention, growth, and harvest connects us not only to our ancestors, but to the very fabric of the Nine Realms.

Perhaps, in some forgotten clearing or on a distant hill, an ancient stone still stands, watching this moon as it has for a thousand years. Perhaps it, too, remembers.

Edda’s Spindle: Winter's Hidden Knowledge

The Frost Moon brings a particular kind of silence to my study. The water in the well freezes at its edges, and the sound of its depths grows muffled. This is when the oldest memories rise, like bubbles trapped beneath the ice.

This month, I’ve been thinking about how humans misunderstand stillness. They see winter as death, as absence, as waiting. They do not recognise it as a form of knowledge in itself. In the Ninth Realm, we know better. The frost preserves what summer would burn away.

I have also reviewed some fragments of knowledge that the presumptuous “cataloguer”, Snorri Sturluson, chose to ignore. Like the stories of women’s magic. Of seiðr practices, too subtle for his fragile masculine quill to capture. How convenient of him to relegate the most powerful magics of of our realm to footnotes and whispers.

What do you think threatened him? The thought of women wielding powers beyond his comprehension? Or the knowledge that some truths cannot be pinned to parchment like butterflies to a board?

Winter teaches patience. The frozen ground doesn’t argue with the seed that waits within. Perhaps that is why the Frost Moon reveals secrets. Because it doesn’t demand them. It simply creates the conditions for them to germinate.

When you feel the bite of winter, loreseeker, remember that what appears dormant is often simply gathering strength to grow.

Saga’s Scrolls & Lore

The Frost Moon brings with it wisdom as ancient as ice. In this frozen stillness, secrets crystallise and become clear to those patient enough to listen.

As the skald's voice carries through the mead hall, let us share what we've found in this time of deep winter reflection. The following are my three contributions:

▫️A Nugget of Wisdom: Feminine Power in Northern Traditions

In the Tales of the Ninth Realm, we see the divine feminine wielding power that flows like water beneath ice. It’s powerful, silent, and essential to all life. This power has been obscured in many modern retellings of Norse myth, with goddesses relegated to footnotes or reduced to one-dimensional figures.

Freya Aswynn's Runes and Feminine Powers: Northern Mysteries & Magick1 sets out to reestablish this balance. Aswynn explores the connection between runic wisdom and the feminine energy I believe our ancestors understood instinctively. Her work illuminates not only the runes themselves, but the feminine mysteries that run like golden threads through our Northern traditions.

If you want to explore the role of feminine power in Norse cosmology, this book is a very good starting point. As usual, Edda does not agree with all its takes, but even so, it stands as an ice-clear mirror reflecting truths long frozen in silence.

▫️A Moment of Wonder: Whispers of Frost

In the depths of winter, our ancestors listened closely to the sounds of frost. The cracking of ice, the shifting of the frozen ground, the whispers of snow against the bark on the trees. They didn’t have our modern knowledge, so these sounds were not just atmospheric noise to them. They were messages from the otherworld.

Like all full moons, the Frost Moon marks a time when the barriers between the realms grow thin. Just as frozen water creates perfect crystals that capture the light, the frozen world creates perfect moments that capture the truth. Ancient wisdom tells us that the frost giants—the Jötnar—speak most clearly during this moon. Their voices carrying knowledge of endurance, of survival, of patient strength.

In the Tales of the Ninth Realm, we explore how the frost itself carries memory. How the patterns it leaves on glass and leaf are not random, but meaningful messages. Runes written by the very breath of winter.

What patterns has the frost left in your life this winter? What messages have you found written in the literal or metaphorical ice?

▫️A Timely Wyrd: The Frozen Thread

The Norns2 work differently under the Frost Moon. While Urðr (What Was) remains clear as ever, and Verðandi (What Is) stands in sharp relief against the white landscape, it is Skuld (What Shall Be) who comes into her power now.

The thread of fate stiffens with cold, becoming more resistant to change. Yet this is when the most significant changes in fate, destiny, and luck can occur. Like a frozen lake that suddenly cracks, revealing the dark water beneath, the rigid patterns of the wyrd can break under pressure and create new pathways we could not have imagined before.

This is why our ancestors used the Frost Moon for divination, for seeing beyond the veil. When all seems frozen and unchanging, the smallest movement becomes significant.

As we move through these frost-bitten days, pay attention to what seems immovable in your life. Watch for the hairline fractures, the small openings where new possibilities might emerge. For it is often in the deepest winter that the seeds of spring's greatest changes take root.

Something to consider: What thread of your wyrd has felt frozen lately? And where might it be ready to bend in new directions?

Myth & Mirth: A Giantess, a Trickster, and a Goat

When darkness lingers, stories become vital sustenance. In the longhouses of old, tales were more than entertainment. They were a survival strategy that kept the spirits warm when the bodies ran cold and despair threatened to set in. Some stories offered words of wisdom, while others simply served to make the long nights more bearable.

This month, I'd like to share one of my favourite tales. It’s a bit of mirth from the frosty edges of Norse folklore—a tale of grief, trickery, and the sheer absurdity of our Loke that seldom makes it into the serious mythological accounts. It does speak volumes about his trickster character and Scandi sense of humour, though, and it goes to show that sometimes, the greatest gift of all is laughter.

So, this happened after Thor had killed Thjazi. We all know that hammer boy could be a hotheaded brute, but to be fair, the giant had kidnapped Idunn and her golden apples. Nevertheless, Thjazi’s daughter Skadi arrived in Asgard, demanding vengeance. As cold as the mountains she called home, she would not take no for an answer.

The gods were keen to avoid further bloodshed, so they offered her three gifts as compensations for the loss of her father.

1. She could choose a husband from among them. They would only let her see their feet, though. Because there’s no better way to secure a 'happily ever after' than a good, old-fashioned round of foot fetish match making. I guess.

2. They would take her father’s eyes and place them as stars in the sky, which, all things considered, is a pretty metal way to honour the dead.

3. They promised to make her—the winter goddess—laugh.

The third gift would prove the most difficult. Skadi was immune to the mirth of jesters, songs, and feasting so, in the end, it fell to Loke to tickle her funny bone. Because who else were they going to call when all else had failed? It’s not like they had any goddessbusters in Asgard.

Now, Loke could have tried a clever insult, a witty remark, or a perfectly timed jab at Thor’s intelligence. He was, after all, a master of words. But no. He decided to do something so ridiculously undignified that he knew even the most frostbitten of hearts would thaw.

In a moment of pure, unhinged genius, he tied one end of a cord to a goat’s beard and the other end to his own... well, dangly bits. Oh, yes, he really did! What followed was, of course, an absolute disaster.

The goat and the god began a frenzied, yelping tug-of-war, each desperate to escape the situation. They scrambled, they stumbled, they howled in pain—until, at last, Loke was yanked off his feet and went flying straight into Skadi’s lap. That was it. That was the moment her composure cracked and her laughter broke through like a brook in spring. And just like that, the blood feud was settled.

She married Njörðr, the Vanir god of seafaring, by the way. Thus proving that beauty alone does not a happy marriage make. But that’s a story for another day.

What I love about this tale is what it reveals about Norse culture. That laughter itself was considered worthy compensation. That joy, in its own way, was just as sacred as revenge, marriage, or memorials. That even in the weight of blood-debts and fate, a well-timed joke could restore balance to the cosmos.

In the Tales of the Ninth Realm, I explore how these moments of levity are not mere comic relief—they are essential elements of the wyrd itself. The trickster brings both chaos and catharsis. A laughter may thaw a frozen heart. And perhaps, in the deep of winter, that is the greatest lesson of all.

What tales bring warmth to your winter nights? What stories make you laugh when frost gathers at your windows? Drop me a message—we’re always looking for more stories worth sharing.

Until the Sap Moon…

As the Frost Moon wanes and shadows lengthen across the snow, our time together in the Mead Hall draws to its close.

If you follow the lunar ways, please note: In keeping with ancient wisdom, we shall try to keep our future Moon Moots more closely aligned with the true lunar cycle rather than the rigid pages of a calendar.

In the days ahead, the great wheel turns once more. The ice will begin its slow surrender and at our next moot, it will be the Sap Moon that lights our faces. A time of awakening, of slow but certain return, awaits. But first, we listen to the frost as it speaks its final words of the season.

Until we meet again, may the Norns weave your threads with care.

Love and light,

//Saga ☽🤍☾

Footnotes and Links

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Skål och välkommen till Fensala, Loreseeker!

Last month, under the Wolf Moon, we decided the time has come to turn a new leaf in the mead hall. Our doors have stood open for centuries, making the hall a free haven for travellers from the nine realms, but we have never invited them to our moon moots.

Now, the Frost Moon1 is here. When he is full, and his shadows long, we shall hold an open moot here in the hall. It will be the first of many such gatherings where we’ll share tales of myth and folklore, explore the wisdom of the old gods, and unearth treasures from the past that may inspire the present.

Runes of Reflection: Once in a Blue Moon…

The story of the Ninth Realm began in the morning of time when a god, a goddess, and a norn met under a blue moon to sow the seeds of resistance. Bound by prophecy and necessity, they forged an eternal bond between the daughters of the well and the sons of the forest. Together, they would carry a beacon of hope into the world, safeguarding it long after the twilight of the gods and the many upheavals that would reshape the fates of survivors and their descendants.

Rooted in Norse mythology and Scandinavian folklore, the Tales of the Ninth Realm are set in a mythic universe where multiple stories unfold across time. It is a world almost like ours, but seen through an alternative universe lens. I have, for instance, taken creative liberties in how I handle things like literary 'evidence' and historical facts.

After Ragnarök, the old world crumbled into the sea, and a new continent rose from the depths. The surviving gods and humans gathered at Iðavöllr, the sacred place where Óðinn and his brothers first shaped the world. The sagas tell us that gods, creatures, and men lived in harmony as they rebuilt.

But the Norns knew this peace would not last. The sagas also mention an aldarrök, the destruction of an age. I chose to weave two historical events into this cycle of collapse—the Justinian Plague and the Black Death—reimagining them as great aldarrök that devastated humanity. While I have drawn inspiration from these real-world plagues, I have deliberately altered key details to suit the narrative. In this world, the plagues lasted longer, reached further, and claimed far more lives than history records.

When it comes to gods, races, beings, and mythological concepts, I strive to remain as true to the original sources as possible. Meddling with history is a delicate balance, and nothing annoys me more than when storytellers change things for no apparent reason. Two examples that come to mind: I had no issue with Idris Elba playing Heimdall in the Marvel universe—his skin colour does nothing to change the essence of the character, and he’s a phenomenal actor. But turning Hel into "Hella" and making her Loki’s sister? Or reducing Fenrir—the monstrous force of destiny—to an oversized, caged dog in an Asgardian vault? Hel, to the no! That’s not okay. (Well, it is—no one owns these stories—but it rubs me up the wrong way.)

I have spent countless hours reading and comparing different accounts of mythology and folklore before incorporating elements into these stories. I know some readers will disagree with my choices—many people have strong opinions about how these myths should be interpreted. And that’s fine. But for the purpose of my storytelling, I have chosen the interpretations that best serve this world and its narrative.

I can’t reveal too many changes just yet (spoilers!), but here’s one that I don’t think will be too controversial: the úlfhéðinn. The sagas describe them as Óðinn’s fiercest warriors—men clad in wolf skins, said to be hamrammr (shape-changers). They could channel the spirits of wolves and enter battle in an altered, nearly invincible state. But in the end, they were still men. In Tales of the Ninth Realm, the úlfhéðinn are not men channeling wolf spirits. They are wolves. Or more precisely, hamrammr wargs. Jötnar who prefer to stay in their wolf skins.

As for names, the characters’ original names were initially almost exclusively Swedish or Scandinavian, as that is where the story began. But within the culture of the Cubbies—a tight-knit group of young survivors—English road names have taken root. Raised in a macho world shaped by farming, hunting, and the cultural imprint of 1950s-60s Americana (motorcycle clubs, classic cars, and rock ‘n’ roll), these kids nickname each other accordingly.

When it comes to mythology and folklore, I have used Old Norse words wherever possible. While many words are similar across Swedish, Norsk Bokmål, Nynorsk, Danish, and Icelandic, they are not identical. But almost all of them stem from the same linguistic roots, and it felt right to lean into the older terms. It also makes sense in the context of the story—but for now, let’s just say: spoilers.

I started working on the first of these stories as a child (!), and by 2023, I had outlined and rough-drafted a nine-book saga spanning thousands of years. The primary focus was on the last century of that timeline, following Edda’s family line and the Cubbies as they fight to survive in a world that is, quite literally, falling apart around them. This was the series I had planned to publish the first book of in August 2024.

But then life happened, and my busy brain went off on a tangent.

Right now, my nine-book series has expanded to include stories set in the past, the present, and—as of last week—the future. They all stem from the same basic premise: long before humans even existed, a pact was made, and the bonds it forged run like a silver thread through all of my stories.

What was meant to be a single fantasy series, is growing into something more—different types of stories, set in different parts of the world, at different points in time take shape in my head and I want to share them all with you. I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to use this Substack yet, but I’m treating it like a journey. And just like my tale, it began under a blue moon, with a ritual to set intentions and manifest desires.

Hopefully, we’ve now reached the point where we’ll get to watch it unfold together.

Edda’s Spindle: A Thread of Truth

The old tales rarely survive intact. Men reshape them with each telling, whether by ignorance, vanity, or design. The truth? Ah, that is a thread I have been spinning for a very long time.

This month, my work has been devoted to the retellings of the Kata Dalström sagas, which Saga is currently translating into modern English. The process is… entertaining, to say the least. Some claim that old stories should remain untouched, as though they were carved in stone rather than passed from mouth to mouth across generations. Others shape them to serve their own ends, reworking the threads of fate until they fray under their own weight.

It’s not just about the words, the rhythms, the turns of phrase. Every thread has its origin. Every saga, its seed. And some stories resist the hands that try to change them. But I was there. I know the truth.

Wisdom, Wonders, and Words for the Modern Skald

The skalds of old knew that words held power. They used theirs to carry the burden of truth and the flame of deception. Here in Fensala, we honor that tradition by sharing our wisdom, exploring the wonders of old, and weaving the tales of the future.

▫️Wisdom of the Month: A Little Bit of Runes

In the Tales of the Ninth Realm, the runes are not some old markings on stone or wood—they are the whispers of an ancient language that holds the wisdom of those who came before.

If you want to deepen your understanding of runes and their role in both history and storytelling, Cassandra Eason’s A Little Bit of Runes: An Introduction to Norse Divination2 is a great place to begin. After all, the Norns are still spinning, and the threads of fate are never truly still.

▫️Wonder of the Month: But Where Did Nidhogg Go?

At the very end of Ragnarök, the Völuspá3 tells us that Nidhogg, the dark dragon, flies away with his pinions full of “the bodies of men”. But where did he go? That is a question we have just begun to explore, and as we write his story, I thought maybe we could share the adventure with you.

Dragons have fascinated me since childhood. For nearly three decades now, I’ve been known as the Dragon Lady, and I even named my alter ego’s side stack Komodo dell’Arte (partly) in their honour. From the world-serpent of Norse myth to the gold-hoarding menace of Middle-earth, and—more recently—the adorable, fluffy baby dragon of Rebecca Yarros’ Empyrean series, dragons continue to captivate me.

They have appeared as symbols of wisdom, chaos, greed, and guardianship in myths and legends across cultures. But what is it about dragons that makes them so special? So enduring? Why do they persist?

As we discover the next chapter in Nidhogg’s tale together, I’ll be taking a closer look at the history and symbolism of dragons—starting with a portrait of Nidhogg himself. (Stay tuned for that in Fensala Familjebok!) But for now, I turn the question to you: What’s your favorite dragon myth?

▫️Wyrd of the Month: The Word That Wove the World

In many creation myths, everything begins with a seed, a breath, or a word. The Norse had the Wyrd, the ever-spinning force of fate that shapes what is, what was, and what will be. The word and the wyrd are bound together like the sons and daughters in the Tales from the Ninth Realm. They both hold power. They both shape reality and bring things into existence.

Names carry weight. Runes mark the world with intent. Stories, once told, cannot be untold. The line between word and wyrd is thin indeed. From the whispered spells of the völva to the oaths of warriors sworn in blood—the words shape destiny as surely as the Norns wove it.

To speak a thing is to make it real. To carve a rune is to fix it in place. And so I ask: What words have shaped you? What stories, myths, or lines of poetry have left their mark on your own fate?

Myth & Mirth: Stories Worth Sharing

I believe that the best stories endure not because they were set in stone, but because they were interesting enough to be carried forward, retold, and reshaped with each new voice.

Some challenge, and some delight and entertain us, but regardless of why they speak to you, they all have something to say. In Myth & Mirth, we shine a light on tales that align with the spirit of Fensala Mead Hall. This may be pieces from our own archives or works by other skalds, storytellers, and creators we admire.

This month, we’re looking at Ocean Keltoi, an American YouTuber who describes himself as an "Omnipotent Beard, Snarky Polytheist, Heathen, Reconstructionist, Professional Wizard with a Barbarian soul." On his brilliant channel4, he unpacks myths, misconceptions, and modern interpretations of Norse mythology and polytheism, cutting through the misinformation that often distorts these traditions. You’ll find him discussing the gods, challenging pop culture takes, and engaging in thought-provoking discussions about heathenry.

I would hands-down say that Ocean’s video essays are great food for thought for anyone interested in Norse lore and religious re- or deconstruction beyond the surface level. If you love myth, history, and a well-delivered “Actually...”, you don’t want to sit this one out.

So, do you have a favorite myth or topic you think we should explore? Drop us a comment—we’re always looking for more stories worth sharing.

Until the Frost Moon…

And just like that, our first official newsletter from Fensala Mead Hall comes to a close. But this is only the beginning. I’m beyond excited to share this space with you—my fellow loreseekers, skalds, and wanderers of the mythic paths.

Please, don’t be shy now. Whether you have a favorite myth to share, a burning question about the old stories, or just want to say hello—make yourself at home. We have so much to read, explore, and talk about together and the doors to the Mead Hall are always open.

May the Norns weave your threads with care,

//Saga ☽🤍☾

Footnotes and Links

Please note, as an Amazon Associate, we earn a small commission from qualifying purchases via affiliate links, marked (aff) below.