In the cold, haggard snow-wastes of the north, the village-bells tolled and the wise men rejoiced. A son of Odin had come into this world, a bard, a lover, a fighter, som might even say, hero.
And that was how I came into being. After that I spent some years pestering my parents and discovering new locations to belch and puke, then came childhood, where I tried my best at becoming a dominant alpha-male (my endeavours limited by my not-so-awe-inspiring stature at the time. I am a Norwegian, with all the stereotypes and cultural confusion that entitles me to, I am a national romantic and a lover of books. This last year, after surviving what the British call "school" and what the norsemen have aptly named 'Death-Terror-Psycho--Institution of many vile memories and some actual and social education.' The place I had to fight every day throughout my teenage years to muster honour, glory and the skills to drive my enemies to the earth and grind them under my heel.
I am quite a nice guy, it's just an ego-thing that gets out once in a while. I am going to do my best here at Aberystwyth Uni, and see if I can make something amazing with what I have learned up until now of this art.
The village elder turned, the smell of blood was on the wind. The ugly, festering lizard NaNoWriMo had reared it's lethal head, and the hired models fainted and screamed, in that order. The son of Odin, this bulwark of the wastes, grabbed the Master Sword and his lightsaber. To arms, and to battle. IT HAS BEGUN!
- Music, games, martial arts.
- Favorite noveling music:
- Balkan rock, classical, classical rock. Katzenjammer, The Doors, Beatnik poems and tunes.
- Favorite books or authors:
- Tolkien, Paulo Choelo, Poe, Jack London, Dickens, mm.