Once Upon a Time... There was a woman who deeply wanted a child, or was it a ferry man that heard a shout? No wait, it was in an old oak forest. No... There was a small black dog, no, no, it was definitely a wicked witch! And so the story goes.
The story of Germania and The Alps is one of dark forests, high mountains, oceans of blood and fire! Death standing at the foot of your bed as he watches you sleep, curses which causes the fields to go barren or the milk to curdle! War, strife, long despairing loneliness and sometimes if you are lucky, a magic teleporting goat! But that goat will steal your bread and run away laughing. To many these stories sound dark, depressing, and filled with horrors, but to the Germanic Tribesman it sounds like a regular Tuesday.
Tales old as time, or nearly so; range across these lands. From the rolling pastures, across the Black Forest, up to the frosty craggy peaks of the Alpine Mountains. They flood the rivers pouring into the many ponds and lakes... These Gods and Spirits, the Heroes of Old, with their many many titles and bynames make up the land. Nay! They are the very bones. Bones of a people and the land they call home. This spirit. Thee, spirit of their people locked and guarded within their breasts travels with them no matter where they go. They could not escape it if they tried. But why would they? It is who they are.
Where others see darkness and pain, they see the strength and courage to overcome! Where others see blood, they see the finest wine of life! Where others see desperation, they see the foolish actions of a coward to afraid to face what clearly stands before him. These are a hard people, with hard Gods, but they know the secret. The secret that shall never be told. It might be hinted at or whispered in the dark under covers held tight by the quaking lips of the terrified child but never, never, ever shall they utter it aloud where others might hear. The secret of the Germanic Tribesman, each born with it in their heart of hearts. The secret they shall take with them to their graves.
Their God? Well there are many of course but there is one who is more. He is the Volkgeist of the Germanic people, embodying all that they are; body and spirit, he reflects the land they call home, harsh, unforgiving, brutal, but also capable of great mirth and a light hearted gaiety few others can match. For what else is there but to laugh heartily, from the very bowels of ones own being when faced with the starkness that is the Germanic world view? He lives with them and with them he shall die, their fates forever intertwined. His name? He is the beating heart of the mountain and their gentle passes, the rivers, and the lakes, the raging storm and the cutting wind, he is the fire and the ash, the very stirring of the morning grass. He is Wotan!
But lest not forget the heart of Germanic tradition, amidst the ancient oaks and misty hills, lie pantheons of Gods and Spirits alike, each unique to these lands. Among them Frau Holda, The Guardian of Winter, Mistress of The Wild Hunt, and Keeper of The Sacred Well. Her presence felt in the stillness of the snow-laden forests and in the silent reverence of those who honor her.
Then there is the enigmatic Rübezahl, Old Man of The Mountain. His features carved into the rugged peaks themselves, his whispered breath riding the wind which sweeps down from his haunted peeks through the valleys below. He is The Guardian of Secrets, The Keeper of Hidden Knowledge, and those who seek his favor often find themselves endowed with a deeper understanding of the world.
The forests of Germania are alive; teaming with spirits, known by many names and forms. From the mischievous Kobolds that play tricks on unsuspecting travelers, to the benevolent Moss Men, protectors of the ancient groves. These spirits, unseen yet ever-present, are the very essence of the Germanic wilderness.
Then there is the fearsome Wild Hunt! Led by many figures not the least of which is the spectral figure known as the Erlkönig! When the fancy strikes him; or it is his turn, he rides at the head of the ghostly procession, sweeping through the night! Accompanied by the howling wind of many spirits both God and Man, the sound of their phantom steeds thundering hooves rolling across the skies. To hear their approach is to feel the primal pulse of the earth itself, driving fear into all but the most stalwart of men.
These are the spirits that dwell in the heart of Germania, woven into the very fabric of the land. Their stories are whispered around hearthfires, passed through generations innumerable, proof of the enduring connection between the people and the spirits who inhabit their world.
So let us begin this journey together and discover the tales of the Gods and Spirits that have shaped the landscape and the souls of those who call it home. Each story, each deity, carries with it the weight of centuries, a testament to the resilience and reverence of the Germanic people.