In the halls of Óðin, amidst the celestial chorus of the Æsir, there strides Týr, born of the All-Father's lineage, the divine harbinger of war, courage, and the sacred steel's might. Though fate's cruel hand hath claimed one of his own, his spirit blazes undaunted, a beacon of valor amidst the clash of titans.
With but one hand to wield the blade, Týr embraces the left-handed path, his every strike a symphony of martial prowess that strikes fear into the hearts of foes. Across the realms, swords bear the mark of the T-rune, a solemn invocation to the god of battle, beseeching his favor in the crucible of combat.
Though veiled in the mists of time, the echoes of Týr's deeds resonate through the annals of myth, a testament to his lofty stature among the divine kin. In the saga of gods and giants, his name rings out as a stalwart guardian, a sentinel of divine justice amid the tumult of the cosmos.
In the hour of peril, when the shadow of Fenrir, spawn of Loki's treachery, loomed large over the realms of gods and mortals alike, it was Týr's valor that proved paramount. Twice had the divine kin sought to shackle the monstrous wolf, only to be thwarted by his relentless fury, a dire threat to their very existence.
In their hour of need, they turned to the dwarves, craftsmen of ancient lore, beseeching them to forge a fetter that could withstand Fenrir's savage might. From the forge of the gods, emerged Gleipnir, a fetter of unparalleled strength, woven from the whispers of feline grace, the beard of a maiden, and the sinews of mountain and bear alike.
Yet, Fenrir, the cunning beast, refused to yield to his fate, demanding a pledge of trust from the divine kin. With unwavering resolve, Týr stepped forth, offering his hand as a token of faith, a sacrifice to seal the pact. Thus bound by honor, Fenrir's jaws snapped shut, severing flesh from bone, yet Týr stood resolute, his sacrifice a testament to unwavering resolve in the face of dire adversity.
Only Týr was brave enough to do so. Fenrir was bound, and Gleipnir held. The wolf struggled, but only succeeded in making the bond tighter. Fenrir snarled and clamped his teeth. Týr's right hand was severed at the wrist. All the gods laughed, except Týr. The gods fastened the fetter to a chain, and the chain to a boulder, making a captive of Fenrir.
The wolf continued to howl. To silence him, the gods thrust a sword into his mouth, hilt on the lower jaw and point on the palate. Blood and saliva flowed out, forming a great river. Thus silenced, Fenrir remains bound until Ragnarök, when his fetters will break, and he will swallow Óðin in a single bite.
