A New Website is Born. This Website Shall Perish. Hail is Heaven’s Hard Rain

Unchaining The Titan is dead.

It has served me well as a platform for my creative endeavors for the past three years and more, but the time has come where it has become limiting and has outlived its usefulness.

I have set up a new website to serve as the focal point of my own writing and graphic designs, and which will also sport the occasional piece of guest content from some of the many awesome folk I’ve met and swapped ideas with since the beginning of this adventure.

I encourage you all to check out the new website at http://www.woodkern.net, subscribe to the newsletter, check out the material which is there, share it around, and please do get in touch with any feedback or comments for discussion.

To those of you who have been with me on this path, I thank you for your company and look forward to your continuing support over at WOODKERN, where the Great Work and the Holy Purpose shall continue afresh with more scope for growth.

Unchaining The Titan will live on for a few more weeks until the migration to WOODKERN is complete, at which point it will be eradicated from the annals of history entirely. So check out the content while you still can, as much of it will not be migrated to the new site.

If you will permit me to speak mythically for one last time:

It is necessary that we must destroy that which has outlived its purpose in the holy flames of sacrifice, to create the ashes with which we will fertilize the earth so that it may be receptive to fresh insemination which will lead to the birth and growth of previously unknown life.

Hail is Heaven’s hard rain. It falls as a stone and strips away dead branches. It cuts down crops and leaves them slain in the fields. But in the sun it melts and waters the soil.


Baldr Dead.



Baldr (also Balder) is one of the major characters in the Norse mythos. A son of Odin (like most of the male Aesir) Baldr was said to be so charismatic and good-natured that he was beloved by all whom he met, and he is associated with light and warmth and the sun.

“The second son of Odin is Baldr, and good things are to be said of him. He is best, and all praise him; he is so fair of feature, and so bright, that light shines from him. A certain herb is so white that it is likened to Baldr’s brow; of all grasses it is whitest, and by it thou mayest judge his fairness, both in hair and in body. He is the wisest of the Æsir, and the fairest-spoken and most gracious; and that quality attends him, that none may gainsay his judgments. He dwells in the place called Breidablik, which is in heaven; in that place may nothing unclean be.”

-“Gylfaginning”, Brodeur’s translation.

Like some other solar deities, including the Christ, Baldr was said to possess the power of prophecy, which manifested at least once in the form of a dream. In the dream Baldr saw his own death and grew depressed and the radiant light by which he had always been characterised grew dim. This troubled the Aesir greatly, and Baldr’s mother undertook a quest to enforce an oath from every being and object in existence that they would never harm Baldr, in futile attempt to avoid the inevitable. However, in her haste, Baldr’s mother neglected to enforce this oath from the mistletoe, which was considered so harmless that it was easily overlooked. So the mother rested contently thinking she had enacted a solemn vow from everything in existence never to harm her son. This vow, coupled with the apples of youth which the kept the Aesir young and powerful, essentially meant that Baldr should have lived forever, or at least for as long as he continued to consume the apples of youth. But in the society of the Aesir, as in all societies, there lived a trickster whose only purpose was to push the boundaries of acceptable behaviour. Loki somehow learned of the mistletoe having been overlooked in the swearing oaths, and he immediately set to work in crafting a weapon from this plant. Some say he made a spearhead, others say he made an arrow tipped with sharpened mistletoe, but whatever he made he placed it in the hands of one who was thought to be harmless in order to work his mischief. Continue reading

Who Built the Dolmens?

None know for certain who built the dolmens on this island, but many say that it was Diarmad who built them as he fled the rage of Fionn. 

Now Fionn had lived a long life and had many great endeavors to his name by the time he met the beautiful young Grainne, daughter of High King Cormac the Bear. His other wives had long since died and so Fionn was convinced to marry Grainne, though Grainne was less than eager about marrying such an old man. By this time Fionn was settled into a great hillfort on the Hill of Allen, but despite his old age he would often range out by day or by night with his two hounds at his hunting for days and weeks at a time. All a man such as Fionn could offer a fresh young bride was a gypsy life in the wilds, or a life of loneliness and isolation in a windy hilltop fortress. 

So, dejected but headstrong, Grainne convinced one of Fionn’s most loyal warriors to neglect his oaths of service to his Warband, and to flee with her into the wilds. He went reluctantly at first with the intention of protecting her, convinced that she would change her mind after one night in the wet Irish weather. But she persisted, and as time passed they grew closer in their exile until at the last they loved each other dearly. But it was a life of great hardship they endured, for they had chosen the path of exile from their tribes, and were hunted day and night by Fionn Demne Mac Cumhal, Rigfènnid of Cormac Mac Art’s Fianna. 

For protection by night from storms and ambush, Diarmad used his great strength to pile massive stones into defensible shelters, often covering them in earth to conceal them completely. But it was in vain, for there was never born a man or a beast that could outrun the pursuit of Fionn. Eventually the two fugitives fell into his power, but were saved by the diplomatic intervention of Diarmad’s foster father, Oenghus. Fionn bade his time, and when at last the dispute had long been forgotten by others he took his revenge on Diarmad the betrayer of oaths.

Now Diarmad is gone, and Fionn is gone, and all of those heroes who once strode the earth like Giants are gone too. The only thing which survives from that age of wonder and high adventure are the hills upon which they built their forts, and the dolmens which once protected two fugitive lovers from harm.

Old Man Hangneck



There’s a story that has served me well over the years and the more I tell it, the more it inspires me.


Once upon a time there lived an old man who was so eccentric, so cracked, that people thought he was mad, and in truth they were right, he was quite mad indeed. The older he grew the more unusual his behavior became until at some point he developed an understanding of the dark arts of magic. He grew obsessed with discovering more and more magical secrets until he grew so great in knowledge that he began to speak with the dead, but more importantly than that is the fact that the dead began to speak back to him. So he spoke to the dead and he asked questions of the dead and the dead revealed to him a great secret, which was not in the power of any human, living or dead, to reveal.


The dead told the old madman that there existed a great tree, an axis mundi, upon whose branches hung the entirety of the cosmos itself. At the base of this tree, said the dead, there was a deep well whose depths had never been discovered. Into this well, or perhaps out of it, all of time was said to flow. The old man grew tired of hearing of this wondrous tree from the dusty lips of corpses, and so he journeyed far out into the world or worlds to discover it, which at last he did. There in the midst of a dense forest there stood a tree so great and old that the old man, wise in mysteries, was awestruck by the sight of it.


At the base of the tree there lay the well, which watered the roots of the ancient tree. The old man stood at its edge and stared down into the black waters of that well, until at last he was struck with a wonderfully crazy idea. So he took a rope and he took a spear and with the spear he stabbed himself and with the rope he hung himself from the branches of the tree and he hung there for nine days and nights and he stared down into the depths of the well beneath him and at the last he died. But before he died, before the light faded from his eye, he beheld in the waters everything there was to behold and he understood it all. Then, understanding everything, he came back from the dead.


And there’s some who say that he came down from the tree and went out into the world or worlds and he worked all kinds of charms and spells which steer the course of the cosmos itself and everything in it. But there’s others who would tell you that he hangs there still, high up in the branches of the tree which governs all, and of course the truth of the matter is that they’re both right.


They’re both right.


October 2017, Athens.

New Apparel Available on WOODKERN Store

Lots of new apparel is now available on the WOODKERN store, with more designs to come in the near future.

Also, free shipping on signed copies of my book for a limited time only. This will mean a big saving for those of you Stateside.

Finally, a number of signed books were shipped out yesterday, so they should reach you soon. Thanks to those who ordered.

Second Edition of the Book Now Available

The Second Edition of my book is now available on Amazon and Kindle. As with the first edition, if you buy the paperback book you can download the Kindle edition for free. Signed copies are now on preorder at http://www.woodkern.storenvy.com.


What’s new in this edition?

-Although I initially put a lot of work into correcting typos and grammar mistakes, many slipped past my gaze. This edition is much more polished grammatically and is more clearly expressed than the first edition.

-I have always been disappointed by the cover of the first edition, which had to be rushed due to technical issues. The new cover is of a much higher quality, and was designed by Tatianna Marotta, who also provided some of the artwork in the Woodkern essay.

-New content includes the essay “Mogh Roth: the Techno-God”, the poem “Hail Caesar”, and the poem “Cuchaillain Dead”.

The first edition of this book was very well received and I thank you all for your support. If you would like to continue to support my work, please leave an honest review on the Amazon page for the book.

Lastly, since beginning to write under the “Unchaining The Titan” brand a few years ago I have worked under the pseudonym “Megas Begadonos”. This pen-name has outlived its use and I hereby abandon it. This work and all subsequent books will be published under my birth name, Paul Begadon. Rest assured, there are many other books, essays, and apparel in the works, despite my noticeable decline in social media activity.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/197396502X/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_4SdLzbQQF0SHR

Creatspace: https://www.createspace.com/7395460

Storenvy: http://www.woodkern.storenvy.com

The Good God’s Staff

“I am Aedh Abaid of Ess Ruad, also Ruad Rofhessa and Eochaid Ollathair. These are my names. I am the Good God of druidry of the Tuatha Dé Danann. An Dagda.”

And there he was, with Cermait Milbél, one of his sons, on his back. Now, Cermait had fallen in combat to the frenzy of Lugh, son of Cian, High King of Erin, for the sake of a woman’s embrace. Buach, who was the daughter of Daire Donn, was the wife of Lugh. As it often happens with the wives of great men, she endured much loneliness and turned often in the dark hours to her husband’s pillow, only to find it cold and bare. Well, Cermait the Dagda’s son, lay with her, wherefore Cermait was slain by Lugh. The Dagda considered his vast horde of knowledge and learning, then surrounded Cermait’s body with frankincense and myrrh and herbs and took to chanting such spells as he knew. This done, he lifted Cermait, and bearing the body of his son upon his back he searched the world until they came to the far eastern realms of the Earth.

In that strange and distant land he met three men going along road bearing their father’s treasures. The Dagda conversed with them and they said “We three are the sons of one father and mother, and we are sharing our father’s treasures, as is right for sons to do.”

“What treasures have ye?” asked the Dagda.

“A great shirt and a staff and a cloak.” said they.

“What virtues have these to be considered treasures?” said the Dagda.

“This great staff here,” said the eldest of them, “has a smooth end and a rough end. The rough slays the living, and the smooth revives the dead.”

“What of the shirt and the cloak?” said the Dagda, “What are their virtues?”

“He who wears the cloak may wear any shape, form, figure, or colour that he chooses. As for the one who wears the shirt, grief or sickness can never touch the skin that it covers.”

“Truly?” Said he.

“Very truly.” said they.

“Put the staff in my hand.” said the Dagda. Then the youngest of them lent him the staff, for he had been good company, and with great speed he put the rough end upon them thrice, and they fell dead in the road. Then he pressed the smooth end upon his son, and the lad arose in the fullness of his strength and health. Cermait put his hands on his face like one waking early from a dream, then rose up and looked at the three dead men that lay before him.

“Who are these three dead men in our path?” said Cermait to his father.

“Three men that I met,” said the Dagda, “sharing their father’s treasures. They lent me the staff and I slew them with one end and I brought yourself to life with the other end.”

“It would be a sad story to tell at our feasting,” said Cermait, “that they should not be given back their lives by that which caused me to live.”

The Dagda agreed and put the smooth end of the staff upon them, and the three brothers arose in the fullness of their health and strength.

“Know ye now that ye had been slain,” said he, “with your father’s staff?”

“We know it,” said they, “and you have taken an unfair advantage of us.”

“I have knowledge of your staff and its virtues,” said the Dagda, “and I have given you your three lives when I might have held them. Lend me the staff to take to Erin far to the west of this land.”

“What bonds have we that our father’s staff will ever come back to us?”

“The sun and moon, land and sea, provided that I might slay foes and give life to friends with its magic.”
Under that condition a loan of the staff was given to him.

“How shall we share the treasures we have?” said they. “For we are three and now only two remain to us.”

“Two of you will bear the treasures and one without any, until his turn come round at some predetermined interval.”

Then he brought that staff away to Erin, and his son, and with it he slew his foes and brought his friends to life. In time he took the kingship of Erin by means of that staff. However, the days of the Dagda’s kingship were numbered, as are the days of all things, and the time would come where the Dagda’s kingship would be ended, and indeed time has been so cruel to the Dagda and his sons and all of that fair Tribe, that we now living would hardly ever know that they lived at all were it not for the old tales that we tell.

Hail Caesar

“Hail Caesar” called noble Brutus,

Then he pierced him with his blade.

And many grey haired Roman men

Did smile at Caesar slain,

And many Gallic mothers wept

With joy to hear the word

That Caesar soaked the senate floor

Full red with Roman blood.

For in the woods which made men mad

Were mounds of Gallic skulls

Who’d spoken with Caesar in

The only tongue he understood.

What gallant blood did soak the soil

In far Gaul’s ancient groves,

Now paid in kind these bitter Ides

When Caesar died in Rome.

Far to the north across the seas

Upon white chalky cliffs

There burned full high a funeral pyre

Of wood from Caesar’s ships.

And to the south beneath

A cruel sun that never slept,

There wept behind high palace walls

A maid with babe at breast.

In years to come men whispered

Caesar’s name with Roman pride.

But as a man is born to rise

He’s also born to die.

Ides of March MMXVII

Mogh Roth: The Techno-God

It’s been awhile since I’ve published any new content, but rest assured that the creative process hasn’t stopped. Since publishing the book I’ve been writing articles, designing apparel, and writing songs that I plan to record.

You can find my latest article on the Operation Werewolf website at the link below.