Symphonic metal songs based on true storys and old legends - Chapter 1

The true Story of Vikbacks-Lotta - A Mother’s Endless Grief Beneath the Earth

In the 1870s near Grängesberg, a poor widow named Lotta lived in a small cottage near Vikbacken. Her husband had died on Christmas Eve, falling to his death in a mine shaft. But the true heartbreak came three years later, when her only son, 22-year-old Karl Erik Kjellman, was killed in a mine collapse at the Pick Mine—buried alive beneath tons of stone.

The mine was being closed and flooded, and safety had been neglected. Erik, nearly deaf after a dynamite accident, didn’t hear the warning in time. His body was never recovered. The mining company deemed it too dangerous and costly to retrieve him. His mother, Vikbacks-Lotta, devastated and desperate, pleaded for his remains—but her cries fell on indifferent ears.

Refusing to give up, Lotta walked to Ludvika, took the train and then a boat to Stockholm to plead with the mining authority, even hoping to see the King. She was received kindly, but no action was taken. Years passed. She declined compensation from the company, saying she wouldn’t "sell her beloved son." Eventually, she accepted only one thing—a piece of black fabric for a mourning dress.

Three years after the tragedy, a unique funeral was held. The mine was silent, the town gathered, and a priest led the ceremony from a wooden bridge over the shaft. As hymns played, the priest dropped soil into the abyss, blessing the resting place of a young man who would never lie in a graveyard, and a mother who would never hold him again.

Lotta, forever changed, continued to visit the mine in grief until her death. The sorrow consumed her, and it’s said it was the grief itself that killed her.

Some whispered her husband’s death wasn’t an accident, but murder—making her loss even more unbearable. And Erik’s deafness, caused by a coworker’s prank with explosives weeks before the collapse, may have sealed his fate.

Fifty years later, the mine was reopened and operations neared the place of the collapse. No one knows if Erik’s remains were ever found—or if he still lies buried where he fell.

This is the story of Vikbacks-Lotta: a mother’s hopeless battle against a faceless industry, a tale of love, sorrow, and unyielding grief echoing through the mines of Grängesberg.

The Black Dress of Vikbacks-Lotta

High above the forests near Grangärde (Dalarna, Sweden) ies an old and lonely pasture once called Masen’s Huts. Long ago, farmers from Östanbjörka drove their cattle there. But one night, unlike any other, dark spirits swept through the woods—and the mountain has borne a different name ever since: Bride Mountain.

The tale goes:

A young milkmaid was tending her animals alone when shadows began to move among the trees. Forest spirits emerged from the gloom and took her before she could flee. Enchanted and powerless, she was dressed in a shimmering bridal gown and crowned with glittering silver. At midnight, she was to be wed to a mountain troll.

But someone saw her fate—a loyal dog. In panic, it fled the pasture, racing across bogs and trails to fetch the master in Östanbjörka. Understanding the danger, the man rushed back with the dog, up to the haunted pasture.

There, in the glade, trolls danced in a ring around the entranced girl, singing dark wedding songs with goblets in their twisted hands. Acting quickly, the man grabbed two heavy axes and crossed them over a threshold—steel against sorcery.

A terrible scream rang through the forest. The trolls froze, their magic shattered. Begging for mercy, they vanished like morning mist.

The girl remained—pale, but free. In her hand she held a silver goblet, and on her head, a bridal crown. Through the forest echoed the trolls’ final cry:

"Skada mä brudkrona! Skada mä brudkrona!"
("Spare the bridal crown! Spare the bridal crown!")

Some say the crown rests in Grangärde Church, the goblet in Stora Tuna. Others say the opposite. No one knows for sure. But Bride Mountain still stands, and if you listen closely when the mist drifts through the trees, you might hear the echo of a wedding that never was.


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Symphonic Metal Epic – based on the legend of Brudberget

Lyrics:
[Intro – Whispered, mysterious, with ambient forest sounds and low choir]
High above the shadowed trees,
Where birches sigh and pines still grieve,
A tale is carved in mist and stone—
The bride who danced with trolls alone…

[Verse I – Slow, ominous]
Far from the village, in silence she stayed,
A maiden tending beasts by fading day.
Masens Bodar, the old fäbod's name,
Where dusk would fall and call the strange.

But one black night, the woods awoke—
With rustling leaves and voices cloaked.
Through veils of gloom the fae did creep,
To steal her soul in moonless sleep.

[Chorus – Bombastic, with full choir and strings]
Bride of the Mountain, veiled in frost,
Bound in shadow, forever lost!
Silver goblet, cursed crown,
Trolls shall dance and stars fall down!
Midnight rings the silent bell—
Who dares to wake this forest spell?

[Verse II – Faster, more intense]
They dressed her pale in ghostly white,
With crown of thorns that gleamed like light.
Their howls became her wedding song,
A vow to darkness, cruel and long.

But one remained who would not yield—
Her loyal hound, the silent shield.
He tore the path through root and mire,
To fetch the one who'd brave the fire.

[Bridge – Dramatic, chanting choir and orchestral surge]
Steel and spirit, heart of flame,
The master came and called her name.
With axes crossed and thunder cried,
The spell was shattered, trolls denied!

[Chorus – Repeated, heavier guitars and layered vocals]
Bride of the Mountain, veiled in frost,
Bound in shadow, forever lost!
Silver goblet, cursed crown,
Trolls shall dance and stars fall down!
Midnight rings the silent bell—
Who dares to wake this forest spell?

[Verse III – Softer, mournful, reflective]
She stood alone, her face turned pale,
A dream undone, a forest tale.
The crown still glowed, the cup in hand,
Relics of that twilight land.

[Outro – Fading, mystical female vocals and whispers]
Some say the crown still rests in grace,
In Grangärde’s sacred, silent place…
But if the fog should stroke your skin,
Beware the vow that waits within...

[Final Echo – Male and female whisper, fading]
"Skada mä brudkrona… skada mä brudkrona…"

The Bride of the mountain trolls

The true story about Sol-Lisa (part one):
It began on a cold January day in 1755, just outside Kopparberg in Sweden, where Elisabeth Ersdotter—called Lisa—was born into one of the wealthiest families in the region. As Lisa reached her twenties, she fell in love with a young, handsome farmhand named Jan. But her father forbade the relationship—Jan was of lower social class and thus unworthy. Lisa was warned: if her father ever caught them together, she would be beaten and disinherited.

Still, love found secret places. Despite being promised in marriage to a respected and wealthy inspector named Carl Gezelius—her parents' ideal match—Lisa continued to meet Jan in secret. When she became pregnant by Jan, panic took hold.

Lisa tried to hide the pregnancy through spring and summer. But rumors spread. When Carl confronted Lisa, she denied everything, and he believed her.

In October 1776, Lisa married Carl. Her pregnancy could no longer be hidden. Carl’s mother suspected something, but Carl continued to trust Lisa’s denials.

When labor began in secret on January 9, 1777, Lisa and her mother shut themselves in the brewhouse. After a painful delivery, a strong, healthy baby boy was born. But for Lisa, the child was a symbol of everything she had lost. She had hoped the baby would be stillborn.

Lisa’s mother considered showing the child to her husband but was stopped by Lisa, who threatened suicide. Left alone briefly with her newborn, Lisa looked at the child—the living evidence of her secret, her shame, her ruined future. And then she made a choice. She wrapped her hand around the baby’s throat and slowly squeezed until the crying stopped.

Sol-Lisa - Part 1 - The Silence in Her Hands

The true story about Magdalena’s Mire

Magdalena’s Mire lies long and narrow, veiled in mist beside the road between Svartviken and Lilla Kumlan. Long ago, a lady from Stockholm passed through with her daughter, dressed in shining silks and colorful shawls, accompanied by her loyal dog and proud horse.

That night, she unknowingly camped near the man who would become her killer. Blinded by greed, he believed her possessions held great wealth—unaware her money had already been sent ahead to Stockholm.

At dawn, as she prepared to leave, he struck. First, the dog fell to the axe, then the horse. The lady screamed once before silence took her. Her little daughter, crying in fear, offered her doll to the man, begging for mercy. But lost in darkness, he killed her too.

There was no treasure—only death. He buried the bodies near a stone cairn and tried to mask the smell with the blood of a slaughtered calf. The animals were sunk into the mire.

Years passed, but the truth could not stay buried. Justice caught up with him, and he was executed in Örebro. His family tried to help him escape death by smuggling glass-laced cheese into the prison, but their plot failed.

Still today, by the cairn, a spruce tree grows—cut down twice, but always rising again. Ferns curl around its base like a wreath on a secret grave. When the wind whispers through the branches, it carries the echo of a child’s voice, a final plea, and footsteps that never reached home.

A place of memory, sorrow, and silence.
The name on the wooden sign reads: “Magdalena’s Mire.”

Magdalena's Mire

This true story likely took place in the early 1800s—perhaps even earlier.
The manor (set in Dalarna, Sweden) was ruled by a stern ironworks master and his merciless wife. In preparation for a grand celebration, servants worked day and night under the strict hand of the mistress.

In one of the cottages, young maids brewed beer—a grueling task that wore them down.
One of them, exhausted, stepped outside for a moment and stumbled toward the outhouse.
Time passed, but she didn’t return. The irritated mistress found her asleep, slumped in fatigue.

In a fit of rage, the mistress struck the maid in the head with a heavy iron key—killing her instantly. The key was thrown away and lost for years.

The maid was buried a few hundred meters from the house, beside an old country road now overgrown and forgotten. The grave lies on a small hill called Robacken, marked only by a few simple stones. Peaceful, yet unsettling.

Some say the maid had become pregnant, and that was the true cause of her death.
But no one knows for sure. Was the mistress ever punished? Did anyone even learn of the crime?

What we do know is this:
In the silent woods, beside a vanished road, lies the forgotten victim of what became known as The Key-Slaying.

The manor stood abandoned for years. Today it looks peaceful—restored, with horses grazing under the sun. But beneath the surface lingers a darker past—
The tale of a murdered maid, her name long lost to time.

And today, just today—we remember her.
Do not forget her.

The Key and the Silent Grave - The Key-Slaying at Robacken

Johannes Hällegrim