I stood before radar, before radio's call, a steadfast guardian through tempest and squall. By flame, by lens, by electric might, I pierced the dark with guiding light. What am I, watching each night?

I start with a greeting, a simple hello. I end with a tale, legends stitched in a row. Tie them together, and you will see, Adventures that keep the past in memory.

Named after a mountain, fictive and grand, in a tongue few speak or understand. They sing of Norse gods, warriors, and flame, Roaring hard tunes that earned them their name.

I wear a grin not born of glee, my wisdom hidden in mockery. A fool by name, but not by mind. What role is mine, so misdefined?

Eating me is the symbol of roman laziness. Beating me is the start of roman debauchery. You dont need to go far to find me, but if you can't get me, you will say I am sour.