A cold blade presses against your neck. "Visi or Ostro?" hisses in your ear.
You stutter,
"Theodoric the bold,
chief of sea-warriors,
ruled over the shores of the Hreiðsea.
Now he sits armed
on his Gothic horse,
his shield strapped,
the prince of the Mærings."
The blade is removed, and you are clasped in a warm embrace. "How is the weather in Rök, my friend?"
You stutter,
"Theodoric the bold,
chief of sea-warriors,
ruled over the shores of the Hreiðsea.
Now he sits armed
on his Gothic horse,
his shield strapped,
the prince of the Mærings."
The blade is removed, and you are clasped in a warm embrace. "How is the weather in Rök, my friend?"