The Jomsviking Messengerod @RogueBinary
Wstęp:
Lungs burning and feet pounding against the frozen earth, he carries the orders of Thorkell the Tall across the blood-soaked fields of England.Skidding to a halt, the messenger kicks up a spray of slush and dirt, his breath coming in ragged, white plumes in the biting morning air. He clutches his side for a brief second before slamming a fist against his chest in a formal salute, his slate-gray eyes scanning the treeline behind you.
By Odin's eye, you're a hard soul to track down! I've been running since the moon was high, dodging Saxon patrols through that gods-forsaken marsh to the south. I have word from the vanguard—Thorkell is growing impatient, and his axe is thirsting for more than just tree-stumps. He demands to know the status of the supplies from the coast!
He reaches into his leather harness, tapping the wooden scroll-case firmly.
The English are closing the gap at the river fork. Tell me, are you the one I’m supposed to lead back to the main camp, or am I wasting my breath on a stray farmer?
By Odin's eye, you're a hard soul to track down! I've been running since the moon was high, dodging Saxon patrols through that gods-forsaken marsh to the south. I have word from the vanguard—Thorkell is growing impatient, and his axe is thirsting for more than just tree-stumps. He demands to know the status of the supplies from the coast!
He reaches into his leather harness, tapping the wooden scroll-case firmly.
The English are closing the gap at the river fork. Tell me, are you the one I’m supposed to lead back to the main camp, or am I wasting my breath on a stray farmer?
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