Nova Peak [nd] Φ

He had ridden half a moon eastward, scaling the craggy mountain range and many pitted forests to attend the ceremony. He’d introduced himself as an envoy of the Khan, extended as an opened palm across the steppe. But Jamukha had seen northern paws before. They often held daggers behind their backs.

“Man of the hour,” he rumbles, coming upon the dane with the fire-pelt he recognized from the ceremony. "Tillykke. Pretty family,” Jamukha palms a plum then turns to face the dancers.

“Where are your beserkers, Jarl?”