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The enormous room seems to grow smaller as dozens of northmen shuffle closer or enter from nearby quarters, the forceful and confident tone you project is far from reflected in the slave’s nervous translation. But all eyes are on you, not him.
<span class="mu-i">“I have been called by many names. In my homeland I am Sir Emile Andrei, of the House Andrei. In Langland I am known as <span class="mu-g">L’Orso Tempesta</span>.”</span> You pace around the end of the Aeltin longtable, now entirely surrounded by heavily armed barbarians. <span class="mu-i">“But to you, Named Men of the Far North, to you I am <span class="mu-b">Stormbjörn!</span> It is a good name, a strong name if I do say so myself. And I demand the name of your number that set forth your challenge, so that we might take the measure of one another in a passage of arms.”</span>
Your practised use of the name you figured in their tongue does garner its own reaction, and there is a moment’s silence as the slave escort finishes translating. The moment he finishes speaking in their tongue there is almost a stampede as dozens and then scores of northern barbarians practically come to blows right in front of you so that they can respond as a true warrior. Your escort looks at you helplessly as the roaring Norsikaan language triples the previous sound of the hall, the slave cannot even begin to start translating the multitude of indignant and insistent barking voices.
<span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-b">“Þessi er minn!”</span></span>It is only by the wild laughter of the foremost red-haired brute that you recognise the nearest men, nearest after having shouted in a few faces and thumped a few heads to get this close, as the very same squad who you first encountered upon landing. <span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">“Ég sá hann fyrst!”</span></span>
At first it all seems like the challenge has been issued and answered accordingly, with a duel to take place any moment now once the challengers have rolled bones for the honour of fighting you. But therein follows a brisk conversation between their huscarl Gunnar Golden and Dame Svetlanna, to your surprise all without a translator and made predominantly through hand signals and sharp definitive shorthand words. This must be the Battle Cant utilised by the officers and veterans of the Dragon Guard. Whatever they say quickly casts a sour grimace on the whole crowd present, and both you and your translator are entirely at a loss as to why until someone explains in plain Cantonian for you.
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