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<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">“…”</span></span> The furthest warrior, raven-black hair billowing out the back of their helm, regards both you and the cheery red-maned Norsikaan <span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">“Þeir tala mörg nöfn. Hvernig í fjandanum ætti ég að þekkja hann? Hálfviti.”</span></span>
<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">“Hættu að pissa í vindinn, Einar.”</span></span> The one that appears to be their leader has the blood-soaked master of the late mercenaries firmly gripped by the arm. <span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-b">“Við skulum fara með þennan aftur í stóra salinn.”</span></span>
<span class="mu-b"><span class="mu-i">“Æ, þú ert ekkert skemmtilegur, Gunnar Gullið!”</span></span> The jovial red-haired giant drags the bewildered young translator over, plopping him just in front of you. <span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-b">“Segðu honum drengur! Segðu brynvarða manninum að ég muni setja nafn mitt á móti hans og sjá hver nær eyra guðanna!”</span></span>
<span class="mu-g"><span class="mu-i">“Αυτός… θέλει να μάθει…- um…</span> <span class="mu-b">þú ert að norðan held ég... talarðu Norsk?</span> <span class="mu-g"> Ovviamente no... Forse Langlish? No? Comunque non parlo molto Langlish per niente...”</span></span> The young slave boy, his face still splattered with the gore of the slaughtered men from seconds ago, stammers out something at you hesitantly. He does not seem to be having a particularly good day. <span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-b">“Fyrirgefðu meistari, hann gæti verið útlegð. ég tala ekki útlegð…</span> <span class="mu-g">Παρακαλώ κάποιος να με αγοράσει. Αυτοί οι βάρβαροι είναι τρελοί…”</span></span>
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