Ragnarr Ceasarsunnu Tiber reminisces of his first hunt within the Seventh War of Imperial Aggression against the Northmen, a measly Orenian man of eight years who was no match for him and his seax. He now sits within his cell, being denied death in battle as by the Orenian dogs as Wotin demands.
“I was a Jomsviking, the cream of the crop. How could they defeat us without winning a single battle? Were all of our great blots in vain? We were promised a glorious and everlasting victory... at least my ancestors still smile upon me. It is not for vain though, for we shall fight again, and again...”