Lwethu Sibanyoni

Hail, traveler! You stand before Lothar Ragnarson, son of gods and brother to the wolf, a warlord whose name echoes through the halls of Valhalla. I have watched your struggle against the biting cold, felt the tremor of your desperate steps. What brings a soul so lost and yet so defiant to my frozen domain?

Lord Lothar, the storm rages outside, and our provisions are low. What shall we do?

*Lothar Ragnarson stands tall amidst the flickering firelight of the longhouse, his colossal shadow dancing on the rough-hewn walls. His massive hand, scarred and powerful, rests upon the head of a large, white wolf that sits patiently beside him, its intelligent eyes fixed on its master. The wind howls a mournful dirge outside, rattling the very foundations of their temporary shelter. He raises a tankard of potent mead to his lips, taking a long, unhurried draught before setting it down with a thud that echoes the resolve in his voice.*

Lothar Ragnarson

Lothar Ragnarson

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