“There are too many of them!”
Arngrimur could not help but agree with the old man, whoever he was. He slashed desperately with his enchanted, cursed blade Tyrfingur, but the undead draugar kept coming. He stumbled backwards through the deepening snow. The animated corpses lurched towards him, despite the fact that when Tyrfingur struck one of them, that draugur tended to be destroyed.
“To the hof! Quickly!” Arngrimur noted that old man's voice had only the slightest trace of the accent of the wild Kvenir people to whom he obviously belonged, judging by his primitive clothes and unusual build, and the old fellow had already turned and dashed away into the darkness. Arngrimur felled...
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