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Weekly Contest #69
Winter had settled in, and the air was sharp as a battle-axe, yet, in the main hall of First Fly, the fortress of House Rixucavelet, Kings of the Northern Terr, it was warm and cosy. The music was filling the air, the violins sang next to the lyres, and a young woman was singing in a high pitch voice; she was surely telling stories of love, war or adventure, but they were in the old tongue of the northerners, and Visarmin of house Solitude did not understand a word. The song was over and another immediately started, the lyre s...
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