The doors of our great halls are open once more and the tables are filled with good bread and mead. The laughter rings, the aroma is sweet, a sense of onward victories to come is the gayest of ambience. We are happy. Roll on.
With merriment and glowing smiles, with tales worthy of any bard, they tell the tales of your heroics along with those of fiction. That is great praise in deed.
Let them snicker if that's their thing. You ran a marathon on bleeding soles and won. That's forever. That's a victory that will be told in the great halls for generations.
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