Page 1 of "Olkenheim, Saviour knight of the north."
The mountains of Svolkjen were quiet. Stars glistened and twinkled in the black-blue sky, a purplish-green aurora was painted across the sky, and the glistening white snow sat quaintly on the mountain range. Olkenheim could not rest. Tomorrow, he was to duel in the honourable tradition, "Slaget vid beslutsfattandet" (Literally translated to "Battle of decision-making"). Olkenheim was to duel the strongest, toughest warrior to the south, Verinzeno, as a representation of northern superiority over the south. Olkenheim was scared. Although he had won several times without fail, Verinzeno was an honourable opponent, and if Olkenheim falls in battle, the treaty of Olksteinagen will be broken, and civil war will be inevitable. Olkenheim exhaled the smoke from his pipe, reflecting on his past victories, and pondering his potential downfall, watching the smoke twirl, spin, and dance in the wind as it slowly vanished. He found a sort of Relaxation to watching smoke. Content with his night, and anxious for his morning, he sought to rest, and prepare for the big day.
Olkenheim awoke to the pleasant scent of morning. It wasn't really a specific scent, but the feeling of the air in his nostrils was so crisp, and almost felt sweet somehow. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he loved inhaling morning mountain air. As he cooked up some salted pork for breakfast, the dread he felt last night came back. He sat down to eat his meal, and his hands were shaky. He was extremely nervous. More nevous than he had ever been. He finished his meal, and put his plate away. "Olkenheim!" A voice boomed, "On behalf of the Northern ruler Altzvoldir the 3rd, Blessed be his kingship, we are here to take you to the arena." Olkenheim sighed with anxiety. He grabbed his famed weapon, trudged to the carriage, and looked at the beautiful mountains, perhaps for the last time.