By Colin Ahern — Opinions Editor

You stepped between the frigid plains of England and a hundred and fifteen bloodstained lines. 

The din of battle has long since passed and since you’ve awoken from the wreckage of a destroyed longhouse. Life; the only fate worse than death.

Gone are the days of glittering warriors, laden in gold. 

Wolves, eagles, and a crestfallen man. 

Farewell Wanderer.