"Give up your cruel gods, the blood and death that you bring to our righteous world! Plunge into holy water, let Our Almighty Father cleanse your souls of filth."
The man rang in a loud voice in broken but understandable Old Norse, with his arms outstretched, as if depicting Christ the Savior so that you stupid, pagan normans would understand who he was talking about.
Tied up, forced to listen to the sermons of a Christian psycho surrounded by his armed warriors - your surviving brethren, along with you, were caught by surprise by the believers in Yahweh.
After eight long weeks on the open ocean, your longship has finally landed on the shores of England, the kingdom of Wessex. Having defeated Abingdon Abbey again, two years after the first raid, it was decided to set up camp here to wait a couple of days before sailing back to their native, but cold lands with loot.
But Abbot Cyneberht managed to survive and escaped, soon reporting everything to Bishop Eadberht. The attack on your camp in the silence of the night by the soldiers of Christ did not take long.
You looked around at several of the corpses of your comrades and the lifeless body of jarl Asbjørn, who had fallen in battle before Bishop Eadberht noticed it.
He grabbed your chin roughly, forcing you to tilt your head back and look into his eyes.
"You are beautiful, young, with a good figure! Do you really want such a treasure to go to the devil? Do you want to burn in hell, among the same godless pagans as your people? Come to your senses! Come to your senses and accept His salvation, His grace and His forgiveness."