________________________
The southern parts were the least ordered of the Orcish rule over the Nords, the lands were in a constant flux with the skirmish battles for control. Free Nords organized themselves in outlaw bands and would raise whatever havoc they could to free their kin and disrupt Orc plans. The greenskins in turn sent troops to reclaim lost footing. As a result, these were also the most ravaged lands, more battlefields than homes, and hard to keep informed of which village belonged to whom.
Three clans were the most prevalent in the area. The Volsung, previously known for their ancestor's prowess with the two-handed hammer and their lively feasts with several barrels of the strongest mead in Nordholm and the amount of brawls, which were like a sport to their kin. Scylfing, a forest clan that suffered unspeakable war crimes during the orc invasion and became a shield-maiden only clan, fierce, proud, known before the war for their skill with the bow and the astounding number of shamans that came from their loins. And finally Skolmunding, a clan known for their ruthlessness in maintaining the borders against the Lorrites and for their shrewd war strategies, never completely having fallen under orc rule, the first of the clans to rise as rebels.
Bands of these clanmen were plentiful, but the constant battles were so gritty many freed slaves preferred to keep to a simple life of labor, able to be assimilated by either side, instead of picking up arms. Tensions were always high, true to their warring nature, brawls would spark at the least provocation as some of those who chose to fight saw the ones that chose not to as cowards and worse than thralls. Knowing they lived in a delicate circle, where their rebellion could not be without the food and shelter provided by those who didn't go into battle, the Nord learned to compromise.
It was in such a ravaged small village Alfhild found herself. The small cramped tavern smelled of stale ale and even staler rushes. Haggard were most patrons, the embittered, downtrodden, tough to chew on that lived through the grim reality the Nord found themselves in. War made few good men. Hard eyes watched her pass by, and the few who chose a less bloody sort of life quickly moved off the way of the heavily armored Alfhild, not wishing any trouble. The quiet that covered the place as people measured the newcomer was thick and tense.
As her icy blue eyes scanned the place, they dismissed most as disgruntled locals trying to scrape by and eke out an existence between skirmishes, until the next orc command, and subsequent rebel release... Except for 4 proud Nord, who looked neither intimidated nor at ease with the armor-clad figure scanning the place as if up to no good. They all looked battle hardened, the eldest of them perhaps a testament to their people's resilience as nowadays, an aging Nord is a rare sight in armor, harsh blue eyes could force most to look away and settle down. The bald one was clearly the most boisterous and spoiling for a fight, his red beard a display of his drink and food, breadcrumbs, pork grease and spilled ale. There was a calm and curious glint in the stormy eyes of the dark-haired, younger male, watching the newcomer as if his eyes could draw her stories. And the woman... the shield-maiden had an aura of burden, like of all the people in the tavern, she was the one most weary. Her eyes were almost sky blue and her hair a platinum blonde tousled by wind and likely the moisture of the cold rain turning everything gray and muddied outside. Her stare was perhaps the most unsettling, a kind of peering-through gaze that made one feel naked.
The weathered barkeep scooped the copper into his apron, all but three, avoiding her piercing gaze as he set to the task at hand. "We want no trouble." The simple statement was clear. These people took no sides. He'd not gossip over what he believed not his place to meddle in, he would not risk bringing misfortune on his house, a common stance in the 'civilians' of these parts. The shield-maiden nudged the dark-haired male warrior and raised her chin Alfhild's way. The man glanced between the two, and after taking a swig from his mug, wiped his lips with the back of his hand and said, a crisp, masculine voice which broke well through the din and seemed fitting for the telling of stories around a bonfire. "What brings you this way, traveler? What's your interest in the humble timbers around us all?"
Suspicious though she may be, it was clear to Alfhild no one else seemed willing to give her any ears. The group all looked at her as the man spoke and behind her the bartender quietly set down a brass key and a cutting board with crackling piglet cuts, roast beetroot with dill and onions and a piece if hard bread, without being told, he set a foaming mug of dark ale which spilled some on the stained wooden counter.
@Shadras
