Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-17114085-20190126220742/@comment-17114085-20190402131917

Before long the Stormhawk group doubled back to where they had chosen the path.

The mountain wasn't as dangerous there, the paths were wider and there was no ice to make them slip, so they didn't need to pay too much attention to where they were stepping.

All this trecking around had wasted a good portion of the day, the sun was already starting to go down. They could still attempt to search a bit more until evening, or they could make camp just to be safe. Trecking up a mountain at night was a good way to fall to your death.

Tannr did as she said, keeping himself between her legs. He was already standing taller than her knees. Within a few months he'd reach her waist.

The other Companions gave her confused looks. It wasn't odd to see a mercenary with a trained dog or even a tamed wolf, but a sabercat was quite rare to tame.

--

To pass the time, Jofrodr went over to talk to that new mercenary. He had quickly grown tired of listening to the Captains arguing from their tent.

He saw that she was reading, but still chose to bother her. "Kal, wasn't it, where are you from? Your accent sounds easterner."

Jof's own accent was distinctly from Solstheim, which is where he grew up.

The Orc warrior disappeared from the watchtower as he headed down behind the pallisade.

In a few moments the gates opened and he came walking out to meet her challenge. He was wielding a weapon now, a double-sided battleaxe. His weapon was smaller than Lamush's. He looked a bit smaller than her too, but his horned helmet made him look taller and he was wider and more muscular.

"You face this stronghold's champion, Boruus gro-Muluur! Come and pay the blood-price, Oshcrun!" The masked orcish warrior yelled at her. He clearly had a lot of pent up anger.

Harald followed the priests as they bought his father out of his chamber on a carrying board. Olaf led the group and prayed.

They took him down the stairs and to the Hall of the Dead under the palace, where all the Jarls and their close kin were buried.

Harald stopped following them part-way, he was still going through a series of emotions and needed some time to think first.

Holma found him standing in the hallway, leaning on a window still and looking out to the early morning sky. "Harald, my consolences."

He nodded dismissively, but noticed that her eyes were red. Even she cried for him. Harald had not cried, he couldn't. A ruler did not cry, he needed to be strong for his subjects.

"We will need to notify the public of Sigurd's passing. They loved him like no other Jarl since Ysgramor." Holma said.

"Aye, not even Rerir the Avenger was as beloved." Harald agreed. The kind, just and humble Sigurd the Farmer would surely be remembered well in the minds of the people. Harald wonder how he would be remembered when he died. He was not particularly kind, nor humble, but he did consider himself just. Unlike his father, thought, he was a great warrior, a dragonslayer even. Would he be a better Jarl than his father?

When he saw that Holma was waiting for him to say something, he ordered. "Send the criers to the streets to spread the news, then have them call the people to the Palace Plaza. I will address then personally."

The steward nodded. "I will tell the Lawspeaker to send his criers." She then headed off, leaving Harald to his thoughts.