Ronald
**Marmot's Cradle (The Rustlands)**
—-
Rian Koern

"Indeed. Our lands may not be prosperous, but provided you have the right wares, you will find a buyer. Though I must admit that I'm surprised: with men of your size, I'd carve my fortune as a warrior, not a merchant. There is one thing that is more valuable in the Northwind than anywhere else, and that's muscle. Blades willing to protect the goods and the caravans passing trough the region. You could earn lots of coin by acting as mercenaries. Though for this particular town, I wouldn't recommend it..."

—-

Jarthec prided himself in being a practical man: the only man practical enough to govern the nest of rats known as Marmort's Cradle. The people despised him, as his nickname of "The vulture" Could attest, but he knew they needed him. He knew how to make himself irreplaceable, when all the others were expendable. He alone knew more than one language, and the advanced mathematics required to ensure fair barter in the town. The rest had been easy: get power, get rid of anyone who could do what he did, keep power. After years of wiggling his way to the mayor position, he had finally reached that point where he was too big to fail.

Of course, this only applied to the Marmot's Cradle. Outsiders were always an issue. Their mere presence always threatened the town's delicate balance of power.

"Clayton!" He called his guard. "Form the town guard, I want to recieve the newcomers."

"Is it it necessary? The rangers are dealing with them."

"Did I stutter?" Jarthec's mouth turned into an angry rictus of dirty teeth.

"I'll summon them at once, Meyrrif!" Replied his guard.

Jarthec was a craven old man: withered, hunched, spiteful... Despite his hatred for the vulture nickname, the townfolk had picked it right. He was the same age as the veteran Clayton, but looked a couple decades older than him. He'd never grown fond of his head guard, but it was the only man he could stand, and who could stand him.

"Gretha, get my cape!"

A sound of chains could be heard as a little girl, no older than fifteen winters, emerged from the corner of the attic that Jarthec used as his office. She was dressed with rags and a metal ring that circled her neck. Jarthec had chosen the attic for it's panoramic view of the rooftops, the girl for her blonde hair and submissive nature.

Once he was ready, he went to meet Clayton outside.

"Come on, let's go welcome the newcomers! And more importantly, remind them of our tariffs. Safety ain't free in Northwind."
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

As he hears these words a grin would form on his face, he sets his hand on the mans shoulder, turning him to face the well armed warband "Who's to say we do not? My men are for hire, as am I, for the right price... But, before we can think of working as Drengr, we need money to be on our feet."

He watched as those who managed to sell off some goods in the harbour began to load up chests of coins onto the ships
Ronald
The Ranger & The Vulture
Marmot's Cradle - The Rustlands

Rian looked at the men loading the chests with suspicion. The Rustlands was a poor land: all non-barter trade was made exclusively in copper and lead coins, with the vaults of the Mayrrif hoarding all of the gold. The visitors were selling at a loss. Why? Were they not aware of how trade worked in the Rustlands? Or were those wares stolen and they didn't care about them? Still, why not keep the wares?

"What are you selling?" He asked. "Where did you get that gold?"

His intuition was telling him that something wasn't right. The berserker's bounty looked strangely familiar, but he couldn't put his finger on as to why. Right when he was about to pursue his questioning, someone interrupted: it was the Mayrrif.

"Oh ranger, who cares where they got that gold from? We'll gladly purchase those jewels in exchange of anything they may need: medicine, pelts, you name it! I can even give you slaves, they're quite the commodity in Marin."

The hunched silhoutte of the vulture was followed by a full platoon of poorly equipped townguard. Rian knew not to trust appearances. Northwind bred men who were tough as nails, and the Mayrrif picked only the most brutal and sadistic for his townguard force. Even Rian's rangers didn't dare mess with them... At least not anymore.

"I am the Mayrrif of this town," Said the Vulture to Dagstygg. "Ask for anthing and we shall provide! But of course, you will need to pay your docking tax first. The Marmot's Cradle is an oasis of freedom and security in the Rustlands, but this is still Northwind: freedom ain't free!"

His hands were already rubbing at the prospect of claiming a part of the longship's plundered treasure.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots cradle

The bear of a man would slowly turn to look at The Vulture, he grunted at the prospect of having to pay for anything after what they had just done and the effort involved. 

"And what is the cost of this tax." 

He crossed his arms as he looked down at the group of men with a slight frown, his biggest concern was the building supplies, and so he wasn't exactly furious about a tax with gold.
Ronald
The Mayrrif
Marmots Cradle

"Well..."Said the vulture with his raspy voice. "These are very dangerous lands, like you probably have no idea. Normally, merchants give us **A quarter** Of their merchandise for the privilege of selling the rest inside this safe haven. But! As a show of good faith, and because this is your first venture in our town, we shall give you a discount. The docking tax will amount to only 15% of all your wares... As long as you pay it exclsively in _gold_."

The way he pronounced that last word was... Strange. The Mayrrif struggled to contain his exitement as what he he said sounded more like "Gwoldh" Than the actual word.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots cradle

He would turn around to face his men, some overhearing the conversation, they all seemed discontented, one was even sharpening his axe while staring through the Mayrrif. He waved down all his men and shouted to them

"Heyrirðu það? Litli maðurinn er að gera okkur greiða!"

To that, nearly all of the warband bursts into laughter, he laughs himself for a few moments before turning to face the man again

"This tax I will pay, let me make it clear it is not for our protection. You are bold. Some may admire it, or some may take it as disrespect." 

Dagstygg would stop two men as they walk past with large chests of gold on their shoulders, out of the ten chests of gold they managed to grab, Dagstygg would order these men to drop two of them, amounting to around twenty percent as opposed to fifteen

"And as a show of *My* Good faith. I will give you twenty percent, so that next time you may remember my generosity."
Ronald
Rian Koern & The Mayrrif 

"Ohoho!," Exlaimed the Vulture as his hands went to the chests. "Well of course! I will certainly remember you! Protection or not, as long as you pay, it's all that matters."

The knight-ranger frowned in dissaproval. As the Mayrrif ordered his soldiers to carry the gold ans walked away, Rian turned towards Dastygg:

"You know you didn't have to give him more than what he asked for, right? That man is a petty tyrant, hoarding gold in his vaults while the rest of the town lives in squalor. We gave up on getting rid of when he started hanging innocents as retaliation whenever House Koern attempted to remove him. He's not a man. He's a vulture in human skin. And his thugs from the townsguard are no better. There is no reason to do him any favours."
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots cradle

"My men have a short temper. It was not for him, it was for them. You see... Have a look at Hormir, the one with the axe on the prow of that ship. He is not pleased. I am hoping that next time I come to this place, this... Vulture, will be less greedy, so that Hormir won't rip him open and eat his liver. Or worse... Calls for his wife, Gunhildr..."

He points to a woman even larger than Hormir who is in mid arguement with another man, she was broad shouldered, muscular, and had a massive scar running from her forehead to her collarbone, the arguement was cut short as she delivered a headbutt to the mans forehead, knocking him out. The worst part about that was, she wasn't wearing a helmet... But the man was.
Ronald
Rian Koern
Marmot's Cradle

Strange men... And women these were. Rian wondered if they were really human. The majorty of them were what he would call "Big", and their leader was almost a giant. It wouldn't be good if they became friends with the Meyrrif. The last thing the Rustlands needed was for that craven vulture to get it's dirty hands on more bloodthirsty men.

"Do you plan on staying long in this town?" He asked Dagstygg.
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots Cradle

"That depends on if there is anything for us here. I will have words with you, come. Drink with me aboard a Drakkar."

He gestures for Rian to follow, leaping onto the largest of the ships and clearing men out of the way so that the two may sit and talk
Ronald
Rian Koern
Dagstygg's longship - Marmot's Craddle.

Rian sat in front of the giant, and looked around. He was no fool. Now that he could examine the loot up close, he realized it was clearly plundered. Probably from somewhere inTerresol. He turned a blind eye, his job was protecting the Rustlands, not the distant domains of Charity Lane.

"Truth be told, I do have a couple things you and I could work together in, but I need first to figure out exactly who am I talking with. You mentionned you're here for supplies, but I see many wounded. Were you ambushed at sea?"
Vincent
Dagstygg Jarl
Marmots cradle

"I will not lie to you, we are raiders, in our tongue the word is Vikingr. It is of belief in our culture that goods can be taken if earned by blood. The wounds we bear were acquired in a raid." 

He leans foreward slightly and pours the man a horn of mead
Ronald
Rian Koern
Marmot's Cradle

"Northwind doesn't need more raiders, but I am not shameless enough to antagonize men who have come looking for a safe haven and have treated me with respect. I will ignore you today, but I must also warn you that cleansing the Rustlands of raiders is our duty as knight-rangers of Koern. Nor can I ignore your plunder of Terresolian lands as long as our house remains sworn to De Lysse of the Grey Hills. For better or worse, you are under the protection of the vulture, and that means that we're already up to a bad start. I hope you will not cause much damage to our land, though it wouldn't be too bad if we got the chance to cross our blades, don't you think?"

He didn't drink the mead. Not because of any suspicion, but out of habit. Rian never drank anything on patrols, exept for the water carried by his horse, and the one found on the scarce non-toxic springs of the region.
Katherine
Loralie Douze
Northwind

Loralie's neck felt a chill of cold, as it was no longer protected from the wind, but it made her feel alive in a way. She glanced back up at Levi, and once he nodded in approval, she took the medium-sized bow. Placing her hand on the bowstring, she tested its tension and resistance. It was satisfactory.

She licked her lips, wondering how much of her skill she should display. It felt as though it had been much too long since she had held a bow in her hands. The wood was soft against her fingers. She reached over and docked an arrow, and then raised the bow. Aiming at the nearest target, Loralie's green eyes locked on the mark. She felt the force of the wind as well as its direction, and adjusted accordingly before taking a breath. At the last moment, she adjusted her aim ever so slightly before releasing her fingers from the bowstring.

The arrow flew threw the air before thunking hard into target, barely missing the bulleye.
Vincent
Dagstygg Elirson
Marmots cradle

"I would not bend the knee to men I do not know. Either way, we are indiscriminant to who we raid, when we raid that is. We do not raid often, you see, it is done out of neccessity. And we are just as likely to raid other raiders as well, even more likely I would wager due to the fact that they are often less armed than... Well, you and your friends. Now. I must ask *You* Something, and we must speak in a hushed tone... It is no secret that you are displeased with this, Vulture, you call him..."