Falkreath: The Stone Orc Settlement

Roarin walks with the group, he has relit his pipe, and is drinking from his flask again. He neither encourages, nor discourages Rictofen's behavior, indeed he seems focused more on his drink than anything else. He keeps the pace the rest set easily, whatever pain he had in the morning apparently has been set aside, at least for the moment.

The Lionkin walked with a hint of dignity in his step, after killing such a beast. To the side of him was the elf who he'd helped within his time of struggle, feeling a bit more authority with a follower to his shoulder. As the stone walls began to roll away once more, he heard from above him Zash'Neck, speaking aloud. "How goes the freedom, Aithen!?" The orc questioned with a grin to his face, happy to see Aithen so soon. "Just as I was getting comfortable, you crawl back in!" He joked with his own chuckle.

"Save your tongue, Zash'Neck." Aithen's voice boomed out, no need to shout with his power. "I've come with a traveler who wishes for reward." He called out again, looking around for Thorok in case he was about. "Where is he..?" He questioned to himself aloud, looking behind him to the elf. "Stay with me, elf." He stated with a hint of authority in his voice, continuing to march forward.

Gabble'Fog, however, stood in front of the doorway, looking up at the Lionkin with a stubborn look, obviously not afraid of the cat. "Move, Gabble'Fog." Aithen growled out aloud, where the beast's hatchet came up and pushed the Lionkin backwards, a roar of defiance coming out of the Lionkin. "No, you turn quest here." He ordered, looking down to the elf. "What finding? Mongthol.... back now. Thank you. What find?" He questioned in an obvious lack of language in their tongue. "I believe he's asking what did we find..." Aithen suggested to Brock.

Gunndís enters the settlement through the entryway gates, wrapping her fur cloak about her figure as the chilly mountain wind beats against her steel armour. Her usually pale complexion is slightly more rosy than usual, but her eyes, just as piercing and icy as ever. She looks about, setting upon the main path through the settlement in search of some sort of work or training. It has been far too long since she had anything to occupy her time with.

Gash stood to attention as Gunndis wandered into the settlement with a casualness that he found slightly offensive. As was his tradition he wasted no time in approaching the woman with a brisk no nonsense gait, unfortunately it still took him quite some time to catch up to the much younger soldier.

When he did finally reach the newcomer he'd find that another of his tribe was already conversing with her, but not one to shy away from getting to the bottom of things he'd rush on in and stick his nose in as well.

"Well met tribesman, it's been many cycles since I've last seen you here... It is good to lay eyes on you once again. I see that you've headed the newcomer off, have you learned her purpose here?"

His aged but bulky form would lean heavily on his cane as he spoke, the barest minimum amount of movement accompanying his words. And while he did his best to appear... well not hostile, it was painfully obvious that the suspicious glare that was boring into the lieutenant was not a friendly thing.

Kold'Ron looked to her with wide eyes, a hand nearly grasping her shoulder, but soon retreating from its action. "N-Newcomer... be wise with your words.."  He offered out gently. "You may not be one for words, I respect that. But Gash here is old.. and thus he has reputation." Turning back to Gash, Kold'Ron's fist slammed hard upon his chest, bowing his head with nearly sulking a head as he mumbled aloud. "Forgive her, Spirit Brother, you already know she is not of our tradition." He waited for scolding, shouting, or a punch. Any action would've been alright with Kold'Ron after what he suffered through before, still thinking of the damned academy.

Though he was old, Gunndís' trained eye sees that the Orc is less frail than he appears as she takes stock of him. Not one to be trifled with, surely, and apparently he commands respect from these greenskins. Getting on his bad side immediately seems an unwise move.

So, instead of responding, she simply grunts and turns about, heading off toward the colluseum as she asks aside to Kold'Ron, "I am sure yer in need of skilled blades, aye? Most Orcs I've had the pleasure of runnin' inta have been rowdy folk, always itchin' fer a fight, not unlike us Varan."

As Gash took up step behind the other two he would mutter some nonsense about rocks and grass as his clan mate gave Gunndis a tour of the grounds. He still didn't trust her half as far as he could throw her but with Kold'Ron's apparent backing for her he'd allow himself to relax a bit. He told himself that she wouldn't have been allowed to enter through the gates if she had hostile intent.

"Is that so? Your father is certainly wise beyond his years, it is good that you are going to him. Will the outsider be joining you for the meeting or would you prefer I keep her company outside?"

Kold'Ron grinned at the newcomer, liking her fire. "Indeed, outlander! Perhaps you should speak to the Chieftan about such wondrous ideas!" He exclaimed, pointing ahead of them to the massive hut that went directly down the road. "Over there, however, is the training grounds for our tribesmen! If you wish to unsheathe your blade, brave warrior, there is the place to do so!" He recommended with happiness in his voice.

He turned his head back to Gash, sighing as he spoke up. "I know, Gash. That is why he is who I seek audience with. He's the only one who can help me, Spirit Brother." He placed a hand on Gash's shoulder, firmly grasping it as he looked at his face, smiling as he chuckled, replying to his question with: "As long as you don't scare her off, I'd appreciate it greatly." He patted the kin's shoulder twice as he continued to march forward, soon disappearing into the hut where he'd find his father.

Shorbolg knelt over himself, arms stretching out to the green fire as the staff floated within the air, palms faced upwards as minor, grain-sized fires emitted upon his hands. After a few moments of taking in the aura that came from Shorbolg's meditation (Which was quite addictive) Kold'Ron spoke, in the ancient tongue of the Frok'Nold: "Father.."

This made the staff fall suddenly, the fire's disappearing and wind wooshing suddenly in the fortified hut, Shorbolg looking up behind him with wide eyes, slowly turning into a grateful smile. Stumbling upwards, he marched his way over to Kold'Ron with his staff as his guide, soon embracing his son's hand, looking him dead in the eye. "Ah, my son!" He exclaimed with an intense, pleasured smile. "I thought you left for the college?" He questioned with a raised eyebrow.

Sighing, Kold'Ron replied to his father. "Yes, father... I was accepted." He felt the happiness emit from Shorbolg, but soon continued before his father could ask a second question. "But, they ask for money, and..." He looked back up to Shorbolg, whose eyes were troubled. "I fear.. I fear Thorok was true to his decision. These people... their kind, they are not pure. They judged me by our blood, something they should be praising!!" He exclaimed with anger, suddenly disgust filling his face as he took a few steps towards the fire.

"These people fill our lands like rats! And they point their hands towards us in disgust!?" He hesitantly continued to speak, calming down. "There is no good out there, the sands have only worsened." Shorbolg pounded his staff lightly, more like lifting it up to let it drop, asking for the floor. "You are ignorant, my child." He hobbled towards him once more, a hand embracing his son's shoulder. "You fail to realize there are more places than just the college. We have had visitors while you were gone: All human, mostly. And yet they appreciated us! They came to our aid, Kold'Ron. Shall you ignore this? Take your hatred? Or shall you ignore the newcomer outside our doors?" Kold'Ron raised his eyebrows, gasping lightly. "How do you-" "I know much, boy, do not ask the ignorant questions, but choose the wiser ones. Now, you came here for something."

Kold'Ron sighed, looking to the floor as he clenched his fists in worry. "I wish.. I wish to learn the Frok'Nold code through your teachings, father... I wish to become the next Shaman King." Shorbolg went silent, mumbling under his breath as he turned around. "You wish to finally take your birthright, when you have so much to learn.." He turned back to face Kold'Ron, who looked as if a newborn pup. "You shall speak to Gash about this, tell him I wish for Spirits' guidance in you." With that, Kold'Ron bowed his head once more, slamming his armed fist upon his center chest, beginning to walk out. "And Kold'Ron.." He turned his head only towards him. "Your potential must be measured by your loyalty, not to your people, but to your maker. You must remember this if you truly wish to become a Shaman." Half listening, Kold'Ron nodded once more, then opening the hut as he walked out to look in front of him to the other two.

Gunndís raises a brow and shakes her head. "Sorry. I only draw my blade if I aim to kill or maim. If ye want tae see my stances, we'll 'ave tae use practice blades," responds the swordswoman. Her longsword had been handed down through several generations of Ehrensvärd warriors. Not once had the ancestral Varan steel been drawn without deadly purpose; Gunndís is not about to break that tradition.

She opens her mouth to explain this, but is cut short by Kold's reappearance. She turns about and nods in greeting. 
"Your meeting went well?"