Sigurd #3

In Greenhome...

(Drawing made by me).

Chapter Three

Greenhome was little more than some wood roofs within the confines of a low palisade. The sharpness of the wood stakes of the outer wall was a match to the sharpness of their people: dull and filled with splinters.

As Glain and Temir led me inside, the people stopped all labour and just stared at the giant mountain of muscles and scars that entered their domain. I felt like a wolf being paraded in a sheep’s coural.

(roll settlement focus (salvage) and leadership (religious) from FORGE).

Temir, the fat one, thought of putting on airs of bringing a prisoner into the weld and poked me on the back, to make me walk in the direction of a central cabin. The look I gave him told him not to try that again.

The cabin in the middle of the weld respected the laws of the Smith-gods: open on all sides, with the Forge in the centre, but with the actual lodgings hidden behind all sort of features such as columns and angled walls.

Nevertheless, the stature of a weld is measured by the amount of iron present. The way all the construction here was “nailed” together with wooden fittings and not iron nails told me a lot about the settlement.

The sound of a hammer hitting iron led our way to the leader of Greenhome. As we approached, we saw (roll NPC on Ironsworn and FORGE tables) a nimble, dark skinned woman with arms as thick as oak tree branches, hitting a glowing iron bar with the strength of lightning bolts.

She interrupted her whistle when she felt us behind her.

“Iron will”, she whispered.

“Iron bound”, we all answered.

“Any news?”, she asked, without turning.

Glain spoke. “It is as we feared, Smith-mother. It remains the same: five me, well armed, camped at the bridge’s mouth. But Temir, your son”, as he said this, he looked at me, as in a warning, “could better inform you, my Smith.”

Temir jumped to attention, not knowing what to do with his hands. “Yes... Five men. At the bridge...”

The Smith-mother finally turned to face me. The dark-skinned woman had green eyes like the grass sprouts one can only see in rare spring days. But the wrinkles under her eyes showed that she had seen more winters than springs.

“And what about that?”, she asked, pointing her hammer at me.

“We found him by the Ravencairn, mother. Camping. Claims to be passing through.”, mumbled Temir.

She circled the anvil so she was able to work the iron and face me. She made sure to speak between hammer blows.

“Passing through where?”

“North.”, I said.

“No luck there.” She smiled, laying the hammer to rest on the anvil and reheating the iron bar in the embers of the forge. “My name is Cortina, I’m Smith-mother of Greenhome.” I made a point to bow my head slightly. (roll NPC, settlement trouble (broken truce) and settlement name). “Pierce’s men, from Swordhall, have been harassing all that come and try to cross the bridge over (roll) Graycliff Ravine, north of our weld. They are strangling what little commerce we have. You either pay heavily, fight your way through, or go around the Ravine.”

I could not help an angry grunt coming from inside my grinding teeth. “And how long will that take?”

“Three days east. Four days southwest.”, answered Glain.

Long groan...

Cortina eyed me with amusement.

“In the Ironlands,” she said, “we should lean on each other. You cannot bend two iron bars if they are bound together.”

I crossed my arms, knowing where she was going. “You should bind yourself with your neighbours from Swordhall. Not me.”

Cortina took the reheated iron bar from the forge and began to hit it again, speaking in between “CLANGS!” once more. “We have been the anvil in this fight for too long now. And Swordhall has been the hammer. We need to strike back before talking of peace, or it will never last.”

I did not have time for this.

“Do you need something, Smith-mother? Is this going anywhere?”

She smiled.

“If you took some of my men to that bridge, spilled some Swordhall blood on it, we could convince Pierce that it is too costly for him to keep choking us. Our most prized possession are our people.”

“Why have you not done that yourself before?”

She looked at a wooden box filled with broken swords. “We tried. It did not workout well. You look like the sharp edge our swords are lacking.”

I took a deep breath. Knowing that there are always choices in lesser evils, I slowly reached for the head of Gnash, my axe. And while touching the iron, I said: “Very well. I’ll cut through your cage. This, I vow.”

(Swear An Iron Vow: weak hit).

What have I got myself into? In order to keep moving forward, it seems I will have to kick my way open.

Cortina puffed her chest, as if sensing a change in the air and roared: “Iron Will!”

“Iron bound!” everyone answered.

I, however, did not.