A Slayer Comes

The Village

The sun at last began to set between the rock formations at the other end of Rorikstead. That narrow opening where others past had laid stone and mortar to lay a road upon that jagged gate. Where many have surely fought. And many have surely died.

The sunsets retreating light beamed towards Gorm as he rode into the village. Given many a sour glare by the Vagabond Sellswords that had taken umbrage with the residents plight. Dodging the normal channels of receiving the bounty from the Jarls court. They took to Rorikstead and sought to strongarm the frightened dirt tillers into paying what ever they wanted. A stigma of Mercenaries that has widespread credence from the many that would hire them.

Gorms bone armored horse carried him calmly up the hill and to the weary inn at the top. Five of the Sellswords took up positions along the road. Intimidating the villagers and looking to bulster their headmans bargaining posture. As Gorm dismounted, he could hear an argument going on in the tavern. Heated words and hollow curses were shouted like battle cries behind the aged wood of the walls. What ever the Sellswords price, they wouldn't be able to pay. A farmer is rich in dirt. Not coin. Especially in the winter season.

As Gorm reached the steps of the inn. A tall and imposing mountain of green meat dressed in Orichalcum armor stepped out. A grin on his face was hard to see behind his cracked tusks protruding from his jaw. The Orc looked to Gorm with hostile suggestion in his eyes. "What's your business here, Nord?" The Orc Sellsword demanded of Gorm with a gruff, but collected tone.

"Right now. My business is to have a seat inside. After that. Probably a drink." Gorm replied with grim eye contact from his wolven eyes. Which the Orc was not intimidated by.

"Hm! Let's keep it at that then. Have your drink then piss off. No more swords needed here." The Orc tried to make a point to Gorm.

Gorm turned his head to look over his left shoulder at the other Sellswords. He turned back to the Orc, unimpressed. "If you say so." Gorm retorted with a cool grin running beneath his shaggy mustache.

"You watch it, Wanderer. I've eaten people with more respect than you." The Orc blazed again with his collected tone. But Gorm was unmoved. And unentertained as well.

Gorm gave a slight scoff and a grin in response as the Orc knocked his shoulder into Gorms. Attempting to knock Gorm back. But the Slayer was only slightly smaller than the Orc. And withstood the blow like the battering of a heavy wind. Noticable. But not devastating. Gorm carried on into the tavern.

The mood of the inn was heavy with a woesome dispair. The villagers had been weary already because of the Giant. Now they had to navigate the uncaring greed of the Sellswords that now practically held daggers to their necks. The absence of hope was plain to see. Gorms eyes narrowed in thought as he approached the bar.

"Shors Bones! Not another one!" The innkeeper exclaimed with impatience. "Look here, Sellsword! We've got enough to worry about without you lot coming through and leaning on us for more coin! Like I already said to your Orc friend: you want more coin? Talk to Rorik! Now leave us be!"

Gorm stood silent for a moment until the innkeepers weary eyes met his. Gorm could see what had happened in the past few days from just the wrinkles and anxiety in the innkeepers gaze. It weighed on Gorm like a boulder on his back. But he kept this feeling to himself. "I'm not here to lean on anyone. I'm here for the Giant." He said calmly.

"Well as you can plainly see. You'll have to get in line. Got them other bastards outside staking a claim on the monster." The Innkeeper said before lowering his head to rub at his brow. "Only they're not happy with the coin offered and won't go till they get a better deal."

"They been here a while?" Gorm asked.

"Two days." The Innkeeper exhaled. "Came into the area not even a day after the bounty was posted. They look like Highwaymen to me. Reckon that's why they're here to talk about the coin and not in Whiterun."