The Elder Scrolls

The great merchant longship cut through the placid waters in the thick of night. Snow fell gently and slicked the deck, illuminated by the crackling blaze of the torch sconces and the silver moonlight.

A young Nord with an already thick red-brown beard looked over starboard, leaning his weight on his longaxe to steady him. He had neglected to mention his lack of experience out on the water when receiving the first half of his blood-coin as security on the virgin ship's voyage. His legs shuddered and his stomach churned with the rocking. Sea sickness was not his only means of discomfort - this was an Empire vessel, and none of his company was of his own blood but for his last friend who had signed up for the job alongside him.

"They're all abed now." said Oleksondair, approaching Woskir to hand him his ration of mead for the night in a clay mug. He looked over the sparse company of deckswabs and other guardsmen. "Below deck, I mean."
Woskir was quiet, removing one hand from the support of his axe to take the mug and a long drink. His expression, while nordicly stoic, was mixed and upset.
"I don't like the captain."
"It is not a long journey."
"I don't like the crew."
Olek laughed. "You will live."";

Woskir was soon to find out that he and his companion were not the only nords on the ship. One mans presence had kept the crew on edge and irritable for most of the trip, though it hadn't been obvious, given that crew men were often fairly abrupt anyway.

A rather lean young man of about 25, a little pathetic in strength by Nord standards, but by far not without muscle, stepped out from the cabin. A gold and emerald circled adorned his head as if to flaunt his status as a Jarl's son to the world and about his fingers, numerous golden rings, some with diamonds in. His clothes were grand and a mixture of forest green and gold embroidery to match the deep green of his eyes. His hair was neatly tied back into a loose plait and his facial hair was a laughably neat little patch of goatee, trimmed to perfection on the edge of his angular chin.

Despite it being late, the Nord seemed to have only just made an appearance after an entire day hauled up in his private quarters above deck feeling sick and sorry for himself as the ship had rocked and swayed him. Finally having woken up from a long nap he walked with a straight back and a tilted back chin across the deck, warm cape wrapped tightly about his form as he moved over towards the starboard side of the ship a fair distance away from the other two Nords whom he didn't seem to have noticed yet.

Vandir let out a cold breath against the bitter night air and leaned over the edge of the ship with his eyes closed, running a hand over his face and taking a few deep breaths as if he felt a wave of sickness hit him. "Hnghh." he groaned when he thought no one was near enough to hear him and simply leaned there like that.

Woskir's hot breath steamed out through his mug of mead as he drank. When it was empty he left it along the rail. The comrade pair watched the sea for a while, one of them in quiet appreciation and one of them trying to steady his sickness.

"... Look at this one." Oleksondair broke silence. When Woskir turns his attention, Olek nods towards the third Nord crossing the deck.
"Do you know him?"
"He has the look of wealth." said Olek, shaking his head, and then chuckling deeply. "... So no."

"Hail, High-Born." calls Woskir after the two watch Vandir for a moment, hoping for his attention. "Share your company with your own. We did not know we had brethren here."

Vandir lifted his head as he heard a strong nordic greeting passed his way. He looked over at the two men with shadowed eyes and pasty pale skin, though upon realizing there were two of his own race on the ship he stood up a little straighter but other than that, did not show too much gratitude right out that these two were here.

"I had rather started to think that there were no other Nord's on the vessel." he droned snobbishly as he slowly made his way towards them with attempted graceful steps. Obviously he was feeling dizzy because every step made him wobble and reach for the side of the ship for support.

He flicked his eyes over Olek and then back towards Woskir with a disapproving look, as if their appearances were simply not up to his standards. "ah..." he cleared his throat "state your names."

Woskir turned to face their approaching company, propping his axe against the rail of the ship as well as laying a hand there for support. Olek stepped up beside Woskir. The younger, red-haired Nord squinted sideways at his friend after their names had been demanded.

"I am Oleksondair Longbeard, son of Olandir Longbeard; I am Olekval Ember-Headed; I am Olek, my new friend." The warrior Nord bowed his head after introducing his several names. He extended his arm to clap wrists and shake.

Woskir's eyes trailed down the nobleman slowly as his friend spoke, observing every rich detail with a distant expression. Olek finished, and there was a pause of silence before the young man fixed his attention.
"... I am Woskir Blood-Tongue." says he lowly, with little pride on his voice.

Vandir turned to the side as if to move his shaking arm away from Olek, frowning at him in a 'don't you dare touch me' sort of way, as if a bad smell had crept up his nose.

After a moment he adjusted his collar and cleared his throat. "Blood-Tongue?" he said questioningly and regarded Woskir with suspicion, moreso after the lack of pride in his voice "Perhaps your words have brought the deaths of many? Mayhap you could explain."

Olekval squinted at the shunning of the custom and he straightened his back, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest.
Woskir was noticeably pained with his name stressed. The time of a full inhale, and a foggy exhale passed, and it became hard for him to hold met eyes. "Not many," he said, "just one."

The young red-hair was dressed only in furs and skins, with his axe beside him, but his comrade had earned himself pieces of boiled leather armor around his clothes and on his belt was sheathed a Nordic sword. It could be decided that these men were hired mercenaries aboard the ship, not merchants, or boarded passengers.

"I told a petty lie, High-Born, and it slew my blood-brother." Woskir's voice is encumbered with shame, but it is determined. "I have left home before my rite, and I seek my redemption in battle should I ever return."

Vandir's lips drew a tight line across his face as he looked uncomfortable, unsympathetically so too. "Well, it's always comforting to learn that you are on a ship with a murderer." he said venomously with a scrunch of distaste appearing at the side of his nose.

He gave Olek a sharp look as if picking up on the mans irritation and not much caring for it. Eyes flickered back to Woskir "Then you'd best hope you redeem yourself before your last breath, hadn't you? Sovengarde holds no place for you until then." and with that he turned on his heel and walked away. The ship swayed however and he quickly grabbed for the edge a few feet away (back where he had been standing before) and looked over the edge with a retch and a groan followed by complacent muttering about the ship and its crew.

Olek uncrossed his arms and fisted his hands. Woskir narrowed his brows and stared coldly at the noble well after the man left. Olek shook his head and tried to let it go by turning the other way. "That disgraceful runt speaks of Sovngarde."
"I want to hit him with my axe."
"Aye."
Woskir gives a sideways glance at the acknowledgement, lifting his brows in question to confirm the blessing. Oleksondair shakes his head and Woskir frowns, drooping his shoulders.

The Grace of Kynareth rocks considerably over the waves that ebb off of the new terrain of icy crags jutting from the sea. Woskir rehumbles himself by grasping onto the railings with too much desperation.
The ship cuts into icier waters and moves through heavy fogs that hang around the crags, and for moments at a time it is difficult for the crew to fully see each other.

Vandir stayed arrogantly ignoring the two nord's with his arms folded on the side of the ship. The first major rock of the ship caused him to suddenly grab the railings and look panic stricken.

The rocking that followed churned the small meal he'd managed within his stomach and he started to pale and finally as the fog rolled in he let it go, heaving loudly over the side of the ship and spluttering, coughing and generally making gross sounds that would no doubt amuse those who realized it was him.

Oleksondair's weight naturally distributes through bending knees and it appears as though he stands entirely straight through the quaking. He claps Woskir on the back twice, as the young man slowly tries to stand fully again. Some chuckling between them is the beginning to conversation but it cuts as they hear retching. They look to the source, finding it the direction their new friend had just departed. The deck of the ship echoed and bounced their hearty laughter loudly, and they were there looking at Vandir when the first fog wave passed.

"It must be a shame, losing such a surely lavish meal to the sea, High-Born!" calls Olek, heckling.

Vandir quickly stood up straight as he was called to, not noticing the slight speck of bile on his trimmed goatee. He glared over at Olek pompously, almost looking as if he were ready to throw a punch before realizing the man would easily best him.

"I've no idea what you're talking about." he seethed snobbishly and tilted his head back to look out to sea, slowly going white as a sheet once more as he felt his stomach churn further. He swallowed dramatically, causing his Adam's apple to bob but kept as solid a face as he could without giving too much away.

Olek took a step closer, and he crossed his arms at his chest after wiping his own chin in casting suggestion. "Face it, High-Born, you no sailor." His voice bellows antagonizingly. "You have lost your inborn sea-legs to cushioned chairs. I would bet my work's pay you are on this ship to attend a party, but you are afraid to ride and you would die if you smelled a horse's arse. I am sorry, the sea- she's not so easy, either."
Woskir chuckles, lifting his axe as a walking stick and taking his empty clay mug in hand, stepping closer to stand beside his friend. He is no sailor either, his first time on a ship, but he manages to learn at some pace at least.

Vandir's scowl grew darker. The adrenaline that started to pump around his enraged body subsided the sickness for the time being. He pushed away from the railings and turned to face Olek and Woskir, glaring rather directly at Olek.

"Oh don't worry, peasant, i can smell plenty of horse shit on you. So that is certainly not the case." he said cooly and squinted at the man with challenge in his arrogant eyes.

Woskir gave a look to Olek at the challenge, but the larger, older man waited not to accept it. He strode evenly across the slick deck of the ship, slowing as he finished his approach, and meaning to stand chest-to-chest with Vandir. If the nobleman stayed his ground, Oleksondair stood there imposingly with squared shoulders, leaning close enough to exhale his hot fog breath onto Vandir's face.
"Show me, High-Born. Show me you have earned your wealth."

One might think such a challenge, such disrespect would provoke an immediate attack. Vandir however looked briefly like he might soil his loin cloth.

Expression went from hard to extremely concerned and beady eyed in the space of a few seconds. He quickly steeled his expression again and stood up tall, pushing his chest back against Olek's challengingly.

"You'll regret this" the noble said sourly and after brief thought he did the first thing that ...'came to his head'. He swung his head forwards to headbutt the all too close nord in front of him, hoping dearly that his circlet would do extra damage and protect him in the process.

Vandir's crown connects with Olek's, but Oleksondair is already moving his head away and no great impact is made. There is a suggestion of a 'hrmph' from his throat- he coils his body backwards by moving his right leg back and transferring his weight to it in a dual-purpose manner: a chance to put Vandir off-balance as he could fall into some of the empty space, and to give him weight as he rocks back forwards to smash his own skull into the noble's.

Vandir was distracted only for seconds with trying to regain his failing balance when the nord's skull connected with his and made his head swing back from the impact. He hit the deck, landing heavily on his back with the world spinning around him.

Without thinking his first reaction was to try and swing a kick blindly for Olek's feet, to try and throw him over. successful or not he'd clumsily start to crawl away, hardly able to hold himself as the shock from the blow to the head still having an affect on him.

Meanwhile, the ship started to pass through another thick patch of fog, this one longer than the last. Groans of disappointment rose from the crowd of crew members that had been walking over to watch the battle and call out to the fighters.

Oleksondair's heavy blow cut the flesh of his forehead open upon Vandir's circlet jewels.
The Nords had forgotten that this was not a Nord ship, and heavy sparring was not something to raise a glass to. When the body hit the ground and echoed a heavy thud into the lower cabins - when the crowd of deckswabs and other mercenaries began to offer their applause in cheer and groaning - the undercrew began to stir, unbeknownst to the brawlers.

Olekval's legs were solidly planted with bent knees to weather the rocking of the ship, and the skull-jarred kick did little to shake him. His countenance was stiff and grim until the fog obscured his view - his focus was broken for a moment, and he looked up to acknowledge the corral of onlookers, and he shoved a fist in the air, and he grinned as blood trickled down his face.
Woskir responds with an airward fist and a bellowing shout - something that would be echoed if the crowd were their own.
Olek bends down into the thick of the fog and he gropes around to grab a hold of Vandir's rich clothing, and he makes to drag him closer towards the main cabin where the roaring torches cut away the fog.