NorseQuest (A Norse Xianxia)

0~0~0
"Halla?" Jon Halfdansson—the youngest son of Halfdan the Dane at only fourteen—hops to his feet as you set down before him and the rest of Halfdansby, "What're you doing here? Is there something wrong?"

Jon is on the smaller side of fourteen, much unlike his brothers Jordan and Joarr, who are both tall and strong, and this is something he seems to know well. He stands with his back as straight as possible and, if you had to hazard a guess, he likely stuffs cloth into the bottom of his boots. Jon wasn't at Halfdan's house when Swordfury attacked, as he was riding to Asvir as quickly as he could. Had you not arrived when you did, and fought as hard as you had, then Logi Firehair and the Kyrsvikings would've been the ones to save the day.

And if that had happened, Halfdan's friendship would never have been given. You wouldn't have gained a valuable ally and Asva would never have gained a good husband. Heck, Halfdan and Steinarr could have even come to blows!

"I'm here to see Halfdan, is he in?" You reckon you know where Halfdan is, but it's always a good idea to check. "And no, there's nothing the matter right now." Jon seems to deflate at that, his arms dangling before him like fruit from a tree.

"He's up in the house," one of the shepherds says as he nods to the fence-encased house on the hill, "talking with his girls about a marriage offer."

"Marriage offer?" Your brows turn inward as you quickly run through all the possible matches. With the recent influx of families, there's far too many it could be.

"Yeah, with Framarr Heavyhand," the same shepherd then extends a hand your way, "I'm Lori Loaf, I don't think we've met yet."

"Halla Sunshine," you take his hand as you suppress the instinctual frown—it wouldn't do to insult the man so soon, "and we haven't." Your eyes dart across the rest of the gathered faces, "nor have I with most of you here."

Lori Loaf is a stout man of sturdy stance and short beard. A worn axe hangs on his belt next to a well-loved work knife. Only a shepherd, he's far enough down on the social pecking order that he surely lacks the funds to acquire much in the way of fighting strength, so his weapons and tools are likely inheritance of some sort.

Soon after you shake Lori Loaf's hand, the rest of the fishing men take turns introducing themselves and shaking your hand. There's the three huskarls that accompanied Halfdan in the ambush, four farmhands that seem to spend most of their time looking after the horses, and two shepherds—apparently there's a third, but he's out watching the sheep.

Starting with the three you've met before, the first huskarl to shake your hand is Haggar Wormwood. Having gained his kenning from the wormwood woven into his beard, he's accompanied by the oddly medicinal scent wherever he goes. A thick golden coin sits strapped to his shield-arm's bicep, a trophy he'd apparently won in a bet with a Geatish King.

The second huskarl is named Rikardir Sniffles, after the frequent sneezing that afflicts him in the early summer months. He's got something of a stoop to his shoulders and is always rubbing at his red, puffy eyes in a futile attempt to wipe away the tears. A wood-handled longsax, cheaply forged but well-maintained, sits sideways in a leather sheath at the back of his belt.

The third huskarl is called Hroga Curse-Splitter, on account of the time he'd apparently chopped a shame-pole in two with the long-handled broad axe resting against his shoulder. While Rikardir just seems miserable and Haggar seems carefree, Hroga feels a great deal more cunning, like he's evaluating all threats at all times. He almost reminds you of an unsuppressed Berserk, but you don't detect a whisper of Frenzy about him.

After the huskarls come the farmhands, as is only right. The first of the four is a thin-necked man who almost resembles a bald chicken. A thick lump protrudes from his throat as it bobs up and down on his reedy form. This man is called Ragi Thin.

The next is named Tordeir Braggisson. He's quite taller than average but very thin about the shoulders, giving him the image of a ship's mast swaying in the wind. His hands are used to hard work, though, dispelling the illusion of a slender, delicate tree his form conjures up in the mind.

Third in line is a stout man with a thick belly called Rolf Boar, for the time that he once got so drunk that he'd headbutted a tree. He seems to have a cheery disposition and an ever-present smile on his red-cheeked face. You instantly like the man, for he never seems to have anything bad to say about anyone.

Last is the youngest among them—save for Jon Halfdansson himself. Unn Unnasson is his name, and he seems almost nervous to be around you though he is apparently quite skilled at convincing horses to be obedient. His eyes keep darting towards the stables as his fingers twist and turn together.

With the farmhands out of the way, then comes the last shepherd you've yet to meet—apart from the shepherd out in the pastures, of course. A Dane who'd washed up on the shore one gloomy morning, Karvi Lonsson is a rather mysterious figure. He's only staying on Halfdan's farm for a short while, as he needs some manner of residence while he figures out his situation.
All in all, just meeting the new people was more than enough socializing for you, so you bid your goodbyes and make your way to the main house on the hill.

As you stop before the door and muffled voices rise from within, you're left with an opportunity. Halfdan is inside, talking with his daughters about a potential marriage with Framarr Heavyhand. While there's plenty to dig into with how that's bad for you, it does make things a little bit awkward with what you were planning on talking to Halfdan about.

As such, you may need to re-evaluate how you want to handle this.
[ ] Write in

0~0~0
AN: Apologies if there's anything weird with this one, I wrote it during work and so I was a bit distracted at times. Sorry as well for the low quality, I'm still getting back in the saddle as it were.

No moratorium.