[i]Crunch[/i], [i]crunch[/i], [i]crunch[/i]. Durin sighed. Snow, snow as far as the eye could see. The Dwarf had somehow managed to find his way to the country of Itari, right in the dead middle of winter. There was snow as far as the eye could see, barren trees poking out here and there providing a break from what appeared to be an endless expanse of snow. Durin paused, glancing around, hoping to see some sort of landmark or city or town or [i]something[/i] to break the monotony of the snow. Seeing nothing, Durin continued forward, glad that Dwarves were usually hardy creatures, as he was sure that most lesser creatures would have succumbed to the numbing cold by now. 

As he travled, Durin thought back as to how and why he'd found himself in Itari. As a traveling mercenary, Durin certainly had built a bit of a reputation as a man who completed his missions. After resting in a small town in one of the southern countries, he'd heard that there was a lord in Itari offering gold for Goblin and Orc heads. Now, while Durin (and most Dwarves in general) were generally accepting of some of the races, Orcs and Goblins tended to be a different story. Durin himself had only met a handful of both races that he cared for, and could count them on one hand. 

As Durin paused to again attempt to find some sort of landmark, a disturbance in the snow caught his attention. Turning around, Durin was met with a blow to his shoulder, knocking him down. Durin hastily rolled with the blow, using the momentum to wind up back on his feet. Drawing his weapons, Durin eyed his opponent. [color=9e0b0f][i]Orc.[/i][/color] The creature guffawed at him, brandishing his blade. Durin knew that the blow he suffered had cut skin, but assessing the damage could wait. This orc was an ugly creature, by Durin's standards. The orc had greenish-gray skin that was riddled with scars. Durin knew that this orc was one that was highly respected in his tribe, perhaps even a leader of some sorts. He was twice the height of the dwarf mercenary, at around six feet tall. That would explain the jeering look on his opponent's face. 

Durin moved in with a speed that belied his bulk, aiming for a blow to his opponent's midsection. The orc tried to counter-attack with an overhead swing, but was blocked by Durin's short sword. He moved inside the orc's reach, managing to score a light cut on the stomach, though the blow was lessened by the orc's heavy clothing, likely due to the cold climate. The dwarf lunged forward, this time aiming for a leg, but the orc was smarter than that, leaping back and countering with a blow that met Durin's own counterattack. The two pushed against each other's blades, before breaking contact. 

Again and again, the two clashed blades, each seeking to injure the other, While Durin seemed to be taking more hits, his leather and chainmail armor made the blows seem pointless. On the other hand, the two other blows that Durin scored in the next few minutes had more of an effect, with the orc having a second, larger cut on his stomach, and one on his leg that hampered his movement. As the orc attacked with an overhead swing, Durin blocked, holding his longsword perpendicular, and stabbed the warm with his knife. The orc dropped his weapon and howled in pain, which didn't last long as Durin, with a jump and an overhead swing, plunged his sword in to the heart of the orc.

Both bodies fell over, with the dwarf on top. Durin pulled his sword out of the orc's body, and proceeded to lop its head off with a couple of powerful blows. The dwarf stood panting, and assessed his wounds. For the most part, he was uninjured, with only a few light cuts here and there. It appeared that the first blow that caught him off guard had managed to draw blood, though the wound could wait. 

Durin used the cloth the orc had been wearing to fashion a crude sack that he covered the head in, tying it to his traveling pack. He then used the snow to clean his blades. After all, dirty blades became dull ones, even with superior smithing skills. After another hour or so of travel, Durin found himself outside of a small village, which he presumed was Resui. 

The village was just that, a small village from what he could tell. There was one discernable entrance form the side he was on, and he presumed there were others. Other than that, there was a wooden wall, with guards visibly patrolling the walls. Since he was facing the rising sun, Durin knew that the soldiers had seen him coming from the west. As he approached, he was met by a guard. 

"Halt! What is your business in Resui?" the guard asked him. Durin eyed the man. He didn't seem to be heavily armed, but perhaps it was because this was a small village. He looked like only something truly fearsome could intimidate him, perhaps after years of experience. Durin nodded. [color=9e0b0f]"My name is Durin Redfire. I'm a travelling mercenary. I've heard word that your lord is paying gold for orc heads. I happen to have one right here. Riddled with scars, so he's seen combat. Figured I'd turn it in and see if there is any other sort of work around here. I mean no harm to your peaceful village."[/color] 

The guard considered him for a moment longer, before letting him in. "The Jarl lives there. You'll have to ask to see him." the guard said, pointing to what appeared to be a longhouse. Durin nodded, heading that way. Along the way, he passed by a smith, surprised to see an orc hammering away at the metal. Saying nothing, Durin continued on, before asking to seek an audience with the Jarl, indicating the crude sack he had, stating it was an orc head. The guard nodded before heading in to inform the Jarl of the visitor who claimed to have an orc head.