The spray of salty foam from the sea crashed against the rocky coast of the Iron isle's wicked and twisting coast, splashing high into the sky before carefully trickling down in a soothing mist as it got swept back into the sea by the gentle autumn breeze. here on the harsh banks in the winding coast was where one of the many port towns lay: baskveil. Wooden docks reaching out into the teal water and stood on willowy legs that kept them the walkways from the crashing waters. Not a single port was open, as tonight was the return of a great lot of warriors from the nearby raid of a small town off the coast of the mainland. The heroes had returned home with meats from the fat cows and goats they slaughtered, and had managed to obtain an assortment of spiced wines and nordic meads that they happily shared among the on-goers in the tavern, knowing that the trade of fine indigo dyes and beautiful textiles they had traded for their rooms and whores was more than enough to pay for any drinks that would have come their way.

Within the tavern the booming voices of mirthful men and giggling women filled the room. Inside the blaring fire sat firmly in the center of an open area, a whole pig spitroasting over top, being spun by a small young man too young for the more risque actions of the older raiders. Though they had removed their heavy cuirass' and shirts of mail and discarded them in their rooms, the metal helmets they wore sat beside the folks and their blades and boots where still strapped to them. The group had just begun to sing when another man stepped in, wearing a green cloak over his body and a dark-eyed glare on his face as he made his way to a seat.

[i] Always ragged and bruised was old Bojak brave
scrapped his whole life since he were a knave
one day his father died and a sword he were gave
so Bojak went fighting a got crowned the brave [/i]

As they finished their song a loud roar of amusement burst through the air and everyone in the room, even the dark-eyed man rose a tankard to the air and drank. A large man in the crowd, one with a long, greying beard that was braided and covered with froth from his mead, rose as he noticed the new man in the tavern. A sneering smile came to his face as he sat his barrel-chested body down by the smaller boy. The smell of alchohol on his breath and the dizzy movements of the man came with his slurred words.

"My boy, you missed the chance of a lifetime. The town was defenseless, easy pickings, and look here" he blurted out, and everyone in the room turned to him as he unsheathed a blade from it's scabbard and revealed a long and slender blade that arched in it's back the way all sabres do. It's grip was covered in a soft black leather and the gaurd was linked to the smooth pummel by a long sheet of steel that gaurded the hand. The large man, even in his drunken stupor, held the blade with care.

"It's the burgomaster's very own blade. Even has a name: 'hearteater'. Or so said the burgomaster when he threatened to use it against me. He had a lousy arm for swords, too slow" he proclaimed with pride and bravado as the others looked on and gawked.

"I'd offer to let you touch it, but you look like a theif more than you do a warrior" He continued, causing chuckles in the crowd.

The smaller man didn't look his way, but moved to the side of his cloak and lifted in to reveal his own sheathed weapon -something particularly common in these parts- and gently lifted it to show it's shinning metal. Steel. His blade was not as long as the other mans. It was an arming sword, broad and sturdy but no more than two daggers tall. 

"I don't name pieces of metal" he responded with a short sigh. 

The other man seemed a bit surprised as he saw the weapon. He hadn't expected anyone else to have one with them, Steel blades were a rare sight in the Iron isle. What few they got between farm raids and small skirmishes often got lost at sea, in another conflict or were held up in someone's home to be properly tempered until the time came to fight. To see a young man with one almost made him mad. His voice was much less snarky now, instead curious. He poured the boy another glass of wine as he asked his question.

"When did you get that?"

"Long time ago. Won it from an old man in a tavern who tried his luck in a duel" Came a reply with a chuckle following.

To even the drunken men struggling to keep upright in their seats it was obvious this was a farce. The older man came closer to his face with a scowl now and spoke in a harsher tone.

"Is that a threat little, Milk drinker? Want to see how good your steel is against mine?" He let out in a spiteful hiss.

A pause filled the room as the smaller man downed his drink and stood, drawing his blade. The tavern girls took the cue and left the room and so did many of the men too drunk and marry to see a man die. The older man glared with a sneer, gauging the look on the boy. Suddenly he burst into a laugh, sitting back down.

"Boy! I take it back, you're not a milk drinker at all! By the huntress you've got more stones than half the men under my banner. I tell you what, you come with me on my next raid, we'll get you a sword twice the size of your little dagger there. What do you say?" He shouted aloud in a jolly tone under his wheezing chortle. 

The other boy smiled and sheathed his blade and he nodded his head to the man's idea as he calmly sipped on his drink. He cleared his throat before he spoke, making sure his voice was loud enough for the whole room to clear.

"perhaps another time, sir. I'm currently looking to stay here, making wages off of odd jobs if you're in need of something of the sort, however" He responded with a clearity to his low and honeyed voice that came out in a very proud way.

The old man shook his head and the drinking went on as usual. This new man introduced himself as Henryk and they chatted idolly as they drank.