[center][h1][b][u]The Forgeguard[/u][/b][/h1][/center]

[hr]

The shriek of Coldforged Ice rang out, as two giants clashed.

It was a sparring match, to test out their new weapons - which had been made blunt, of course, in order to prevent injury. Ivar, tall and broad-shouldered, with his long black hair and short beard, grinned confidently as he stood off against Leske, a stubbled blond-haired man with an almost permanent smirk etched on his face. Like all Jotnar men, they each wore nothing save a furry loincloth. The two stepped back from each other, sizing the other up. A small crowd of perhaps a dozen or so forgeguard had gathered, watching with interest.

"So I'm thinking," Ivar said, as they stared each other down, "that it's all about footwork."

And with those words he stepped forward. Leske raised his sword, and three quick exchanges ensued as attacks and counter-attacks were made, until suddenly Ivar darted to the right. He narrowly avoided a lunge from Leske, and responded with a lunge of his own, stopping just before Leske's shoulder.

Leske's smirk dipped into a frown, and as Ivar pulled the sword away, the shorter man sprang to action. He swung high, aiming for Ivar's shoulder, and as Ivar moved his blade to block, he suddenly changed course and swatted Ivar's leg. "No fancy footwork there," Leske's smirk returned, as Ivar glared at him, "just a bit of deception."

"Aye," Ivar nodded grudgingly as they once more backed away from each other. "But try that again, now that I'm ready for it."

Once again they advanced upon each other, swords clashing and shrieking, occasionally breaking apart before moving in once again. After one particularly fierce exchange, Ivar swung high at Leske's head. Rather than block or parry the blow outright, Leske instead avoided it, dropping to one knee. While doing so he scooped a fistful of snow in his offhand, then flung it up into Ivar's face.

Ivar reeled backward, more shocked than anything else, while Leske leapt to his feet, swinging upward into Ivar's groin. As Ivar let go of his weapon and slumped to the ground, the observers groaned or shook their heads in disapproval. Leske's smirk remained... until Ivar wiped the snow from his eyes, and with an expression of pure fury he shot forward, slamming into Leske's midsection. The two hit the snow, and Ivar began to rain punches down, Leske fending off the attacks with his own hands. A few viewers cheered, but most exchanged uncertain glances - this was no longer a sparring match, but a brawl.

"Both of you! Enough!" Wulfgar's distant voice cut through Ivar's rage.

Ivar immediately got off of Leske, rising to his feet and turning to face Wulfgar. Leske rose a moment later, spitting a bloody tooth onto the ground and rubbing his jaw. Both wore expressions of varying anger and frustration, but Wulfgar had been their chieftan before they came here, and so neither hesitated to obey.

Wulfgar walked up to the pair until he was mere feet away. "We asked you," he snarled, looking from Ivar's eyes to Leske's, "to practice techniques with these weapons. Yet here you are trying to kill each other, with your weapons abandoned in the snow!"

"We [i]were[/i] practicing," Leske interjected, "until this fool lost his temper."

"Craven idiot," Ivar cursed. "Can't beat anyone in a straight fight, can you?"

"In a fight for my life, I'd do whatever it took to win," Leske retorted. "Nothing less."

"If you can't win a fake fight without cheating, how do you expect to win a real one?" Ivar demanded.

"It's not cheating to-" Leske began.

"Enough!" Wulfgar snapped. "You're meant to be practicing, not squabbling. If you can't work with each other, then we'll give the job to someone else. Take a break, and then get back to your duty."

Both men growled at that, but nodded. They retrieved their weapons, and parted ways. The crowd dispersed uncertainly. It was very rare for the jovial moods of Leske or Ivar to be fouled. They were from the same tribe, and had always been friends - to see them angry at each other was jarring indeed.

[hr]
Wulfgar stepped inside the tower, which was empty save for his three co-chieftans.

"How did it go?" Ralof asked, turning to face him.

"Poorly," Wulfgar grumbled. "They practiced well enough, at first. But things turned sour when they had a disagreement over conduct."

"Oh?" Asvald wondered.

"Leske threw some snow and went for the groin," Wulfgar said. "A smart move, but Ivar lost his temper and started a brawl."

Ingrid frowned. "Of course he was angry. It's not a real fight; Leske didn't need to do that."

"Maybe we should place some sort of code on how duels are to be fought?" Ralof suggested. "Prevent misunderstandings, or bad blood."

"It depends on how close to a real fight we're trying to make it," Wulfgar pointed out. "We're going to be handing these weapons out soon, and if they are turned against us, we'll need to be ready for the real thing. Sharp edges, life or death, anything goes."

Ingrid frowned. "We won't put up much of a fight if half of us are bruised from training injuries and angry at the other half over it," she pointed out.

"Maybe," Wulfgar conceded. "Hand out more weapons. Blunt ones, of course. See how the others take to sparring. Could just be those two who can't keep calm."

[hr]

[hider=Summary]
The Forgeguard have made blunted weapons from Coldforged Ice. We are introduced to two new characters: Ivar and Leske, who have been tasked with testing the weapons out. They're trying out different methods, with Ivar winning, but then Leske decides to fight dirty. The sparring match becomes a brawl, which is broken up by Wulfgar.

Wulfgar then goes back to the other chieftans, and they consider putting some sort of code of conduct on duels and sparring matches.
[/hider]

[hider=Prestige]
[u]The Forgeguard[/u]
[b]Beginning Prestige:[/b] 2
+1 for minor role.
+1 for major role.
[b]Ending Prestige:[/b] 4
[/hider]