[i]"An' they called him the broken king,
 of his wound they would sing!
 Broken and beaten, his throne he still kept,
 while in the north his stolen sister wept.
 What in this world can't be fought for?
 Changing the past and taking the north!"[/i]

He let loose a booming laugh, swaggering between the tables, the echoes of his surprisingly rich singing voice echoing in what had suddenly become silence. Lorgan Orgreson watched the wave of bewilderment sweep over the supping southerners and noted the wry smiles on the face of his northern brothers. They had a saying, in the village he was from. 'There is no festivity without some controversy.' He couldn't remember who said it, but the massive man had taken the mantra to heart. That is not to say that he purposefully made a scene at whatever feast or wedding he attended, but it would seem to most that trouble followed the drunken ogre. The lass on his shoulder kicked a few times, giggling, feigning a fight. She was nearly as drunk as he, a pretty, blushing lass that smelled of southern flowers and the sweet, subtle acidity of wine. He was fairly certain she wasn't a lady of any sorts, yet this was more than made up for by her supple curves and bright eyes.

 "What," he called out to the assemblage, his eyebrows arched in question, "in the bleeding hells are ye all looking at? It's just a song." The query was accompanied by a wide, toothy smile and the rumbling of his chest as he let loose a laugh. Rolling his shoulder, he dropped the girl into his waiting arms. "Come, Lyarili, let us feast in honor of the coming peace!" Lorgan carried the girl to the noble's table and sat, adjusting her that so she would sit upright in his lap. Still, he towered over her and she sat there; blushing and smiling and nuzzling herself against the large man as she got comfortable. Gone was his armor and axe, replaced by a ragged tunic of gray and black trousers. He eyed the food with great interest, observing the strange southern treats with more than a bit of enthusiasm. The girl gathered food onto the plate, seemingly oblivious to the scorning eyes upon her from the other tables and made certain to pile it high.

 "Aye, ye'r a good lass. Be sure to get the meat. What is a feast without some meat. I hope these southerners can cook better than they can fight."