When In Midvinter

[Lief]

Thainbroek​

Midvinter​

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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZDt3jeXGfDU​

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"See that, I told you."

Stood before the crackling fires of a fiercely hot forge, he looked to his son with an obvious smirk. Before them, on the warm stone tile that lay just before the anvil, a name had been scratched by a careless boy. Joramyr.

"I got quite the beating when the old smith saw it, wasn't even worth it in the end. Now, I may be a great many things, boy, but liar to my own sons? Never."

Ruffling the blonde haired boy's hair gently, he made a gesture with his head that bade the boy to follow and set off back through the old workshop. The sun had broken across the distant mountaintop barely an hour ago, soon it would be midday and what did they have to show for their morning? Very little.

"Come, we'll find you something to eat before you meet with the young Prince. Don't forget your manners, mind, he'll be your King one day, lad."

While the sun was never particularly warm, it was bright today. Enough to give the old man pause. He rubbed his eye, and blinked a couple of times, before continuing across the street. As ever Thorrand was quiet, his eyes zipped left and right to take in all the sights of the Capital. He'd never seen a place quite so big, and he was likely never going to see one larger.

"You should find a few things to take back to Meri and Threign, they'd give anything to be standing here right now." Sadly duties back in Valsten kept them from traveling South; if his son was to learn how to govern the Hold he needed to be present, and Joramyr would be hard pressed to keep the twins parted for very long. Connected by an unseen rope, he always said. Gods help them when it came time to marry.

 

[Adron Malvern]

The Lord of the Northern Mountains. The Count of the chilled stone. The Lord of the North.

The titles gifted to the Count of House Malvern whose home resides in the icy mountain ranges on Serenno. To come to a planet such as Midvinter was to leave such titles back where he had come from. For here, there were surely many lords of the North, and here the North was slightly colder then that of Adron's mountains.

He walked through the capitol, his eyes running over the many shops and kiosks that were available to those whom were in need of food, weapons, medicine, and clothing. He could hear the roaring flames of the forge, the soft pinch of the needle, and the hard cuts of the butcher's knife. This civilization was not primitive, it merely had all it needed.

The Count pulled his cowl over his head, hiding his face from the cool breeze that swept over the streets. He turned, stepping into a smithing shop, the smell of burnt wood and fresh metals filling his nostrils. A smile came to his face as he glanced over the weaponry laid out before him. An older man, grizzled and skinny, yet with arms that showed the muscle definition of a rock made his way over to the Count.

"May I help you, Young Lord?" He asked, hobbling over to the man's side.

Adron shook his head, glancing over to the man. "No thank you, I am merely taking a look at your work my friend." He said, giving the man all the leave he required to return to his counter.

[member="Joramyr Varamund"]

 

[Lief]

There were always stores and stands within the streets, merchants yelling their wares for all to hear. Midvinter had no currency, the very concept of such was entirely foreign to them, instead they bartered. Who decided the worth of a product or a service? Those buying into it, of course. Everyone had a different idea of what things were worth, and thankfully the good people of this land knew honour for the most part. They weren't the kind to rob a man blind.

Stepping into one of the small taverns, which was dark and hazy when compared to the day which was taking shape outside, Joramyr could not help but cough a little. Apparently this establishment was not particularly well vented, for a light smoke lingered in the air. So too did the delightful scent of roasting meat.

"Go on lad, find a seat."

Not needing much more instruction than that, his young son hurried off to find one of the corner booths while his aging father slowly followed suit. He made a gesture to the bar of two fingers, indicating how many would be sitting to eat this day, before finding his seat alongside the boy. Neither were fussy, there weren't menus to glance over, or really much choice, so when the barkeep came with two hot steaming bowls of stew they took them happily and began to eat.

"I'll have one of the alk from our hunt sent your way," he said, recalling the quarry they had brought down on the road to Thainbroek. Truth be told that prize was worth a lot more than a couple of bowls of stew and mead but he didn't care. There were always more alk to track, the land was littered with them. Besides, he and his men needed to practice the hunt. Their lives depended on it.

[member="Adron Malvern"] [member='Xiarr Sair']