Thenn

[Tanguy the Lucky]

Tanguy's brow rose like two thick hair catepillars staring each other down. "Oh?" He noticed the Speaker was soon to speak too. "You first", he said, to the Speaker, "Then you. Speak now while I drink myself warm."

[Horas]

"It is only... I do not wish to question you, great Magnar, but..." The Speaker coughs, "What task is it that you need to enlist the aid of the Giants to accomplish?"

[Tanguy the Lucky]

"Cracking ice, Speaker. Cracking a mountain of ice." He smiled widely and raised the mug of beer to his mouth, draining its contents, and doing the same with a second mug.

[Ollie]

"He wants what every man wants," the hooded man replied. "Strength."

[Tanguy the Lucky]

"I already have, stranger. Only the Old Gods are infinite in their strength though... so I must acquire the most power in the most forms." He watched the hooded man. "Throw down your hood, stranger."

[Ollie]

The man made no such move to move to comply, but instead fetched a knife from within his sleeve. For a moment, the blade hovered in his hand as if he meant to move it against someone, but instead the dagger found the piece of wood that had also appeared in his hands. It was white and smooth as satin, and the bark yielded easily under the carving knife to reveal a blood red pulp beneath.

"Bringing the giants to your cause is much like acquiring sharp steel. You have a blade, but it means nothing so long as your are without the knowledge to wield it."

[Tanguy the Lucky]

Tanguy's voice now began to boom with frustration, "I repeat, who are you stranger?", he queried, cautious of men who wielded steel instead of bronze or stone.

[Ollie]

The hooded man said nothing, continuing the whittle away at the bark in his hands. The piece was made narrower, until all the remained was a straight stick of white and red, with a misshapen lump at one end. His dagger was sharp, steel glinting cold in the torchlight, and quickly ate away at the thing in his hands. Finally, after a few final nicks, the man folded the dagger into his sleeve, and tossed what he had carved to the Magnar. It was a tiny trident, no larger than a dagger, yet the wooden tines were immaculately crafted. There were red carvings down the shaft, and though the thing was small, they three cut pattern that dotted the handle were no doubt faces.

"I am a seer of the Gods' will," he replied, simply.

[Tanguy the Lucky]

"You are a southerner", Tanguy said with much disdain. Jeon looked over the man with some more respect now, he had recognized the accent and understood the man's carving.

"What is this?", Tanguy asked, holding up the bark.

"It is a trident, Magnar", Jeon said, without averting his gaze from the bark. "It is a weapon of the southern men. House Reed specifically."

[Ollie]

"House Reed is gone, disappeared into onto their crannogs and into their swamp to be forgotten," he informed the second man, his gaze undecernable from beneath the shadow of his hood.

[Tanguy the Lucky]

"I am impressed by your ability to reach the Thenn unscathed stranger, but you are a Westerosi no less. Give me three reasons why I should spare your life." With one hand below the table he fingers the handle of his bronze axe.

[Ollie]

The man unfurled three worn fingers into his lap, and curled them into his palm one by one as he replied.

"Because the stronger man makes friends where the weaker man would make foes," he said, one finger down. "Because I assure you, you have nothing to gain in my death, but everything to lose," the hooded man continued, lowering a second.

"And beside," he said, closing his last finger into his fist. "Today is not the day I die."

[Tanguy the Lucky]

A hearty laugh burst from his lungs, echoing in the longhouse. "This man is too serious. Get him man drunk and then return him to me. We'll finish our conversation then."

[Ollie]

White teeth flashed in a smirk underneath the shadow of the hood, yet the man took the first drink passed to him regardless. "How does the proverb go? They say it grows so cold in the north that a man's laughter freezes in his throat, and chokes him to death," he mused over the thick ale.

[Tanguy the Lucky]

"That is not a proverb of the Thenn, and the proverbs of First Men are few and far between. I believe the phrase of which you speak must be Westerosi", Tanguy said, carefully setting down his mug.