The Skirling Pass

[Horas]

The largest pass through the Frostfangs. A modest group of warbands have assembled at its mouth to hear the words of the man who calls himself King Gangriss Crowsbane.

[Ollie]

With his heavy woolen cloak drawn tight about his shoulders, the hooded man makes his way through the northern chill to the glimmering of torchlight in the distance. He carries no visible weapons, but the long linen-wrapped object slung across his back leaves little to the imagination.

[Horas]

The camp is noticably lacking sentries, or much organization of any sort for that matter. It is not until Olivan has passed into the circle of torchlight that a fur-clad man shouts, "Hey, who are you?"

[Ollie]

"I don't answer to you," Olivan spoke, unwavering in both his gaze and gait. That was was all the reply the man received as the hooded man continued into the heart of the camp.

[Horas]

The man hastily swears and gets to his feet while other wildlings laugh at him.

"Hey!" he shouts, "Get the fuck back here!" Olivan can hear the sound of a sword being unsheathed behind him.

[Ollie]

The hooded man stops and turns at the sound of the blade, but makes no move to reach for a weapon, or even defend himself. "I told you -- I don't answer to you," he repeated, taking the measure of the man.

[Horas]

The man is maybe in his late twenties, short and flaxen haired. He waves his sword in front of him, a short, sharp thing of the cheapest sort of iron.

"I'm keeping watch here, and you don't go past unless I say so!" he shouts.

[Ollie]

"You're not keeping watch so long as you're accosting me, are you?" he prompted. "Say I go past, so that you can return to your warm fire and keep watch. Crowsbane would be wroth if you abandoned your post, I wager."

[Horas]

The man blinks. "You... who are you?" he repeats stupidly, obviously not quite sure what else to do.

[Ollie]

"Have you seen others like me?" he asked, and before the man could stammer out a response, continued, "No? Then there is no need to differentiate between me and another you might think to be me, for there is only me, who I am. You can see that I am tall, broad of shoulder, and wear a hood. Any of those will suit to know who I am.

[Horas]

The man blinks and gapes, then slowly lowers his sword.

"Let him through, Pyg," another voice booms throughout encampment. Its owner is a tall and broad chested man with a head as bald as an egg and a beard down to his waist.

The man grins. "I'm Gangriss Crowsbane. You looking for me, Stranger?"

[Ollie]

"That I am, Crowsbane" he affirmed. "I trust you would find no slight in sitting with a man from beyond the Wall?"

[Horas]

Crowsbane grins, revealing a mouth of broken teeth. "A Southron, eh? Any man is welcome by my fire so long as he has a story to tell, Stranger."

[Ollie]

"I have stories," the hooded man assured. "But they'll cost you more than a night by your fire."

[Horas]

Gangriss snorts. "Mayhap you value your stories too much, Southron."