Norrik was born in the capital city of Haense, SA19. His father, a more traditional Haense loyalist, sought to raise his son in the old ways—that of Canonisim—and was not shy to make his son learn how to fight and hunt at an early age. Being their only child, Norrik was their only chance to ensure honor was brought to the Craven name. Alongside this, his mother, whose visage and details elude his memories, tried to help him not be so brash and violent; instead, to be thoughtful of situations and to be, above all, loyal to his nation. His parents constantly wished for him to join the BSK to make a glorious and honorable living for himself, however, Norrik's passions did not exactly align with his parents, and decided to leave the place he had so long called home. No more than a youth, Norrik fled further to the north, past Norland's claims. He stopped at various settlements along the way, taking days of rest to gather himself and where he was going. As Norrik traveled, he had several run-ins with Svarlings and citizens of Norland. Despite initiate hostilities, Norrik tried to find a way to end things without fighting, but his efforts brought him many wounds and he soon abandoned giving others the benefit of a doubt. With his next encounters, he sought to strike first, reinforcing the idea of how things worked in the world. His experience, that of combat and hunting in the wilds of the north, flourished over the years. After learning of some ancient history and lore from a travelling storyteller, Norrik found a passion for seeking out ruins and such in the most dangerous of places. Recently, he heard of some regions further south to explore, ripe with ruins to delve and creatures to slay.
Adjusting the bandolier across his chest, Norrik cautiously stepped up next to the prim man. The northerner did not answer the inquiring vendor, instead casting his gaze upon the chaotic mess he stood before. Ecstatic patrons darted left to right, their unfortunate children carrying the purchased wares like a forsaken pack-mule. Criers from each of the stalls added to the cacophony of steps. Yes, it would be easy to hide when everyone around you is an boisterous nitwit.
Animals, Norrik thought to himself, letting out a long sigh before he turned to the presumed vendor at his side.
"Uh, right," the vendor spoke, adjusting his vest. "I say, Welcome! What brings you to this—?"
The northerner held up a hand, perhaps too quickly for the poor vendor nearly flinched. With the way few passerby's were looking, and now with this vendor, it seemed as if they expected Norrik to bare his 'wolf fangs' and bite their head clean off... That would be quite the sight, actually.
"I 'eard you teh first time, lad," Norrik grunted, shaking his head. The northerner breathed out in a sharp huff, his anger beginning to simmer at the blatant stupidity before him. He lowered his previously raised hand to his coin pouch, light as it was. Another dead, ambitious urchin wouldn't help Norrik's mood today, sadly. "Ehm just lookin' fer work. You know of 'a place?"
The prim vendor nodded, his insufferable smile returning. Norrik clenched his jaw. His hand twitching as if it could hear the blade sheathed at his side calling out for it, for battle.
"Yes, indeed! Just follow me right this way, er, sir," the vendor replied, turning and gesturing excessively with his arms to a location otherwise hidden beyond the bazaar. "I believe the smithy is looking for—"
Before the man could finish, Norrik grabbed the vendor's collar and socked him in the abdomen. The man crumpled, gasping in surprise. The northerner simply shrugged, patting the vendor on the shoulder.
Anger sated for the time being, Norrik spoke, "Eh was either th't or a sword to teh gut, lad."
Resuming his walk through the river of people, Norrik eyed the location the vendor had indicated, intent on making coin before he moved on in his travels.
Recommended Comments