Sigurd Olafson's Story

One of the most remarkable things about the city of Windcrest was the strange visitors and even residents, they never ceased to amuse Sigurd, even as an adult it made him laugh. With the upcoming elections and rumours of something going on with his father and weapons, it'd make him somewhat excited.

Sigurd saw the two adventurers and the collection of orphans that'd made the town so lively on these cold days, well apart from the drunk locals and the giant smith. Sigurd tucked his furred helmet under one arm and made his way over to them, his face a mask of grim displeasure.

"Thee fo fum, who let these midgets into the city? Orphans, was it you?" Sigurd growled, looking down at them with raised eyebrows and bending down. "No!" Some of them cried. "No! So I shouldn't grind your bones for my bread?" Sigurd replied. "NO!" They echoed again. "Oh okay then." Sigurd grinned and cracked a wide toothy smile, offering his helmet to one of the children.

The giant of a man stood back up and looked to both Adriaan and Cinaed. "I only know of one man who holds such sway with street urchins, the other is unknown to me." The half giant held out his hand to Cinaed first: If he took it, he'd swing the smaller man into a tight bear hug. Any friend of the Orphans was bound to get such treatment.

It was on a trip by the way that a young Mongolian girl began to patter by the orphanage, heavy boots trudging through the snow. She pulled up her skirts, beneath which were thick pants, trying to make her way. A racket made its way to her ears- the laughter of children and the drone of conversation. And, of course, the unmistakable roar-

"Sigurd?"

The young lady turned her head toward the orphanage and was met with a sight that caused her to grin from ear to ear. She changed her course immediately and shuffled her way towards the group. "Good day to you all," she greeted them cheerfully, clasping her hands together, as though in prayer, and bowing at the waist. "I did not expect to see Sigurd here, but it is a pleasant surprise. Are these friends of yours?" she asked the giant. She pattered into the midst of the children, picking one up into her arms with a laugh.

"Olafson! Olafson!" one of the kids exclaimed as he tugged at Sigurd's sleeve. "Is it true that you're stronger than ten men?" the boy asked.

"I heard he's stronger than twenty!" another piped up.

Adriaan chuckled and ruffled the hair of one of the kids. "Come on, let's get inside, eh?" he asked.

The kids all but dragged him and the others in while yelling for Madam Gina. "Madam Gina! Madam Gina! Can they stay for dinner?"

The woman came in at the commotion and semed slightly taken aback by so many visitors. "Oh my," the elderly woman exclaimed. "I best put another pot on!"

Adriaan tsked as he set the kid down from his back and moved to join the woman in returning to the kitchen. "You really should get some younger hands in here to help you out with the kids," he scolded her.

"Oh bolderdash, I'm not that old yet!" she chided. "But if you insist, I have some pots that need washing."

The pair made their way off to the kitchen leaving the rest to the entertainment of the children. The orphanage though modestly furnished held a warmth of holiday cheer. A small tree had been ornamented by the kids with hand-made decorations, and a few holiday odds and ends were strung about the place.

High above the snow covered grounds not a creature was fleeting not even a shooting stare. But far above a single creature of black was taking flight. Crusing along with smooth sailing most of the way. A massive explosion far behind. The sole flier high up in the air had his hands over his eyes as if holding a set of spyglasses. "Lets see now" The Night Fury said to himself, "Where to land." He looked over the ground below, a good five miles down as he slowly lowered himself to a few thousand feet above the trees in the Icy Peaks, he'd seen some groups, mostly nomadic people. Most of them scattered when he showed up. Darned people and their fears of Night Furies!

Nevertheless....

"Aha! Perfect place to land" Toothless said spotting a good landing spot, the front hay yard of a farm directly across from a place filled with kids. "A nice bed too! Going down." He lowered his massive clawed hands from his face and headed for a landing. The sounds of a plane going down heard as he hammered into the haystack like a dead rocket on far too much alcohol.

Which was shortly made clear directly after the explosion of hay with a very loud "hic" from within the remains of the haystack in question.

A good landing, not his best, but a good landing. Nothing has blown up yet, so a good landing.

Where was everyone ? Surely the tremor that occured from his rather comfy landing had been heard or felt....

A deafening boom followed by an ear splitting crack filled the orphanage, followed by a brief shadow being cast over the building and the city as a whole.

As the initial noise began to settle, glasses, and fixtures began to rattle as the noise settled into an audible gnashing and rumbling, an Aschen Starship could be spotted hovering outside the city walls, slowly landing.

Roan was walking down the street with a large package in his arms, Avril trailing behind him. He was headed toward the orphanage to meet up with Adriaan, who had traveled with him down the mountains. He had originally planned on arriving there with the avorian, but had decided he should pick something up for the kids.

Roan arrived at the orphanage after a short while, and decided to took a quick look around at the exterior of the building. It just looked like a rundown, two story building with a very rustic feel to it. Adriaan had told him about it before, but it didn't really seem that special compared to the other buildings. Roan went up to the door and realized his hands were full, so he gave it a few light taps with his foot and waited for someone to answer.

Cináed took took Sigurd's hand, letting out an (entirely manly) squeak as the large man swung him into a hug that entirely lifted his feet from the ground. Curse his below-average height! Sigurd would find that hugging the small blonde was like hugging a hot water bottle, with the pleasant but surprisingly notable heat that emanated from his body. "Hello to you too!" he managed to squeeze out from his somewhat-compressed windpipes.

When Sigurd released him from the hug, he dropped down onto the floor with only a slight stumble, regaining his composure as quickly as he could. He gave the larger man a bemused but warm smile, "I'm Cináed, one of the new-ish Patronus initiates. I've always been good with kids, so I figured I'd lend a hand down here." he explained, turning to give the newly arrived Sarangerel a smile of greeting as well.

As the kids chanted around them, Cináed raised an eyebrow. "Olafson? The Olafson I've heard so much about? It's an honour, sir. I can see that the stories didn't exaggerate!" Not too much, anyway.

He was about to go on, when the booming noise echoed through the building. Cináed blinked in surprise and excused himself to hurry over to a window, sticking his head out to see what had caused the noise. Upon seeing the starship in the sky, he grimaced. "What's earned us an intergalactic visitor today, I wonder?" he murmured.

Olafson grinned. "Stronger than thirty, stronger than two hundred!" He replied to the children, turning his attention to his new secretary. "They are patronus, sec'u'tary-" Olafson let himself be dragged into the building, ducking his head low to avoid the headboard above the door, the orphanage wasn't built for his height after all.

"Not that Olafson. That old warrior's outgrown coming out of the lodge." Sigurd joked back to Cináed, putting a hand on his shoulder to peek out the window. "Nothing good. No man makes that much noise unless he wants something big." The giant would then step back and go to answer the door, pulling it open with a loud clearing of his throat.

"Come in, come in. You must be another patronus warrior. There's room for one more." Sigurd would step aside and gesture for him to come inside, but not before looking with great interest at the package. "That ale? I hope it's ale."

Roan stood at the door gawking at the giant man that had answered it. He was completely caught off guard, and it took him a few moments to process what was in front of him. Avril had also become tense, not knowing if the man in front of him was friendly or not. Roan tried to regained his composure enough to give the giant a reply.

“N-no. Uh… this… this is for the kids,” Roan stuttered. He stepped through the doorway, being extra careful of his footing, as his legs felt a little unsteady.

Admiral Nagala and Shelby were the next to arrive at the orphanage, and it would seem that the location was shaping up to be quite a busy place that afternoon. Shelby gave the door a few loud raps with her gauntlet.

"Gina?" she gave a holler. "Some people here to see you."

This time it was a boy who answered the door, and he didn't look to be more than seven or eight years old as he looked up at Nagala and Shelby.

He stood wide-eyed a moment before he turned and ran back inside.

"Madam Gina! Madam Gina! The 'schen are here!"

A suitable response.

The younger children who were yet too young to really understand divisions of race and culture were less perturbed by the Aschen admiral standing there, and they viewed her more with curiosity than anything.

"What on earth is going on out here?" Gina asked as she re-appeared from the doorway to the kitchen. "Oh my," she remarked as the number of guests seemed to be growing in size by the minute. The Aschen Admiral's presence had her a bit flustered as well. It wasn't often that they received visits from the Aschen out this way, but their reputation preceded them. She regained her composure quickly though. "Well come on in then, don't be letting the cold in," she told Nagala and Shelby.

Meanwhile one of the kids was at a window. "There's a dragon out there!"

"I wanna see!" another kid exclaimed. Soon several of them were scrambling to get a look out the window.

When the hay explosion had settled, Once more burying the Night Fury perfect in its light green color. Toothless for a long moment just laid there on his back. Relaxing for once. Then he heard it. The faint cries of children. "There's a dragon out there!" He heard, He smiled, sure there was! He was out there! And he was dang comfy! Then he heard "I wanna see!" Oh dear. Apparently the kids in this area liked dragons like friends or pets, or family. He chose family and friend over pet because a guy of his size was kinda hard to fit into the pet category.

Poking his head up from the hay stack, he knew he looked silly as he poked his head up like a submarine periscope, lifting up a claw to his otherwise catlike face he scratched it a bit briefly before looking around carefully, where had those voices come from ? Finally he spied it, directly across the street.

That was when he saw it, he smiled. What must have been a bakers dozen kids were cramming in a window trying to look his way and see a dragon. Well, best to give them a show. He thought. As he was getting up he noticed the everdromning of a ship going for land. Ah Red Death turds! He thought seeing the strange starship. Then seeing the Aschen showing up. This was not good. And he knew it.

A claw came up from in the pile of hay that buried the bulk of the Night Furies body. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. What to do for these kids. After all they were kids, His mind for a scant moment went to his own child Ixu Shen. A child. Just like these children, a home that cared for them. Yes, theis was a place wherein he could either get a meal, defend a few folks, and then move on. Or at best bet. get a meal, a place to sleep, and also entertain the kids for a bit too. Then again, with the Aschen suddenly there....

Things just got very complicated.

Too complicated. And there were kids at risk!

So with that thought he tapped his chin and nodded, then, so the kids in the window saw him doing it, he put the claw up to his mouth, as if saying "Shush children. Now is the time for quiet." With that silent thought he ducked back in the pile of hay. Then, using his wings, he lifted the entire thing up like a fake bush and crossed the street to sit in the front yard of the Orpanage. Within earshot of the Aschen that came to visit. Yet completely out of sight in the haystack.

Sarangerel had rushed inside with Sigurd and the rest of the group, placing one of the children down just as the gigantic boom occurred. Her hands slapped over the ear-flaps of her hat, eyes tightly closed until the sound subsided. She stood up and looked out of the window, at the shadow that had descended over them.

"... I wonder what that was," she mumbled to herself. That was not a usual sound in Windcrest. She followed Cinead to the window. "Isn't that interesting?" she said to him. "Why is it they are here, you think? What does Windcrest have for them?" She noted one other little thing out the window. A black dragon. "Oh, dear. Lots of activity today."

Once a young man had entered just after Sigurd, Sarangerel just barely tore her gaze away from the window. She gave him a warm smile and, once she was able to get his attention, give him friendly wave. She turned her attention right outside the window, however. This wasn't to go unnoticed.

It was a particularly cold day in the city of Windcrest. Though not yet snowing, the Northern Aslundish city was beset with a flurry of winds that whipped the already-chilling temperatures into freezing extremes. To the average northerner, hardy and acclimated to such conditions, the chill was probably only moderately uncomfortable. Any tourists or visitors not used to the polar climate, however, would probably be shaking in their bones. As it was, it was nearly noon. The sun was just climbing the mountains to the far east, the first slivers of daylight breaking into the white tundra with modest splendor.

As the sun shone through the stone city, its denizens began amassing in the marketplace. Today was the Northern Aslund National Debates, the first round of debates in an intricate election process and the only debate that would pit the two Northern candidates against each other one-on-one. It was the perfect opportunity for the people of Northern Aslund to meet their elective-hopefuls and listen to their various ideas. Terrans from all over the north had gathered in Windcrest for the occasion.

The debates were being held in the Windcrest Market Square. A large tarp had been erected in the middle of the massive cobblestone courtyard, canvasing an army of benches and tables. At the foremost of the setup were two oakwood tables, each positioned towards the audience, each with two fur-lined chairs intended for the Parliament hopefuls and their respective secretaries. Many northerners had already taken their seats, talking among themselves, eating and drinking. A gruff (though cheerful) white noise permeated throughout the marketplace.

Not far from the setup, a TerraCast news crew was just finishing their preparations. Two anchormen and a team of cameramen worked quickly, eager to get their broadcast on the air before the debates began. After a few more minutes of work, one of the cameramen gave a thumbs up to the two anchors. They were live.

"Good evening, Terra," the foremost anchor smiled, bundled head-to-toe in winter clothing, "this is Tom Hanks with TerraCast, joined here by co-anchor, Nicholas Cage. How're you feeling, Nick?"

Nicholas, dressed in a sports jacket as if it were any casual summer day, nodded blandly. "Doing well."

"We are reporting live from the icy tundras of the north in the ancient city of Windcrest, covering the Northern Aslundish Debates! The commencement of these debates officially marks the beginning of 'campaign season' for the electoral hopefuls this season. With this being the first elections since the TNG wrestled control of the planet back from the Empire some odd five years ago, it also signifies the end of the TNG's rule of Martial Law and the long-sought return of democracy to Terran soil. It's an exciting time, isn't it Nick?"

"Yes. Exciting."

"Couldn't have put it better myself! And what a way to begin the election, than right here with two of our most interesting Parliament hopefuls? Our debate today is between two native Windcrest residents who, though they come from the same city, represent very different northern ideals. The first is Windcrest's favorite son, Sigurd Olafson. Son of the legendary Amund, the Olafson family holds the reigns of political power in Windcrest, and perfectly embodies the conservative northern way of life: hardy, spirited, tough and traditional. The feats of the Olafson family are legendary, and their contributions to the safety of the northern lands are secondary only to the Patronus. Though Sigurd himself has yet to distinguish himself through any act of considerable valor, he certainly looks the part of a northern hero! I mean, how big IS this guy?"

"Seven feet, three inches tall. Three hundred and forty-two point three six pounds in weight. Roughly twelve percent body fat."

"You reading that off of a card?" Hanks blinked.

"No."

"Ah. Well. His secretary is a miss... Saran-geerel... Tsah-khee-agih-..."

"Jalair Tsakhiagiin Sarangerel," Nick pronounced effortlessly, his bored monotone unfailing, "those are her clan, patronymic and given names, respectively. Southerners would probably refer to her as Sarangerel. It's Mongolian. Northern dialect."

"...you reading that off-"

"No."

"Okay then. That covers that. Sigurd's political stances will be made clear in the ensuing debates, though his heritage speaks for itself. He is the traditional pillar of the north, the candidate who most effectively personifies the centuries of rich history and culture that has been so integral to these harsh regions."

Tom cleared his throat and briefly checked his notes. "His opponent is Franklin Brice. A Windcrest native himself, Brice was raised in the icy north, though his political philosophy differs drastically from the strictly-traditional mindset of Olafson. Though he considers himself 'independent' (as does, curiously, Olafson), what little we've gleamed of his political standpoints have suggested a subtle favoritism towards Centrist ideals. In this, Brice speaks for a great portion of the north's population (particularly among the younger generations), who call for a shift away from the deep-rooted customs of their ancestors towards more progressive ideologies. His secretary is Nina Sekova, a Terran immigrant and Invictus soldier. The services and aid she's rendered the Terran people in the past on behalf of the Invictus have made her an immensely popular character with the crowds, particularly with Central Aslundish audiences." Tom squinted at his papers. "...says here she's been named 'Miss Balkan'. You ever hear of a place called 'Balkan', Nick?"

"It's a region in southeastern Europe, Earth, Tom. Home to a myriad of ethnic Slavic and Latin cultures. Equatable to various regions in Southern Aslund and the Eastern Peninsula. Croatia. Albania. Greece."

Tom made a curious face. "Earth?"

"It's a planet. Extra-dimensional. Similar to Terra in many ways. Some might say too similar."

"Have I ever been to Ea-"

"No."

"Okay then. Well, our candidates should be arriving any moment. From here on out, it's entirely campaign-business. The manner in which they arrive, assess themselves during the debates and regard one another are all to be considered. They are under the watchful eyes of the Terran people now, and this debate is being broadcast, live, all over Terra. Once the two contestants are seated, the moderator and spokesperson of the debates will present himself or herself, and the games will begin. For now, we await their arrival, expecting them any moment now."

The security detail for the debates was compromised almost exclusively of the locals. It had been a matter of some heated debate, but the local Sjief had been unyielding on the fact. The people of Windcrest were a rugged and independent lot, and Olaf had been unwilling to stand for the NPA, or southern military - among other militant groups - stomping around the city. The region of Windcrest was affiliated with the TNG, but only just. The tensions present were well apparent from both sides of the field - but a peaceful sense of amiability had maintained over the years so long as they keep to their respective lands. Windcrest's penchant for taking in southern refugees who had fled northward from the wars that ravaged the Midlands provided a counterweight to the natives that were characteristically less cooperative with their own government; though, many of these people were equally as jaded with their government and the conflicts that had driven them into the cold reaches of Northern Aslund.

In the end the southerners had relented, and foreign security had not been permitted to avoid stirring unrest and conflict during the debate. The security details were made up of the local Patronus order, along with the Knights of Le'thorian who were out in force patrolling the city and its walls to ensure its safety. The city militia and the Rising Guard also were on standby or patrolling the skies. The roads leading to Windcrest were equally being patrolled lightly by the Rising Guard to ensure the safety of the travelers drifting into the city from neighboring regions of the north; though, this particular precaution had more to do with the volatile and dangerous nature of the local wildlife to travelers on the road than out of concern for terrorist attacks out there.

One might have thought all of this quite excessive, but where Terra was concerned there was rarely such a thing as too safe. Fortunately as far as debate locations go, this one was remote and unpleasant enough to not likely be a prime target for random acts of violence. Due to the months of polar twilight that the region was known for the sun failed to fully break the horizon even at noon-day and no sunlight would be shining through the streets. A faint glow of light akin to the pre-dawn hours of the south was all the light it afforded this frigid landscape during the height of the winter. It would be weeks yet before the sun would begin to creep up into the sky once more.

Fortunately the tarps and surrounding buildings afforded protection from the wind, as well as a semi-moderate increase in warmth from the accumulated body heat within the tented off area.

Amund Olafson, or more well known as 'Olaf' by the locals, had chosen to attend the debates. His table was well distinguishable from the rest given its size and heft. At seven foot, five inches, Olaf stood a few inches taller than his already towering son, and when he entered the market square his burly form simply waded through as people seemed all to willing to step out of his way.

He propped his axe up against the side of the table - a weapon of such heft as to cause the wood to creak against its weight. Easing himself down onto the bench, the oaken planks gave an even louder and somewhat disconcerting creak but they held up under his weight.

Though the location was rugged and likely unpleasant for those unaccustomed to the climate, the northerners had held little reserves in seeing that comfort in the form of food and drink were plentiful. If there were two things the people of Windcrest did in great abundance, it was eat and drink.

Olaf downed an entire tankard of mead that dribbled in long rivulets down his beard before he wiped his face with the back of a burly arm. The man was legendary for his capacity to imbibe alcohol though, and he had little need to mediate his intake.

A seat had been reserved at his table for a perhaps somewhat controversial guest. Those arriving in Windcrest may have taken note of the Aschen transport vessel situated outside the city - an alarming fact to many. Word had reached Olaf as to Nagala's desire to speak with him, and he had assured her they would discuss whatever matter had brought her to Windcrest at the completion of the debates. He knew not if she would attend, but if she did he had deemed it best she be seated near at hand. The natives of Windcrest had little in the way of personal conflict with the Aschen over the years - mostly because not even foreign invaders wanted much to do with the frigid wasteland - but there was certainly an element of wary distrust at the Aschen's reputation. The concern though came from the fact that there was a noteworthy concentration of displaced southerners who held a great deal of resentment and hostility towards the Aschen. Few would try to start anything with Nagala while Olaf was near at hand though.

Distrust and suspicion or no, the woman had been permitted into the city, and as a guest it would be a matter of great embarrassment should anything happen to her under Olaf's watch - especially in the wake of the charitable donations being distributed to the local orphanages by Nagala's men.

Also among those who had turned out today was Adriaan Kavaki, a Volarian that it would seem was far from home. Politics were never his strong suit, and he came from a society that still practiced monarchy, so matters of parliament and regional representation were foreign matters that simply didn't hold his attention. It wasn't that he was averse to democracy, it was just of little personal relevance to him. His Volarian citizenship would bar him from voting anyways, but he had turned out as a show of support from the Patronus.

Shelby Lockhart, acting Captain of the Knight's of Le'thorian in Arrow's absence, was in attendance as well, but she was among the Knight's of Le'thorian seeing to the city patrols. Maintaining the safety and security of the city, the parliament candidates, and their southern guests was at the forefront of her responsibilities for the moment.

Tahlia bishop, another member of the Patronus, was seated among the spectators, but like Shelby she was largely there for security purposes.

A short distance from the main debate area, a slender and eerie young woman was sat. Clad in thick furs as shelter against the bitter chill, the pale girl sat alone but for a single knight of Le'thorian keeping vigil over her. Aiedai Nasazura was a familiar face to the people of Windcrest, one of the better known - and more distinctive - of the Patronus from the nearby Mountainside Temple. It was difficult to forget the way her skin seemed to give off its own ethereal glow, and her decidedly alien mannerisms on the rare occasions that she chose to speak to someone at any length.

As she sat, her mind was not focused on her own location, but rather spread like a blanket over the entire area. She brushed with the lightest touch over the minds of those assembled, gleaning snatches of thought and emotion from them with every passing moment. The psychic was on the lookout for anything that might suggest malicious intent, and every so often she would focus her net in on one or two individuals based on a spike of emotion or a stray thought, listening into their surface thoughts briefly before retreating away.

Not all in the crowd were susceptible to such eavesdropping, protected by technology or magic, but every little safety net helped.

Amidst the crowd itself, other members of the Patronus were positioned - not necessarily as security, but in the full knowledge that their role might find itself transitioning from spectator to protector at any given moment. Near the front, Cináed was stood, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans as though he were on a beach in Southern Aslund rather than the icy peaks of Windcrest. The cold didn't seem to be bothering him in the slightest.

With him was stood the taller and more practically clad Anaiya Thorn. One of Windcrest's doctors, the woman was a native to the region and as such had grown up under the Olafsons. She shared what was likely the opinion of many of the locals in being dubious about these debates and elections, but unlike some, she was not entirely close-minded to the possibility of change.

"Some of the children from the orphanage were talking about you." she said, glancing across at the blonde teen to her side.

Cináed looked up at her, blinking. "Oh?" he replied questioningly, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye, I was there the other day tending to a boy with the flu." she said, "He and a few of the others were talking about 'the boy that could make fire'. A girl was regaling a few of them with a story of you fighting off a horde of slime monsters." Anaiya smirked in amusement.

Cináed laughed, running a hand through his hair. "Oh, yeah, I've been telling them the few stories I have. In my defence, they asked! I wasn't just bragging!"

Anaiya paused. "You mean you actually did fight off a horde of slime monsters?"

"Oh, I had help, but yeah. Definitely slime monsters. They were nasty."

"And there was me thinking the kids were making it up. I suppose I should have expected as much from someone who's joined up with the Patronus." the older woman nodded her head thoughtfully.

On the edge of the crowd, the black-and-gold armour-clad figure of Anria was stood, her halberd grasped firmly as she spoke with a bundle of cloaks that might somewhere in the middle have contained the pointy-eared form of Talren.

"It's cold." the roguish man stated irritably.

Anria chuckled with amusement. "Pah! Hardly cold enough for you to be wrapped up in blankies like a babe, elf!"

"C. O. L. D. It is cold. Very cold. You're just ..."

"Possessed of more hardiness than an anorexic pixie carrying heavy shopping?" the warrior suggested.

"... stop mocking me. I like my cloak cocoon. And when the winter is over I'll emerge from it like a beautiful butterfly, and then you'll be the one who looks stupid."

"Aye, I'm sure."

"I will!"

As Nagala and Shelby entered the building, Cináed turned to raise his eyebrow in surprise, recognising the Admiral from her previous visit to the Temple. He offered the pair a smile. "Captain Shelby, Admiral." he said in greeting, nodding his head politely to each in turn.

But then... a dragon?

Cináed's attention went back to the window, and he peered out just in time to see a somewhat conspicuous haystack shuffle its way across the street.

Stranger things had happened, he supposed.

Two Aschen Marines squeezed the stocks of their rifles outside as they heard some kind of rustling from a nearby haystack.

Inside the orphanage Admiral Nagala was standing quietly and taking in the sights. It seemed that everyone here knew who she was, or it was perhaps the uniform she wore.


Clasping her hands in front of her, she stepped into the orphanage, and one of the Marines behind her closed the door behind them.

"I Imagine my reputation precedes me." She said, addressing Gina as she extended a hand. "Sheila Nagala, Fleet Admiral of the Imperial fleet." She said, and should Gina take her hand, she would continue. "I've come to make donations to the Orphanage, medical supplies, food, and clean water, as well as heating equipment, toiletries, and linens." The Admiral added, before she turned to examine the orphanage, to determine where best to send aid.

She promptly turned to then greet Cináed.

"Hello." She said, politely inclining her head.

The soft rustle of the fabric was a sound that Sigurd hated, he'd rather go naked to this debate and dance in the snow, then they'd see who had the bigger point. The thought of it made him chuckle as he pulled the gloves around his hands, thought twice and threw them to the bottom of the pile of clothes his assistant had piled on his bed.

Apparently the rest of his clothes were not too suiting for a politician. "Too threatening." "Too large." "Too many points." The lists that ran out of the girls mouth was endless and an unusual form of torture. That family of hers didn't help either, they always had a look in their eye that made him think they thought their daughter was riding him like a Sleipnir.

Finally, Sigurd adorned himself in a thick sheepskin scarf and stormed out the door, before he could eat the shrapnel out of his father's vulcan boomstick just to end the feeling of dread; The prospect of an onslaught of talk. was far worse than any Ghrigorian berserker.

Sigurd passed Igtrid's smith on the way to the debate, briefly stopping to consider hiding behind the fiery smith's skirts, then realized she had no skirts to hide behind, and she'd probably throw him out if he even tried hiding inside her smith. Sigurd sighed a warm breath into the air and gave her a brief affirming nod before walking on.

Sigurd had been given a mental list by his assistant, who he assumed would bound up to him in a matter of seconds. "Do not drink too much, do not beat the cameramen with their microphones, no duels are permitted, blah blah blah blah." Sigurd had slid on his helmet half way though her talking and slept.

It took all of his effort when he saw the humongous crowd not to turn completely around and lock himself in the nearest tavern and refuse to come out till they all left. If it had been a humongous army at his father's doorstep, he would've waved in fearlessly to slaughter them all, but they were all talking, laughing and some of them even looked like fellow warriors.

Sigurd's mouth twitched. Pretend they're trying to kill you, pretend their trying to kill you, pretend they're trying to kill you.

Sigurd slammed both his fists to his chest and swung them in the air, letting loose a shouting cheer of victory. The few people who drunk with Sigurd during his extended pubcrawls caught on and started yelling too, raising their fists in the air and shouting, nudging whoever was next to them to do the same, a few of their nudges pointed towards the numerous Patronus and the lone centaur.

Glorious. The pretend battle was already in his favor.

Overhead a few ties were tugged loose on one of the flaps of the tarp and a pair of inquisitive eyes peered through. They belonged to the young boy from the orphanage who had been asking Sigurd questions earlier. With Matron Gina in a tizzy over the new donations it hadn't been hard for the lad to slip out before afternoon lessons had started.

An adept climber, the child had found himself sprawled on his belly atop one of the stone roofs of one of the many market place shops. Stretched out and with the corner of the tarp pulled back he could see the goings on inside. His view was limited, but he quickly spotted out the tables were Sigurd and Franklin would be seated. He spotted Olaf and Nagala too, but the latter made the boy uncomfortable. He had been raised up on stories of the Aschen, and it would take more than a few donations to undo the ingrained fear that had been sowed into the child.

A moment later Sigurd had come into view and Nagala was forgotten as the lad let out a grin. The towering behemoth of a man was something of a hero for the lad and he had slipped out of the orphanage and climbed up here all in the hopes of seeing him again.

Adriaan gave Sigurd a holler of encouragement, but Amethea remained more reserved on the matter. She let out a low chuckle at the urging of the men near her, but she would reserve judgement for the time. Unlike the local residents of the city, Amethea only knew Sigurd by reputation, and she didn't know anything of the other candidate yet. She cast her eyes around, but could make out no sign that might hint at the presence of the second candidate. She was as curious to see him as she had been to meet the son of the legendary Olaf, and so she waited with a sense of anticipation upon the air.

Sarangerel had lectured Sigurd again and again on how to walk, what to say, what to wear, how to sit. Of course, he didn't take much of her advice, and simply just did as Sigurd did best. He went and appealed to the crowd with that warrior's howl, just as she expected. Despite him ignoring her instructions, Sarangerel stood tall and proud next to him, her hands folded behind her back. All the talks she had given Sigud over the last however long- it felt like an eternity!- would have to start paying off here. She knew he would have to win the hearts of Windcrest's people. The little secretary girl, dwarfed by Sigurd further, looked down at the crowd in her colorful deel and her little leather hat, heart pounding in the excitement of it all.

Amethea shifted her weight and knocked against a wheelchair she hadn't taken note of rolling up beside her. She bowed her head in apology as she stamped a hoof restlessly against the floor.

"My apologies," she told the man before she turned her attention back to Sigurd, and the empty table beside him.

She wasn't the only one growing restless and quiet murmurs from the crowd reflected her own thoughts.

Where was the other candidate?

A man several tables away cupped his hands to his mouth and gave a shout.

"Hey Olafson, maybe you scared him off?"

It drew a few laughs out of Sigurd's supporters, and a few disgruntled murmurs from Franklin's.

Roan, having been bewildered by everything that’s happened so suddenly, decides it would be safest to put the package down before he ended up dropping it.

“Hey, Gina. Where can I set this before dropping it?” Roan asked the owner of the orphanage.

“Take it on into the kitchen. Adriaan is in there washing pots,” Gina replied.

Roan nodded and headed into the kitchen. He set the package on top of a counter, hopefully out of reach of the kids should they become curious. He looked over at Adriaan, who was busy scrubbing out an enormous pot.

“Hey, Adriaan. I see you’ve become accustomed to scullery work,” Roan said with a smirk.