SHAGGA, leader of the Stone Crow's
A man draped in heavy furs stood on an upraised section of the forest, watching down as his finest four warriors approached a dwarf and his assumed guard. One was undeniably rich and fortunate. The dwarf was draped in fine leathers and gold trinkets with vibrant, golden hair that reminded Shagga, the barbaric and unkempt leader of the Stone Crow's of the rising morning sun that could be seen through the treetops. Despite his stoutness, the half-man was well-off and made up for his physical faults through his material wealth.
The guard on the other hand was by no means wealthy. He was covered in old, warn garments which were clearly tattered from their over exposure to weather and combat. His face appeared to have aged badly, regardless of his age and his wet, greasy hair was pulled back behind his ears. He looked like a fierce warrior. A warrior that could be of use to the Stone Crow's; of course that were if he was not aligned with the rich newcomer of the lands beyond the mountains.
Leaning his weight onto a thick tree nearby, Shagga looked onward as his men proceeded to narrow the distance between themselves and the newcomers. The guard was readying himself for combat whilst the small creature looked as though he was frantically waddling for cover like some sort of unfortunate bird knowing that its demise was imminent.
Shagga shook his head in disapproval. The dwarf was not brave. The dwarf was not a fighter. The dwarf was a useless creature. The Stone Crow culture told that those who could not fight deserved to die. Those who could fight deserved a death entailed with respect. A death by combat. The final trial before the afterlife. And so, the guard would be given his final trial. The dwarf however would be slaughtered, his body mutilated and his corpse pissed on by the hills men who took his head. It was their right. It was the dwarf's punishment for his dishonour and cowardice.
The first of the Stone Crow moved to attack, a vicious swing of his axe halted by the guards well executed parry. The axe was met with a powerful force and sent from the Crow's hand. Then came the momentum of the greasy-haired mans blade once more and one Crow fell dead, his head separating from his neck.
Blood spluttered like wasted wine into the air and the headless corpse fell motionlessly to the floor.
No less, Shagga could not help but smile. The warrior that had killed his brother in arms was powerful and skilled. Anyone to die here would be honoured hereafter. The afterlife would welcome them with open arms. With whores, with wine and with the power of immortality.
Cheering from the raised forest land, Shagga and his other hill tribesmen sounded like a furious mob, taunting and screaming their war cry. In truth they were supporting this brutal display of violence. This display which graced their land with respected blood. The forest would grow at far beyond a natural rate – for the blood of the powerful, the large and the immortal had been shed here. They would live through the nature which they called their home now.
The small dwarf pulled faces behind the cover of a tree at the sight of the blood spewing from his enemies. The sword master that the hill tribesmen had fought finished his final enemy and blood discoloured his face.
Leaping from where he stood, Shagga took two of his brothers with him to meet the swordsman. Stopping meters from him, the Crow's let out a wild cry. Countless other members of their ranks flocked to them and the distinct look of concern on the dwarfs face was perceived even from afar.
"Nice to see that you folk play fair." The bloodstained warrior called to them.
"You fight powerfully, sword master!" Shagga called violently.
The dwarf pushed his way from the tree and began to move slowly towards his companion. He could see that the violence had caused a satisfaction in the people he believed to be savage.
"I am Tyrion. Tyrion Lannister." The dwarf spoke.
"You are coward!" Shagga shot viciously, raising his two axes in either hand – ready to attack the little man. His companion pointed his blade outward and Shagga felt the sharp tip of the sword on his neck.
"Now be a good boy and put the axes down now won't you? We don't wanna' bleed too many of you folk in your own homeland now do we?"
"Come now, Bronn. There's no need for any more violence." Tyrion raised his hand and invited Bronn to lower his pointed blade.
Shagga's eyes were wide and level on the swordsman. Bronn. He would remember that name.
"You leave now!" Shagga spoke firmly. "You leave now. Bronn earns the dwarf and himself passage through the mountains. Trial of Death reward."
Tyrion did not seem as if this were a good enough reward. Whilst Bronn had taken the time to slide his blade away and cleanse his face somewhat, making his way around the ranks of Shagga's men, the dwarf remained still, his eyes marked on Shagga.
"You're the leader of these tribesmen?" Tyrion asked with sincerity to his words.
Shagga nodded his head and clenched his hands around his axes, still feeling dishonoured by communing with the cowardice dwarf whom had hidden rather than fought for his livelihood.
"Shagga is the leader." He answered back angrily.
"Well, Shagga, I would ask of you to accompany myself and Bronn on our way. I may not be able to fight and perform as according to your customs, I should, but I possesses a great deal of wealth which could get you…. Well what do you like, Shagga?" Tyrion trailed, clearly uncertain of what he could get Shagga and his people. The little dwarf obviously needed or wanted the help of the Crow's. They were powerful, they had numbers – they could make war a great deal easier.
"Shagga likes axes. Weapons!"
"Then if Shagga and his tribesmen come with us, Shagga can have all he wants and more." Tyrion spoke, his eyes assessing the men. "I am a Lannister. My House is very rich." He touched his golden trinkets. "We always pay our debts. Especially to friends. And Shagga is a friend now."
Shagga looked from side to side at his fellow leaders. He finally turned back to face Tyrion and nodded his head.
"Shagga and Stone Crow's will come with Tyrion and Bronn. If no get weapons…. Tyrion will be fed to Stone Crow tribesmen and burned to use as oil. Fat dwarf body good for this. Fat dwarf head good for this."
"Very well." Tyrion agreed uncertainly. "Lead the way through the mountains, Shagga."
Without a moments delay, Shagga took to the lead and his men fell in accordance behind him. The hills men walked confidently ahead and Shagga knew exactly where he was going. He could hear the dwarf and his companion speaking behind the marching group and he smiled at the mentions of him and his tribe.
"Do you think this is a good idea, little man?" Bronn quirked.
"Think? No. I was desperate, Bronn. I don't think I can stand being out here for another week and gods know that we'll be here for another month without some help from a local party. You have no fucking idea where you're going." Tyrion uttered wittily.
"Oh, very nice. Now that you have a bunch of hairy cocks protecting your stout self, you're more than willing to curse at me. How very Lannister like of you." Bronn taunted.
"Bronn being foul towards cursing? I never!"
"You're a member of the fancy folk. Half man or not."
