>>5796859>>5796857>>5796829The Shaman steps forth, raven perched upon his shoulder, and shouts up to the defenders, calling Hvitseric to come forth and discuss this, before blood is wasted. It is a dour, rainy day, and a sharp wind howls through the great forest of pine trees. A mist rises up from the river, and an hour passes in silence.
At last, a party of men step forth from the wooden gate. Six of them are huscarls, draped in not-quite rusted chainmail and bearing wickedly sharp bearded axes. One is an old man, stooped and grey, on horseback. Hvitseric the Old trots out slowly. At first sight the man is world-worn and wizened, apt to be blown over, but as he approaches he draws himself up, with the majesty of a leader of men. His grey eyes gleam, and the muck of age seems cleansed from him. He looks down with the cool indifference of command, and his sword-bearer speaks for him.
"Hellspawn, you come like a plague upon the lands of Great Hvitseric. You befoul the sacred waters of the river, and lead in train honest men like captive cattle. What words have you for us, that we should not let you die before our walls?"
>Take the insult poorly. Rush him and slay him before his people. You will not be trusted to negotiate among the riverfolk for a long time.>Trade insults, but speak - make clear your numbers and readiness to storm the walls. Demand payment on pain of a tortuous death.>Approach more gently - the Shaman can manage such diplomatic niceities. Make Hvitseric understand the bloody slaughter of his people that may await, and that he can save them - only a little silver and good food, and his people will be left alone. Surely, he is father to his people, and will spare them the bloody lash of your hands?>Something else? (Write in...) 