Corraich wasn't as surprised as some might be to find a woman in the command tent. The North was famous for it's Spear-Wives and Shield-Maidens, lassies as fierce and brutal as their male counterparts, if not more so. Still, this woman didn't seem to be cut from the same cloth as Dreamless or Heigl Knifesinger of the North, for one she wasn't a bruised and scarred harridan that was as like to stab him as look at him. 

The Commander Gharskul was a big lad, as big as Corraich himself. Not uncommon for folk to get that big up North, but a damn sight rarer down South. He carried himself well, with the easy grace and confidence of a practised warrior. Malak didn't have that frightened look most Southerners got when they seen Corraich. No, this man was a wolf, not a rabbit. And he knew it. The commander offered his hand in that greeting southerners preferred, the Northman taking and shaking it with some trepidation. He'd never understood the penchant for 'shaking hands', thinking it was too big a risk that a man could shake your hand with his right, but stick a knife in your guts with his left. [I]Just like The King of the North did to me![/I] Still, the Commander of the Iron Wolves hardly struck him as that type of man. [I]But then, Teovin never struck you as the type to betray you either. Didn't stop him doing it though.[/I]

He stood in silence as the Commander and the woman, obviously a chief or lord in this band, argued his fate in the company. He smiled as warm as he could muster at the lassie, hoping to blunt some of the ire she felt for him, but his efforts fell on stony grounds again as all it got him was another glare. [I]Good to see that my old magic with the female population still stands.[/I]

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't bothered to find out he wasn't gonna be in Bonnie Yohn's squad, the ugly soldier was nothing if not good company, but his men also seemed to be well trained and happy with their Captain. Still, no point crying about missed opportunity, his Pa had always told him that you had to dance with the partner you were given, and if that partner was to be Arthur Gharskull then so be it. Corraich took it that the meeting was over, so he followed Yohn out of the tent. [I]That’s it then. I’m an Iron Wolf. Back walking the Warrior’s Path. Some things just don‘t change, no matter how much time passes.[/I] 

Yohn trudged back towards the cook fire were Corraich had first found him. 

“Damn shame that you’re not with me North, never can have too many big barbaric bastards like you in a crew, specially when you‘re going up against Orcs. Still, Arthur isn’t a bad Captain to serve under I reckon. He may be young, but he knows his stuff. Lotta fella’s here think he’s been raised higher than his limited experience should allow, but I know a fighting man when I see one and he’s becoming one hell of a fighting man. Aye you could do worse than young Garskull.” Yohn dropped himself back into his seat, gesturing for Corraich to sit next to him. The Northman was asked if he was hungry, and when he answered yes he was handed a hunk of day old bread and some musty cheese. Not exactly a kings banquet, but Corraich had stomached far worse during his time. Besides, the mould adds to the flavour. 

As the Northman finished up his meal he began to realise the flow of conversation around the fire had slowed to a trickle, Yohn’s crew eyeing him warily. Most of them were almost as intimidated by the big barbarian as the young sentry at the gate had been. Corraich sighed wearily, realising once more that some things never change. Back up North his grim reputation had always preceded him, men fearing him for the stories of his ferocity and bloodlust that were told. Here though, no one knew his name, or his dark deeds, of how he burnt families alive or killed men for no more than looking at hum. Here they just feared him for who he could be, rather than who he was. 

“So. . . ” he said after the silence had gone on for a while “Any of you lads ever heard the one about the Soolian Mage and the Beduan whore?” a host of blank faces looked back at him, so he tore into one of the dirtiest and raunchiest jokes he had ever heard up North. If there’s one thing that binds soldiers together, it’s racist jokes about whores. By the time Arthur finds him Corraich will have swapped several jokes with Bonnie Yohn’s crew, and will find himself more popular by far.