Walking down the stairs roughly hewn into the hill face of the inner city Erika headed down towards the meeting point, city of Leirhofn was built in the standard style of the Silver Kingdom, a huge central redoubt called the inner tier, then a city full of rich people called the gold tier, a middle city of craftsmen and artisans called the steel tier and an outer spread of wooden huts and laborers called the Fur tier, then there was a massive wall of stone and steel and finally the plains around the city which were divided into two rough sections, on one side near the river were the docks, the main gate and the Bal-Vagn platforms, on the other was trollheim the most outer city where the scum lived outside the walls.

Erika was heading towards the acceptable bit of the outer city, which linked to the docks and warehouses along the river with the iron rails of the Bal-Vagn. Erika was far from the only one of course, it was the start of the morning shift with Sol just peaking from behind Yggdrasil’s trunk, and hordes of workers, labourers, guards, hunters, mechanics, lumberjacks, tanners, dyers and a thousand other professions were pouring out of the outer city where they lived and into the industrial diaspora that spread around Leirhofn.

Erika’s mere presence parted the crowds like a shark in a shoal, her half and half raiment shining in the sea of fur and undyed cloth. Erika often used this respectful distance to avoid waiting in line and she did so today, manoeuvring towards a line of street food carts and causing everyone else stood near them to run away.

After a moments deliberation Erika decided to get a skillet-cake, a slice of long thin fried batter coated in honey, from small red painted cart at the end of the line that she often bought snacks from. Her presence was a mark of prestige but she did scare away the other customers so she was used to prompt service and an empty bench nearby to eat at which is why she was so surprised when a person sat down next to her on the shadow dappled stone flashing a confident smile as they did so.

“Vitki Erika Yrsasdottir? It is an honour to finally meet you.”

Erika stared at him? Her? She’d never been any good at gendering the more extreme sagaborn, this one looked like a human’s head on the body of an owl that had crashed at high speed into a wolf all crowned by a long white beard and fussy half-moon spectacles.

“Who in Hel are you?” Asked Erika, unlike yesterday this person wasn't offering her two hundred silvers so she couldn’t care less what they thought of her.

“Ah of course of course, this humble one is Geir a thrall of the most exalted Ironarm Clan champions of battle and the feasting hall both, perhaps you are familiar with my patrons?”

Erika slurped her skillet-cake in in a way which she knew was annoying and simply stared at the man, a few moments of fidgeting later he continued with his smile undimmed.

“Clan Ironarm are champions of the silver kingdom and devoted servants of Magni, honourable fighters and champions as well as some of the greatest chefs in Midgard, in fact I believe the Jarl of this city is served by one such Ironarm chef.”

Erika nodded, dropped the cup back on the rickety stall along with a handful of quartz coins, then strolled away along the lane grinning slightly as she heard the sagaborn hurry after her.

“I have heard of you lot, did you go to war with clan Redmane a few months back?”

Geir recoiled as if struck. “Oh no not at all, not at all, the great clans are firm allies serving under the Grand-King together, at most there are occasional… disagreements.”

Erika took a flight of wide shallow steps down from the last row of shops taht formed the edge of the gold tier and into the smoky fog bank that ringed the Steel tier reinforced endlessly by the smoke from the taverns, hearths, forges and other smoky but not smelly industries.

“Your disagreement got thirty people killed.”

Erika had to give Geir something, he was at least smart enough not to call a Vitki a liar. “The disagreements can get somewhat… heated at times that’s true, but the heart of a true warrior should always run hot should it not? It was nothing truly serious, a few young bloods scrapping with each other under the watch of their personal guards nothing more… But it was another matter I wished to discuss with you today, I understand congratulations are in order for your inevitable success in the upcoming Silvermane expedition?”

Erika sighed and tried not to spit, less than a day and the Clans knew, she’d expected her participation to leak of course but not that quickly.

“With the late unpleasantness with the Redman concluded as you so insightfully noticed,” Erika gave him, he talked like a him, credit for working her issue back into the conversation. “Our great and ancient clan is finally in a position to pay proper respect to its peers, such as the Vitki of this fine city, we shall pray that the Aesir watch over you on your journey and would happily help prepare you with suitable provisions for your long and arduous journey.”

Erika could od two things here, artfully and cunningly use words like a skald to draw out hidden meaning, barter and trade around her oath and walk away even richer… or she could not.

“You want to bribe me then?”

Geir really recoiled this time, his face screwed up like a cat. “Oh no oh dear how…”

“Cut the crap,” snarled Erika interrupting his impassioned defence. “You want to know what Silvermane is up to right?”

Geir’s eyes darted left and right probing the shadows but Erika cut him off again. “The answers no.”

“What?” For the first time in this conversation Erika felt she was seeing the real person before her, Geir’s smile had vanished replaced with a look of pure condescension.

“No as in not happening, I’m not going to spy for you.”

“Do you have any idea of the power my house wields? Of the wealth we have? Refusing us is…”

Erika turned and fixed him with a gimlet glare jabbing a finger into his chest to interrupt his pointless whining. “Cut the crap my house? you’re a thrall! You aren’t part of any clan, your glorified property, I'm damned if I'm going to be talked back to by a table with pretensions.”

“How dare you! I am a loyal…”

Erika would have liked to shut him up with some cool magick trick a crushing aura or hazy static in the air but despite what skalds tell you only the masters can do that stuff, instead she chose violence.

A leather gloved fist took him in the lung and as his head snapped down a knee was already coming up to meet it.

“Shut it! I'm a Vitki, not a merchant mercenary or spy, be gone!”

With a final shove Erika sent to idiot stumbling back into a nearby alley where he landed in a refuse pile, glaring him down for a moment Erika pointedly turned away and walked off. A street later Erika let out a loud sigh, even more morose now than when she’d woken up hungover, she hated politics, so damn much.

“Vitki Erika Yrsasdottir? It is an honour to finally meet you.”

“FOR SIGURN’S SAKE.”