A Cold One, On The House [Semi-open]

Tourmund was asked by his king to accompany him on a diplomatic mission to the Winter's Claw camp. Queen Ashe had hoped that Gragas brew would help settle negotiations.

His normally cheerful attitude was somewhat more sullen, given his recent encounter during the void attack. He followed the two in silence, carrying a barrel despite his old age.

"Aye, or she could feed us to her boar."

A negative and unlikely outcome, but still possible.

The three came across a very heavily guarded encampment as they entered the Winter Claw's primary location. Signs of battle remained but they were recovering from the battle better than expected. In the north the weak died.

They were recognized and greeted with cautious eyes and weapons trained. Fortunately, both Tormund and Tryndamere were recognized from the Void battle. Gragas was in tow, knowing their likely want they were escorted to Sejuani's hut which was the biggest of those in the encampment.

She exited unarmed but armored, though she lacked her helmet. Her hair was short cut but as white the Freljordian tundra, very much so like Ashe's. She crossed her arms and received them with a cold stare.

"The 'King' himself and the fat bastard." Gragas had not shown or given his support. She resented it. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" She would acknowledge the other warrior with a
lighter look but it did not hold pity. Though he fell in line with those she hated, she knew he suffered far worse from the Void in her tribe's defense.

Tourmund settled the cask down with a huff. He stood up straight after, feeling the bones in his back crack as he stretched.

"Best not do that again." he muttered to himself. Never before had he begun to feel his age as he did now. This weakness, he hated it.

And soon she stood before him. The Winter's Wrath herself. Where Ashe was lithe and delicate, Sejuani was muscular and strong. Where Ashe was patient and diplomatic, Sejuani was fierce and warlike. Where Ashe was a women of words, Sejuani was a women of action.

Tormund had always been secretly ashamed that his king had chosen Ashe instead of Sejuani as his bride. He knew the reasons why his king did it and he was grateful for what their marriage had brought for his people, but part of him yearned to be the mighty and feared hoard that they were.

He greatly admired Sejuani. She untied her people through determination and hardship, rather than gifts and compromise. Aye, she would of been a fine leader to him. But his loyalty lay with his king and his king had chosen Ashe.

"Drink to celebrate our victory, drink to remember the fallen, or just drink to drink. There is too much here for just the three of us to have." he told her. He had already started his first mug, gulping it ferociously. He hopped that maybe the alcohol might make the guilt go away for awhile.

Gragas' brew, as much as she disliked the over-sized man, was legendary. If it weren't for the presence of Tryndamere and Tormund here she would have overturned it and drove the man out of the encampment on boar back. She furrowed her brow. At the mention of poison she looked towards the barrel.

"Your word means nothing if both are not tested." That much was true. The "King" was intent on making peace and she knew he proved much during his trials. However, she felt bitter over the fact he would side with her cousin and not her. She silently gestured to the barrel and waited for one of them to drink.

She doubted something had been done but she wouldn't doubt for a second that someone would tamper with it to end her life. Gragas, as great a brewer as he was, was a drunken oaf in her eyes. She could not afford to be careless. Surely if there were no problems, one of them would drink the case.

Gragas, currently over enjoying his brew, turned his head suddenly when he heard Tryndamere's outcry. "Blood?" Gragas slammed the keg down on the table, rushing as fast as his large body could carry him over to Tryndamere.

Gragas inhaled the red liquid, smelling the all familiar scent of blood, and drew back, alarmed. "Wot?! That can't be..." Gragas put some of the substance on his finger, and licked just for clarification. "That is definitely blood..." He could sense the overbearing glances of Sejuani and Tryndamere staring him down. "I promise, I didn't do this...I wouldn't do anything of tha sort!"

"ENOUGH!" Sejuani bellowed and knocked the damned casket over in a fit of anger. The casket caught a stone and the top fell open. Blood spilled but gore did as well. Limbs...parts of men. A severed head and bits of shredded cloth that on a glance gave away who these men had been loyal to. The Winter Claw insignia was there, tarnished with blood.

Her eyes fell upon the Barbarian King and Gragas. "Whoever did this will die. It is clear to me that someone among your ranks wants to send a message. I want them dead Tryndamere. DEAD. You will find them and you will bring them to me. If you intend on hoping to forge any kind of alliance with me you will show me you have at least that strength."

Tormund's face froze when he heard of the blood in the casket. Had someone tried to sabotage their efforts? Or was the Rabble Rouser trying to start something.

Sejuani's decree surprised him. Her rage was a cold one, bitter and distant. He had all but assumed that they were dead, for this was a grave insult upon her. But they would live. He would find the one who did this. And he would plant his hammer so deep into him they would have to bury him with it.