As you approach the village you see it is by far the largest you have encountered so far. As well as the domed houses of skin and whale bone there is a great building also covered in oiled skins, but twice as high and three times longer; a great hall perhaps for a cold king. Figures go about their business: smoking meats, butchering seals, mending rooves. Even the children seem hard at work. The people are covered in volumous parkas and hide trews, but even so must be thick set benethe. At this distance men and women are indistinguishable in this garb.
As you approach through the ochre light of the fading sun one figure blows a high-pitched bone whistle, and is soon joined by a large group armed with ivory tipped harpoons. You are still about a quarter mile from the village.
The figure with the bone whistle greets you in an unknown language and places his harpoon and stone knife on the ground with great ceremony. You notice, though, that 10’ behind him his companions remain ready to cast their weapons. The figure draws back his fur lined hood to reveal a foreign face, a tanned broad faced man in his 20’s with snow white hair and ivory eyes shading to blue like blocks of glacial ice. Further back a child is leading two bent figures by the hand.
The old men approach, and lay ivory knives on the snow and draw back hoods to reveal eyes of ice set in leathered faces. One speaks.
“I...was Tenloowaq, he Aytenserk…Jarl. I hear for him. You have... gifts?”