Post by Lord Ainvar Hrothgarsson on Oct 31, 2014 20:40:46 GMT
Peasants bustled around the Great Hall, preparing for the night's festivities of the great Samhain celebration. The day where the harvest ends, and the year turns to a new one. Lord Ainvar walks the perimeter inspecting the work around him. In months passed, he relinquished his seat as Sheriff, as per the custom of the Locks, and fell into the role of Prime Minister. Tedious work, not meant for a warrior. An assistant scurried up to him, giving a slight bow before handing the Lord a thick scroll. It was a ledger report on the expenses used, and more expenses being requested for the feast, hours away. Still skimming over the parchment, he motioned for a quill, giving a quick signature at the bottom, before waving the young man away.
He once more began pacing around, making sure everyone was on top of their jobs for the evening ahead, he placed his hand on the hilt of his dagger to rest, still not used to the persistent tingling of the gift that the great thunder god had given him. Pausing at the high table, Lord Ainvar once more scanned the decorations being put up. Large orange pumpkins as centerpieces on each table, ringed in oak leaves in gold, brown, and red. The banners of the Locks displayed proudly over the Hall. A single large banner of crimson, with a golden triskele hung at the high table, behind the chair appointed to the Sheriff, noting the ruling House of the land. It was a strange custom, but as such, the tribe obliged to the customs of their neighbors, in an attempt to make themselves look less, as they were called, "savage". Skulls and hides of great bears, elk, and other game that had been hunted for the feast lay in perfect display on the walls, showing the bounty of the season. The smell of mulled spice wine, and various breads and meats filled the air, as the occasional chill would creep in as people came and went through the large oaken doors, leading outside. Servants were bringing copious amounts of firewood in to keep warmth about, on a night promising to be cold, as the realms of the living, and dead, were closest together.
He once more began pacing around, making sure everyone was on top of their jobs for the evening ahead, he placed his hand on the hilt of his dagger to rest, still not used to the persistent tingling of the gift that the great thunder god had given him. Pausing at the high table, Lord Ainvar once more scanned the decorations being put up. Large orange pumpkins as centerpieces on each table, ringed in oak leaves in gold, brown, and red. The banners of the Locks displayed proudly over the Hall. A single large banner of crimson, with a golden triskele hung at the high table, behind the chair appointed to the Sheriff, noting the ruling House of the land. It was a strange custom, but as such, the tribe obliged to the customs of their neighbors, in an attempt to make themselves look less, as they were called, "savage". Skulls and hides of great bears, elk, and other game that had been hunted for the feast lay in perfect display on the walls, showing the bounty of the season. The smell of mulled spice wine, and various breads and meats filled the air, as the occasional chill would creep in as people came and went through the large oaken doors, leading outside. Servants were bringing copious amounts of firewood in to keep warmth about, on a night promising to be cold, as the realms of the living, and dead, were closest together.
