The drums rolled onward in the night sky, the warriors crowded around in their own circles surrounding the benches and high tables, dancing with their fellows and their women. Mead was poured, and meat was served, while a clutch of bloodied captives seated along the edge, watching the festivities with fearful eyes.
The blood haired Chieftain of the Munso Tribe sat in the center of the High Table on the Dias, with the Champions, Elders and other Chiefs seated there with him. They talked and drank all evening, some of the men leaning on the sides of their chairs, huddled in their own conversations as Gorlakon watched all those of note talk among themselves. He had feasted his people in the ancient and ruined capital of Garth Agarwen for a week straight, to commemorate the Bronze-Lords who had dutifully worked upon their crafts, providing the Rhudaurian peoples with arms and armour.
Without these legendary bronze workers, the remnants of Rhudaur would have been reduced to nothing but what they could steal, and gnarled clubs. Gorlakon himself had great admiration for these men. Unlike most of the warriors, however, the champions and those of note and position had arms and armor that befit their station, consisting of stolen steel, decorated by the Bronze smiths to be decorated in the old styles.
The Chieftain adjusted his furs, his ears perking at the nearby conversation, "Rumor is that the Tribes east of the River desire war with Garth Agarwen." said an aged Chief to his companion, who merely shrugged, "And what for? What reason do they have to desire battle with their own kinsmen?" he asked, disgust obvious in his tone. The conversation disappeared behind a veil of music and merry making, which caused Gorlakon to grunt in irritation and look away.
It was true, not all the peoples of that were yet of Rhudaur did not agree with his policy, nor have forgiven Gorlakon for his violent and abrupt rise to power. However the young Chief had the blessings of both Ivar and the Red Maiden, and had designs for a rebuilt, and independent Rhudaur. Something denied his people for too long. Something their former Overlords to North would still deny them, had they sworn their axes and spears to their cause.
"What do you think, Lord?" asked a bearded man, his beard decorated heavily with bronze rings and clamps. Gorlakon raised a brow and nodded to the man, "About what?"
"Allowin' us to sell our goods to outsiders. I've spoken to the Bronze-Lords, who said they will be willing to offer up a third of their profits to you as tribute, should they be allowed to sell their wares far away." he said, his fingers thumbing along the rim of his drinking horn.
Gorlakon winced somewhat, and merely shrugged, "These lands are still yet unstable." spoke the Chieftain, "With war raging, and the roads being waylaid by Brigands and whatever else..and with the Eastern Tribes making threatening noises..." he shrugged with some displeasure, "I wish to let the Lords do as they wish with their work, but it would pain me to learn if one of our caravans were sacked. It would only lead to conflict, in the long run. Let us stay our hand, for the now. Let us watch. And if we deem it appropriate, we'll work on securing our borders, and perhaps finding those that would be interested in purchasing our wares." he said, nodding his head confidently to the man.
The man pursed his lips at that, before bowing his head, "Well said, Lord. Of course."
