The sun starts to set on the hills and green lands of Dunland, far in the distance the golden plains of the horse lords starting to grow dark as the pale moon rises from its daytime slumber. Pren looks out across the lands, his eyes moving across the desired lands of his ancestors before to the small village at the foot of the hill, thinking back to a few years back..
Close to the whole clan had gathered in the large hut, belonging to the Brenin and his Brehures; who were standing gathered in a huddle talking to each other. Every warrior, scout, hunter, farmer and cook sat themselves down on the benches, talking to each other and enjoying each others company as the women handed out mugs and horns of beer and mead while other women handed out parts of a cooked ox. Laughter echoing in the hut as all talk and drink, ranging from those still boys to those with beard as white as snow. As the evening drew on, the Brenin sat on his throne made of skull and blades, golden chains hanging down the top as he look about.
His hair a bright red, with streaks of grey starting to show. Wrinkles appearing on his weather beaten face though it barely showed because of his fur hoods and skull helms. Nearing his fifties though he still stood strong and proud, with a voice like thunder the Brenin spoke out as his brehures sat.
"Men. Women. Young and old. Today, a decision has been made by myself and my council. The Hen-Ddyn (Old-Man), who lives in his tower close to these lands has offered us a deal.”
Murmurs and mutters come from the crowd as they all speak to each other quietly, on all matters though none dare say out loud for each of them respects the Brenin, who continues to speak once the talking has settled down. The man pushes himself up from his throne, speaking out in a louder voice as before as he circles around the fire and looks to the face of each man and woman.
"He has offered us a way to get back the lands of our ancestors! The lands that many generations ago the ceffyls drove us from, into the hills! The lands that will set a farmer for life with its rich soils! Word has it that the ceffyl-ddynion eat their captives! If rumour is true that those strawhairs eat man-flesh, then all the better that we kill them to claim back our rightful lands!”
The men and women glance at each other at these words, the Brenin falls silent before he lets others speak up. The first to speak was a respected farmer, an elderly man by the name of Ianto. Pren cast his glance over to him as he pushed himself up with the aid of a stick.
"They drove us from the lands once, they can do it again! Do not waste the men!”
Warriors then shouted out their opinions, a few standing up though Pren remained seated during all of this. It seems he was loyal to the Brenin, and what ever he chose he would follow.
"No! Let's march against them! The flax-hairs deserve to die for what they did to us many years ago!!” Dafydd shouted out as he raised his axe to prove the point!
The Brenin looked between each before he let out a shout that shook his lungs inside him, raising his hammer into the air!
"ENOUGH! The choice has been made. We will join the Hen-Ddyn and do as he says! He will be the one that gives us our lands back! Any more on the matter?” The Brenin looked about, raising his hammer as if threatening any who would speak.. silence he got in return.
The Brenin nodded to his brehures before they all sat down at their respected chairs, mutterings and mumbles passing throughout the hall of the plans. Some felt as if they were being forced into while others were glad at the thought of being able to take back their lands and kill at the same time. Pren however, did not know what to feel though he trusted his chief's choice.
The Brenin's Hall -
