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For several days Freeborn hunters had been venturing outside of the Stormborn stronghold to bring back kills to supply meat for the much-anticipated sending-off of the new Warlord's first official viking. The Thralls they brought with them were burdened with the actual dragging back of prey, naturally, but it would be the Freeborn who were credited with supplying the meat for the feast. The meat which had been killed first, and thus was in the greatest danger of spoiling, had been taken up to the snowy and icy heights to be stored and kept fresh. That meat was now being brought back down to the great feasting area and prepared for consumption, once more with Thralls doing the work.

Once all the preparations for the meal were made, there were still other necessary preparations, and these were of a more portentous nature. Live beasts kept especially for this purpose and tended by Thralls were taken from their enclosures and brought to new ones. Before the feast actually began, all of these would be ritually sacrificed and their entrails would be used to do a foretelling for the overall success of the viking as well as the individual futures of the Reavers involved for the duration of the raid.

When all was in readiness the Freeborn in charge of the arrangements sent out Thralls and cubs to act as runners and summon those members of the pride who had not been keeping an eye on the goings-on the entire time. Once everyone had arrived and taken their places one of the Priestesses would begin the sacrifices. As soon as each beast was sacrificed and its entrails read, Thralls would come up to remove the body and hastily prepare it to be eaten by those to whom the foretelling pertained.

After the sacrifices, if he wished to do so, the Warlord might speak a few words, but he would definitely raise a toast to the gods in thanks. Then the feasting and tale-telling and song-singing revelries could begin in earnest.

OOC Notes:
This open for posting, but please don't post here if you are not doing so with an accepted member of the Myrsky Syntynyt, as this is a pride event.

The sacrifices have not yet been made and the feast itself has not yet begun. This is a chance for people to play their SoA arriving, or perhaps say how they'd already been there working all day (if they're Thralls).

Ferawyn wasn't quite sure whether or not this was a chance to be delighted. Everything pointed toward escape: not only was Gunnar going a-viking and leaving his path to freedom (relatively) unguarded, Zilly was leaving as well and, thus, removing any and all reasons for him to remain in his lowly position as a Thrall.

And yet.

Lately, it seemed, his desperate desire to make his escape had begun to wane, and the thought terrified him. It wasn't so much that he was giving in, that their efforts to turn him into a subdued, submissive servant had finally paid off; it was more that... the freedom that had called to him no longer seemed as appealing. He wasn't, by any means, happy here or willing to be pushed about by lions that thought themselves better than he, but there was a certain, inexplicable force that held him and kept him where he was, and invisible anchor that he could not see or find, but that he knew existed, somewhere in his mind.

The white lion grumbled as he watched the lions begin to trickle in. Of course. Of course they would be here to enjoy the feast and celebrate the sending-off that he had worked literally all day to prepare for. And what for? All they were doing was going off to wreak havoc on the poor, unsuspecting world, and no good could come of it.

Ferawyn was half tempted to storm off in disgust, but sheer will stayed his paws. No, this was a joyous day, no matter how dark the activities they were celebrating, and it deserved to remain as such for everybody.

Morath had taken this opportunity to escape the confines of her siblings and to go find out what was all the fuss about. Her older brother Thuto; whom she treated as such, was a thrall and by rule had to help with tonight's duties instead of tending to his siblings, like he usually did. So as quiet as she could, she left her siblings and followed the commotion.

She peered around a few large rocks, spotting her fellow members. She wrinkled her nose, seeing nothing all that exciting among them. She sighed, not sure if coming tonight was even a good idea. She lifted her head and spotted another cub, about her age. She snuck up behind him, smiling to herself before speaking in a quiet tone. "What's going on?"

Thuto was busy helping the others with his tasks. He didn't mind a little time away from his younger siblings. In fact, he rather liked this chance to see some of the other members of the pride. He had easily spotted the white thrall who didn't look as.. well.. willing to be doing these duties. When a break in the work came upon him, he walked over to the white lion and looked at him quietly. "You alright?" He asked questioningly to the thrall he knew as Ferawyn.

Zsaria approached the festivities with caution, as she had begun to do some years ago on the day her brothers had disappeared. In her childhood this day had been one long awaited and she would have run down with her fellow cubs to cheer the raiders on. Now that she was one it seemed to hold much more gravity for her. She was not afraid, for she knew that fear had no place in a warrior's heart, but her mind was conflicted. She knew that she might not return as she had left, that was always a danger, but also that life would continue to go on in her absence. That was somewhat her hesitation, though she could not have cited it if asked. It had compounded over the preceding days so that now she made her way into the crowd bearing a mask of tired shadows and the smell of mint and juniper on her breath. Once the celebrations were over she knew that she would be ready, but her presence there still felt wrong. She surveyed the rest as they approached, finding many unfamiliar faces as well as a few she recognized. It was comforting somehow.

Taraxa kept a ways away from all the commotion. He watched from afar with something akin to pride gleaming in his eyes. This would be a fine feast he was sure of it, and from the way that the Thralls were intently working on the duties at hand, a large one. The Warlord would be pleased, and this would be a grand blessing for Aesir's first Viking as Warlord. Taraxa had anticipated this for quite some time and it was obvious in the way he seemed to purposefully watch the activity. He was also feeling a little anxious -- this had to come off without a hitch -- and so when he spotted the white lion with the shock of blue hair (a lion he knew to be Gunnar's Thrall) moping about, Taraxa frowned slightly. He would have to keep a close eye on that one.

Ulrika kept close to Taraxa as she usually tended to do ever since his near-drowning situation. It was almost as if she didn't trust him to be on his own, and though he'd told her that he would be going away for a bit, she still found herself to be an anxiety-riddled mess when she thought about it for too long. The only thing that'd kept her sane was her apprenticeship with Saraneth. It'd kept her mind occupied so she'd had little time to stress out about her papa drowning again -- or worse -- and though she'd not spoken to Saraneth about these feelings there was little doubt that Ulrika would. Saraneth had a way of making Ulrika feel more confident. Perhaps it was the way the green lioness exuded such confidence herself. Shifting slightly from paw to paw Ulrika's eyes caught sight of Zsaria. She couldn't help but tense up. Ulrika didn't like that lioness much, and would rather not speak with her. She relaxed a bit when she saw Saraneth, though she didn't run to meet the lioness just yet.

Skada found herself unconsciously watching after the females that littered the pride. It was something she found herself doing often. Even the busy female Thralls were under her watchful eye. It was really a habit that Skada had, and one that completely defined her personality as a Captain in the pride. Skada was much like a mother hen in many aspects, watching after her small flock of chicks. She wasn't going to be a part of Aesir's first Viking -- this was an acceptable thing, as there would have to be Captains left behind to watch after the pride while their Warlord was out Viking. As it was, Skada sat alone and merely watched the hustle and bustle of the pridemembers.

Unlike many, it seemed, Aesir had not taken a great deal of interest in the preparations for his sending-off. For one thing, it would not have been seemly for him to do so. The point of a sending-off was for the rest of the pride to celebrate the prowess of its warriors by making a fuss over them. Aesir couldn't very well be fussed over if he was lending a paw to help out, now could he? Oh, he could certainly hang around while everyone else was working and getting ready, but that would probably prove to be distracting for everyone, and he wanted this sending-off to go well, which meant that preparations should be allowed to proceed without interference from bored Warlords. Besides which, Aesir had helped to prepare sendings-off before as a Thrall and would rather not remind anyone of that fact.

So he held himself back and kept to his cave or went up to visit the ice melts or the "gate." Some poor bastards had to be on guard duty during the sending-off. He guessed that the two on duty had drawn lots and lost, since a Warlord's sending-off is never a thing to be voluntarily missed. There were political reasons for that, Aesir supposed, but personally he would simply have been disappointed if he'd missed all the excitement and action he had no doubt would take place. Instead, being the celebrated party, Aesir would be right in the thick of it with his Reavers alongside him.

And it was an interesting group of Reavers he'd assembled. Lots of females, which some might interpret as a political statement. He hadn't meant it that way, actually. It had just happened to work out. With any luck it would also work out that the female Reavers who came with would also be willing to keep their male companions warm and occupied at camp. Not that Aesir would be taking advantage of that. He had all he needed in that department, and also knew better than to sleep with a lioness who would likely encounter his mate and possibly talk. Best to keep such liaisons to strangers.

He could tell from the feel in the air as he wandered the pride that things were more or less ready, and so the dark Warlord made his way to the gathering area, moving without stately grace or anything to mark him as the leader of these folks except for an extra boost of confidence and a slight aura of mastery as he walked through the stronghold. This was all his, and it was good. But he'd make it better.

((... -so needs to find a less eyerape color for Fera-))

He shifted his attention to Thuto as the hybrid approached. There weren't altogether that many Thralls in the pride at the moment, and recognizing a fellow one proved to be anything but difficult. He quite liked this Thuto, anyway, from what he had gathered through distant impressions, but there was always that question as to why exactly he seemed so... willing.

"I'm, uh. I'm fine," Ferawyn answered with a small, forced smile, doing his best to keep his eyes from widening. No, no that simply would not do. Gunnar had already seemingly sniffed out his escape plan, and publicizing it was not the way to go. "It just seems like an awful lot of work for a couple of lions." He said, not wanting to seem aloof or overly distant. Fera would make friends where he could find them, and if he was really going to be stuck here for a while, there was nothing wrong with getting to know some of the others.

Except for the emotional attachments, of course, but those never crossed the white lion's mind. "How long have you been here?" Here, as in, here preparing for the send-off, but he supposed it could be interpreted in any number of ways.

Then Zilly appeared, and Fera felt his ears p***k. Oh, good. A familiar face. Of course, most of them were familiar to some extent, but Zilly was one of the few that he was actually beginning to enjoy seeing. She was an eccentric one, this lioness, but he found that he quite admired that of her. For a second, he contemplated a verbal greeting, but when she came and simply sat beside him, silently, he supposed that perhaps it would be alright to lapse into silence for a few moments.

With most of the pride assembled or assembling, it became apparent that the sending-off would soon begin. Having participated in many such ceremonies over their lives, those Stormborn who had been born and raised within the stronghold could sense when it was time for them to cease their milling around and take up a seat. The many cubs and new members took their cue from them.

In the prime spot, where all of the festivities of the open area could be best seen, though there weren't really any bad spots, sat the raiding band for whom the sending-off was thrown. Because several of the Reavers participating were actually Freeborn who would be elevated to Reaver status following this viking, it fell to the two more experienced participants, Taraxa and Gunnar, to demonstrate that they and Aesir and the rest of the crew should sit up there in the position of honor.

Once everyone had taken their places a sacrificial creature was led in. The first of seven which would die that night. This one, being intended to foretell the success of the viking as a whole, was larger and thus would have innards which were easier to see as they were spilled, allowing the entire pride to see the patterns the priestess would look at and interpret. The Thrall standing at the gazelle's head was clearly alarming the sacrifice, but not nearly so much as the priestess who entered next, draped in pelts and bones and beads to such an extent that it would have been difficult to identify her.

"Gods and goddesses of the storm," the priestess began, speaking softly rather than crying out. "We, your children, ask that you lend us your strength and wisdom this day, as every day. Show us what is to come."

Then, before the gazelle had a chance to react, she slashed viciously at his jugular using modified bone claws which had been attached over her own to lengthen hers for just that purpose. The resultant arterial spray spattered the Thrall holding the gazelle and the priestess herself, though neither seemed to mind. Once the gazelle had collapsed in a pool of its own hot blood the priestess made another decisive slash from groin to sternum, spilling the sacrifice's guts onto the ground in a rush of slippery, steaming grey and brown and pink.

She looked at the mass for a time, and then prodded it a bit this way and that with her paw, seeking out the exact location of certain important organs, such as the heart and liver and kidneys. At length and with bloodied paws she stepped back from the corpse and the portentous innards and turned to regard the Warlord and his party. Although her next words were a telling meant for them, she pitched her voice so that the entire pride might hear, if they listened.

"This will be a viking well-accomplished which will bring to the pride much growth and bounty, but will bring its members much personal strife. Face it as Stormborn and the pride will only prosper."

Thralls were already cleaning up the mess from the sacrificial gazelle and butchering it so that the viking party could eat its flesh. They left the heart, liver, and kidneys for the priestess to bestow as she saw fit. Taking one kidney in her mouth she carried it gingerly to Uss D'mzil. The second she took to Zsaria. The liver went to Nymphaea and the heart to Taraxa. She did not explain herself, and did not have to. The pride and the Reavers could draw their own conclusions about what this meant, but it was known that these choice organs were meant to bestow certain things on those who consumed them.

The next round of sacrifices would begin shortly. The Stormborn had learned long ago that this was not the most fun part of the ceremony, even though it was the essential part, and so they had pared it down to the bare minimum over the years. Because the party was not very large, the individual foretellings would probably not take all that long.

OOC Notes:
Everyone would have been present and watching, so it will be assumed that everyone is here, even if they haven't posted, and afterward everyone will know what happened (even if they can't remember it because they got drunk later on).

There is some significance to the way the organs were bestowed, but it isn't all that major for plot purposes. The priestess just gave them out as she thought would best benefit everyone. People might speculate, however.

I'm going to leave this for a day or two so people can get in their characters' reactions if you like.