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Lennart turned back to his sister, offering her an encouraging smile. “Then why don’t we ask around once the raid party has left? I’m sure we will have no problem finding a teacher for you.” He knew Morath was upset that Ulrika already had an apprenticeship, but he also knew that their sister needed the safety of an older lioness and the distraction learning brought with it. Why that was, he wasn’t sure, but Ulrika seemed uncertain and antsy these days.... As the big brother he worried, but since there was nothing he could do personally, he entrusted his sibling to the green lioness and kept an eye on them from a distance. Returning his gaze to his sister he smiled. “What did you want to apprentice as?” he glanced over at Thuto, but was content that the larger male was fine so returned his full attention to Morath.




Lucivar ignored the brother-sister duo beside him, letting them have their family moment as he gazed round the gathering pride. He spotted his dad across the way and watched as the dark lion moved over to talk to the thrall Ferawyn. The white and blue lion was not exactly hard to spot and Lucivar had been watching him from the corner of his eye the whole time, since he knew the thrall, for some odd reason, kept trying to linger on the edge of the pride almost as if he didn’t want to be there. Lucivar couldn’t figure that one out, but he pushed the idling thoughts form his mind as his brother turned up. Looking over at Halvar, he gave his brother a puzzled look. “Of course they will.. they are the Warlord’s Reavers. I really wish we got to go too...” Sighing a little the young cub turned to look across the area and went still.

“Look.” He whispered, blue eyes fixed on the imposing figure of the Viking leader as he paced regally through the gathering. “He’s here.” Just then everyone seemed to stir, falling into their appointed positions around where the feast had been laid. Standing, he glanced at Halvar and the female with her brother, then padded over, boldly following the adults to take his place in the circle. Settling down, assuming his brother would have followed at his side, he watched as the rest of the pride gathered round and settled, every single one of them waiting for the next part of the sending off. Looked up as the sacrifice was brought in Lucivar stared in surprise for a long moment, then gathered himself. He hadn’t though live prey would be used.. but really, he should have known, since everyone knew about the herds that were kept close to the pride’s quarters for just this kind of thing. Annoyed at himself for being shocked he couldn’t help but jump as the creature’s throat was torn out and the blood sprayed everywhere. Being so young, he hadn’t hunted yet and the amount of blood surprised him, but he had already guessed that more was to follow as the scary-looking priestess stood waiting for something... When she opened the beast up he winced, but couldn’t help himself as he leaned forwards to watch the female study the entrails. He didn’t see anything himself, but then he was far away, and certainly no spirit-talker, so he shrugged it off and waited for her proclamation. Her words, when they came, were puzzling as much as simple and he turned them over in his mind. A good Viking raid would bring trouble? Maybe they brought back troublesome thralls.... Satisfied with this conclusion the cub watched quietly as the organs were given out and the next part of the ceremony was begun.

Taraxa took his place and patiently waited while the sacrificial animal was brought before the lions that would take part in this viking. He inhaled deeply of the sweet tang of the gazelle's blood, watching the priestess carefully as she flayed open the sacrificial animal. She seemed pleased by the results, and he puffed up proudly when she spoke of the growth and bounty that the viking would provide. It would be good.

When the priestess brought him the heart, he dared not crack a smile. This was the moment that he'd waited for. The heart was an important gift. To Taraxa, it was the most honorable one that a Reaver could receive. It was enough to set his own heart to racing as he glanced thoughtfully down at the organ. The heart meant power, strength, stamina. It was steady, it was constant, and it was what powered the body. This was an honor, and Taraxa realized it for what it was.


Ulrika watched her papa move to his position and waited patiently while the priestess went through her motions. She still wasn't completely comfortable with the sight of blood and so she averted her eyes when the priestess killed the gazelle, though she turned her attention once more to the priestess and her actions with interest. Saraneth had been telling her bits and pieces of these ceremonies and it was most interesting to see them come to life. She pridefully smiled at her beloved papa when the priestess gifted him the heart. Saraneth hadn't yet gone into detail with the meanings of each organ, but she had mentioned that to receive one was a high honor.


Skada, too, watched the goings on with much interest. She was proud of the females that were going along on this viking. Indeed, they outnumbered the males. Though she hadn't yet met Zsaria, Uss D'mzil or Nymphaea other than in passing, she couldn't help but smile as each accepted their gifts from the priestess. She would be interested to see what each female brought back with them from their first viking with the new Warlord. She couldn't help but respect Aesir simply for the fact that he'd chosen such strong females along on his first viking as Warlord.

Dóttir wrinkled her own nose and shook her head, "No, no; not today. I only just returned. I'll let the Warlord and these Reavers have their fun without me for now." Her eyes twinkled as she looked from the male cub to the female, then winking at the two of them, "The boy's right. It's a sending off for the Warlord." The arrival of another cub didn't go unnoticed, but neither did the arrival of the Warlord himself. Her bright eyes rose and leveled on his dark mane, watching him as he moved through those gathered. It was a natural movement, for it would be unseemly not to know the whereabouts of the important lion. She heard the cubs talking, but knew they were no longer addressing her and had moved on.

And then it was time for her to move. She felt it. It wasn't really an audible sign, but she had been to enough of these to know so she unfolded her hind legs and, with a gentle nod in the direction of the cubs, she turned to pad quietly over to where her father was moving. Of course she'd sit by him. She'd always sat by him, since she had been no older than the cubs she had just left. Her demeanor changed as she moved, the smile fading and resolve hardening to keep herself silent as the grave. It was always different around him...

She watched the sacrifice without a glimmer of expression, letting the priestess' words wash over her and ignoring the tint of blood around her eyes as the animal's throat was slashed. Why hadn't she ignored her father's decision and enlisted herself with the Warlord? Her shoulders tensed at the thought, and then a cool chill passed down her spine as she dashed the jealousy and regret away. The foretelling was told, and she couldn't stop one brow ridge from rising, her curiosity peak. She did, however, resist a glance at her father. She knew he was watching, and she knew that she would get no inkling of his thoughts for his own face would betray nothing. She would only be annoyed at herself for looking his way. Instead, she sat, still as stone, and then relaxed as the sacrificial portion of the ceremony passed. She would keep her reactions to herself... for now.

Rå'styrke was oblivious to the activities of his daughter once the Warlord had entered the scene. His own startling bright eyes had followed the leader's movements, and hadn't moved even once he had been addressed by some Freeborn. It wasn't entirely abnormal for him to ignore someone, so eventually the lion retreated and left him in peace once more. His eyes darted to Taraxa and Gunnar, then Zsaria and the rest of the party; then there it was - that unspoken wave of acknowledgment when everyone knew that the time had come for ceremonies to begin. Admittedly, Rå liked these times the best. Lifting his dark head slightly, he did not acknowledge his daughter as she moved to sit by his side but instead looked upon the entering gazelle and adorned priestess.

He had seen enough sacrifices that nothing startled him nor surprised him about the sudden spurting blood or spilling organs. Death was part of the Stormborn, in many forms, but he was interested in the foretelling. He took great stock in the words of the Priestesses, and he dutifully memorized every word. His expression didn't falter, but he was interested in the possibilities hidden behind that fortune. Personal strife... for his Warlord, or for the party? The burn of curiosity was dull and throbbing, but there was more yet to be seen here. The Priestess was moving, and his eyes followed her as she passed out the organs. The kidneys and liver to the females, and the heart to Taraxa. His lips moved almost imperceptibly, deepening his thoughtful frown as he cataloged that information away for further reflection later.

Lennart tilted his head, regarding his sister with a worried brother’s gaze. Oh, he wasn’t worried over this confession, he knew Morath was driven and determined, she had true Storm Born blood in her veins so it was only to be expected, but he worried for the future, for things his cub mind could only vaguely understand. Still, he as the big brother, it was his duty to look after his sisters. Lifting his head he turned to watch the priestess as she set about the ritual sacrifice. The spilled blood didn’t bother him, though he had not seen this particular ritual until now, he knew of the rites and the basic progression of the festivities and thus, was prepared for the grisly scene. Sunshine eyes dropped to watch his sister as the priestess continued her casting, and he knew Morath had found her calling. Lifting a paw he pressed it to his sibling’s chest, preventing her from trying to stand up and go do just as she said.

“We would just be in the way, Morath. Why don’t we go join the others, then look for a teacher for you afterwards. There will be no better time with nearly every adult gathered here for the Warlord’s send off.” After a moment he stood, waited for his sister to join him then padded a little way to where the majority of the lions had gathered, there he settled and waited, listening to what parts of the priestess’s pronouncements he could hear but not overly worried about missing parts. No doubt he would hear the rest later on, along with possible explanations which would make more sense to him than the raw words themselves.




Lucivar had nodded as the dark-coated female replied, finding that he rather like her attitude, friendly yet strong and capable, a fine reaver from what he understood. He even forgave her for calling him ‘boy’, since it was better than ‘cub’ and well.. he was a boy. Once everyone had settled down at the feast and the sacrificial innards had been distributed, Lucivar glanced over to where the dark female sat then moved his gaze from her to the stern looking lion beside her. One he recalled as being named Rå'styrke, though that was not from the lion’s own mouth, but from another informing him.. since it seemed that the older lion barely spoke and certainly hadn’t spoken to Lucivar personally. Instead, he settled to watching the warlord, pale gaze unwavering as he focused on the Stormborn leader and his party. Cub-paws shifted with irritation and annoyance. He knew he was too young, but how he longed to go. Snorting under his breath he corralled the emotions and packed them away in the corner of his mind. He would go, when he was tall enough. Until then, he had to train as hard as he could.

After the foretellings had been done for each individual Reaver and the animals used for them consumed, the Priestess and her assistants withdrew from the ceremony and the Thralls came in with the food they had spent most of the day - and several days before - preparing. Along with the food were large quantities of Mint, both dried and fresh, as well as some more exotic but equally intoxicating fruit which had been somehow convinced to ferment despite the chill climate where the Stormborn dwelt.

At this point the feasting and merriment could begin, and did. Perhaps some lion or other climbed to his feet and lifted his voice in song. Maybe it was even a talented Thrall, rather than a Freeborn or Reaver. Others, largely Reavers, discussed great vikings of the past amongst each other and speculated on the success of this viking, and what the Priestess's words had meant.

The celebration would not draw to a close until the wee hours of the morning, when the celebrants would make their way back to their dens - if they chose to do so - or find a place to curl up and sleep in the feasting area, which was also perfectly acceptable. The cleaning up and clearing away would wait until the next morning, when everyone had departed and the Thralls would not have to work around slumbering figures.

OOC Note:
Feast's over. Anyone wanting to make last posts is welcome to do so, but the mule will be making no more posts. Thank you all for participating. Next time a schedule will be more closely followed.