The Great Hall could house almost the entire warrior population of Hrothgunsen's Holdt, and a few to spare.  The horses were seen to, though with much making of signs against evil and muttered prayers, while the children were gathered and taken to their own homes, and those who did not make war returned to their homes as well to consider all that they had seen, and wonder....<br/><br/>Lord Rurik, Chosen by Tyr, stands near the center of the room, near the large fire pit.  Those who have served him well, his advisers and his good warriors alike, knell, less out of fealty than to allow others who see the lord less to have their chance to do so.  He is still strong, still has color in his bears and hair, though there is more now than there was even one season ago.  The heavy set warrior steps up onto the bricks that circle the fire pit, which raises him a full two heads above the others here, and there are many.  Rurik raises his hands and the murmurs and conversation die slowly, until quiet reigns.<br/><br/>"<em>My people, and those who are not of my people, but are friends to my people....the omens have been dark this season, and the strangeness that comes from the east comes more swiftly.  I have heard talk of both abandoning the Holdt....</em>"  Dire mutters and soft claims of 'never' slither through the great hall.  "<em>....and defending it to the last man.</em>"  More mutters, but these are more pleased, more eager.  No man wished to flee from battle.  Only Hel awaited them.  "<em>But we will be one people who does not wait idly for those to destroy us to come to us.  I have pledged the finest weapons and arms for those who will go forth and root out this evil at its source.  Those who return will be given their own holdings, and livestock from my own to fill them with.</em>"  It was generous, incredibly so.  The best went to the Lord, and an offer to share that out was unheard of.  The murmurs and slither speech wafted through the chamber.<br/><br/>"<em>But the soothsayers have spoken.  They warn me that no more than one third of the Holdt's warriors may leave, and that those who leave will be haunted until their steps take them to the Mouth of Niflheim.</em>"  The muttering was louder, and took longer to die this time.  he was speaking of dangerous things.  The mouth to Hel's domain was far to the east, supposedly, and to hold so many back smacked of trying to protect his wealth - which it was, but not in the way it seemed.  "<em>Those of us who remain will gird ourselves for war.  Those who cannot fight will be sent with treasure and animals to Gunnerskreig, where they will take refuge.  I will listen to those who wish to speak to me now.</em>"  he sat upon the bricks, the fire at his back, and waited as the indivudual warriors and homesteaders of the Holdt came to speak with him, offer their counsel or their services as they would.<br/><br/>The young witch Signy could feel the troubled power in the tent, and it felt...wrong, incorrect.  Not evil, for there was no evil in this, but doom wafted through the tent, the hounds of Hel sniffing at their heels.<br/><br/>Milyausha could very well profit greatly from the lords offer, and even Gautirr looked both troubled and interested on the riches and wealth that the keeper of Iron could bestow up him.  He hesitated, rather than leaving the tent at once, perhaps to see if he could hear more, perhaps lingering to offer escort to those who would seek refuge - possibly even to his own Holdt.<br/><br/>Rydis and Sabine had seen councils of war before, and this one had been different.  It almost felt like the Lord was preparing a last, desperate stand, where before he had eagerly gone to battle with his foes.<br/>