Night swooped across Dunland as quick as it always did, though the air remained warm on this summers night. Great bonfires were lit in Lhan-Tarren, sending smoke and embers to dance in the sky above the gathering below. Laughter, arguments and drums filled the air as the moon rose higher to watch over the festivities.
Many men, women and children of the Stag-Clan all gathered and sat around the largest fire going. The whole clan was there. Warriors lined up with intricate patterns of paint reaching over their skin and furs, women sat down gossiping to each other with their children on their knee or running about with sticks as weapons. The Elders all sat together in a small huddle atop some steps, each nodding and debating about the matters of the clan.
A shout was heard amongst the talking and laughing. A shout that made everyone sit and settle down. It was the Chief's shout. A man with dark brown hair with streaks of silver running through, a large beard to go along with it. He was dressed in the finest furs with a crown made of antler sitting upon his head. Boom, boom, boom. The drums went on slowly as he went to the fire, looking up to the sky. Some men groaned as they knew the ceremony was boring but it must be done.
"Welcome, Stags! To the feast! The Feast.. of the Running Stag!”, He bellowed out in his deep and commanding voice! In response to this he got a few claps and a cheer or two.
"We gather at the start of each summer to remember the history of our people! A sad history. One that no one should forget! Not until the last one of us is cold and dead on the ground!”, He shouted out, pacing back and forth, his shadow dancing about on the walls of the huts. He rose his hand, and one of three women dressed in ceremonial leathers and furs, covered in paint from head to toe, walked from one of the huts. In her palms a shoddy looking crown, handing it over to the chief before he rose it up high in the sky.
"A crown!”, he shouted out once again. His dark eyes glaring out at those gathered. “A crown for the kingdom! The kingdom of the king that forsook our old lands! Abandoned by the king of “Gondor”. Never forget the king whose laws drove us to the hills!” He signalled again, and out walked a woman holding a horses tail in her hands.
"A horse tail! For Rohan.. the land of the usurpers! The land of the thieves! The land of the Flax-hairs!”, he shouted out! His expression turning to anger, and soon it washes over the rest of the crowd gathered.
"Our enemies! They drove us from OUR rightful lands! Someday, the lands must and will belong to us again! Never.. EVER forget our true home!” He shouted out before the last signal was raised, and out walked a woman with a spear in her hands. Blood at the tip. Dirty, as if it has never been cleaned. As the chief took it in his hands, sadness appears on his face.
"This is a spear of the Dragon-Clan! The clan of the Old-Man of the tower. This spear slew my son, who was to be Brenin after myself. The blood still stains the tip..”, his voice went quiet towards the end.. before it rebuilt itself and came out loud and strong.
"With this spear, we remember our own people have turned against us! We remember, Dunland is not one people with the same cause! We remember! That our own brothers from other clans, chased us to the edge of Dunland where we settled here in Trum Dreng.. the unwanted lands!”, the chief shouted out at the end! Getting boos and roars in response!
"Now eat! Eat and remember! Remember our history! FEAST!”, he roared out at the top of his lungs before the food on the spits above the fires turned and came off, being set onto bare tables before the clan dug in! Rejoicing and remembering!
All over Dunland the clans did this. Each to their own way. The Dragons, the Falcons, the Ox, the Avanc and the small group of Boars. The derudhs also did this, as the whole of Dunland celebrated and remembered. Anger could be felt in the air.. anger and greed!
