A bit of lore of the world of Signum #2 (Patreon)

A regular feast was taking place in the great house of High King Uthor, arranged on occasion of a visit an elven diplomat. 

Not only the representatives of the clans gathered in the mead hall, but also wolfen, and, something unheard of, ogres. It seemed that the feast was in full swing, one man was laughing too loudly,  another was dragging his neighbour off by the beard, and someone was already snoring under the table. Uthor himself, having survived many such debaucheries, proudly sat behind the main table, watching over all that transpired with a relatively sober look. To his left sat the man responsible for the feast – the elven diplomat, who tried, albeit in vain, to hide his slightly squeamish expression.

Amidst the noise and racket, no one noticed the appearance of the three witches. As they approached the throne closer, they Sisters began to make out the dialogue:

-…  is getting stronger. The borders are too vast, too many mountains and ravines, which are difficult to control… With all due respect… Saw vampires... – The elf had to raise his voice to be heard amidst the clamor of the festivity, and at the same time not shout, so as not to be heard by those for whose ears his words were not meant. But the diplomat was a diplomatic precisely because he had to cope with such a difficult task.

- And I tell you, my good sir, that these are merely border skirmishes. Nothing serious. The Styx warbands are so small and pathetic, that even goblins manage to deal with them. I am much more concerned about the local hotheads. – With a broad gesture, Uthor swept his hand across the mead hall, in one of the corners of which a group of bearded fellows was already beating on each other with enthusiasm. While it was limited to punches and butt-kicks, the guards turned a blind eye on such things. Highlanders needed to regularly blow off some steam.

- This could be battle reconnaissance, a search for weak spots or the recruitment of spies, - the elf did not give up.

- Spies? Ha! Most of the clan chiefs are too blatantly too dumb for such complicated things. Besides, while they are perfectly content to beat each other up, they will stand together as a mountain in their mountains against the necromantic filth. – The king happily snickered at the pun he made. He then stood and lifted a massive goblet to the ceiling. – OY! CHILDREN OF THE MOUNTAINS AND RAVINES!

The hall went quiet. Even those fighting in the corner stopped still with their fists still raised, while the drunkard under the table opened an eye.

- WHO ARE WE!! – Uthor boomed, like an approaching avalanche.

- THE MOUNTAIN CLANS!!! – So loud was their reply, that the dust began to fall from the ceiling columns.

- WHAT DO WE WANT?!!

- TO STAND FIRMLY ON OUR LAND!!!

- WHAT DO WE SAY TO OUR ENEMIES?!!

This time the answers differed. Some simply yelled «FUCK EM IN THE ARSE!», others came up with more sophisticated answers. In any event, one thing was clear – enemies of the Clans would be dealt with in short order.

- As you can see, although this lot may be hot-headed and not too bright, they will protect the borders. Your leaders can rest easy…

-  WAR!!! - Morag’s half-shout, half-wail rang across those feasting and echoed from the walls. Uthor, who only now noticed the Sisters, blinked with surprise.

- War? When? With whom? Where?

- It is unknown, my king. - Brigit spoke. - Perhaps, merely infighting. Or perhaps, something more serious. The spirits rarely speak plainly on such matters.

Uthor grimaced and exchanged looks with the elf. The elf in turn shrugged with a look of «your country – your decision».

- I don’t like this one bit… Well, whatever ill news you’ve brought, you picked the right time and place for them – Uthor rose from his throne, took the sword and shield standing close and ready, and then slammed at the metal lining of the latter with the blade of the former with all his might. And then again. And again. The king continued slamming at his shield until all the looks in the room were fixed upon him.

- Listen to me, mountain clans! When the new moon comes I, High King Uthor, am assembling the Clan Council!  Each clan must send one representative! And now begone, sons of wolves, go spread the news across the valleys and hills, the feast is over!

With discontented hum, the highlanders began leaving and, in some cases, crawling out of the mead hall. Those who could not leave themselves, were carried out by their comrades or the guards. After a few minutes, only the Sisters, the king, and the elf remained. After a long pause, the latter found the courage to ask a question:

- May I take part in the Council as an independent observer?

- No. This is an internal matter of the clans. But you can remain here as a guest in my home and inform your people of the Council’s decision once it is over. – Weariness and sadness could be heard in Uthor’s voice. – Whether it is clan infighting or Styx’s scheming, we will find out ourselves first, and then will speak with our allies. If there will even be something to speak of. And now, please leave me, I wish to think alone.

As she was leaving the mead hall, Brigit turned and saw Uthor contemplating over his reflection in the blade of the sword.