>>23675700The hall is lit with flickering torches, the shadows dancing across timber beams engraved with the marks of generations past.
Outside, the winter wind rakes the countryside, but inside, the heat of fire and the smell of roasted boar wraps everyone in warmth.
At the center of the hall stands the sacrificial boar, its hide glistening, anointed with herbs.
The leader of the ritual lifts his hand and gestures to the gathered warriors. Each man lays his hand on the boar to swear their oaths,
feeling the sinew and strength of the creature beneath his palm, as if connecting his own resolve to the living spirit of the sacrifice.
A horn sounds. Twice. A chant rises from the circle of the hall, calling the god by name — once, twice, thrice —
the syllables rolling over the heads of the gathered, resonating in the ribbed wooden walls, vibrating through the bones of all present.
Eyes meet, shoulders touch, and for a moment, the community breathes as one.
> The oath beginsOne by one, each warrior grips his weapon — sword, axe, or spear — engraved with runes and marks that tell the story of his lineage.
He speaks aloud the promise he swears, the vow to uphold honor, to defend kin, to act with courage.
The words are heavy, measured, carried on the weight of tradition. All listen. All will remember. To break it is unthinkable.
