[u]Day 1 Morning - Civility Forest - A few miles from The Capital Vanir.[/u]

The sun lay low in the sky, signifying the start of summer in Alba, however this could be easily argued false as the snow that blanketed the soil of the forest was still as heavy as ever. The snow of Alba tells a story, tales of creatures walking, or running. The tales the snow told Hundi, the heir to the Tostisson clan, was that of a large hoofed creature moving north of his position. He had been tracking the creature for many hours, and the hunt was soon to be complete. The snow told Hundi that the creature had begun to slow, and with this information the large man quickened his pace. 


The next clue the snow gave him was the spatter of crimson splashed across it. The damage Hundi’s first arrow had placed was taking effect on the creature. Patience was all it took to finally take such a large beast down. He altered his path, moving slightly east until he made his way to a clearing, there he found the creature he had been following. It was stumbling slightly, the arrow to its shoulder still stuck deep within. Hundi looked at it for a moment, admiring the strength of such a muscular being as he removed the bow from his back and began to nock an arrow. The projectile flew quickly and pierced the horned creature in the neck, the antlered beast reared slightly  and huffed viciously. It was not to be killed so easily, however the body of the animal was to give up before its mind and despite its determination to stay standing the creature slumped to lie down. Hundi began to approach, causing the creature to cry out and attempt an escape, which only caused itself more damage as it fell into the snow. The pelt covered man attempted to calm the beast, cooing slightly as he removed the large blade from his belt. It was over quickly, the animals blood spilling quickly across the snow. Another story for the frost to tell. 

[u]Day 1 Noon - The Capital Vanir - High King Vikar’s Bed Chambers[/u]

Cinnamon.
Why could he smell Cinnamon?
The High King awoke from his restful slumber, yawning loudly as he stretched out his muscular arms. He panned his head around the room, the walls adorning themselves with countless trophies from many hunts and battles, he stopped when he found the source of the unusual smell. Incense has been lit on Vikar’s desk. ‘Must have been one of the woman’ He thought slowly rising himself from the many furs that adorned his large bed. As he did so a faint knock came from the door.
“Who is it?” asked Vikar, wiping the sleep from his eyes. Instead of a response the door opened as his son Griotgard entered. 
“Still in bed Father, how are you supposed to do anything these days when you are sleeping half the time.” Griotgard teased, he moved towards the desk, “You going soft on us?” He asked gesturing to the pleasant smelling incense slowly burning.
“I awoke to it, probably one of the new Thralls” He replied rising from the bed and moving towards the wardrobe “What brings you here Griotgard?” 
“Oh, Thorarin of the Crossroads has traveled to meet with you. I believe it is to discuss the goings on in the south.” Griotgard replied, moving to the door. “He is waiting for you in the meeting hall, I suggest you hurry, before he sponges all of the ale.” He then left ignoring his father's groan of annoyance. ‘What does that idiot want now…’ Vikar thought changing quickly and moving to the meeting hall.

The meeting hall was a large stone room, adorned with many paintings and tapestries of past battles of glory and honour. Each Jarl was represented here and each had a seat at the long table. However today only one seat was filled, that of The Crossroads. The Jarl of which was a large fat man who easily lost himself to ale and food. Thorarin drank heartily from a large tankard, a half empty bottle sitting beside it. As Vikar entered the man sat up.
“Ah, so glad for you to join us your majesty” Thorarin proclaimed bitterly, swigging at his drink “I have only been waiting a cuckles breakfast!*” 
“What do you want Thorarin” Vikar asked, seating himself at the head of the table and nodding towards the small woman who stood in the corner. She looked nervously at the High King then went to find some wine. 
“It's about the southerners, this ‘colour’ is spreading and I was wondering what plans we have to dealing with it.” He replied.
“Dealing with what? This ‘colour’ will not reach this far north, the cold will kill anything but the strongest of Albians.” Vikar retorted, he found the whole ordeal foolish, the disease of the mind would not find its way this far north.
“But if it does make it this far?” Thorarin asked.
“Then we will deal with it, Albians are a strong people, they will not be brought to their knees by a disease. We will survive this and get through it, your lack of faith in the strength of my people is what I find the most worrying here Thorarin.” Vikar responded angrily. The wine was brought in as silence enveloped the room. The foreign concubine began to pour a glass but was shaking quite erratically. “Just leave the bottle!” Yelled Vikar, causing the woman to quickly place the beverage down and speedily walk away. Thorarin was unsure how to respond, he began pouring himself another tankard of ale.
“You should leave Thorarin, go back to your lands, and have faith in the Albian people.” Vikar drank from his glass waiting for a response. Instead Thorarin stood and left the room. 
Vikar drank alone, wondering if the words he spoke would be easier said than done.


*A cuckles breakfast - Alba slang for a long time.