Claigeann Neach-Trusaidh Talla (Skull Collector Hall)

Construction at Claigeann Neach-Trusaidh Talla

This topic contains 0 replies, has 1 voice, and was last updated by  SIGRÍÐR 1 year ago.

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    There is activity close to the mead hall and it seems that SIGRÍÐR is the cause of it. In a space, close to Beremud’s forge and the lee side of the mead hall, in the shade of some inadequate scrubby trees, two large posts had been buried upright. The sounds of banging and hammering and sawing had rang about the environs of the halle all morning.


    A survey of the area would see a large cross spar nailed to one post and great iron hooks from the forge of the warrior attached midway for each. There were countless bales of hay, tightly packed and stacked into a pile, and the start of a structure made from these bales stands a little way behind the posts. SIGRÍÐR has spent long hours conceiving this spot, for she would have a place to practice archery with her ally, Shilo, a woodland elf, the next time he traveled this way. She had happened upon the spot, its sheltered position in the lee of the building and thought immediately of it’s suitability for a practice spot.


    Once the idea filtered through, she had not stopped in her endeavors. She had spent days gathering what she needed, buying the great bales from neighboring farms, some of which were a great many miles away. They were delivered in piecemeal fashion by great rumbling carts and dumped in the shade of those trees to keep them dry. The posts were a couple of felled trees, no more than 10 years old and listing and slightly bent as per the prevailing winds that swept across these moors. Good for nothing but she could see potential.


    The Norse skjaldmær had dressed them as best as she could with her ax. The iron ax head was deeply arched and longer than one used for such things, designed for lopping heads rather than boughs. But still she prevailed and the job was done. The post holes she dug herself, dug until there was a good three feet of narrow post hole. The formidable woman had enlisted the help of her brothers and sister of the mead halle to help her raise them, tipping rock and shale and earth back into the hole to provide stability. If any were to happen upon this scene, they would see a very active and red faced skjaldmær, forgoing leather outer casing and fittings and wearing just her tunic and trews, hauling bales about the place like it was harvest time.


    Slowly the structure comes to life. Providing a break from the wind and protection from any errand clothyards that may be lost.


    Working for hours, she sends one of the local boys into the hall to fetch for her a cup of Tearlach’s famous mead, made from the hives that fed upon the purple heather, sweet and strong and refreshing for the hard working skjaldmær who was taking a moment to catch her breath.


    For despite the chill of the day, and the fine mist of rain that had not diminished through the morning and would form a damp coating upon hair and clothing, she was hot and flushed.


    She is not finished that day- or the day after. Stacking and re-stacking the bales to ensure stability and consistency. Hammering great square headed nails into the wood to make a firm surface for the targets.

    Constructing them with sacks of densely packed straw and hanging them to swing gently in the breeze from roughly cast iron hooks. The woman was focused, determined with a single minded purpose and that was to construct the butts for archery practice.

    For Claigeann Neach-Trusaidh Talla – yes. The warriors would need to practice, to develop their skills and to keep them occupied during the summer months rather than drunken and squabbling.


    But there was a part of her that was excited to show her ally, Shilo. To see his reaction. A place to learn from him for it was clear on the day of the raid that he was far superior a bowman than any she had seen.


    Finally- she was done. Quietly working alone to improve the environs of the mead hall and the quality of the lives of the warriors and when she was done, would string her own selfbow and split fingers to draw for the first time, smiling as the clothyard thunks into the target and pins it to the boards. A nod of satisfaction. The skjaldmær was well pleased.



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