Mentally Terraformish: When in Lamavic (prologue)

Garrat pushed his way through the throng, his four bodyguards flanking him. The air stank of smoke, sweat and mead and was so hot and heavy he struggled to breath. Low mournful singing filled  the room, the crowds of clansmen, the women and the children all stood transfixed. Some had their eyes closed and he noted a few of the grizzled folk were weeping.  The doorkeeper pressed ahead, gesturing for them to follow. Garrats party struggled to keep up as the doorkeeper made his way to the center of the room. Not one of the men looked at the party walking among them, the song seemed to weave its way around the room. Garrat shook his head, savages, no wonder they had no future, still held by the ghosts of the past, ghosts of their own making. A moment later the Doorkeeper turned and whispered to Garrat and his men to stop. They were in the center of the room, a large stone firepit stood, wood blazing away, its heat engulfing the space around it. Along side it stood a high backed stone chair, seated on which was an enormous bearded old man, in his furs he looked like a cross between a bear and a man. His face was set like carved rock, concentration etched on his face, his head moving slowly to the music winding around the throne. Next to this was a group of eight wizened old men standing in a line singing. Each looked to be older than any man Garrat had ever encountered. Each wore rough faded black woolen robes. The men were in the grip of the song, tears rolled down their wrinkled cheeks as they sang.  Garrat and his men stopped at the foot of the throne. He stepped forward a pace further than his guards.....pulled a large scroll from his belt and slowly unrolled it.....took a last glance at the press of silent bodies surrounding him.......and loudly cleared his throat....

,........It must have only taken a few moments for order to be restored, but to the cowering Garrat it seemed like a lifetime. The large man rising from his throne bellowed threats to the men in his charge, cutting through the shouts and curses raining down along with the fists and debris on Garrats guards who had gathered around the scribe to shield him from the angry mass. One of the old singers had spat at Garrats boots and another had showered him in dregs from his drinking horn. For a moment the throng had stood confused, not sure what to do but one more shout of ' AH SAYS BLOODY WELL LEAVE IT BHOYS!!!!!!' from the throne made them step back. Garrats guardsmen sheathed their blades but kept their hands on the hilts. They fanned out a step facing away from the throne but towards the mass of men in the room. The man bear sat back on his throne and sighed. He seemed to gather his thoughts for a second before leaning forward and fixing Garrat with his steely gaze. 'Wat the fuc do youz lot think youz doin eh?, youz jus waltzed inte our hall, THE FUCCIN HEART OF CLAN MALARRAC', he threw his arms wide and looked around the room to great cheers from the rest of the men within. 'Do youz know what youz just intefuccinrupted?' he continued. 'Youz just intefuccinrupted the lament of breccan field, where we lost two hundred proud bhoys to the SCUM of Verland'. 'Somma the folks youz sees here lost relatives there, they remember, an they dont needs youz bunch a whet shites intafuccinruptin it!, so scuse us if we dont welome youz to ar hall but considerin youz seem to want to pisch on the memory of our deed clan brothers youz betta get on with whateva youz caim for and get oot while youz still on ma good side ya ken?'. The big man sat back and folded his arms. Shaking, Garrat stepped forward gripping his scroll in front of his chest like the worlds most ineffective shield. 'oh mmm mm mighty Lord Aaa Aaralin ll ll llleader of ccllann Mmmallarric' he stammered, his nerves turning his knees ( and bowels) to jelly. He took a deep breath to compose himself. 'My name is Garrat and i am head scribe to Govenor Paral, Leader of the mining expedition ordered by high Govenor Fantilan of the Mining guild into the Northern Frostfangs and your lands of North west Lamavic. I have been sent to deliver my masters glad tidings to you and your Clansmen and to invite you to take advantage of a fantastic offer'. Clan lord Aralin stood up with a face like thunder 'WHUT FUCCIN' MINING EXPEDITION IN MAH LANDS?!'.
'wwell' started Garrat as Lord Aralin stepped towards him and swiped the scroll from his hands 'Ah think ah could do wi' readin' this mysel'. Garrat stood around looking at his feet and giving the occasional smile to anyone that met his glance. Lord Aralin turned his back to the scribe and read, mumbling to himself as he did.........
........A blow sent Garrat to his knees before Lord Aralin, Clansmen pressing in on all side baring any hope of escape. beside him the bodies of his guards were piled. The jeers of the Clansmen filled his head as the Lord closed in waving the ripped scroll in his huge fist. 'The fuccin nerve o' the man, mining mah lands wi no word ta us an offerin us half what he gets..HALF OF WHAT WE ALREADY BLOODY OWNS!!!'. 'Its not as it seems' tried Garrat wiping blood from his lip more in hope than anything else. 'The govenor has a permit approved by the high govenor himself and the mariners guild and the guild of money lenders have helped fund it. Lord Callar of the frost fangs has already agreed and signed'. 'Callar!' spat Aralin 'that bastard would sign anythin to get at us lot afta his exile, i shoula finished him last time'. 'Look' said Garrat 'The fleet has landed, there in the Frostfangs just over the ice ridge as we speak, The mining is going ahead as planned with or without your consent, why not make it easy on your clan and make some gold in the process?'. Lord Aralin stepped forward and slapped the scribe with the back of his hand. 'Listen ta me ya dumb pup, yous an yous guild are havin none o' our land. Tell Paral Clan Malarac are no stupid enough ta fall for his shite'. 'No, no you dont understand its...' attempted Garrat before he was cut off again. 'No its yous that no understands, you cant see what hes doin' can ye?.Paral wants me an' the bhoys to go chargin afta him so he can report back thats wes attackin him an call for reinforcements, next thing ya knows we got all a the guilds invadin' an the clans are at war. That way he can get the numbers te try te take our land by force. Yous tell him ah says he can chew on mah shite before he gets his war but if any ah yous guild arsewipes sets foot in mah lands they fuckkin die. If he wants a war he can have the good grace to start it himsel. As for yous ya cluless shite, ah can see he picked yous caus ye cant see yer bein used by that shite ta get things started, yous going back ta him ta tell him what happened tonight, i would kill yous but thats what he wants so run, run back before i change mah mind, go on git'. Aralin grabbed the scribe by the scruff and lifted him off the floor, carried him ten paces to the door and flung him into the snow. As soon as Garrat hit the hard ground he was up and running. 'AN TELL CALLAR THAT IF AH SEES HIS UGLY FACE A'LL CUT IT OFFA HIS FAT HEED' shouted Aralin into the darkness over the laughter of the clansmen. He turned to face his men. 'Righto lads, whos for a bloody drink...'