Music filled the air… the heavy, rhythmic thumping of skin drums, and the loud, energetic laughter of warriors drinking away the nightmare of battle.
The Veynar people ate, drank, and danced around the roaring flames, celebrating not just a victory, but the birth of a new era where their clan would no longer live as hunted prey.
This had always been the way of the Veynar.
In the Great Orrath, death was not an interruption of life… it was one of its oldest laws. Every hunter who stepped beyond the settlement walls understood that the forest did not promise return.
Every warrior who lifted a spear knew that the ancestors' road was never far away. Because of this, the tribe had long refused to let grief become a quiet, private thing that hollowed out the living from within.
Despite the sadness and the empty places at many tables, the celebrations were not to be stopped.
