Teyrna I

This is the first of six little bits of a chapter which is from the perspective of Teyrna, wife of Cadeyrn, Vergobret of the Aevergos.  I like that string of words because it has now become completely regular to me, but I realize that to everyone else it probably looks like nonsense.  People in general seemed to have liked other characters, so hopefully you'll like Teyrna as well, though this first post of hers doesn't even yet mention her.  Oh, and it was surprisingly hard to find a picture of a Celtic roundhouse.

Cadeyrn stepped into the city great-hall, his sides attended to by chieftains who had elected him, and followed closely by two of his Solduros, brave warriors sworn to each other, and to him. In exchange, they wanted for nothing, their lord cared for all of their needs, allowing them to spend all of their time on the arts of warrior. The hall that they entered was great, big enough for hundreds of men to fit in and decide what was best for their people, round in shape with low stone walls and a high sloping thatch roof, supported by two rings of wooden beams, each carved with images of great exploits of great heroes besting beasts, men, and the spirits of the Otherworld alike. In the middle, a great roaring fire drew the focus of the room.

That is, until he walked into the room. Cadeyrn was a large man, both in stature and build, having been no stranger to either physical toil or the field of battle itself. His skin was pale and eyes seeming as malachite; his hair the colour of young wheat, long and flowing with a dropping mustache, somehow both always immaculately groomed, even if he had been trudging through the mud for weeks. He wore trousers of a dark green, a burgundy tunic draped to his knees, cinched to his waist with a belt of gold, holding to it a great long blade, from his ribs down to below his knee, and a plaid cloak draped over one shoulder, held with a golden brooch made to look like a boar.

He entered the hall and it drew quiet, all eyes and bodies directing their attention towards him. That always seemed to happen; people loved him without thinking or knowing, as soon as they gazed upon him. He put his fists to his hips and let out a hearty, bellowing laugh, easing the tension brought into the great room by his entrance. He strode forward with powerful, deliberate steps, taking in the room as he circled about to the other side of the fire, approaching an elevated seat towards to the far side of the room, his Solduros already taking their places at the base of the platform.