The council meets in a large oval room with windows showing torches burning outside of them to offer light to those seeking shelter. Men pound the old cracked wooden rectangle tables waiting for the old man to rise and speak. The old man is wrinkly, with knobby hands upon a black wooden cane. Freckles upon almost translucent skin. His blue eyes twinkle with delight as he strokes his long white beard. He nods to a young man with slicked back brown hair and a beard, he wears bright shiny white and gold armor. He rises and commands the crowd to be quiet, then the old man rises and walks to the front of the stage. In a shaking voice he addresses the bostrious Vikings,

" My fellow brethren, how soon the winter dawns. With that comes the full moon almost every other day. And I think by now, we all know what the moon entails." The man paused and drew himself to his full height, he stroked his beard and allowed his eyes to graze the crowd. When he spoke again, his voice was firm and the shakiness had vanished. "The wolf queen has killed enough and so I ask. Who of you is brave enough to put the Queen in her grave?"