Splintered and bloody pickets lined the lower fringe of the well trodden, snowy mound. Heads of gaunt faces forever clenched in agony sat atop many of the sharpened pickets that surrounded them. A fast, eastern wind blew large, plumes of pink hued snow across the mound and those who stood there like ghosts. Men, and a few women, Cimmerians with faces painted in the colors of their clan stood in a semi-circle at its edge. Angry shouts and guttural growls came from their darkly painted, soiled, faces. Axes, swords, and hammers shook with rage and lust for killing in their strong, able hands.