The dour man with the blade gets up and strides into the circle, as does the norse lady with the claymore. bowing to the four directions and waving their swords in unison sword to the ground then swirls it around each of their bodies in a spiral and pointing it towards the sky, (as this happens the drums also spiral upwards) and with it you could hear an ululation from the rest of his group. In the background you can discern bells being run. Each time one is rung it is like your heart starts up again as if it was at rest. You see the faeries grinning. From the celtic group you hear a low throaty voice, joined by two others. Voices twirl and weave round your body. chanting and cajoling .. wailing and crooning.
You notice people sliding back in under the sides of the tent, until it seems as if the whole camp is here,
The norse leader stands up and calls with a large loud voice.. norslings arise... A gutteral roar comes up as mailed and beweaponed warriors rise, clashing shields and weapons. A number of horns bellow out and drums flail out a furious rapid beat that stirs the blood. You feel the iciness of the nordic winter and the hardship and struggle.
Over the other side of the tent you hear the sound of bagpipes and drums and a gutteral yell that chills the blood. The celts rise kilts flaring, and hit their swords and axes against their shields. The flame of celtic passion and vigour flares up. You can see the tension between the two groups like fire and ice.
In the centre of the tent you now see a large man holding an enormous sword. HOLD.. he cries.. HOLD norslings and celts.. The horns and bagpipes and drums stop. Behold.. this sword I hold here you all recognize.. Its steel has been gathered and forged by both you celts and you norse. You hammered and worked in unison on this blade.. how can you now think of severing this joining .. severing this bond.
He places the sword in a tripod frame .
Both groups lean on swords and shields and mutter and watch.
A weaving bodhrain beat comes from the celtic group..
An underlying chant comes from the norslings.
The norse royalty comes forward. as does the celtic chieftan.
Both lay their hands on the large two handed hilt of the sword.
This blade is action..slicing awakening the sleeping warrior... AWAKE.. roars the norse.
This blade is your ancestors their wisdom and thought ... REMEMBER...intones the celt.
This blade has been drummed and smoked and magicked.
The head faery strides forward....
As does the shaman
As does the bard.
This blade has been made as a centering of the spirit intones the shaman. and stands behind the blade to the right.
and holding it takes you to your centre of being .chimes the bard. and stands behind the blade to the left.
and once there you may travel to other worlds.... laughs the faery. who dances round the blade and then sits directly behind it.
The large man continues. This sheath, he gestures towards the group of witches, you have worked hard at each phase of the moon, providing a resting place for this blade.. The blades sheath is woven and guarded with weave and weft.
The group of witches stand up singing and chanting....
The lead witch comes forward.. holding the sheath. You notice it is made of wood, skin, bone, and tapestry, all woven and fastened together to make a whole.
May this guard this perilous blade
May you draw it at need and place it in here linking to the earth mother to slumber amongst the roots of the world. She stands in front of the sword.
This blade is also part of THIS land THIS place.
The wood is yellow box... Covered in crocodile skin.. The metal is from this earth.
It has been tempered in water and sand and oil taken from sacred aboriginal space.
In the background you hear the grumbling of a didgeridoo.. the sound of clap sticks. and the dull roar of a bull roarer. You see an aboriginal woman standing in the back of the tent with a approving look. She strides forward and sits in front of the sword with the witch.
This blade is a symbol of our community joining.