Ekkill stormed through the doors of the large, central structure. His hunch had proved correct, it was a meeting place. Judging by the surroundings, it doubled as a place of worship. A fire pit sat cold and unused in the center of the building's dirt floor, and many crude seats and benches circled around it. In the back was a wall offset a few feet away from the back wall, barely concealing an entrance to another room.
Being more than curious and very thirsty, Ekkill strolled briskly across the room and into the next. There it sat, staring right at him. Ekkill could see the surprise on it's face, the fear of being opened up and it's contents spilled. But Ekkill would not do that just yet; he had urges to be satisfied.
He moved upon the keg with deliberate speed and defenselessness. Lust filled his eyes as he wrapped his arms around it, groping about for the opening. The keg remained silent, lest it attract more of the beasts who would surely want to do the same. Little did it know that Ekkill was wicked enough to pass it around like a plaything to all of his men, letting them each have their turn. With unspeakable horror and sorrow, the keg wished only to be burnt in the fires when Ekkill and his men were done with it.
"Styrbjörn! I have found the mead!" he called from the small room. "Let's haul it outside and crack it open," he grunted, trying to lift one end. It was heavy as all hell. Ugly, too. But urges had to be satisfied.
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