Crimson Chains - The Dark Beginnings of Father Christmas

Chapter One - The Feast

The thick stone walls reverberated with the din of laughter and shouting as the merrymakers cheered the spectacle before them. In the dim firelight dwarves and pretty young women paraded before the diners in a well-rehearsed dance, the women providing titillation in their loose fitting outfits, the dwarves acting out comedic routines around the beautiful dancers.

A large open area had been kept clear for the performers, three rows of long tables creating a simple arena for them. The tables were occupied by a throng of well-dressed diners,  maids stood behind them ready to serve food or drink – or simply to be caressed and fondled by any of the tactile noblemen they waited upon. Older women were confined to the shadows, some tending to platters of meats, breads and fruit whilst others made sure the large inglenook fire that warmed the guests was kept well fed.

The diners, young and old, were well-watered by this stage of the evening. Even the most reserved of them now held a foaming mug in their hands, more often than not with as much drink over their clothes as in their mouths. Presiding over the scene and sat at the centre of the high table, a sober figure in the gathering maintained a contented smile as he took a gentle sip from his goblet. Wearing a fur cloak of the finest wolf hide across his shoulders, and a large golden chain hanging over his chest, the young lord watched everything and everyone before him. His guests were happy he could see. He intended for them not to want for anything during their stay here – the outcome of their visit depended heavily on it. The trade agreements and alliances he had spent weeks preparing would pass or fail on the temperaments of his guests at the following day's meeting. Truly, he couldn't have cared less if every one of them had dropped dead in their seats. But the young lord needed them – and they needed him, he reminded himself. The contented smile, part genuine part necessity, remained on his face as he indulged in pleasantries with those nearest to him.

"Having a good time Lord Harskis?" he asked the rotund older man sitting to his left. The old nobleman took a deep swig of his drink and pulled what was left of his hair over his near-bald pate.

"My young Lord Westcliff" Harskis laughed, "you have outdone yourself boy! Your father would be proud."

Lord Westcliff smiled and nodded in gratitude. He raised a charged goblet to the bloated old man who responded in kind, both taking a deep swallow to toast the other – and to toast the memory of the younger man's late father, the former Lord Westcliff. His sudden death some weeks back had come as a total shock to the surrounding kingdoms. Not yet into his fifth decade, his early demise had been explained as an unforeseeable weakness of the heart. No signs of foul play could be found by the learned doctors who had examined his corpse. His heir, the younger Lord Westcliff, had insisted on being present wanting to know every details of the surgeons' findings. Any evidence of wrongdoing would be his first priority to deal with as the new lord. But the doctors could find nothing. The only explanation was death by natural causes – it was simply his time they had said. And so the younger Lord Westcliff had been duly crowned. An observant student in court during his father's reign, he had known for some time that a fresh beginning had to be made with the surrounding kingdoms. Westcliff was hardly weak, with a garrison stonger and more numerous than most of its neighbours and a thick-walled castle that had withstood many attacks over the centuries. A rival kingdom seeking expansion at Westcliff's expense would be taking a great risk to do so; if anything Lord Westcliff was in a strong position to eliminate his enemies if he so chose. But the young lord recognised that seeking warfare for warfare's sake was neither an intelligent nor necessary act.