Sliced pie in Fuxagar

It had been a tough year for the Danmor clan of Fuxagar and the Llanmar clan of Adracia (both Fuxagar and Adracia are located in the northern part of Ithlor, one of the Four Regions). They've always had quarrels. Usually that ended in a few bruised knuckles and some scrapes on the nose. But the past year, it had gotten out of hand. What started in early spring as a brawl in a tavern in Adracia, about which clan bred the best looking sheep, had spiralled out of control by November, ending with the short siege of Fuxagar and the death of seven clan members; four of the Danmor and three of the Llanmar.

The clan leader of the Danmor, Thalmar, realised this couldn't continue any longer. He offered the Llanmar a truce. Both clans had dealt blows, both clans had taken losses, and hardly any remembered what had caused this situation in the first place. Thalmar invited Kjarl, leader of the Llanmar, and his retinue to a feast in his hall in Fuxagar. Having known each other for a long time, and despite their differences knowing the other man to be honourable, there was no need to fear a trap or deceit.

And so, on the eve of winter solstice, both clans feasted together. The main course had come and gone; mead flowed plentifully. Thalmar's cook had only a little while ago served dessert, most of which consisted of Fuxagar's famous cherry pie.
And that is what risked spoiling a perfect evening... for Darko of clan Llanmar was about to take the last piece of the pie when Svarl of clan Danmor, sitting opposite of Darko, tried to do the same. Both had drunk plenty that night. Svarl, taking Darko's hand and flinging it aside, grabbed the piece of pie, stood up, and shouted.

"Only a true Danmor should be given the last piece of Fuxagar's pie. Such food shouldn't be wasted on outsiders, especially not those of Adracia!"

The hall went quiet, all eyes turning to Svarl. Darko stumbled up and reached for his dagger, only to discover it was no longer at his side (weapons were left at the door during feasts, to avoid bloodshed when the guests had too much to drink - a prudent precaution, as it turned out). Svarl, amused by the drunk Darko, started laughing. Darko and his companions felt they couldn't let this insult stand and threw themselves over the table at Svarl. A brawl ensued, spreading from one table to the next, until half the hall was fighting amongst each other, while the other half (the less inebriated one) desperately tried to stop the conflict.

Suddenly, out of the kitchens, the cook came running with his meat cleaver held high. Jumping aside out of fear for what looked like a mad butcher, the brawlers cleared a path to the table where it had all started. Svarl had Darko's head pushed down onto the table, while Darko desperately tried to get out of Svarl's grip. The cook ran straight for the two and hew down with his cleaver. A heavy thud echoed through the hall as the cleaver burried itself in the table. Bright red spatters flew across the table and onto Darko's forehead. In the back of the room a woman screamed.

"There," the cook shouted, "let that be the end of it!"

Svarl snorted and let go of Darko's head. Darko slumped from the table onto the benches, whimpering. Both looked at the table, on which lay a cloven wooden plate. Each part of the plate held a thin slice of cherry pie. The same piece that had started the brawl, cloven in two.

"Go on then, you fools" Thalmar and Kjarl shouted in unison.
"Eat the damn thing and let us finish this feast in peace!"

With a surly look, Darko and Svarl sat down and each took part of the plate. Laughter roared through the hall, and after some cups and benches had been put upright again, the feast continued.

The Danmor and Llanmar would still quarrel the next year, yet they made sure things didn't escalate so quickly. They always kept those two slices of cherry pie in the back of their minds...

Conflict Type

Skirmish