A Village Near Þingvallavatn Lake, Iceland, Monday, 945 AD
Monday, May 2nd, 2011 10:20 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png)
The temperature on Iceland swung from 35 to 60 degrees Fahrenheit on a whim this time of year; the locals had a saying that if you didn't like the weather, all you had to do was wait for five minutes, and it would change. Right now, the weather was a little chilly, and a thin layer of mist hung on the land early on in the morning.
The Viking village laid a bare fifteen minutes' hike away from Fandom, and its inhabitants had opened up their doors for their new allies. (At least, that's what they were calling them until the Fandomites showed any sign of trying to stage an invasion.) It was a cheery village, for as far as Icelandic Viking villages went, with flowers tucked in the thatch roofs and women in furs trailing down the streets.
There still weren't all too many trees, though.
There wasn't a single person in the village who spoke English, but most of them managed to get their meaning across by gesturing a lot or shoving things at people anyway. There was a tavern, of a kind, and in the middle of the village stood the chieftain's mead hall. The tiny market provided fish and furs and anything else the locals might need, and livestock... pretty much strolled through the place at random.
At the edge of town sat the wharf, relatively close to the lake. Boats could be rolled down to the shore across a long path, with the help of some logs (so that's where the trees had gone).
Viking life was merry.
If incredibly smelly.
Though, to be fair, at least a quarter of that was totally the fault of the tiny sulfuric geysers that dotted the landscape around the town.
[[ come visit the village of the vikings! Wander Through Town | the Market | Tavern | Mead Hall | Wharf | OOC ]]
The Viking village laid a bare fifteen minutes' hike away from Fandom, and its inhabitants had opened up their doors for their new allies. (At least, that's what they were calling them until the Fandomites showed any sign of trying to stage an invasion.) It was a cheery village, for as far as Icelandic Viking villages went, with flowers tucked in the thatch roofs and women in furs trailing down the streets.
There still weren't all too many trees, though.
There wasn't a single person in the village who spoke English, but most of them managed to get their meaning across by gesturing a lot or shoving things at people anyway. There was a tavern, of a kind, and in the middle of the village stood the chieftain's mead hall. The tiny market provided fish and furs and anything else the locals might need, and livestock... pretty much strolled through the place at random.
At the edge of town sat the wharf, relatively close to the lake. Boats could be rolled down to the shore across a long path, with the help of some logs (so that's where the trees had gone).
Viking life was merry.
If incredibly smelly.
Though, to be fair, at least a quarter of that was totally the fault of the tiny sulfuric geysers that dotted the landscape around the town.
[[ come visit the village of the vikings! Wander Through Town | the Market | Tavern | Mead Hall | Wharf | OOC ]]