Kharduun Hall

Kharduun Hall stands on a wind ridge where three roads can be watched and storms announce themselves before men do. Its beams are blackened by centuries of hearth smoke and carved with victories, betrayals, marriages, feud settlements, and the names of horses that carried the dead home. It is a capital only when the halls agree to gather there, which is why its grandeur feels earned rather than imposed. Outside, mud clings to riders' boots and horse sweat cuts through the smell of roasting meat. Inside, songs rise toward rafters that remember every chief who mistook applause for obedience.