The Tuskhall rises at the heart of Boarwatch Keep, its walls of dark granite thick as a fortress in their own right. Long and lofty, the hall is built to endure Caorrani winters and storm-winds from the sea. Its roof beams, carved from ancient oak, arch overhead like the tusks of a colossal boar, lending the chamber its name.
At the far end stands the High Seat of House Stoutland, known as the Ivory Throne, which rises like a royal monument. Carved from a single massive slab of pale stone, its back curves upward into the shape of a boar's tusked skull, curling outward like protective arms. Gilded boar heads, smaller, but equally fierce, flank the seat, their ivory gleaming with a ritual polish. The armrests resemble intertwined roots, grounding the ruler to the forest itself, while etchings of Caorrani runes and woodlander symbols trace across the stone. This is no mere chair: it is a symbol of authority, vigilance, and the primal strength of Tuskwood, demanding respect from all who enter the Hall. Above it hangs a great banner: gules, a boar rampant Or, upon a fess argent: the arms of the House, swaying in torchlight and smoke.
The central hearth burns day and night, its firepit ringed with carved stones that tell of Warden-Lord Fergus' first battles. Flames dance against shields, banners, and hunting trophies: the skulls of wild boar, antlers of stags, and the fur of beasts slain by lords past.
Tables of hewn oak stretch the length of the hall, scarred by feasts and sharpened steel. When the Tuskguard assemble, their shields line the walls like a wall of crimson and gold. In winter, the air is thick with the smell of roasting boar and peat-smoke; in summer, with pine and heather brought in from the glens.
The hall is not only a place of feasting but of judgment. Here, oaths are sworn before the fire, disputes settled under the gaze of the golden boar, and the voice of the lord carries like thunder through the rafters.
Together, Antlerhall and Tuskhall reflect two sides of Caorran's strength: the poise of nobility and the raw resilience of the wild, joined not by likeness, but by balance.