Ciaran Mac Rory PAX ROMANA Prydain (Britain) 45 A.D. .......... The visit to the druids is as confusing and unenlightening as Tanethlon warned you it would be. Interesting, certainly. At the circle of stones where the local college goes to chart the stars, he spends a few long hours in discussion with an old man who seems to be leader among them, while other members of the order move between the stones of the holy place, making little notches on sticks as they hold them up at various points around the perimeter. You can't fathom what they're doing, other than that it has something to do with the sky. But they move about in a brusque, efficient manner, more like farmers planting crops or blacksmiths hammering metal, than holy men reverently communing with the universe. You get introduced to Sethaíd, the chief druid, who speaks a few words to you that you don't understand. Then he repeats himself in your own tongue, and you *still* don't follow him....something about fish and clouds and the stone where you were born. Druids are odd folk. Tanethlon seems satisfied when they're done talking, and comes back to you. "He likes the idea. They'll discuss it." He looks at the men still moving around in the circle, as twilight falls. "In many ways, they are so clever and wise...in others, completely deluded. That is true of every culture, I think. The Egyptians, for instance, possessed astronomical knowledge far superior to what the druids have surmised, yet here in Celtic lands, they have filled in some of the empty gaps in eastern knowledge. If only all the scholars in the world could get together in one place, to share their knowledge." <><><><><> "Then we would understand less than we do now," he mused. "Everything would be a cryptic riddle and they would spend all their day arguing over that alone." Ciaran spent his free time wandering around their holy places and listening in where he could. He didn't really try to understand what they said, but the fact that he identified with them was enough for him. In his own fashion, Ciaran had taken some of the ancient lore and set up a season stone, similar to that which he had seen as a child in Emain Macha. He could line up the star's with the stone and an old outcropping to give him a vague clue about when the season's would be changing. Unfortunately Ciaran knew very little about what he was doing, but had plenty of time. As he wandered a bit he looked at the various druidic implements for recording the passage of time. He admired the men for their understanding of these things. He looked over the many things that they used in the daily cycles of their duties. He watched them from as close as they felt comfortable. And as close as he felt comfortable. He admired the knowledge that they seemed to possess, and sadly mused at his own lacking education. "Do they understand the risks that they will be taking?" "The Romans may view them as a threat... a building block of this rebellion... And surely the Romans will not sit idly by as the Druids speak of omens and portents to the Celtic peoples." <><><><><> [GM] "Oh, they understand," Tanethlon replies. "When the Romans first landed, two years ago, one of the first things they did was to destroy one of the great druidic strongholds to the south. On the continent, the Romans have been trying to eradicate the druidic religion for years, spreading rumors of human sacrifice and cannibalism, and traffic with the dark sidhe." "The druids already have plenty of reason to loathe the Romans. They are very old enemies." <><><><><> "Then we have done what we set out to do." The Eiru Celt looked about him in a sweeping glance, surveying the horizons. His eyes lingered on the Northern horizon. North and East to be precise. They were there... and they were coming. "One can only guess where Rhys has wandered off to and Scathach and Synhyfar are to the north... occupied. We have much to do still... and time draws short Tanethelon. We need to be on the move as soon as possible... as soon as is appropriate." <><><><><> [GM] Tanethlon raises an eyebrow. "Ah? Well, I thought we would wait until the others return. But if you have something in mind-" He shrugs. "Where are we off to, then?" <><><><><> "Wait here," he repeated. "This is not where we left Synhyfar, but I suppose she knows where we are at. And I have nowhere in particular to go... but her nibs suggested that we make some attempts to gather supplies before she joined us again...." He paused for a moment. Then a wicked smile played on his lips. "Aye... I would surely hate to disappoint her... more than I have so far.... We can wait." <><><><><> [GM] You and Tanethlon do take the time to gather some items....extra spears and swords, though none of as high a quality as Medb's blade. Tanethlon travels about with you to the courts of local petty kings, none as wealthy or powerful as the Iceni, but he starts singing more tales of the old ones, Sidhe warriors, and heroes of legend, sparking the imaginations of the warriors who listen. He continues speaking to the druids, and occasionally finds an audience with one of the local chiefs. He has secured a promise of the loan of three chariots by the time Synhyfar returns with Scathach. As you guessed, she knew where to find you, near the druid's college. "The Brigantes are somewhat divided," Scathach reports. "Cartimunda has made peace with the Romans, under better terms than the Iceni, since they aren't actually *in* her lands. That keeps them from being a major threat on the Roman border, but I did stir up some unrest among the more hot-headed southern clans, which are less directly influenced by the queen." Synhyfar asks "So where has Rhys gone off to?" <><><><><> He shrugged. "Rhys decided he had better things to do. He left immediately after you, likely to hunt down Achilleus and give the Roman his head. Maybe he will surprise me and come walking over that hill," he said with a finger pointed towards a small hillock in the distance. Ciaran took a few steps and stopped to look in that direction. It was almost a mocking gesture for he certainly didn't expect Rhys to show up. <><><><><> [GM] Rhys doesn't come walking over the hill, but Synhyfar seems unconcerned. You and Tanethlon and the two women begin discussing your plan in more detail, and start traveling the area to see where the Romans patrol, and where you might stage the first appearance of the immortal host. Three days later, Rhys returns, with a pair of Roman heads as trophies. "They weren't immortals, unfortunately," the hot-blooded Prydanian says, with a fierce grin. "But it was something to do while I waited for the ladies." Scathach and Synhyfar snort. "Well, I'm sure you stirred up whatever garrison you took those heads from," Scathach says. "But unless all you want to do is roam about committing random acts of terror, maybe we should plan a little more carefully." "Random acts of terror have their place," Synhyfar says thoughtfully. <><><><><> "I have to agree with Scathach," he said darkly as he looked at the trophies that hung in Rhys' hand. "We need to plan our moves and make sure we are careful about what we do... Terrorize the Romans, Yes... but to be foolish about it will bring an unnecessary pressure on us. The time for our plan to fall into place is at hand... we must now try to work together... or not at all." "Tanethelon.... I think we need your counsel on where to make our first appearance... Should it be for the benefit of the Celts or to intimidate a Roman patrol.... or rather... a little bit of both?" <><><><><> [GM] Tanethlon says "I think we should be seen riding around, past villages and ruaths, for a little while before we actually make our appearance on a battlefield. We are more concerned with the psychological effect we'll have on our own people than on the Romans. We may frighten the Romans a bit, but that won't change their stance, or cause them to leave. Our true objective is to raise the morale of the Celts, and incite them to put up greater resistance." "So, we want to let the Prydanians see us first. Let rumors circulate. First it will be some farmers, swearing at the local bruighaid that they saw a troupe of sidhe riding over their fields at night, and being laughed at by their neighbors. Then a few warriors catch a glimpse of us, watching them from a hilltop as they are camped by the river, watching the nearby Roman garrison. They tell their comrades back at the king's hall, and so the rumors will continue to spread. I think a few months of that will have the local tribes antsy, and then we can plan a dramatic appearance in full view of Celts and Romans." "A few *months*!?" Rhys protests. Scathach looks at him. "You'd think you were a mortal, to be complaining about spending a little bit of time setting things up," she snorts. Tanethlon agrees in a mild voice- "You surely don't think we're going to drive the Romans away within one human lifetime, do you?" <><><><><> "We may never fully drive them away... but if they can be stopped. If they find it is not worth their efforts and expense to take more in conquest... then we will have suceeded as well." He nodded to Tanethelon. "A sage approach... I like it... What say you Synhyfar?" <><><><><> [GM] Synhyfar nods reluctantly. "It seems a sensible plan." Tanethlon glances at you, and winks. Rhys is not at all pleased about having to shave his beard. Tanethlon accepts it with more equanimity. Rhys complains that it smacks of Roman fashion. Scathach pats your smooth cheeks and chuckles. "Such a baby-face you have, without that beard," she says teasingly. You all prepare yourselves, putting on paint and warrior's garb. Even the scholarly bard Tanethlon looks credibly fierce with blue dye and carrying a barbed spear. A few days later, you're ready for your first ride through the forests of western Prydain. <><><><><> "Aye, They are at that.... and were I not convinced you were teasing me Scathach... " He stopped and shook his head as a smile took control of his features. "Never mind, I am not likely to say anything suitably witty to get back at you," he says with a chuckle to his teacher. "And sounding the fool is worse than looking the part. Sometimes it is wiser to know when you are bested and cut your losses. If this look helps us stop the Romans... then it will be worth it. The hair will grow back." He spends a good deal of time and care with the face paints and actually asks Scathach to help him get the right look. Once adorned and readied for the ride, he sets to inspecting the chariots and the horses. He mused over the chariot. It had been a long time since he had ridden one into battle. The day he had lost his mortal life at Murthemney.... some 60 plus summers past. <><><><><> [GM] The five of you begin your rides across the countryside, exactly as Tanethlon suggested. Despite feeling like a silly boy with your face bare, it is a bit entertaining, to watch mortals go wide-eyed and scurry to their homes, or point and stare, as five blue-painted figures go galloping past. Rhys takes positive delight in spooking woodsmen and farmers, and even the occasional knights out hunting. Tanethlon has to remind him that the objective is to inspire awe, not terror. From dusk 'til dawn, you ride the hills and forests and plains of Powys, and after getting some sleep during the day, you and Tanethlon venture into publican houses and occasional king's halls, to listen to the effects your rides are having, and spread some more rumors. After a few months, word has spread throughout the area that a band of sidhe warriors is prowling the land, and while initially, many theories prevailed, skillful rumormongering and taletelling by Tanethlon- along with a few convenient augeries by the druids- has made the most popular explanation the one you want, that immortal warriors are rising to confront the invaders who have trespassed on ancient Celtic soil. "It's about time for us to appear in all our melodramatic glory," he tells the group of you, the next time you prepare to ride. "There are no major confrontations brewing right now, though, is the problem. Clashes here and there up and down the river-border, a few Roman patrols get ambushed, a few villages get razed, but no major impending battles for us to make our appearance with maximum effect." "Then we must try harder to provoke one," Synhyfar says. <><><><><> "Provoke one?" He looks at the young woman, who was anything but young. "We could attack a host of Romans on patrol... but that would be little more than an isolated event... or we could find a small skirmish and intervene... and then try to build support from there and create our own host to strike at them... continually building momentum..." He paused a moment to consider things. His command of the language was improving, but still he doubted himself from time to time. " I am ready to work with whatever is the best approach.... Are there any other ideas?" <><><><><> [GM] "Why don't we assassinate a few more important Roman leaders?" Rhys suggests. "That will make them edgy, but unless they have a direction to strike in, they'll probably remain conservative," Tanethlon says. "The Romans are quite capable of bloody retaliation for any crimes committed against them, but they usually aren't mindless about it." "Ciaran's idea is as good a start as any," Scathach says. "Attack a patrol. Then attack another one. Keep it up until they start increasing the patrols in the area, and those patrols are ready to attack any Celts they see. Wait until they come up against a body of Celtic warriors ready to fight, and we jump into the fray." "Then our legend will grow, and more warriors will come, to see us, and to fight the Romans." Synhyfar nods. "Supposing we are captured- Tanethlon, how do the Romans usually execute prisoners of war?" Tanethlon smiles. "Depending on the mood of the commander, you might be stabbed with a sword, or crucified. If they think you're a supernatural creature, they might burn you. But luckily for us, beheading isn't very common. Of course, as soon as a Roman immortal gets involved, that might change." <><><><><> He nodded in acknowledgement of Scathach words. As close to praise as he usually got, and those were high words indeed. "Then let us make final plans and be ready. We should ride before first light. We will need to scout out the patrol routes and survey what we will face in combat. The time is right... the Druids and the Bards," he says with a look and a grin at Tanethelon, "They have done their work... It is time we did ours. The Celts Rise Again!" <><><><><> [GM] The five of you begin riding along the river that marks the current western frontier for the Romans...not that they aren't venturing past it, in their skirmishes with the Silures, but eastward of this line, reinforced by garrisons supported by the main fortress to the south, is considered "secured" territory by the Romans, and for the most part, they are correct. The garrisons average about a day's ride from each other, some of them closer, some of them farther. Patrols usually march on foot, numbering ten or twenty, unless they really expect to encounter trouble. Soon, Synhyfar and Tanethlon, consulting together, have picked one of the smaller patrols that makes a thrice-weekly circuit in a ten mile radius around their garrison. And one misty morning, the five immortals wait, in a quiet forest glen, as the Romans come marching towards you, unaware of the ambush ahead. <><><><><> He holds his spear loosely and shifts his stance to balance his weight. The Gae Bulga spear would be wet with blood before too very long. But for now it was to wait and wait in silence. The intricate blue paint and the clothing they wore certainly made them appear to be otherworldly... a bit silly, but the price of pride was cheap these days. He stilled his breathing and loosened his muscles. Relaxing as best he could before the coming battle. It had to be a decisive victory. It had to have the trappings of the Sidhe. He felt the weight of the heavy broadsword on his back. He smiled at Scathach. Looking into those steely eyes he knew he would see his own thoughts mirrored. She had taught him to think this way... to act this way. They would be here soon and from the mists they would receive their deaths. He actually had no malice in his heart for those men, not like Rhys... or even Synhyfar. This wasn't his homeland. But he could feel for them. Then again, Rhys had malice in his heart for many things. But this was something that needed to be done, and the Romans were in the wrong place at the right time. <><><><><> [GM] Twelve iron-clad legionnaires come marching through the woods. They aren't as combat-ready as they should be; shields are slung over their backs, swords sheathed, spears carried rather casually over their shoulders. No doubt this laxness will disappear, after you do this to another patrol or two. You and Tanethlon wait on horses, just up the barely-visible trail. Rhy has circled around, and will charge them from behind. Your chariots, while impressive out in the open, had to be left behind- too much vegetation here, and besides, the effect would be somewhat wasted on just twelve men. Scathach and Synhyfar are now lurking behind the trees to either side of the column, ready to fall upon them. Tanethlon sighs. You still get the impression this really isn't something he enjoys. Then he levels his spear, nods to you, and screams, a bloodcurdling screech that bears no resemblance to the carefully modulated tones that usually issue from the bard's throat. The two of you charge forward, blue-painted apparitions appearing out of the woods. The startled Romans freeze for a moment, the lead men staring at you. But they're well-disciplined, and most are already reaching for their swords and unslinging their shields, while the lead men spin their javelins around to prepare them for throwing. Then Scathach and Synhyfar leap out, and begin hacking, both screaming at the top of their lungs. Four men in the middle have already fallen, when Tanethlon reaches the first Roman in line, and drives his spear through the soldier's head. He kicks his horse so it lurches to the side, giving you room to attack the next man. He has his sword out in one hand, and tries to parry with it while still leveling his javelin with the other. He fails, and your Gae Bulga catches him in the chest, tearing through his chainmail and ripping into flesh beneath. It is already chaos, and in the corner of your eye you see Rhys ap Cynned, with a bloodthirsty grin shining brightly, white teeth gleaming in a malevolent blue face, bearing down on the rear of the Roman file. This is much too easy, but you probably won't have the luxury of such easy prey for long. <><><><><> As long as the group of Sidhe immortals can pick their battles and choose the terrain, they held the advantage. The Romans would grow wary, but that was partly to be expected. The battle would be their's, it was decisive and quick, but hardly sporting. Ciaran drove the spear deeply and collapsed the man. It would wait there. While the greatest advantage of the Gae Bulga was the damage it effected when it was pulled back out of a wound, this man was mortal and he was hardly in a position to endure the pain of removing the thing himself. He pulled the sword and drove it forward into the next man with a solid thrust. Things were too close and tight for open field swinging. Decisive and quick. <><><><><> [GM] The battle is bloody and quick. A couple of the Romans aren't bad fighters, but they're no match for the immortals attacking them, and can't recover from their initial surprise in time. By the time you've reached your second victim, Scathach and Synhyfar have cut down three more men between them. Rhys crashes into the rear guard, trampling one Roman underfoot and launching himself from his saddle to fall on his companion. In minutes, all the Romans lie dead or dying. Tanethlon moves to your first man, who's lying on the ground with the gae bulga still tearing up his insides, and thrusts his spear through the Roman's throat, to finish him off. Synhyfar strides among the bodies, jabbing her spear into bodies whether they're already dead or not. She took a blow across her forehead which is still gushing blood. Scathach is already standing calmly to the side, wiping the blade of her sword...and Rhys is now methodically chopping off the Romans' heads. "This was an auspicious beginning," Tanethlon says, not sounding as if he's truly pleased about it. "Now let's dispose of the bodies." "Dispose of them?" Synhyfar pauses. "Why not just leave them here to rot, and unnerve their companions when they come looking for them?" "We are immortal warriors," Tanethlon replies. "We want to spread tales of supernatural feats. Dead bodies won't frighten the Romans, but patrols disappearing without a trace might." <><><><><> "You're both right," he said with a chuckle as he wiped his blade clean. He dropped his voice to a whisper. "Dead bodies won't scare them... they are very disciplined... but we need to let any who pass this way know what happened. We take the bodies... leave the armor... arrange it like it was used in some terrible Sidhe ritual.... the bodies were consumed in the magic that was made here... some thing like that." <><><><><> [GM] Rhys snorts, but Tanethlon laughs, with a touch of morbid irony. "You've quite an imagination, Ciaran. 'Terrible Sidhe rituals' indeed!" He smiles without any real humor, looking around at the fallen men. "Well, it would be very strange, and inexplicable, so it might unnerve the Romans at that." He looks down at his own victim. "Seems a shame to waste the armor....it's valuable, and could protect some Celtic warriors." "REAL warriors don't walk around with their arms and legs weighted down by metal!" Rhys proclaims. "Romans are cowards, to go into battle trying to hide behind their armor and shields." Tanethlon stares at him. "Yes, keep clinging to your traditions and refuse to change tactics. That's what the Romans depend on. If they were cowards, they wouldn't have taken over half the world." "If we abandon our traditions, then why should we bother to fight them?" Synhyfar says softly. Scathach stomps impatiently. "I really don't give a damn about tradition or whether or not anyone wants to wear armor, but I *don't* plan to spend all night digging, so let's grab the bodies, with or without armor, and get moving, shall we?" <><><><><> Th Eiru Celt set to the task of undoing the armor and pulling the mail from the dead bodies. Once the bodies were free he gathered the various components of the armor. He looked at them for a moment nd then he turned to his companions. "The bodies need to be disposed of, burned or cairned... it matters not... but they need to be gone. I will arrange the armor and join you shortly. We should be out of sight soon ourselves." With that he began to arrange the pieces as if they once held warriors. He made a wide circle in the road with the butt of his spear and layed the armor on that circle. His attention fully consumed in his project, he didn't look back to the other immortals. It would look like the warriors had been layed out, as if they had been facing skyward, their bodies arranged as spokes on a wheel. Tanethelon had been right, the armor would serve the warriors if they used it upon themselves. But that would be a few battles down the line. They could collect armor and weapons from those they had slain and put it into the field against the Romans. Soon. Not now. Ciaran took the weapons of the Romans. He drove a javelin into the chest of the empty armor and left it to stand. An image. A portent. He chuckled at the thought and silently thanked Tanethelon. *Yes... You will die by your own weapons...* He drove a shortsword into the ground where there should have been a head for the Romans. All save one. He kept that Shortsword for himself and wrapped it carefully. For that Roman's head, he drove his Gae Bulga into the earth. He stepped back to admire his work for the briefest of moments, and then carefully erased his footprints in the soft earth of the road. He removed all signs of the battle. All the footprints. He wanted the Romans to have no way of knowing how many Sidhe warriors met their patrol on this day. Once he was satisfied that he had covered and camouflaged the tracks, he slipped into the woods and made for his companions. <><><><><> [GM] Your campaign continues. The legend spreads, and soon even the Romans know that a group of "Sidhe" is terrorizing western Prydain. You ambush two more patrols before they start becoming much more wary and combat-ready, not so easy to take down. Despite your successes, however, it doesn't seem that you're having an immediate drastic effect on the morale of either the Celts or the Romans. The Silures remain hesitant to commit themselves to an all-out war, even with the refugee king Caractacus trying to agitate them as well. And picking off a Roman patrol here or there, while somewhat gratifying, will never have a significant impact on the invasion and settlement by the Empire. And settlement is what is happening; as Tanethlon predicted, the Romans bring not just governors and military force, but their own brand of civilization, which does offer many amenities previously alien to the tribes of Prydain. Paved roads, regal buildings, bathhouses, arts and sciences, imported foreign luxuries....and the security of having your lands protected by Roman soldiers. ("Protected", so long as you pay their tribute and submit to their authority.) In another few generations, there will be nothing to rebel against, Roman culture will have assimilated the natives. Tanethlon, with his many contacts, keep abreast of what the Romans are up to, and four months later, comes to the gathering of five immortals with some news. "Governor Aulus Plautius is perturbed by superstitious fairy tales being reported back to him at Camulodunum, from the western frontier." The elder immortal smiles in grim amusement. "He's dispatching a crack unit to stiffen the garrisons here, and go hunting for the troublesome 'raiders'." He glances at you. "Care to guess which unit, Ciaran?" <><><><><> He laughed softly and hefted the broadsword that he had been cleaning. "Achilleus." It was sort of an anticipation welling in him. The Roman immortal knew what he was facing and likely volunteered for this. Would he really expect what he would find when he met the five of them. He nodded to Tanethelon. "Achilleus." <><><><><> [GM] "Aye," Tanethlon says. "The First Cohort of the XXth legion, 'Valerius'." "I guess we need to kill a lot more of them before they'll send an entire Legion after us, eh?" Scathach comments wryly. "So does anyone else want to lay claim to this Roman immortal's head?" Rhys says, snapping his spear around in a back-and-forth arc. <><><><><> "Rhys, I wouldn't dream of laying any claim... I know you have been itching.... And I haven't anything to prove and no scores to settle." "If you want, I can give you my impressions of him... since I have seen him... either way... it's up to you." He chuckled and settled back on the grass. His eyes fell on the leader of their intrepid little band of immortals. He slipped the grass stem betwen his lips and spoke. "This cohort will arrive soon enough... they will come with orders to seek us out and these boys won't be too particular who they hurt to get the information. What's next?" <><><><><> [GM] Synhyfar says "We five cannot take on an entire cohort. We need a larger force of Celts who will fight with us." "Rhys' determination to meet Achilleus is not such a bad idea," Tanethlon says, thinking. Everyone looks at him in surprise. "Suppose a band of Celts and the Romans confront one another, and one of us steps forward to challenge their leader to single combat. Achilleus could hardly refuse." "If our warrior wins, the resulting Quickening would only enhance our supernatural reputation, and probably terrify the Romans." "You're talking about conducting a duel between immortals, in full view of hundreds of mortal spectators?" Scathach says sharply. "I don't like it." "We're already forsaking secrecy with this game we're playing," Tanethlon points out. "Letting mortals know that immortal warriors are running around is one thing. We're just playing the part of legends come to life. But letting them all see a duel would also be showing them how to kill us..." <><><><><> "If our warrior wins," muses Cairan as he repeats the key words spoke by Tanethelon. He didn't rise from the grass but he did remove the slip of grass fom his mouth. Then an air of calm determination fell over his features. "Two important things come to mind. If our warrior wins in this duel, the Romans see nothing except the fact that we, as immortal Sidhe, do indeed take the life energy from our slain enemies, just as our previous attacks on their patrols have suggested we do. The Quickening flows and will likely have the very effect we hope it would. The Romans would not dare to imagine that one of their own would be an Immortal of our kind... Celts take heads... They know this. We take the energies from those we slay in combat by taking their heads... This is an extension... A Sidhe takes the same energy and they get to witness it." He paused a moment before continuing. He slowly rose and dusted himself off, even though there was nothing on his tunic. He looked at each one of them in turn to make sure that he still held their attention. "Our Warrior has to win... Has to... No second chances... Otherwise they *will* know how to kill us just as Scathach has said. But, consider this... Achilleus will be in a difficult position. He can't betray his immortality before his cohort, and if he wins the duel, he may not take the head immediately but see to it that the body is removed quickly... so he can deal with the Quickening privately. If our warrior loses... we will have to fight our way out... or we will all be prisoners and Achilleus will take our heads... one by one." "With that in mind.... Out of the five of us... who is our best?" His eyes fell upon each one in turn. <><><><><> [GM] It's a question that has probably crossed everyone's mind before- even allied, a group of immortals can hardly avoid thinking of one another as possible future opponents- but no one else seems to have given it serious consideration. A couple people glance at Rhys, half-expecting him to leap up and claim to be the best. But he takes the question seriously for once. "You're the oldest, Tanethlon," Scathach says. "Yes, but you know I haven't spent much time in recent years as a warrior," the bard replies. He looks back at Scathach. "You were tutored by the Morrigan. You taught other warriors for over a generation. Ciaran is one of your pupils." Scathach glances at you, then looks away. "Yes." She shifts her spear. "But will a Roman accept a public challenge from a woman warrior?" <><><><><> He met Scathach's gaze and offered his mentor a smile. "You may very well be the best my friend," he said. Seldom did he speak so to her. She always kept a certain distance between them. "We are all good at fighting mortals, that much we have all seen, but in the months that we have been living together, fighting and travelling together... we have never tested one another. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to start now. But Achilleus is a hunter and he has a look about him. He wants to come after us... he wants to take heads. He is arrogant and bullheaded. He considers us beneath contempt, it's in his eyes. As if.... as if he hasn't met an immortal yet who was his peer... and that he certainly doesn't expect to among the Celts." He stopped speaking for a moment and started pacing. He had only taken two or three steps and his mental ruminations seemed to come to an end. He looked up and made soft sigh before beginning to speak again. "Achilleus is Roman... All the way through, but he is mean Roman. I have seen and heard and watched other Romans and few have that very same look he does. And I don't think it comes from him being an immortal... there is more to it. Considering all that, I don't think he will accept a challenge from Scathach or Synhyfar in the public view of his troops. Synhyfar?" <><><><><> [GM] "Ieuan has that look also," Scathach says. "It's the look of someone who lusts after the Quickening. It makes immortals mean. For Achilleus, I don't think it has much to do with his being Roman. That just makes him arrogant." "Be that as it may," Tanethlon says.... Synhyfar is pacing. "I don't care if you decide neither of us women can challenge the Roman." She smiles coldly. "I am not seeking glory, and if I get to take an immortal Roman head, the Quickening is just an added benefit. I want them demoralized, shaken, bloodied." She shrugs. "I'd as soon ambush the arrogant bastard and force him to fight one of us on *our* terms, but if Tanethlon thinks this public spectacle will be more effective, so be it. So decide." She spins to stare in turn at you, Tanethlon and Rhys. "Which of you can take him?" Tanethlon shrugs. "I don't know," he says honestly. Rhys scowls. "I have no fear of this Roman, and I would like the chance to fight him. But can I be sure I'll win? With none of us having seen him fight, how can any of us be sure?" <><><><><> He looked to Synhyfar when she spoke. "I don't think anyone here is *deciding* that you can or can not face him in this duel. We are Celts... and we know that our women are as fierce as warriors as our men. I know just how fierce Scathach is... just how good she is... or was... 65 summers ago... and there was much I hadn't seen even then. And she bears you respect Synhyfar, and that means something. I think we are trying to determine what our enemy will do when presented with a situation." Ciaran was surprised at just how perceptive and intelligent Rhys really was when he allowed himself to show it. It made him all the more dangerous. Ciaran resolved to remember this. He didn't make a big show of it but nodded at the normally outspoken immortal's last comment. "Exactly... We can't be sure. We can only guess at what he is capable of. He is big in the shoulders. Unlike many Roman soldiers. His agility may not be great, but his strength would be very formidable. I can only guess that he likes to fight in close. I am the youngest of all of us, and I don't know what that means in terms of facing Achilleus. I have no aggressions against him clouding my judgements, but that may mean very little as well." <><><><><> [GM] Synhyfar shrugs noncommittally at your comment. They listen to your assessment, and then she speaks again. "All right, 'decisions' or no, I accept your prediction that Achilleus will not accept a challenge from Scathach or me. So if one of you men must challenge him-" She looks at Tanethlon. "You're too valuable to us. You have the most learning among us, and know more than anyone else about the Romans. We cannot afford to lose you." Tanethlon shifts his weight, leaning against his spear and looking uncomfortable. But he doesn't contradict her. What Synhyfar says is true, and moreover, Tanethlon probably doesn't *want* to fight Achilleus. But you're pretty certain he would, if it was required of him. The young-looking woman looks back at you and Rhys. "So it will be one of you. I don't know which of you is the better fighter; maybe Scathach would be a better judge of that. But decide some way or another which of you will fight the Roman." <><><><><> He shifted uncomfortably. He took a deep breath and met Rhys eye to eye but said nothing. He licked his suddenly all too dry lips and shifted again. Ciaran then returned his attention to Synhyfar. "I am willing to accept a decision offered by Scathach. I respect her judgement." His eyes followed a path to her and then he looked back to the other woman. He stole another deep breath through gritted teeth. This selection processhad become too uncomfortable. "Another option is a time honored tradition among my people and maybe among Celts here. We test ourselves... We find out who is the better by contest of the blade. Fir Fer would be observed." <><><><><> [GM] Rhys nods. "We have that. With all due respect to Scathach, she may have taught you, but she's in no position to judge me. I will meet you in a contest of swordsmanship- or do you prefer spear?" "Just remember, this is not a match to the death," Synhyfar says. "At least, not the final one," Scathach adds with a chuckle. <><><><><> He rolled his shoulders slightly. "I prefer the sword, but I am skilled with a spear. Were I to be the one to fight Achilleus, I may use the spear first... to keep him at a distance." He realized he was rambling a bit. He never wanted to fight any of the immortals in his company. This wasn't an honor to him, but it was a necessity of sorts and very important to the Celts who lived in Prydain. The best warrior had to face Achilleus. If he didn't offer his best effort than he was doing his companions no honor and slighting them and their cause. Another deep breath. "Sword." <><><><><> [GM] The five of you make your way to a glen, deep in the woods, where no one will intrude. Rhys is grinning the entire time, either immersing himself in his lust for battle, or just putting on a frightening demeanor in the hope of intimidating you. You are uncomfortably aware that you know almost nothing about him- how old he is, how many heads he's taken, who tutored him.... Tanethlon issues another reminder, as you take up positions. "Neither of you get carried away. This may not be a duel to the death, but the Rules still prohibit anyone else interfering, should one of you suddenly become inflamed with bloodlust. So we're not going to separate you if you lose your heads....so to speak." "No one's going to lose their head," Rhys growls. Then, grinning at you- "Today." Scathach, standing behind you and to the side, leans on her spear. She doesn't look at you, but says in a low voice, "Don't embarrass me, boy." <><><><><> He simply chuckles at Rhys attempts to intimidate him. Ciaran knew the remarks for what they represented. It was custom, it was tradition. "Aye Rhys... Today it is... Tomorrow may be different." He doesn't look to his mentor when she makes her own remark. He doesn't respond to her. He looks coldly at Rhys. he watches the man consume himself in the lust for battle. But Ciaran prepared himself quite differently. Gone are the days when a wild battle fury eclipsed his mind and turned him into a hungry animal. The animal was still the same, but colder, sharper... more controlled. He stilled his mind and concentrated on the Quickening. He felt his, and tried to sense the interplay of all the others. He reached for it with his mind. His senses sharpening and focusing. He tried to separate the various immortals by the Quickening. He tried to focus solely on Rhys. *Aye Caitlyn,* he mused to himself. *I'm thinking of ye'... I think of ye' alot... but you know that already... I could use a bit of inspiration now... Think of me love... Guide me... I love ye' lass... forever.* He drew Caitlyn's sword... Medb's sword..... His sword. He circled the other immortal and waited. Watching, studying. React... *A thinking Warrior,* came the Morrigan's voice in his head. And he smiled a dark smile. <><><><><> [GM] Rhys ap Cynned rolls his shoulders and bares his teeth in a fierce grin. All part of the ritual display preceding a battle. The two warriors must posture and usually exchange insults before engaging one another. Normally, one might also recite one's lineage, and own personal feats, but the two of you do know each other already (though granted, not very well), and besides, it seems different, when it's two immortals. "Pretty sword," Rhys comments, as he steps forward, eying the blade you obtained from Medb. "Want to wager something on the outcome?" He lunges, taking the initiative, driving you backwards with his forceful opening attacks. Your sword parries his, and he hisses and gives ground as you almost slice him open with a counter-attack. <><><><><> He laughed at Rhys attempt to observe the custom. Ciaran knew the purpose of the custom and while he enjoyed it in principle, he also knew that when faced with an immortal of any experience, the taunting served little purpose. His eyes never left Rhys, his laughing at the idea of a wager was the only response before the first exchange of blows. It wasn't until after Ciaran backed Rhys up that he spoke. "Rhys.... You have nothing to wager... Nothing that I want... except your head... Cailleach(Old Woman)" He levelled his sword and prepared for the next exchange. Ciaran would continue to rely on Rhys' aggressive attacks and assume the defense and counter attack role. Force Rhys to set the tempo and try to play upon any openings or mistakes. Ciaran had to use his head as his best weapon and he needed to learn his opponent quickly without revealing too much of himself. He studied Rhys' posture and his eyes and shoulders and hips, his movements and his grip on the weapon. Pacing and defense, waiting for any opportunity. <><><><><> [GM] It only takes a couple more exchanges to convince you that you're a bit outmatched here....not terribly so, not like if you were fighting Scathach. But Rhys is better than you. He gives the outward appearance of being savage and reckless, but his movements are too polished, too precise, for him to be the crazy Celt he'd like you to believe him to be. If not for your own many years of experience, you might well have fallen for the wild attacks and wide openings he *seems* to be offering, and as it is, you're barely holding your own. "My head?" Rhys laughs. "Then take it if you can, foreign cur!" He slashes viciously at your neck, causing a stir among the spectators. With two hot-blooded Celtic warriors going at each other with live steel, there's reason to fear one or both fighters will forget they're supposed to be fighting only to incapacitation. His blow was obvious, broadcast quite blatantly, giving you ample time to parry it, but it would have taken your head off if you hadn't. <><><><><> Recognizing the fact that he was outmatched came as no surprise to the Irish Celt. Trying not to show that he recognized the situation was going to be more difficult though. If he continued to fight the safe and easy battle, trying to hold his own, then he would surely lose. He parried the purposely inflammatory strike, and when the swords came together, Ciaran locked eyes with Rhys. The powerful stroke of the Prydain Celt required him to defend by using his left hand as support to his right. Hoping for just an extra moment. A diversion where no one but Scathach would recognize what Ciaran would do next. He shifted his grip solely to his left hand as quickly as he could and swept the blade tightly under the stayed blade of Rhys, aimed for his exposed midsection. Ciaran fought equally well with either hand but favored his right when anyone might be studying him. If for nothing else, the sheer fact that Ciaran was going to prove that he deserved to stand in this company of immortals made him take the risk of exposing one of his hidden talents. He might lose this fight, but he had to prove to himself that he belonged here. he had to prove to the others that he was not to be underestimated. But most importantly, he had to prove to Scathach that he deserved the training that she had given him. <><><><><> [GM] Rhys lunges when you change hands, trying to take advantage of what he sees as a loosening of your grip. His speed spoils part of your surprise, since you're forced to raise your sword again to parry, then slash under his attack with your left hand. He doesn't jump back quite fast enough, and you cut deeply into his side. Rhys swears as he backs away, with blood flowing down his side, glaring at your sword now held in your left hand. "Cute. But if that's your best trick, you're finished." Without pause, he throws himself at you, whirling his sword with tremendous force. Your arm shivers when you block his blow with your sword again, and then, off the rebound, he spins the blade in the air and suddenly *thrusts* at you. Not an expected move, with a non-stabbing sword (only the Romans commonly use stabbing swords), and you're a little slow trying to deflect it. The blunt tip smashes into your chest and almost knocks you off your feet. Your skin is torn open and you have to go back on the defensive while you try to catch your breath, and Rhys presses his advantage. The blunt point may not have impaled you, but it certainly hurt. <><><><><> Being on the defensive was nothing new for Ciaran. Rhys was better and stronger, but Ciaran knew that going into this fight. He knew that he would also lose a battle of endurance with the man. He had to win quickly or die. Dragging it out might also serve to preserve his honor before the other immortals and for his own pride, but it was a sure way to lose. He peddled back and forced Rhys to come at him, to cut his paths off and to keep on the offensive, all the while Ciaran struggled to finf his spark. He focused on the little edge in his mind. The little voice that guided him. The sense of reality he couldn't explain but knew was alway with him. When skill wasn't enough to win, and life was in the balance, he couldn't be sure that the others would be fast nough to protect him from Rhys should the Prydain swing for his neck. He struggled to focus and think. He had the training, he lacked the experience. The will to survive and to fight and win was there, but he had only Caitlin to guide him.... Medb. The throbbing sensation of the tearing wound that Rhys delivered reminded him of the price of failure, and armed with his only friend's memory, and the lessons from the dark queen, and Scathach's training... he locked his mind tight and whispered a small prayer to Danu to grant him the strength to fight with honor. He felt for the Quickening....His, Rhys', and his voice... as much those things had been ignored while in this company, he sought to find them now. He renewed the attack on Rhys, trying to force him to defend his own injuries. He scored a hit and he needed to capitalize on it. He attacked with as much speed as he could muster. One stroke high at the shoulder, and if blocked, try to rebound off that with a slash downward into his thigh on the same side. <><><><><> [GM] Attuning yourself to the Quickening, the minute amount which flows through everything, the air and the water and the ground beneath you, is something you've tried to do now and then over the years. You've heard it called by many things, and suspect that when the druids speak of conversing with trees, or listening to the earth, they are describing their own attunement to the Quickening, which they somehow attain through arcane means, rather than by virtue of being immortal. At any rate, now and then you've experienced twinges of extra-sensory knowledge....knowing that a deer was pregnant, when you encountered her in the forest, and letting her live, or staring at a small lake and sensing without even casting your net that there were no fish of any size in the shallows...even once feeling an uncanny foreboding about a fellow warrior, during one of your stints as a mercenary, that he would die by being impaled through the heart with a spear in the next battle, as he was. But you've never had that overwhelming awareness of the entire universe come crashing down on your mind, as you did for that one moment, that day long ago when you first rose from Murthemny Plain. A single instant of attunement with everyone and everything around you. Trying to force such perceptiveness sometimes works, and sometimes doesn't. It's usually so unreliable that even when you do feel something, you can never be completely sure that you really did it, and that it wasn't just a matter of you convincing yourself you sensed what you wanted to sense. Caitlyn's voice has never come to you in her own words, just occasional flashes of feeling, or memories that take you a moment to separate and identify as HER memories and not yours. But now, some blend of your experience and her uncanny sight (you know she possessed a far greater attunement to the Quickening than you're ever likely to have...that one of the reasons she thought she could defeat you in the dark was that she could anticipate your blows....though it didn't work for her in the end) warns you of Rhys' next move, which will be an all-out charge, truly abandoning himself in warlike frenzy, now that he's convinced you that that really isn't his style. He tenses as if remaining on the defensive, but you see a gleam in his eyes, and Caitlyn recognizes an animal about to be unleashed. This is both an opportunity and a threat- he won't be as calculating and thoughtful for the next few moments, but he'll also be damned hard to stop. <><><><><> The time of decisions was at hand. Lightning quick he would have to be, and it would be his reflexes that guided him now. He could avoid the blow and then allow Rhys to come again with a different tactic, or he could take the risk and anticipate and counter the rushing strike that was coming. It was courage and determination that made a man great. To face odds that were not in his favor, and to know that he would likely lose, but still face them all the same. There was also a very fine line between bravery and stupidity, and he hoped he didn't cross that line. When Rhys came with his all out rush, Ciaran stepped back... that was expected, but then he dropped low beneath the rush, planting himself, knowing where the swing would be and tried to place his sword where Rhys could not defend against it. It was all timing, trying to rely on his sense and gift. Stand before the storm for as long as it took the storm to commit itself and then summon everything to execute the counter. A slash across the midsection and followed with another across the back of the hurtling man who would likely bowl him over, if not impale him. <><><><><> [GM] Rhys charges into your slash, not even trying to block it as he slams into you, sword thrust out in front of him. The point, despite being blunt, goes all the way into your shoulder, tearing through your flesh and gouging a chunk out of you as it exits. You're falling backwards and already feeling as if you've lost, when you notice that as Rhys towers over you, raising his sword for another blow, wet, bloody entrails are tumbling out of his belly. Blood splatters all over you, soaking the ground in a circle around him to the width of his outstretched hand. Your slash opened him up and inflicted a mortal wound. But he's still grinning ferociously, and brings his sword down on your head. There is a moment of sharp pain as the blade cleaves your skull, and then your last sensation is of bloody entrails spilling over you with a wet slurping sound. Dying with Rhys dripping his guts on you isn't exactly the noblest defeat you could have envisioned. You didn't have time to speculate as to whether having your head split open would have the same effect as having it cut off, but apparently it doesn't, since you wake up. It looks like you were dragged off the field, though no effort has been made to clean you up, as there are wet flecks of matter clinging to your neck and shoulders and chest which are probably bits of your own brain, and the sickly smell and feel of clotted, drying blood all over you. You can sense other immortals nearby. It's getting towards twilight. Someone moves, and then Scathach moves into your field of vision, standing over you with her teeth bared in a wicked grin. "You lost," she says. "Since you went down first." She gestures somewhere off to your side. "But he's still healing. I guess that means he needs his guts more than you need your brains." She throws her head back and laughs, and is still laughing as she walks away, calling over her shoulder, "Go jump in the river, boyo, you're a bloody mess and you stink!" Her rough humor is actually reassuring...it tells you she's not displeased with your performance. <><><><><> He nodded numbly at Scathach. He lost then. It had ended as he expected it to. He had done his best against the better opponent. He still felt shaky and his fingers tingled. It would be a time before he could let go of that particular way of dying. Scathach was the first to teach him what dying with a cleft head felt like. He didn't like it then and he didn't like it now. Her smiles reassured him that he had preserved his honor and kept her faith in his worth as a student of hers. He rose and grasped his blade. He looked down at the gory iron blade. He thanked Danu for her watchful eye, and he whispered a word to Cait. As he headed for the river, he looked at the other immortals. And he lowered his his eyes. He had lost, and would not be their champion. He had done his best, but it wasn't enough. He had lost. He took a few silent steps towards the river. He stopped, cocked his head to the side, and a small smile played on his lips. He looked at the body of Rhys. "I beat you Rhys," he whispered. "I got up first... And your head would be mine now." With that he made his way to the river to wash the dried and drying blood and gore and stink from himself. He had no idea if Rhys would have been able to take his head before he too died from his mortal wound but it didn't matter. He felt better already. <><><><><> [GM] Rhys is up by the time you return from the river. "Not bad, Ulaidian," he says, rubbing his stomach. "But I'll be fighting this Achilleus." "Then you will want to listen to what little Ciaran and I can tell you about him," Tanethlon says. Rhys nods, in a distracted manner. "Yes, certainly. But I'm hungry now. That outlander emptied my stomach!" He throws his head back and laughs, marching off towards the provisions. Tanethlon just looks somber, Scathach rolls her eyes, Synhyfar looks impatient. <><><><><> Ciaran looked to Tanethelon and then to Scathach. He shook his head. He feared that it would be Rhys' attitude that would cost him the battle with the Roman. He watched the Prydain march away to eat, and while there was time to talk of Achilleus, he had to wonder how much Rhys would really listen. "If he pulls that rush move on Achilleus.... he's done." He walked towards the two. He lowered his voice and there was concern in his tone. "He's a better fighter than I am, better skills... but he didn't use his head... Achilleus would want nothing more than to fight him in close." <><><><><> [GM] Tanethlon nods. "Achilleus may well be trained in Roman-style wrestling. We need to make sure Rhys is aware of the dangers." "You're assuming Rhys can't anticipate them," Scathach comments. "He might have rushed Ciaran *because* he calculated he could get away with it, and avoid doing so with Achilleus if he sees it would be foolish." She leans against her spear, in her usual contemplative posture. "Or he might just be a reckless berserker. We have a few days at least, before the confrontation. It'll take this legion a while to march over here, won't it?" "Nearly a week, at least," Tanethlon nods. "Well, you two men will have to sit him down and try to talk strategy with him. I'm not going to waste my time trying to teach him...he respects me well enough by my reputation, but he didna' have any women warriors in his clan, that's for certain. He won't listen to my advice even if I chose to give it." Scathach snorts, amused. <><><><><> "I am not familiar with this Roman Wrestling technique, but I know when a warrior looks like he can rip a stag apart with his bare hands." Ciaran paced a bit in a circle. "We will have to make him understand. Rhys thought he could get away with rushing me, and we've been together for months now. He was wrong then, what mistake might he make with someone he has never even seen." The Ulaidan Celt stopped pacing and smiled wanly. "I don't know, maybe I am the one who is wrong here. I am thinking too much sometimes. He bested me in our contest. I will offer him advice. If he chooses not to accept it, then that will be the end of it. I will say no more on the subject. It is his fight." <><><><><> [GM] "Well, at the very least, we can offer what insight we have available with regard to Achilleus, as we promised," Tanethlon says. That evening, Rhys, cheerful and cocky as ever, sits by the fire eating a haunch of venison. Tanethlon and you approach him, and Tanethlon says "That was a well-fought match today. As you are now our chosen champion against the Roman immortal, perhaps we might discuss strategy and tactics now?" Rhys grins, and shrugs. "Strategy is for armies, and it seems to me Ciaran and Synhyfar are working most of that out, with advice from you. Me, I go in the direction I'm pointed, or else where my nose leads me." "Tactics? Hit fast, hit first, hit hard. Kill the other bugger before he kills you." The Prydanian Celt laughs, but you see a knowing glint in his eye as he regards you with amusement, and once again, you can't be sure how much of his bluster and bravado is as rash and ill-considered as it appears. <><><><><> The Ulaidan doesn't laugh. He doesn't smile. He sits across the fire pit from Rhys and watches him carefully. "Tactics may not matter to you Rhys, but strategy should... Achilleus is a leader of men, that means he is a thinker as well as a warrior. But he is different than most I have ever stood before. He has malice in his eyes. But that malice won't cloud his judgement unless you are very good at using it against him. That means you have to outthink him here. Rushing him.... That will get you killed. He is as big as a stag and has the heart of the wolf. He is big. He fights in close. He will do everything he can to bring the fight in close. If he grabs you... You are dead." He paused. Took a sip from the wooden cup and looked back to Rhys. He sighed softly. "You are the better fighter between us. I want you to win this fight, not because Prydain needs this... not because there are Romans... not for any of that at all. But simply because, I like you. The months that we have spent in each other's company have been a good time. We are immortals and friends... I am told that is rare. I only want to help you Rhys, my words are only for that purpose." <><><><><> [GM] Rhys stares hard at you. "Don't be getting to like me *too* much, Ulaidan. We're companions now, but that doesn't mean we're lifelong friends." Then his expression lightens. "But this has been a good time, aye. And for some reason I like you too, Ciaran. That still doesn't mean I won't take your head someday." He grins and wipes venison drippings off his chin. "All right, so this Roman immortal is big and strong. I'm not stupid enough to charge someone built like an ox. But I'm not bad at wrestling myself-" "No," Tanethlon cuts in. "Listen, Rhys. The Romans borrowed a fighting style from another people, who developed wrestling and other close combat techniques into an art. If Achilleus has been trained as a wrestler, he's not just good at wrestling, he's deadly. He'll know how to do things you've never seen before, escape holds that you think are unbreakable, put a grip on you that you'll never be able to break, even if you're stronger than him. Even bring a sword to bear when you're too close to allow the use of weapons normally. Their close combat fighting is brutal and effective, and if you've not had training in it, you'll lose against someone who has, pure and simple. *Don't* get into close combat with Achilleus. You'd be much better off trying to make sure you fight on your terms and not his." Rhys frowns. "Well....then I will challenge him with a spear. Not much further you can get in a duel than the end of a spear, and the Romans don't seem to use spears much in single combat, except those shield- smashing javelins they throw." <><><><><> "The spears that we have been using to frighten the Romans may be the best weapon against that dog. It has the reach and will tear a man's belly or chest apart if'n he's caught on it. One good yank, and it rips him open." Ciaran paused to look at the firepit and then back to Tanethelon. "We know very little about him or how he fights. You and Scathach would be the best source of knowledge on these Romans." "Rhys," he said in low tones. " I don't know your thoughts on the subjects... But I would not be doing my best to advise you unless I said this next thing." He took a deep breath and a drink from the wooden mug. "You should ask Scathach to show you some spear techniques... You know that she is one of the best there is with a Gae Bulga or any spear... Each and every one of us is here to help you in this.... Let us help you win this fight. Ask her." <><><><><> [GM] Rhys scowls. "I *know* how to use a spear!" he says. "I'm better with a spear than I am with a sword!" He shrugs and stands. "Maybe Scathach is better, but I've been immortal longer than you. What is she going to teach me in the next few nights, that she wasn't able to teach you in however many years?" "You never know," Tanethlon says. "Perhaps a technique you've never seen before. Perhaps just some valuable sparring practice to hone you for your battle with Achilleus." "Perhaps." Rhys shrugs again. "We'll see." He picks up his spear, and walks away into the woods. <><><><><> The Ulaidan watched Rhys stalk into the woods. He shook his head slowly. He wanted to be angry at the man. Too much work had gone into this and now it looked like it would all be lost to pride and arrogance. Then he sat back, rolled his shoulders, and sighed. "So be it Tanethelon," he said. "I have nothing further to say on the matter. He will do as he sees fit. He has made that perfectly clear." Ciaran stood up and brushed himself off. He stretched a bit to undo the kinks and knots and looked upward to the sky. "I really should be in Eire... I need to find Scathach." he turned away and started for their camp proper. Perhaps she was there. <><><><><> [GM] Scathach is there, sharpening her own spear. She's sitting by the fire, talking to Synhyfar. The two women look up when you stalk into the firelight. "You don't look happy, lad," Scathach comments drily. Synhyfar merely looks impassive. "Come and sit down and have some ale," Scathach continues, patting the log next to her. "You aren't still smarting over losing, are you?" <><><><><> He chuckled sourly and sarcastically. "Of course I am, Scathach... I have my pride. I could have done better, should have done better. Maybe I just wish I had done better." He sat down and took up a mug and filled it. "But that isn't what's bothering me at this moment." He took a drink and a deep breath. He lowered his voice. "The man is an arrogant ass." Ciaran looked like he was going to say more, but checked himself. He drank deeply from his mug. It was several long moments before he spoke. "I offered him sound advice... Tanethelon did as well, but I'm not sure he is taking us seriously. I don't think he really understands what this is all about. I don't know if he sees what is at stake here. And I offer him the best advice I could think of." "The spear.... the Gae Bulga to be precise," he said shaking his head slowly. "But I knew he would need some advice in handling it.... an edge, a few pointers, anything, but most of all... he would need an expert....." Ciaran stared hard at the fire. "He's an arrogant ass... Why do I like him?" <><><><><> [GM] Scathach chuckles when you call Rhys an arrogant ass. "Funny, the same thing could be said of you!" She laughs more. "Listen to yourself, Ciaran. You're so full of your own righteousness, you can't imagine that Rhys may actually know what he's about. How do you know he doesn't *already* know how to handle the Gae Bulga? I suppose you told him he should let me teach him? Maybe he will- in private- but how would you like a younger immortal telling you how you should prepare for a duel, after you've already proven yourself superior to that youngster?" "As for taking things seriously, perhaps you forget whose land is being invaded right now? You came here because it's better to stop the Romans now, *before* they reach Eire- and because I talked you into it-" she prods you good-naturedly with an elbow, "but Rhys is already fighting on his home ground. Oh, he understands what's at stake, boy. Just because he hides his thoughts behind a lot of bravado and arrogance, doesn't mean he's not taking this seriously. Granted, he does tend to dwell more on satisfying his own impulses than on what's good for our company, or Prydain as a whole....but no one's perfect." She looks at you pointedly. <><><><><> He laughed and shook his head. "You always know how to put things in perspective teacher. Always know how to make me see the things my own arrogance blinds me too. Now, what would you say if I told you that Tanethelon agrees with me and said as much to Rhys? Hmmm. Whatever my reasons are for being here, my word was given, and once that is done... I never turn back. What I said to him... had to be said. And Tanethelon knew it. Rhys knows it now as well. I may have been born on a different different island Scathach... but this doesn't change the fact that my heart beats with the same fire as those here who face the Romans in their homeland." He emptied the mug and looked back at her. "What are you doing tonight?" <><><><><> [GM] Scathach laughs. "Well, I never said he's *not* an arrogant ass. Just pointing out the other side to it, is all." She looks at you wryly, with a quirky smile at the corners of her lips. "No definite plans," she drawls. "Why d'ye ask?" <><><><><> He smiled wolfishly. "I was thinking about dwelling on a few impulses tonight." He paused to refill his mug. "Actually I had a private thing to discuss with you, but I don't rule out any other ideas that might come along..." <><><><><> [GM] Scathach snickers. "Impulses, eh? Ruled by your impulses, you are!" She is teasing you, of course- she's at least as lusty as you, when she's in the mood. She rises, nodding to Synhyfar. No further apologies are needed. Synhyfar shrugs and sticks another log in the fire, nursing the growing bank of blazing coals. "All right then.....let's discuss this private matter, and these 'impulses'," Scathach says, walking ahead of you, into the woods surrounding the campfire. <><><><><> He watched after her as she sauntered off towards the woods. He shook his head and laughed. he dare not let her get too far ahead, or she would turn this into a lesson. Though some lessons were more fun than others. He trotted to catch up with her. Once they were away from the light and into the shadows, he spoke in a low voice. "I need to know if you would consider teaching me again... There are techinques that I think I am ready to learn. Techniques I do not know, but have seen, and despite my attempts to mimic them, I feel I need a teacher." His voice trailed off. He drew her up close to him by the arms and slipped his arms around her waist. He sought out her mouth with his own as his hands roamed her body. <><><><><> [GM] "I assume you're not talking about *these* techniques," Scathach mutters wryly, unable to resist teasing you just a bit more. Later, she lies next to you and rolls onto her side to look at you. "Now, exactly what techniques *were* you talking about? I cut you loose forty- odd years ago because there wasn't much more I could teach you at that point. What do you think I can teach you now, now that you've learned even more on your own?" One hand caresses you in a lecherous manner as she adds "Quite a bit more," with a lascivious twinkle in her eyes. <><><><><> "Aye," he said softly as she teased his skin with her touch. It was obvious that he willing to continue with the lovemaking. He returned the attention by gently stroking the softer areas of her body with his fingertips, searching out the places that gave Scathach pleasure. "I can swing a sword and a spear. You taught me well enough. And time will pass and I'll keep improving so long's I keep my head. But what I want to learn is how to avoid my opponent's attacks. Not just block it. I was too slow against Rhys' attacks and it took to much to parry and defend. The footwork and shoulder set. All that. I had seen you do it when you were teaching me all those years ago. But if'n ye' don't think you're the one to teach me, who might I seek out to learn from... someone who be willin' to take a student of yours that is?" <><><><><> [GM] "Hah. Well, you have to reach a certain point before you can learn more. I've never taken on an advanced student, though. Taught them what I could, then they went out to learn more on their own." "I don't know anyone else who can teach what I can't, except Morrigan. I don't think you want to seek her out." Much later, she rises and pulls her clothes back on. "We will try exercising in the woods and I will see what more I can teach you, but learning to avoid a blade will mean getting hit with one a lot." <><><><><> He laughs. "No... I'll not seek out the Morrigan. That much is for sure." Much later, he shifted his position to watch her dress herself. "I've been hit plenty of times, I can take more, if'n it will help me to *not* get hit when it counts." After a moment, he too slipped his tunic on and belted it. He pulled up his sandals and strapped them on tightly. He put the sword into his belt and walked with Scathach.