Ciaran Mac Rory
PAX ROMANA, Part II

Prydain (Britain)

45 A.D.

..........

For the next few weeks, Scathach spends a couple of hours each 
evening teaching you more advanced techniques, particularly for 
dodging and parrying. When she said she'd taught you all she could, 
forty years ago, that implied she had no tricks left to teach you, but you 
knew even then that wasn't true. Now you know that many of her more 
advanced tricks, you simply weren't ready to learn. What she can do 
borders on superhuman, and you're still barely able to duplicate some of 
her easier maneuvers. You have to fight feelings of frustration greater 
than what you often felt during your initial training, although Scathach is 
now not as harsh as she once was, apparently feeling no need to impale 
you or split your head open on a daily basis in order to make you take 
the training seriously.


But you don't feel like you're going to be able to do what she does, until 
you are as old as she is. One evening, she sits down with you in front of 
a fire and speaks seriously.

"Ciaran, there's something I haven't made clear to you before. The 
things I can do....the supernatural bursts of speed, what you called my 
inhuman parrying skill- it's partly due to practicing for a couple centuries. 
But it's also the Quickening."

She looks at you gravely. "You've felt it once, you know that a part 
of....the one whose head you took, is now within you. You absorb some 
of your foe's power, each time you take a head. Some of the most 
dangerous immortals aren't the ones who are the oldest, but the ones 
who have taken the most heads. And I've taken quite a few. With just 
one Quickening, you can't begin to match some of the feats an immortal 
who's taken a dozen, or five dozen, heads can perform. Not only do you 
get your victim's energy, but all the experience each of those immortals 
had, in fighting, parrying, running, dodging...it becomes yours as well."

"The more heads you take, the better you become. That's the temptation 
that leads many to become hunters. If you can take a head every few 
years, that's better than continually training at the level we've done to 
improve."

"But you also risk losing yourself....when you take someone's head, you 
also get a little of their spirit. And there's only so much you can absorb of 
other people's spirits, before it starts to twist your own. That's what's 
happened to the Morrigan. The gods know how many heads she's taken, 
but I think she doesn't know herself which thoughts and memories are 
hers and which belong to someone she killed a thousand years ago."

Scathach looks down at the ground, making designs in the dirt with the 
butt of her spear. "That's why I 'retired', living on my little island in the 
north, you see. When I was younger, I became rather drunk on my first 
Quickening, and went out looking for others. I hunted all over the 
continent, and I'm not going to tell you how many immortals I killed. But I 
started feeling my own personality warping, and I knew that with every 
head I took, I took a greater risk of turning into someone else. By then, 
however, I had a reputation, and other immortals were coming after me, 
either for revenge because I'd killed their friends, or because they 
wanted *my* Quickening."

"You have to walk a fine balance, boy. You have a lot of initiative, so 
you'll probably travel a lot and get involved in things a lot, which will 
bring you into conflict with other immortals. Taking heads is the best way 
to increase your own potency, but there's a reason why hunters are 
usually a little crazy. And only the most dangerous and the craziest last 
very long."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Sitting before the fire, he stared into the heart of the embers deep 
benath the flames. He could feel the heat burning at his face and eyes 
as he stared. Deep inside that fire he felt most at ease right now.

The reports would come any day, that Achilleus and his unit were near, 
and everything they had worked for would be put to the test. Achilleus 
knew what he was expecting to find when he set out. Rhys had been told 
everything that he would listen to. The time for preparations was over 
and soon it would be the  crucible moment. When Rhys the "Sidhe 
Warrior" would take to the field and challenge the Romans.

And he stared into the fire, looking to understand all the things Scathach 
had taught him, and all the things she couldn't. All the things he wasn't 
ready to learn. And in his heart he knew she was right, he knew it long 
before she had ever said it. He had hoped there were other ways, for he 
had no desire to hunt out immortals just to take their head. But this was 
the way of their kind. Kill or be killed. There can be only one.

The Celts were a people who took the heads of their slain foes. That 
much was true. It was a part of Ciaran, as it had been for his father, and 
his father's father. But the Celts were not headhunters. But they never 
took a head for the sole purpose of taking a head. It seemed a 
bastardization of honor to hunt someone for their power. It was such an 
intangible thing anyway. Until now. Power could be touched, felt, and 
taken among immortals. But to his people it was something more 
esoteric and pure.

When an enemy died in battle, and he was a good foe who had fought 
well, it was as much an honor to him as it was for the victor to take his 
head. The victor was saying to his comrades and to the Gods that this 
warrior would live on in him. This energy and spirit would become part of 
him. This the Celts believed. A warrior would only take the heads of 
those he truly respected. 

He was immortal. A child among his kind. Was he a Celt, or part of 
something altogether different? Did his blood flow of the Sidhe for real? 
If so, what of this Roman, surely he was not Sidhe. How many were 
there? Where did it all begin? Was it a curse? The fire offered him no 
answers. The riddle was held within the grasp of the Quickening. The 
Prize. There can be only one. A double edged sword. He had the 
questions, and the answers would elude him tonight.

That fire was within him though. He looked to his mentor. She was his 
friend and an occasional lover. There was something positive between 
the two. The friendship had grown over the years. He had a great 
respect for her, and he sensed that she too respected him. And, despite 
the dire warnings of the Morrigan, he could not feel any different. He 
stared into her eyes. The fire was waning there. She said as much, when 
she poke of being retired from the Game. But she had probably retired 
from much more as well. But here she was. She had taken up the fight 
again for this cause. And maybe in the depths of her soul and 
Quickening there was a spark. Or maybe the fire burned in a different 
way for Scathach. 

And this lead him to think on himself. Maybe it was the fact that he was a 
Eiru Celt that prevented him from rushing out to hunt immortals for their 
power and their heads. He had a respect for the power that was 
contained in a soul. He understood the responsibilites of facing an 
opponent in mortal combat. Immortal as well. That was something that 
couldn't be taught. It was his honor that guided him on this. And honor 
was something a man gave to himself.

"And walk it I will," he said. He smiled as his eyes fell upon the fire 
again. "But I will *not* hunt immortals to make myself stronger. That isna' 
a means to an end that I will accept as honorable. I hav'ta to believe that 
there is some greater purpose for us than to be pitted in battle against 
one another. Yea, I am not so stupid and I know that it is a part of our 
existence... but it is not the sum total of our purpose. I canna' allow 
myself to be jaded, or cynical enough to believe that."

Ciaran took up a thick stick and poked at the embers to stir a shower of 
sparks and caused the flames to lick high for a moment or two.

"But I see the truth in what you say. I will have to take heads. I knew it 
when I took Medb's head. I felt the rush, and wanted more. I had lost 
something very precious to me. And yet gained something to keep with 
me forever. It was very intoxicating. I wanted to have it again and again. 
It was greater than any shag I'd ever had. Present company excluded," 
he added with a wry smile.

"I will set out to find the purpose for our existence. But, I will need focus 
in order to keep myself from straying. That will be my honor. It is the 
single greatest thing I had before I became Immortal, and so It will be 
the thing which guides now that I am."

"Thankyou," he added after a long pause. He said nothing further. He 
expected that she understood why he was thankful, and it didn't need to 
be said. Ciaran gently laid the stick on the ground.He stood up in front of 
the fire and walked into the darkness to find a place to sleep.

Tomorrow would be a new day.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Tomorrow is a new day...and the day that word comes that the Romans 
have arrived.

The 20th Legion is camped downriver, prepared to reinforce the local 
garrisons, and the First Cohort is marching on the nearest Silures circle-
fort, to announce their presence in the area, Roman-style.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

With the morning's sun rise, Ciaran was up and about. He washed and 
shaved again. Then he set about preparing his facepaints and applied 
them as he had done so often. He could now use the reflection in the 
river to put them on himself.  He checked and rechecked his weapons, 
and then his chariot and horses. He then hitched his team as he had 
done many times previous. But something was different today. It was the 
endgame. This was the day they had all been preparing for. Would they 
be ready?

He waited for the others to make ready to ride. Synhyfar was the leader, 
and it was Rhys who had the heaviest load to bear on this day. He 
watched his companions as they readied themselves. When these two 
said they were ready, then they would ride to meet the first cohort and 
Achilleus.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Rhys seems deceptively cheerful and calm....actually, he looks the way 
he does before every battle. He shows no sign that he realizes this day 
is any different.

"Let's go take a few Roman heads!" he proclaims.


The five of you ride forth, appearing dramatically before the gathering 
Silures, giving them heart to face the enemy. Whipped into an 
enthusiastic frenzy by druidic exortations and the sight of the "sidhe" 
warriors, the Celts march before you, to a long, shallow depression 
between two wooded hillsides, a miniature valley for a battle to be fought 
in. Across the terrain, you see the gleam of metal as Romans come 
marching up to the far woodline.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ever thinking. He surveyed the depression and the higher ground. He 
made a series of quick motions for Scathach to see. He knew that she 
would have already recognized the potential  dangers. It would be a bad 
thing to get bottled up in the small valley. The long weapons of the   
Celts would not be useful in close quarters.

"Spread them out.... we need to occupy a wider stretch of ground." His 
voice was a whisper intended only for his friends to hear. "If they force 
us into the depression as group, the Silures will be massacred. We must 
decide the tactics and command the field to our advantage. Spread them 
out. We should ride out in front of our army, exhort them to a fever and 
divide them into smaller groups and each of us lead a group against the 
Romans. We can build the battle fever.... These are elite Roman 
soldiers and they won't scare easy, but we should still try. Place Rhys to 
the center, and when we have found Achilleus, we can plan our first 
attack."

He kept his chariot in line with those of his companions. Standing stock 
still, like the Sidhe Warrior he pretended to be. Still he searched. He 
reached for the Quickening. He wanted to know where Achilleus was at. 
He was sure he wasn't the only one.

The Romans had arrived. Achilleus would be among them. Now it 
began. Synhyfar and Rhys would lead them into battle.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach nods. She sees the danger, as does Tanethlon, who is with 
the druids who circle the Silures war-bands, shouting encouragement 
and invoking the blessings of the gods, while satirists ride ahead, calling 
curses and insults at the Romans from just beyond javelin range.

The Silures begin spreading out, but while many of them are anxious to 
charge, for now they stand in a row at the other side of the small valley, 
on the ridge opposite that on which the Romans are now forming up. 
They jump up and down, scream and holler, wave fists and spears and 
make obscene gestures, and seem only barely restrained by the 
invisible tether created by the five Sidhe warriors riding forward, down to 
the depression, to face the Roman host.

You, Tanethlon, Synhyfar, Scathach and Rhys sit astride your horses, 
pulling gaudy, noisy chariots that in this situation you brought along 
purely for show.

The Romans, ever more disciplined, are now raising a series of cheers 
and battle-cries, led by their officers. A thousand spears rise into the air 
in unison, creating a forest of glittering points, contrasting with the 
tangled throng of Celtic weapons being waved back at them. You and 
your fellow immortals have worked hard to create a formidable image, 
but the Romans aren't bad at putting on a show either.

They might simply choose to move down the slope, in a long, even line, 
putting them at a slight tactical disadvantage when they reach the 
bottom, before they continue back up. A downhill charge by the Celts at 
that point would be powerful, and frightening....but if the Romans keep 
their nerve and hold the lines, then even fighting uphill, the Silures will 
probably break against them.

They could circle around the valley, taking the slow, safe route, and 
giving the Silures plenty of time to retreat before them.

Or they could hope that Celtic discipline will prove to be as ephemeral 
as it usually is, and wait for the screaming barbarian hordes to charge, 
like they really want to.

Trying to take such options away from them, the five of you stand 
between the two hosts, presenting an obvious challenge to the Romans. 
Since you are clearly recognizeable as the 'supernatural warriors' who 
have been plaguing them for months, it is even to be hoped that the 
*Romans* might be the ones to let eagerness get the better of them, and 
charge at you....but that's not likely, especially not with a man like 
Achilleus in command.

However, the Romans have an appreciation for a formidable foe, and 
they like a spectacle as well as the Celts. When the leader of a Celtic 
army presents himself to an opposing force, it's not unheard of for the 
Roman commander to come forward and accept the implicit challenge to 
single combat. The battle won't be decided by the duel, of course- the 
two armies will still come together afterwards. But the outcome of the 
duel can have a tremendous effect on morale.

It is more common for the Roman commander to ignore the challenge. 
Not as glorious, and it doesn't impress his men much...but no one really 
expects a Roman officer to feel *obligated* to go one-on-one with a 
naked barbarian.


Of course, the mortals on either side are unaware of the real stakes 
here, and the reason why you're pretty confident that Achilleus won't 
turn down the challenge.


After a few minutes of yelling and screaming from both sides, until the 
echoes fill the valley, rolling up and down the slopes, a small group of 
armored Romans detaches itself from the main body, and comes riding 
in a sedate, dignified manner down towards you, with the Quickening 
radiating from the large man in the lead.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He fixed his cold stare on those who came forward to represent the 1st 
cohort of the XXth legion. These were the elite of the elite. Achilleus 
rode with them as their leader. Ciaran stood with his companions and 
waited. Five Immortals before one or maybe two, thinking it possible for 
another Roman immortal to be present. Unlikely, but possible.

This would be Rhys' battle to fight, his challenge to make, and his head 
to take. Ciaran watched the large man. Felt him approach. He savored 
the feeling that the Quickening stirred in him. He thought on the words 
that Scathach had said. It was indeed intoxicating to know what waited 
at the end of the battle. Ciaran wanted this Roman's head. He could feel 
the battle fever surging in him, rising to control him.

*A thinking warrior.....*

*Aye, but I am a Celt!*

*You'll be a dead Celt, if'n yer not careful lad....*

*I am warrior, I don't fear death, and I don't fear this Roman! I fear 
nothing!"

*Yer a damn fool... and a Liar... Only an idiot says he has no 
fear...Think.... when it is time to fight, you'll be knowin' it.... use your 
head to survive, or lose it in death!*

The steely calm that marked Ciaran's approach to battle descended over 
him. Outwardly, his expression was unchanged. he was silent and dark. 
His painted face betrayed nothing while his eyes bore into thhis enemy. 
he felt and searched. The Quickening.

His thoughts spoke to him as he spoke to them. His eyes never left 
those of the Roman immortal.

*Tell me Achilleus... what does it take to beat you... tell me.*

He stared and waited.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Uncannily, Achilleus fixes his gaze on you as you think your challenge.

His smile is tight, and becomes a bit broader as you stare each other 
down. You fancy you can see comprehension in his eyes, as if he knows 
what you're thinking, and his expression seems to say in return, *More 
than you've got, barbarian.*

The Romans come to a halt, a fair speaking distance away.

"You know that all these antics of yours have only assured retaliation 
against the people you've stirred up," the Roman immortal says without 
preamble. "You barbarians are going to lose, and you're all going to 
die."


"Oh, well, that's that, then. We might as well all just surrender right now," 
Tanethlon says drily, surprising you all by speaking out of turn.

Achilleus looks at him. "No, I surely don't expect that. Actually it would 
be rather disappointing."

The big immortal grins, the grin of a wolf ready to close its jaws on a 
rabbit. "So, you didn't come out here to surrender, and I doubt you 
expect you're going to persuade us to turn around and go back to 
Camolodunum. What is it you want, then?"

"Your head," says Rhys.

Achilleus' smile becomes, amazingly, even broader.

"Well, that would be amusing, to see a greasy blue piglet like you trying 
to take my head."

Rhys bares teeth back. "I'm glad it amuses you, I think that idiot's grin is 
just the expression I want your face to wear when I hang it from my 
chariot."

Achilleus and his seconds murmur back and forth, and Tanethlon quietly 
translates. "His seconds in command oppose his indulging in this duel, 
they want to just start the battle and crush us."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to present what must surely look like an 
unfair fight," Rhys adds. "I was only trying to be courteous by pretending 
to accept you as a man. I'll be happy to let one of my women take your 
head instead, though."

Synhyfar jerks in her saddle, turning pale white with anger, and 
Scathach's eyes smolder. Both of them barely avoid turning on Rhys 
right there. Instead, Scathach manages a cold smile at Achilleus, and 
Synhyfar keeps her face grim and emotionless.

They'll both have some words with Rhys later, about that unrehearsed 
slight to their honor and battle-skill. But it did have the desired effect on 
the Roman; his face darkens, and he waves a hand dismissively at his 
suboordinates. Sliding off his horse, he glowers at Rhys. "Let's finish 
this, then. I'll have your women's heads, all right....after I give yours to 
my troops to play kickball with."

One of his men hands Achilleus a large shield, from horseback, as Rhys 
dismounts and hefts his gae bulgae, his eyes alight with the same battle-
fever that threatened to overtake you.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran did not expect the Roman to acknowledge him. The intensity of 
the stare and the understanding that passed between them was an 
uncomfortalbe stretch of time for him. But it was a thing that the Roman 
should not have done. Ciaran was obviously the weaker of the two and 
he had nothing to lose by probing Achilleus through the Quickening. But 
now Achilleus had revealed that he too was sensitive to it. It was a piece 
of information that he didn't have before.

Ciaran gritted his teeth when Rhys made his arrogant statement to the 
Roman. There was a reasoning in the man's ways. While they were 
crudely commonplace and hardly respectful of the two women, Rhys did 
achieve the desired reaction he had hoped for. And in so doing, he 
forced Achilleus to reveal another fault. His own ignorance and prejudice 
could be used against him.

Ciaran hisses a curse in his native tongue at the Roman's and gives 
them a gesture to emphasize his meaning. He angles his horse towards 
the dismounted Rhys, all the while keeping a wary eye on his enemy. He 
moves close as the others withdraw to make way for the combattants. 
He utters a few words in his tongue, knowing that the wisest of Romans 
will not be able to translate it. Hopefully Rhys was educated enough to 
understand him.

"Good Luck and the Gods' favor go with you My Friend. You see how big 
he is... keep him at a distance, and let go of that spear and switch 
weapons if he looks to pull you in with it... Wear him down, and stay out 
of his reach. He can read your emotions through the Quickening. I know 
this.... I feel it. Be victorious and we'll drink tonight to honor and the 
taking of his head while we look upon it hanging from your chariot...."

When all was said, he too moved himself and mount to join Tanethelon, 
Scathach, and Synhyfar.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Rhys stands motionless, eyes blazing. You can't tell if he really hears 
your words or not. Then, he walks forward, and he and Achilleus stand 
two spear-lengths apart on the field of battle, with the two armies lined 
up to watch on either side of the depression.

You sit astride your horse, with Tanethlon, Scathach and Synhyfar.


The two combatants cast no more insults at each other. They only stare 
hard at one another, and there is a glimmer in both their eyes, that you'd 
think even the mortals must notice.

Then, silently, Achilleus sword comes out of its scabbard, and Rhys' 
Gae Bulga twirls in the air, rising to chest-level and then driving forward 
as Rhys charges.

Achilleus raises his shield, but Rhys' spear never even touches it. He 
stops short before the impact, and suddenly whirls his spear, bringing 
the other end slashing low, beneath the Roman's shield, to strike his 
ankles.

There's a loud *crack!* echoing from the point of impact, and Achilleus 
grimaces and shifts his weight slightly. But that's all. A blow that would 
have broken most men's ankles and certainly swept them off their feet, 
merely stung the thick-hewed Roman. Though his greaves undoubtedly 
helped.

Rhys dances back out of reach as Achilleus steps forward, brandishing 
his short sword. This is clearly a contest of distance and timing. Rhys, 
practically naked and wielding a spear, is fast and agile, untouchable as 
long as he keeps his distance. But Achilleus is an armored mountain of 
muscle, and he will not fall unless he's struck a decisive blow, or three or 
four. And if he lands one, that may well end the fight.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

The Rules. They had been beaten into him. Scathach had taught him 
well, but that didn't change the fact that he wanted to help Rhys. He just 
knew that he couldn't. And so he watched with his companions.

Honor. The Rules and the Game notwithstanding, this was a challenge 
made and accepted between two warriors. He would not interfere.

The battle fever of the Celts would be greatly influenced by the outcome 
of this fight between Immortals. A victory for Rhys would surely mean a 
victory for the Celts. If Rhys lost.... It was still too soon to tell. Either way, 
the Quickening would not go unnoticed by the mortals.

Rhys opened impressively. Achilleus was not seriously hurt, but this fight 
wouldn't be decided on a single blow. As much as Ciaran wished it were 
otherwise, he knew that Achilleus would not be caught so easily a 
second time by the speed and agility of the Celt.

He sat silently watching and waiting. His mind focused intently. Learning 
and watching. He wanted to feel the Roman, to know what he would do... 
to see how he would react to Rhys. He wanted to see how Rhys would 
fight his battle, and how he reacted to the Roman.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Circle and clash. Circle and clash. Rhys tries to tangle Achilleus' sword 
in the barbs of the Gae Bulga, but the Roman must have encountered 
that tactic before too, and he makes quick jabs, never leaving his short 
blade extended long enough for it to be snared.

Rhys keeps his distance, battering at Achilleus' shield. Shouts rise and 
fall from both sides, with every ringing impact. Against a lesser man, 
Rhys might have a hope of wearing his opponent out, but you suspect 
Achilleus can keep moving and parrying in that armor for a long, long 
time.

Rhys whirls his spear overhead, in a move similar to the one you've 
seen performed by Morrigan. With a bloodcurdling war-cry, he swoops 
down on Achilleus, barbed head slashing at the Roman's face, no 
sooner deflected by his shield than the butt-end comes at his shoulder 
from the other side, bouncing off Achilleus' raised sword and the spear 
rebounds in an arc yet again, the Gae Bulga blazing with a corona of 
light, drawn from Rhys' Quickening. The iron head smashes into 
Achilleus' metal shield, and a spectacular shower of sparks erupts, and 
the mortals gasp in awe as both immortals' weapons blaze with 
supernatural energy, trailing sparks in their wake as they slash and stab 
at one another.

Rhys backs away, and you see a wobble in his stance. Then you see 
steam rising from Achilleus' sword with a crackling hiss, and blood 
running out of a small wound in Rhys' side. The Roman's shield is 
practically caved in, but he drew first blood.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Now that was impressive," he muttered in a low voice. He spoke to no 
one in particular as he watched and studied the interplay of the 
Quickening between the Immortals.

*Focus Rhys.... concentrate... think.*

Ciaran could only form those words in his mind. And in a scream in his 
mind was as quiet as winter's morn over Fen Rushie Glen. He dare not 
utter anything now. Rhys did not need a nagging 'Cailleach' giving him 
advice. Honor dictated that the younger immortal hold his tongue and 
keep his place.

He looked sidelong to Scathach to see her reaction to the first blood 
drawn in the battle. Then he focused again on the fight. What would 
Achilleus do now, and how would Rhys try to stop it? Would Rhys go on 
the attack again, and try to force the fight despite the wound?

<><><><><>

[GM]

A slight narrowing of the eyes is Scathach's only reaction. The shouting 
grows quieter on the Celt side, louder on the Roman side, until Rhys 
regains his footing and continues circling Achilleus, thrusting and 
slashing repeatedly, but all just probes, testing for vulnerabilities.

The two immortals continue circling, coming together with spear against 
rent shield, Rhys narrowly dodging another thrust to his vitals, landing 
several heavy blows on Achilleus but none that penetrate his armor.

Rhys' look is wild, almost bestial, as he flies into action on a renewed 
offensive, trying to drive his spear through his opponent's shield, 
sweeping at the Roman's feet again, yelling curses and dancing within a 
hairs' breadth of Achilleus' sword as he tries to find a fatal chink in the 
Roman's guard. Achilleus keeps trying to close, obviously wanting to get 
inside the Celt's spear-range and possibly within grappling range, but 
Rhys manages to hold him at bay.

They keep fighting, for long minutes, and the hair on the back of your 
neck stirs as the Quickening flows throughout the battlefield, arcing 
along their weapons and Achilleus's armor, and creating a supernatural 
spectral display as the two immortals clash. All the mortals can see now 
that there are definitely unearthly forces at play here, as Rhys' spear, 
missing a downward slash at Achilleus's head, tears through the earth 
and blazes a smoking furrow in the ground before he brings it up again, 
while blue sparks corruscate around the Roman's shortsword and pour 
off of it.


Tanethlon stirs, and opens his mouth to say something, as the two 
combatants clash again, spear fending off shortsword, though they're 
locked together at closer range than before. Both men slash and stab 
and tear at each other like wild animals, sensing prey just an arms' 
length away. Tanethlon's comment is never heard, perhaps never 
voiced. Achilleus' back is to you as he suddenly jerks, a shudder running 
through his body, and you hear wild cries and shrieks erupting all 
around you as a bloody, barbed spearhead bursts through him, all the 
way through his armor, tearing a gory channel through the Roman's 
torso. On the grass beyond, you see Rhys's head tumbling away.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He hissed as he realized that while the Roman would die on the field, 
Rhys had lost his head. It was an outcome that was unfavorable to the 
Celts, but not the worst that could be dealt to them.

"We must charge now," he said in his own tongue. He looked at each of 
them in turn. Then his eyes scanned the assembled Silurian celts, 
screaming and waiting and watching. He was hungry to fight now. Rhys 
had not succeeded, and there was much riding on this battle. His tone 
was pitched and he shifted on the back of his horse in anticipation. A 
victory was close enough to taste.

"We must lead the Silures on an assault. The Romans will be off guard... 
with the Quickening beginning and the death of their own leader, this will 
be the only time we have to make use of this confrontation. That spear 
won't come out without tearing him open even further. He is a dead man. 
It is now or never. To cover that ground and not give the Romans any 
reason to claim a victory of spirit too soon... that is what must be done 
and done now. Our Honor. We have led them here to do battle. 
Tanethelon? Scathach.... Synhyfar? We must... Or we will take away 
nothing from this battle. Our lesson must be taught, and the point must 
be made."

He edged his horse forward and then slightly around to look at them.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach says "Aye."

Synhyfar waves her spear overhead and kicks her horse into a gallop, 
riding directly in front of the massed Silurians, screaming. Then she 
wheels about and charges downhill, angling slightly away from Achilleus 
and Rhys, who haven't even finished falling yet.

Scathach follows suit, and Tanethlon also levels his spear and prepares 
to charge- not looking as battle-eager as the rest of you.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He wheeled his own horse at the first indication that there was some 
approval from the other Immortals. He followed Synhyfar as she raced 
by the Silure Celts. He raised his own spear and tried to rally them with 
his own cries for battle.

He rode directly for the warriors that he had brought onto the field. He 
would lead them into battle against the Romans. Let the Romans 
witness the Quickening as the screaming warriors broke upon them as a 
horde.

His strategy was simple. He and his warriors were already positioned on 
the outer wing. He would lead them around and then down the slope 
angling to take the Romans from the side.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Obligingly, the Silures scream and follow you. Not with exultant cries of 
victory, but angry shouts of rage. They are motivated to fight, as they 
were before, but seeing one of their immortal champions fall has turned 
their mood darker, and though it isn't yet apparent, inserted a sinister 
sliver of doubt in their hearts. Now they are not attacking the Romans 
because they believe they WILL win, but because they believe they 
MUST win. The Romans, on the other hand, remain confident, despite 
the death of their own leader. They maneuver smoothly to prepare to 
receive the Celtic charge.....much of which, you see with distress, is 
coming UPhill.

Then the Quickening explodes from Rhys, enveloping Achilleus, and 
warriors on both sides stop fighting, to turn and stare at the spectacle. 
The Romans are more disadvantaged, because the Celts accept such 
supernatural phenomenon more readily, and quickly rally.

The skirmish goes on, unevenly, some of the Romans shaken badly by 
the Quickening, but by and large their line is holding. Your own spine is 
shivering both from the nearness of another immortal's spilled 
Quickening, and in memory of your own single experience of that event. 
You see that at the perimeter of the firestorm, Synhyfar has been thrown 
from her horse, perhaps having tried to come too close. Scathach is 
riding behind the Silures who charge uphill, driving them forward with 
curses at the Romans, and casting a spear over their heads, to strike 
deeply into a Roman shield. She turns back to look at Synhyfar, and the 
still-glowing figures at the bottom of the depression. You've lost sight of 
Tanethlon.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He knew the tactical disadvantages of fighting uphill, but this was 
definitely a must fight battle. These were the terms and he and the Celts 
had to deal with it. The advantage had to be pressed wherever it could. 
There was no turning back. A disadvantage had to be overcome... 
somehow. Ciaran attacked furiously. With spear and sword, he charged 
into his enemy. He would plant the spear deeply into as many Romans 
as he could and yank it loose until he couldn't free it anymore. Then it 
would be time to switch to his broad sword.

When the Quickening finally spilled across the Battlefield, even Ciaran 
had to watch. It was too intoxicating not too. It was spectacular and 
Ciaran wished for a moment that was probably longer than he would like 
to admit that he wanted to be the one receiving that Quickening. He also 
found the idea of riding into that area to take the head of the Roman 
crossing his mind. He dismissed it as something that was cowardly and 
without honor.

But then an even more terrible thought came to his mind. His own honor 
prevented him from doing such a thing, but he wasn't the only immortal 
on the field. The Temptation was great and the prey was easy. Who 
would know in the heat of battle this intense. The Other Immortals would 
know.

And Ciaran's honor dictated what he had to do next. He turned his horse 
and kicked it to a leaping run. He had to get there before something very 
wrong could happen. Achilleus was an enemy, but he had fought with 
honor and he fought within the Rules of the Game. Enemy or not, 
Achilleus didn't deserve to lose his head unfairly.

Time was not on Ciaran's side. His thoughts raced as he tried to get his 
horse to go faster. Synhyfar had been thrown from her horse by the 
Quickening. She was too close. Maybe that close on purpose. Ciaran 
could see Scathach, but he couldn't find Tanethelon.

Tanethelon was not the one he worried about. At least he hoped that he 
didn't have to worry about his trust in Tanethelon. It was Synhyfar that 
concerned him the most. She was volatile and he wasn't sure he trusted 
her.

*Never trust a woman.*

He didn't trust this one.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Synhyfar has risen, and crouches at the edge of the conflagration, 
holding her spear. She does look as if she wants to come closer....but 
with the Quickening lashing out in all directions, she doesn't dare. 
You've never tried to approach another's Quickening....for that matter, 
this is the first time you've seen it from the outside. You can feel the hair 
on the back of your arms and your neck standing up, and an unpleasant 
buzz shaking your spine, getting worse the closer you come. 
Instinctively, you know you don't want to be caught up in it.

Synhyfar stares into the center of the storm, holding her spear as if 
ready to cast it.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He slid off the back of the horse as it slowed to a stop. It was ready to 
balk and rear. The animal would only go so far or get so close. The 
abject terror could not be explained or reconciled in the mind of a beast. 
He kept his own distance and circled Rhys and Achilleus. When it 
finished, Ciaran knew that Achilleus would die. The spear had been 
thrust deeply enough to pierce him through. The spear head had 
plunged through his armor in back, and the barbs would tear him open if 
anyone tried to remove it. The fact that the gae Bulga was barbed, 
meant that it would have to be jerked back through the armor. Easier 
said than done. Achilleus would be dead for a while, if he wasn't dead 
already and merely a puppet to the effects of the Quickening. 

He carried his own Eire spear in one hand and Medb's broadsword in 
the other. He closed the ground between Synhyfar and himself, circling 
carefully but as quickly as he could. He had made his own choice and 
was determined to see it through. Even if it meant his own head. To do 
otherwise would condemn him as a man without Honor.

On the hill, from where he came, the Silurians continued to fight with the 
Romans. The center of this small gullied valley was behind the front line 
of the attacks, but the organized Romans could push their way back 
here if they kept their composure. But, for now, the Silurian Celts were 
holding them. Anything could happen. He focused his attention on the 
Quickening and on Synhyfar. He had to stop her. He could know the 
desire she felt to kill the Roman, but he hadn't the burning intensity she 
carried. He could only imagine what this all meant to her. He wasn't sure 
he really wanted to know. This was something even more than hunting 
an Immortal and taking his head unfairly.

It wasn't his Quickening to receive. And it wasn't Synhyfar's either. She 
had been thrown from her horse, and she probably learned something 
she didn't know before. Ciaran learned from her lesson and wasn't 
inclined to find out for himself what might happen if he got too close.

Never-the-less, he had to get around to the other side of the 
phenomenon before she made up her mind and did something foolish or 
dangerous... or both. He wanted to call out to her, warn her off, but that 
would be making an assumption that had not yet been born out. Gut 
instinct was not enough to judge Synhyfar on. What if he was wrong?

But gut instinct was all he had to rely on. What if he was right? 

Finally he did call out when he had a direct line of sight on her. He kept 
a respectful distance to her and the Quickening. The decision was 
made, and now it was time to face the consequences.

"SYNHYFAR!"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Synhyfar straightens slightly, and faces you. "Why aren't you up there 
fighting?" she demands, as the wind from the Quickening stirs her hair. It 
is beginning to die down, but you still fancy you have to raise your voice 
to be heard, even though the crackling, flashing spectacle actually 
seems strangely muted, now that you're close to it.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

His mouth felt very dry. He licked his lips before he spoke. He spoke 
loudly but as the Quickening faded, he lowered his tone.

"I'm not up there... Because you're not up there...."

He let that trail off as he locked eyes with her in a stare.

"When ye fell off'n your horse, I feared ye might get hurt by the 
Quickening," he said slowly, not trying to hide his sarcastic tone. He 
knew what she meant to do when she had raised that spear. He kept his 
own weapons at the ready, and he wanted her to know that he was 
ready.

"I came to make sure you were well enough to keep fighting. I got here 
as quickly as I could and I see that ye have been testing the weight of 
the spear and making sure your arm is okay... Come now, let us get 
back up there. The Silures need us."

He gestured to the fight on the hillside. His eyes spoke that this would 
be her only chance to put this behind her without anything being said.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Don't be wise with me, Ulaidian!" Synhyfar snaps.

She hefts her spear again, only now it looks ready to throw at you. "Are 
you so eager to save the Roman's head?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran shifted his stance slightly as Synhyfar made her threatening 
gesture. He met her venomous tone with his own in return. The word 
games were over, she had little or no experience with courtly respect. 
He was trying to allow her a chance to preserve her own honor as a Celt 
and an Immortal, but she was blinded by her rage and prejudices. 
Therefore he had to treat her as she expected to be treated. He let his 
own anger be heard. He could already knew how this would end, but he 
had made his decision and he was bound to it.

"I have no love for him... I dinna' even like him. But there are Rules. And 
yer about to break them. Taking his head while he's down on the ground 
with an injury... and just receivin' a Quickening... that's naut a fair fight. 
The Rules say he gets a fair fight. Rhys lost and the Roman won. It was 
fair fight. Rhys knew the stakes, he fought with honor, and the Roman 
fought with honor. We go on. I have to defend him, because of what we 
are and what that means. You brought us together... Celtic Immortals 
came because they believed in the cause, but now it is gone wrong. You 
have gone wrong. Try to remember why we are here. The Roman is 
dead. He will never have a place with his army here in Prydain again. 
His people saw him die. But he won the fight with Rhys. The Rules. Look 
around you. This fight is about these people and this country and Honor 
and Freedom.... but all you see is your own  needs for revenge. Did it 
ever mean anything to you except what I see right now in front of me. I 
think you don't care who you fight... and now I think that it doesn't even 
matter if it's fair."

He returned his sword to its leather scabbard, and spun his spear 
overhead and brought it around to match stance with Synhyfar.

"Go ahead... take his head... I won't stop you," he hissed.

He paused to draw in a breath between his teeth and then release it 
slowly.

"But if you do.... take his head..."

A long moment passed in his mind, maybe no time passed in reality. His 
heart raced and adrenalin surged.

"When your on your knees, and after the glow has faded and the 
Quickening is over... I'll take your's, just like you took his. Choose 
carefully Synhyfar."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Synhyfar's eyes flare. "You stinking cur!" she snarls.

"How dare you judge me?! You, who came over here for the sport, and 
because it was more convenient to fight the Romans here than on 
YOUR home ground! You honor the Rules, created by some ancient, 
long-dead gods, more than you honor your own people, and the land 
that gave you birth!"


"Enough!" yells Scathach. Her horse brings her galloping downhill from 
the skirmish line. "While you two stand here arguing, the tide turns 
against us! Stop this or all is lost!"

"We can do little to affect the tide of battle at this point!" Synhyfar 
retorts. "But we can do much to affect the Roman presence in the future, 
by eliminating the Roman immortal-"

Her voice trails off. Scathach sits astride her horse, behind you, in more 
ways than one. She stares down at the younger woman balefully, her 
spear clutched fiercely in her hand. Scathach will not stand by and 
watch the Rules be violated either.

Then a flicker of motion catches your eye, and Scathach turns her head 
also.

"Well, the point is moot," she says dryly. "Unless you're ready to fight 
another duel when the Romans will likely swoop down on you even 
should you win."

At the center of the charred circle of grass, amidst smoke mixing with 
vapor rising from Rhys' steaming corpse, Achilleus is regaining his 
feet....alive, and without a spear through him.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran> 

Her response was expected, although he imagined it would be quickly 
followed by an attack from her. He opened his mouth to reply. His own 
anger and bloodlust rising to the challenge of her words to him and his 
actions in this whole affair. But the commanding voice of Scathach cut 
him off.

Her tone with the Prydain woman was what he needed to hear. It was 
support for his position and beliefs. She castigated Synhyfar better than 
he could have hoped to. Synhyfar respected and feared Scathach, and 
that fear made all the difference.

The Roman was rising. The wound he received would have been a most 
brutal one under any circumstances, but the fact that he was up seemed 
to dispute that. The Roman rose much sooner than Ciaran had 
expected. Either the Quickening restored his health, or he was a man of 
considerable constitution and healing powers.

Ciaran kept a wary eye on Synhyfar. He had lost all respect for her, and 
when this day was finished, so too would this Alliance of Immortals end. 
Or, at least his own part in it. Ciaran McRory of Emain Macha would 
never fight with or for a leader who had no honor. 

When it was clear that Synhyfar would back down under the scruitny of 
Scathach and the knowledge that Achilleus was capable of defending 
himself again, Ciaran backed away slowly and swung the spear once 
around himself and brought it to an upright position.

He turned and walked to his own horse and pushed up and kicked over 
to sit astride it. He gathered his spear into his hands again and shifted 
the weapon so that he could ride with it.  He urged the horse forward to 
Scathach's side and he looked down at Achilleus and nodded.

He spoke in his best halting Latin.

"Gather your stuff Roman, what there is of it that you can... and leave 
here. Your head is safe for now and you are back on your feet and the 
Rules have been observed... You have no place with these soldiers now. 
Your own people will not understand how you have been reborn. They 
lack the ability to accept things like this. You fought well, but your time in 
Prydain is over."

He wheeled his horse about and looked to Scathach with a wink.

"We have a battle to finish _Mo Cara_(My Friend), he said in his own 
tongue.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Your Latin isn't nearly good enough to get the message you wanted to 
across to Achilleus in that much detail. He guffaws impatiently, cutting 
you off as you stumble over your words in the unfamiliar language. He 
seems to have picked out one statement, at least;

"My time, over? Never dream it, barbarian!"

He picks up his half-melted helmet, frowns at it, and then picks up his 
sword and spear.

"Your seeing <something or the other> the Rules, very <yes?>" 
Scathach frowns, her mouth a grim line.

"I will be seeing you again, barbarian," the Roman finishes, striding back 
uphill, *towards* the fighting.

"I believe he means to rejoin his men," Scathach says, skeptically. 
"Perhaps he has in mind some story he will tell, to allow him to stay 
among them." She shakes her head. "It doesn't matter....we will see him 
again." She kicks her horse into action, speeding towards another 
section of the front.....and you can see to your dismay that the battle 
remains a stalemate, which means it is probably lost, because the Celt's 
best hope of victory was to break the Roman lines early on. In a battle of 
endurance, the Romans will inevitably rally and push their foes back.

Scathach leads you back into the fray, leaving Synhyfar behind.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

On horseback they charged forward into the fray, uphill and screaming a 
rallying cry to the Silurians. The line had to be broken and it was now or 
never. Ciaran rode with his spear overhead, urging the beast to go faster 
and faster. His own calls for renewed action and a rallying surge were 
fueled by his rush of adrenalin and the fever that had built when he 
faced Synhyfar.

If the Silurians couldn't break the Roman line then the battle was lost 
and they would be in the middle of a rout.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You and Scathach plunge into the battle line, sword and spear seeking 
throats and stomachs and exposed limbs. Alongside you, the Celts fight 
with redoubled fury, and here and there you are able to force the line of 
Romans back. But they never fall back far, and never for long. And 
slowly but steadily, they are gaining ground, and the Celts' numbers are 
beginning to thin. When you see the first cluster of Silures warriors 
break away and begin fleeing back down the slope, you know the battle 
is lost.

A javelin strikes your thigh, almost going through it. Your horse, 
miraculously, has not yet been wounded, but you see Scathach go down 
as her horse is mortally struck. She leaps forward, letting her momentum 
carry her to the ground and using it to roll back to her feet almost 
instantly, her spear already thrusting forward to impale the unwary 
Roman who thought she was about to be rendered helpless. She begins 
fighting defensively as she backs away, the Celt warriors nearest her 
beginning to disperse.

You saw Achilleus disappear into the melee. You haven't had time to 
note what Synhyfar is doing or where she's gone, but you can't see 
Tanethlon anywhere.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Reflexively he grabberd for the javelin as it pierced his thigh. Being 
immortal did not prevent him from feeling the pain. It was nearly blinding, 
almost electrical feeling as his brain warred with his Willpower to see 
whether he would pass out or force himself to keep focused. The pain 
brought a howl from him and the weight of the weapon implanted in his 
leg intensified that pain with each jolting step of the horse.

He yanked the javelin free and thrust it like a spear into the nearest 
Roman. The blood ran freely from his wounded leg, but he knew that 
would heal. Thankfully the Romans did not barb their throwing weapons 
like the Celts did. The Romans preffered the range and accuracy over 
the added lethality. Still, it hurt plenty...

He had been trying to get the Celts nearest him to shore up the sagging 
lines. But the numbers were thinning too much. It was over, and further 
bloodshed would not serve these people or their cause.

When Scathach went down, Ciaran no longer worried about the battle. 
She had been thrown from a dying horse and she could find herself in a 
bad situation very quickly. Ciaran brought his horse about and started 
for the place he last saw her. As he rode across the field, he could see 
that she was okay and holding her own. She probably didn't need his 
help, but maybe a ride away from the battle field would be welcome.

She had come to him when he needed some support, and it was the 
least he could do. 

"Scathach," he called as he approached her. The horse slowed. He 
leaned and offered his hand for her to grasp as he held tightly to his own 
horse's leathers. If she accepted his hand he would pull her upwards so 
she could sit behind him. The horse was tired, but Ciaran couldn't afford 
to rest it yet. He had to rely on it's own desire to get away from this place 
and hope that it could find some small resevoir of strength inside. 

"I thought you might want to see a bit of Prydain today... so I stopped 
over to ask if you needed a ride," he said loudly over his shoulder. 

The echoing rings of the metal weapons and the howls of the victors and 
the vanquished made talking a very difficult thing. The dying warriors of 
both sides littered the fields and soon there would be an accounting and 
a scavenging. But Ciaran had no intention of being anywhere near. He 
smiled at Scathach as he urged his horse to make for the protection of 
the wooded lands. The smile lasted only a moment and then he focused 
his attention forward.  By the time they reached the edge of the clearing 
his thigh was merely a numb reminder that he had taken a wound. 
Plunging into the concealing countryside he and attempted to make 
good their retreat. He would try to lose any pursuit along the trails as he 
led them deeper into the forest and fen. 

There would be much thinking ahead of him. He had some questions 
plaguing him now, and he wanted to wait until they stopped to rest and 
eat, before voicing his thoughts to Scathach. He had no intention of 
working with Synhyfar ever again. He really didn't want to dwell on that 
too long. It left a bad taste in his mouth. Tanethelon had deserted them, 
or so it seemed. That was diappointing and a bit of a let down. Ciaran 
had a great deal of respect for that man. He wanted to know what 
happened. The Elder Immortal's presence on that battlefield could have 
been a big factor. But, any number of things could have been a big 
factor out there, but it was all hindsight and speculation now. The Battle 
was over and lost. The Romans held the field at the end, and the 
Silurians, what there was left of them, retreated. This would not be a day 
remembered long in the histories and tales of Prydain. The future was 
still open for consideration though.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Cute lad," Scathach says sardonically, accepting your outstretched 
hand and letting you pull her up onto your horse. The two of you retreat 
from the battle, which is now indeed becoming the rout you feared.

"We lost," she sighs. "But this wasn't the last battle, nor the most 
decisive. I don't think we've seen the last of Achilleus, though." She 
looks around. "I'd like to know where Tanethlon got off to, and Synhyfar 
for that matter."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Aye," he replies. "That would be a fine thing to know. I saw nothing of 
Tanethelon after the battle began. He wasna' too pleased about fighting 
this battle after Rhys lost his head. Just a look in his eye and an 
expression I saw. I didna' hear any complaints earlier when we were 
plannin' it. We could have used him out there... what with Synhyfar's 
trouble."

He slowed the horse to a walk. It needed rest and so did they. Ciaran 
wanted to wash the dried blood from his leg and get something to eat 
and drink. A bit further though. This was not a good place. It would be 
too easy for a skilled treacker to follow them. It was too close to the vale 
they had just left.

"I want nothing to do with her," he continued. "What I saw out there 
made me angry... It bothers me to even think that I had respect for her. 
Now I have no time for the likes of her.  But, I agreed to help you here, 
and my word is good... The cause is just and right. And I will still help 
you in this if'n you wish me to, but I'll not fight with or for that crazy 
bhean(woman). What will you do now Scathach, and how can I help 
_you_?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"I don't like to think Tanethlon deserted us," Scathach says. Then 
amends, "No, it's not just that I don't like to think it....I don't think he did. 
We have no way of knowing yet, of course....but Tanethlon is a decent 
man, and an honorable one, even if he's not truly one of us. You're right 
that he was never enthusiastic about this battle, he made no secret of 
that. The man's a reluctant warrior at best. But I'm inclined to think 
something else happened." Scathach's defense of the elder immortal is 
surprising; she almost sounds as if she respects him.

"As for Synhyfar.....she was wrong, aye. But things are never simple. 
She had reasons for thinking what she wanted to do was justified. And 
make no mistake, lad, I didn't defend Achilleus because of some noble 
respect for the Rules. I don't believe the Rules are laws handed down by 
the gods. I've come to believe they were made, ages ago, by other 
immortals who were interested in keeping their own heads. Which is why 
I respect them. We prevented Achilleus from being beheaded while he 
was helpless....in the hopes that should one of us ever be in a similar 
situation, he will show us the same courtesy."

The two of you ride further from the battlefield, until the sounds of the 
victorious Romans and the fleeing Celts are no longer audible. Then 
Scathach sighs and slips off the back of your horse. "Let's wait back at 
our campsite, and see if Tanethlon shows up. Or Synhyfar. You may not 
want to work with her any more, but I'd at least know what she intends 
now."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Aye, the days of my naive beliefs in gods and myths are long since 
over. The Morrigan is no Goddess... and Others, all stories passed 
along until we revere them, honor them, and can not distinguish facts 
from tales. I learned that quite a few years back. Just as we are not 
really gods either, but the Silurians don't know that. One day, 
generations to come... Lugh Lamfhada might be called a god. Or you for 
that matter."

As far as tanethelon was concerned. The man was a mystery to Ciaran. 
he knew very little. And he had a deep respect. He wanted to see his 
friend again before he departed from this company.

"Tanethelon is a man of a deep soul and intellect, and I will not guess 
his motivations or try to reason his actions. We could have used him 
there.... it is that simple. What else he might have been doing... Well, 
that is his business and he will tell us, or he will not."

"As for Synhyfar... we could have used her there as well. Her reasoning 
escapes me and I'm not really sure that I care to know what leads her to 
do the things she does. But, what I do know is that I saw a darker side to 
her, and I can't abide by that. The Rules of our existence were, as you 
say, probably made by our kind a very long time ago. But they are there 
and they are taught and they form a means to conduct our existence. 
That I understand. I have no love for Romans, Achilleus, or even 
Synhyfar... but I will not allow anyone to act dishonorably. She knew the 
difference. She knew right and wrong. She chose to justify her actions in 
her own mind. To allow her to do what she wanted to do, that would 
make me as guilty as her of breaking the Rules and of breaking my own 
Code of Honor. I had my own Code before I became Immortal, and I will 
have it for as long as I keep my head. If I live by my Code and observe 
and defend the Rules, then I have every reason to expect others to do it 
as well. Not all will. That is the way of things."

Together they walked back to their camp. Ciaran led the horse along. He 
kept his thoughts to himself. Synhyfar might very well challenge him to a 
duel. She had been publically chastised and there was no doubt that she 
would let that go quietly. If she was capable of justifying her attempt to 
take Achilleus' head, then she would have no trouble calling out him 
over a slight of her *honor*.

"We will wait to see the others. That is well and fine by me."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"You talk a lot, Ciaran," Scathach comments, and then sits down by the 
fire, musing silently to herself as she draws her own sword and begins 
sharpening the blade with a whetstone.

A bit past midnight, the Quickening of one another's presence is 
disturbed by the approach of another immortal. Scathach was nodding 
off, but catlike, is awake instantly with her spear in her hand.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He nodded.

"Yes I do," he said with a shrug. He loosed his belt and sword to relax 
and sat staring at the fire. He thought about what Scathach said. He had 
to agree, when he had something to say, he said it. he said everything 
he thought he needed to say to get his point across. Somehow he was 
sure that it had something to do with the fact that he fancied himself a 
man of bardic tradition. At least a student.

There was nothing more to say.

Sitting back against a tree, he was relaxing and letting his mind drift 
pleasantly when Quickening stirred to alert him that another Immortal 
was nearby. He became alert and drew his sword as he came to a ready 
stance. His sensed strained as he searched the surrounding area to find 
the new Immortal. He saw that Scathach too was waiting.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The immortal who comes loping out of the woods, looking a bit tired but 
not hurt, is Tanethlon.

He pauses as he sees you and Scathach, and leans on a spear, which 
doesn't look like the one he carried into battle.

"I got killed," he says simply, by way of explanation. He sighs. "Woke up 
under a pile of Silures, and a couple of Romans. It took me a while to 
sneak away from the battlefield, the Romans were still posted there." He 
waits at the perimeter of the campsite, to see if his explanation is 
accepted, then looks around and asks "Has Synhyfar returned?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He shook his head.

"No."

He waited for Scathach to say something if anything. He certainly didn't 
want her telling him he talked too much again. But he didn't lower his 
sword. Now would be a pretty convenient time for a shapechanging 
Immortal to get close to them. Strange thoughts occupied Ciaran's mind 
at the oddest moments. This one had somehow crept in and now he was 
stuck with it. In addition to talking too much, he had to admit that he 
thought too much too.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach doesn't seem as wary as you, strangely enough. She just nods 
at Tanethlon's words.

"I was figuring it was something like that, most likely. I was a bit worried 
Achilleus might have caught up to you, out of sight of the rest of us."

Tanethlon notes your sword, still raised, and approaches cautiously. "I 
didn't see Achilleus after the Quickening. It was almost immediately 
thereafter that my portion of the line was overwhelmed." He looks at you. 
"So what happened?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"We lost," he mused. He looked over his friend trying to identify the 
evidence in his garments that he had really been struck down as he 
said. 

After that, Ciaran lowered the point of his blade so that it was no longer 
held in a way that would resemble a threatening or wary gesture. He 
smiled slyly and shrugged his shoulders. Finally he returned the sword 
to the scabbard that he was holding in his left hand.

"Seems there was a disagreement about the meaning of fighting fair. 
Synhyfar was making her own rules up, and Scathach and me... we had 
to *talk* her out of it. Then we came back here to see who showed up. 
That's the short of it. Not much else to tell."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Dressed in ancient Celtic fashion, like all of you who posed as Sidhe 
warriors, Tanethlon isn't wearing an awful lot. His short trousers are 
blood-stained and torn, but that could have happened at any point 
during the battle.

He sits by the fire, nodding wearily. "Synhyfar has been obsessed since 
the beginning, far more than the rest of us. I thought she might snap 
sooner or later."

"She may have gone off to confront Achilleus herself...but I doubt it. 
She's not a match for him." He looks at you and Scathach. "Well, this 
has not worked out as we hoped."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"No it has not Tanethelon... No it has not."

He picked up a stick and prodded the fire a bit and settled himself more 
comfortably. He watched the sparks dance over the fire pit. The night air 
had a chill and Ciaran could feel the strain of the battle settling between 
his shoulder blades. The flames warmed his face and made him feel 
sleepy.

"We were waiting to see if she would return tonight," he said quietly. 
"Who knows, she may come to the camp in the wee hours. I don't trust 
her though. She may not return at all. Either way, I plan to set out in the 
morning."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Tanethlon nods. "Aye," he says. Though he might not have been 
enthusiastic about the battle, he's certainly not happy about the 
demoralizing defeat.

"I will go back and spend some time among the druids, I think," he says, 
stirring the coals. "This was not a bad plan, not at all, but it suffered from 
one flaw which probably doomed it from the beginning.....immortals just 
don't work together well. In twos and threes we can form ties, and in 
larger groups, for brief periods, we can ally against a common foe....but 
our individual histories are too lengthy and intertwined with one another 
and the mortal realm, not to interfere, sooner or later. That's what 
happened with Synhyfar. She wanted this gathering, and she made it 
happen, because it was *she* who had the greatest hatred for the 
Romans, and to that end she would work with any other immortals who'd 
join her. But when it came to choosing between observing the Rules and 
keeping our support, or pursuing her own vendetta...." he shrugs.

"So now we all go our separate ways again."

"I still intend to fight the Romans," Scathach says.

"And I may find ways here and there to oppose them as well," Tanethlon 
says. "But I think it best if we do so each in our own way....though 
staying in touch wouldn't be a bad idea. Welcome in fact." He smiles 
warmly at you and Scathach.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"As do I Scathach... as do I. But I think I will return to the east to do it, 
maybe to the Royal Court of the Icenians and King Prasutagus. Would 
be a good place to be a thorn in the foot of the Romans."

Ciaran reached out to grasp the wrist of his friend. He smiled warmly. 
The respect he felt for these two elder immortals was strong.

"I would welcome either of you to sit at my fire. Caras... go bragh. 
(friends forever) And we will keep in touch, but we should sleep now. 
The morning will come quickly. I will sit first watch if none object."

<><><><><>

[GM]

No other immortal approaches during your watch, and the night 
continues uneventfully.

It's only in the morning that the three of you sense the approach of 
another immortal. Just after dawn, Synhyfar comes striding out of the 
woods, her pale blonde hair streaked with blood, and her spear dripping 
with it. She regards the three of you with a hostile glare, and pauses at a 
safe distance.

"You should na' have abandoned the fight!" she says accusingly, though 
it's unclear exactly who she's addressing. Perhaps all of you, since this 
entire campaign was, in her own mind, her fight, and now it's over. To an 
outsider, the sight of a mere girl dressing down three adult warriors 
might seem a curious thing, but tension ripples in the air between you, 
invisible but as palpable as the Quickening.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He drew his sword and waited. He looked over Synhyfar as she 
emerged from the forest and walked into the clearing. The blood and 
gore was fresh. She had been out hunting in the night, chasing down 
Romans or finishing off a few wounded survivors. The Silurians had left 
the field in a chaotic run. They would be scattered and were in no shape 
to have fought on against the Romans. He waited until she had finished 
and after a short pause where no one else spoke, Ciaran hissed a reply 
to her.

"Which fight is that Synhyfar.... Ours or Yours?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"They *were* the same!" Synhyfar yells back, as if she were indeed an 
adolescent on the verge of a tantrum.

"The Roman kept his head. I acceded to your demands! So why did you 
flee?"

"*I* didn't flee," Tanethlon says evenly. "I was cut down in the midst of 
the skirmish, while you were arguing."

"Ciaran and I fought until the battle was lost," Scathach says. She leans 
on her spear and looks at the younger woman calmly. "If you can't see it 
when that point comes, it's your failing, not ours."

"So now what?" Synhyfar demands. "Disperse, and let it all be for 
nothing?"

"It hasn't been for nothing," Tanethlon replies. "We learned a great deal. 
About cooperation between immortals, among other things."

He rises. "I bear you no ill will, Synhyfar, but I will not ride with you any 
longer. My participation in this gathering is at an end."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He nods in agreement with the words spoken by Tanethelon.

"The cause is just and the fight will go on, but we have come to the end 
of our gathering. To force it further would only bring on ill will or worse. 
And we can not afford to lose any Celtic Immortals now... especially to 
our own blades."

Ciaran walked to the edge of the camp where his horse was tied. The 
only horse among them now. Without further word he packed his scant 
gear and some supplies. He gathered the reins and walked the animal 
around so he faced the Immortals again. He offered a smile to the 
others.

"We will meet again. Take care.... and don't lose your heads."