Ciaran Mac Rory
THE STONE OF DESTINY

Prydain

60 A.D.
..........

The trip north takes some days, but is uneventful. You encounter no 
Romans, and only a few farmers and some small villages, until you leave 
Romanized territory and enter the land of the Brigantes, where the 
Romans only nominally have dominion.

Cartimandua was one of their early allies, though not one of those rulers 
who publically swore fealty to them during the initial stages of their 
invasion. Instead, her pact appears to have been a secret one, and she 
still has never publically admitted to be in league with the Romans, 
though the Roman visitors to her court, and more importantly, her 
betrayal of Caractacus, made it all too obvious. Even more obvious were 
the Roman troops dispatched to restore her to power, when her consort 
Venutius overthrew her five years ago.

Many branches of the Brigante tribe are unhappy with their Queen's 
"friendship" with the invaders, and certain factions continue to both raid 
Roman lands and stir up agitation against Cartimandua.

One can't always tell where a Brigante's true sympathies lie, so cautiou 
is warranted when you see a group of Brigante clansmen, outfitted for 
war, on the road ahead.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He brought his horse to a halt some distance down the trail when the 
warband came into view. With a wave of his hand he motioned for 
Camlan to slow to a stop as well. Ciaran studied the warriors, trying to 
determine their allegiance, but he knew that it wouldn't be of any use. 
The Brigantes were such a divided people these days. He turned himself 
to look at his new companion.

"Your obvious status as a bard and druid in training should afford us 
safe passage and a moment to speak, despite my obvious profession. 
Provided we do not betray ourselves. We can not be certain to whom 
these soldiers owe allegiance," he said with his hand rested upon the 
pommel of his sword.

"I suggest we guard our words until we answer that question Agreed?"

The warband drew closer.

"Hail and well met," he called out. "A fine day for travel, would you not 
agree?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan nods in silent agreement, but adds his greeting to yours as the 
Brigante warriors come closer.

The warriors grin back at you cheerfully, without evident malice. "Aye, it 
is. You have the look and the accent of a traveler from somewhere far 
away, am I right?" The self-appointed leader is a tall, friendly-looking 
man with blond hair. Despite their painted faces and ready weapons, the 
group seems to be in good spirits and feeling hospitable.

"We have freshly-killed game and some honey-mead. For a few stories 
from you and your bard friend, we'll gladly share it with you."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Far enough from here, across the sea... in Eire," he said as he leaned 
forward from the back of his horse and offered the man his wrist in 
greeting. "And I miss it sorely... Aye."

"My name is Ciaran," he continued. "And this is Camlan." He clapped his 
companion on the shoulder and smiled. He couldn't have hoped for a 
better meeting than this. Inside there was a wariness, but years of 
Immoratality had schooled him to hide that deeply when he needed to.

"If'n ye lead the way... We would be honored to take of your repast. Aye, 
and it speaks greatly of your hospitality and that of yer kin to offer us 
such fine fare and company in exchange for own own paltry tales...."

"Would you not agree wit' me Camlan?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Aye," Camlan says, "We must remember how hospitable this region is, 
and I will surely sing of Brigante generosity as I continue to travel 
Prydain and visit many courts."

"Is that where you're headed, to court?" asks one of the warriors.

Camlan glances at you, then nods. "Yes, at least, we have heard that 
Queen Cartimandau has a fine court and it would be worth seeing."

This carefully neutral statement unfortunately elicits no revealing 
reaction...the warriors simply nod, and one says "Aye, I've heard the 
same."


They have good provisions, and seem to be in a remarkably friendly 
mood. Whether they are like this all the time or simply in a good mood 
because the weather is fine, the five warriors (three brothers, and a 
couple of cousins) share freely with you. Camlan tells a couple of tales 
that are reworkings of stories you've heard before; he's talented enough, 
but not the best you've ever heard. Then he sprinkles some news and 
rumors from the south and west, telling about the Romans and their 
activities. The Brigantes snort. "Romans....don't need 'em, don't want 
'em. Best they stay down there, and leave our lands alone."


"No doubt the Iceni, the Catuvellauni, the Silures, the Ordovices and 
many others wished the same thing," Camlan says dryly. This makes 
them shift uncomfortably, and Camlan glances at you. Obviously he's 
not eager to spoil their cheerful disposition, but it's very difficult to feel 
out a man's sympathies and loyalties while just chatting about the 
weather.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He offers a nod of reassurance to Camlan. It was not a bad thing he had 
done. There was something there, just beneath the surface, but their 
hosts were not comfortable speaking it. Oft times, a man says more 
when he says nothing at all.

Ciaran drained his mug and leaned closer to the flickering flames. The 
crackling fire and the dancing light played about his features. He grinned 
broadly as he looked at every one of them in turn, including Camlan.

"I shall tell you all a tale... One I first heard when I was a lad, no better'n 
knee high to a grasshopper. I'd be seated on my fah'er lap as he told 
this tale. I am no Bard of Repute, so forgive my lack of skill... It's wee tad 
long so ye should sit back, fill yer mugs and relax."

Ciaran waited for every one to settle and let the weight of their 
discomfort slip away. He then began.

"My tale is ancient... from a time long ago, and yet only just days have 
passed, or so it would seem. For me time is of no matter now. The 
golden cities I once loved lay fathoms deep beneath grey seas. The 
shining spires and towers of Hy-Brasyl... an earthly and heavenly 
Paradise where men walked with Gods yet were in accord with the 
beasts of the forests and mountain wilderness... That is where I am from. 
From a time when hands moved only in grace and giving, eyes smiled, 
lips spoke of love without shame... and bravery without bloodshed."

"I am Tuan.
I am Legend.
I am memory turned myth."

"I am the story-teller. Warriors and young boys creep away from the 
hearths of wine halls to hear me. Greedy for tales of honor and history 
they watch my lips with bright eyes, for I give them what is more 
precious than gold... A treasure unlocked from my heart. My words burn 
like flame in the darkness. I speak and hearts beat high, swords warm to 
the hand... Under my spell, boys become men.

"But I know both the pain as well as the brightness of the fire. I am the 
storyteller who can not find rest. The peace of death will never be mine. 
Once I, Tuan was a man... the chieftain of a great race... known as the 
Cesair. My warriors sat of wolfskins and they raised golden goblets, 
brimming with wine to me. Neither Evil nor Harm dared cross the 
threshold where I sat.

"But the Gods envy the happiness of men, and flood and sword 
combined to destroy my people. Now the wine halls stood empty, ruined; 
doorway and roof gaped to receive the beasts of the earth and the birds 
of the air. It was ordained that I alone should be saved to bear witness to 
my people's fate. I watched helpless while the fair lands were destroyed. 
And only Eireann remained of all my lands. My Golden cities were 
ravaged and layed deep beneath the seas. Those few children of my 
people who survived were scattered to the corners of the world. I was 
alone. And for many years I wandered... and years more I wandered. 
When I died as an old man, I found that I was reborn into that of a great 
stag. The greatest and I led herds across the fair lands that too were 
reborn.

"Then returned the first of the tribes of my children... The Nemed. Great 
was their glory and splendor. Proud and fierce, they carried with them 
the honor and courage that was of our kin. They defended the land from 
a great enemy... The Fomor. A hideous race of evil and darkness. And it 
took it's toll upon them. They were resilient but they were weakened. 
Helas, I was to learn that time had taken from them something and that 
was a remembrance of their brethren... For the Fir Bolg returned and 
they too were kin, but they warred until the Nemed were driven. Too 
weak were they to withstand another war. It was during my time as a 
Boar, the greatest of Boars that I saw the coming of the Fir Bolg. Even 
fiercer and more proud. They lacked some of the refining qualities, but 
possessed an even deeper strength of arms. And they too were plagued 
by the Fomor and even driven from the Northern lands. But in the 
southern lands they kept dominion. Time was such that they warred 
back and forth, many a time pushing the Fomor back to the sea... to the 
islands. The Fir Bolg ruled on.

"They divided the land into five parts and made one of their own the Ard 
Righ... High King... and that man was the first in Eireann. His name was 
Eochai. The lands were changing, and I knew that I would do so as well. 
For I was part of the land.

"I grew old as a boar, and went to my cave to sleep, and when I was 
reborn, I was no longer a Master on Land... nor a Master of man, nor a 
master of great herds... I was Tuan... master of the Air... Lord of the 
Heavens. From the highest mountain I could see a field mouse scurry 
across to the far shores of the land... Nothing escaped my eyes.

"And I watched, as a motionless floating speck, high upon the currents 
of air, the coming of the Third race of my Children, to return home. But 
they were the Third and the First. They were Nemed. They were now 
known as the Tuatha De Danaan. The Children of Danu... and that it 
pleased me, for she was my Queen. They sailed down over the 
mountains in a magic fleet of sky riding ships... They brought with them 
four of the greatest treasures ever known to man or God. The four 
treasures of my kingdom... The Spear of Victory... The Cauldron of 
Plenty... The Sword of Light... and the Stone of Destiny. They were led 
by their king... Nuada.

"But the Fir Bolg would have none of their presence and demanded that 
they leave. The Tuatha refused this, stating that they were as much 
allowed to live in their ancient homeland as were the Fir Bolg. And yet 
this did not please the Fir Bolg. Rather than fight the Fir Bolg, they 
offered to share the land, for there was plenty of it. The Tuatha had no 
desire to spill the blood of their own kin. But again, the Fir Bolg refused, 
for War was in their nature... and the battle lines were drawn.

"I watched the struggle, that terrible slaughter of kinsmen. The flower of 
the Youth of both my children were cut down. I wept great bitter tears 
that fell like rain, for I saw that these two fought and died, but such was 
the tragedy that they should both share the blood of Nemed the great... 
Mine own sire.

"When that day was finished, the plains and rivers ran red with blood. 
The battlefield, a place I had roamed in many forms during many years, 
was held by the Tuatha de Danaan on that day's end... at such a terrible 
cost. Sovereignty won at the price of so many. And in that battle, Nuada 
had lost his hand and arm, and by the laws of the Tuatha, as they were 
the laws of the Nemed... my laws as given unto me... that no man, 
imperfect of form can rule as king. And I wept again, for Nuada had led 
his people in a battle he never wanted to fight... and he led them to 
victory. His was a testament to bravery in battle and courage beyond 
compare, but he abdicated his throne and gave the crown over to the 
elders of his race... for them to choose the next king. That was the 
humility of a great man. And I wept for that.

"When the wailing had faded and the battle was over... the peace 
restored. The Tuatha set to engage themselves in the governing of their 
lands. They had come home. But I am part of the Land, and the Land is 
ever changing. This I know. The pattern of change is never completed 
until the world's end... And I continue.

"I am Tuan.
I am Legend.
I am memory turned myth."

"I have lived through the ages
In the shape of man, beast, and bird
Mute witness to great and sad events
Guardian of past deeds....

And the teller of tales."

Ciaran settled back at the completion of his story. He relaxed noticeably 
and smiled as he extended his mug for a refill.

"I wish that my skills were nearly half that of my companion here," Ciaran 
said humbly. "It is the best I can do..."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"You tell it well enough.....well enough indeed," says one of the three 
brothers, leaning back contentedly against a grassy bump in the earth, 
picking at his teeth, while another refills your mug.


The tale is undoubtedly familiar to them, at least in part. Legends of your 
homeland are different from those of Prydain, but there are many 
common elements, and some of the oldest heroes still appear in the 
stories of both people, though often with different names.

The waves of invasions that led Eire to be populated as it is now....how 
much truth is there in them, and how much is fable? Was Nuada a real 
person? Perhaps an immortal, like you? Morrigan could probably tell 
you.....but you know she won't.


Camlan listened attentively to your story. He keeps his thoughts to 
himself, as usual, but perhaps he was also thinking about how your 
ancient origin myth might relate to the actions of immortals. Certainly 
Medb will be remembered long and long, and Morrigan, and Scathach, 
and Cuculainn....and if you live long enough, perhaps Ciaran MacRory 
will be remembered down through the generations as well. So it is not 
unreasonable to believe that many legends were in fact based on 
immortals. But you also know that many legends are based on the deeds 
of all-too-mortal heroes....and perhaps many more are pure fable.


Your retelling, you know, was good, but you haven't spent enough time 
studying the bard's craft. You entertained your audience, but you did not 
move them. And if you hoped to provoke some subtle reaction, perhaps 
at the mention of the Four Treasures....well, they all seemed to take it 
simply as another story about mythic heroes and magical treasures. All 
Celts believe in their myths, of course...but few expect to actually meet 
them.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Medb had alluded to the fact that Nuada was indeed an Immortal. But 
she was so enraged that it was hard to tell what the state of her mind 
was at the time. The timing should have made Nuada very old when his 
path crossed with Medb... if it did at all.

There was no real way to tell. The memories that he took from Medb 
were obscure and hard to understand. Jumbled thoughts and feelings at 
best. Ciaran seldom looked into that place, for there were dark things... 
and things so wonderful that it pained him to think and remember it.

He accepted the mug with a casual smile. He knew that his telling lacked 
polish and delivery performance. But he had so little training from 
Tanethelon that he couldn't expect more. He knew it before he began. 
Whatever he might have gotten them to speak about wasn't going to be 
done with that telling alone. But it was time to get them to speak a bit.

"Aye lads... Thankyou for the chance to tell it."

He took a long draught from the mug and sighed audibly and 
contentedly.

"What news is there from the north lands," he asked in a quiet voice.

"Camlan and I are not so well informed as we'd like, what with comin' 
from the south lands and all. Thought we'd have a look around. Perhaps 
there's a chance to hire on somewhere... Maybe even seek an audience 
with the Queen herself. I have heard tell she keeps a formidable lot of 
warriors. I would hope my sword arm is a fair bit better than my talents 
as a Bard," he finished with a chuckle.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Hmm, well, Cartimandau can always use more warriors, that's true 
enough," the Brigante says.

"Things have been a bit tense since the Romans put down her 
husband's revolt and put her back on the throne. Brigante clans are as 
like to fight each other as other tribes, or Romans. And the Picts are 
raiding the northernmost part of our territory."

"In Cartimandau's court, though, I wouldn't count on a very high position, 
regardless of your talents," another adds. "She only really trusts her 
closest kin, and sometimes not even them. She's survived three 
assassination attempts in as many years, and it's made her a bit 
paranoid."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Well it canna' hurt to try. If'n she needs a bodyguard, then I am more 
than qualified. I'm better than whoever she has now... But I should be 
savin' that to tell to her," he said with a grin and wink. "I don't care for 
politics and I keep to my own counsel on those matters. Honor and 
loyalty... That's what I care for."

"I am looking forward to meeting the man she has in *my* job."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Heh. Good luck then....Cartimandau's bodyguard is na' a position I'd be 
eager to fill."


You and Camlan part company with the Brigantes, and continue towards 
the Brigante capital, Queen Cartimandau's Rath.

Camlan says "I think their apparent lack of conviction was a carefully 
cultivated neutrality. Most likely their clan has managed to stay out of 
the worst of the factional disputes, and they wish to stay that way."

"However, one would think that if any particularly remarkable events had 
happened recently in Cartimandau's court....such as a mysterious 
Roman visitor, or a scheme to invade Eire and bring back one of its 
treasures, they would have mentioned it in passing at least."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"That could be, Camlan," came the reply from Ciaran, but his tone was 
suggestive that there might be something deeper. "You would think that 
something as important as that would make for good rumor."

They rode in silence for a time as they continued north towards Isurium. 
That was the Roman name for the capital city of the Brigantes, and one 
that Cartimandua seemingly took a liking too. The Brigantes had called 
their capital Ebura and even that got Romanized... Eburacum. The 
chilling morning air teased at the two men and threatened to cut through 
their heavy cloaks. Ciaran's mood was neither dark nor light. He was 
quiet and reserved. Sitting a stride his horse, he kept himself in thought. 
Several hours had passed before Ciaran spoke again.

"Consider this though," he said. "We know there is an Immortal in 
Cartimandua's court. We don't know who. I am guessing that it might be 
Achilleus, and he might have a different name... and even a different 
identity. He might not even be a Roman in appearance and manner. You 
know that Achilleus has travelled to Tara and stolen the Lia Fail and 
plans to take it across the North and then to Rome. Everything in 
between is speculation."

"Ebura is well to the south of the Brigantian Kingdom. That is something 
else to consider. He might not return, and no one might know that he 
has even gone. Intrigue is a game the Romans love dearly in their 
politics... Politics.... even that is a Roman word. Immortals play their own 
game, and I am not sure you are versed in it yet. Having met the 
Morrigan several times... and having had to face Queen medb... I know 
the intrigue. It is not too far a stretch of the imagination to accept that no 
one really knows what is happening... and thus the route across the 
North. Take no chances. The Picts do not share a common heritage with 
the Celts of the two islands and all those between them. The Lia Fail 
may mean nothing to them, and even in plain sight, they would know it 
for nothing but a big rock."

"All speculation... and I learned long ago, that it isn't worth the hassle of 
trying to outthink another Immortal without having some solid 
information. We are merely reacting right now, that is all we can do. 
Anything more will likely cause us greater problems. We must find the 
Stone... The Court of Cartimandua is secondary to that... and a place to 
begin."

"And Scathach keeps herself to the north... Mayhap she has heard 
something... and there is a chance we will run across her as well. We 
could use another good sword and spear."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"We do not *know* there is an immortal in Cartimandau's court," Camlan 
corrects you quietly. "We have been told this, by Scathach. She could 
be mistaken. Or the immortal might be there no longer."

"As you say, we can assume nothing about the activities of other 
immortals."


>>>The Picts do not share a common heritage with the Celts of the two 
islands and all those between them. The Lia Fail may mean nothing to 
them, and even in plain sight, they would know it for nothing but a big 
rock."<<<

"Unless there are immortals among them," Camlan points out. "An 
immortal of any race might sense the significance of the Stone. Achilleus 
must have, after all." He frowns, reflecting. "Though again, we must 
wonder what inspired him to seek out the Lia Fail in the first place. He 
must have had some way of knowing it was special, even before he 
embarked on his journey. There are rocks, trees, and rivers scattered all 
across the isles that legends claim are holy, or magical, and most of 
them are not. It's not likely Achilleus just happened to hear about the 
Stone of Destiny, and randomly decided to investigate the truth behind 
that particular legend."

"But you are certainly right, Isurium is the place to begin our quest. If we 
find no useful rumors there, then we will have a terribly difficult task 
ahead of us; trying to find one man in all of northern Prydain."


With this dour thought, you proceed north. You encounter villages, and 
occasional hunters along the way, but the Brigante countryside apears 
to be peaceful at the moment.

After a couple more days, the city of Isurium lies ahead. Not nearly as 
Romanized as Camolodunum, or even the Iceni capital, which now has 
paved roads leading to it. Still, there is a certain decadent grandeur to 
it...a "barbarian" city with just a touch of foreign influence, and large 
enough that for the wilds of northern Prydain, it rates as a major city.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

When Camlan decided to present the temerity to correct him, Ciaran 
decided to address the issue. He cast a withering gaze upon the 
younger Immortal. He let the man see that he had overstepped himself.

"I appreciate candor in my travelling companions," he said in a hissing 
and deep throated voice. 

"But I also expect them to speak wisely. Scathach has forgotten more 
than you and I have ever learned. Remember that. She was my mentor 
and I know from personal experience that when she says she is 
guessing about something... she is ver' likely right. She doesna' say 
things unless she is confident in her facts... guess or no."

"I have little trust in nearly all Immortals...  Including you, fledgling. I 
canna' even be certain that you aren't manipulating me into believing 
that you are a student of Tanethelon. I've been to see him many times, 
and I never saw you... nor has he ever mentioned you. I canna' take the 
chance that you are lying to trap me. So I must follow this questing. But I 
don't trust you.  I do trust Scathach, so mind yer tongue...."

"Or I'll mind it for ye."

He said nothing further to Camlan until that evening. But even then his 
conversation was reserved. Finally, they reached Isurium. He stopped 
his horse at the crest of the hill they had ridden up on the road to 
Cartimandua's city. Her Rath was clearly evident in that it was like most 
Celtic Raths. It sat atop an even greater hill like a lonely guardian 
megalith. It had it's own regal majesty and air of strength about it. Wild 
and forbidding. The town or city of Isurium was nestled beneath it 
sweeping around the hill. It was a growing city that was becoming more 
Roman despite the fact that it was lying to itself.

"No better time than now... to face destiny."

He touched the horse's ribs with his heels and urged the animal forward. 
Ciaran wanted to get the feel of the city and it's people. A ride through 
would be a good way to begin.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan simply clenches his jaw and remains silent after you chastise 
him. He is as terse as you until you reach Isurium.


The city is less refined than those to the south, closer to the center of 
Roman power. The Brigantes have slightly different dress than the Iceni, 
and their accent is more clipped, with sharper vowels. But other than 
that, there isn't much noticeable difference between the inhabitants of 
Isurium and those of any other main city, the sort that are becoming 
more common in Prydain, with the influence of the Romans and their 
love of building.

You see a few Romans here and there, mostly administrators rather than 
soldiers, but there is a company of legionaires camped on the outskirts 
of the city, to remind the Celts that there is always a Roman presence 
not far away. Possibly to discourage any thoughts that Cartimandau's 
enemies might have of trying to depose her again.

The people seem content enough. So did Medb's subjects.


Once you ride through the city, Camlan asks "Shall we announce 
ourselves directly, and attempt to gain an audience with the Queen 
immediately, or do you have some other plan?" You've sensed no other 
immortals in your brief tour of the city, but you have not yet approached 
the queen's Rath.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"That is a good question, and one I'm not sure I have an answer for," he 
said in his soft spoken tones. He looked around the area as they rode 
along the narrow road into the town or city. It was bigger and more 
developed than any in Eire, save for Tara or Cruaich in Connacht. No, it 
was proboably bigger than either of those two as well.

That the Romans were here and in evident display was something no 
one could dispute. It must have been a very touchy subject with the 
locals. He remembered how well the Icenians felt when the Romans set 
themselves up in their lands. And the brigantes were one of the more 
wild tribes in Prydain. They were one of the slowest to develop and 
advance and they resisted change with every step it was foced upon 
them. Cartimandua was very much a progressive thinker. In such a short 
time she had brought her tribe up to the brink of modernization, and only 
at the expense of Romanization. Only.....

Ciaran spotted a Bruighaid house and he smelled the ale and roasting 
meat from inside. There were patrons entering and exiting. That was 
something that Ciaran thought might serve many purposes.

"I think I will have a drink and listen to a tale and maybe fancy to catch 
the eye of a young lass. I have a coin or two... yer welcome to join me. 
We might even hear something useful..."

Ciaran slipped from the back of his horse and pulled the reins forward to 
walk the animal towards the Bruighaid. After tossing a lad a small bronze 
coin, with the head of some Roman on it that Ciaran neither knew nor 
cared to know, he handed the reins of his horse over to be groomed and 
watered. He waited for Camlan to decide what he was going to do before 
entering the pub.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan considers, and says "I will come with you if you feel it best. But it 
occurs to me we might learn more if we look around separately. 
Although I can certainly draw people out with a story and a song or two, 
you probably have enough.....charm to dig out interesting gossip and 
rumors in your own way." He smiles thinly. Camlan does not strike you 
as being much of a ladies' man. "Meanwhile, I can seek out others in my 
order, and see what news they may have to tell."

He shifts from one foot to another. "Of course, should I sense another 
immortal, I will return here immediately."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He nodded.

"That would be a good thing then," he said to Camlan. "If'n we split for a 
time and see what we can each gather, then we might get just that much 
more. Time is critical, and I dinna know how long I want to stay in 
Isurium. If Achilleus is on the move, then we could be wasting time 
here... Good luck then... I'll expect to see you around here for dinner 
time. Aye?"

He felt a weird sensation of having said that sometime before, but he 
couldn't place it. He returned Camlan's thin smile with one of his own 
and then a wink.

He turned for the publican's house and disappeared within, but only just 
within the threshold of the door. And only just out of sight. He waited 
until Camlan had set out himself before slipping back out onto the street.

With a gesture he caught the attention of another young lad.

"Son," he said. "I've got a soviergn coin for ye, if'n ye can keep an eye 
on that man, and tell me where he goes and who he speaks to."

He pointed to Camlan as the bard made his way up the street in his own 
direction.

"Be ye warned though, he could be very dangerous... hang back, and 
just keep him in sight...Yer long sight... casual like though lad. If he 
spots ye... then ye need to be off'n and running... Keep yer 
distance...Aye?"

He showed the coin to the boy.

"This one is yours when ye come back and if I like what ye have to say, 
there might be a wee bit more for the effort."

Ciaran watched the lad head off and then he set out to follow him. He 
kept his distance so that he wouldn't be within Camlan's Quickening 
sense. He would try to keep his eye for the man, just in case the boy got 
into trouble.

*Never heard of a Bard who didn't want to wet his pipes after a long 
ride,* he thought darkly. *Actually... I never met a Bard quite like you 
Camlan,* he thought darkly. *If that's yer name at all.... Well we'll see 
how well you know Isurium... and how dumb you think I am.*

<><><><><>

[GM]

The boy accepts your coin, and nods eagerly, with all the enthusiasm of 
a lad who's been given an adventurous quest.


He sets off following Camlan, and you set off following the boy.

You walk stealthily between round wattle houses, and penned up swine 
and chicken yards, scattered indiscriminately among the growing 
number of more permanent structures, stone walls and paved streets 
being added gradually to the city.


After just five minutes of shadowing through the "streets" of Isurium, you 
crouch behind the corner of a modern, Roman-style house, and see the 
boy up ahead, standing in the middle of a muddy road and looking 
around with bewilderment and disappointment on his face. He runs back 
and forth, looking between the buildings on both sides of the road, but it 
seems that Camlan gave him the slip.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Once Ciaran was certain that Camlan had eluded the boy, he stepped 
forward to intercept him and end the job. The last thing he wanted was 
for the lad to get himself noticed.

Ciaran palmed the coin into the lad's hand and smiled.

"Nice try lad," he said as he gripped his wrist and offered him a 
respectful warrior's shake. "He's a tricky one... ye did yer best... Now run 
along before he doubles back on us... Buy yer mother somethin' nice for 
the table... Aye?"

He tussled the boy's hair and set him off for home. Ciaran turned and 
headed back for the Publican's house after making sure that the boy was 
off and running. He glanced towards the Rath of Queen Cartimandua.

*And the Game goes on. We'll settle up soon enough... Camlan... and 
there -will- be a reckoning!*

But for now, it was time to get that drink... and maybe something to eat... 
maybe something else too. He whistled a jig tune as he strolled along 
the street. With a nod and a smile to those he passed he made his way 
to the Bruighaid.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You have a somewhat successful night at the Brughaid. You hear some 
stories, tell a few of your own, and wind up taking a pleasantly-plump 
Brigante girl to your room. She wasn't your first choice, but while your 
accent and your warrior status attracted some attention from the ladies, 
you just couldn't seem to get beyond flirtation with the really beautiful 
ones. But Itayl proves to be a surprisingly good bed-companion.

You weren't able to pick up any useful rumors, unfortunately. There was 
the usual bitching about the Romans, but the area around Queen 
Cartimandau's personal domains doesn't seem to be simmering with 
revolt.


Early the next morning, just as the edge of the sun is making a small 
bright line on the horizon (and Itayl is waking up and asking how long 
you will be in Isurium), you sense the Quickening. Camlan, presumably, 
is returning.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"I can't be sure," he began. His voice trailed off as he felt the 
Quickening. "It depends lass... Could be days... Or I might have to leave 
now."

He rose from the bed quickly and located his sword as he said the last of 
that. He laid the blade on the edge of the bed and he pulled on his 
breeches and tunic shirt. The boots came next. He belted the blade 
about his waist. Instinctively his hand fell to the hilt of Medb's sword.

*It could be Camlan,* he thought. *But then again, that means nothing... 
It could be Camlan and half the Brigantian Host.*

The thought made him smile. He almost looked forward to that idea.

"You should run along Itayl," he said in a whisper. He moved to her and 
kissed her on the lips, and then whispered in her ear. "There could be a 
bit of trouble coming. Don't ask me how I know... I couldn't begin to 
explain it."

Then a thought occurred to him that he hadn't even considered the night 
before.

"Itayl," he said grasping her by the wrist and drawing her close to him 
again. He smiled again as he spoke. "Tell me lass, I was thinking of 
seeking the Queen's favor for a job... Tell me that you know the name of 
the man that bodyguards for Cartimandua right now?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Itayl looks alternately pouty and worried as you bid her to depart, then 
smiles as you pull her back. But a puzzled frown crosses her face at 
your question. Her brow wrinkles for a moment in contemplation, and 
then she shakes her head. "Ach, no, sorry, I do not," she says. Then 
adds helpfully "Mocwyn is her head knight. He leads her troops."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He touched her cheek and smiled warmly.

"Thankye lass," he said with a kiss in closing. "Now I need you to run 
along... There is someone here in the building... and they might not be 
honorable... I want ye to be safe."

Ciaran slipped around her, knowing that time had passed and that might 
give an Immortal an advantage in closing the distance.

He kept his hand on his blade as hestepped into the hall between the 
rooms in the back of the Bruighaid's house. He looked around trying to 
sense the Immortal. Once he was sure that the hall was still clear he 
would usher Itayl out the back way.

"Be careful lass... If'n I'm still in Isurium after today, I'll be back here to 
see ye."

With that, Ciaran headed towards the front of the Bruighaid. The public 
room. It was there he would meet this Immortal.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan has already found a seat in the front room, and is waiting for you 
calmly. He notes your determined approach and the grim set of your 
face, but his fingers merely brush the leather case around his harp.

"And how was your night?" he inquires, when you come close enough 
for his low tone to be heard.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran glanced around the room to determine the number of people 
present. To determine how they were armed. To determine if he 
recognized any of them from the previous day. He made sure of his 
exits. 

He walked towards the man and seated himself across from him. He left 
the question unanswered as he stared at the younger Immortal.

"You're late for dinner... I trust you have found something worthwhile and 
have returned to tell me about it."

His hand never strayed from the hilt of the blade. His eyes never left 
Camlan's... But he kept himself alert.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan looks back at you, calmly, but his eyes do flicker to your sword-
hand now and then.

"I found one of Cartimandau's court bards," he says. "She employs 
several. I learned from him that the man who is the Queen's personal 
bodyguard is one of her own clansmen, a warrior named Brin. His 
lineage is well-known. I did not think it likely he is an immortal. Of course 
an immortal in her court could be someone other than her bodyguard, 
but there were no other stories of strange men, men with mysterious 
pasts or who came from some unspecified far-away place, or any other 
traits that usually suggest an immortal."

"So-" Camlan pauses, and watches for your reaction, "I approached the 
Rath."

He takes a sip from his mug. "No Quickening. I walked in a circle all 
around the royal fort, as close as I could come without being challenged. 
Then gained admittance to one of the lesser halls, by offering a few 
songs. I believe if there was an immortal presently residing with the 
Queen's court, I would have sensed him."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"You believe," Ciaran replied. He looked across the expansive hall of the 
Bruighaid. He didn't look at anything in particular, but rather he looked 
away from Camlan. 

"You believe you would sense him...."

He motioned to have the tap girl bring him a mug of the dark. He mused 
quietly to himself but made sure that the other Immortal could hear him.

"And do ye believe that you have any shaggin' clue what yer doing?"

Then he snapped his attention back to Camlan directly and fixed him 
cold with his darkest stare. The smouldering anger was evident.

"Now, that's a damn fool thing to do.... Ye got a lot of bronze in yer pants 
lad... Not much for using yer skull though. To be goin' around trying to 
feel for Immortals is a risky thing, and I think ye know that. What with 
bein' Tanethelon's fledgling an all. Ye can walk around the Rath all day 
and not be feeling nothin'. Ye got five years as an Immortal under yer 
belt," he whispered sharply. 

"Yer lucky you'd sense an Immortal walking into the room through that 
doorway over'n there," he said with a jabbing finger across the room. It 
was an exaggeration but one with a point.

 "And ye hardly know if the other Immortal sensed you.... Oh there's an 
Immortal in this Court alright... that much I can take for a given."

He lifted his mug and drained the contents quickly. Ciaran then stood, 
pushing the stool back with his legs.

"Ye do that again, and I'll drag yer arse out back and take yer head 
meself... save everyone else the trouble. Are we clear on that?"

He turned and left the bard sitting at the table, as he made his way to 
the main exit that led to the street. Ciaran needed some time to think 
and clear his head. His distrust of Camlan was growing and his instincts 
told him that the snare was closing around him. he needed to make 
sense of this before he ran out of time altogether.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan receives your lecture with a close-mouthed scowl. He doesn't 
say anything, until you're finished.

"Tanethlon said," he says slowly, and cautiously, "that no immortal can 
sense another immortal without being sensed himself."

"If you feel it necessary to take my head because I occasionally like to 
think for myself, and thus occasionally make mistakes, then I suppose I 
probably can't stop you." The shadow of a smile touches his lips as you 
rise to leave, but it's a cold smile. "You'll pardon me if I choose not to 
join you until your current mood passes."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

The Eiru Celt wheeled back and closed the distance between them 
again. There was malice in his eyes. His temper was growing short and 
his mood more dark by the moment.

"By all means... think for yourself," he hissed. "I told you to be back here 
by meal time. And I meant it. You said you were off to check with local 
sources. Not running around and exploring. If you had been felt, you 
would have been in no position to deal with it... and if you think that what 
Tanethelon told you about Immortals is completely accurate... You might 
be in for a surprise.... there are other things in this world besides the 
Quickening."

"Making mistakes with our Kind.... isn't healthy... You usually only get to 
make one."

He stood staring at the seated man for a time before he spoke again.

"Ye weren't invited. I don't know when I will be back... If I will be back at 
all. I have some thinking to do... I may leave Isurium all together... I don't 
know yet. I don't like the feel of this place. There's trouble on the 
horizon. If I do return, I suggest that you have a good tale to explain why 
I never knew about you... If I don't return, yer on your own."

Ciaran left the bruighaid and headed to what served as the livery to 
claim his horse.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Once again, Camlan meets your harsh words with that quiet, sullen 
stare. He does not say anything more as you leave, and no one follows 
you as you reclaim your horse.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He mounted the horse and guided it down the road and out of isurium 
proper. He followed the road for a distance before directing the horse 
down a game trail that he spotted. He followed the game trail until he 
found a clearing.

He was close enough for camlan to find him, but far enough away to feel 
comfortable again. He slipped from the horse's back and tied the mount 
to a nearby scrub branch. Ciaran walked around the clearing for a bit 
trying to collect his thoughts.

Camlan might be telling him the truth, but Ciaran felt that there was more 
to it. camlan was telling all the truth if he was telling any of it. That led 
him to other questions about the nature of this whole trip.

And that was why he had come. he could dismiss his mistrust of camlan 
for a bit in favor of trying to get a clearer understanding of Achilleus' 
involvement. He sat down on the fallen log and relaxed for a time. Then 
he pictured the Roman in his mind and tried to reach out to him. He 
wanted to know where he was. he wanted to feel the Quickening and 
maybe there was something to touch in the Stone of Destiny.

Ciaran really didn't know what he was doing, save that he sometimes felt 
things and on a rare occasion he could concentrate hard enough and 
gain some insight through the Quickening. He didn't understand the gift, 
but that wasn't important to him. It wasn't his place to question his gift.

He closed his eyes and tried to feel the enrgy and his place within that 
web... reaching outwards.

<><><><><>

[GM]

From time to time over the years, you have had flashes of precognition, 
or a sudden sense about things with no real reason to feel that way. 
Sometimes it's trivial; now and then you just know that there will be an 
early snowfall the next day. Sometimes you just know that the copse of 
woods on the road ahead hides a band of marauders. Then there was 
the time you fell asleep and didn't tether your horse adequately. When 
you woke up, it had gotten loose and wandered off, and you were in the 
middle of a thick woods, yet you somehow knew exactly what direction to 
go, and came upon the animal a mile away, where it was calmly 
cropping the grass in a tiny clearing you'd never have found by chance.

But these flashes have always come unpredictably, and once or twice 
they have been *wrong*. But ever since the day you awoke on 
Murthemney Plain and felt that sudden expanded awareness of the 
entire universe, for one brief instant before your mind shut off the influx 
of information lest it overwhelm you, you've known that the Quickening 
can be used to tap senses that mortal men don't have....or that they 
don't know how to access, at any rate. With the possible exception of 
some druids and other odd folks you've met over the years.

And remembering the way the Quickening, not just your Quickening but 
ALL the Quickening in the world, threatened to engulf your senses and 
snuff your mind like a candle in the wind, that first day of your 
immortality, you've been a little nervous about *trying* to invoke it.

But you know the Morrigan taps into this strange Quickening sense 
routinely. Sometimes you can feel her doing it, with your own glimmer of 
awareness, when she's watching you. (You can never quite shake the 
feeling that you only feel her eyes on you when she *wants* you to know 
she's watching, though.) Scathach, you suspect, also has some Sight, 
though she never refers to it directly.

And Medb certainly did.

So you sit on a rock, and will your Quickening to open channels in your 
brain that will let you see as Morrigan does, that will attune you to 
Achilleus's Quickening, wherever he might be.


The Quickening burns in your mind, and you feel your own aura 
expanding at the speed of light, simultaneously diffusing as you stretch 
your senses out further and further, beyond Isurium, beyond Brigante 
territory, and across Prydain. If Achilleus hides anywhere between the 
two coasts, the net you have cast may fall upon him, but will it snare him, 
telling you where he is, or will he slip through the tenuous strands of 
your perception? Already you feel like someone simultaneously looking 
in three directions and hearing three voices and trying to devote all your 
attention to each one simultaneously, an impossible feat, and with every 
passing moment the number increases threefold, until you approach that 
endless horizon where your mind once traveled to, and teetered on the 
edge, before stepping back.

You feel a little bit of Caitlyn, and know that even as she helps you, you 
are giving up some of your precious memories of her, her essence 
dissipating as you use her Quickening to add to yours.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Nervous didn't begin to describe the feeling that threatened to 
overwhelm him at the thought of opening himself up to the Quickening... 
to all of the Quickening. The lump in his throat was affecting his 
breathing and he worked very hard to calm himself and concentrate.

Without concentration this would be for nothing and he would surely fail 
in this task. Why did he do this in the first place? He had to. Wandering 
the northern countryside of Prydain was not a viable prospect for 
tracking down this Immortal. And that was supposing that Achilleus was 
anywhere near... and it was supposing that he had stolen the Stone in 
the first place.

No, Achilleus wasn't near. He wasn't as close as Ciaran had expected 
him... or had hoped him to be. But where? Did he have the Stone? More 
questions that had not taken form as of yet, but they lingered as 
fragments of thoughts and suspicions. There was Camlan to consider. 
This entire trip had been undertaken on the word of a fledgling student 
of a friend. A fledgling that Ciaran had never heard of, and he had 
visited Tanethelon in those years that Camlan claimed to be his student. 
There was a bad feeling that gripped him. It was all to familiar a feeling... 
being led into a trap. The deception and disguise.

He pushed the thoughts away. Achilleus. The Lia Fail. He concentrated 
and focused. And he felt Caitlyn and she helped him. She guided him, 
but there was a cost, and it was too late when he realized what that cost 
was. He was losing her. Her touch upon his soul was lighter and growing 
moreso as he pushed deeper into the Quickening. Her ever nearness 
was just a bit more obscured to him now. He couldn't quit, but he didn't 
want to lose her.

No... He would never really lose her. She was with him forever. Her 
gentle but infrequent laugh. The pale beauty of her skin and the sparkle 
in her eyes. The joyous wonderment she expressed at things that he 
might have taken for granted. The newness of falling rain and dew on 
the grass. The wave of her hand through the swirling morning mists in 
the fens and peat moors. She did things to experience life and those 
were things that Ciaran would always know. She was with him in his 
heart, for it was the place she had invaded first. Her kindness and 
warmth. He would never forget her....

He closed his eyes and pressed them tightly shut but the tears would not 
be abated. He focused his mind. At what cost? Too great a price for 
what reward?Nothing was as priceless as this... but without his own life, 
he could not honor her memory and he could not love her. It was 
something he had to do, and the questions of costs of the soul could not 
be equated to this. It had to be.

He had lost her once and only once and after the sword took her head, 
he wouldn't lose her again. She had died only to be reborn within him. 
But that which she once was, would have lived on in him no matter what. 
And stilled the trail of tear made a lonely track upon his cheek.

Concentrate. She knew the costs as well as he, and she helped him. 
This is as it had to be. She would be with him forever. He would love her 
forever.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Northeast.

That is where you feel Achilleus is. Far up in the northeast....almost to 
Alba, and near the coast.

The effort of your search is further justified by the certain conviction that 
the Stone is with him.

But other nagging feelings come with your attempt to scry the Roman 
immortal. You don't see him directly, don't even get an image of him, just 
a vague sense of how far away he is and in what direction, but you 
sense other things as well. Perhaps by casting your mind out like this, 
you are now occupying the same plane the Morrigan does, when SHE 
looks across the whole of Prydain and Eiru, and that is a frightening 
thought.

But another frightening thought that occurs to you, and it occurs to you 
so abruptly and insistently that it can't be coincidence, though you have 
no definite reason to think this, is that the Morrigan may not be the only 
other one here.

Your Sight recedes, until once more you are fully cognizant of your 
immediate surroundings.

You came away with one more fact; Achilleus is not alone.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He wiped away the tears that stained his cheeks and blurred his vision. 
Cait had helped him learn what he needed to know.

*I don't know what game you play Morrigan,* he sighed as he sat upon 
the fallen tree in the small glen. His hand fell comfortably to the pommel 
of Medb's sword. His sword. a natural reflex born of the years.

*I don't know what side of this game you are on... and it +is+ a game to 
you. But it doesn't matter. The Stone must be returned to the place it 
belongs. And you know that. What insignificant little creatures we must 
seem to you, that you twist and prod us so, to do your biddings as you 
pit us against one another. I must do what is right, and if that means I am 
your pawn, then serve I shall..."

Ciaran rose abruptly and ran to the horse. He loosed the tether and 
vaulted himself onto the animal's back, pulling the leather guide around 
to lead the animal back to Isurium. Time was short now, and even if it 
was a trap that Camlan was setting... Ciaran had to risk his company still 
further in this venture.

He would return to collect the fledgling, and then set out for the 
Northeast. For the lands of the Vortadini. Nearly as far as the 
Caledonian Clanfederacy.... Alba. It would be a hard ride, and time was 
short. Achilleus had a great lead already, and Ciaran had to hope that 
the Immortal and whoever was with him, would wait for a time before 
taking passage across the water.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You find Camlan still at the Bruighaid. He is alert, having been warned 
by the Quickening that you were returning. When you march over to his 
table (where he had been talking with several Brigante men, including 
another bard), he rises, making polite apologies to his drinking 
companions, and faces you in a quieter corner. "Well, what shall we do 
now?" he asks.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

His voice is a hushed whisper but that doesn't prevent him from 
conveying the sense of urgency through the tone of his words.

"To Vortadini... the coast... close to Alba. Achilleus has the Lia Fail, and 
he's not alone."

Ciaran looked about quickly and sharply. 

"Time is not with us... and we must make great speed. We might have to 
exchange our horses along the ride. We can't afford to stop for any 
length of time now. I'm still not comfortable with your story, but what I 
can feel to be true is enough to convince me that my interests lie with 
yours. We ride now... Camlan."

The name was spoken almost as an afterthought. Not intentionally, but 
simply because Ciaran wasn't convinced that Camlan was his name. But 
it was the name he called himself and so Ciaran would use it for now.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Now?" Camlan looks a little startled, but regains his composure quickly. 
"Very well." You notice he seems wary as he accompanies you outside, 
and the two of you retrieve your horses...perhaps fearing you might just 
be planning to make good on your threat.


You ride away from Isurium, and Camlan asks "May I ask how you know 
that Achilleus and the Lia Fail are in Vortadini? All I'd been able to learn 
was that it didn't seem likely they were here."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He considers the question for a time. Silently riding the horse, he thinks 
about the ramifications of explaining the Quickening Sense. At least that 
was what he called it. Ciaran had always had a limited touching to the 
Otherworld. His father told him that he had fey blood, but only jokingly. 
Cuculhain must have known what it was when he first met the man as a 
youth.

After becoming Immortal, the ability to sense things, like impending 
danger had grown in strength. It all seemed tied to the Quickening in 
some degree. And the Quickening ran through everything.

He really didn't understand what it was he was doing, and his 
effectiveness when he tried to open himself to it was hardly 
overwhelming. He just did it, and it was in those times that he wasn't 
trying that he felt he had the most reliability. In those times when 
something just came to him.

He looked to Camlan and shrugged.

"If'n I told ye' that it was a lucky guess and as good as any place to start, 
would ye' believe me?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan considers this, then says "Well, I think I would be foolish to 
contradict you. But even Vortadini is a large area to search. Do you have 
any other information you are willing to share, or some way of narrowing 
our search still further once we arrive?"

"And when you said he is not alone, do you mean there is another 
immortal with him?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

What would be the right thing to say? How far to trust this one? It was 
better to be safe. Ciaran wasn't the smartest man alive, and he knew 
that manipulating him wasn't that difficult. He reacted to things and 
trusted people... unless they were Immortal that is. The truth. He would 
tell Camlan the truth.

"It isn't a matter of willingness... It is Trust. You have never seen fit to 
explain to me how you could be Tanethelon's student... when I have 
been to the island to visit the Bard many times over the years and never 
have I felt or seen you. And why is it that the bard has never told me of 
your existence, but now he has decided to send you to find me. The 
importance of the Stone would certainly mean that he would go himself... 
unless he absolutely couldn't. The Romans are massing to attack the 
Druids, that is true... but they won't move until the spring at the earliest. 
So why isn't Tanethelon with you and I?"

"I have many questions and many doubts... and so, as long as we are 
both going to play games with each other over the Truth... then our 
relationship will remain as it is. If you were to start explaining a few 
things and give me a few answers, then I might be inclined to offer you 
some answers to your questions."

He sighed and continued.

"As for Achilleus not being alone... I don't know what it means. I only 
know that he isn't alone. There could be several Immortals together. 
They might be aligned or opposed. By Danu, You could be working with 
him... I just don't know yet. You tell me."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"You haven't asked me any questions, only voiced suspicions!" Camlan 
retorts, revealing a hint of irritation in his normally impassive voice.

"You continually berate me for attempting to guess what elder immortals 
are thinking and what they might be doing, and now you want me to tell 
you why Tanethlon never told you about me? I don't know! I was not just 
his pupil, I was also a bard and druid in training, so I traveled a great 
deal. I saw him only when I returned to Ynys Môn, which was only a few 
months out of the year. Probably your visits never happened to coincide 
with the times I was there. That's not unlikely, though I suppose you can 
read some dark significance into that as well."

"He knew I was an immortal all along, but he didn't tell me until I died my 
first death. I don't know exactly why he sent me to you instead of coming 
himself, but I can guess. He has chosen to make his stand with the 
druids. They need him, not just when the invasion begins, but 
beforehand, to plan, to gauge the Romans. And his destiny is there, on 
Ynys Môn."


He looks back at you with his jaw tight, and this time he looks intimidated 
not at all. "To be honest, Ciaran Mac Rory, I really do not care much 
whether or not you trust me, as long as your mistrust doesn't spur you to 
try to take my head. *You* are not my mentor."

"But I tell you this- I am *not* working with Achilleus. I have no love for 
the Romans, and I am as determined as you to prevent this Roman 
immortal from taking a Celtic treasure back to Rome, and THAT you can 
believe." His eyes have an unaccustomed fire....and if once again he 
seems too self-confident and assured of himself for your liking, he also 
speaks with a passion that would be difficult to feign.

Difficult, but not impossible, not for a consummate actor....

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

As bards went, he had seen better than Camlan. In truth, Camlan was 
less than impressive as a bard. He nearly provoked the Brigantians they 
had met on the road coming into Isurium. 

"Don't make me mistrust you then Fledgling... You are right, I am not 
your mentor... And I really don't like you."

And he said nothing else for more than an hour. When Ciaran brought 
up his horse and slipped off the animal's back to walk it to a stream that 
ran close enough to the trailside, he spoke to Camlan again.

"I was born with a gift. A sense of things that my father would tell me 
meant I was part fey. But my father seldom put the flagon down and so, 
much of what he said was soaked in ale. When I became an Immortal, 
the sense grew... strengthened. Sometimes it comes to me a a simple 
feeling, other times.... I see things in the dark places of my mind. When I 
concentrate, I can find things, feel things... sometimes I can know what 
is within a man's soul and heart and mind. But it is never easy and it has 
a price.... To touch the Quickening means that you lose something of 
yourself each time. In a rush of fury and wind it roars around you, 
threatening to topple you over the edge of a precipice..."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan listens to you intently. He looks as if he's about to say 
something, but doesn't.

As you continue on your way, though, he says "The druids have rituals 
to achieve what we do with the Quickening. They use hallucinogenic 
plants, and terrible ordeals to push the mind out of the body."

"They are not immortal, and so some of them die, trying to get a glimpse 
of what exists outside the range of normal human senses."


"We all pay a cost." He sounds almost bitter.



Along the east coast of Prydain are vast stretches of moors, which you 
like not at all. The peasants say they are haunted, and inhabited by 
malign spirits, black dogs, kelpies and Unseelie marauders. You get an 
uneasy feeling just looking at them, and they also make Camlan uneasy. 
The two of you skirt the edges of the dark, misty bogs at you proceed 
north.

Where the moors begin to dry up and become rolling coastland, you 
come upon a tall stone tower, standing at the very border between the 
moors and the rising grasslands beyond. Against the grey sky, it seems 
eerily poised, its builders nowhere to be seen, and no roads, villages, 
fields or pens anywhere around it. But it must have been a substantial 
undertaking; even one of the reknowned Roman engineering battalions, 
working day and night, would have taken weeks to erect such a tall, 
fortified tower.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Camlan spoke of things that made Ciaran believe that he too had been 
touched with the Quickening Sense. Perhaps he too had been born with 
it, or he drank the herbal hallucinogens. There was little that Ciaran 
could say and so he nodded.

"Aye, and sometimes the price is too great...."

Riding through the moors gave rise to every haunt and spirit that Ciaran 
could dredge up from his imagination. Everything that rustled or moved 
was certainly a sure sign that the Seelies and UnSeelies were watching 
and waiting for the moment he let his guard slip. And then he knew he 
would find himself Astray. 

It wasn't until they had cleared the moors that Ciaran realized how tired 
and tense he had been. he felt the muscles in his neck and shoulders 
bunched and knotted. The distant sighting of the tower was welcome at 
first. Until the two riders approached it, Ciaran felt that he might be 
willing to rest here.

It stood guard against the return of a time long since past. It was 
foreboding and silent. The stories it could tell.... Just glancing at the 
darkness of the tower as a silhouette against the grey sky made Ciaran 
wondered at what great deeds once took place under the banners that 
once flew here. He pondered the tales that were told before the fires that 
must have roared in the feasting hall. Who was the lord of this place?

As eerie as it was grand, Ciaran still could not shake the fact that both 
he and Camlan would need rest. The night was fast approaching and the 
weather on the Coast of Prydain would not be good at this time of the 
year. Ciaran wanted to stop. He had travelled all the further that he felt 
he could for this day.

"Camlan... what think ye," he asked as he pointed to the tower. "I'm tired 
and I'm thinkin' I'd rather seek out a dry place to sleep tonight... I dinna' 
fancy sleeping on the ground, what with coming just out of the moors 
and all. Even if there is a lord... We can always ask for hospitality... and 
If'n it's not... we ask the ghosts."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan considers the tower.

"I don't like its looks," he says. "Call me superstitious, but I don't dismiss 
ghosts so easily. I've seen..." He stops. Then shrugs. "On the other 
hand, I've never heard of ghosts actually *hurting* somebody. Aye, if 
there are any dangers around here, they're as likely to come upon us 
while we sleep on the ground outside as inside that tower."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Camlan was correct. Inside or outside it made no difference to the fey 
and the creatures of the Otherworld. But there was more to it. Ciaran 
didn't urge his horse forward. He continued to look at the tower before 
them and spoke to Camlan. If he was going to give the man a fair 
chance at being truthful and upfront, then he would have to do the same 
himself. Trust wasn't given out, it was earned and it worked both ways.

"What have ye seen lad?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan turns and frowns.

"I've seen a fair bit. By mortal standards, I'm a well-traveled man. I 
haven't been through these moors," he gestures over his shoulder at the 
spooky marshlands you just passed, "but I went through some others 
once, and I'd not do it again. There were...things, living there. I've heard 
a barghest howling. And I've seen ghosts." He shrugs. "Like I said, 
ghosts scare me less than some things living. Still, I'm not eager to 
encounter one again."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran shuddered at the mention of a barghest, but he had never seen 
one. It was part of the stories he heard growing up. They scared him 
then and he still felt the chill shiver that raced his spine. He shook his 
head quickly to clear the thought. His own experiences with the 
Otherworld were such that he couldn't draw a line between the reality of 
it and the idea that it was simply caused by an Immortal with powers 
over the Quickening.

"And I doan' envy  ye that neither Camlan, I'm not all that eager to meet 
one meself."

He looked again at the Tower.

"I have half a mind to ride past this place, but the animals need rest... 
and so do I. I imagine thet ye do too... Aye?"

"I think we should at least look around a bit and if'n all looks good, then 
we can get dry and try our hand at a fire and a bit of dired hare with 
some bread and cheese. Maybe set a snare or two for the morning meal. 
A wee bit of warmth and some sleep would do us plenty good."

And still the thoughts that this place had secrets to tell them continued to 
nag at the fringes of his mind. They were secrets he would rather not 
learn tonight.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"The horses can't go much further," Camlan agrees, "and if there's 
anything haunting this place, I'd rather meet it inside than outside."


There is no lord in the tower, nor anyone else. Indeed, it is so 
completely abandoned as to increase your wariness. There are no signs 
that human beings ever lived here. No furniture or utensils or broken 
pottery has been left behind, no scribbling on the walls, no scraps of 
long-discarded meals, nothing. The outer wall is over ten feet thick, and 
there is only one doorway, a narrow one that allows only one man to 
pass through at a time. A few men in this tower could hold off an army.

Inside, the center of the tower is hollow, with a circular courtyard. Stone 
steps wind their way up the inside walls, with rows of cells surrounding 
the courtyard on several levels. You can see the sky above, as a cloud 
passes above the tower, and hear a faint moaning sound as the wind 
blows over the top of it. Camlan looks around, his face still impassive, 
but his jaw is tighter than usual.

"No one has lived here in a very long time," he says, stating the obvious. 
"I wonder if there is a particular reason for it, or if it's merely that this 
area has become poor for hunting and farming and so the original 
dwellers moved on?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Keep your eyes sharp lad," he said. He drew the sword and walked the 
inner courtyard at the bottom level, looking upwards and around. Slowly 
pacing the steps. 

"This is too.... too something... I don't know what though. If'n anyone 
lived here, they took every bleedin' thing with them. There is nothing 
here.... like it was never used... But I just can't see that bein' the case."

He circled again and made for the stairs to move up to the upper levels.

"Let's not get too far apart... You've seen Ghosts.... and I've dun' seen 
Fey Magic..."

It was odd and eerie but still nothing from his senses to tell him that it 
was a danger. But that still didn't make it any easier. His sense wasn't 
always accurate.

"Keep talkin' and I'll keep answerin' Camlan."

Ciaran started up the steps, slowly. One step and pause. He kept alert 
and balanced with his weapon at the ready.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan continues talking as you circle the tower warily. "I may be risking 
my head by saying this," he says dryly. "But I have accepted you're 
determined to remind me I am a fledgling every time you address me. 
However, at thirty-five, I don't think it's necessary to call me 'lad'."


The tower is as empty above as below. You find no ghosts, and no sign 
of human habitation. And you sense nothing untoward, aside from the 
normal eerieness that such an ancient, forebidding structure would instill 
in anyone.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He finished his walk around and felt that the place was as safe as it was 
ever going to be. He returned the sword to the sheath and nodded 
weakly as he walked down the stone stairs.

"Point taken Lah... Camlan. I have seen more than 100 summers 
meself... How many more? I'm not sure. 80 summers as an Immortal. I 
tend to call everyone lad anymore. No offense in that was ever meant to 
ye'. When I want to call to you a Fledgling... I'll say Fledgling. But ye' 
know that already. Lad was just a word to be less formal... If it bothers 
you, I willna' use it."

Ciaran looked about for the best place to sleep, and then set about to 
unpack the horses and tie them off.

"Can ye' see to a fire, while I feed the horses?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan has a very nice fire going by the time you've finished with the 
horses. He had to go outside the tower to gather wood, but fortunately, 
there was plenty lying around, though much of it was damp.


The night is chilly, but not too bad. Camlan is leaning back and wrapping 
his cloak around himself, to go to sleep, when an eerie howl sounds, 
coming from the moors to your south. He lifts his head, with one eye 
open. The howl is followed by several others.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran had just bundled up to ward off the chill of the night as the fire 
died to embers when the howl came from across the moors.

"Oh Sweet Danu... What have I doon to deserve this," he whispered 
lowly. His voice carried inside the tower and could easily be heard. Then 
the howls followed it and Ciaran knew that it was going to be a long 
night and a restless one. He really hoped that it was only a few wolves 
prowling through the lonely fens looking for some game. He hoped that it 
was only an effect of the moors that made the howls sound like a 
barghest.

"Camlan," he called out lowly, waiting for a response.

"Do ye want to go up top to look around while I check around the tower... 
or would ye rather I went up and you around... or shall we... just ignore 
the bastards altogether."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan looks unnerved, but not terrified. "It sounds like wolves," he 
says uncertainly. You don't know if he's speaking from experience, 
having allegedly heard a barghest to compare with, or only trying to 
reassure himself.

"As long as they're out there, there probably isn't anything here in the 
tower to worry about. But maybe one of us should go up and look 
around. And-" he looks at the narrow doorway, "maybe we should think 
about putting something up to block the entrance. Either that or take 
turns standing watch."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Aye, good thought that... I'll head up again, while you have a look about 
for something we might be able to block the opening with... something 
we can drag into place."

Ciaran picked up his sword again and made for the stone stairs that 
spiralled up to the top of the tower so that he could look out over the 
surrounding countryside. Being that it was dark, he wasn't sure what he 
might see, but the act of looking eased his mind and his need to do 
something.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You see very little out to sea, or west and north. But to the south....


Far away, across the moors, from the direction whence comes the sound 
of howling, you see multiple pinpoints of bright green light, bouncing up 
and down. And an unearthly chill goes through you.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He was no sooner up ther atop the tower and looking around when he 
saw the *Eyes* to the south... loping... running... From across the moors 
they came and they were coming hard. A lump formed in his throat as 
the shiver wracked him hard. He swallowed his fear as best he could.

"Make it fast Camlan," he called loudly down to his travelling companion. 
"If'n they be wolves, then they arena' kindly lookin' nor pleased."

He ran down the stone stairs, taking them two at a time where he could. 
They needed to get the entrance blocked up quickly.

"Ain't nothin' in this world has green glowin' eyes and it still be called 
Natural... And this ain't no reflection of light like'n ye might see from a 
torchlight on a hound's eyes in the dark... There ain't no light out there."

He bounded across the courtyard at ground level to see if Camlan had 
found anything yet that would serve their needs. Time was running short 
and the pack was closing ground fast.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Green-eyed wolves?" Camlan calls. He looks almost moved to panic, 
while still keeping his stony facial expression, when you descend the 
stairs.

"Those are Arawn's Hounds," he murmurs, looking out across the moors. 
Then spins around frantically. "There's nothing to put in front of the 
entrance, except the bloody horses!"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran's hand flexed and tightened around the hilt of his sword. He spun 
on heel and looked to the horses. Then back again at the opening. The 
baying continued and grew. The green eyed beasts were coming, and 
with them... Arawn. An Ancient Sidhe.... an Immortal. He took a deep 
breath and fought back the fear, mostly unsuccessful, but he wasn't 
ready to lose it like Camlan just yet.

"CALM DOWN.... There's nothing ye'll help by spinning like top toy and 
yelling like a child.... Here is where we will meet him then.... The horses 
won't stop the wolves.... might not even slow them, so there's no point in 
trying. We're in his home... And we'll ask for hospitality of the Lord."

Ciaran stalked to the center of the tower courtyard and set his stance 
and waited with sword in hand. Focus... Think... Control...

*I am the master of my fears....*

*I am the master....*

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan stands still, with some effort. As the baying of the hounds 
increases in volume, he reaches, not for his sword, but for his harp. He 
pulls it out of its shoulder-sheath and begins nervously running his 
fingers over its strings.


The little pinpoints of green light continue bobbing up and down, until 
gradually you can make out vague, dark shapes around them.

The hounds come to the very edge of the dry land surrounding the 
tower, but come no closer. There, they circle around, and you can see 
them through the aperture of the doorway, tall beasts, midnight-black 
except for their glowing green eyes...and bright red ears.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He watches sharply through that aperture. His eyes were fixed upon the 
hounds, but he felt nothing from his extra senses. Still he couldn't shake 
the undeniable belief that this was a bad situation to be in. Slowly he 
inhaled, and held the breath for a moment and then two. Exhaled slowly 
and deeply and he waited and watched.

He heard the music from Camlan. Ciaran shifted his stance slightly but 
kept his blade low at his side. With his left hand he made a gesture to 
Camlan to pick up the music some more.

"Good Idea Camlan... Good Idea," he said slowly. "Play nice and 
loudly.... Let anyone and everyone know, we are only travellers and 
nothing more..." His voice was raspy and low. If for nothing else, 
Camlan's music would calm Ciaran down. And Ciaran needed that.

The hounds stopped at the edge of the wetlands and didn't advance up 
the low rise to the tower. But they were close. Too close. Ciaran walked 
forward towards the opening in the tower. Mayhap the hounds waited for 
Arawn to join them. Their prey wasn't going anywhere. And now it was 
time for the Hunter to see his Quarry.

He stood just shy of the threshold of the entrance to the tower and 
looked out at the Host of pack animals. His mouth was dry. His tongue 
was thick in his mouth and he swallowed hard. There was only dryness. 
He tried to lick his lips but there was no point in that. He looked deeply 
into the darkness and tried to feel the Quickening in himself to see if 
anything but Camlan disturbed the delicate web. Reaching outwards.

The Immortal knew they were here.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The hounds continue circling, showing no reaction to Camlan's playing. 
However, while they ran to this place eagerly enough, their demeanor 
now is not exactly hostile. They're certainly agitated, and watching you 
with those bright green eyes, but the only growls are the occasional 
canine sounds dogs always make when milling around together. It's hard 
to tell what the mood of such beasts might be, you haven't had much 
experience with dogs or wolves, but while you're not eager to go walking 
out into their midst, neither do they give the impression that they are 
eager to come charging in to rip your throats out.

You seem to be in a sort of stalemate. Of course, they can leave 
anytime, and you can't, not without going through them. The horses are 
whinnying and prancing about in terror.

Camlan pauses in his playing.

"They can hold us here as long as they like," he says. "I wonder if 
*that's* what this tower was built for."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Aye maybe... It just may be Camlan."

Ciaran took another step to judge the reaction of the hounds. He stood 
within the threshold of the opening now. That was followed by a deep 
breath and exhale. He kept the sword low but ready.

"My name is Ciaran Mac Rory," he called out into the night. "Arawn... If'n 
it's your intention to cause us harm, then let us be about that business 
then. If'n it is your intention to look us over, show yourself and be well 
met. We seek only hospitality and a place to sleep. We mean no 
intrusion... We can just as easily be on our way. We have matters to the 
North to attend to.... This was only a place to stop and rest."

He peered beyond the hounds and into the darkness. Waiting and 
watching.

<><><><><>

[GM]

There is no immediate reaction, not at first, aside from a few of the 
hounds growling or barking back at you.


After another nervous few minutes, with Camlan strumming an old 
lullaby and the hounds still circling, you see their bright red ears perk 
up. A few of them run back the direction they came.

Distantly, you hear hoofbeats. Slowly another form takes shape in the 
darkness, with the other hounds running alongside it. You feel the 
Quickening from another immortal now, and someone calls out, in a 
deep, spooky voice, "And who is Ciaran Mac Rory to be calling so loudly 
across the moors, presuming to know my name and my intentions?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Two choices. One foolish and the other... less foolish. Not a difficult 
choice. Ciaran felt it in the best interests of staying alive if he was 
straight up with the man.

"I am no one of consequence... Never have been... I am simply the son 
of Rory MacMorna... Clan na Morna in Eiru. And I make no claim to 
know anything. I have been quested to find the Lia Fail, stolen from Tara 
by an Immortal. His intentions are not in the interests of the people of 
these lands... Neither Celt nor Tuath."

"I mean no offense nor any intrusion. Your hounds were what told me 
and my companion who had found us... My companion to be exact. A 
bard and druid in training. His name is Camlan. As for intentions... I 
never claimed to know them, Lord... I simply wanted to know if you would 
reveal them. Neither of us wants trouble from you... and we daren't 
presume to know your mind or will... we were simply tired from the ride."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"The Lia Fail?" The other immortal approaches until he is visible, at the 
edge of the bogs, sitting astride a dark horse and surrounded by his 
hounds. He is a dark shadow, and you can only make out a cloak 
around his shoulders, and hear the creak and rasp of hard leather armor 
flexing as he moves. "Who has stolen the Lia Fail?"

You can feel his eyes on you, as you stand in the entrance to the tower. 
"Let me see this Camlan, who knows my hounds."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He stepped forward to clear the opening to the tower. He remained wary 
of the hounds and kept his hands in sight. His sword low. He stepped 
slowly and deliberately. Ciaran positioned himself with his back to the 
outside wall of the tower.

"Camlan," he called. "Step out here...."

He waited a breath or two before answering the hanging question.

"His name is Achilleus... a Roman, but I dinna' think he's with the 
invaders anymore... I think he's a hunter... and I havena' a clue why he 
is stealing the Stone of Destiny... 'cept that it might have some power. 
I'm not interested in that. It belongs in Tara, where the Tuath placed it... 
and there it will be returned."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"The Lia Fail DOES have power," the other immortal says. The dogs are 
silent now, standing alertly to either side of their master and his horse. 
Camlan slowly comes out, standing next to you and watching your 
shadowy visitor.

The two of them seem to be staring at one another for a long time. Then 
the man on the horse speaks.

"These particular moors are very dangerous for our kind. I came 
because I sensed you, at this tower, which marks the Borderland."

"Once the Tuath charged me with conducting travelers across the 
moors. Now they are gone, and I do not escort, I only warn. You must 
not go beyond this point."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He glanced quickly to Camlan and sighed as he considered what his 
next words might be. They couldn't afford to lose time like this, and 
backtracking would cost them nearly a day.

"We must reach this Achilleus before he can find a means to take the 
Stone over the sea to Gaul. It is my belief, my feeling that he will reach 
the shore just north of these moorlands. We have come up through 
those moors to the south, and you say that we mustn't continue to the 
north through the Moors. That this is a Borderland you say.... The 
Borderland to what? And why is it dangerous to our kind?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"No, no!" the other immortal says, sounding irritated (and so, less eerie.) 
"I meant you cannot go *south*, into the moors. Look north, do you see 
moors there? That is why this is the border."


Such a simple thing as a slight miscommunication seems to take much 
of the rider's supernatural presence away. Now he is just another 
immortal....though still a formidable one, with a pack of hounds that 
could tear you apart.

"If you are going north, that is well. But when you come back this way, 
you must go around the moors. You were lucky to come this far."

"And under no circumstances can you allow this Achilleus to bring the 
Lia Fail into the moors."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"We havena' looked any further than this damn tower... let alone any 
further North," Ciaran retorted. "And it's the middle of bleedin' night... I 
wouldna' be able to see more than 20 feet in front of me."

He took a deep breath and shook his head slightly.

"Sorry... I'm just very tired. I have to stop him. He's not alone. I can feel 
it. It would really help me if I could understand why the Lia Fail canna' be 
brought into the moors. Can you or will you tell me why not, or are ye' 
gonna' be just as vague and obscure as Morrigan?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Have a care how you address yourself to me, young one."

The other immortal's eyes flash, gleaming silver in the moonlight (except 
that the moon is just a sliver overhead.) You feel a foreboding presence 
emanating from him, and he is like a Sidhe Lord once again. If not 
completely convincing as something more than merely immortal, he at 
least gives the impression- forcefully- that he is not someone to be trifled 
with.

He jerks on the reins of his horse, backing it away a step, when you 
mention the Morrigan, and he glances around quickly, as if afraid she 
might appear.

"You are too young to remember the battles that we fought. Do not mock 
me, or the Mistress of Battles, she who was once three."

"Do you believe there are things man was not meant to know, you two?"


"I do," Camlan says quietly.

The other immortal nods. "Good. Know then that the Raven-Crone, and 
I, we both know too much. She knows far, far too much. You wish to 
understand, Ciaran Mac Rory, but you'd not thank me for that 
understanding. Let's say there things in this world beyond the ken of 
mortals or immortals, and leave it at that."

"Or if you really need an 'explanation', a name for your fears, then say 
that the Unseelie live here. The Dark Sidhe. The Fomor you call them in 
Eiru, I believe."

"It isn't exactly true...not the the mean-spirited faeries, or mere evil 
immortals you may be envisioning, but think of...them, as a powerful, 
incomprehensible evil force, and you understand as much as you need 
to."

"The Tuath placed the Lia Fail in Tara for a reason, and there it must be 
returned. Eiru will be cursed if it is not. And if it falls into the hands of the 
Unseelie...." The immortal shivers, visibly. "That cannot happen."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

It was many years ago that Ciaran grew tired of people like Morrigan, 
and now this Arawn, deciding what he should and should not know. But 
there was little he could do about it. He had no desire to challenge the 
man's temper any further. He saw him for what he was, and that alone 
was something worthy of great respect.

Arawn had shed his air of Fey mystery for a moment, only to reveal the 
fact that he was an Immortal of immense power. There was no good that 
would come from angering him. But Ciaran had things to say and 
questions to ask. His lack of knowledge of the deeper mysteries and the 
eccentricities of the will of these Elder Sidhe Immortals only made his 
question burn stronger.

"Then it willna' happen... But if'n the reasons for such must remain a 
mystery to those of us who must do this thin'... Would it be so much as 
to ask that ye' join us... even as a companion and guide and nothing 
more so that we may feel comfortable that we can face our opponents on 
equal terms? For if'n this Achilleus is led by the UnSeelie Force and he 
is naught alone... Then Camlan and I, both very young... We may not be 
enough no matter how much we try. We both do what we must... what is 
right, and we both know that we might not come back... But we know 
what must be done... And we'll die tryin' if we must. Would ye' ride with 
two impertinent whelps Lord Arawn?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"No, Achilleus is not in league with....them. They ally with no one."


"And I cannot travel with you."

"But if the Roman gets past you, I will be waiting here. If he goes directly 
over the sea, that will be ill fortune for Eiru, but at least the Stone will not 
be lost to the Unseelie."

"For what it is worth, I wish you good luck."

Some would consider such a wish from a Sidhe lord to be worth a great 
deal indeed. He doesn't wait for your response, but wheels his horse 
around and rides back into the moors, followed by his hounds. He 
seems to disappear even before the distance is great enough for the 
darkness to claim him.