Ciaran Mac Rory
THE STONE OF DESTINY
Part II

Prydain

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


<Ciaran>

Such mixed feelings. On a level that held this man before him as a 
legend and a myth, he felt the wish of Good Luck to be a great boon. An 
honor to be granted such favorable words.

But on another level, a level more pragmatic and cynical, Ciaran couldn't 
help but feel that this man was nothing special. Arawn knew far bater 
than he just what was at stake. He knew the deeper things that he 
wouldn't speak of to the two young Immortals who had to face the 
challenge. He understood what could happen if the Lia Fail was not 
returned to the place that the Sidhe had left it. But he could still turn and 
ride away. Why? How?

Ciaran watched after him until he could no longer distinguish him from 
the darkness that engulfed him. He couldn't help but feel that Arawn had 
grown timid of a world that was changing around him. All the battles 
fought at Moy Tura or anywhere else could not change the fact that 
Arawn was a man out of place and time. He couldn't push off the feeling 
that Arawn was not able to adapt to a world where Romans and Celts 
ruled the lands they once walked freely over. Within the moors, he was 
and would be forever the great Sidhe King of Prydain. Here it was that 
Arawn felt it safer and easier to hide himself from this world and relive 
his past glories in his mind. It was safer and easier to hide in the bogs 
and claim some ancient duty... to a people that no longer existed... He 
even admitted that nothing bound him, save his own need to warn off 
strangers. But was he really warning them of danger due to his ancient 
task, or rather warn them to stay clear of him and his home.

Ciaran had no doubt that the force he spoke of, called the UnSeelie, was 
a very real thing. But when it became a shield to defend a body with, 
then a great man had lost touch with the world around him.

And yet, Ciaran found it easy to judge this man... and judge him unfairly 
no doubt. He shook his head slowly and and sighed.

"Aye Camlan... an hour or two of sleep and then we needs must be 
riding again."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan nods, and wastes no time clearing a spot on the ground and 
getting some rest. You aren't disturbed any more this evening.

Before dawn, you begin moving north again, leaving the moors behind. 
You travel for almost an entire day, before coming across another 
village, and in the distance, you can see what looks like a king's Rath, 
smaller by far than that of the Iceni or the Brigantes, but it does look 
occupied, not like the tower you spent the night in.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He brought his horse to a halt.

"Camlan... we should stop in here for a spell. I need to rest and eat. The 
horses need rest too. Mayhap we can ask some questions, get our 
bearings. I might have to try and get a fix on Achilleus again... but not on 
an empty stomach. Do ye agree that we stop, or are ye thinkin' of 
another idea?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Unless these hunches of yours urge us to continue, I think stopping to 
rest would not be a bad idea," Camlan says. "Why don't I ask around 
while you do whatever you must do to get a 'fix' on the Roman?"

<><><><><>

Ciaran nodded as urged the horse to walk. Continuing on the trail road 
the two Immortals made their way towards the village. Ciaran sat atop 
the horse in a pensive mood. He wasn't looking forward to stepping into 
the maelstrom of the Quickening again. To him it seemed like chancing 
fate and risking odds that gradually grew against him. But the Lia Fail 
was more important than him or his personal desires and needs. 
Achilleus had to be stopped and if that meant exercising any means at 
their disposal, no matter how destructive it felt... then it had to be done.

The trail led them to the village. Towards food and a place to rest. 
Towards a mug of something wet. Towards fate... towards the Stone... 
And destiny.

"Oh Camlan," he said as they rode, "I nearly forgot to mention it. 
Thankyou for supporting me back there in the tower... For being there. 
For keeping yer head and playing the music. I thought I was gonna' pee 
me tunic in front of that old bastard."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan smiles slightly. "So did I."

The folks in the village are not as friendly as the clansmen to the south. 
They are as hospitable as courtesy demands, but no more. They 
obviously don't get many visitors, and certainly don't encourage them.

Camlan says "Well, I may at least be able to get the name of the king 
from this lot."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

The Vortadini were a mixture of Celtic races and of Picts on the verge of 
assimilation. Primarily the Celts were more closely descended of the 
Gallic stock, but the northern influx of the expanding Prydanian Celts, 
who were also once Gallic; and Milesian, created an unusual mixture. 
The Picts from the North were the original inhabitants but those that 
lived in Vortadini had adopted the local tongue... a heavily accented 
variation of the language spoken in the Northern Lands like Brigante.

With the realization that these people were distrustful of strangers 
Ciaran decided that it was best to walk his horse and he urged Camlan 
to follow suit. He didn't want them to being looking up at them. Greet 
them at eye level and be able to offer them a smile and a strong wrist.

He spoke to Camlan in a low voice as they walked into the village.

"Aye, I'n thinkin' so... but mayhap an ear to what they say among 
themselves might be good too... They dinna' like outsiders, and we be 
that, but if'n the Roman has been through or anywhere near here... then 
Ye' can be sure they'll have somethin' to say."


He walked a bit further and nodded to a few of the menfolk and offered a 
winning smile to few of the lasies who had gathered near the commons 
ground of the village to converse and conduct the day to day business of 
the village. In many, if not most, Celtic villages the women held the real 
power. It was their voice that shaped the daily social existence of the 
village. They were generally responsible for trade matters and the fields, 
in the name of the local King or Queen.

"I have an idea meself... I think I will try to seek admittance to the 
Court... drop a name or two and see if'n a messenger from the Southern 
Kingdoms might gain an entrance."

"Though I could use a mug, and the horses need to be tended too... Aye, 
take care of that business first we must."

With that, Ciaran looked about to see if there was a likely place where 
they might put the horses up. This village wasn't really designed for 
accomodating travellers.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The best you can do, as far as stabling your horses, is pay some 
peasants to tether them in their yard and give them food and water while 
you are in the village.


The Vortadini can't be called hostile, exactly. They are civil, and no one 
seems to really dislike you just for being an outsider. But no one goes 
out of their way to be hospitable, either, and by the time you've found the 
local pitiful brughaid, you've heard "We don't get many visitors in these 
parts" almost a dozen times.

The women are like women anywhere. They show the same reserved 
distance as their menfolk, but a few give you a soft smile and then 
modestly turn away, suggesting that it might not be impossible to 
improve relations with at least a couple of the locals.

You and Camlan have some cheap, poor-quality ale, then he says "Well, 
if you are going to try to gain entrance to the court, you'll have to head 
over to the rath soon, before it gets dark." He unstraps his harp. "And I'd 
best get to seeing if they'll at least talk to a bard."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He stands and finishes the tankard and wipes his mouth and beard. 
Shifts his belt and makes sure the sword hangs comfortably.

"Aye, I suppose yer right."

"Keep a spot near the fire for me... this could be a short trip."

With that he headed from the small Bruighaid room back outside into the 
chill air and made for the Rath. On the way, he actually realized that he 
was beginning to like Camlan. Not enough to trust him, but he had been 
treating him civilly. He smiled and bundled his cloak about him tightly to 
ward off the breeze. He intended to present himself and see if anyone 
was willing to listen.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You don't like the looks of the warriors hanging around outside the Rath. 
They have unfriendly expressions, and they just don't seem to fit in this 
place, though you're not immediately sure why.

A couple of them give you hard stares as you approach, and one man 
with a three-colored cloak rises to block your path.

As you come within speaking distance, you are struck by the 
Quickening. Another Immortal is near. The man in front of you shows no 
sign of recognition, and if it was him, you should have sensed him from 
farther away. Someone in the Rath, then.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

And that someone just sensed him too. Ciaran smiled. That was good. 
He continued to walk towards the foreign warriors. His eyes settled on 
the band's leader. Three colors. He held the same status as Ciaran 
among his kind.

"My name is Ciaran MacRory of the Clan na Morna... and a Red Branch 
Knight of Ulaid in Eire. I am also Advisor to Queen Boadiccea of the 
Icenian Kingdom. I've come to speak with the Lord of the Rath. If'n ye'll 
kindly step aside, so's I might be able to present meself to those who 
belong standing at this door, I'd kindly appreciate it."

<><><><><>

[GM]

The other warrior smirks.

"I'm Herdwed of the Kerin Clan, and I don't care what you are in Eire. I 
will send one of my men inside to inform the *Lady* of the Rath that you 
wish to speak to her, and perhaps she will deign to grant you an 
audience." He stands facing you belligerently, while he gestures with 
one hand, beckoning one of the other warriors.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Ye' do that then," Ciaran said expressing a very similar smirk. He held 
eye contact longer than was normally polite. "I'll wait right here... I have 
nothing but time."

Ciaran held the stare for a little bit longer and then he looked at the 
other men, sizing them up, and gauging their abilities from how they 
presented themselves. He looked at each in turn... directly into their 
eyes.

Finally his gaze returned to Herdwed of the Kerrin Clan.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Maybe being immortal gives you some advantage over mortals...or 
perhaps this rough-looking lap dog just has a bark bigger than his bite. 
But Herdwed breaks eye contact before you do.


The man he sent into the Rath comes back out very quickly, and says 
"The Queen bids the visitor enter."



This is a small King's Hall (or Queen's Hall), not too impressive, and it 
looks rather rundown, even more shabby than its small size would 
normally make it.

Quite a contrast to the regal-looking woman who sits on the throne, as 
you enter her court, a tiny room less than a third the size of Boadicea's 
court, and a mere fraction the size of Medb's.


It's been over fifteen years since you saw her last, but you could not 
forget the proud, fierce beauty of the immortal Queen Rhian. Here she 
sits on a throne that almost certainly has not been hers for very long, 
flanked by mortal warriors who are there solely for show....she wouldn't 
expect them to protect her from another Immortal. She is not like Medb. 
She has her own spear and shield leaning against her throne, and her 
sword across her lap.


"Well," she says, smiling but not warmly. "If it isn't Ciaran Mac Rory 
of...Emain Macha?" She raises an eyebrow.

"And no longer a fledgling under Scathach's wing, I see." She regards 
you with a challenging look in her eyes as her mouth keeps smiling. "Are 
you here for my head, Eirian?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran winks at Herdwed in a sly fashion.

"Keep a wary eye then, the Lady wouldna' want any strangers prowling 
about!"

He entered and casually looked about him as he surveyed the Rath. But 
it was Rhian that captured his attention. She dominated the room with 
her presence and looked very out of place in the small and untended 
hold hall. But if she were new here, then it would not be long before 
things were on their way up for this village and it's people.

He made a polite and formal bow before her. He kept his own hand near 
his blade, but made no move or gesture to draw.

"Hardly Rhian... I will draw no blade in your hall.  I havena' come for yer 
head either. I am many things, but stupid isna' one oov them. Well... 
most days I'm not. It has been a few years now... But this isna' a social 
calling either. I havena' come to remember the day we met. I had no idea 
you were here... I came seeking information or word on the Im... 
Achilleus...a Roman. He is travelling in these parts, maybe with other 
Immortals... but that is not the worst of it... I have been quested to track 
him... but I suppose that this is all a thing best discussed in private... 
perhaps with a bit of ale and some bread. Aye?"

"Ye' have my word of honor... I am not here for yer head."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Well, that's a relief," Rhian says dryly. She certainly doesn't look as if 
she was particularly worried.


"So you want to discuss the Roman Achilleus? How very interesting." 
Her smile is much too smug. Little warning signals go off in your head, 
but perhaps a bit too late.

"A private conversation, you say?" The voice from behind Rhian's throne 
is familiar, though also one you haven't heard for fifteen years. Achilleus 
emerges from whatever small antechamber or hallway is on the other 
side of the small open doorway at the rear of the throneroom. He looks 
as broad and imposing as he did when last you saw him, and he still 
wears a Roman breastplate as well, but he's added many trappings of 
local style, and has grown a beard. He also speaks the Cymric tongue 
nearly as well as you do. "You wouldn't be planning to exclude me from 
that, would you, Eirian?"

He steps up onto the dias, and stands next to Rhian's throne, placing 
one hand on the back of it, above her head. She steeples her fingers 
together and smiles sweetly at you, as sweetly as a cat with its mouth 
stuffed full of birdfeathers. "Since I am to be the topic, wouldna' seem 
polite, now would it?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

A lot too late. But it all seemed right.

He smiled. Somehow he expected this. He knew in his heart that it was 
too convenient for Rhian to have taken up residence in this particular 
place and time. The very part of the country where his instincts and 
senses told him that Achilleus was headed for. His hands never moved, 
but he was ready. 

He locked eyes with the big brute.

"Polite... You want polite?! I'm thinkin' that ye are the least deservin' of 
polite. Thieves dinna' get no special considerations from me. I'm jes' 
glad that I dinna' have to track yer arse across the country any more. 
And ye look like ye've put on a bit of weight in the middle... I'm glad the 
Romans don't use a belt tax... Must have been a chore to stuff yer fat 
arse inside the spear stopper there."

Then he shifted his attention to Rhian, keeping Achilleus well within 
sight. He kept the ever present smile on his face, but he felt his pulse 
race. 

"Well lass, if'n ye wish to be stockin' yer lot with this pig boy from Rome," 
he said with a head nod in Achilleus' direction.  "Then there isna' no use 
in tellin' ya yer selling out yer own people...  Ye' know that already. So, 
we might as well get down to business... Aye?"

"The Lia Fail is going back to Tara, where it belongs... Where the Tuath 
placed it. This can be easy, or this can be hard... your choice."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Achilleus replies with a hard smile to your insults, but his eyes are cold 
and malevolent.


"'Lass'," Rhian echoes dryly. Slightly amused, and perhaps a little bit 
indignant, at being so addressed by someone centuries younger than 
her.

She smiles and Achilleus laughs at your declaration.

"And you and what army are going to take it from us, little man?" he 
asks.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

This wasn't a good place for him, but he had few options. He knew that 
his barbs would enrage the big man, but he needed him off-balance.

"I don't need an army... We're Immortals... we have Tradition and the 
Rules for dealing with each other. That is, if'n ye still have some honor in 
ye'.  Keep in mind I kept yer head on yer shoulders some 15 years ago.. 
I'd like to think that was worth a wee bit in yer book... You were a dead 
man out there..."

He paused and fixed Achilleus and then Rhian with a cold stare.

"A fair fight... Tha's all I ask. One at a time... No mortals... by the Rules. 
Either I win... or I die... and that's the end of it."

<><><><><>

[GM]

The mortals' eyes go from you to Rhian and Achilleus and back. They 
don't seem shocked by your pronouncing yourself and them to be 
Immortals...but you can see them reassessing you.


"And you think you can defeat both of us in turn?" Rhian asks, both 
eyebrows raised now.


"It would be my pleasure to grant the fool his wish," Achilleus growls.

"So be it," Rhian says. "Achilleus claims the right to take your head, 
Eirian. A fight, by the Rules, with no mortals present. Where and when 
would you do this?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

**Never trust a woman.**

He offered just the slightest smile. No, he didn't trust her. But they were 
offering him more than he had anticipated.

"Wherever... I don't know the area well enough... You pick a place and 
tell me how I can get there. Unhindered."

He paused.

"As for when... Tonight, moonrise. I'll gather my horse... You bring the 
Stone. When I've taken both of yer heads, I'll likely not be in a mood to 
go looking for it."

Ciaran arched an eyebrow questioningly and he waited for the response. 
He wanted to see if these terms would be acceptable. When the banter 
and baiting had ended, Ciaran turned to go. He would immediately make 
his way to the bruighaid to relay the information to Camlan and to 
prepare.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Rhian laughs sharply. "I don't think so. I'll bring my head, but not the 
stone. If you and your friends have an ambush planned, you'll have to try 
harder than that to take the stone back."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Well enough," he said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I suppose it 
makes no difference."

He turned to leave. To return to the brughaid house and Camlan. All the 
while, chastising himself for walking right into the trouble they had come 
to find. Well, the fight was inevitable but it was not really on his terms 
now, and he would have to face them both.

It was done. He had secured a fair fight and that was the best he could 
hope for. Still he was convinced that he was already trapped. He 
couldn't shake the feeling that some greater game was in play. This 
Stone was so important. Arawn confirmed what he already knew and felt, 
and yet none of the older Immortals lifted a hand to prevent this. No, 
they manipulated things from behind the scenes and that brought him 
here to this place. There were others who were better fighters than he. 
Scathach, for one, could take them both.  He stopped and looked about 
him as he walked back towards the small town. He looked for the 
ravens. 

*Why me?*

<><><><><>

[GM]

There are no ravens about, and you don't feel Morrigan's presence....of 
course, that's no guarantee that she *isn't* watching you right now, but 
she could just as well be bored with you and doing something else.

You don't get far from the Rath before you see Camlan galloping 
towards you. He looks surprised to find you on the road, and pulls his 
horse to a halt breathlessly.

"I came after you, hoping I'd find a way to warn you before you went 
inside," he says. "Though I didn't think I would. I just learned from the 
locals who rules here. *Queen Rhian*, who just overthrew the previous 
king with a band of mercenaries, including a renegade Roman!" He 
stares at you for a moment, then says "It looks as if you already found 
that out, though."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran took a deep breath and sighed as it releasing the tensions of his 
previous meeting with the air. He nodded to Camlan who sat astride the 
horse.

"Aye, Camlan... I've met them."

He shook his head and gestured with a wave of his hand for Camlan to 
turn around and ride alongside him as they returned to the village.

"I'm seriously parched now and need an ale..."

After a few moments he looked up from the trail road and at Camlan. His 
tone was quietly reserved and matter of fact in nature.

"They have the Stone... And they are together.... And I fight them 
tonight..."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan's eyes widen. "Both of them?"

He sighs. "Aye, let's go get that ale."


As you ride back to the village, he asks, "Do you think you can beat 
them? I don't know much about the Roman, but Rhian is a hunter, and 
may be older than Scathach."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Camlan didn't really need an answer as to whether or not Ciaran was to 
fight them both. Ciaran didn't expect that he had to give him one. And so 
he simply shrugged.

"I have seen the Roman a couple of times now, and I have watched him 
fight in a duel. He took Rhys' head. It was a duel that I might have fought 
those 15 years ago. I doubt I could have beaten him then. And I don't 
know about now... I've kept to my training. But I am thinkin' the Roman 
hasn't been idle neither. I know a bit of his strengths and a bit of his 
weaknesses. And I know how I will have to face him. Quick and fast and 
outside his reach. He wasna' all that fast then, but he was as strong as a 
bull. He looks every bit as strong now as then. If the fight drags out... 
then he will have the advantage. So I can't let it drag out. Simple 
enough, Aye?"

"Easier said than done."

He continued to walk for a time and the village grew closer. His steps 
were measured and paced. He pondered the second battle. Finally he 
answered Camlan.

"Rhian. I just don't know. She is a hunter, Aye... but I know almost 
nothing else. But I have no choice. We knew that it would be a fight to 
win back the Stone. We both knew the risks. I accepted your quest 
willingly, just as you accepted it from Tanethelon... and I must see it 
through... even though I know I'll likely be dead by this night's end."

"I will do my best..."

Then Ciaran was silent again. Brooding. Deep in thought. That ended as 
they entered the village proper. His voice was soft and low.

"Camlan... I have a question to ask of ye," he said, looking directly into 
the man's eyes.

"Will ye stand with me tonight? Will be my companion out there... I know 
I've said some hard things... But I really need ye now... I need someone I 
can trust... and I'm willing to take a chance... I need a friend."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Aye, I'll stand with you," Camlan says. "If you fall, I am not sure what 
then....I doubt *I* can take either of them, much less both. But perhaps I 
can at least get away and report to some other Immortal what has 
happened."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"If I survive Achilleus... I need someone to make sure I can get a fair 
chance to recover before Rhian sets into me... just enough to hold her at 
bay. Warn her off... Make her understand that if she cheats... then you 
would be ready to make her pay for that."

"If I don't survive both fights... then you must get away... tell everyone 
and anyone... Find Scathach... She'll know what to do."

The two returned to the bruighaid. Ciaran settled heavily on a bench and 
waited for the girl to come around.

"We should also consider whether or not we can get some support from 
the locals to oust her and her mercenaries.... or if they know where she 
has the Stone hidden. Have ye asked about that yet?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"I tried asking about it in a roundabout way," Camlan says. "None of 
them know about a stone or any other treasure the new Queen brought 
with her, though they suppose her to be fairly wealthy since all her men 
are armored. The locals may want to see her removed, but they haven't 
the ability....the King and all his loyal knights were slain, so now all that's 
left are the peasants. A few of the warriors who once lived in the Rath 
may have escaped, but they've probably fled to other clans nearby. And 
the old king wasn't too popular, so it's unlikely that his neighbors will be 
too interested in avenging him."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He drank deeply from the wooden tankard as the younger Immortal 
spoke. He set the mug down and wiped his mouth and beard and 
nodded.

"Well, so be it then... It's just you and I."

He waited until it was growing dusk before he rose from the table. he 
had eaten and kept his drinking light. He took a deep breath and dug 
into his purse and paid far more than what it was worth or what was 
being asked. They were Roman coins anyway. The Vortadini used 
currency unlike many northern tribes, because they were descended of 
the Gallic Celts who had been under Roman influence for some time 
now.

"Are ye' ready, Camlan... I want to get there a wee bit early and have a 
look around... get to know the place a bit... A man should be familiar with 
the place he will die."

The last was spoken with a dry chuckle. He shifted his sword and 
nodded for camlan to follow him as he headed for the exit.

From there Ciaran and Camlan would gather their horses, and the rest 
of their equipment. It was then onto the designated location of the fuel to 
wait for moonrise and the other Immortals.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan rides with you to the chosen spot. It's a very suitable spot for a 
duel...a grassy circle at the bottom of a slight depression, a few miles 
from the beach. A small copse of woods is not far away, but here there 
are no bushes or trees, and very few rocks to trip over...as perfect a 
battlefield as you're likely to find. Perhaps Rhian has fought other duels 
here. You think perhaps others have died here before, but it could just 
be your imagination, stirred up by morbid thoughts of your own possible 
demise.

Camlan looks around, inspecting the site himself. He nods approvingly.

He pauses, and says, "Listen, Ciaran. There is probably something I 
should tell you. I may not have replied aloud to your hard words, all your 
annoying speeches about how a fledgling should behave, but I certainly 
thought hard things in return, and even intended to pay you back for 
them after this was all over. But I suppose even an allaince founded on 
deception can result in a certain amount of mutual respect."


He stands there, thinking for a few moments, then says, "Your 
suspicions were not wholly unfounded. The fact is, I did not tell you the 
whole truth. I am not sure if I ever intended to, but certainly I meant to 
wait until after we recovered the Lia Fail." He raises a hand. "Everything 
I told you about that is true, and I swear by Sea and Sky and Soil it was 
always my first priority to wrest back the Stone of Destiny and return it to 
Tara where it belongs."


Then whatever he would say next is interrupted by the encroachment of 
more Immortals.... you arrived first, but unsurprisingly, Achilleus and 
Rhian are also coming early.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He smiled as Camlan spoke. Not a smug smile, not a vindicated smile. 
Just of understanding. He actually understood nothing, save for the fact 
that the man felt he had to create a deception to achieve a greater good.  
Everyone did things in their own way.

Ciaran actually found himself admiring the man's moment of truth and 
respecting him for the admission. It meant a great deal to him. It was a 
rare moment of trust. Ciaran had to trust him now. he needed him. 
Perhaps he was waxing ecstatic as he looked at the place where he 
could very easily meet his end.

The quickening came and Ciaran looked to Achilleus and Rhian and 
smiled. His hands flexed instinctively. Then he glanced at Camlan and 
spoke in a low voice.

"Your Oath is good with me, friend. I can accept that... We'll get the 
Stone back... And we can decide what happens next, when and if that 
time comes. If we get out of this, I'd like to hear your story... ask you a 
few questions... maybe get a chance to start over... But, we've got work 
to do first."

Ciaran then slipped the sword from it's sheath as he walked forward to 
the center of the glen. He fixed a baleful stare on Achilleus.

"We're early... You're early... No point wastin' time... Let's get this over 
with."

Ciaran stood relaxed, sword in his left hand and waited for Achilleus to 
acknowledge him and approach.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"I see you brought a companion as well," Rhian says. She and Achilleus 
look over Camlan, she with more interest than Achilleus.


The big Roman is wearing his breastplate and studded leather skirt, and 
greaves. He has a large Roman-style shield, a heavy broadsword that is 
neither Roman nor Celtic in design, and a gladius tucked in his belt. He 
puts on a shiny bronze helmet, and grins at you.

"Two heads for the price of one. Suits me."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He said nothing. He didn't even look at Rhian. He kept his attention fixed 
on Achilleus. He took stock of his opponent. Achilleus now carried a 
longer blade. Those 15 years had taught him the benefit of keeping 
some distance. But did he know how to use the sword?

Each beat of his heart played a counter cadence to the slow rhythm of 
his breathing. He inhaled deeply and released it slowly through his 
nose. Relax. Focus. The air was chill and as dusk settled the 
temperature threatened to drop further. The sky was clear and that 
always brought cooler nights with it.

He paid no attention to that.

*The smarter warrior will win.*

He studied the man's eyes. He looked deeply into them, past the gaudy 
helm. He wanted to see the man's soul, if there even was one. He could 
feel the ever present interplay of his Quickening with those of the other 
Immortal's around him. The Quickening would serve him as greatly as 
his sword. He offered his opponent no emotions to feed off of...  And as 
Achilleus boasted indirectly about taking two heads, he simply ignored it. 
He just waited with sword ready. 

Achilleus would have to come to him where he stood in the center of the 
glen. And when he did, Ciaran wasted no more time. He slashed around 
hard with the sword in a tight arc, pulling the blade clean at the last 
moment in an attempt to feint on Achilleus. He snapped the sword back 
in a return arc for his exposed sword arm.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Achilleus, massive, broad as an ox, weighed down by heavy metal armor 
and a huge Roman shield, gives the impression of being slow and 
cumbersome.

He isn't.

He takes two steps towards you, then rushes, his sword swinging with 
enough power to fell an oak. He held your attention on his forward 
motion long enough to distract you from his attack, and thus gains the 
initiative....which in this case may prove deadly.

You hear the gruesome *CHUNK!* sound before your mind even 
registers that he's cut a leg out from under you. Rather than pulling his 
sword free, he pushes it through, and you topple.

Since your mind hasn't yet grasped the extent of the damage done to 
you, though, you're able to continue fighting while you can. Achilleus 
didn't expect his opponent to immediately counter-attack from the 
ground. He almost laughed as he parried your first attack, which wasn't 
an attack, then you roll with your blow, bringing your sword down on his 
arm. It slashes deeply into his forearm and bicep as he holds his 
weapon close to his body, and slices through tendons and muscles as 
you draw Medb's steel blade back down towards you.

Achilleus snarls in outrage, and backs away quickly. But not fast enough 
to avoid dropping his broadsword at his feet, by your side. The angle 
was wrong for you to cut through his arm, but you did disable it.

Both of you have taken blows that would probably end the fight for most 
men right now....now you have time to take notice of your leg, lying 
separate from your body, with blood not gushing out, but *spraying*. 
Achilleus is bleeding badly also, but not nearly this badly.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran... The end>

The immediate sensation in the loss of a limb is not nearly what one 
would think. There was no pain... just a sickening sound that reverbrated 
through his body. A sound he knew. The sword was slashed deeply into 
his body. The final effort of Achilleus' attack told Ciaran something that 
his concoius mind didn't want to accept.

He had failed. He had misjudged the Roman's approach and committed 
himself and couldn't avert the swing. It was as good as over. He knew 
this as he fell. When the moment of shock wore off, his leg would begin 
to bleed.

The sight of blood was nothing new. Scathach had made sure that he 
could withstand a great deal of pain in order to continue fighting. But he 
couldn't stand. He couldn't feel anything but a numbing tingle. He looked 
there to see something that made him blanche visibly. He had lost the 
leg completely.

The loss of blood began in profuse amounts.

It was over.

He had failed in task set before him. He had failed Tanethelon. He had 
failed Eiru.

He looked away quickly. Achilleus was near. He had wounded him, but 
Ciaran knew it wasn't enough. He layed backwards. The pain registered 
but it mattered little to him anymore. He had been so accustomed to 
pain, that this was just another facet of it for him. And he could feel a 
warm wetness on his cheeks and his vision blurred.

NO!

He refused to give up. He refused to lie there and accept his fate. He 
refused to die without honor.

Summoning every ounce of strength he had, he turned himself and tried 
to push upwards. He thrust the stumped leg into the cold earth of the 
glen. Anything to put pressure on the wound. Focus.

The torches. Cauterize the wound.... too far away.

"A torch...," he hissed to Camlan. He tried to drag himself in that 
direction. His looked back to see where Achilleus was. His vision swam. 
He had to survive. To die with honor. To die in battle... not lying on the 
ground crying. 

<><><><><>

[GM]

Camlan looks at the torches, takes a step towards them, and then Rhian 
is standing in front of them with her spear leveled.

"No interference," she chides, a deadly gleam in her eyes.


After the initial gush of blood, it seems to be tapering off...you still don't 
feel much more than a wrenching soreness there.


Achilleus has his own problems....he's temporarily lost the use of his 
sword-arm, and his other arm is practically useless except for blocking, 
with his huge shield strapped to it. His right arm will be healed again 
before he could free his left arm.


He looks at you, assessing your condition. He could move in and try to 
bash you unconscious with his shield...no small threat. But that would 
give you the opportunity to try taking out his leg and evening the fight.


He takes another step back, smiling. He has the time. His wound is less 
grievous than yours, and will heal faster. Then he can move back in, and 
finish you off while you're still prone.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

With a hissing release of breath he sighs. *Damn her.*

"No... You are right," he mumbled trying to conserve his breath.

He dragged himself forward the last few feet to his spear shaft and 
yanked it free of the earth. He let it drop to the ground beside him and 
he rolled over to sit and look at his stump. His breathing was ragged as 
he fought against shock.

"Oh... Aye Morrigan, " he whispered. "This'd be one time I'd surely be 
glad to see ye'."

The bleeding was slowing and had nearly stopped already. Well, 
compared to *spraying* anything else could be considered nearly 
stopped. He whispered a small prayer.

"Danu... earth mother... I ask only that you take heed of me, as I am a 
warrior in your service... grant me a clear head.. and a small... a smile... 
a smile of yer favor to let me know that I am welcome with you... Let me 
meet my end with dignity... or grant me a favor of yer blessing and guide 
me to see me this through... I have sought only... sought only to restore 
what should be right... and..."

He looked up again at Achilleus. He swallowed and his mouth was dry. It 
felt as dry as it had when he lived in the Pit. The Pit. Medb... Cait... Oh 
Caitie

"Medb... are ye trying to tell me something... Caitlyn... Love... I've done 
all I can... i tried.. I've done tried me best lass... I love you. Until my last 
breath."

And Achilleus smiled. He couldn't have heard what Ciaran whispered to 
himself. He was waiting him out. Ciaran knew that Achilleus would 
recover before he could regain enough to strength to even defend 
himself properly from the ground.

His mind wandered a bit as he tried to think of a way to slow him down. 
He looked back to the blood slicked place where he had fallen. His leg 
still lay there, reddened with his sprayed gore, and that of Achilleus' for 
that matter. 

To meet his end with dignity.

He grasped his sword in one hand and rolled back around to drag 
himself back to the center of the glen, towards Achilleus. He took up the 
spear in the other hand and pushed himself forward and balnaced his 
weight with his good leg. He then pushed off and started to make his 
way across the glen again.

Die with Honor.

He fixed his stare on Achilleus. Every ounce of energy and will was 
directed on the man... and he remembered a memory... Maybe... just 
maybe... But he swore it to be cheating then... What was it now? 
Thorns... Reflections... Need time... He reached inside himself to touch 
the Quickening one last time. He searched for Caitlyn.

"Help me, love."

<><><><><>

[GM]

The trick you saw Medb do is buried somewhere deep inside. You've 
seen Morrigan and even Scathach do things, tapping into the 
Quickening to affect the world.... but if that is not sorcery, it is only one 
step removed.

Now you are trying to duplicate Medb's sorcerous tricks.

Squinting your eyes almost shut with concentration, you make a wish, 
and pray there is enough left of Caitlyn to answer it.


Ghostly images shimmer in the air, then take shape. Four reflections of 
you, standing on two legs. They don't move much, and they all make 
threatening gestures at Achilleus with the exact same motion.


The other Immortal starts, and stares at them. "What in Hades is this?" 
he demands. Rhian and Camlan both stand up straight, mouths agape, 
though Rhian's only briefly.

You have heard that many Romans are very afraid of magic. Achilleus, 
unfortunately, does not seem to be one of them. He assumes a 
defensive stance, and then swipes at the nearest "Ciaran" with his 
shield. His shield passes through your image, and the illusory warrior 
ripples, then dissolves. The other three continue circling him and waving 
an exact double of Medb's sword, but the Roman laughs at them.


"That's a cute trick," he says, turning to face you again and all but 
ignoring your false images. "What am I supposed to do, run from petty 
illusions?" He rolls his shoulder experimentally, and flexes his arm, 
which to your dismay is starting to function again, even faster than you 
imagined it would. Out the corner of your eye, you see Camlan shaking 
his head.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

With that effort he had exhausted his last means of delaying the Roman. 
Now Achilleus would approach him nearly, if not fully, healthy. Ciaran 
himself had only just returned to the place where his leg had been 
severed. There his leg and Achilleus' broadsword lay. Ciaran pushed 
himself forward and waited. He could do nothing else now.

He sheathed his broadsword on the right side, his good side and hefted 
the Gae Bolga. He might have to draw the sword, if he got the chance 
that is. Achilleus would have to use his short sword and that would mean 
he would have to come closer than he would with the big sword. But 
Ciaran had no illusions that the Roman would be very capable of doing 
this without much resistance from him. Achilleus healed faster, moved 
faster, and hit harder... even when Ciaran was whole.

He positioned himself as best he could to face his enemy. Ciaran held 
the spear in the long reach and waited for Achilleus to approach. Maybe 
one more strike... maybe not. He knew he was as good as dead now. He 
had only just gotten back to it.

Ciaran said nothing. He had nothing to say.

<><><><><>

[GM]

When the tendons and muscles of his arm finish knitting back together, 
Achilleus draws his gladius, the infamous stabbing shortsword of the 
Roman legions, which has wrought such damage against Celtic troops in 
close quarters.

He approaches you with his shield held forward, bracing for the first 
strike your longer weapon will give you. But wrapped in armor and hiding 
behind a shield, he is an almost impenetrable target. You try thrusting 
your gae bulga past his shield, at his belly, but he deflects it with the 
edge of his shield, and the barbed head skitters off the metal plate 
protecting his side.


He moves past your spear, leaning forward to plunge his sword into your 
chest. You cannot parry with the spear, not at close range. You 
desperately try to roll aside while drawing your sword. You get the sword 
out, but Achilleus's shortsword skewers you through the ribs. It's just 
another wound....a mortal wound, for a mortal, but Scathach would tell 
you to keep fighting. You roll back over, lying on your back with the 
Roman looming over you and blood pouring out of your side.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Still alive? The Roman loomed. It would only be a moment more before 
the big man landed the felling blow. He could simply just wait for it. He 
had fought hard. He had done his best but fate and the Goddess was 
not with him today.  Surely the look of defeat had to show on his face 
somewhere in the mask of pain. Surely Achilleus would see the 
resignation.

And then as quickly as he could he swept the sword around low at the 
man's unprotected legs. That was what Scathach had taught. That is 
what she drilled. Never surrender. He had little strength, but he gave it 
everything he had. As long as their was breath their would be a fight. 
And if he still breathed after this swipe he would swing the blade back to 
try and hit him again.

He would continue to try and defend himself and fight until he could no 
longer fight. Until his last breath.

<><><><><>

[GM]

To block your sweep at his legs requires only that he lower his shield. 
Achilleus does so, and then stabs you again, this time twisting the sword 
so it tears more of your vitals out as he withdraws the gladius.

Somehow still functioning despite the pain, you try another feeble swing 
at his legs, but his shield is always there in the way.

He slashes open your chest, and your body simply won't move anymore. 
You are helpless to do anything as he grabs your hair in one massive 
gloved fist, and kneels to pick up his fallen broadsword and raise it for a 
decapitating stroke.


Something shimmers in the air, and a dazed look passes over the 
Roman's face. He stiffens slightly, and then stands there, inert. Almost 
as if paralyzed. In fact, he seems to BE paralyzed.

"Magic!" you hear Rhian exclaim.

"You dog!"

She throws her spear.

You are barely conscious, and cannot see the ensuing skirmish.

But the sudden flare of light and fury that marks the Quickening tells you 
that Camlan did not stand long against Queen Rhian.

Achilleus suddenly shakes his head, and staggers backwards, then falls 
over. "What....the....unng..." he growls slowly, as if his mouth is filled 
with mud.

Your wounds are healing slowly....very slowly. You can roll over, or sit 
up, but are in no shape to continue the duel.


[The preceding heavy-handed plot device is the activation of Ciaran's 
"extra life", earned by the character illustration uploaded to the library. 
The next duel you fight is *really* for keeps.....]

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Death in abeyance. Camlan. If that was ever really his name. He had 
taken the greatest sacrifice to buy Ciaran another breath. He sat up 
slowly and painfully. His breathing came in short gasps as his lungs 
slowly healed. His body began to knit the damage wrought by the 
gladius. Camlan had given his life to Ciaran. To what end? With magic 
like that, he could have faced them both.

His leg.

Rhian.

Achilleus.

*Damn you fool.* He rolled over to look about him. *Ye' could have 
gotten away.... Ye' bloody fool... Damn you Camlan... I don't have many 
friends... and ye' just done went and killed one of them.*

"Think Ciaran..."

He tried to find where Rhian was at... perhaps she was still down from 
the Quickening. Maybe he could get to her before she could defend 
herself. He needed to know what had happened to Achilleus. How much 
time did he have before the brute got up again. And still there was the 
matter of his leg. He was close to that. He could try to put it back with 
the stump and pray that it would heal and regenerate.

Choices.

He looked for Rhian and Achilleus as he tried to drag himself to his leg.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"So, your friend was Ieuan." Rhian is leaning against her spear, still 
weak from the Quickening. She staggers over to where Achilleus lays. 
"Did you plan that bit of sorcery?"

Achilleus rises. "I want to take his head," he says.

"Not while Ieuan's curse is on you," she says. "And tempted as I am, I'll 
not kill a man who's been laid low by someone else. You earned a 
reprieve, Eirian. Let Scathach see her fledgling hobbling around on one 
leg. If I see you again, you *will* die."

Rhian and Achilleus leave the battle circle, get on their horses, and ride 
away.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran> 

He shrugged at her question. He offered her no answer. She didn't really 
care if he did or not. He thought back upon the thing that Camlan... 
Ieuan had done. He had suspected that the man was not really named 
Camlan. He had felt there was much more to this fledgling who didn't act 
like a fledgling. But that was as much as Ciaran could fathom. It didn't 
surprise him to hear the name of the hunter though. 

No, he hadn't planned anything of the sort. Ieuan gave his life willingly 
for Ciaran. And he would never understand why. He watched them ride 
off and he leaned back for a moment and stared into the darkening sky.

*A reprieve.... What have I done to deserve that Goddess? Why me and 
not Ieuan?*

It was likely too late to save the severed leg and it would be years before 
he could regenerate it. He had failed in his task to return the Lia Fail. His 
honor would be forsaken until he redeemed himself and fulfilled his 
quest. Until he repayed Ieuan.

*The Lia Fail will be going to Rome... And so will I.*

He dragged himself to where his leg lay and tried to set it in place. The 
cold flesh made him blanche but he forced himself to continue. Ciaran 
splinted it into place and tied it with bloody swatches from his torn and 
pierced clothing. He layed back after finishing the last of the knots and 
checking the leg. The ground was cold and the air was chill. Time would 
tell if there would be any chance to heal it. He closed his eyes, pulling 
his cloak tightly about him and wept until sleep overtook him.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You feel a shudder go through you as you press the cooling flesh of your 
leg against the stump above your knee, which has stopped bleeding. 
You have to fight the urge to yank it free. Yet where raw flesh touches 
raw flesh, it bonds. However, you feel nothing from the severed 
extremity, and wonder if you'll have to cut it off again before it poisons 
your whole body. Immortals are supposed to be immune to diseases, 
including gangrene, but you've never heard of an immortal losing a limb 
before. Surely it must happen....you can't find a king's hall anywhere in 
Eiru or Prydain that doesn't have a few warriors that have lost some 
body part in battle.



You collapse, exhausted. When you wake up the next morning, your leg 
is still not responding...but you do feel *something* there. A cold, prickly 
sensation, like when you've fallen asleep on an arm and it flops around 
uselessly for the first few minutes after you wake up. This is worse, 
though.

You hear a caw, and see a raven perched on Camlan/Ieuan's body, 
tearing at the bloody flesh around his neck. His head is gone....Rhian 
took it with her as a trophy, so you will never know what he really looked 
like.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran woke with a start. The cold morning air and the dampness of the 
mists bore him no kindnesses. Or was it the prickling sensation in his 
leg, like a sensation a thousand times worse than any he has felt before. 
He sat up to rub the leg to get blood and feeling there as if it were a limb 
he had slept on poorly. It was a reaction that he had little control over.

He wished he hadn't risen so quickly. His head spun and vision blurred. 
Fatigue still mired him firmly in it's grasp. Unable to resist the urge to 
scratch and rub at his leg he paid little attention to the body of his friend. 
That is, until he felt the sensation of being watched. Or was it just the 
sound the bird made as it perched and made it's cawing noise. Ciaran 
was too groggy to really know the difference.

He turned to look at the bird. Closing his eyes, he shook his head.

"I'm glad you've finally decided to take notice," he whispered numbly. 
"And No... Obviously I didn't get the damn Stone back."

Ciaran layed back down on the cold ground and fought against the urge 
to rub at his mending leg, balling his fists tightly and gritting his teeth. he 
needed a bit more time to clear his head. Bird be damned.

<><><><><>

[GM]

After hopping a bit at the sound of your voice, the bird goes back to its 
meal, ignoring you.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran ignored the bird as well. But he just couldn't get Ieuan out of his 
mind. The man was dead. He had given his life for Ciaran's and that 
wretched bird was feeding on him like he was some heap of refuse. His 
eyes snapped open and he rolled onto his side trying to avoid twisting 
his lower body.

Ciaran hissed to try and make the bird scatter. But the Raven was 
always a messenger, and this one would be no different. Ieuan needed 
to be buried. He had died as a warrior and he deserved respect from his 
fellows. Ciaran was his only fellow, and so it fell upon him to see that the 
man's remains were cairned. This would allow his spirit to take it's 
rightful place with the Goddess in peace. The had earned his sleep, and 
for whatever reason he gave his life... Ciaran was now honor bound to 
speak a word on his behalf so that he might be received properly in the 
place he was going.

Ciaran would do this willingly and forever gratefully.

Shutting the numbing tingling from his thoughts he pushed himself up. 
He crawled and dragged himself to where his friend's body lay. He 
flailed out to force the raven to take to the air 

"Off wit' ya', ye damned bird... There'll be no more for ye here... Tell her 
what ye've seen... and tell she can get the damned Stone herself. I'm 
gonna' bury my friend."

Then he began the arduous task of gathering stones, shallowing the 
ground with his knife, and arranging the body and the weapon's. He 
might need them where he was going. All the while Ciaran spoke to 
Ieuan. He told him his life story to this point. The man had given his life 
for Ciaran, he at least deserved to know everything there was to know 
about the man he had helped. Time didn't matter to Ciaran. he refused 
to quit the task until the last stone was in place. And then he offered a 
silent prayer to Danu the earth mother... and Dagda, the all father to 
receive him as a warrior of status and honor and courage. He couldn't 
recite the man's deeds, but he did tell the Gods of what he knew and of 
what kind of man Ieuan... no, Camlan... What kind of man Camlan was 
to him.

He closed the prayer with a few simple words from himself to Camlan.

"I don't know why you did that for me... I will not question the choice you 
made though. I can not. I must respect the choice and live up to it. Your 
name will never be forgotten by me... Your friendship, short in time as it 
was, will always be held within me. To this end, I will make use of what 
you have given me... a second chance... You will be avenged... and the 
Stone will be returned... This I vow upon my honor... and my name... 
Ciaran, son of Rory McMorna... son of The Morna... Clan na Morna... 
This I swear by earth and sky and sea... my honor is bound to you, and 
only you can release me from this Geas. Thankyou my friend..."

<><><><><>

[GM]

The bird flies off indignantly, with a squawk.

Digging a cairn for Ieuan is difficult, with one leg refusing to support you 
properly. It takes you most of the day.

You think, laying the body to rest, that his build is subtly different than 
Camlan's, but you cannot be sure.

When you're done, your leg is still numb, but it does seem to be slowly 
regaining feeling.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

With the last stone in place he sat  back on the ground. Exhaustion was 
overtaking him. He still hadn't recovered fully and his body was 
spending an enormous amount of energy in the healing process. He 
hadn't eaten either. He breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly as he 
stared at the cairn of stones that served as a burial mound for Camlan.

He was in no condition to travel. he didn't even think he could come 
close to getting up on horseback. It was growing dark as well, and 
walking was not a good option. He wouldn't be able to go very far.

But, he didn't want to risk his luck by remaining in a place the both 
Achilleus and Rhian knew well. They had likely returned to the Rath. He 
had but one coin left in his sack on the horse. he had no idea what Ieuan 
had brought with him, but there was only one way to find out.

He hobbled with deliberate steps, favoring his bad leg considerably and 
leaning against his spear for balance as he first picked up his sword and 
then made his way out of the glen proper. The horses had been tethered 
to a small hawthorn.

He had to leave this place and find himself another place to sleep for the 
night. A place with water, for the horses were hungry as well and needed 
a drink. He needed a bath. He stunk of sweat and bile and blood. His 
rent clothing was stained with thick dried blood as well. He knew his 
body was caked with his own blood.

Ciaran untied the horses and led them along at his agonizingly slow 
pace. When he could no longer walk for fear of falling over, then he 
would stop. The last of his efforts for that day would be to feed the 
horses and offer each a small drink from the remaining water bag, and 
then feed himself from ration's sack that Camlan had carried on his 
horse.

The next morning he would see how his leg felt before making a 
decision as to where he would go. It would likely be home to Eiru and his 
mountain hideaway on BlackStairs. But first he would survey the town 
again in hopes of trading Camlan's horse for clothing and some food and 
ale.

But that was tomorrow.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Ieuan's bag contains mostly common traveling articles, the most useful 
of which is a purse of coins, both Roman and a handful minted by the 
larger Celtic tribes, including Iceni. Not a great deal of wealth, but 
enough to help, in your current impoverished state.

You find a very old dagger, a long iron point shaped like a fang. It does 
not appear to be either deadlier or more valuable than the more recent 
dagger Ieuan was wearing, so you can only guess it had sentimental 
value to him. Or perhaps some other significance.


Some other items you find, however, smack strongly of sorcery. One is a 
handful of wooden sticks. Hawthorn, hazel, ash, even a couple of oak. 
You've seen druid wands before; many warriors carry them for luck, 
believing them to be imbued with magical powers after being blessed by 
a druid. Like most druidic magic, in your experience druid wands tend to 
be most effective when they are given credit for whatever fortuitous 
event might have befallen the wielder, after the fact.

The next item you find, however, is something you've never actually 
seen before, only heard of. And only in your native land; you weren't 
sure if the custom had spread to Prydain.

It's a small greyish lump, bleached by a hard crust of lime smeared over 
the dried mass. It smells unpleasant, though only faintly. It can barely be 
recognized as what it originally was, but you're pretty sure it can't be 
anything but a tathlum; a "brain ball". Made from the brains of a slain 
enemy, and meant to be hurled at a living enemy by means of a sling.

When your hand brushed over it, while rummaging in Ieuan's bag, you 
felt a momentary tingle...as if it was a memory of the Quickening. You 
are pretty sure what sort of enemy this was, at least, whose brains Ieuan 
made into a tathlum.

At the bottom of the bag you also find a good leather sling.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran mentally inventoried all the possessions. He had no use for the 
magic stuff, but he couldn't just throw it away. They were memories of 
this man he knew almost nothing about. He knew nothing about the real 
person. He would keep these possessions as they were a link to the 
man.

Even the brain ball. It was all important to his friend and therefore it was 
important to Ciaran. He needed the money though. Once he was ready 
to set out, he made his way towards the a stream to bathe and water the 
horses properly. From there it would be back towards the town. Carefully 
though. He didn't want to risk running into the two immortals again. 
Ciaran would scout things out when the time came.

<><><><><>

[GM]

It takes a long time to scrub the blood off, and longer to clean your 
clothes, and they retain some of the stain despite your best efforts. The 
horses seem as happy as you to get a bath; the poor creatures have 
been acting very tense. Of course animals are not too fond of being 
around a Quickening. It's also fortunate that Rhian and Achilleus didn't 
decide to take them when they left. You are still suffering a severe limp, 
and walking back to town would be unenjoyable.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

The animals were the first priority. Once he had seen to them and tied 
them off he bathed himself and washed his clothes. The fact that the 
water was very cold didn't amuse him much.

He dried himself off as best he could and then put his still damp but 
heavily wrung clothing back on. He doubted he would catch his death, or 
even a cold, but being cold was not a comfortable thing.

He had made a fire and arranged a few rocks to dry his clothing and 
keep him warm. Once he was wearing the clothes again, he sat before 
the fire to ward off the cool breeze while allowing his clothing to dry 
some more.

After a few hours, Ciaran resumed the return trip to the town.Some new 
clothing and provisions were badly needed. And maybe a drink of ale, if 
all went well and there were no other Immortals near. Either way he 
wanted to get a feel for the town before entering.

The Eiru Celt rode along, lost in thought. He didn't know what to do next. 
He wanted to pursue the Stone, but he was prepared for that. He 
learned a valuable lesson in that glen, and it would be one he wouldn't 
forget. He needed to take some time to gather the things that would help 
him survive. But aside from that, he felt he wasn't good enough to face 
Achilleus.

The Stone might very well slip out of reach for a time. And there was 
Boadiccea to worry about. He had been away for too long... but he had 
sworn upon his honor that the quest would be completed. He had to 
dedicate himself to that purpose with single minded intensity.

Still more choices were before him... Hard choices.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You do not sense any Immortals in the small town. A few of the local 
Vortadini look at you curiously, with your battered, blood-stained 
clothing, but violence is enough a part of life that no one thinks it's odd 
enough to question you. It does rather reduce your appeal to the girls at 
the Brughaid, though, and you don't get nearly as much flirting as usual.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran allowed his horses to be looked after again and entered the 
Bruighaid's house, or Bruidhean (Breen) as it was called. Aside from 
hospitality and a gathering place, the Bruidhean was a place where 
business could be conducted. Bruighaids often acted as suplliers and 
merchants for the area of country they ran shop for. 

He wasn't in the mood to flirt and so he wasn't perturbed by the fact that 
the girl paid him little mind. In actuality, he didn't plan on remaining long. 
As soon as his business was concluded he would set out south. He 
would decide his path then.

Seeking out the Bruighaid himself, Ciaran offered to barter one of the 
horses for new clothing and supplies for travelling. He had a few coins in 
reserve now, but he didn't want to dip into that just yet. The horse was a 
fine beast and he wasn't asking for much.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You don't ask much and you don't get much, but you are able to 
exchange one horse for some new clothes, a fine cloak, and enough 
rations to last you and your horse a few days, and a few other 
miscellaneous supplies. Some of the townsfolk are giving you very 
unfriendly looks, especially while you were walking around with 
bloodstained clothing. Your intuition tells you it would probably not be a 
good idea to even stay the night here.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He never intended to stay the night in the small village. Once his 
business was completed, Ciaran, still limping, led his horse to the 
outskirts of town and mounted up. He looked back at the Rath in the 
distance and shook his head. He felt a guilt or a shame. He had failed 
and failed badly. He was torn over his desire to pursue the Stone and 
the stark reality that he wasn't good enough to win it back. He wasn't 
equipped to face Achilleus and Rhian, and he didn't have the skills to 
fight them honorably. And they had a small but highly trained army to 
help them.


Ciaran took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. There would be another 
day. Ieuan had given him a chance to make things right. But today was 
not the right time. He was done here. It was time to go home. 

He turned in the saddle and urged the horse forward. Ciaran didn't look 
back again.