Ciaran Mac Rory
THE STONE OF DESTINY
Part III

Prydain

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

<Ciaran>

He rode west for a time. There was no particular reason the the decision 
other than if he chose to go south he didn't want to travel through the 
moors again. There was no telling what would happen, and he didn't 
have the wardings of Ieuan to help him now. It was idle thoughts like that 
that occupied his attention as he rode.

Then when the trail branched before him, he sat astride the horse 
looking at each path. He decided south would be as good as any other 
direction. Ultimately he felt he was going to return to Eire. But there were 
unanswered questions that persisted in the back of his mind. Camlan 
knew a good deal about him, where to find him... and he knew the right 
things to say. Camlan had claimed to be a student of tanethelon's but 
Ciaran was never quite trusting of that. It was then decided that Ciaran 
would travel to the Druid's Isle to visit Tanethelon.

Or learn if his friend had lost his head to Ieuan.

And he needed to speak with the Ollaves and the Arch Druid to inform 
them that he had failed to secure the Lia Fail. They needed to know.

<><><><><>

[GM]

It takes several days to cross Prydain. When you approach the area of 
Ynys Môn, you can see the smoke from the Roman camp fires. They 
have taken up the entire coast across the bay from the Druid Isle, while 
they wait for the weather to change, and for fortuitous signs to begin 
their assault.

Reaching the island will obviously require taking a boat from up or down 
the coast, and passing in front of the Roman troops at night. During the 
day, they already have a few small ships cruising the waters, not large 
enough to mount a serious attack on the island, but certainly capable of 
intercepting any craft that they see trying to sail to or from the island.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

It would definitely be at night. And it would be a night that he chose. All 
he required was a day of temperatures that were a little warmer than 
normal. Not unusual along the western coasts of the islands. It didn't 
have to be all that much warmer either, but just enough to create a fog 
bank.

Ciaran spent a day or two gathering what he needed. He spied upon the 
patrols that guarded the perimeter of many of the Roman encampments. 
He watched them and paced them. And if any were unsuspecting and 
unwary enough to stray too far, then they wouldn't get the chance to 
make another mistake again. A shirt of Roman mail and a shield would 
do very nicely, if he could find a man who was similar in size.

Considering that the Celts were generally larger than the mediterranean 
stock romans of this period. Ciaran wasn't sure. Achilleus was a freak of 
nature as far as Romans were concerned, and maybe not fully roman... 
Italian... or whatever they called themselves. Ciaran was not as large as 
many of his kind who could easily reach six feet in height, and that might 
afford him some measure of success when preying upon the Roman 
patrols.

His main object was to obtain a small curragh boat that the locals used 
for fishing. They were very light and seaworthy if one remembered not to 
take them into waters too deep or rough. But Ciaran would make his 
crossing north of the Isle of the Druids and along the northern coast of 
the Isle proper. The channel that separated the Isle from Prydain was 
rather narrow and the curragh would have no difficulties there, unless 
there was some freak storm. He would hide it in the coastal inlet to the 
north and conceal it in the rushes. His main encampment was very 
close.

<><><><><>

[GM]

In several days of prowling, you're able to pick off only one Roman, an 
unarmored spearman who went wandering into the bushes to pee. Most 
of the Romans have learned a healthy respect for Celt ambushers; you 
actually find quite a few Ordovice and Silure warriors lurking in the 
woods surrounding the Roman encampment, doing the same thing you 
are. Some of them have also come to appreciate the value of mail shirts, 
though Roman shields are still widely regarded as being unsuitable for 
the sort of one-on-one duels that Celts prefer. Achilleus wielded his with 
such effectiveness because he's a massively strong brute, but such 
large shields unquestionably are at their best when deployed by long 
lines of soldiers, creating an overlapping wall.


There are no more villages within a day's march of the camp; the Roman 
legions razed them all, and scuttled any boats they found. You'll have to 
go a ways up the coast to find a curragh, and either barter for it or steal 
it.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

It took little for Ciaran to come to the conclusion that he would need to 
head north along the coast. He would try to barter first, as that was the 
way things should be handled, but he needed to get to the island... one 
way or another.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Up the coast, almost into Setantii territory, you find a fishing village. The 
peasants aren't too happy to see a warrior show up, having heard about 
the campaign to the south, and not wanting to be a part of it. But they 
have learned the value of Roman coins, and for just a few, you gain the 
use of a curragh (supposedly to be returned later, if possible, but with 
the understanding that this may not be possible.)

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

The exchange of coins for the use of the curragh was an easy bargain 
for Ciaran. He had to get to the Island, and he was glad he could 
arrange a fair barter for the small vessel. The coins meant little to him. 

He took the curragh and rafted down the coast. Keeping his pace slow 
and making sure he was close to the shore. He wasn't too good with the 
small craft and he needed a bit of time to familiarize himself with 
paddling and steering. Once he was in place and hidden to make his 
crossing to the island, Ciaran waited. He knew it would take him all night 
if not more to get there. Waiting on the weather was the next thing. 
Ciaran intended to keep practicing with his curragh until the right 
evening presented itself. A goodly bit of fog and he would try for the 
island and use any fires from the island to guide his way.

<><><><><>

[GM]

How hard can it be to paddle a boat?

Harder than it looks. Your first attempt to board sends you tipping into 
the water. After that, you manage to capsize the boat several more times 
while mastering complexities like movement and turning.


By the time you get the boat to a convenient hiding place across the 
channel, you have the basics down, but you're not certain of your ability 
to make it across the water without mishap. As it happens, that night you 
get the weather you were hoping for, with a fog bank rising off the water, 
but distant rumbling promises a rainshower soon, possibly even a major 
thunderstorm.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Life is about risks. And this risk was important. It would have to be 
tonight. He could swim and if he could keep himself close to the curragh 
if, or when he fell in, then he had a much better chance of surviving the 
frigid waters. Ciaran tied himself to the craft, and  made his knife 
accessible should it flood and start to drag him down. He then tried to 
gauge the current and would follow the tidal waters out from the coast. 
He wanted to try and reach the northern shore of the small island and 
avoid as much Roman contact as possible.

He set out that evening, hoping to get some distance before the storm 
hit.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You get the boat out into the waters, and begin paddling towards the 
island. The mist isn't terribly heavy, but it's enough to keep you from 
being seen from shore, and probably also enough to keep the Roman 
ships on the beach; you can hear the druids chanting and the bards 
screeching curses through the mists, playing up the effects of the fog to 
make for an even more dreadful sound, and it makes even your skin 
crawl a little.

About halfway across the channel (you got turned around several times 
by misgauging the current- who'd have thought a damn *boat* would 
take as much technique as a sword or a spear?), the leading edge of the 
weatherfront hits. Lightning flashes overhead, and raindrops begin 
hitting the water.

You get a little closer to the island, before the storm rolls over you in 
earnest. Water comes down in sheets, you hear crackling where 
lightning hits the island, perhaps splitting one of the trees in the sacred 
grove itself (that will surely be read for its omens), and where it strikes 
the shore, hopefully in the midst of the Roman camp. Morrigan has 
never been too discriminating. But surely you can't blame *all* weather 
on the Morrigan?

Your curragh turns over, and you are dumped into the cold water.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

No matter how much you think you are prepared for a shock to the 
system, you are never prepared enough. Effort and exertion were taking 
it's toll upon him, and perhaps there was the briefest waver in his 
concentration. Perhaps it came when he paused just long enough to 
push his long rain soaked hair from his eyes.

Whatever the cause or the reason, it didn't alter the fact that he was now 
plunged into the frigid waters, tied to a curragh in a windswept and 
rainswept storm. He flailed around until he could make sure that he was 
free of entangling himself. Ciaran tried to tread water until he could get 
his hands on the curragh. 

If the waters were too rough, he knew he would have a tough time 
dragging himself back into the boat, but he could at least use the thing 
to keep himself afloat. From there he would asses his choices. Getting to 
the curragh was the first thing and that meant following his tether. Then 
he had to try and empty the water from it. After that.....

<><><><><>

[GM]

You manage to untangle yourself from the tether without difficulty, and 
grab the curragh and hang on. The water is quite cold, not close to 
freezing as it can sometimes get, but cold enough to sap your strength if 
you remain here long.

The curragh obstinately refuses to turn over. You can try climbing up on 
the bottomside, and float for a while, but that puts you at the mercy of 
the current and the winds (and the boat may eventually sink). Turning it 
over may cause you to expend too much energy if you're not successful. 
Drowning isn't something you've done yet, but you don't imagine it would 
be too pleasant. Plus you're as likely to wash up on the shore in front of 
the Roman camp as you are to get carried to the island.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He certainly didn't look forward to experiencing yet another form of 
death. He wasn't afraid of it, but it would surely put a damper on his 
plans to reach the island any time soon. But he knew, before he set out, 
that his chances of navigating the water successfully were kind of slim. 
He had to deal with it. The water was still cold enough to sap strength 
from him. He knew this.

He tried to climb atop the overturned curragh. Regardless of the 
currents, he could at least rest for a time there and try to get his strength 
back. Maybe even stretch out across the boat on his belly and use his 
hands to paddle. First things were first. He checked to make sure his 
knife was still secure, and that his sword, beginning to weigh him down 
considerably, was still fastened and knotted, and then he set about to 
figure out a means to pull himself up onto the boat... without drinking too 
much more of the sea.

<><><><><>

[GM]

After some struggle, you get up on the boat, and most of the way out of 
the water. You're still being soaked by the rain, so you're not warming up 
any, but you can rest for a little while.

The overturned curragh is drifting with the current. You seem to be 
moving away from the island.

<><><><><>

Moving away....

That was not good. Drowning was worse though. But, doing all this only 
to end up on the shore where the Romans had made their encampments 
or drifting right past both shores, down the middle of the channel... that 
would be a disaster too.

He slowly and carefully layed himself out across the curragh's bottom 
and lowered his hands into the water to try and steer and paddle the 
overturned boat. Slow gentle motions to pull the water and try and angle 
the thing back towards the island.

<><><><><>

[GM]

With arduous effort, you begin turning the boat around and pushing it in 
the right direction.


The mists are tapering off, but it's all right, as you can hear the slap of 
waves against the shores of Ynys Môn, and the eerie chanting of the 
druids getting closer. However, an untimely wave or a sudden gust of 
strong wind could still send you back out to sea.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

There would be no letting up. Ciaran continued to paddle, slowly and 
methodically. He would do so until he felt the tip of the overturned 
curragh dig into the sand of the shore of the island. Only then would he 
roll off the side to drag the curragh to shore. Only then would he think of 
anything else. Endure the cold... endure the rain...

<><><><><>

[GM]

Eventually you wash ashore...on the island.


Dawn is starting to break, and someone has spotted you already. A trio 
of spearmen are coming down from the bonfire burning up the beach a 
ways.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He slipped into the shallow water and dragged the curragh onto the 
beach as the spearmen approached. It had taken him a considerable 
amount of time, and he was tired, cold and very hungry.

Beaching the boat he waited for the men to get close enough to 
recognize that he wasn't dressed like a Roman. In fact he had four 
colors in his tunic.

"Aye lads," he said wearily. "Glad you could make it.... Glad I could 
make it. Ye wouldna' believe the time I had just tryin' to get here... My 
name is Ciaran MacRory... I've been here before... I'm personal friends 
with the Bard Tanethelon... Lads, I have urgent business with either him 
or the Ollaves... Can ye see yer way clear to guiding me there, or 
somewhere warm that I can wait on their favor?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

The spearmen look at you with some surprise, bedraggled and hardly at 
your most presentable.

"Err, yes, why don't you come with us?" the leader says, and they take 
you up towards the circle of common buildings where visitors and 
mundane residents of the island stay.


They show you to a fire where you can dry out, and someone brings you 
a hot drink, while someone else goes running off to find an Ollave, or 
Tanethlon.


Shortly, you feel the Quickening. And looking up, you see Tanethlon 
approaching.

Your pleasure at learning he has not lost his head doesn't seem to be 
shared by him. He looks weary, and almost seems to have aged since 
you saw him last. He manages a weak smile in greeting, but it fades 
quickly.

"You didn't get the Lia Fail back," he says with a sigh.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Holding onto the warm mug and basking in the fire, you might think he 
hadn't had either in months. His quiet reverie is disturbed by the 
Quickening. Without conscious thought he rose and drew the sword. He 
felt very jumpy. In his head, he knew that it should be Tanethelon, but he 
couldn't help himself.

He returned the smile and sat back down, placing the sword at his side. 
he needed to clean it. The bath in the channel would not do it any good, 
that much was certain. Ciaran sat silent for a time and saw the look in 
the eyes of his friend. it was a disappointment and that deepened the 
feelings of failure.

"I tired... I'm not good enough... I haven't the equipment neither to face 
his strength of arm... And Rhian is with him... I damn near lost me 
head... Did lose me leg, and Achilleus used me for a stabbing sack... 
Camlan......."

He lowered his voice and looked to the ground at his feet.

"Ieuan lost his head to Rhian... He bought me a chance at life... he knew 
the cost and did it anyway..."

His voice trailed off to a whisper.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Rhian?" Tanethlon says. Then frowns. "Ieuan? You met Ieuan? What 
happened to Camlan?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Oh Aye."

"Ieuan... Camlan... One and the same as far as I knew... Camlan came 
to visit me and tell me of this quest you had given him... You had sent 
him to me... I didn't completely trust him... He just didn't act like a 
fledgling just released as he said he was... But eventually we got to a 
point where we agreed we were on the same side... I never saw what 
Ieuan really looked like... but he gave his life to keep Achilleus from 
taking my head... I was as good as dead."

He shook his head slowly as he remembered back a few days.

"I had to come here... I don't know what to do now..."

He paused.

"Aye... I met Arawn too.... Damn fool was guarding some marsh... 
wouldna' lend a hand even after hearing the quest... He admitted it was 
very important, and pretty much said his job was pointless these days... I 
don't know... I just get the feeling that this is all some big game to people 
like him and Morrigan... I just don't know."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Tanethlon shakes his head vigorously. "Ieuan and Camlan are...were 
NOT one and the same!"

He sits down heavily. "Oh, Camlan," he sighs.

"Ieuan must have slain my pupil. Then impersonated him and..." he 
looks at you with puzzlement. "Apparently, completed the mission I gave 
to Camlan." He shakes his head. "I don't understand. Tell me everything 
that happened, Ciaran. Don't leave out a word."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He looked up at Tanethelon with an incredulous stare.

"Everything?"

He sighed and looked into his mug. This was going to require quite a 
wee bit more than he had left. He extended the mug as if to indicate his 
price. Once filled he took a deep breath and began to recount his 
recollection of events. Meeting Camlan in the glen in Icenian territory 
and the subsequent journey northwards. The stop in the kingdom of 
Cartimandua. He told of his various speculations as to the truth behind 
Camlan's identity. This included the very weak performance at being a 
bard. That was one of the oddest things. Trained by Tanethelon, but he 
was not very good at bardic skills.Then came his attempts to scry the 
Stone and Achilleus. The journey through the strange moors and the 
meeting with Lord Arawn. He recounted as much detail as he could 
remember there. Northward again and towards the coast. The small 
village and the rath where he first felt the Quickening and met Rhian... 
and then Achilleus. The challenge and the duel. Much of his perspective 
on the duel was singularly focused, but he did the best he could and 
said as much. He spoke about his injuries and what he had learned from 
the battle about his fighting skills, style and healing abilities.

It was a three mug tale. Not one of his best performances, but 
Tanethelon certainly wasn't critiquing him right now. He wanted the 
information. When he was finished, Ciaran remembered how hungry he 
was, but he waited for Tanethelon to speak before he voiced his needs.

He then finished with the aftermath and the trip here to deliver the news 
and seek advice.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Tanethlon sighs at length.

"I suppose I should have mentioned Camlan to you at some point. I'm 
not really sure why I didn't. It just slipped my mind, and he never 
happened to be here while you were visiting."


"It sounds like Ieuan intercepted Camlan on his way to find you. Perhaps 
the Quickening revealed to him what Camlan was doing...and for 
reasons of his own, he decided to continue the quest. Or..." Tanethlon 
frowns. "I have heard that now and then, the Quickening can overwhelm 
the victor, leaving him with some of his victim's personality. Perhaps that 
happened to Ieuan."


"In any case, I don't know what to do next. I just don't know." The ancient 
bard looks weary, and defeated.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He sat in silence for a time and when Tanethelon finished, he too felt the 
weariness. He emptied his mug and spoke.

"Well, if'n that were the case.... I'd hate to suddenly become someone 
else... but that was almost a moot point anyway... if not for Ieuan... 
Camlan... whoever. But I'm not going to belabor that anymore... what is 
done is done. I owe that man... My honor is bound to a pledge that I 
made to finish this quest somehow... And kill them both."

"I didna' know what to do either... so I came here to get advice and seek 
the wisdom of the Ollaves... Wouldna' hurt if I had some decent armor 
as well... I canna' hope to beat that monster without it."

"The Stone must be returned... at all costs... even my honor and my life."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Yes," Tanethlon says. "The Stone must be returned."

"I am not sure the Ollaves can help, but we can ask them. They are 
rather busy right now, though. And while they know about Immortals, I 
don't think they really understand about the Game....they try to fit it into 
their own view of the universe, but that's a druidic view."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Well, old friend," he said with a sigh as he set the empty mug down. "I 
am out of options and ideas... and so I had to return to the beginning of 
this Quest... to regroup... to prepare if necessary... I can go chasing the 
damn thing, but I doubt I will succeed at doing anything but losing my 
head... So, I come for advice... help... anything that anyone can offer to 
help me understand what needs to be done. And how to do it."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Obviously, what needs to be done is that someone needs to hunt down 
Achilleus," Tanethlon says. "And if you can't do it...no offense...then we 
must find someone who can. Or else you must train until you are ready 
to face him again."

Tanethlon scratches his beard. Talking about it, he's beginning to clear 
his head and start thinking about the situation again.

"He'll probaby take the Stone to Rome," the other immortal says. "But 
perhaps not. I am wondering why Rhian would ally with him....what's in it 
for her? And why would Achilleus take the Lia Fail to Rome, anyway? Is 
there an ancient immortal in Rome who could make use of it, or does 
Achilleus merely want to present it to the Emperor as a trophy? Too 
many unanswered questions, we don't even know if he's doing this for 
Rome, or for himself, or for some other cause."

"But I know of one immortal who can train you better, and who has been 
to Rome."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He knew he had to train more. There was no question about that. But 
who? Who would take him on at this late stage. He wasn't a fledgling 
anymore. That meant that this new mentor would have to have vested 
interest in the return of the Stone.

He fixed his gaze on his friend.

"You ask many questions... and we both know the answers are not 
within our grasp. Though Arawn was very insistent that the Stone not 
ever enter the moors he was guarding for some fear of ancient enemies 
or something. I only told you of his being there and what we saw and 
what he said his being there , but now it seems more important to speak 
the things he said about the stone. And Rhian's new keep is just north of 
those moors. Seems she overthrew the previous king a bout a year ago."

He looked longingly at the empty mug.

"There are likely many Immortals better suited to this task than I... 
Scathach could take him... but I have made a vow to see it through.... I 
will have his head... and the Stone will be returned... However long it 
takes me... Even if'n I have to hunt him. If it takes more training... so be 
it... Who?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Tanethlon looks at you with surprise. "Who? Isn't it obvious? You 
already said who....Scathach."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He nearly choked.

"Ohhh...  I feel like an eternal fledgling... Canna' we just ask her to go kill 
Achilleus?"

Somehow he knew that that wasn't an acceptable answer, not for him 
anyway. But he couldn't help but ask it anyway. He had more than a few 
lingering thoughts as to why he was chosen for this and not Scathach or 
some other more experienced Immortal. If the Stone was so damnably 
important than a few elders ought to be more concerned than they 
seemed to be.

"I'm not sure if'n she'll agree... I mean... I've done some extra training 
with her... 15 years ago... she's likely just to laugh me off as hopeless."

He sighed.

"Where do I find her?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Well now, that I don't know for certain," Tanethlon sighs. "Unlike you, 
she never comes here to visit. Camlan met her a time or two....last time, 
not far from where we fought the battle in which Rhys died."

"She told him she had resigned herself to Rome taking this island. She 
was tired of the fighting....or so she said." Tanethlon throws his cloak 
over one shoulder. "So she was probably going to return home soon. But 
I must admit, there's a cynical part of me that wonders if she simply 
decided *her* mission was accomplished. For all that the Romans seem 
unstoppable now, we have given them quite a bit of trouble...enough that 
we may have delayed their moving north indefinitely. Perhaps she 
figures her part of Prydain is safe now, so she can go back into 
seclusion."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"She could be anywhere," he said after a moment of thought. "I'm not 
inclined to wandering all of prydain and Alba and all those damn islands 
just to hunt her up... Hells, she could be on her way across the gaul 
lands again."

He scuffed his feet in the dirt at the base of the fire pit.

"I havena' got the power left to try and scrye on her... I canna' even scry 
on that damn boat over there if'n my life depended on it," he said with a 
gesture and a disgusted look.

"Sooo, unless I can narrow this down some... I'm might be training 
myself."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Scry...you can farsense?" Tanethlon looks surprised. "I can't do that. 
And the best the druids can do usually is read some omens, which are 
wrong as often as they're right."


"I can ask them to look for signs, giving you a clue where Scathach 
might be." He sighs. "Let me ask you one favor....will you at least go to 
the most likely place she might be, her home? That island of hers, I've 
never been there, but you have. If she's not there....then I guess you'll 
have to decide for yourself what to do from there, but at least try it?"

"If it's a wasted trip, well, I'll apologize...."

He rises, sounding older than he should be, physically. "But frankly, I 
don't think I'll be here when you get back." He sounds resigned, but not 
afraid or even particularly sad.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran shrugged when Tanethelon asked him about his senses. 

"It comes and goes... sometimes I can focus on it and sense things... not 
always... I am much better when I let it come to me."

As for the favor, Ciaran nodded.

"Of course my friend... I will go there... I will find Scathach, but I would 
like you to consider joining me on this journey... What more can you do 
here to help them. This island has all the warriors it's going to get, all the 
dispossessed and hunted peoples of Roman Britannia... they are here 
now... and it is only time that separates them from their Destiny... But... 
But, you are important as well... and waiting to die here... that is 
pointless. Come with me... Let us return the Stone of Destiny to it's 
rightful place."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"I can't, my friend," Tanethlon sighs. "I have my own obligations."

"I made a promise to the druids a long time ago....it's not a geas, but I 
promised. Now they are holding me to it....the men I made the promise to 
are long dead, but the druidic order has a long memory."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"I do understand," he replied in a tone that made it clear he didn't like it 
much. "It's hard to have friends among our kind, and I don't want to lose 
you... But I understand your commitments, and promises and and I 
accept your resolve to fulfill this promise."

He rose from the warm place he had been sitting in.

"Can you tell me what is ahead for you? I would like to know what 
happens to my friend, for I don't know if I will ever be this way again... 
not that there will likely be much left if I do return."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"I wish I could tell you," Tanethlon says. "But I cannot read the future."


"The druids read a few omens, and they were not favorable." The elder 
looks glum, but resigned. "And I believe there is another Roman 
immortal out there," he gestures across the water towards the 
encampment. "I wish I knew whether or not he was in league with 
Achilleus, but I'm sure it will come down to him and me when the 
Legionaires come across."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Perhaps," he offered, "I could check into that..." He made a gesture 
towards the distant shore of Prydain and the place where the Romans 
were encamped.

He knew that his destiny lay elsewhere, but he wanted to offer his friend 
every opportunity to keep his head. He would leave today, sailing from 
the far side of the island, and he would ask for a boatsmen to get him 
back to the shore, and then he would begin the long arduous task of 
searching for Scathach.

His thoughts drifted over the last 15 years that he had spent in Prydain. 
He had to shake off the welling melancholy that the fond memories of 
friendship had brought him. 

No one lived forever.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Tanethlon shakes his head. "No," he says. "Someone has to retrieve the 
Stone. I don't see any point in your risking your neck to find out 
something that I'll find out one way or another regardless."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"I know."

He walked towards his friend and offered him his wrist and a sad smile.

"Then my friend, let us drink tonight, and tell stories and sing songs... 
remember good times, and make a memory that we will each cherish in 
the upcomin' months... Mayhap find us each a lass to warm our beds this 
night... Aye?"

"Tomorrow I should set out.... I needs must find Scathach soon... Would 
there be anyone who might be capable of boating me back to Prydain... 
north of the Romans?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"I'm afraid the pickings for fair young lasses aren't as plentiful here as 
elsewhere in Prydain, but you can probably find someone to your liking." 
Tanethlon smiles wryly. "Myself.....I'm afraid I'm just not in the mood."

"I think I can find someone who can take you back to the mainland. The 
warriors who found you washed up on shore said you looked half-
drowned. They thought only Tethra could have brought you safely to 
shore. All that time on Scathach's isle, and she never taught you how to 
row a boat?"

Tanethlon clasps your wrist, then claps you on the shoulder. "Go find 
yourself a bedmate, Ciaran. I'll see to your transportation in the 
morning."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He held the grasp as long and as tightly as he could. This might be one 
of the last times he saw his friend. Ciaran was suddenly no longer in the 
mood to do anything but wait for the morning.

He wandered back towards the shore to watch the low rolling waters 
beat against the earth in a rhythmic pattern known only to Danu. It was 
her song as played by Mannan McLir. He settled into the sand and 
listened to the gentle tune.

It was much later when he wandered back towards the encampment to 
find a place to sleep near the fire. Morning would come much too soon, 
and somewhere out there the Stone of Destiny was waiting for him.

<><><><><>

[GM]

In the morning, you're awoken by druids' chants and more yelling from 
the women on the shore, waking the Romans with their curses. The 
Romans respond with a blast of their horns, and a clamor of swords 
beating on shields....their commander must be devising counter-
measures against the demoralizing effects of the Celts.


Tanethlon comes, with a warrior in his forties whose beard is streaked 
with grey, and a young man who looks to be the son of the older man. 
"This is Breasal of Innish Môn, and his son Fyrin. They are from one of 
the smaller islands to the north, and they know these waters well."

"We can take you anywhere up or down the coast you want to go," 
Breasal says. "The respected bard has told us you are on a holy mission 
for the druids."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"I am indeed on a quest... a mission, and I suppose it is Holy... My name 
is Ciaran... Of Eriu."

He greeted each man in turn.

"It is to the north that I must go. My boat is borrowed and should be 
returned... My horse and equipment awaits me in a small fishing village 
a short ride north of the Roman patrols... My final place of travel will be 
Scathach's Island, well to the north, many days ride. Take me and tow 
the boat this this village and I would be indebted to both you for your 
hospitality."

He turned to Tanethelon.

"I will miss you... More than you can possibly know, my friend... May 
Danu watch over you, and by her will and grace, should you keep your 
head... come seek me out. We'll have that drink then... "

A heaviness hung over him. It was like a dark cloud that followed him. 
He felt that he was saying goodbye for the last time. But it was time to 
go. He gathered the few belongings he had brought with him and looked 
them over. He would clean the sword on the way to the village. 

"Until we meet again, my friend... Don't lose your head."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Breasal and Fyrin ap-Breasal tether your curragh to the back of their 
larger boat, then pilot it across the channel. Breasal's strokes are 
smooth and rhythmic, occasionally helped by his son. Neither of them 
speaks much, until Fyrin finally succumbs to curiousity and asks you 
about Eire, and its heroes.

They guide the boats up the coast, until you approach the village where 
you left your horse, and the fisherman who probably did not expect to 
see his curragh again.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

In reply, Ciaran tells a couple of stories about Cuculhain, since he had 
lived through some of them with him. And he told some of the older 
stories about Lugh and Nuada and the other Tuatha who stood at Moy 
Tura. Ciaran took a long time to describe Eire to Fyrin. He knew the 
northlands the best and he knew the Blackstairs countryside as well. He 
spoke of a favorite lough in Ulaid. He spoke with a fondness for those 
memories. It had been 15 years since he had been home. Too long.

When they arrived, Ciaran called out to the Fisherman in a greeting. It 
did him good to know that he was able to return the man's property. His 
journey was not as fruitful as he had hoped, but he didn't really know 
what to expect when he set out anyway. Now he had some purpose 
again. he had to make it happen though.

Ciaran returned the man's curragh to him and thanked him several 
times. He turned to his guides for the crossing and bid each in turn a 
farewell. He doubted that their paths would ever cross again, but one 
never really knew what fate would hold in store.

He could not linger long though as it was time for him to resume his 
quest. Northward along the coast towards Pictland.

<><><><><>

[GM]

It takes over a week to make your way north into Pictland. You know that 
Scathach avoided the Picts, but you may have no choice. After your 
experience just trying to cross the channel to Ynys Môn, you don't fancy 
your chances of steering a curragh through the dangerous rocks that 
ring Scathach's isle.

Assuming you can find it again....it's one of many islands in a watery 
stretch that is frequently blanketed by fog (a phenomenon you once 
suspected was caused by Scathach, though she denied any such 
sorcery.)

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

While the journey was uneventful, Ciaran had taken steps to try and 
endure that. He wanted to avoid contact with the fierce little Picts. They 
were a bit overzealous about headhunting and other trophies of combat. 
But sooner or later he would have to try and make use of them.

Cioran remembered the many trips into Pictland for training with 
Scathach. He knew that there would only be one landmark of note that 
would give him a clue.

Scathach had a curragh... or more, hidden  along the rocky coastline 
somewhere. She might have several. Finding that would at last give him 
a general frame of reference from which to begin his search. Finding any 
belonging of Scathach's was no easy task. It never was.

He rode his horse towards the coast, as close as he could and began to 
search for likely places. And any place that looked suitable would be 
searched... no matter how long it took. He continued northwards keeping 
a careful watch for any indications of prying eyes. He wasn't looking 
forward to a run in with a fishing party or a war party of the dark little 
bastards.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Your search is very time-consuming; there are hundreds of little bays 
and inlets and coves along the coast. Scathach could have left her 
curragh anywhere, or she might have taken it away and you'll be looking 
for something that isn't to be found.


You do pass a few scattered fishing villages....the farther north you go, 
the less civilized the people become. On the borderlands, depending on 
current relations between the local tribal chieftain and his counterpart in 
the Pictish tribes, there is some intermixing of the races, so it's hard to 
tell exactly where Cymric lands end and Pictish lands begin. Customs 
flow both ways, but the peasants become smaller and darker as you 
continue north.


About five weeks since you left Ynys Môn, you have worked your way up 
the coast, past the uplands, and now you face the prospect of venturing 
into the highlands. Would even Scathach have placed her boat in a cove 
that could only be accessed by jumping off a cliff and waiting until you 
come back to life at the bottom?

Yes, she would.

Searching the highland coast will be terribly arduous. You sit on a 
promontory, looking at the mountains rising to your north, and the 
craggy terrain falling gradually off to your south, and contemplate 
whether you should continue on, or backtrack and see if you missed her 
secreted boat. There are miles of shoreline you've passed, after all, and 
Scathach will have camouflaged it well. You don't recall her beachhead 
being this far north, the last time you were here, but it was only a few 
times, decades ago, so it's hard to be sure.

And at the very next cove you search, you find a tiny craft, wrapped in 
skins and hidden well amongst the rocks.

Except this boat is painted with alien glyphs, like the Picts use. And soon 
your eye picks out another boat, and another.

You have wandered right into a hidden harbor where the local Pict tribe 
must hide the boats they use to make seaborn raids on their neighbors. 
And when you turn to leave, you see a party of them hopping over the 
rocks and descending towards the shore, carrying spears and crude 
axes, some of them no more than sharpened rocks at the end of a stick, 
though a few with metal weapons traded with the Celts to the south. 
You're not sure if they've seen you yet or not.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

The prospect of searching this far north to find nothing did not build a 
sense of confidence in him. It told him that he would likely have to turn 
back again and search south trying to cover some of the places he 
hadn't searched the first time around. There was a glimmer of hope 
when he found the single curragh, but when it turned out to be part of a 
small group of boats, that glimmer became a dark seed of dread.  Ciaran 
drew the sword. There could be a guard anywhere hidden away. 

He wandered towards the boats, keeping himself near  as much cover 
as possible. And that was answered when he heard the voices of the 
picts who owned the boats. There was no where to run, but he might be 
able to hide. The rocky coastline afforded him a few places to try and 
conceal himself.

He flattened himself against one of the rocks and listened for their 
advance to see if he felt there would be any chance to skirt around the 
rock and not be seen by them as they passed by. If not, he they split 
themselves to both sides of his hiding place, then he would chose the 
nearest Pict and try to surprise him. After that... it was anyone's guess 
as to what he would do.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The Picts don't seem excited or agitated, there is nothing in their voices 
indicating that you were spotted as they come closer. However, in 
another instant, your ability to hide unnoticed behind a rock becomes 
moot, as you feel the Quickening.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He could wait for the Immortal to identify himself to Ciaran. But then 
again, he might find himself facing a bad situation if the immortal walled 
himself off behind the mortals. The language was going to be a problem. 
The Cultural thing was going to be a problem. The Picts didn't follow the 
same codes for combat as the Celts. He had to hope that this Immortal 
was trained with a respect for the rules. There was no waiting.

He pushed off of the rock and around to his  left trying to keep the 
majority of the Picts to one side of him. His eyes searched to find the 
Immortal. He held the broadsword at the ready.

"My name is Ciaran MacRory," he said in Brythionic Gaelic. He then 
repeated it in Goedelic.

<><><><><>

[GM]

One of the Picts steps forward. Most of them are half-naked, clad in a 
hodge-podge mix of primitive furs and woven garb, with tattoos visible 
underneath, but this one wears a fine cloak of obvious Cymric 
manufacture, and carries an iron sword in a leather scabbard, though he 
currently holds a long spear in his hand. It's easy to guess that these are 
probably items of some value in Pictish lands, and likewise easy to 
guess that this one is probably the Immortal. He waves his companions 
back a little.

"Ciaran MacRory," he repeats. And speaking in the Prydain Celt tongue, 
sounding more native than you, he says "What do you want?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He shifted his stance to take up a defensive posture against this 
immortal. He held his sword ready but didn't raise it to a threatening 
posture.

"Certainly not what I ended up finding... that's for damn sure... Who are 
you?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"You're on my home ground, I ask the questions," the Pict Immortal says. 
His face is almost hidden underneath his mane of bristly hair and beard, 
but his build is a little on the skinny side. He doesn't immediately strike 
you as a fearsome-looking warrior, but of course, among immortals, that 
doesn't mean much.

"If you weren't looking for what you found, then why are you here in 
Pictish lands? Not many Celts come up here who aren't looking for a 
fight." His eyes are narrow and suspicious, and his comrades look tense 
and ready to start throwing spears at the slightest provocation.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Fair enough.... I was just trying to be friendly..."

He lowered the blade slowly to let them know that he was sincere in his 
desire to avoid a fight.

"I'm not looking to fight you... I'm not a hunter. Nor do I want to fight 
them... I didna' even know you were here... I knew it was pict lands... I 
was hidin', hopin' not to be seen. I thought these boats," he said with a 
slight nod in their direction. 

"Well I only saw one of them from above... but I thought it was what I 
was looking for.... a boat that would be able to get me to the islands."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"So you were just looking for a boat to steal?" the Pict says skeptically. 
"Why are you trying to get to the islands? Most of them are Pict too." He 
cocks his head and squints at you. "Are you running from a Roman 
immortal, perhaps?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He arched an eyebrow at the mention of stealing the boat, and then 
laughed quietly when the Pict mentioned a Roman Immortal.

"Oh aye.... Runnin'... that's it... Good one."

"No... First I wasn't lookin' to steal yer damn boats.... I was lookin' for a 
very specific boat... These aren't it... Findin' that boat would tell me what 
island to sail to...."

"Now, the reason.... It involves a Roman Immortal... and a Celtic one... 
they've teamed themselves and I intend to face them. They've done 
something that could be very bad for both Celts and Picts... I have been 
quested by the Druids of Yns Mon... but I need to find a Celtic Immortal 
who lives up here... I think you know who I'm talking about."

He paused to gauge reactions. Scathach was not likely to be well liked 
by the Picts. Ciaran remembered her training sessions where she 
brought him over here and they fought the little savages for practice.

"I doubt you have any goodwill towards this Immortal, but believe me... I 
am not here to fight anyone.... I'm just lookin' for help. I need help to 
fulfill this quest... to beat Rhian and Achilleus... and to return the Lia Fail 
to Tara in Eire."

<><><><><>

[GM]

The Pict squats down and leans against his spear, peering at you.

"Scathach," he says.

"You're right, she's no friend of my people. She's killed every other Pict 
immortal."

"Now why would this lee-yah fay-el be important to us? The Romans can 
burn Ynys Môn and Eire and every other Celtic island, I don't see how 
that makes a difference to us."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He searched his memory for the name of this man. Scathach had once 
mentioned a Pict Immortal, and he knew of her dislike for the race in 
general. But it eluded him for the time. He was focused more on staying 
alive right now.  At least the Pict was no longer overtly hostile, although 
that could change at a moment's notice. He relaxed some more himself.

"The Stone of Destiny was brought to Eire by the Tuatha. An Artifact of 
Power and it is touched by the Quickening... a part of the Quickening. I 
dinna' understand it fully, but I know it's a bad thin' for it to have been 
stolen by this Roman. Tanethelon has told me so in questing me... and 
Lord Arawn has made it very clear as well. To that end I must return it to 
where it belongs, and to do that, I will need help and trainin' to face them 
both."

"Scathach is the person who can train me... if'n I can find her... And if'n 
she doesn't kill me first."

<><><><><>

[GM]

The Pict smiles.

"Well, I can see why you might not want Romans taking your treasure. 
But I still fail to see why we should care about it."

With a cunning glint in his eye, he says "As it happens, I know exactly 
which island Scathach is on, and where she hid the boat you're looking 
for. What will you do for me if I take you to it?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He returns the smileand regards the Pict with a similar cast of his eyes.

"I would offer you something physical that I own, but I own ver' little. 
And.... I really doubt you want anythin' like that at all. I also imagine that 
you already have a suggestion of somethin' I could do for you... 
somethin' you need or want. Let us barter this out then..."

"You know what I want... What could I offer that would be worth your 
time and effort?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Well, first and foremost, I want Cymric immortals, like Ieuan, and Rhian, 
and Rhys ap-whatever his name is, and especially Scathach, to stop 
hunting Picts. We are not animals to be chased like game! And thanks 
to your kind, I am now the last Pict immortal, who carries the legends 
and history of my people in my head."

He stares at you. "Chance encounters that result in a challenge and a 
fair fight are one thing, but even fledglings have been killed by you 
damned Celts!"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"I have never hunted any Immortals... nor will I ever hunt anyone except 
a hunter. I have my own sense of honor and a code that I live by. You 
and your people have every right to live. I judge no one save those that 
cross me or mine. I canna' speak for the others... I am younger than all 
of them... Ieuan is dead... Rhys is dead. There are fewer and fewer 
Celtic Immortals left. And Scathach doesna' listen to me... I was her 
fledglin'."

Ciaran let that sink in.

"Rhian... is a hunter, and I plan to take her down."

"You have my word that I will never hunt your people, but I can't give you 
theirs... I can only offer you my hand and say that I am willin' to accept 
your word and your honor... if you are willin' to accept mine."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Well, that's well enough," the Pict says. "I didn't figure you had any 
control over the actions of your fellow Celts, though I could hope...." He 
frowns. "You shouldn't talk about fewer of your kind, though, you still 
outnumber us, mortals and immortals, as you always have."


"The other thing, then....since as you point out, you've got nothing I want 
right now, I claim the right to demand something of you in the future. I 
believe your people call it a geas."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He looked at the Pict with a studied expression.

"Oh aye... we do outnumber your race, but history and story tell us 
through oral tradition that we are nay the first people to settle in our 
lands.... we followed the Tuatha... Nemedians... Fir Bolg, and the 
Fomor... There will be others after us... It would be arrogant to assume 
otherwise... Already the Celts lose ground. Our age is done in Gaul... 
The Romans grow strong. They have reached this land... They may 
continue on. No one is to know what the future holds."

He listened as the Pict continued.

"A geas... Well then. I have my own conditions to that, since what you 
ask is powerful indeed. If You understand our customs than you know 
you seek an honor oath from me."

He paused a moment to consider his words.

"First, I will not accept any Geas from a man whose name has not been 
given... Nor will I accept a Geas from a man who hasna' accepted my 
hand to show me he is a man of honor and integrity. Second, I will nay, 
hunt anyone in yer name nor fight any duel for ye... And last, for 
something as costly as a geas.... I would want a trusted man to handle 
the boat to get me safely to the island... He can depart from there to 
return, and it will be my word of honor that he departs unharmed and in 
timely fashion. I need only to reach shore safely... the rest is my 
concern. Grant me that, and I will give you this geas."

<><><><><>

[GM]

The Pict rises. "Very well. My name is Brude, and I will shake your 
hand." He advances slowly, though his comrades remain tense.

"Agreed. I will not ask you to fight, or kill anyone. And I will pilot the boat 
myself. It's not often I tweak the upstart bitch's nose so brazenly. I won't 
stay around to see the look on her face when she learns I brought you to 
her in her own boat, but perhaps you'll describe it for me when next we 
meet." He grins, showing many white teeth in his dark face as he holds 
out his hand.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He grasped the man at the wrist as was the custom of his people and 
held it firmly while clasping his other hand over the man's hand.

"Your Geas is accepted. Upon your honor, and upon mine, by earth and 
sea and sky... I'll likely rue this day, but my word is my bond... Brude, let 
us be about this then."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Brude speaks briefly with the other Picts. They separate, and continue 
on down to the shore. Brude waves farewell to them, and leads you back 
to the main stretch of rocky coast.

"You weren't far away," he says. "She always moves her hiding place, 
but there are always certain common characteristics of the places she 
picks."

In fact, it's about half a day's ride from where you were. The Pict 
immortal leads you directly to another cove, and a boat so skillfully 
concealed in a natural recess in a pile of rocks that's tumbled from the 
cliffs above, you could have searched for months or years and maybe 
never found it.

He pulls it out with a chuckle. "Now don't think this agreement was 
completely one-sided. I'm sure she'll change her tactics, now that she 
knows I've been onto her tricks all this time. I'm giving up a valuable 
advantage over the sneaky bitch. She might even come hunting for my 
head." Despite what he says, he does not seem overly concerned.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Aye, it's yer head... If'n I tell her any of this, she'll no doubt change her 
tactics and she'll assuredly come looking for ye'... better yet, she might 
try to use me to find you... Nay, I think I'll step outside this little game 
you two have and keep my mouth shut...."

Ciaran waited until Brude indicated that he should get into the boat. He 
kept a wary watch on the navigator though, for he had given him a word 
of honor but he had no way of knowing whether or not Brude's word in 
return was worth anything.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Brude laughs. "Oh, it wouldn't be the first time she's come looking for 
me. But she won't find me, with or without you. Not unless I want to be 
found. There's only one immortal who can find Brude if he don't want to 
be found, and *she*-" he raises his eyes towards the sky, with an 
expression of, perhaps, respect, but certainly not reverence, "would 
never be bothered with the lowly likes of me." He chuckles, as he begins 
pushing the curragh towards deeper waters.


He guides the boat as expertly as if it was his own, and he surely knows 
the waters well. He stands balanced nimbly on the prow, nimbly and 
precariously. He looks like the slightest roll of the flimsy curragh would 
pitch him into the water, but it doesn't.

"Once Scathach taught many warriors, both mortal and immortal," he 
says, unbidden. "But I thought that boy was the last. What was his 
name? Cu-cu something. Poor wasted youth."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He listened to Brude. And he was correct in the fact that if Morrigan 
wanted him found, he would be found... But Ciaran knew that there were 
others who could touch the Quickening and use it to find people and 
things. Perhaps Brude wasn't aware that there were others who had that 
gift. Ciaran certainly had no intention of enlightening him. By the 
Goddess, no.... He might have to use it one day.

Brude displayed the typical cockiness that was normally associated with 
Celtic Warriors. And like them, Ciaran was not about to dispute Brude's 
claims to his own prowess if he so wished to claim it.

"Koo Kul Hin," he pronounced for his Immortal pilot. "He was a friend of 
mine... I was but a lad when I met him... He was a good friend... and a 
good warrior."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Aye, one of the best there ever was, so I've heard," Brude says. "The 
log burns brightest that burns fastest. Mortals can be sometimes 
surprise us, even the raven-crone." The misty coastline of an island 
approaches, one that seems eerily familiar even though you don't 
immediately recognize the terrain.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Ciaran wasn't sure if he followed Brude's meaning. Did Brude think that 
Cuculhain was a mortal? Hard to say. But Ciaran didn't think it wise to 
correct him, only to find himself in error. He simply settled back and 
waited for Brude to navigate the craft to shore.

A sense of trepidation began to well in him as they drew closer to the 
Island. It had been quite a number of years since he had been there, 
and more than a few of the memories of the place were not good ones.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The curragh eventually grinds against the shore, and Brude sits 
unmoving at the prow.

"This is as far as I go," he says, then winks at you. "Good luck." There is 
something unnerving about his chuckle.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

As the craft neared the shoreline, Ciaran gathered his meager 
belongings. He had taken as much as he could carry from the horse but 
much of it only weighed and slowed him down. It could all be replaced 
again the future. When the curragh finally touched the shore he stepped 
out into the shallow waters, balancing himself and his footing. He walked 
up onto the shore and faced Brude who still sat in the boat.

"Aye Brude, That would be wise. I thin' ye've done enough to rile her 
up.... There isna' point in being foolish about it. May Danu watch over 
ye, and don't lose yer head."

He turned inland and looked at the daunting climb ahead of him. In 
reality it was the things he couldn't see that worried him the most. And 
Scathach was chief on that list. He took a deep breath and settled his 
mind as he stepped out. He would need his full concentration and wits to 
avoid her traps. Traps he had seen so many times before, but they 
never failed to unsettle him... even to this day, 80 summers later.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Brude paddles away, leaving you to begin your climb.

Many of Scathach's traps are familiar to you, and the old training comes 
back quickly, under pressure. You avoid the deadfalls and the pits, but 
almost get skewered by an ingenuous mechanism she never showed 
you before, one that is triggered by a twig being dislodged by the 
footsteps of a passer-by. It causes a branch to whip forward and hurl a 
spear through the space where you were standing...you barely dodge it.


You're starting to feel that you might make it to the top and get a chance 
to explain your presence to her, before getting caught by one of her 
traps, when a stone comes loose in your hand as you're pulling yourself 
over a ledge. You slip and tumble a few feet down the slope. And then 
hear a rumble.


A small avalanche of rocks comes flying over the ledge and descends 
on you. They roll over you, carrying you down the hillside as they smash 
you up, until you land in a small gulley, half-buried underneath the rocks 
and boulders.

You were badly battered and knocked out by the avalanche. You can't 
be sure whether you actually died or not, but when you wake up, there is 
still a crushing weight on your chest, and your head is pressed between 
two large rocks. Your whole body feels bruised and sore, and you feel 
the Quickening.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Ach.... Dammit Scathach," he hisses as he tries to grip the rock or rocks 
that weigh down on his chest to get a feel for their size.

"Ye miserable witch, I wasna' prepared for that one..."

He could feel the Quickening.

"Are ye gonna help me or not Scathach," he called out as he struggled 
against the weight  of the rocks and boulders to free himself. "Or are ye 
jes' gonna torment me some. Maybe even take my damn miserable head 
since I couldna' make the last trap."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Don't tempt me," you hear her answer back.

No help seems to be forthcoming, as you struggle to move the large 
boulder that's pinning your chest, and push the rocks on your head 
aside.

"You know, you're not nearly so endearing when you're cursing and 
whining, boyo."


Eventually, after laborious and painful exertions, you manage to dig 
yourself out enough to see Scathach sitting calmly on one of the other 
fallen rocks, her spear tucked under her arm. She's just perched there 
watching you. "I suppose you expected that I'd have a trail laid out just 
for you? You chose to pay me a visit- uninvited, but I presume for a good 
reason- so you must have known what you'd encounter."

One of the rocks tumbles off the larger one you just dislodged, and falls 
on your head, with a painful crack. The bump will disappear almost as 
quickly as it swells...your body will heal faster than your dignity.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Nearly freed of the rocks and boulders, he opened his mouth to respond 
when the last rock knocked squarely on the head. He grimaced and 
gritted his teeth until the white spots before his eyes subsided. The pain 
would take a bit longer and than the dignity.

"Of course I knew what I would find, and I damn near got through it all... 
'Cept for'n that last one... never saw that one before... I'll remember it 
though... And I had to come without invitation, ye hid yerself away up 
here, who was I gonna ask... Brude? Hardly."

He offered the name to her to get a reaction from her and keep her off 
balance a bit. Brude was undoubtedly a point of contention for her own 
ego.

"And yer right, It is important Scathach...  Tanethelon dispatched a 
student of his to find me and Quest me... Camlan was his name.... 
Tanethelon told me you had met him.  But Camlan was met on the way 
to me and lost his head to Ieuan. Oddest thing though, Ieuan took on an 
illusion of Camlan's appearance and continued with the mission. Very 
important this mission... this Quest that I was to perform. Somewhere 
inside, Camlan's will was overpowering Ieuan's hunter instincts. One 
level, Ieuan planned to kill me... and on another, he couldn't."

Ciaran paused in his telling to continue to remove some of the rocks and 
clear himself further. He looked back to Scathach and smiled wanly.

"Achilleus stole the Lia Fail from Tara... The Druids and Tanethelon 
couldna' stop him. He had a well trained band wit' him. But how he knew 
where to find the thing and how he could gather a group of celts to help 
a roman... I dinna' know. But then again, there are plenty of examples 
like Cartimandua to prove that. My Quest was to return the Lia Fail to 
Tara. It has power to touch the Quickening... So Camlan... ach... Ieuan 
and I headed north after I doon scryed Achilleus."

"We crossed a stretch of moors and stopped to camp in an abandoned 
dun keep not far from the coast as we left Brigantian territory and 
Prydain proper and headed into the lands of the Vortadini. Camlan told 
me that it was critical that the Stone of Destiny not be allowed to reach 
Rome."

"We were paid a visit by Lord Arawn and his damn hounds. That was 
near worth seeing me pee me tunic... but we held our ground and told 
our tale. He wouldna' help us but he advised us that the dark forces that 
he watched in the Moors shouldna' be allowed to have the Stone... and 
that got me to thinkin'... Another thing from my scrying told me that 
Achilleus wasna' alone in this... he had the help of another Immortal.... 
and that there was someone who knew that I was touching the 
Quickening to search out Achilleus."

"We set out north again, and found a small village and a dun keep 
where the local talk told us that the rightful lord had been ousted.... I 
thought to go up to the dun to seek some information. Rhian sat in the 
big chair. I was an idiot when I asked her about information on 
Achilleus... to see if she heard anything. To see if she would be able to 
help me. She then introduces me to Achilleus. I was kind of stuck at this 
point... We fought, and I lost to Achilleus... badly. But Ieuan cheated to 
save my life. Rhian took his head for interfering, but Ieuan had left a 
curse on Achilleus that kept him from killing me and Rhian called him off 
and left me on the field to heal."

"I tried and failed. I wasna' big enough nor strong enough to fight him. 
He had armor and swung a sword big enough to cleave a horse. Took 
me leg right off. And with Rhian and he together, I had no chance to get 
the damn Stone back. So I healed and vowed a pledge to Iuean as a 
friend that I never really knew... to return to renew the fight and complete 
the Quest that he had given his life for. I owe him, and until that debt is 
paid, I have forsaken my honor in blood to him."

I travelled to get advice from Tanethelon and the Druids... and 
Tanethelon sent me to you. I need yer help. I dinna know why they took 
the Stone but I don't thin' it's ever going to go to Rome.... But the forces 
that Arawn warned me of... now they might be a different thing indeed. I 
need to finish what we began 15 years ago when we traveled Prydain as 
a band..."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach frowns and narrows her eyes when you mention Brude.


When you finish your story, she just stares off across the sea, which you 
can see down the mountainside and on the other side of the wood-lined 
shore, for a while.


Finally she shakes her head. "I always knew I was going to have to 
return to the mainland someday," she says, sounding almost sad.

"Damn Tanethlon, and damn Morrigan, and damn you too, boy! What do 
I care about this damn stone? Or Eire? Let Arawn's 'dark forces' keep it 
for all I care!"

Despite her outburst, her tone seems resigned, as if she's arguing with 
herself rather than you. She slides off the rock and turns and stalks 
uphill, without glancing back at you.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He looked after her for a long moment before pushing away the last of 
the stones and brushing off the accumulated dust and debris that the fall 
had covered him with.

"Scathach," he called out as he carefully followed after her.

"I'm not asking ye to come wit' me if'n ye don't want to.... This is my 
Quest.... Eire is my home... I am responsible for the Stone. I only ask 
that ye train me as much as I can possibly be trained so that I have a 
chance at facing two immortals who have hundreds of years on me. I 
wouldna' ask ye to take this risk wit' me... I only ask for whatever help ye 
can give me... and if that is none at all, then I will go my way and try to 
figure what to do next."

He had no idea if she was even paying him any attention. He continued 
to follow her trying to watch for more of her traps.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You catch up to her outside of her cottage...one of several abodes she 
has on this island, and some of them are practically invisible until you 
stumble through the doorway.


"I spent years training you already," she says. "Do you think I have a few 
more special tricks I can show you that will give you the advantage over 
immortals who're that much older than you?"


She sits down outside her house, and sticks her spear in the ground. 
"Well, maybe a few tricks," she admits. "But if you're really chasing the 
Stone, and Achilleus, you don't have years before you can set off in 
pursuit, do you? So if I'm to train you, it will have to be while we're 
traveling."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He squatted down before her, just outside of the reach of her spear and 
looked at her for a time before he responded.

"You know ye don't have to go wit' me Scathach," he said. "This is my 
fight... I accepted the Quest from Tanethelon and I am bound to it. You 
completed my training many summers ago... and we parted company 
then... The star in the eastern sky marked that parting."

"You came lookin' for me at my home, and I followed you then, because I 
chose to follow you... It wasn't my fight to face these Romans, but I 
followed you because you asked for my help. And now I ask you for 
yours... but it doesna' mean that ye have to leave the Island."

"If I have to... I'll hunt him... I lack the years and the experience and the 
heads... and the equipment... I'll have to face him when he isn't ready for 
me. You have taught me much already, more than any fledgling has a 
right to ask of a mentor, and believe me it pains me to no end to come 
back here and seek you out... as if I am tellin' myself that I'll never be 
able to handle things on my own."

"I don't know what they plan, Rhian and Achilleus, but they ousted a 
chief and took his dun and they are perched up there in that northern 
land near that moor.... It is just too much to assume that they chose that 
place because of scenery. I have no clue how much time I have... I may 
not have any time at all now..."

"Hunt  them I will," he said as he rose. He gripped his spear tightly and 
nodded at her. "I shouldna' have come here... I'll leave now."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach laughs bitterly. "Oh, stop lad. You're killing me."

She stands, shaking her head. "You've made your point, even if you 
deny making it. I'll accompany you as far as this dun. Then we'll see 
what's what."

"Don't argue with me any more," she adds sharply. "You don't know 
everything either, boy. I have other geases that have nothing to do with 
you." A grimace of distaste crosses her features.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He shrugged as he continued to walk.

"Suit yerself woman... I didna' put no Geas on you. As I said I shouldna' 
have come here... But what is done is done, now I need to figure my next 
move. I have no idea what he or Rhian want with the damn Stone, and I 
really could care less.... If the damn thing was so important then 
Morrigan should go get the f*****' thing herself."

"I need to get some sleep."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Fine," Scathach says. "You can sleep here. If you want a bed, there are 
some rush mats inside. Find one of your own to sleep on." She definitely 
isn't in a bed-sharing mood, this visit.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He stopped and looked back at her. The prospect of sleeping outdoors 
on her Gods forsaken island was nowhere near as appealing as a rush 
mat in a place with a roof and a fire. Ciaran nodded and mumbled a 
thankyou to her. He entered the hut and stowed his few belongings and 
set out a mat on the floor. It didn't take him long before he drifted off to 
sleep.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The next morning both of you wake up, and Scathach prepares 
breakfast without saying a word.

Once the meal is done, she finally speaks. "We'll leave today. We'll start 
practicing new combat techniques once we reach the mainland. You're 
going to have to figure out how you intend to deal with a man in armor. If 
you're not good enough to pick out the gaps in his armor, then your only 
other option is probably to learn to fight in armor yourself."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He eats in silence.

"I'll do whatever it takes," he said as he wiped his mouth and beard 
clean of crumbs and grease from the fried meat she served him. "If'n I 
have to wear armor then I will find armor to wear..."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Well, then let's go." With as little preparation as that, Scathach picks up 
her spear and her sword and leaves her home, setting off agilely down 
the hillside. While you follow along behind her, trying not to let her lose 
you, since that would likely mean another quick lesson in ambushing 
and trapping, she says "Where did you leave your boat? We'll take it 
back to the mainland."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He had to laugh at that. Not that Scathach said anything funny but it was 
simply that fate had conspired against him in this matter and he had no 
intention of lying to her. How he had gotten here was a matter that he 
would have preferred to avoid discussing, and even Brude had wanted 
Scathach to know he was onto her. 

Ciaran had tried to tell Brude that he didn't think it a wise idea but the 
fates and the Goddess had different plans, so.....

"Now to tell ye the truth Scathach, I got a ride to the Island... I couldna' 
find one of yer boats, so Brude helped me. He showed me one of yer 
hiding places and brought me across in one of yer own boats and he 
took it back wit' him. He asked that I tell you he did this. He thought it 
would amuse you. I didn't think it would and tried to tell him this would be 
a bad idea, but since ye out and out asked... I figured I might as well tell 
ye'."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach clenches her teeth. You can see her jaw tense, and the grip on 
her spear becomes tight.

She walks on a few more paces, and then says "So you didn't leave a 
boat on the shore, is what you're telling me?"

She stalks on, heading towards a small cove a ways around the island 
from where you landed.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Aye, if'n that's what you hear, that's what I'm telling you. I canna' pilot 
anything more than a curragh, and that isna' too good neither."

He shrugged and followed after her. He knew that she was seething 
inside at the fact that Brude was openly toying with her, but she had long 
ago made it a point to hunt the Picts and so if he held the upper hand on 
something... she deserved what she got.

"Brude knew where the boats were, and he could sail... I needed to get 
here... the right time and right place.... I havena' got anything against the 
Pict."

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Fine," Scathach says, "remember that when he starts playing games 
with you."


She has another boat hidden on the island, and the two of you get in 
and Scathach takes you back across the channel to Prydain. On the 
shore, she finds a natural absess in the rocky cliff face and begins 
skillfully concealing it. She has been very quiet the entire time.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He chuckled.

"Oh Aye, of that I have no doubt... but I will deal with that when the time 
comes.... You might already have taken his head by then if'n I can rile 
you up enough about his antics and attitude and I can wash my hands of 
him. I wouldn't mind that too much at all."

He got into the boat and he spent his time studying her movements and 
actions as she guided and piloted the craft. Ciaran knew he would ahve 
to learn how to handle a boat. But as long as she was silent, he would 
keep quiet as well. He would really rather she waited until they were on 
land before resuming the training sessions he still remembered with little 
fondness. Death by drowning or.... impaling and then drowning didn't 
have one redeeming element of appeal to him.

He smiled as he looked out over the choppy seas.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach does not ambush you with any sudden attacks while on the 
water, and in fact, as you continue east, towards the opposite coast, she 
seems somber, intent on your destination, and not interested in her 
usual nasty tricks. In fact, she doesn't seem terribly interested in you at 
all....sometimes she almost seems to have forgotten your presence.

However, once the northern mountains are out of sight, she begins 
waking you before dawn to start drilling. Her instruction now is focused, 
intensive, and pragmatic. No bloody elaborations....if you miss a dodge, 
you get stabbed with her spear, but she doesn't go out of her way to 
make you suffer for every mistake. 

As she said, it is largely a function of experience, and the advantage she 
still enjoys over you is because she's been doing it for longer, pure and 
simple....but as she increases the speed of your drills, you begin to 
improve, minutely. Scathach is still a whirlwind of motion when moving at 
combat-speed, her spear slashing and stabbing as if it was an extension 
of her arms, and you cannot keep up. But she starts drilling more 
precision into your movements, more control.


"Better," she says, after one morning. "But not good enough. You're on a 
long, flat plain, and probably have been for years. It's a plain most 
warriors never leave. If you want to beat Achilleus, you have to reach 
the next mountain, and start climbing it."

She shrugs. "I'm not trying to be mystical here. I don't know how else to 
describe it. You can practice for years and years and you'll get a little 
better, but not much.... only the very best get past the point you're at. 
Achilleus is bigger, stronger and more experienced than you....your only 
hope is to go farther than he can, before you meet again."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"Aye... before we meet... or I won't be on that plain much longer... I'll be 
dead."

His mood was somber and he spoke very few words. He kept to himself 
when she wasn't training him. He made not overtures of intimacy 
towards her. He simply was not in the mood.

Morose.

He spent as much time as he could thinking about his training and his 
performance. He studied the things he had done or would do. Simply 
staring into space and watching these things with his mind's eye. He 
visualized himself and what he had done or would do in any given 
situation.

Time was much too short, and it wasn't likely he was going to survive his 
encounter with Achilleus. But he would see it to a finish this time no 
matter what. He was tired.

Perhaps losing his head would be a just reward. If he wasn't good 
enough, then that was how it would end. It was the way of Immortals. He 
would do his best, but there was no fear...

<><><><><>

[GM]

You and Scathach hike across the northern wilds of Prydain, making 
excellent time, thanks to Scathach's relentless pace, which you can now 
keep up with better than when she first led you from Murthemny Plain to 
her island. Her morning and evening lessons give you a sense of being 
practiced and ready, though it doesn't feel as if you are making any 
great leap forward in prowess...you have yet to rise above that plain.


A week later, give or take a day, you approach the coastal dun where 
last you met Rhian and Achilleus.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

It felt too soon. He didn't want to be back here. He wasn't ready. He 
knew that. But he had to be back here. He had to fulfill this Quest. He 
simply looked at the dun on the hill in the distance. He thought about the 
duel... and about Camlan... Ieuan. Achilleus in all that armor... He was 
most intimidating and far faster than he had any right to be. He was a 
superior warrior. Somehow there had to be a weakness that could be 
exploited.

"I should go," he said to Scathach. "You have done everythin' you said 
you would do... and so much more. I have asked more of you than is 
right for any student to ask of a mentor. And ye have brought me here 
and taught me what ye could in that time."

He paused and shook his head.

"I must face him now... and then her... or in whatever order they choose 
to do this. I want you to know that I consider you to be one of my only 
two friends. To me that is important. These will likely be the last words I 
ever get to say to you. "

He extended his wrist to her. He knew she was likely to say something 
testy to him. He expected that from her. It was her way of saying she 
cared. If she didn't care, Ciaran knew that she would ignore him.

"Thank-you my friend... for bein' there for me."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach does not take your hand. "I already told you, boy, this is not 
just about you!"

"We are going in there together, and tracking Achilleus down together, if 
need be. I have a feeling he hasn't been sitting in that dun waiting for us. 
So let's see who is." She begins walking on, towards the queen's rath.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He looked at his extended hand and closed his eyes. He wanted to say 
something but common sense was a stronger chieftain to him now.

"Aye," he mumbled and set out after her, double stepping to catch up. 
"Do ye want me to describe the village at the base of the hill... or have 
ye been here before?"

He would walk with her wherever it was she planned to go. Even if she 
decided to take on Morrigan herself. He owed her that, and he owed it to 
her without question or comment. She would tell him whatever it was she 
felt he needed to know.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The two of you proceed to the rath. Some of the guards look familiar, but 
it's hard to tell. They have the same rough character, but their morale is 
lower.


Scathach announces both of you, and one of the warriors goes inside. 
Minutes later, he comes back out, to tell you that the Queen will see you.


You walk through the hall that you entered once before, and into the 
same throne room. And there on the throne is Rhian, as before. This 
time, you try to feel whether the Quickening is as strong as last time, but 
you have the additional complication of Scathach's presence.

"Ciaran, and Scathach," Rhian says, sounding bemused. "I certainly 
never expected to receive either of you here. To what do I owe the honor 
of this visit?"

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

This was wrong.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. He needed to think for a 
moment. Perhaps Scathach waited for him to speak. He wasn't sure. He 
looked around him and felt for the Quickening.

He didn't know what to ask. She sounded like she didn't remember why 
he was here. It had only been a week. What game was she playing 
now?

"Queen Rhian... I was here only but a week ago... I was granted an 
audience then as we were granted one this time. Surely I was not 
mistaken in my memory that badly, I was certain that audience was with 
you. I could be in error."

He kept his eyes directly focused on hers, trying to read her... to feel her 
soul.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"Of course I remember," Rhian replies, looking back at you coolly. "I 
should say, I did not expect to see YOU *again*. You were lucky to leave 
with your head, are you so eager to risk losing it again?"


"More than one of us will have to lose our head this time," Scathach 
says, with little of the politeness you showed the Queen.

"You know why we're here. Where's Achilleus? Where's the blasted 
stone?"


Rhian looks at Scathach as if in mild surprise, then slowly smiles. "So, 
brought your mentor back to retrieve what you could not, fledgling?" Her 
barb is cast at you, but her eyes remain locked on Scathach. Then she 
addresses the other woman.

"You will be unsuccessful in any event," she says. "The Stone is gone, 
with Achilleus. Gone to Rome." She laughs.

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

Rhian made her dig to hurt, but oddly Ciaran felt no sting. He smiled. He 
realized that there was much more at stake here and Rhian was as 
insignificant as he was... and she probably knew it.

He smiled after she took her shot.

"Nice one," he said with a wink.

She seemed to gloat with a deceitful and traitorous pride as she told 
Scathach and he that the Stone was on it's way to Rome.

"I've never been to Rome... I hear it's lovely. Have ye thought about livin' 
there... Probably... and recently too I'm sure. I thought you had a bit of 
roman cur in you..."

He paused for effect.

"Forgive, with Achilleus gone... You no longer have a roman in you."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Rhian laughs, showing teeth. "What a wicked wit you have," she says. 
"You must fancy your jibes more than you fancy your head."

"I will not be going to Rome. But feel free to follow Achilleus if that is 
your desire. I won't expect to see you again, and it will save me the 
trouble of taking your head myself. You won't have a sorceror to save 
your neck this time."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

"What I fancy is of no concern to you.... I wouldn't want you to betray my 
intentions to the Romans... like you have betrayed your own peoples. Or 
perhaps you gave up being a Celt a long time ago."

He locked eyes with her.

"No matter... The Stone shall be returned to it's rightful home. If not by 
my hand than there will be others. Did ye know that the Stone was part 
of the legacy of the Tuatha.... I wonder what Morrigan will think when 
she learns that ye have participated in it's theft and removal from the 
land she placed it in. I do wonder..."

He left the implications of that threat to be seen by Rhian.

<><><><><>

[GM]

"You're foolish," Rhian says, quite simply and without rancor, as if she 
were merely making an observation about the color of your tunic. "Yes, I 
have given up being a Celt. I choose to be an Immortal."

"Am I supposed to be frightened of the Morrigan? If she has a personal 
interest in the Stone, I wonder why she did not stop Achilleus herself."

She looks as if she's lost interest in both of you. "If you don't want to 
challenge me, then you may go."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

The Eiru Celt had no desire to challenge the woman. It was unlikely he 
could best her without some major loss on his part, if he could best her 
at all. And, if the Stone was here any longer then he was wasting time. 
He shook his head and looked to Scathach to see if she was interested 
in the Challenge.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach just looks at Rhian, long and cold.

"Another time," she says. "Another time, Rhian."


As the two of you march out of her throneroom, you hear the Queen 
laugh and say softly "Not for you."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He made no indication that he even heard the Queen. But when he was 
afely out of her sight and hearing he whispered to Scathach.

"Ehhh... And just what did she mean by that?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Scathach snorts. "Just trying to rattle me. I suppose she's implying I 
won't be back. But Rhian is no soothsayer or sorceress. Pay her no 
mind."

The two of you walk out of the dun, and Scathach says "I suppose now 
we must go to Londinium, and see how a couple of Celtic barbarians can 
go about finding passage to Rome."

<><><><><>

<Ciaran>

He nodded at her comment about paying no mind to Rhian, but he 
couldn't shake the feeling that there was a great deal more here that he 
wasn't being told. He didn't dare ask her because once Scathach 
decided the limit of what she wanted to say... any further nudging or 
pestering would only aggravate her... or worse.

Ciaran was sure it all tied into the fact that Scathach really didn't want to 
come on this trip to begin with. She had a Geas and it likely had a 
double edge to it. For that thought, Ciaran felt angry at himself for ever 
having gone to her. He exposed her to something that might cost her 
life.

"Aye... Then we will go to Londinium. The sooner we can get this over, 
the sooner ye get back to yer island and me to my mountain."