QUEEN MEDB'S GAME
Part I

CIARAN MAC RORY

8 A.D.

Tara, Ireland

..........

"Queen Medb says that about me," Ciaran responded as a small smile 
creased his darkened features. Perhaps there was an immortal nearby. 
Waiting... watching. He shifted his position to fight and held the blade in 
his left hand. It didn't amtter to him which hand he began the fight with, 
but left handed warriors were rare.

"Medb is a festering whore, and I am no more a sorceror than you are a 
warrior... do us both a favor, shut up and fight."

With that, Ciaran began the attack. A steady mix of rhythms to see what 
his speed and defenses were like.  The prickling sensation was 
important, but he had little choice about that just yet. One thing at a time.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The other warrior moves towards you and swings his sword in a 
blindingly-fast arc. Not expecting him to take the offensive so quickly, 
you fail to block it, and the blade sinks all the way into your shoulder, 
cutting through bone and tendon and nicking the top of your right lung.

With a slurping sound, he pulls his blade free from the massively 
hemorrhaging crevice he left in you.

"Well, I'm impressed," he says mockingly, as you stagger backwards, 
trying to stay on your feet.

He steps forward again, lunging with a thrust this time, aimed at your 
midsection. The point of his sword sinks into you, and he shoves it 
forward. You collapse backwards, and black out.

.....

When you come to, you're tied over the back of a horse. The rough gait 
of the horse bounces jarringly against your stomach, which is still sore 
from the wound that you've apparently recovered from, mostly.

"Bloody incredible," a voice a few feet away is saying, with a definite 
Connacht accent. "He really has mended....look, he's moving! The man 
really IS a sorceror!"

"Of course he is....the Queen said so," replies a hateful voice you 
remember too well, a further distance ahead. "But even sorcerors aren't 
completely immune to steel, it seems."

It's still night, and you seem to be moving through the woods...no doubt 
Tara is some distance behind you now.

<><><><><>

That had probably been the poorest display of his fighting skills to date. 
Scathach would have split him apart for the sheer hell of the 
embarassment he had caused her by fighting like that. He didn't even 
get a parry in. He was too slow...

The pain was brutal but he was alive. The way he moved was not of his 
volition and the motion hurt him as much as the healing wounds did. The 
smell of a horse... he was on a horse....

They knew he was waking. The sickening jolt from death was something 
he couldn't hide. He wasn't even sure if he did die, not that it mattered 
much. He was a captive and bound  over a horse. No doubt he was 
going to be taken to Medb for her to take his head.

The whore might not even have the decency to follow the rules and offer 
him a fighting chance. His mind told him that she would likely walk up to 
the horse and kill him permantly without a second thought for the 
traditions. After all, she was a woman....

He lay there over the horse and feigned the pain for as long as he could. 
He wanted them to think he was still out of it, and he hoped to hear 
something... anything that might give him an edge if opportunity 
presented itself. 

Through squinted eyes he studied the knots that bound him. And waited. 
And he bided his time.....

<><><><><>

[GM]

They continue riding until the edge of the sky is tinged with grey. Then 
they stop, and make camp. Apparently they plan to travel by night, rest 
by day. Connachters must be more unpopular in the west than you 
thought. They construct a barrier of branches and leaves to conceal 
their little hideout beneath a copse of trees. Not a bad job of 
camouflage, though Scathach would spot it a mile away.

The Connacht knights pull you roughly from the horse, noticing without 
comment that you're quite healed and awake, and retie you, to a tree.

The man who defeated you in that pitifully brief duel stands over you. 
"We haven't been properly introduced," he says. "I am Gann Mac 
Brianan, of Cruachain. Don't bother introducing yourself; you're Ciaran 
Mac Rory, from some insignificant hovel in Ulster. You can spare me the 
indignation and threats about what you'll do to me when you get free, 
which you won't. Now, you can either get some sleep, or you can sit 
there and stare silently at us. One of us will be awake and on guard at 
all times, and if you carry on, since we know you heal from any wound, 
you'll just get your head bashed in for your troubles. Simple enough?"

<><><><><>

Ciaran laughed at the man's tirade of do's and don't's. It wasn't insulting 
or derisive. Rather, it just seemed to be good natured humor and mirth.

"Seems that I haven't got many _good_ choices, and gettin' my head 
bashed in doesna' appeal to me right about now. Coming back from 
death isn't as pleasant or fun as ye might think. Sleep sounds good."

The saddening humor haunts him for a time longer into the evening. 
Trapped by the Connachters and heading for his death. Perhaps this 
would be a better thing for him.

He sat in the shelter of the crude camouflage and counted things for a 
time. He looked at his wakeful guard looking at him. He smiled. It 
seemed the thing to do.

He contemplated workings his bonds for a time, but the penalties for 
getting caught didn't appeal to him.

He then thought of Scathach for a time. Not the lessons or the painful 
reminders of failure, but the woman and the intimacy they shared once 
she took the chance to share her bed with him. He thought of the 
woman's red hair and fierce expression and her drive for excellence. Her 
humble beauty. The softness that was seldom shown. He smiled to 
himself.

With a shrug, he closed his eyes and leaned back against the tree to 
sleep..................

<><><><><>

[GM]

You learned from Scathach that recovering from being slain tends to put 
a certain strain on your body. You sleep deeply, despite your 
uncomfortable circumstances.

You're sitting against the tree, yet your bonds seem to have fallen away. 
It's night, but more silent than it should be- no crickets chirp, no 
nocturnal creatures stir. There is no wind, and the stars shine down from 
a stark, black sky. The Connachters all lie asleep around you.

The Morrigan is standing in your midst, holding her spear.

"Not good, boy, not good at all," she says, shaking her head. She's as 
imposing as ever, but you get the impression she's speaking with more 
clarity than the last time you met....the madness lurking in her eyes 
seems to have receded, for the moment. "This is not the way the Game 
is played." She looks around at the sleeping knights and snorts.

<><><><><>

There were many things that Ciaran wanted to do in his life. A life that 
was seemingly about to be cut short. Even that had an appeal all its own 
these days. Yet, with immortality there came the chance to do things and 
go places, a chance that mortals would seldom get. And of all the things 
that he could think of doing, seeing the Morrigan again was not one of 
them.

He shook his head as he saw the magic she worked on his captors. 
They were out cold and this he did not find himself surprised at.

He looked beyond her at the sky, and then to the sleeping guards. He 
straightened his arms and stretched his legs, then stood. When he 
spoke he met her gaze coldly and with as much calm and dignity that he 
could muster.

"I suppose that one part of me wishes to thank you, and another wishes 
that you hadn't... For she'll only hunt me again. I went to Tara to try and 
make a life for myself. Far as I could be from Medb and amont a people 
that she didn't hold sway over. And yet it follows me... Which game 
Morrigan... which Game... the game between Immortals or the private 
one between you and she? And as for how I conducted myself in this 
game. There comes a time when, I am simply outmatched... I killed 
many, and they kept coming.... I moved on... they followed and I killed 
more... finally I ran short of luck... skill, I have enough only to go so far.... 
and patience... none whatsoever.... So, If there is something you want of 
me, please let me know... I'm really tired of being tossed back and forth 
between you two... If you want at each other... than do it... If it is my 
head... take it... I haven't the skill to stop you... I couldn't even stop him," 
says as he points to Gann Mac Brianan. He shrugs and looks back to 
The Morrigan.

"I haven't even a weapon... Hell I've never even met Medb and haven't a 
clue what she really wants... except me bound and delivered to her... an 
easy quickening perhaps... I'm one man and she has an army... Sooner 
or later.... I get what Seatanta got.... dead."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Morrigan looks almost amused....albeit also rather irritated, but she 
always looks that.

"If I wanted to take your head, Ciaran, I'd have done it already, and I 
think you know that."

She points her spear at you. "Don't be in such a hurry to leave...I'm 
afraid your freedom is only for the duration of our conversation. Oh, I 
*could* set you free to go on your merry way, but such heavy-handed 
interference ill-suits me." Her eyes bore into yours. "Firstly, it was not 
your conduct in the Game I was critizing, it was Medb's. And as for being 
defeated by Gann Mac Brianan....it happens. Let it be a lesson to you- 
mortals are always dangerous. More than a few immortals have gotten 
too cocky with their skills and their experience, thinking they were gods. 
Remember a mortal can take your head off just like an immortal, they 
just don't automatically think of that solution."

She grins. "But you finally ask the right question- what do I want?" She 
leans forward, eyes boring into yours. "I want you to kill Medb. Will you 
promise to do that for me, laddie?"

<><><><><>

Ciaran said nothing for a long moment. Finally he fixed his gaze on the 
Morrigan and waited. He didn't know what he was waiting for, It just felt 
like the right thing to do.

"And I suppose it would be too much to ask that ye give me a knife to cut 
those damn ropes if Medb decides to skip a few other rules, like a fair 
fight... or somethin' equally as tedious as that. Before I promise 
anything," he said as he pursed his lips in a thoughtful expression.

"You can obviously take her head, because ye think I have a chance at 
it... And I you think I can beat her, then that means so can you, with 
ease... Now my question is... With all your power and fearsome skill, 
Why have me do it for you?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

The Morrigan waits an equal measure before replying.

"Perhaps because she cheats. Perhaps I think it would be too easy...or 
perhaps I have other reasons. Don't try to fathom my motives, boy, until 
*you've* lived a thousand-score years. Aye, I know you don't like being 
manipulated, but too damn bad. Until you know enough to do differently, 
play the Game by my rules or suffer the consequences."

She whirls around, for no apparent reason, performing a strange and 
elegant pirouette, spear whirling overhead. Lightning crackles overhead, 
breaking the eerie silence of the night-time dreamscape.

"You promise to slay Medb, and I will make you two promises. First, that 
you will only see me one more time in your life. Second, I will see to it 
that Medb does not take your head while you're trussed up like a bull."

Morrigan stops spinning, and grins at you, her teeth sharp and 
animalistic. "Many games boy, many rules. Scathach taught you to fight, 
but to take Medb, you must be a thinking warrior. But I don't LIKE 
Medb!" she hisses. You fear her brief lucidity is deteriorating...now 
Morrigan approaches the state where she may speak plainer truths, but 
is far more dangerous. "She may THINK her warriors are bringing her a 
head served up on a plate, but a whisper in her ear will make her 
change those plans!" Morrigan cackles. "But the rest is up to you. I can't 
slay Medb...YOU have to! Promise me, boy, promise me!"

<><><><><>

Enough had been said by the old woman to satisfy Ciaran. And he 
certainly didn't want to antagonize the ancient immortal.  The display of 
magical energies left Ciaran uneasy. He hated sorcery or the thought of 
it. It was unnatural to everything he had been raised to respect. He 
nodded slowly.

"I'll kill her alright," he said. "I owe that much myself now on a personal 
score... and as for your proises to me, the second will suffice as it will 
come in handy. The former is a different matter... sometimes I look 
forward to your visits, even seek them out, and I can accept the brutal 
honesty about it being too damn bad... Unless of course there is some 
dire import in the last meeting. I promise that I will take her head or lose 
mine trying...."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Morrigan nods vigorously. "Don't lose your head," she says, and 
vanishes.

You wake up, still tied to the tree, and find the Connachters still asleep- 
except the one who was supposed to be guarding you, who blinks as if 
coming out of a trance, and looks at you uneasily, looks around, and 
apparently decides whatever he though was amiss was only his 
imagination.

The rest of the day passes in boring fashion; you hear no signs of other 
people anywhere near your hiding place. As evening falls, your captors 
untie you from the tree and set you back on a horse, though this time, 
they let you sit upright, with your arms tied very tightly pinned to your 
sides, hands behind your back, and legs fastened to the sides of the 
horse. If you should slip off, you'll be dragged along beneath the horse 
with your head bouncing along the ground, but you still find this 
preferable to being slung across its back like a blanket.

With you in the center of their procession, the Connacht knights proceed 
on, towards Medb's stronghold.

<><><><><>

And Ciaran rodes along as instructed. At first he kept to himself entirely 
and made no signs of a desire to even be noticed. The privelege of 
riding on his arse was better than a humiliating and painful ride west to 
Cruachin. He was used to riding without means of holding himself 
straight on the beast. It was required training. You had to be able to 
keep your mount under you and throw a spear and hit your target. Being 
tied to the horse made staying on the animal easy... balancing on the 
top side shouldn't be difficult, he hoped.

He spent time thinking and observing. The words and advice of Morrigan 
should serve him in some way. A whisper in her ear.... I can't slay 
Medb.... be a thinking warrior... Scathach taught you to fight... Many 
games boy, many rules... and most important... never trust a woman...  

He spent time watching the escort he was provided with. His new friends 
as he chided himself . Studying them and everything they carried, 
looking for signs of his own meager possessions, namely his sword. 
Damn heavy thing like that was hard to hide.

After a time, he tried to entertain himself by watching the stars through 
the canopy of leaves and staring into the moon when they rode in open 
ground.

He would do nothing to provoke them unecessarily. It was a matter of 
time to see if the Morrigan's promises would amount to anything.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Almost immediately upon nightfall, lightning crackles overhead, and rain 
begins to fall. It becomes a miserable, unrelenting downpour, adding a 
great deal of discomfort to the ride.

The rain doesn't stop for the next three days. The knights from Connacht 
become increasingly irritable- not that your mood is improved by the 
Morrigan's gift. (Somehow, you know that she's responsible for this....the 
Morrigan is a storm-goddess also.) Once they enter Connacht, they stop 
traveling by night.

Finally you see the fortified town of Cruachain ahead, through the grey 
drizzle.

Medb's reputation in Ulster is that of an evil, tyrannical queen, who rules 
her people with an iron hand. Somehow you were expecting Connacht to 
be a land of darkness and sorrow, but the people seem as lively and 
prosperous here as anywhere else, albeit looking a bit downtrodden 
now, after three days of rain. They watch you with curiousity as the 
knights lead you to the stone circle fort that is the heart of Medb's realm.

Gann Mac Brianan turns to you, just before leading you inside, and 
speaks the first words to you beyond those of purely utilitarian function 
in two days; "Nothing personal, Ulsterman. What the Queen wants, the 
Queen gets."

Medb has interesting architectural tastes. There is more stonework here 
than you've ever seen anywhere in your life, even Tara. She must have 
had scores of masons working for years to erect this structure. The 
arches holding up the hallway you walk through are grand, and alien. 
There are actually stones paved over the earth. It seems unnatural, and 
if her aim is to intimidate visitors, she succeeds.

With Gann and his comrades behind you, and your hands still tied 
behind your back, you stride down the torchlit hallway, and see a larger, 
more brightly lit room opening ahead. And a familiar shivering passes 
over you, a shivering you know is felt by the one who waits for you 
ahead.

<><><><><>

The rain does much to make a body miserable, especially when there 
you are stuck on a horse having to ride through it. When, by choice, 
you'd rather be under a fine roof in a warm bed with a lovely lass to 
share that warm bed. Perhaps a fine mug of ale would do nicely, but no 
sense being greedy about things.

Ciaran did as much as he could to keep his mind idle and keep his wits 
sharp. he knew that he would need them soon enough, and the rain was 
a deep thing for the Morrigan. Was she using it to lessen the onlookers 
who would be viewing the prisoner. To lessen the darke Queen's 
spirits... or was it just a further demonstration of her displeasure with 
Medb and her actions.

But Ciaran wouldn't allow the rain to go unwasted. He used the 
downpour to work at his bonds to loosen and weaken their hold on him, 
while his guards were busy trying to navigate in the heavy rain and 
shield themselves. As long as he was careful not to alert them to his 
actions he thought that he just might give himself a bit of a gap in the 
knotwork. Just enough to make his own spirits rise a might bit and 
maybe give him a step towards being a thinking warrior.

Gann spoke to him for the first time in a reasonable civil tone, almost 
making Ciaran wish he had gotten to know this warrior better. The man 
had a job to do, and that job was to deliver a man to be executed. Gann 
knew this and Ciaran knew this.

Ciaran nodded and flashed a brief smile.

"Perhaps later we'll go to the bruidhean for an ale or two an I sing you a 
song... and you can tell me a tale," he replied knowing that it wasn't 
likely to happen.

He followed where he was led, the quickening rang through him and 
fired every nerve in his body. An air of expectant anticipation was ever 
so palpable now. His eyes sought ahead and to the sides ans as far 
behind him as he go look without provoking his guards into something 
rash. And thought over the words of the Morrigan again.............

<><><><><>

[GM]

You thought the stone hallway was impressive, but when it opens into 
the vast, circular throneroom at the end, you stop, awestruck in spite of 
yourself.

Queen Medb's throneroom is grand, and decadent. A circular marble (!) 
dias sits at its center, surrounded by large, round stone tables circled by 
intricately carved wooden chairs, with gems set in their backs and arms. 
The cavernous room's high, arched ceiling is supported by wooden 
beams that must have required half a forest to be cut down, and within 
this one room, Medb could probably host all the Kings and Queens in 
Ireland, and all their knights. But right now, these tables are all empty, 
the chairs all unoccupied. If you shouted out, there would surely be an 
echo.

The floor is paved with smooth stones of a dozen different colors, 
individually placed so that they form an arcane, spiral pattern, 
converging on the dias in the center. Torches are set in the wall at 
equidistant intervals, and beneath each torch stands a Connacht knight, 
armed and rigidly at attention, spear held before him and sword hanging 
at his side. Except for the slight rise and fall of their chests, the men are 
so still, they could be statues.

"G'wan," Gann whispers, prodding you forward.

Medb's throne sits alone on the marble dias. It's a high-backed chair 
made of gold, ornate and gaudy, totally unlike the plain wooden seat that 
King Conchobar sat in, which was identical to those of his knights.

The woman that sits in this huge throne seems almost dwarfed by it, but 
her presence commands the attention that her physical stature lacks. 
She sits casually, almost slouching, buried in many-colored layers of 
fine cloth the likes of which you know would be the envy of a High King's 
favorite mistress.....hues and weaves you've never seen before, not that 
you've ever paid much attention to women's fashions, but details like 
these seem to jump out at you when you may be about to die. The hem 
of her gown trails down past the foot of her throne, and hangs over the 
edge of the dias, so long she must need to gather it up in handfuls, or 
else have someone else pick it up and carry it while she walks. Two fine, 
delicate white hands emerge from her wide brocaded sleeves, resting on 
the gleaming golden arms of her throne. Filigreed bracelets hang about 
her wrists. Gold and silver chains dangle from her neck. An elaborate 
scarf wraps around her hair, forming a sort of hood, and a veil covers 
the lower half of her face, so that all you see of her is her two dark, 
shimmering eyes, watching you like a bird of prey as you walk forward. 
That, and the shadow of her lips beneath her veil. The way she dresses 
to conceal herself only heightens the beauty that you know is concealed 
beneath her gowns and scarves and jewelry and veil. Just sitting 
motionless in her throne, she presents a mysterious allure that no 
woman you've ever met could even hope to match. Her dark eyes are 
sensual, and fascinating....you find yourself lost in them, wondering how 
her lips would taste, and what feminine curves are hidden beneath her 
protective swaddling of exotic garments....

Her voice breaks the spell....whether she intended it to or not, you'll 
never know.

"Welcome to Connacht, Ciaran Mac Rory," Medb says.

Her voice is deep and sensual, entrancing, the sort of voice that could 
command men like Gann Mac Brianan to travel across Ireland to fight a 
man he's never met, or send armies out to ravage the land. Or make a 
man fall in love.

"I hope you enjoy my hospitality, for you will never leave."

<><><><><>

There was nothing that could have prepared him for what he saw before 
him. Simply an awe inspiring beauty and a work of art. And so was 
Medb's throne chamber.

There was so much detail that he couldn't hope to look at it all. So much 
time and effort went into the creation of this place. His own little keep on 
the Blackstairs was a hovel compared to this.

His looked at medb from many perspectives but the one that intrigued 
him the most was the fact that she was beautiful. More beautiful than 
any woman he had ever seen in Eire. He had wandered many places 
and seen many things in his 53 years... But never this, until now.

He knew he had made a promise, and yet somehow he knew that to try 
and destroy something so exotically beautiful would be a great crime. He 
knew she could command him to kill, and yet he had to take her head. 
He had promised. But he didn't promise when he would do it.

Then it came to him, that she would likely take his and all his fantasizing 
about her body and feminine charms would amount to nothing.

She spoke with a voice that was deeply breathy. Arrousing and powerful. 
He wanted her, and he wanted her now.....

"Aye Medb, why ever would I want to," he said in a whispering voice 
across the quiet room. "You certainly are a fair sight beyond words and 
easy on a man's eyes... What would your hospitality do for me... or 
rather... what can I do for you?"

<><><><><>

[GM]

Medb laughs, a deep, throaty laugh.

"Well.....in courtliness you are certainly an improvement on Cuculainn. 
But perhaps I prefer Cuculainn's honesty....at least he would insult me to 
my face, and not ply his silver tongue in my presence while calling 
me....what was it? Ah yes, a 'festering whore' when speaking of me to 
others."

Next to and just behind you, Gann Mac Brianan starts uneasily. 
Obviously, he's not yet had an opportunity to report your pre-battle 
taunts to Medb himself.

Medb leans forward slowly, reaching her hands up to pull away her veil 
and cowl as she does. While she scrutinizes you, you get a good look at 
her face....it's beautiful, of course. Her features are perfect, her nose 
straight and narrow, her eyes deep, deep blue, almost violet, her lips full 
and red, her cheeks high and smooth. Her complexion is fairer than 
you've ever seen. Just a few strands of raven-black hair escape from 
beneath a colorful scarf; she brushes these aside idly. She has a truly 
ageless visage. You couldn't begin to guess how old she was when she 
became immortal; definitely too womanly to be a young maiden, yet too 
vibrant and youthful to be far into her childbearing years. Next to Medb, 
Scathach would resemble a rutting sow....yet Scathach's blunt 
earthiness was never so intimidating. Medb, for all her incredible beauty, 
has a coldness about her that sends shivers down your spine.

She leans back slowly and replaces her veil. You notice that Gann was 
similarly entranced by the glimpse of his Queen's face.

"What can you do for me, Ciaran Mac Rory?" she sighs, with a murmur 
that caresses your ears. "Ideally, you could die."

The last statement is like a knife in your ribs after the sensual whisper 
that preceded it. "But you have the favor of the Morrigan, and she has 
seen fit to....remind me, of the Rules again." Medb slaps the arms of her 
throne angrily. "Those accursed Rules, which hold that it's perfectly fair 
for a thousand-year old warrior to slay a poor farmer's daughter who's 
just barely learned to hold a sword, yet to dispatch assassins that are 
sent against me by that ancient scheming BITCH, I must face you on 
YOUR terms, rather than exercise the wiles that serve me far better!"

Odd that she speaks of immortality, and the Game, so openly in front of 
her knights. But they seem unperturbed...indeed, Gann is the only one 
who so much as blinks.

"Well," Medb says, now sounding not very seductive at all, more like a 
vengeful harpy, "I have no intention of fighting you. So if I cannot slay 
you, I will certainly make sure you cannot slay me. Perhaps the day will 
come when you beg me to take your head." She laughs, in a manner 
that makes you very uneasy indeed.

<><><><><>

Ciaran smiled warmly when she recited his own words to him. There was 
no point in denying them. He had said them and he had meant them. 
She was certainly beautiful, but evil as the day is long. The Morrigan 
was no better but she had chosen to extend his life in her manipulations 
whereas Medb had no such inclinations. So, in the scheme of things as 
Ciaran saw it... his prolonged existence was best served by the Morrigan 
for the time being.

He waited for her to finish before he even spoke or tried to. This was her 
show now, she was the teller and on her turf. Her rules applied to this 
gambit, so long as they didn't conflict with those of the Game. And that 
was a spot of contention for her. 

He felt no ease of comfort for his future at her hospitality when she had 
plainly stated that she would rather he died. And making his life 
unpleasant would hardly be a difficult thing for her to manage. He 
certainly couldn't expect her to throw down and lay out with him in the 
heather just because he entertained the fanciful notion of bedding her. 
Well, he could expect it... but like many other things in his life, he would 
likely be sorely disappointed.

The thought of making sure that he can not slay her causes him some 
measure of concern. That was a rather general statement and it certainly 
didn't bode well for him when he thought of the possible outcomes of 
such prevention.

"Aye Medb... I said those things and I certainly meant them," he began. 
"I could hardly be blamed for the words when I have spent so many 
years being chased from one side of the country to another to another, 
having to kill good men whether they deserved it or not. Having to hide 
in river's and eat in darkness like a beggared old wolf, waiting at each 
village to see some sign of the formidable Connaught knights. And I am 
certainly no lackey of the Morrigan, regardless of whatever favor she 
has shown me... all I see is the constant manipulations and the games. I 
wanted no part of whatever you and she had between you... I didn't ask 
to be what I am... but I became that at Murthemney... but the both of you 
hunted me and hounded me until I could no longer run. Until I had 
nothing left to fight for or with. My tongue may be silver, and I am no 
Seatanta... that is true.... my mind is keener than his, but my honesty is 
still the same. You are a beautiful women and a Queen within her own 
hall.... what is the wrong in repect... lastly, if there is one thing that I 
have learned in the course of these few miserable years of being 
immortal... and I learned this from the three women who have made me 
what I am... I trust no one.... I do what I do because I choose to. I could 
have escaped one night but three ago, just before the rains... I had out 
of my bonds... and the guard had grown lax that night... perhaps the 
Morrigan was offering something of this favor, for it was most 
unnatural... but I had come to respect Gann... He had proven to be my 
better at Tara the night I was taken... and I'm one of the best. But I 
stayed for that reason... and I lacked the desire to run further. You would 
keep sending more men to their death to hound me... All this, when I had 
never met you, yet you held some obssessed grudge with me... You 
wouldn't have known had I some inclination to see what your side of this 
would all be. That just perhaps I was smarter than the Morrigan had 
thought me to be and that I was as tired of her as I was of you. Perhaps I 
am here to see what it is that makes you the person you are... and 
decide for myself where my interests lie... with you or her... Oh she 
thinks to know that I am hers to drag around like some raggedy wicker 
doll, but I am not without a mind of some keen strength... And if I am to 
be a pawn in this game between you, I wish to choose the side I fight 
for."


He took a breath and cast his eyes down before looking up at her again. 
His eyes as cold as death and fixed on the arrogant queen. 

"Torture me if you will, and if it pleases you. Render me incapable of 
even keeping a thought of any merit in my skull... so be it. My life has 
little value to me anyway, but I shan't throw it away... whatever there is 
of it. But there could be more in all this. Something to consider. Nothing 
more."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Medb leans on the arm of her chair and rests her chin on her hand and 
listens to you with a posture almost of bemusement. When you're 
finished, she says "Well....silver-tongued and prone to long speeches as 
well. Very good, Ciaran Mac Rory. You're a most entertaining speaker. 
Perhaps I shall keep you around for my amusement." Without the 
slightest warning, her voice is suddenly ice again. "But don't think for a 
moment your glib tongue will lull me into lowering my guard. The 
Morrigan and her little red-headed pet have been grooming assassins to 
try to slay me for longer than you can imagine.....Cuculainn was not the 
first, you will not be the last. I am still here."

She sinks back into her throne and waves her hand idly, dismissively. 
"Take him to the catacombs," she says. Gann and his men drag you 
away.

You aren't even sure what "catacombs" are. Imagining fell beasts or 
some such thing, you're surprised when Gann leads you down earthen 
steps, into a dark tunnel dug deep beneath Medb's stronghold. Shored 
up by wooden beams, you pass several diverging branches. It's another 
example of ridiculous excess....miners must have toiled for years just to 
dig a bunch of holes, like a rabbit's warren.  The thought that the Queen 
might have had something like this created solely for the imprisonment 
of captured immortals seems absurd. But what other purpose could it 
serve?

"What was that crap about having your bonds magically removed?" 
Gann demands, as you tread through darkness lit only by a small wicker 
torch carried by the knight behind Gann. "None of us ever fell asleep on 
watch! If not for the Queen's own plans for you, I'd call you out myself for 
such slander!"

<><><><><>

"Call me out if you wish Gann," he replied without looking at the man. He 
continued to go where he was led. He made no moves to resist as of yet. 
There were far too many in the places and Gann was too good to die 
quickly.

Ciaran then turned to look at him as he walked and a smile formed on 
his face. Without any sequeway he described the man who had been on 
watch the night of the Morrigan's visit. He did not mention the old 
immortal though. He explained in detail a few sleeping habits of each of 
the men........

"Consider it Gann," he said. "Ask him yourself what it felt like to have his 
eyes snap into wakefulness as if being released from a spell only to see 
me looking back at him... Otherwise, you only speak with half the tale."

<><><><><>

[GM]

Gann glares at you. The knights lead you to the lip of a dark pit, where 
they simply pitch you forward. You fall perhaps thirty feet, landing on 
soft, damp earth with a heavy thud. The side of your head goes numb 
from the impact, and your shoulder is jarred painfully and then remains a 
source of agony, as your hands are still bound and you were able to do 
nothing to attempt to brace for the fall, but you know both injuries will 
heal in plenty of time for you to start worrying about other things.

There are plenty of things to worry about. Gann and his comrades walk 
away without another word, and the tiny flickering light goes with them. 
You're left in absolute darkness, at the bottom of a pit, with your hands 
tied behind your back.

<><><><><>

And he lay there in a numbing, ringing, echoing world of sense 
deprivation. Sounds oddly obscured down in a pit. Light absent and eyes 
useless. Head in pain. Shoulder dislocated if not something worse, and 
yes it will heal, but what comes next. What other pleasures await him in 
this nightmare. 

Perhaps nothing awaits save a slipping grasp on mentaltity. Cuculhain 
wasn't the first, nor will he be the last she had told him. That was likely 
to be true.

He focused on the pain in his shoulder to ignore the pain in his head. A 
mental technique to diffuse battle injuries. His head was more serious an 
injury than his shoulder. And he needed to keep his wits about him.

Foo may never come. The sounds of sanity may forever be beyond his 
grasp. He had to learn to adapt and then overcome his surroundings. 
This was terrain and it could be beaten. He could master it....

And he lay there until the pain subsided and he knew his immortality had 
healed him. He sat up, not sure of the passage of time. It didn't matter.

The first order of business was to remove the bindings. He had worked 
them into a memory when they were wet, he needed them to be wet 
again so that he could slip them. free of his wrists.

He twisted his arms and pulled at the bindings until he knew his arms 
were raw and bloody. The blood would soak the ropes. And it would 
heal, and he would keep tearing at the ropes until the y were wet and 
thick with  it.

And the time passed as he endured the discomfort of the self inflicted 
wounds. He gritted his teeth the twisted his wrists against the bindings, 
exerting his strength to force them to remember the rain and the shape 
he pushed it into then....

And when he was satisfied with that. His own blood would lubricate the 
bindings a bit, but moreso his own hands. He slowly drew them through 
the rope so as not to place undo pressures on bindings and sinch them 
down again. His fingers grew numb with the efforts of keeping them held 
tightly to touch one another. Index and thumb touching the smallest 
fingers........

And when that failed. He would even go to the lengths to dislocate his 
own shoulders for that fraction of extra room he needed to seat himself 
through his arms, pulling his legs along with him, in a blindingly painful 
exercise in human endurance. But Scatach had taught him all about 
pain. He knew it like a friend. A companion when there he lacked any 
others. The pain was all the same, it just mattered less to him than it 
might to others.

He collected his mind again, his body healed from the contortions he 
had forced it to endure but now his wrists were before him, and he 
began to work the ropes anew. The ropes would yield to him.....

************

He sat in the darkness for a long time. It had to be a long time. He was 
down and he knew what was up. Strangely enough, the very sense of 
the world granted him that much of his senses. He stood and walked the 
limits of his confines, testing it for the number of paces that he had 
allotted to him. He felt the walls for the compositioon and consistency of 
the material that made the prison.

It hadn't been that great a fall, and thus he knew that he might climb 
from it with some ease once he knew his best approach.

As he searched, he sang a song.... some of it softly and some of it with a 
great effort to perform for his silent audience... the darkness. His own 
voice comforted him in such that he heard something echoing in the 
void.

Buachaill ón Eirne mé's bhreag-fainn cailin deas óg.
Ni iarrfain bó spre léithe tá mé féin saibhir go leor.
`S liom Corcaigh á mhéid e dhá taobh a ghleanna's Tír Eoghainn,
'S mur nathraí me beasái mé n' t-iodhr ar Chontae Mhaigheo.

Rachaidh mé `márach a dhéanamh leanna sa ghleann
Gan coite gan bád gan gráinnín brach' ar bith liom,
ach duilliúr na gcraobh mar éadaí leapa os mo chionn
`S óró sheacht m'anam déag thú's tú `féachaint tharam anall.

Buachailleacht bó, mo leo, nár chleacht mé ariamh
Ach ag imirt `s ag ól `s le hógmhná deasa fán sliabh,
Má chiall mé mo stór ní móide gur chiall mé mo chiall,
Is ní mó liom do phóg ná'n bhróg atáim a' caitheamh le bliain.

A chuisle `s a stór ná pós an seanduine liath
Ach pós an fear óg, mo leo, mura maire se ach bliain
Nó beidh tú go fóill gan ó nó mac os do chionn
A shilfeadh na deora tráthnóna nó'r maidin go trom.

And when he finished, he started again for the lack of something better 
to do. He just kept searching and feeling his way around. Learning and 
remembering.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Freeing yourself from your bonds is a long, agonizing process, but 
eventually you slip loose, by which time blood has mixed freely with the 
mud in which you're wallowing.

The dimensions of this dark pit are approximately ten paces by twelve; 
it's a fair-sized hole in the ground. The enclosure feels identical on all 
sides; soft, damp earth. Climbing the walls might be possible, but one 
difficulty immediately presents itself to you; so loose is the soil that you'll 
probably just tear chunks out of the side of the pit and go tumbling back 
to the bottom. Working your way up the earthen walls will be a slow, 
laborious and probably frustrating process; you foresee a lot of slipping 
and falling as dirt gives way beneath you, before you manage to find a 
route all the way up with hand and footholds that won't crumble under 
your weight.

As you pace, and an interminable length of time passes, another 
difficulty develops; with no light, no sound but what you produce 
yourself, and your perceptions of time and space beginning to get a bit 
hazy, you realize you're no longer sure *which* side is the one with the 
opening. You could easily pick a side, painstakingly climb to the top, and 
find only the dirt ceiling. Moving laterally may get you around the pit, or it 
may just send you falling back down, where you'll have to start all over.

Your snarling stomach and dry throat remind you that you do have a 
time limit of sorts; Scathach said that NOTHING but decapitation can kill 
you permanently, which would seem to preclude starving to death, but 
it's not a theory you'd like to test. Your literal gut instinct does tell you 
that while you might be able to endure indefinitely with a raging, empty 
stomach, hunger can probably make you so weak that climbing will 
become a near-impossibility.

This is indeed quite a terrible predicament Medb has inflicted on you, 
almost certainly not the worst she's capable of, but requiring so little 
effort on her part.

<><><><><>

The odds of surviving while doing nothing were not good. Not in the 
least concept. He had no belief that Medb would relent and feed him at 
all. He wouldn't die... permanently. But hunger followed by starvation 
would kill him repeatedly and each rebirth might just return him to a state 
just before death by starvation. It seemed a cycle of hopelessness... and 
one that would make him madder than old man Cnernu.

Thus it was resolved. He would act in some way. Futile or not. He had to 
do something. Anything. Ten paces by twelve paces... damp earth... no 
light... maybe six men deep. No sound....save for the noise he made to 
remind himself he was still alive and possessing the mind to remember 
to make sound.

He sang a few songs and thought a few things. He told a tale or two. He 
slept when he had to or wanted to. But most importantly, he climbed. He 
climbed up, fighting and falling and climbing again. And when one spot 
would not prove to offer him a way out to the opening, he would pile up a 
mound of mud beneath that spot close to the close and shape it's top 
flat, so as to tell it from any other pile when he tripped over it in the dark 
and then walk three paces around the edge with his right to the wall.

From there he would begin it again, and climb and fall and rest and 
climb and fall and heal. Then climb again.  He sang to relieve the stress 
of futility. He was a warrior. Proud and he would not act like a little girl 
and weep. Not yet.

And this would continue around the edge until he could no longer climb 
from hunger or he found what he sought. In the distant depth of his 
mind, he knew what drove him forward. He would repay Medb. She 
would die at his hands. And her head would fall and her Quickening 
would flow.

She was without any honor in that she would punish any soul in this 
fashion. This was not an imprisonment. This was a torture. A 
maddening. Thus that made her truly wicked... and the Code taught that 
he should leave her alone... But her swore to take her... and more 
importantly... she was an evil that had to be stopped. For if she was 
capable of doing these things without remorse, then what other crimes 
would she find palatable. And who would be the innocents to suffer 
them.

She would die.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Climb....slip in the soft earth and fall. Dig handholds, climb your way 
back up....feel the wall slide out from beneath you, sending you 
plummeting back down to the dark bottom of the pit. If not for your 
immortal healing power, you'd be a mass of bruises, and you must be 
caked with dirt from head to toe. Hunger and thirst grow steadily worse. 
You may have been down here for weeks....then again, it's entirely 
possible it's been only a couple of days, and your mind is stretching the 
time out.

You think you've narrowed down the proper point on which to assail the 
side of this infernal pit, and are wearily preparing yourself for your next 
assault, when you hear a noise.

Voices.

At first you think it's your imagination, but then the distant echo is joined 
with a glimmer of light in the impenetrable darkness.

Men are approaching the top of the pit. One leans over the edge, high 
overhead, his small torch blindingly bright to your light-sensitive eyes.

"Hello there, Ulsterman. Still alive, I see." The torch moves slightly, 
throwing vast shadows on the sides of the pit. "Been busy, too."

Something hisses through the air, and lands almost at your feet. A coil of 
rope.

"The Queen wants to talk to you. Do you have enough strength to hold 
onto that rope? If not, don't think we're coming down to carry you up...."

<><><><><>

The light... The sounds... they should have been welcome, but they were 
not. The course of time had distorted his percetions to its own passage 
and dulled his senses to the presence of anything but his own mind's 
attempts to entertain himself.

Weeks, years, or merely days. It didn't matter. He was wrteched to 
behold. Filthy and ragged. His own area stank of waste and urine. His 
clothes and hair were coated in mud. There was a thick layer of the filth 
that coated his skin.

Wits boy... Keep your wits....

He backed off for a moment to get a time to see what had dropped into 
his pit. His pit. His eyes teared from the blinding assault of the small light 
and he shielded them and squinted but the white spots made focusing 
difficult. 

He staggered over to the rope and took it up, checking to see if it was 
still attached to the upper level... else the rope was just a cruel joke.

He squinted up to them and suddenly knew what it was to be a gnome... 
a slave to the Fey of the Underhill. 

"I will get out," he hissed.

And he worked his way up the edge with the aid of the rope. Perhaps a 
drink.... a slight offering from these men would go a long way.... And yet 
he gathered they were not likely to offer him anything... Gathered? 
Imagined? Hallucinated..... It could all be a grand hallucination on his 
part... And he climbed with the remains of his ever weakening strength.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The Connachters help by pulling the rope up as you hold onto it. When 
you reach the top, you see that Gann is not with them, though you 
recognize a couple of the others from your trip from Tara. They have 
weapons drawn, ready to strike you down should you prove surprisingly 
resistant.

"You look like s***," one of the men says bluntly. "Well, we don't have 
any instructions for you to take a bath before seeing the Queen, so I 
guess you'll see her as is. Here." He holds out a full skin, which may 
contain water or wine, or poison, right now you couldn't care less.

<><><><><>

[GM]

The Connachters help by pulling the rope up as you hold onto it. When 
you reach the top, you see that Gann is not with them, though you 
recognize a couple of the others from your trip from Tara. They have 
weapons drawn, ready to strike you down should you prove surprisingly 
resistant.

"You look like s***," one of the men says bluntly. "Well, we don't have 
any instructions for you to take a bath before seeing the Queen, so I 
guess you'll see her as is." He gestures for you to start walking. 
"Frankly, you don't look like you need to be tied up, but give us the 
slightest bit of trouble and we'll drag you into Medb's throneroom, 
trussed like a pig."

<><><><><>

Ciaran eyed them suspiciously. But his eyesight wasn't adjusted to the 
light and he squinted and fought against the spots. Even the dimmest of 
light made them hurt. He could have been looking at three or four big 
treestumps. It took a few moments before he could focus enough to 
recognize them.

"I haven't got any fight in me right now lads... I'll go easy."

<><><><><>

[GM]

You stumble along the earthen labyrinth, and barely note your route, 
until you finally come plodding into Queen Medb's throneroom once 
again. It could be the same day you left, or even the same moment; 
Medb sits in her throne as before, veiled again, surrounded by empty 
tables and silent, motionless knights. You do notice that Gann stands 
prominently before her throne, back to his Queen, facing you. The 
knights behind you shove you roughly forward, so you fall to your knees 
in front of the tall knight who once defeated you. He looks down at you 
with something like pity, then takes a few steps back, so that Medb can 
see you- though Gann is still firmly between you and the throned queen.

"Well, I don't think you've enjoyed my hospitality much after all," Medb 
drawls, with amusement in her voice. "Poor boy.....I'll bet you'd give 
anything for a nice bath right now. Or a cool drink of water." The Queen 
raises a cup to her lips, drawing back the lower half of her veil to take a 
sip. You feel your dry throat constricting, and your mouth would water if 
there was any water left in it.

Unhurriedly, she drains the cup, wipes her lips, and replaces the veil. 
"Let's talk about Morrigan, and Scathach," Medb says. "Tell me 
everything about them....how you first encountered both of them, 
everything they've ever told you, what you learned on Scathach's 
isle....oh, do tell me *everything* about Scathach's island!"

<><><><><>

Ciaran hadn't the strength to make an attempt on the Queen's life. He 
hadn't the means to carry it out. She had made quite certain that he was 
less than human. He stumbled when pushed and fell to his knees. He 
didn't struggle against it.

Gann viewed him with pity or contempt... maybe both. He couldn't do 
anything about that either.  He merely met the man's stare with his own 
empty eyes.

She taunted him with the water. She knew he wanted it. His eyes were 
fixed on that as she raised it to her lips and drank of the sweet liquid. 
She made sure that this subtle torture would tear him apart. And she 
was right to assume he would do anything... he knew he would offer her 
anything... the bath meant nothing... but a drink... a drink of water....

Speak of the Morrigan.... for a drink of water.... The Morrigan could take 
care of herself. A drink of water and Medb might try to hunt down the 
Morrigan. He really had nothing to tell the bitch that would cause 
Morrigan any trouble.... He didn't know anything.

Sell out Scathach for a drink of water...... And suddenly there was a 
problem... a problem in his heart.... he could... he could do it... he 
wanted that water... he wanted it badly... but Scathach.... She was 
something to him... and yet... he felt she would sell him out to save her 
own life if it came to that...

But he wasn't her.... and he would lose many things... but his honor was 
not one of them. He wouldn't forsake her... for anything... She was his 
teacher... his master... and it seemed, his lord.... Medb would strip him of 
his humanity... destroy his sanity... but she would never take his 
honor....

And was this being the smart warrior.... probably not. But it was all he 
had left as he crouched like a feral animal before the taunting queen. 
She wanted him to grovel and beg and plead for her... and urinate on 
command if she so ordered.... For a drop of water, he would do all that... 
but he would not betray Scathach.

The thinking warrior........

"Achhh," he spat dryly through cracked lips and a hoarse voice. "You... 
gave me your hospitality... you gave me nothing.... I offered those things 
you wanted, and.... and you.... did this to me.... for what... to see me this 
way... look then... for you made the choice... I won't betray her..."

He fixed his stare upon her. It was the wrong choice. But he made it for 
the right reasons. He had nothing left of himself but this, and Medb 
wouldn't take it from him while he breathed air.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Medb's eyes regard you coldly for a moment.

"So....you ARE loyal to that foreign whore! You might hate me for 
imprisoning you, but merely by telling me what I wish to know, you could 
end your torment. If it's true you are not in Morrigan and Scathach's 
camp, then why hold out against me? Because I tested your resilience, 
and have made you go thirsty for a few days? Nuada endured far more!"

She leans forward, her voice beguiling. "Morrigan is an ancient crone, a 
manipulator who uses and expends heroes like you, sending them to 
their deaths pointlessly. Scathach is Morrigan's cur, a foreigner who 
came to Alba fleeing from immortals she angered in the east. She cares 
about nothing but her own survival. Neither of them would give you a 
second thought, if your positions were reversed. What do you owe 
them? Nothing!"

<><><><><>

He neither lowered his head nor averted his gaze. He wanted the water. 
He wanted it badly. He made no attempt to hide the deisre for that water. 
But he would not give her what she wanted.

"That is your price now.... for this thing.... what will it be next.... When 
you... when you want some new thing from me.... What will you take 
then... You will never free me... Cast me back in the hole till I submit yet 
another time... You hunted me like a rabbit... I... I challenged no one... 
but you came after me... and I sent men to their deaths... to be left 
alone.... I hate you and her both... for you are no better than she."

He tried to spit, but nothing issued forth, save for a hacking cough, and 
a taste of bile.

"Scathach did what she did because she had to... her price.... and you 
could have come to me with a word of peace... to talk, but you did what 
you had to... or wanted to... as you have done for however long... from 
the silver arm on down... I know not... I care not... I would not sell an 
enemy to you... I am as much a pawn to you as I am to her... And all I 
ever wanted... was to understand... but those are the rules... the weak 
get used.... I am weak... Do what you wish to do... take up a sword and 
hack me down like some wretched hound... and take my head while I am 
unable to defend myself... Have Gann do it... If you still have fear... for 
some forsaken reason I can't fathom... Or throw me back in the hole to 
die a thousand times.... Scathach is all I have left... you can't have it...."

And the coughing consumed until he tasted bile and blood.

<><><><><>

[GM]

Medb snorts in disgust. "Men! The things you'll kill for, and the things 
you'll die for....and they say women are irrational." She shakes her head. 
"No, I will never free you....but if you cooperate, your life may be made 
considerably more pleasant."

She waves a hand. "Your self-pity and your stubborness is tiresome. 
Throw him back in the pit. And this time chain a rock to him, to 
discourage his climbing attempts. Oh, make sure to fasten it around his 
neck.....else he's liable to gnaw off his hand or foot, like a trapped wolf."

The knights drag you away. This time they take you down a different 
corridor, and actually lead you outside, where the sunlight blinds 
you...yet the sight of the sun lifts your spirits, briefly. None of the men 
talk to you.

Across a short courtyard, they take you to a blacksmith, who goes about 
shaping an iron bar that will fit around your neck. To this he attaches a 
chain.

The warriors lead you back into the main structure, one of them holding 
your chain like a leash. As you reenter the dark halls of Queen Medb's 
stronghold, you feel a rush of energy and a buzz in your head, alerting 
you to another immortal. You look around for Medb, wondering if she's 
come to offer another bargain, or perhaps just more taunts.

What you see, as the knights drag you back down an all-too-familiar 
corridor that you now know leads to the earthen stairs descending into 
the labyrinth, is a girl, pressed against a stone column set at the corner 
of the intersecting hallway, mostly hidden behind it.

She's very pretty, and very young, and watches you and your captors 
with wide eyes. When she sees that you've turned to look in her 
direction, her crystalline blue eyes widen further, and she covers her 
mouth with a fine white hand, to suppress a startled gasp. She 
immediately ducks completely behind the stonework, out of sight.

You proceed down the corridor, and make a turn, and continue on. And 
you feel the buzz of the other immortal's presence for long enough to 
know that she (if the girl was indeed the immortal you sensed) must be 
following you, though you can't hear her, and the men with you don't 
seem to notice anyone behind them. However, before you reach the 
dark hole that is your prison, the sensation fades.

When you reach that hated hole, you see that at some point, one of the 
knights picked up a large, heavy rock, which he must have been 
straining to carry all this way. A metal ring is set into it. Crude but 
effective, and it would certainly have taken some work to fashion, so 
Medb must have had this prepared before she even brought you out of 
the pit.

The knights fasten the other end of your chain to the ring in the rock, 
one of them smashing the open link closed with a mallet. Without any 
more words, they toss you and the rock both into the pit.

You don't land as badly this time, since you have your arms free to help 
break your fall, but the impact is still painful and bruising. Having the 
rock land on you, or vice versa, was a much greater concern, but it only 
slams into the earth with a heavy thud a foot from your head.

The knights walk away, the light of their torch receding with them, 
leaving you in darkness once again.

<><><><><>

And in darkness he lay for a time. Remembering the flash of blinding 
sunlight and the warmth on his filthy body. Soon enough the memory 
would be gone, and he and his rock would be left in the shadow of a 
memory. In the reality of the hole.

A time passed and he rolled himself over to crawl towards the wall that 
held the passage out of here. He knew where it was, fior he had just 
fallen. He made a few scrabbling feet of distance in the filth of mud and 
excrement and the chain pulled him back over to face upwards into the 
dark. He gasped for air as he fought at the collar to breathe normally. IN 
a rush of rage he dragged the rock to him, and when it wouldn't come, 
he rested to catch his breath. And dragged again. He dragged the thing 
until he felt the wall press up against his back. And it was time to rest 
again. 

Tears. He couldn't be sure. He wanted water. He wanted freedom. He 
wanted to do anything for it... almost anything. But in reality, he knew his 
heart would never let him yield to Medb. And he cried, not knowing if any 
tears came.

With this rest of an unknown time, he took to building another mound. 
He didn't even know if if any of his mounds from before were still around. 
He made this mound bigger than any before. At least he thought he did. 
He couldn't be sure.

The whore had taunted him with that water, and the rock... he was 
coming back here no matter what. He could have said anything or 
nothing and it wouln't have mattered. But he would never know that. She 
might have thrown him back, but after a drink. Maybe. For what price... 
to tell Medb how to reach Scathach's island... Scathach would 
understand. It would be the thing a thinking warrior would have done... 
Would it? Wouldn't it?Scathach would have told her of his home on 
Blackstairs... She would... Wouldn't she? Yes... Maybe.... For a cupful of 
water... a ladle of it.... anything.

And rage grabbed him harshly and he howled. She chained him like an 
animal. He was an animal. And he howled. And howled. And rattled the 
chain. The foulness of his innards filled his mouth And he howled until 
he could issue no more sounds and he passed out.

<><><><><>

[GM]

You don't know how much time passes this time. You know your sanity 
can't last much longer, unless you find something to occupy your mind. 
You already feel like a half-human thing. You don't know how immortality 
works, when it comes to thirst and starvation....will you die, and come 
back, and die, over and over again, or will your immortality keep you 
alive, at the very threshold of dying, forever?

At long last, you see flickering torchlight in the distance once 
again.....Medb's men coming for you a second time, to bring you before 
the Dark Queen for another inquisition.

Only when you actually see the flames burning, high overhead, do you 
also sense the prickling at the nape of your neck, telling you that it's an 
immortal up there holding the small torch.

<><><><><>

Once the hound caught the rabbit and the rabbit aquealed... and the 
hound laughed. The hound rolled the rabbit over. It hurt the rabbit. And 
the rabbit cried, but the hound only laughed for it didn't care that it hurt 
the rabbit. It always hurt rabbits. It was what it did. It was fun. But the 
rabbit didn't think it was fun. The only laughed and tied him to a stone 
and put him back in his hole. With his stone.

The placement of a stone so that it's surface and edge match evenly 
with that of another's edge, Braaced with timbers for support, and they 
then are joined with a paste mortar of mud and stone chipping and 
powder and water.....

Water..... there might be water in the mud... yes mud was earth and 
water, and there was water in blood. There was blood in mud as well...

The rabbit had bled....... and the rabbit cried again.

He couldn't stop the run of thoughts. They haunted him. and then there 
was the light... and the Quickening. All this insanity for the Quickening.

No, he felt the Quickening and he dragged his mind from a dark corner 
where it hid. He summoned forth his senses to face the pain and hunger 
and thirst and fear.

"Come to gloat... Medb, whore spawned of whore.... come then... come 
down and gloat... stay there and gloat... I don't care anymore... down or 
up... laugh... torment me more... take my F*****' head... give me another 
rock to keep me company... this... one... doesn't say much 
anymore.......... I WANT OUT...... i want..... i want.... I WANT TO 
DIE.............."

He was wracked by his dry sobs and a pain. His screams, issued forth 
as loudly as he could make them sound, didn't amount to much 
anymore.

He didn't know if he was on his knees or not. He didn't care. and he 
whispered to himself or to her.... or to anyone who cared to listen.

"You've made me an animal... You win... I am nothing..."

<><><><><>

>Caitlyn<

"Oh."

The small pale face of a young girl peered over the edge of the hole, 
long dark hair falling about her face. "But ... I can't let you out. You are 
the Queen's prisoner."

The pretty face wrinkled a bit as the stench came to her from the depth 
of the pit. "Haven't they let you have a bath?" She planted the small 
torch in the ground and knelt so she could look down at him.

"You're one too, aren't you? Like the Queen? Like me?"  

She stared down at him, her blue eyes so wide and clear that he could 
see their color, even in the darkness of the pit. She was young, sixteen 
or seventeen, and pretty as only girls that young can be. Her skin was 
pale, creamy and smooth, her lips dark rose and soft.  The wings of her 
dark brow and the soft thick lashes contrasted with the pale skin.  She 
was dressed in something blue, something soft,  which showed the soft 
curve at the top of her breasts and her long slender neck.

She look at him for a long moment.  "You don't look dangerous.  She 
said you were very dangerous. But you didn't look dangerous before and 
you don't now."

She looked curious ... and just a little frightened.

<><><><><>

Madness must have finally set in. The world come crashing upon him. 
The hound and the rabbit and the stones and the blood and water..... 
water..... and this light and the woman... What game now... what twisted 
torture had Medb dreamed for him now?

"Aye Medb... play your game," he said thickly through his swollen and 
cracked lips. He leaned back against the wall of his home and stared 
upwards. He saw the light, or rather the blinding white spot that 
obscurewd his vision. The woman that Medb portrayed was like a 
delicate flower. Soft and beautiful, but he could barely see her leaning 
over to look at him. So cruel this Dark Queen was. His voice was raspy 
and hoarse and he didn't even know if he made any sounds at all. His 
mind played tricks on him and this might just be one as well. 

"I will play along, for I am mad now, and without reason to guide me, I 
can't find a thought not to talk to you.... How can I be dangerous... I have 
had no food... no water... no anything... since first you brought me here... 
mind you now, you know this... you made sure I would die again and 
again... Dangerous... Yes, maybe once... Not dangerous enough, to 
defend myself from the men you kept sending across Eire to find me 
everywhere I hid... but I wanted to be left alone... and you know that 
too... you hunted me down... put me in this hole because I didn't bow 
down to you... I... am... am tired... very tired....put...  put a rock on a 
chain and tie it to my neck... and now you taunt me from the edge... I 
don't understand your game... I have only one friend... and you can't 
have her... she's not even my friend really... but you still can't have 
her..."

He looked away from the light, as his neck hurt, and hurt reminded him 
he was alive. For now he was. 

"I am immortal Medb... You are immortal... Scathach is too... and the 
Morrigan and countless others  too... And if this is the life we can hope 
to live, to prey upon the weaker ones, then I want nothing of it.... I'm a 
person... I think... I feel... I want... I once loved and laughed... and 
danced... and loved... I said that... I was proud... a warrior of my 
people... and now you chain me like an animal because... you are evil... 
Medb... because you can... You can rule my life with a word and a 
wave... Men lost their lives at my sword, because you commanded them 
to die... I never even met you before this... I... I... You don't care... You 
want what you want... and I matter nothing to that... Your turn... drink 
some water for me... make me cry again... Whatever."

He sat quiet and above him the light burned on and the quickening 
continued to haunt him. She was close... too close.

<><><><><>

>Caitlyn<

She stared down at the man who called her Medb.

"Shhh...shhh... I ... I don't know if I can get you water or food. It wasn't 
easy to get here at all..."

A tiny smile passed over her lips and a tiny not-quite giggle. "I would 
have to wait until Calum is on duty again ... he helped me to sneak in." 
Her voice was soft, so soft, but the giggle has a throaty sound, like a 
child playing at being an adult.

And then she just knelt there, listening to him, listening to the names he 
called the queen, listening to him describe the calumnies that had been 
heaped upon him ... and said words that she needed to hear.

"Countless others? She told me there were some ... but countless 
others?  You know that for a fact?"  She leaned forward, the light behind 
her, as she stared down into the darkness of his pit.

<><><><><>

"Aye... countless... Medb... what de ye want of me... ye know this 
already. I'll not betray Scathach for yer water... and teasin' me wit' it isna' 
gonna do anything more than ye've done to me already."

He paused for a moment. 

*A thinkin' warrior.... make some use of this game ye mad fool.*

"I can tell you only what I was told.... countless numbers.... some die, 
some survive... new ones borns... not often... but a great empire to the 
east... there are immortals there... some ancient and born before this 
empire... even further east... more of us... to the west and north and 
south... no doubt... I havena' been there... to any of these places... I 
can't even hide in Eire... and in a place this small... there are two of us 
now medb... You had Cuculhain killed... that was three... the Morrigan 
roams... four.... Scathach in Alba.... another. She told me of immortals in 
the great empire... and there are great barbarian tribes... more 
immortals... You'll probably want me to tell you about them too... or else 
you won't let me up... I've been thinkin' Medb... you've pushed me this 
far... this game of shapechange is good... You and the Morrigan are a 
pair... you know... I figure I can drink my own blood... to keep me alive.... 
maybe even get strong again... who knows... You've probably already 
figgered that one out though, and ye'll have me gagged... What do ye 
think, aye?"

<><><><><>

>Caitlyn<

"But I'm not the queen." Her voice was plaintive.

"She's the only other one I've met ... 'til you. I really wanted to get a 
chance to meet someone else..."

Her voice trailed off. "Maybe she was right to tell me I couldn't see you. 
She usually is right."

Caitlyn rose to her feet, brushing the dirt from her skirt. "I'll go ... and I 
won't bother you again. I just wanted... never mind."

She bent to pick up the torch, pulling it out of the mud and she turned to 
go back the way she had come.

<><><><><>

There was much more to this than he imagined. But he imagined much 
these days, or weeks or hours... he wasn't sure. This woman wasn't 
Medb, she said. But she worked with Medb. Insidious.

But it was the only thing that kept him outside his own mind in thought. 
He couldn't let her leave him... not yet. He didn't trust this new gambit of 
Medb to show him another immortal. One that was free. Or freer than he 
was.

"Wait," he rasped and was wracked by a fit of dry coughing that 
becames a gag reflex heaving. "Wait... please," he called again hoping 
she would be inclined to torture him some more. As tortures went... this 
one was certainly better than no one to talk to.

"I don't... I don't know your name.... Ciaran... I'm Ciaran," he said. He 
waited and hoped she would speak.

<><><><><>

>Caitlyn<

She started away, taking the soft light with her, but he called out.

And she hesitated, going no further, standing there at the edge of the 
pit.

Then very softly, she spoke, leaning over the edge to look at him. "I'm 
Caitlyn ... and I'll come back." She stood still, the light from the torch 
shining all around her.

"I don't know how ... but I'll come back."

And then she was gone.

<><><><><>

And the darkness descended. The quiet. His heartbeat. His breathing. 
He was alone again. She had said she would be back. probably a lie, 
but a faniciful one for him to conjure thoughts by. It was probably just the 
snare of Medb's latest foray into her attempts to humor herself and 
humiliate him into insanity.

But, he had something to think on, focus on, and relive. Some new 
thoughts and sounds and smells. The sounds and the smells... they 
were the most important to him. They were the senses he used the most 
in the darkness.... but there was never anything new, until now.

And for the first time in a long time... he sang. It was a jibberish song 
that he hacked together from many different songs that he only knew bits 
and pieces to anyway. He didn't know if he sang outloud or only in his 
mind. It didn't matter. He sounded pretty good, and that told him it was in 
his mind, or he was insane and like his voice this way.

She would be back. 

<><><><><>

[GM]

Singing sustains you....though your throat is so dry that your singing 
consists of rasping croaks.

The thought of Caitlyn provides a surprising amount of focus, too. The 
glimpse of soft feminine features, the gentle slope of her neck, the white 
crescents of her breasts, peeking above her bodice....her sweet, young 
voice.

Exactly the sort of torture Medb would dangle in front of you, to add to 
your suffering.

Is it possible the girl isn't a part of Medb's schemes....that she really did 
sneak down here without the Queen's knowledge?

You don't know. You can't know. One thing you DO know, however, is 
that whether or not Caitlyn is another of Medb's evil tricks, you hope to 
see her again, look forward to it.

You become weaker and weaker. You no longer think of digging, or 
climbing, or struggling. You just lie down in the mud and shiver.

Singing, and Caitlyn, and Medb....and Scathach....and 
Caitlyn.....Morrigan.....immortal women, the bane of your existence. 
Holding each of them in turn, before your mind's eye, keeps you from 
slipping back into madness. Scathach, lusty and fierce, Morrigan, 
enigmatic and terrifying, Medb, beautiful and evil, and Caitlyn....what 
role will she take in your mind?

You wait for her to come back.

And she does.

You can barely lift your head, but your dull eyes perceive light flickering 
high above, and the Quickening stirs in your senses, as strong as ever.

<><><><><>

>Caitlyn<

The torch is once again planted in the earth at the top of the hole and 
she leans forward looking down at him.

"I came back."

Her face shows distress at seeing him unmoving. "Ciaran? ... Ciaran!!?"  
Her voice is still low as if she does not want to be overheard, but it rises 
as she calls his name, fear pushing the tone higher.

<><><><><>

"Aye...... I know you.... you're there.... little one," he croaked. And he 
paused and rested. There was no strength. A gnawing hunger and a 
thirst that was unending. His lips were painful to move. So cold. So tired. 
His vision swims and he couldn't even focus. Dizziness, but he had not 
moved. Death by starvation.

"Caitlyn..... little one...."

He exhales deeply because he can't form the words and he can't hold 
the breath. The mud that was his home was cold to him, or was he just 
cold despite anything else. A stupid thought. Cold was cold.

"You are... true to your word..... and... and.... I have... thought of little... 
else but you... but I'm dying and it just goes on... Death Cait...."

He gagged himself on his own words and his body is wracked in the pain 
of the exertion that is beyond his control.

"I havna' the strength... to even look at ya... I just want to lie here and 
sleep... die... Aye a death and I canna even be proud... no dignity for a 
body to die like this... and.... I'm sorry... I should be .... be... a... better 
host.... and How are you?"

He closed his eyes and fell silent then.

<><><><><>

>Caitlyn<

"But you *can't* die... you're immortal ... please ... " She looked down, 
leaning so far over the edge. "I ... I brought you water and food ... and I 
came back ... please... you can't die."

Caitlyn tossed something over the edge of the pit and it landed near him 
with a soft sound. "There's bread and cheese and some cold roast boar 
in that ... It's only a bit of sheet, but I thought it might be good to wipe 
your face." Her voice was soft still, but there was a sound of tears, as if 
her throat were tight.

"Please, Ciaran, please ... you can't die. I've got water too. 'Tis only a 
small water bag, but I had to hide everything under my skirts or they 
wouldn't have let me bring it." She dropped the bag with a gentle toss 
and she heard it land with a wet plop.

"You aren't really going to die, are you?"

<><><><><>

She was met with silence for a long moment. He heard her plaintive 
callings. They invaded his mind. A thick fog clouded his senses, but her 
voice broke into the tiny cell that had become his sanity.

So tired. Cold. She said.... water.... that noise... what noise... no 
noises... her voice... something fell... close... something else... in the 
mud...

He lay over to his side sliding down the wall. He struggled to find a bit of 
energy to reach for the something. His vision was murky and his head 
was fuzzy and hurt like a dull throbbing headache had gripped him for 
days.

"Aye lass........"

Though he was silent, he couldn't keep from making noise as he lay in 
the mud and reached for the nearest something.

 "You're a gift... a gift... from Danu.. Your voice lady."

He paused to lick his cracked and sore lips with his thickly swollen and 
dry tongue. Some reflex that obviously only caused him further pain as 
his tongue met with the raw flesh of his mouth.

If she were to really see him now. She would run from him... a hideous 
sight... he had no doubt. He had seen dead bodies after the weather had 
had at them. He was as close to a dead body as he imagined he could 
get.

"Tell me a story... a quick story... I... I know... know you have... to go.. 
but... anything to... tell myself while I wish for you to come... again."

His hand touched something and he clawed feebly at it, trying 
desparately to gain a purchase to drag it to him. This wondrous woman 
had given him a new hope... a small one, and likely only to prolong an 
agony he would endure forever... but it was a glimmer and he would take 
ever sparkle he could get.

Slowly and agonizing inch by inch, he pulled the first something to him. 
His fingers couldn't distinguish what the surface felt like. Could have 
been cloth... or a skin bladder.

He drew it to him and shielded it with his body. It was his... it didn't 
matter what it was. He owned something again. Anything. And the other 
something was his too.

It was soft under the pressure of his heavy and near useless hands. He 
felt the thing to learn its shape. A vague outline in a flickering torchlight 
taunted his poor eyesight.

Finally he had to conclude it was a water skin. He lacked the mental 
accuity to imagine it to be anything else. And he rested to paw at the 
leather tie that bound the precious liquid inside. He rested and listened 
to Caitlyn. Little by little he worked the tie as he cradled it in his lap. 
Every effort excruciating on his joints and his depleted muscles. There 
was no dexterity in his hands anymore. Hnads that had once weilded a 
sword and a spear, and could hurl a knife... set snares and build fires. 
Hands that once carressed the delicate flesh of a woman's breast. Now 
he was lucky to find his own member with them, not that it mattered 
anyway... he urinated where he sat most of the time. And even that had 
been some time back... or had it...

<><><><><>

>Caitlyn<

She straightened her skirts as she swung her legs over the edge of the 
pit, sitting on the edge swinging her legs.

"You really frightened me, you know." Her heels kicked lightly against 
the wall, and from the sound, the top of the hole was much dryer than 
the bottom. "I don't know what kind of story to tell. I know ... I'm 
supposed to get better at just talking and I practice really hard. Queen 
Medb says sometimes she doesn't know why she decided to keep me 
instead of taking my head, but I guess it's because I look just a little like 
her ... oh, not nearly as beautiful or anything, but she can pass me off as 
her relation and no one thinks it odd." Her voice came in a continuous, 
gentle stream ... rather at odds with her saying that she's not good at 
talking.

"Have you found the water? It's from the Lady's well and the water is 
clear and as cold as a mountain stream in winter. It won't be quite as 
cold now, but it should still be good." She paused. "Oh!  Do you think 
that you'll be able to bury that skin when you're finished? If you can't, I 
understand, but I don't think the Queen would be happy if she found out 
that I had been..."

She giggled, the sound edged with fear. "Actually, she'd be furious and I 
really really try not to make her mad." Her voice dropped lower, 
confiding to him. "She has a rare temper, enough to make grown men 
tremble. I've seen Gann
.. he's her favorite ... actually turn white with fear in her presence--"

Caitlyn stopped as if she were telling tales she shouldn't. "Ciaran ... are 
you still there? Are you still awake?"

<><><><><>

"I'm here lass," he mumbled as he untied the bladder. The wetness that 
met his fingers was a promise of what was to come. He shook. 
Anticipation. Weakness. 

Carefully he lifted the bladder to his raw mouth. His tongue was so thick 
and swollen that the words he spoke were slurred and he didn't know 
whether he would be able to swallow or not. He knew he shouldn't drink 
more than would wet the inside of his mouth, but he couldn't help it. He 
wanted it so badly. He needed it.

He gulped quickly and wretched almost immediately as his body rebelled 
against the flood of liquid. His spit up the water and then heaved 
emptiness. It took every bit of his reserve to keep from dropping his 
water, and as it was some did spill in his fit of heaves.

"Caitlyn... sweet thing... You are a kind... kind soul... I will protect this 
stuff... bury it... Don't lose... yer head... Yer story... is a... a good one... I 
want to hear more... stay as long as ye can...but... no more... ye needs... 
must mind Medb... and her temper... She's evil... be careful love......."

He fell silent again as he concentrated on his bladder of water. Slowly 
raising it to his lips. Puckering to meet it and the precious water inside. 
His thick tongue poking forward to gap the opening and control the flow. 
Just a nip. A tiny bit... just enough to wet his mouth again.

The food would come next.

<><><><><>

>Caitlyn<

"Oh, I don't think she's evil, Ciaran." She peered down into the darkness 
trying to see him. "If she were evil, she would have taken my head, 
wouldn't she? And even that isn't evil ... she told me that taking heads is 
part of what we do, but we don't have to do it, and if you're very smart, 
and never ever let your guard down, you don't have to lose your head."

Her voice slowed. "Is that right, Ciaran? Is she telling me the truth? I 
believe her, but ... but I'm not sure of what she's doing here."

Caitlyn grew silent, the only sound she made as she listened to him try 
to drink was a soft thudding of her heels against the wall of the pit. "I 
was watching, you know, when she talked to you. The women she asked 
you about? Are you in love with them?" In almost a whisper, she added, 
"I was in love once."

<><><><><>

A drop. A tiny drop. And relax.

The food. A monumental task ahead of him to get the food. But maybe 
he could ration it and make it last. He was so hungery though... maybe 
he couldn't.

And there was the sweet slip of a lass who delivered these things to him. 
She talked to him and heard every word as he savored every drop of 
water, like they were the last he would taste or hear.

"Caitlyn...I canna tell ya what to think... Medb is... evil... You may...think 
diff... diff'rently... but no one does... does this to any... anyone... it is 
evil..."

And another sip of water and he labored to tie his water bag and set it 
aside as he spoke to her. It was painful to do, but he had to. He needed 
this girl... and in his own way, he used her to help him... But in some 
way, she was using him too. She needed something herself.

"Love... I loved one of them... never in love... The Morri... Morrigan... she 
is as twisted as Medb I think... and maybe not evil... but what she lacks 
in evil.... she has in madness... Scathach... She is like me... trying to 
survive and... and being used by those... with power. She taught me to... 
survive... and the rules... there are rules Caitlyn... do ye know the rules... 
Maybe... Medb has a respons... responsibility.... to teach the rules... if 
she isn't evil... Love Scathach.... Hah..." 

And he coughed a bit. 

"The woman wouldn't let me... and there... were days that... I didn't even 
like her... but we shared a bed... and I respect her... more than anyone... 
I know.... ever...She is all I have left... and I would never... betray a 
friend... If you had love... that is good... you are luckier than me..."

His fingers touched the other something... the food that was wrapped in 
cloth... his food.... her gift... he had felt around in the mud for a long 
while before even getting a touch of it.

He was silent again while he concentrated on the gathering of his will to 
get the gift. She would talk next, if she had the time.

<><><><><>

>Caitlyn<

Her voice is slow, hesitant. "I don't think she *wants* to do this to you. 
She thinks you'll take her head if you are free." The uncertainty was 
there, however faint. "She says this is not as bad as if she actually killed 
you."

There was relief in her tones when the subject changed. "Oh, I know 
there are rules! No fighting on holy grounds. See?!" Caitlyn sounded 
almost like a child reciting the lessons she had been taught.

"Oh ... you shared a bed." Was it embarrassment in her voice? "He died. 
We were going to be joined ... my father arranged before *he* died and I 
was so happy."

She stopped. "I think I should probably go now."

Wistfully, "Do you mind if I come back again?"

<><><><><>

"Doesn't want to do this... doesn't want to," he said darkly in his guttural 
raspy voice. "Then why... No.. she wants to," he finishes as she speaks. 
His comments were more for himself, then for her. She had some bond 
with Medb, and breaking it wouldn't be easy. He hadn't the mental 
accuity to argue his case. Time would tell.

He used what concentration he had to listen to Caitlyn and to open his 
second package.

"Far worse... than killing me... this is... inhuman... it is... torture... she 
enjoys it."

The package opened and he held the contents in his lap. He looked at 
the food for a time, and though it wasn't much, it was a king's feast to 
him right now.

He had to reteach himself to eat properly. And he picked the first morsel 
of the gift up and carefully put it into his mouth. It hurt to open his jaws to 
eat the food. And hurt more to close them again. He hadn't even begun 
to chew yet.

Caitlyn was a blessed kind soul and he promised himself to find a way to 
repay her this gesture. 

"I'm sorry for you," he offered as he tried to look up to her, sitting above 
him with her feet hanging over the edge. "I know what... it is to lose 
someone... I lost everyone... the day I died."

He tried to chew a bit and swallow. The burning pain that accompanied 
most every effort he had made to get the food and water paled in 
comparison to the flash of intensity and lightning that tore through him 
as his swollen and raw throat felt the food niblet pass through it. 
Blinding. And he had toi rest again and collect himself to let it subside.

"Aye," he finally said. "You... should... should go... and yes... please 
come back... talk some more... I.. I like you Cait...."

he trailed off to let his throat rest and he closed his eyes. Water. Some 
more water... another sip. Just a small one. Cool the pain. 

<><><><><>

"I died the day I lost everyone."  Her voice was so soft. Were the words 
even meant for him?

She tucked her feet up and then stood. "You won't forget to bury the 
skin, will you? Please? 'Cause if she finds it, she'll be able to tell it came 
from me. She can do that and she'd be really angry with me."

She took the light up. "I have to take the torch, you know... I'm sorry 
because I know the dark must be awful. I hate the dark."

She started away.

"Goodbye, Ciaran."

And then just before the light was completely gone. "I like you too."

<><><><><>

He sipped gingerly at his water. Hording his gifts before him like a 
greedy child unwilling to share, but uncertain of what to play with next. 
There was just so much. A tiny sip of water. And another crumb of food. 
The lancing pain, just perceptibly softer, still ripped through him with 
each and every swallowing motion.

"Aye lass... all buried... all."

And as the light faded and he found himself in the darkness again he 
muttered to no one in particular.

"I'll be here."