Ciaran Mac Rory PAX BRITANNIA Ciaran returned to his mountain home on Blackstairs. From there he wandered about Eiru. He avoided places that were too populated. He wasn't inclined to know whether or not the Connaughter's version of what had happened with Medb and Gann had spread around the island. He refined his own talents at storytelling over the following years and kept himself moving. He would frequent a lace for a time and then not return again until another generation had passed. He would sometimes seek out travelling bands of warriors who bartered their blades for a place to sleep and food to eat. He knew he had to keep his skills sharp, for he could never tell when another immortal would challenge him. And the Morrigan was always a thought that was never far from his mind. And in his time at his home he practiced his skills and kept himself in shape and continued to work on his shabby little dwelling that had taken him years to build by hand. <><><><><> [GM] Wandering suits you; eventually the agony in your soul fades, as you knew it would. It never disappears, of course, and Caitlyn still haunts your dreams from time to time (and you know she will forever, because in a sense, she is now a part of you, her Quickening mingled with yours.) A bard, a mercenary, sometimes even a fisherman or a farmer, these things give you short-term tasks to accomplish, but while there is a certain amount of satisfaction to be had in doing any job, as the years stretch on, you realize that it's different for someone who never ages. People change, they grow, for better or for worse they are altered by their day-to-day experiences, but you could spend a hundred generations farming, or fishing, or storytelling, or fighting, and aside from becoming a very, very good farmer, fisher, storyteller or fighter, you would be exactly the same man you were a hundred generations ago. Because every day does bring change, to mortals, however slight, but for you, one day or a hundred days may as well be the same. You can never plan to have a family; any women you associate with are at best short-term romances. (You could marry, but could you stand to watch a woman you care for wither and die? While being tied down by her, so that she and her kin will see that you do not grow older? Either that or drag her around Eire with you, never being able to settle in one place for too long. No, it's no life for a mortal woman.) You can never settle in one place, with other people, and become a part of it, because eventually you would be recognized as someone with fey blood, or worse, a sorceror. Medb hid her immortality in plain sight, by allowing rumors of her sorcerous nature to spread. It just made her seem that much more formidable, and so no one ever really thought about just how long she had been on the throne. Scathach seems to like solitude, being far less sociable than you. But what do you DO? What gives your endless life purpose? For a while, you know that Scathach ran a school for warriors; Cuculainn was her last student, until you. Before that, you aren't sure how she occupied her time, but you do know she came to these isles from the continent, long ago. Medb had a kingdom to rule, which certainly presented her with plenty of challenges, and things to occupy her time. You are beginning to realize that there are other hazards to immortality, besides headhunters. You need something to drive you through the long years, or you will stagnate. How hard it must be for the Morrigan, who is probably old enough to have done just about everything for many lifetimes. These thoughts have begun to stir in your mind. Changing your occupation now and then, moving on to a new place, and periodically returning to the Blackstairs, to enlarge and enhance your mountain retreat, little by little, keeps you from becoming bored, but you know eventually you will have to find a purpose in life or even this continual sequence of changes will become routine, a set pattern stretched over years of time, still fixing you in place like a well-worn trail through the woods. In the past thirty-seven years, you have not met a single other immortal. Morrigan and Medb did a pretty good job of depleting Eire of its immortal population, over the last couple of centuries. Who knows, new ones might be a'borning this very moment, but thirty-seven years is not such a long time, for your kind. You may not meet any younger immortals in Eire for generations yet. And Morrigan has kept her word; aside from the ever-present ravens which could always be Morrigan, or not, she has not made her presence known to you since Medb's death. Your solitude ends much as it did last time, while you are back at your retreat, adding a wall that will never be needed but still adds a formidable touch to your miniature fortress. The arrival of a visitor is announced by the buzz in your head, which you have not felt in so long that it's almost unfamiliar. Though you don't know it, the year is 45 Anna Domina. <><><><><> The holy place that he had taken up residence offered him a sort of peace of mind. The sense of comfort that touched upon his own Quickening had become almost second nature. Some days it reminded him of peace and on other days, it told him of just how dangerous his life was. And it always reminded him of the Game. Every year, by the remembrance of the seasons and his small stone that he set to watch the stars in the sky, Ciaran held a small memeorial for Caitlyn. He stood among the two standing stones and spoke with her in his heart. He told her of the things he had done and had seen in the past year. He spoke to her often in his personal and quiet times, but this particular day held significance for him and he vowed to remember her on this day for as long as he lived. On the day that the immortal showed up, Ciaran was busy with his new wall and practicing a song he had heard in Benn Etair on the eastern coast not far from his own home. The Quickening caught him off guard and he froze for a moment. He cursed himself for not being prepared. But this was holy ground. Never- the-less he withdrew inside and picked up his sword and returned to meet his unexpected guest at arch gate that led to the only trail downward the mountain. And he waited. <><><><><> [GM] You don't see anyone, when you come out to the gate and wait, though you know your guest is still in the vicinity- only the Morrigan can sneak up on you without even the Quickening alerting you. But it's your highly-developed sixth sense that spins you around, your sword up and ready to parry the butt of the spear that was extending to tap you on the shoulder. Scathach jumps backwards, with an amused look. "You're getting better, me boyo. But you still let me get too close." She stands upright and plants the butt of her spear on the ground, grasping it at the level of her head and facing you with her hips canted slightly, her head cocked as she regards you with an enigmatic smile. "Good thing for you this is holy ground, and I'm in a good mood, heh?" <><><><><> "Aye Scathach," he said with a laughing smile. "Good thing indeed... I told myself this ver' morning when I awoke with the birds... Ciaran Lad, ye'll not take a head this day, tis naught a good day for the Quickening." He kept his smile warm and lowered his blade and put it away. "Come Scathach... let me make you welcome in my humble home. Food and drink first. Then ye' can tell me why ye've come all this way and climbed my mountain...'cause I know it wasn't just to see if'n I was still alive... or that ye was jes' passin' by." He slung the blade over his shoulder and opened his arms to greet his mentor and friend. He knew she might just take his embrace and decide to teach him another lesson, with a good hip throw to the ground. But a part of him longed for that very thing. <><><><><> [GM] Scathach grins, a mixture of amusement and feral taunting, and steps into your embrace. Then she disengages and steps back, *without* giving you an impromptu unarmed combat lesson. "Aye, lad, I am a bit hungry. Quite a climb, though not as rocky as on my own isle." She follows you inside, looking around and nodding. "You've done a lot here...must have spent many years working on the place." Her friendliness is almost disconcerting, and much as it is heartwarming, for some reason the Morrigan's words echo in your ears again. Scathach may not be quite the manipulator Medb was (mostly because she'd usually TELL you straight out when she was manipulating you), but she always had her own agenda, and rarely let you know what it was. Sitting at your hand-carved table, Scathach sips the fermented berry- wine you've been working on, and nods. "Aaaah! Not too bad," she sighs. "I've been wanderin' Eire a bit," she says. "I passed through Connacht, learned that Medb is dead." She pauses just a moment, looking at you with a neutral expression, leaving the subject open for further comment, or not. Then goes on, "I've also been to Prydain." She leans back in her (your) chair. "Ye remember I told you about those great empires on the continent, don't ye, Ciaran? The ones that make Eire's largest ruaths look like a peasant's vegetable-garden?" "Well, the greatest empire of them all has landed on our shores." She leans forward and looks at you seriously. "Prydain is being invaded by Rome." <><><><><> He offers her the finest repast he can summon from his culinary skills. Over the past 37 years he had found that cooking had become a simple pleasure for him. He took a pride in the dishes he could put together. Some times even surprising himself. Her compliments about his home and offerings make him smile slightly. He was rather proud of the home he had built for himself. It had taken many years and encompassed many moods and emotions. Some days he built on a whim, and other days he built out of a compulsion... a need to occupy his mind lest it wander back to less pleasant times. The overt friendliness does intrigue him, as he knew she was up to something. But he enjoyed her company all the same. And while he never forgot the warnings that Morrigan drove deep into his soul, he couldn't help but find Scathach's presence a pleasant relief to his growing boredom. She was the closest thing he had to a friend, and while 37 years had passed, it still seemed only short time ago that he stood upon the moor with her and watched that wonderful star in the east. Since he had layed with her in her bed. Since the days when she beat him bloody and senseless, and on the very rare occassion when he found himself able to get the upper hand. At the mention of the death of the Queen of Connacht, Ciaran lowers his head slightly and looks to the food he has before him. It wasn't a thing he was proud of, but Scathach might not understand that. After all, she had trained him for the Morrigan and it was the Ancient's intent to pit him against the Queen whom he had fallen in love with. "Aye Medb is dead," he whispered but said nothing further for he swore that he would tell no one who had killed her. When, later in the evening, the conversation turned to the Empire of Rome. He had heard of the place and it's growing connections with Prydain. It wasn't a surprise that she should tell him that these foreign warriors had come to Prydain, and though he had never been there himself, he knew of the place from tales told to him in coastal towns. he had even seen some of the things they traded for the gold of the Prydain Celts. "I remember Scathach.... I remember everything you told me or taught me... And I have oft times considered making a journey to see these great ruaths... to look upon their lands and see their women," he said with a sly smile. "Will the clans and tuath of Prydain be able to fight them off?" He knew what the answer would be. This empire was great in size and its armies were formidable and fierce... and they fought so vastly different. Ciaran was beginning to sense where this was leading, and he figured he might as well get it over with. It would save him time in the long run... for somehow he knew he would be manipulated into doing what Scathach needed of him. "What have you in mind to do, and how might I join that?" <><><><><> [GM] Scathach laughs. "I am not here to recruit you for an army, if that's what you're thinking." She sits up, her words now intense. "It's almost too late to ask whether the Prydain clans can hold the Romans off. They've already been conquered, in the south, and the Romans are spreading northwards." "Prydain's warriors are few compared to the Romans, and the Romans fight like metal-clad ants...organized, disciplined, and relentless. When they wage war, they fight not to steal cattle or other wealth, demoralize an enemy kingdom sufficiently to end provocations, or gain honor for themselves. They wage war to conquer and occupy the lands of those they war against. They intend to replace all the Celtic kings and queens of Prydain and Eire with their own leaders, who are all bound in sworn obedience to the far-away Roman High King. They will take the wealth of the land for themselves, and all our people will become slaves." Her eyes glitter. "I've seen it before, Ciaran. I left my native lands because the Romans came and overthrew our kings and destroyed our way of life." She presses her fingertips together. "They have a curious belief, that women have no purpose except to produce heirs. And in their minds, an unmarried woman who is not a virgin is of no value. So when they want to subdue a kingdom, one of the first things they do is despoil the daughters of the newly conquered nobility." She smiles, but the look in her eyes is hard. "And of course, there are immortals among them." Then she takes another sip of her wine. "Frankly, I believe Prydain is already lost. But we just might be able to make the conquest so taxing to them, that they'll decide it's not worth the effort to cross the sea and come to Eire." <><><><><> He actually laughed. He shook his head and finished his tankard. He set it back on the table before speaking again. "Scathach... You know the right words to say... and you know I can see the not so subtle game you play with me... and you don't care that I know.... You want me to see it.... I like that." "But it isn't Eire that you are most concerned with right now... It's Alba. It's your precious own domain and these Romans would change your way of life or force you to move on. Or worse." He stood and walked to the cask and refilled both tankards and returned them to the table. "But your words have merit and reason... If they take Alba, then they just might look this way. It has been some time since I had anything to fight for, and this sounds as good a cause as any... I will always defend Eiru and you know that... When do we leave?" <><><><><> [GM] Scathach chuckles. "Tomorrow, if you like." She sets her own tankard down and moves to you, sliding her hands over your shoulders. "Or perhaps the day after that?" <><><><><> He put his hands on her hips and drew her close to him. He kissed her passionately. And instincts took over. It just might be a day or two indeed. His hands began to pull at her belt to loosen her tunic and pull it away from her.................. <><><><><> [GM] One day or several, it still doesn't matter much, though this is a more pleasant way to spend them... especially since you no longer have to worry about getting up in the morning to receive another beating at the hands of the woman you just spent the night with. But soon enough, you and Scathach are both on a boat headed across the waters, towards the larger of the two islands that the Celts settled, centuries ago. Scathach adds a few details to what you've already heard of Prydain...the people there are similar enough to those of Eiru that much will look the same, at first glance, but different enough that assuming things ARE the same could get you in trouble when you don't expect it. But the Prydaini are at least fellow Celts, descendants of the Milesians, and so you can relate to them easily enough, even if you find their customs as strange at times as they might find yours. The Romans, on the other hand, are aliens in thought and deed, and understanding them will take a great deal of work...and as Scathach points out, you can hardly hope to defeat an enemy you don't begin to understand. Until now, you've never had to learn a new language. From one end of Eiru to the other, people speak pretty much the same language, though it's true that Connachters have a strange way of lengthening their vowels, and the accents of the southern clans are so thick as to be almost unintelligible without several repetitions, and you've come across some isolated tuaths whose people had a local dialect that, given another century or two of relative isolation, could easily became a new tongue. But in Prydain, they already speak a completely different language, which you will have to learn. Scathach is one of the few people on either island who already spoke the tongue of the invaders, and she tries teaching you a few Latin words as well. Your first few weeks in Prydain are spent this way; aside from occasionally passing through a village or greeting travelers on the road, just to get a slight feel for the people, you don't interact with much of anyone. Scathach shows you around the western and southern coast of the island, before taking you to get your first glimpse of a Roman settlement, from a distance. They work with a lot of stone, and their warriors move in orderly columns, with huge metal shields, and metal armor that not even a High King could afford to outfit all his knights in. It's easy to see why they generate such fear and loathing, along with a dreadful respect. Scathach tells you then that there is to be a conclave at summer's end. A gathering of immortals. "The immortals of Prydain are more numerous than those of Eiru, obviously. Since you and I are now two of only three, so far as we know. At least four locals have agreed to come to the gathering. There are others who we'll have to watch out for, since they couldn't care less about the Romans and will continue hunting for Celtic or Roman heads alike." <><><><><> Ciaran took to studying the language of the invaders as well as the Cymru dialects of of Celtic tongue. He travelled with his mentor and learned all he could. It would be knowledge that he would need soon enough. He studied these Romans and the way they moved and drilled. It was more like a siege engine than an army of warriors. Ciaran knew he would need to see this army in action before he could try and learn how they performed. The conclave. A Gathering... It was an ominous and forbidding thought. six immortals in one place, and others near enough. He didn't know six immortals... not living ones anyway. "Then we will need to take care," he said matter of factly. "And what of Roman immortals... how many? And tell me Scathach... You had told me that you travelled to their great ruath capital... You warned me that it was not a place to tread without caution...Will there be anyone here with whom who have had previous dealing?" <><><><><> [GM] "I don't know the answer to either question for certain," Scathach replies. "We can be pretty certain there's at least one immortal among the Romans, because one of the native immortals lost his head during their conquest of Cennedd last year. An immortal from Rome might have positioned himself high in the ranks of their army...or he might be posing as a lowly shield-bearer, so as to have more freedom to wander off and hunt for heads. Or there might be both. If there is more than one Roman immortal, then certainly they will be aware of each other and most likely working in collaboration, which is an advantage we do not have, yet." She smiles. "On the other hand, in their society, there is little room for men who display traits they usually reserve for gods. Their immortals must keep themselves concealed well. Whereas our people are a little more tolerant of supernatural warriors, and in times like these, may even welcome our presence openly. This is still a matter of debate among the Prydain immortals I've spoken to, but at least a couple of them favor approaching the High Kings of Prydain directly, informing them of our abilities and offering our services in defense of the land." "As for specific foes we might meet..." Scathach pauses. "When I was young," she says (and thus you know the reason for her hesitation- Scathach is almost compulsively evasive about discussing details of her own history), "an equally young Roman immortal came for my head. He lost, and that was my first Quickening." "Unfortunately, he had as his patron the most ancient of the Roman immortals. And the Romans are vengeful bastards." She laughs. "Of course, so are we...but back then, I wasn't a match for someone five centuries my elder, and I knew it. That, in part, is what spurred me to come here." "I haven't been to the continent since. I don't know if that ancient Roman is still alive, much less if he'd still be nursing enough of a grudge to take the opportunity to come here and hunt me down. But it's possible." She smiles ruefully. "I might or might not be able to take him now. Of course, Morrigan could easily...but we can hardly count on her aid, now can we?" <><><><><> The idea of presenting themselves before mortals made Ciaran uncomfortable. He remembered vividly the reaction he received when his own clansmen and fellow knights found him to be supernatural. And doing this as a group, that just sounded bad. "Scathach," he said showing his concern at the idea. "I think that would be bad... and it's against the Rules." "I am willing to meet with them, the other immortals, but I don't know them and don't trust them... and to take that kind of chance... I don't like it!" When Scathach mentioned the Morrigan, Ciaran instinctively shifted his eyes to the trees. That name being said gave her power. "The only thing I want from her," he whispered, "Is for her to keep her word to me... And If ye keep bandying her name about woman, she might just come here... but You might trying to do that very thing." Suddenly he smiled as he realized how foolish he looked and felt about whispering about the Ancient. He couldn't help but think of her as a Goddess of War for his people. "Scathach... What shall we do in the time while we wait for this gathering? I have some ideas. I would like to see these other immortals... both native and Roman. The Roman ones might need to be viewed from a distance. But I want to be prepared. The more I learn, the better chance I have to stay alive." He grew quiet for a moment and then smiled. "I have a few other ideas as well," he said with a sly grin. <><><><><> [GM] "I'll bet you do!" Scathach snorts. She looks slightly amused, as she rolls her eyes. "Spotting the Roman immortals will be a bit hard, don't you think, lad? We don't know which of 'em is immortal by looking at 'em, and if we get close enough to sense 'em, they can sense us." "As for the Morrigan, she comes or not as she chooses. Aye, if I thought she might join us against the Romans, I'd chant her name all day long, but like as not it would just annoy her. She's not one to appear just because you mention her in passing, though." "And who told you that "rule"? Certainly not me, boy. Aye, it's usually good common sense not to reveal our existence to mortals, but I think in olden days, more'n a few immortals, besides Morrigan, walked openly as gods and goddesses among mortals." She shrugs. "I am not that keen on the idea myself....but we certainly can't do serious harm to the invaders all by ourselves." <><><><><> He shook his head. This bothered him. "I will listen to what they have to say, but if I don't like it... I'm walking... this isn't my fight, but I said I would stand with you. I owe you that. I don't want these Romans in Eiru either. But I think this idea of playing Gods is asinine... and dangerous. Whether there is a rule for it or not... it is a bad thing to mix with mortals when they know what you are. And we will be telling the Roman immortals where we are, and who we are. In 90 years I have learned that I don't like attention... people hunt you. These are my thoughts on this. I will listen to them and then I will decide." <><><><><> [GM] "I didna' say anything about pretending to be gods!" Scathach snaps, cuffing you in irritation, as she used to in the old days when she thought you weren't listening well enough. "What is _being proposed_...and I dinna say *I* favor the idea either- is approaching the kings and presenting ourselves as what we are....immortal warriors." Canny as always, you note that she didn't say she *doesn't* favor the idea either.... "We'll keep observing, and you'll keep learning to speak the local tongue, until the Gathering," Scathach says. And smiles, and pats your cheek. "And *maybe* we'll have time for a few 'other ideas' as well." <><><><><> He nods in agreement. The time would be better spent learning than griping. He agreed to see this out with her, and in so doing he was bound by his word to follow through. But Scathach knew that before this began. "Very well Scathach. We will wait this meeting... Would it be too much to ask if you told me of the immortals that you knew already?" <><><><><> [GM] "Ah hell," Scathach sighs. "I've known a fair number of immortals in my day. I can name eight that I am reasonably certain still live, here in Prydain." "The oldest is Nodán, who claims to remember the battles of Moytura. He's a fearsome warrior, to be sure, and humorless, but he doesn't go looking for heads. Don't insult him though; he takes offense easily, and he's the oldest and probably greatest warrior in Prydain or Eiru save Morrigan herself." "Next is probably Tanethlon, who's been here since before the Celts, but was born in one of those eastern lands. He still travels now and then. Besides me, he's one of the few who knows aught of Rome and the Roman people." "Rhys ap Cynned, Gwyn the Fleet, and Ieuan are all Cymri men of varying temperament. Only Rhys and Gwyn are likely to come the Gathering; Ieuan is a hunter, though a young one, not much older than you. He uses sorcery, though." "Synhyfar and Rhian are the only women left. Synhyfar will be at the Gathering; she is the one who first told me of it. Rhian was once a queen in Cennedd, and probably has no love from Romans, but she also has no love for other immortals; she's a bit like Medb. Unlike Medb, though, she fights her own battles, and she's said to be rather good." "Then there is Brude, a Pict, and the only man, woman or beast I know besides Morrigan who is better at hunting and hiding than me. He's the only Pictish immortal left- all the rest have been killed over the years, by one of the Cymri, or myself, when they intruded into my domain." "Those eight may be the only immortals left in Prydain. I don't think there are usually more than a dozen alive at any given time; we tend to keep our own population rather stable." She chuckles. "Canad and Hywel could be alive still, but I've not seen them in over a century. Canad was a druid; he could be hiding with them." "Then there is Arawn." Mention of that mythical name sends a shiver down your spine. Surely not *the* Arawn? Scathach watches you and nods. "Aye, the Arawn of legend, though as you should know by now, legends are often a bit different from the truth. He is a formidable man, or was, but some say he retreated to the Otherworld forever, others say he torqued off the Morrigan a few centuries ago and lost his head. I have never met him, but I mention him because some of the others believe he is still alive." Scathach tells you this and many other things over the next few weeks, being freer with information than you ever remember her, but still evasive about those things she does not wish to reveal (usually, anything to do with herself.) You watch the Romans on the move, and even observe one battle from a distance, where the Roman army annhilates a Prydain army twice its size, near Arnamed Ffynon. The Prydaini fought bravely, with their usual tactics of hurtling themselves fiercely at their enemies, each man wanting to gain as much honor as possible- and the Romans, holding their positions, simply cut down the incoming Celts as methodically as a carpenter whittling away a piece of wood. Better armed and better trained, with better tactics and organization, you don't see how Prydain will ever be able to stop the Roman advance, and if they should cross the sea to Eiru, you have little hope that the armies of the four kingdoms will fare better. Then summer draws to an end, and you and Scathach head north, where you will meet your prospective allies, just before the mountains. <><><><><> The name of Arawn is indeed something to inspire awe. A Sidhe Lord of no little repute. Said to have been a great king. An Immortal. So much of his understanfing of myth and legend had been dispelled over time, and this was no exception. The Morrigan was no longer a Goddess. No less frightening, but not a Goddess. Nuada of the Silver Arm... What of Lugh Lamfada, or Dadga... The list continued. He studied diligently and mainly kept to himself as best he could. He found that Cynri language was not nearly as difficult as the Roman tongue. The way they spoke made very little sense, and he found himself constantly putting the wrong words in the wrong places. He practiced and trained in his martial skills, and even continued to practice his tracking. He had begun to learn to hunt in more earnest. He knew that he could trap animals with ease and could chase a beast in a hunt. But there was much more to learn. The summer passed uneventfully. And then the journey north to join the gathering of Immortals... He couldn't help reminding himself that this gathering would bring about a change. But it might not be the one that most were hoping for. He was one of the youngest and that told him to be extra careful. The Broadsword he claimed from his battle with Medb, a Gae Bulga spear, and a knife would be his only true allies. <><><><><> [GM] Late Summer, 45 A.D. Bregeda, northern Prydain ..... With Scathach drilling you as relentlessly in speech as she did in combat, you've picked up enough of the local tongue to carry on a simple conversation, though any eloquence you can now manage in your native language will be lost when you speak Cymri. In Latin, you've still mastered only a few words and phrases. The Gathering will take place on holy ground, of course. Within a large stone circle located at the mouth of a remote valley, far from any sizeable community. Although the place undoubtedly had significance to its builders, even the local druids don't come here, and you can barely sense the comforting aura of sanctuary that surrounds most such places. Still, tradition alone will prevent immortals from trading blows anywhere that is recognized as holy ground. You and Scathach are not the first to arrive, that late summer afternoon. Another immortal already stands within the circle. As you approach, you see the waiting figure is small, slender...a woman. Barely more than a girl, you see, as you come closer. She couldn't have been older than seventeen summers when she died. Her youth and slight stature reminds you painfully of Caitlyn. But the resemblance ends there. Her hair is flaxen, and she stands waiting for you and Scathach confidently, standing erect holding her spear like a veteran warrior. As you come closer still, you see that her face, which once might have been pretty, is forever marred by a series of vicious, ugly scars running from one cheek to the other and from her forehead to her chin. You've never seen scars on an immortal before, and these scars could only have been inflicted deliberately. The woman is lean and hard, and her expression is just as formidable...her demeanor would make it obvious, even to someone unaware of her immortality and thus believing her to be no older than she looks, that her life has not been an easy one...and that she is no one to trifle with. "Hello, Scathach," the woman says politely, inclining her head. "I am pleased you came. And brought someone also." [In fact, she speaks with slightly more elaboration, but her speech and that of everyone else will be simplified henceforth, to represent the fact that Ciaran can only get the gist of the conversation, and not all the nuances.] Scathach nods back. "Hello, Synhyfar. This is Ciaran Mac Rory, of Ulster. My student." Synhyfar nods to you in turn, her expression still very serious, her thoughts hidden behind pale blue eyes. <><><><><> Ciaran nods to the woman in a respectful fashion. Her physical appearance was obviously a result of her life before she became immortal, and he displaced those thoughts so they wouldn't register in his own expression. In his own Celtic tradition it was proper to greet another warrior with a clasp of wrists and a proper introduction. It showed a great respect. He offered his hand to her to clasp. "I am ver' honor... to meet you," he said as carefully as he could. He knew his speech was halting, but he had to think through his translations. The language did not come naturally to him yet. "I am learn your language... much to learn still... My name am Ciaran McRory of Emain Macha, son of Rory McMorna, son of Morna of Ulster..." He offered her a smile. "I best keep quiet lest I speak the fool." <><><><><> [GM] Synhyfar hesitates, then clasps your wrist. She doesn't seem to be comfortable with the gesture, though from what you've seen, it's a common greeting here in Prydain as well. She nods at your words, still not smiling. "I am Synhyfar. Your teacher is much respected. Your presence is welcome." She steps back, and scans the horizon. "The others come now also." And so they do....shadows slipping across the landscape, one figure after another approaches the standing circle, each one careful to maintain a great distance from all the others, so that no one appears to be on an intercept course before they reach holy ground. They approach with measured steps and weapons clearly evident, and are almost furtive in their movements, glancing around like rabbits emerging from their holes, wary of a sudden dive by a hawk. Or perhaps wolves, scenting the presence of other wolves nearby, would be a better analogy. Each sudden swell in the ambient Quickening causes every immortal present to become just a little bit tenser. Scathach stands silently, marking the approach of each man, as does Synhyfar. A Gathering of immortals....without taking heads as the object. Even to you, who have never met two other immortals in the same place before, much less half a dozen, find the idea strange, and it makes you uneasy. From the looks on the faces of these others, they must be overcoming centuries of such conditioning to appear here now. <><><><><> The Ulaid Celt stood quietly as the immortals stepped onto holy ground. He watched them carefully and kept a neutral appearance. He was more interested in what they had to say and what they did when in the company of other immortals. These moments would be crucial if he was to learn everything he could. He allowed Scathach to make any introductions. He would respond in the same fashion he had with Synhyfar. And he had no intention of speaking unless he was spoken too. These people were much too old to trifle with and as long as this was a peaceful gathering, then he would abide by it himself. <><><><><> [GM] Four more immortals arrive, that evening. A small, dark man, his features and stature clearly marking him as one of the pre-Milesian peoples who are now little more than legends, or faerie tales, among mortals, must be Nodán. He's no bigger than the slender "girl" Synhyfar, but both she and Scathach give the little man a respectful distance. He wears loose, dark clothing of a fashion long gone. Unlike the rest of you, he carries no spear, just a short, straight sword at his hip, and a bow slung over his back. He has no beard, but there's nothing boyish about him. His lack of facial hair only accentuates his ancient heritage. The next man is taller and handsomer, with light hair and a sparse, neatly-trimmed beard. He's dressed like a bard, but for this gathering, he carries a wide, flat blade in a scabbard at his hip, and a stout wooden cudgel in his hand. "Tanethlon," Scathach mutters to you. The last man is all but naked, in the fashion of some clans who go to war showing their enemies nothing but their skins. He has a series of blue tattooes staining his skin, and the only weapons he carries are his spear, and a triangular knife-blade tucked beneath the leather cord around his waist. He watches all of you with a suspicious glare. Scathach identifies him with another whisper, as Rhys ap Cynned. The last arrival seems to surprise everyone; a tall, regal-looking woman with dark hair that has a slightly reddish sheen where light reflects off of it. She is dressed in a fine gown and wears gold and silver arm-rings and bracelets, but her skirt ends above the ankles, and her shoes are practical and made for hiking, not the fancy slippers that would be more appropriate with the rest of her outfit. She carries a fearsome three- pronged spear and a long sword with a hilt of wrought gold. She regards everyone else haughtily, an unkind smile curling her mouth. "I am pleased you came, Rhian," Synhyfar says. The immortal queen nods her head slightly in acknowledgment, then shrugs. "This meeting is foolish," she says. "But I would listen to what you have to say." "I would wait a while longer, for Gwyn the Fleet swore to come also," Synhyfar says, addressing the six immortals before her. "Gwyn the Fleet was not fleet enough," Rhys ap Cynned says. "Someone took his head." A couple of the other immortals look at the spearman, but no one asks who it might have been, or how Rhys knows this. <><><><><> There number was seven. And all of them were his elder and his better. Ciaran deferred respectfully to them. He had nothing to offer in this conversation that would ensue. But he would listen and watch. He knew little of the intentions of these immortals or what compelled them to come together here in Bregeda. They were not here for the love of the companionship of their kind. And it was apparent that this idea of presenting themselves to the Mortal kings did not please all of them. He would offer his name and answer any questions directed at him, but he was mindful not to speak too much. His language skills were not good enough to allow him to conduct himself with his usual charm and presence. And these people were not likely to be impressed. <><><><><> [GM] Synhyfar speaks to all, and you have to concentrate to follow the conversation that ensues. [Once again, everything below is a simplification of their actual words.] "I found each of you, hoping to forge an alliance against the Roman invaders." "We have grievances, ancient animosities, but the Romans are a greater threat. Both their army, and their immortals." "A threat to you, perhaps," Nodán retorts. Synhyfar frowns. "You are the oldest here. Do you wish the Romans to destroy our ways? To impose their empire over Prydain and Eiriu?" Nodán snorts. "Better you should ask, what if my contemporaries had gathered for a similar purpose, when your people came here? Do you think the Romans are the first invaders?" "Yet you came!" Synhyfar urges. "Why, if you care not whether Rome conquers these isles?" "Perhaps curiousity." Nodán shrugs. "Perhaps because I think these Romans will be an interesting challenge." "Then take up the challenge, and join us!" Synhyfar replies. "Explain 'us'," Tanethlon says. "How do you think a handful of immortals will stop an army of thousands? Even if the Morrigan herself joined us, we couldn't drive off Rome's entire army." "No, but we can do them great harm. We can slay their immortals. We can harry their troops. We can lead the mortals of Prydain, teach them our skills..." "I teach my skills to very few," Scathach interrupts. "Certainly not an army of mortals." ....and so it goes. Synhyfar seems very determined to organize a resistance agains the Romans, but her motives remain unclear to you. Scathach is as non-committal here as she always is. Tanethlon is a moderate voice, apparently willing to consider opposing the Romans, but not interested in any kind of brash plan. Rhys appears eager to go fight the Romans, and is only here because Synhyfar *might* have a better way to fight them. Nodán, after his initial exchange with Synhyfar, remains mostly silent. And Rhian remains arrogant and condescending. You start to lose more and more of the debate passing back and forth. When Synhyfar finally asks who will stand with her, Nodán says he will look in on them from time to time, but has no interest in being part of a group. Rhys and Tanethlon both agree to join Synhyfar, for the moment, while Rhian shakes her head and declines. Finally, Scathach nods, and says "Aye, I'll join your cause for now, but we have much more to discuss before the venture will sound like anything to be worth actually making plans around." Then all the eyes turn to you. <><><><><> He thought carefully. He took time to choose the right words. He had already made his decision but he needed to let these people understand the reasoning behind it. And to do so without offending anyone. Today was _not_ a good day to die. "I think much there is not be said... not being said. I am young compared to all here. This is not my land. But, I do not want them in my home... I join will...will... will join," he said forcing himself to concentrate on the sentence structure, which was celtic in origin but considerably different than the language he spoke. "I have no quarrel with... with these Romans, but some obviously do that are here." He knew it made no sense, but couldn't think of the right way to say it. "That is good and bad... " He needed to finish this before they turned on him like he was an ignorant plowboy. "I want to hear more plans... more ideas... more information... With that, I think we stronger are... if work together we will." <><><><><> [GM] Your words don't seem to leave a strong impression, good or bad, on anyone. Synhyfar takes your speech as agreement to join her cause. "We will gather more information," she promises. Rhian snorts. "Dreamers and fledglings! Not me. Fight your fool's war!" She waves a hand dismissively, and stalks away, out of the circle of stones. Rhys seems to be watching her back speculatively. Nodán shrugs and says "Good luck. Perhaps we will meet again." He leaves in a different direction than Rhian. This leaves Synhyfar, Tanethlon, Rhys ap Cynned, Scathach and you. "Five immortals against the Romans," Tanethlon says, shaking his head. "Not good odds." "Five immortals and all the kingdoms of Prydain!" Synhyfar points out, but Tanethlon shakes his head again. "Eleven kings have already joined with the Romans, and more will submit as they see their neighbors crushed." "We will change their minds," Synhyfar says firmly. Tanethlon smiles slightly. "I am not one for visiting a king's court," Rhys says. "I would rather fight." "And I appear too young, and my face distracts people from my words," Synhyfar says. "Tanethlon is our best speaker. Scathach, what of you and your fledgling?" "Ciaran is no fledgling," Scathach retorts. "He left my wing years ago. He has taken a head. He speaks for himself." <><><><><> He looks to Scathach at the mention of the head he had taken. That topic was not open for discussion. He was not proud and this wasn't the reason he had come here. He was not about to justify his actions or even speak of them to these people. "I do will what is needed... and if needed be to speak with these kings and courts at their Ruaths I do will." He pursed his lips and shook his head. He gritted his teeth as he restated his last sentence in his mind. "I speak have done before with Kings and Queens. But speak can I not do so well in this tongue right now. I learn... no offense... Try best. Maybe I am best choice not to talk until I more learn." <><><><><> [GM] "My specialty is fighting and scouting," Scathach says. "I prefer my privacy, and have never been keen on presenting myself to mortal kings." She glances at you. "Ciaran has a pretty face, and can speak well...when he has the words at his command. He was a knight in the court of an Ulster king. He might make a good spokesman, and leader." "I would not mind educating him about Prydain politics and improving his language," Tanethlon says. "I also trained him in my own specialities...hunting, fighting and sneaking," Scathach continues. "So he might also serve better operating as a lone huntsman, like me." She looks at you. "You choose, boy. Come with me, or go with Tanethlon. Won't hurt my feelings either way." <><><><><> There is so much more he could learn from Scathach. But this new Immortal held a promise of new things. Lessons he had never heard, and stories atop that. "Aye, then if it my choice is... I go with Tanethelon will to learn those things he teach can." He shifted his belongings and looked from one to the other and back again before he looked to Synhyfar. "Do we meet again and where meet we do?" <><><><><> [GM] "I will find you again," Synhyfar says. "We will meet when there is more news." Scathach nods. "Well, Ciaran, it won't be so very long before we meet again. I guess I'm off hunting." She grins, producing the feral look of the huntress that you haven't seen since your years under her tutelage. "Don't lose your head." She swiftly retreats into the shadows beyond the circle of standing stones, and disappears into the night. Rhys and Synhyfar watch her go, then both pick up their spears, and they leave together. You are left alone with Tanethlon. The older immortal leans on his cudgel and smiles at you. "Well, Ciaran Mac Rory of Emain Macha," he says, in your own tongue. "It has been many a long year since I was across the sea to your island, but I reckon I still remember your language reasonably well. From listening to you and Scathach, it seems to have changed some, but languages do that." He stands erect and uses his cudgel as a walking stick. "Come along then, young Ulsterman. Let's see what resistance we can stir up. I have to be honest, though....Synhyfar wants to raise an army to turn the Roman tide back. I think it's too late for that. They're here, and they're not going to leave soon. The real asset of our immortality is that we can wait, patiently, until the time is right to rise up again...and make sure the mortals do not forget." "Even so, there might be a few battles left in the local tribes, before the Pax Romana is established for future generations." <><><><><> He smiled when Tanethelon switched to his language. It was a welcome relief that he didn't have to try and translate a language and then figure out everything he missed or couldn't translate. He switched his spear to his left hand and waited for the man to lead him in whatever direction he chose. "I am at your disposal in this as I have much to learn. I may prove to be a poor choice, it remains to be seen how well a Knight of the Red Branch of Ulaid will be received here in Prydain... or Bregeda. Where should we begin?" <><><><><> [GM] "Well," Tanethlon says, "what I am thinking is this. The Romans have already pacified the southeast quarter of Prydain. Right now they are securing their frontier, south of here. Some of the Brigantes are still fighting the Romans, but I don't see much benefit in joining them, for one simple reason; the Romans aren't going to advance much further north for the time being. They have a territory they're comfortable with. They'll settle down, secure their holdings, make sure all the southern tribes are firmly under their heel...and *then* they'll begin expanding again. The Brigantes aren't going to harm the Roman cause....they're just an irritation on their borders right now." "South and west, the Ordovices and the Silures are still pretty hostile, and will probably be the more immediate focus of Roman attention. I suspect that's where we immortals will eventually make our stand, in Gywnedd and Powys, or Dyfedd if we're driven back that far." "Any real harm to the invaders has to be inflicted from within, though. That's why it might pay to visit those tribes that have already submitted and are regarded by the Romans as 'pacified'." "One of the largest Roman-allied tribes is the Iceni. As a matter of fact, they're the ones who supplanted Rhian's older kingdom. Rhian killed an Iceni immortal, but she still ended up losing the war. Now the Iceni have made a treaty with the Romans, but there are definitely clans within the tribe that aren't content to live peacefully with the invaders. So, we might be able to stir up some trouble there...if not now, then by planting the seeds of rebellion for the future." <><><><><> "Going there is one there Tanethelon," said the Eirian Celt. "But stirring up trouble, even for the future... deep within the 'pacified' areas does not sound like a negotiation mission. It sounds more like a doing mission." He paused for the briefest of moments. "Don't get me wrong though," he continued. He spoke with a smile, almost wolfish in nature. "I am all for doing something... even stirring some trouble, let us just make sure we both know what it is we are really looking to accomplish here. I am a a disadvantage still in the language and culture of the Romans and of these other Celt clans." "That being said... I'll not bring it up again and shall we begin?" <><><><><> [GM] Tanethlon laughs. "Negotiation, by whatever means, IS 'doing'. I guess you haven't yet lived long enough to learn the many forms of diplomacy." You and Tanethlon head south. He takes over where Scathach left off, in teaching you the local language, but he's a less diligent (and far less demanding) tutor than her. He seems friendly enough, and you find him quite likeable, but he obviously doesn't have much patience for teaching things that he's known for centuries and thus takes for granted that everyone else should know too. He tells you only a little bit about his own origins; as Scathach said, he was born far to the east, in a place he calls Ionia. He came to Prydain about five hundred years ago, at a time when Rome was still a fledgling kingdom. He maintained contact with the continent, and tells you ironically that Rome was sacked, several hundred years ago, by your distant Celtic kin in Italia. He has continued to track the growth of the Roman city-state (incredibly, all this power, which he says is not only taking over Prydain, but has already conquered much of the known world, flows primarily from a single, enormous city.) He goes on at length about some sort of political upheaval the Romans went through, about a century ago, turning something called a 'republic' into something called an 'empire'...all you gather is that once they had many kings, elected by the people, and now they have a sort of High King with absolute power. Tanethlon is much like a druid; very well educated, and seemingly unable to educate others without using lots of big words and obscure terminology, and lecturing in an obtuse and pedantic manner. Despite his foreign origins, however, in all ways that are important, he is as much a Celt as you. Like Scathach, he has gone fully native in his adopted land. Unlike Scathach, he has followed the path of the bard, rather than the path of the warrior. You have no doubt he knows how to fight (he must, to have survived this long), but he shows no particular eagerness at the prospect, and gives the impression he'd much rather be telling stories, or listening to new ones, and memorizing histories and exchanging knowledge with other learned men, then planning a military campaign or going out looking for heads. Eventually, you reach the lands of the Iceni. The king of the Iceni is a man named Prasutagas, whom Tanethlon tells you married a younger woman from a northern clan just last year. Her name is Boudica, and she is said to be quite a formidable woman, with a fiery temperament and no compunction about expressing her opinion in her husband's hall. As you proceed into the territory of the Iceni, stopping at duns and publican houses along the way, you hear Prasutagus spoken of fondly, for the most part, though Tanethlon observes that there is an undercurrent of mild condemnation for his ready willingness to submit to Rome's authority....mild here, because the locals have seen what happened to the tribes to the south, who resisted. In the north, the Iceni are much more vitriolic in their scorn for Rome, and Prasutagus's treaty with them. Boudica is regarded with a mixture of admiration and wariness...apparently, in many ways she is now the power behind the throne; after less than a year of marriage, Prasutagus has proven to be less than a match for his strong-willed wife. The people of Connacht often said much the same about Aillel and Medb. You see Roman soldiers now and then....marching through Iceni lands, as the treaty makes clear they are entitled to do, and once you even find some Roman officials staying at one of the Publican houses. The other patrons regard them with apprehension and mild distaste, but no overt hostility. You watch them for a while, bemused at their clean-shaven appearance, which is the Roman fashion. They dress and act differently from you, and their language is strange, and even with the language barriers, you can sense the tone of condescension and superiority they convey...but some things are cultural universals, like the way one of the handsomer men in the Roman party flirts with a serving girl. She returns the flirtations warily, perhaps not sure whether she's interested or not, or whether it would be impolitic to show disinterest. You proceed on the next day, intending to present yourselves at the court of King Prasutagus and Queen Boudica. <><><><><> He watches and learns and waits. he follows Tanethelon's lead in these matters. It would not do to draw unwarranted attention this early. There was much to see yet, and there was little to be served by making the locals or the invaders wary of him any more than they might already be. He keeps himself in the background of public places and minds his business, or at least he appears to do so. All the while, he listens and trnaslates as best he can. He watches the movements of the soldiers, both on duty and off. He studies them from a vantage of tactics and they were his enemy, and this was a scouting mission. He needed to learn how they fought and what their weaknesses were. When the day comes that the two Immortals are to travel to meet the Icenian monarchs, Ciaran is anxious. He kept a careful check on himself. Attitude and his presence would be crucial in these dealings. Tanethelon would lead... he hoped. <><><><><> [GM] The dun of King Prasutagus is large, and surrounded by smaller permanent dwellings, which are surrounded in turn by numerous peasant huts, with cattle fields and farmlands spread out around this "capital" of Iceni territory. This stronghold is not as formidable as Queen Medb's castle in Cruachain, but it's larger than most other duns in Eiriu. You and Tanethlon go to the publican house frequented by Iceni warriors. They have a looser social structure here in Prydain, and the distinction between common spearmen and royal knights is not as strong...but Tanethlon is immediately recognized as what he appears to be, a bard, and you are accepted as a high-born warrior from some foreign clan. Tanethlon tells some stories and sings some songs, with a skill you admire even with your imperfect understanding of the words, and then announces his desire to enter the king's hall, and ask for hospitality and an audience. A burly warrior with a bit of a belly, but thick, meaty arms that look quite capable of wielding the heavy sword he carries at his side, rumbles "Well....I am heading that way meself. I'm Rantigone. Prasutagus'll like hearing news from elsewhere, he hasn't been travelling in a long time. I'll be happy to present you." <><><><><> The Eiru Celt looked to his companion and nodded in agreement. This would be a good way in. But it remained to be seen if Ciaran was to be invited. He accepted his role as student of the bard. It was hardly far from the truth. Ciaran had some small skill in the Bardic Tradition and Tanethelon was teaching him at this time. It was a logical conclusion that the tie might be made. Ciaran extended his hand to offer it to the thick man in a token of greeting. He offered a genuine smile and spoke in a soft voice but with clear speech. He held the man's eyes as he spoke and gripped his wrist tightly to show him the respect he deserved as a man who made company in a King's Ruath. "I be Ciaran Mac Rory of Emain Macha in Eiru... I travel with Tanethelon the Bard. It be a pleasure and honor to meet you Rantigone. My use of Pryd be good not very... pardon... be not very good... I am learning the ways of your people. I had much to learn yet." <><><><><> [GM] "You've come a long way, Ciaran Mac Rory," Rantigone replies, clasping your wrist in return. He seems to have no other comment to offer, just leads you out, and onwards to the King's Hall. That evening, you get your first look at a royal couple of Prydain. King Prasutagus is a grey-haired man, still looking fairly vigorous, but definitely advancing in years. His younger wife, Queen Boudica, is no great beauty, but she's the sort of woman who can attract a man's attention without the benefit of a pretty face or sinuous figure. Her eyes sparkle with keen intellect, and occasional flashes of humor or irritation, both displayed with equal openness, as she converses with the warriors and bards assembled for the evening. She looks like a woman used to getting her way, and not intimidated by anyone who might try to prevent her. Her voice is sharp, not quite shrill, but you wouldn't want to hear it raised in anger. When it comes time for you and Tanethlon to be introduced, Rantigone tells the King and Queen your names, then Tanethlon speaks for the two of you, saying that you are merely travelers from far away, who have seen much of Eiriu and Prydain in recent months, and have much to tell. Prasutagus nods encouragingly, while Boudica studies the two of you curiously. The King bids you welcome in his hall, granting his hospitality, and says he looks forward to some news from other domains. "Yes, the Romans have generated a lot of interesting tales lately," Tanethlon says. "Not many tribes have benefitted from your wisdom and foresight in dealing with the invaders." He manages to say this with such a casual and ingenuous tone of voice, that it takes away from any possible accusation implicit in that statement. However, it did capture everyone's attention, and Boudica is scrutinizing both of you even more closely as you make your way to seats at one of the long tables. <><><><><> He meets her stare with as much intensity as she fixed upon him. A smile played about his lips. She was a strong woman and likely to be a tempered one. He kept his thoughts silenced behind the mysterious smile. He seated himself after Tanethelon had taken his own seat. Custom dictated that he allow the Bard to choose his place from that which was offered them as guests. Ciaran had no desire or intention of seeking hero's portion here. He felt it was not his right to do so, but more importantly, it would hardly favor them with regard from the assembled warriors of Prasutagus' host. His eyes did not linger far from the woman though, for in her he saw where the power of the tribe lay. She had the fire in her spirit and the King was a man of respect but the idealism had left him. She would be the one to seek out in interests of rebellion. He made casual conversation to those near him. He spoke softly and carefully to allow his words to be understood by the men. His difficulty with the language could be compensated for by his charm. At least he hoped that it could. His eyes occasionally drifted to the woman. She would be the hinge and Ciaran was sure that Tanethelon saw that. That statement he made was so carefully worded. It had taken Ciaran several moments to get it clear in his own mind. To see the Bard's meaning hidden in the tone and the words. The Bard was looking to see who felt the strongest about the fate and future of the Iceni. She did.