< Raelian shifted nervously.>

" Well sir, I'm nary good with the telling of stories, but I'll try my best"

Morden nodded and smiled, saying " Tis al that ah ask of thee. Come lad, tell us a wee tale."


After nervously fumbling through a brief recount of Finn Mac Cumal of the Fianna he goes into the story.


Finn's greatness and his fidelity were echoed and returned by the warriors of the Fianna. Among his hearth companions were his son Oisin, the sweet singer, and his grandson Oscar, the fair. Dairmuid, the andsomest and kindest of men, has i his company. One-eyed Gollf of COnnacht, after Finn the best of the men of Fianna, was there, and so too was Caoilte, a thin gray man who could outrun the wind. They and their fellows were like sons and brothers to Finn. THey were in his care and he in theirs.


Among them, Caoilte seemed to have the gentleest heart. It was not that he lacked ferocity or courage: In his youth, it was said, he had battled a five-deaded giant and slain an enchanted boar that none of his companions could touch. But he also had a curious kinship wiht the things of nature. He loved the secret life of the world, and this, it seemed, gave him certain powers over it. He had, for instance, an understanding of which herbs healed, which gave knowledge and which inspired love. So acute was his hearing that he could tell form the sound of a hunt in a forest how many packs of hounds there were and what prey the pursued. And he could do more than simply listen, in the service of his leader:

It happeed during Finn's time that the Fianna were becomming restless. They were a highly trained army, and in periods of idleness they sometimes became rebelious or fought with one or another of the factions that divided the lesser Irish Kings. To discourage this and to demonstrate his power, the High King of Ireland one summer had Finn siezed and imbrisoned in his fortress on the Hill of Tara.

News of the deed reached Caoilte in Finn's stronghold on the Hill of Allen, high above the Leinster marshes, and the warrior, outraged at the insult, headed south toward the High King's lands. Entering the fortress of Tara he subdued a guard and took his clothes, sneaking into the banquet hall where the King sat, as well as his chief Finn, seated with honor, but humiliatingly shackled and under guard. Caoilte made his way down the benches toward his friend. Attracked by his movement, the King glanced at Caoilte - and glanced again. He knew Finn's companions well.

"I think i see your man Caoilte's eyes in that candle flame," sand the King, nodding in the warrior's direction.

Caoilte, in his anger at seeing his chief a captive, betrayed himself. "Tell me how I can gain my master's freedom," he said, staring directly into the King's eyes.

Entertained by the man's audacity - and his courage in coming alone to this well defended hall - the High King considered the matter. At lenght he said, "The Fianna is unruly enough; show me orderly command. Bring me two of every wild beast that lives in ireland. Bring them to me here, together and alive."

"No man can do this thing," said FInn.

"I will do it for my master's sake," said Caoilte. Without further comment he turned and strode from the hall.

He was gone for the end of summer and the beginning of autumn. The King's runners brought reports of him - of how he moved through the north, along the seacoast, into the great lochs, how he was seen in the mountains and in the branchy woods of the valleys, how he dared the deep gorges and caves. FInally, word came that he was returning to Tara and the High King's Hall. Guards were posted along the five great roads that led across the plain to the whitewashed ramparts of the fortress ont he hill. These men were the first to bring the reports of Caoilte's progress. Their accounts were delivered with barely supressed laughter.


When Caoilte came within view of the rampartss, all could see what had caused the guard's reactions. Along the stone road the warrior strode., tall and reed-slender, his hair as gray as the winter sea. All about him, scampering and waddling, leaping and trotting, squawking and singing and growling and grunting, a shapeless, tatterdemalion company marched on Tara. Close by Caoilte's ankles, a pair of otters humped along, eyes bright with curiosity; hares hopped beside them, meandering off form time to time, only to be called back sharply by the warrior. Two sullen cats were there, and two badgers, low to the ground. Wolves loped ahead as a vanguard; skittish dear trotted at the flanks; a staggering line of cows and pigs and sheep brought up the rear. In his hands Caoilte held two flapping wood ducks by the legs. And overhead flew every bird of Ireland

Along the road the animals swarmed, crowding into unruly heaps as they poured through Tara's gates and into the banqueting hall. The noise was deafening.

The High King stood in his hall with Finn beside him. Although he had been defeaated, he too was laughing.

"Caoilte's rabble," he said FInally

"Look well, lord, and free my master. The terms are met at this moment."

"He is free."

"Now go," Caoilte shouted. He released the wood ducks, which flapped into the rafters of the hall, quacking dismally. The other birds rose in a whirlwind; the animals stampeded for the doors, clawing, scratching and biting as they went Within moments, the wall was empty. From the courtyard outside came shouts and squeals as the High King's people ran from the wild things.

How Caoilte had done the deed, noone would tell, and he would not speak about it except to say that it was tiresome. But his story was often told in Finn's own hall to amuse the men on winter nights when the cold blasts blew outside. It was a good-natured story, and the magic in it was untainted by evil or by real danger.


<Finishing his tale Raelian sighed in relief, he hadn't meant to tell a tale so long or at least make is as long as he did. But still, he felt a little better having shared a tale he once heard around one of the campfires as a young warrior>

Morden smiled and passed him a flaggon. "'Ere ya go lad an' remember, the first drink be paid fer wi' a story, but the rest are on the house." Morden chuckled and went back to serving more patrons.


Sipping his ale, Rae looked around the room for some familiar faces, hoping to find someone he knew to chat with, even if they were his enemy on the battlefield. That's when he heard a familiar voice behind him call his name and felt a hand upon his shoulder. Turning, his eyes lit up when they met Chanell's. "Chan chan!" Setting his flaggon down he embraced his friend.

"Feared I was the only one I knew here."

Chanell smiled, obviously having had the same thoughts until their encounter.

"Come, sit." Raelian said, pulling up a stool beside him and taking one for himself.

"Only don't order a drink lass, they come at a high price," he said with a chuckle and a wink. Across the bar Morden chuckled as well.


A norseman's voice rose up as he finished off a funny story to his drinking mates. " .. so ther guard looks back down at th'lot 'o us and 'e sez 'ah raight, ye ahl and teh dwarf can come in, but ther drunken lurikeen has to stay outside the gates"


<<oh, and every 'keen in a pub has had to much, I think it's a law >>


ROTFL


PS- hey Adelia, what's with the icon?


mmm..... TWINKIES!!!

Fatima relaxed as she caught view of the familiar place. No longer did her eyes dart around, looking around for enemies and other danger. She breathed a soft sigh and strolled towards the Crossroads Tavern, catching the faint sounds of laughter and merriment coming from within.

As she approached the entrance, she dared a smile and a quick pat on the head of a lynx sitting by the doorway before she pushed open the door and slipped inside. Once inside, she closed her eyes and for a moment simply breathed in the warmth of the place. There was always a merry crowd at the tavern, and she was not disappointed to see an old friend come towards her with open arms.

Quickly she disarmed and clunked her sword and dirks on the table next to her as the old man bent down to give her shoulders a squeeze, "Ah! Fatima! We ha' not seen ye in quite sometime! Ye lookin' well, lass."

The mute girl whispered, "Morden," joyfully and gave him a whole-hearted smile.

Morden laughed as he scooped up her weaponry from the wooden table whose top bore many a nick and scrape from years of handling the tools of battle, "'Tis always a pleasure ta see ye here."

Fatima smiled up at him and reached out to touch his arm before he moved away. She pulled from her pack a well-wrapped cloth bundle and laid it down gently before removing the cord and unrolling the contents. For a second, she gazed at the two pristine daggers and bit her lip as she touched them gently.

"Well now, those'r two fine weapons, lass. Looks ah tho' they han't seen much use tho," the old man said to her.

She shook her head and looked up at him seriously for a moment. When he returned the look, she cast her gaze downward and pressed her hand to her heart. As she wrapped the daggers up again, he said softly, "e know I'll take good care o' em." She looked relieved and pressed the bundle into his arms with the rest of her weaponry. "They look kinda special to ye," he winked and strode off to a side room by the door.


Fatima looked around the room and removed her cloak, folding it in her arms to keep her hands busy as she looked for familiar faces. Unable to speak, she shyed away from the more gregarious bunches who frequented the tavern. There were new faces too. She could always tell them from their looks of wonder as they saw friend and foe sitting together in peace in this place that appeared on no map drawn by man or beast.

A tall elf opened the door behind her looking a bit dazed. He was twice her height it seemed, but jumped back when he saw her standing there. He looked at her, "What? Where...?" his deep voice trailed off just as Morden returned.

His entrance brought her to her senses. Fatima quickly moved in towards the main area of the tavern, skirting around the women dancing to a joyful band, and slipped into a small table facing a wall with only one bench. She prepared to lay her cloak by her side and paused. This would not do.

Again she stood and scanned the tavern for another, more suitable place to sit down. Nearby was an empty table against a wall with two chairs. She saw nobody eyeing it, so she claimed it and lay her cloak in the second seat as she sat down.

Moments later a large, busty woman with a rosy face appeared carrying a bowl of stew and half loaf of bread. "Fatima! Ye darlin'! Where ye been these past couple'a weeks? Morden was jes talkin' 'bout ye not two days past." She lay the hot stew down with the bread on the table and put a hand on her hip. The steam from the contents of the bowl reached Fatima's nose and carried with it the warm scent of celery, carrots, potatoes and savory herbs. Fatima's stomach suddenly woke up and reminded her how long it had been since last she'd eaten.

The woman took her small left hand in her own and examined it briefly, "Ach! ye got a man in yer life, have ye?" Fatima blinked, for she wore no ring. "I kin see it right 'ere. Hands don't lie, ye know." The woman laughed merrily. It was an infectious laugh and Fatima could not help but cover her mouth and laugh silently along with her. "Nay, I see yer sittin' in a new seat and I can't 'elp but wonder... who will be sittin' in that one, eh?" she asked with a grin and a raised brow.

"Margery!" a slender Avalonian man called out in greeting. Margery touched the top of Fatima's head and gave her a wink before turning around to return the greeting.


Alone at the table with her bread and stew, Fatima looked at the empty second seat. Would he come? She could not tell him the way; not for she lacked a voice, but because there was no way to tell. But if he looked for her, Yual would find her.


The slight saracen girl broke off a piece of bread and dipped it into her vegetable stew, listening to the music around her and the stories being told. And she waited.

"How have you been, lass?" Ayslyn asked, and the smile immediately died on Adelia's lips. Such a simple question, such a complicated answer. Shrugging she cleared her throat, forcing a weak smile.


"Oh ye know me, never a dull moment in Adelia's life," she replied evasively. Fidgeting in her chair, she tried in vain to get comfortable; her center of balance was already thrown off, she figured she'd be heavy enough to waddle soon. "Bah, I give up," she scowled, "I'm just nae meant te sit comfortably anymore..."


Scanning the room, the druid noticed the arrival of a few newcomers, who looked to be Albs to her. A fine lady who looked regal even despite her weariness, and a young saracen girl. Sighing, Adelia turned her attention back to her companion.


"He's angry with me again. Ye already know that, though, ye heard the start of it. 'Course he's bein' less forgiving than usual... I'm almost afraid te go home." Adelia shook her head. "So, how have ye been?"


((what's wrong with the twinkies? i love this icon! twinkies rule! hehe))

Dutch watched the groupings of realms in the tavern from his oak table and stool in the corner. He didn't remove his hooded cloak, troll shamans aren't known for their attractiveness and any further attention to him was unwanted. The stool creaked and groaned under his weight as he shifted himself to view the majority of the tavern. "Quite the turnout this evening," he thought to himself.

Though he rarely came here, this was a large crowd compared to other nights. He wondered if violence was emminent with so many warring races. He would relax for now, not being the aggressive type. "What would the elders of Galpen say to me right now? Not that they have any regard for me anymore..." thought Dutch.

Dutch was outcast from Galpen at the age of 5 for his overly aggressive nature and violent behavior. It seemed so long ago, but was it? Time seemed to melt into a undistinguishable mass of memory stashed in his mind. Though he was not the rash person he once was, his thoughts still lingered on battles he once thought were for honor.

After his banishment at age 5, Dutch crossed Njessi's Lake to the village Gna Faste. There were many powerful warriors of Midgard there and he was humbled by their strength. He spent a year there trying to understand the ways of greater ones until he had enough money to travel.

"Would you like another jug of ale?" the barmaid asked. Dutch snapped back to the present. So much adversity and for what he wondered. "No, thanks, I'm done for the night," he said in a low fading voice. His eyes turned upwards from the table to watch a red-haired lurikeen dance on the table across from his. With a slight gesture of hand Dutch cast a minor poison on the lurikeen. The lurikeen stopped dancing and looked around the tavern, his eyes turned placid and his lip quivered. Suddenly, half the jug of ale the lurikeen had drank regurgitated out his mouth and onto the others sitting at his table. A roar of laughter filled the tavern at the sight. A gentle smirk fell over Dutch's face as he stood from his chair and walked up the stairs to his room, the stairs creakng under his weight at every step. "Lurikeens and their liquor," he muttered as the door to his room closed for the night.


~Entry 1 of "Dutch, Segregated Shaman"~

 

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Raelyn stepped into the dim tavern and hung her cloak on a peg. She shook the rain out of her red hair and surveyed the crowd at hand. Her eyes were drawn to her 'mates sitting strategically in a corner table, back to the wall eyes to the tavern crowd.


She strode boldly to Raelian and Chanell, and greeted them both with kisses, "Good Eve to you my friends."


She ordered a mead, a Norse honey wine, and sipped at it while scanning the crowd for hooded figures.. since she can't resist peeking inside a hood.

He smiled softly. "I have been fine. You know me. I am more insterested in you though right now. How have you been feeling since Samhain?" He looked at her directly. "I'm sorry that I was," he paused, looking slighly embarresed, "unavailable."

 

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<Raelian smiled to his two companions>

"Ah tis good to see two familiar faces for once. I've only been here but an hour and I feared I'd never see any familiar faces."

<smiling he took a sip of his ale><the band ont he stage sets aside their instruments and joins several tables in drinking and eating as another group takes it's turn on the stage. A jaunty song starts and some people push tables aside to clear a space as many people join in on the whirwhind dance>

"Well, the music is lively, an so are the people too. Any f ye two lasies care for a dance? <Raelian flashed a charming smile as he held out an arm and motioned toward the dancers ont he floor>

Stumbling into the vale having barely managed to get away from a troll who took a rather personal afront to the manner in which Crispian smashed him with a shield, the young armsman crashed into the clearing, seeing light streaming from the windows, and heard the voices.


"ou're not going in there, Cris," Toby hissed from the darkened woods. His chain mail was rent in a couple places and the Lion of the Crest was hidden under dirt on his cloak from sliding down a hillside. "I can definately hear Hibernian voices within!"


Crispian adjusted his own soiled cloak. "Toby, honestly, if this were some Hibernia Outpost, there'd be elves trying to kill us, right?" He smirked at Toby and chuckled.


The young cleric sighed and slid his mace into the frog at his hip. "ou're gonna get us killed, Crispian."


"Me?" he asked in mock surprise as they approached the door, "ou're the cleric, just keep me alive until I'm down killing them all!"


Chuckling, the two of them entered the Inn, hands held clear of their weapons.

 

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Raelyn sat for a while and watched the people around her, and even eavesdropped a bit learning a bit about the people around her. – when she could understand the conversation. She watched some realmmates having a discussion, a beautiful Elf, who’d surrendered his bow sat with a lovely Celtic lass, full with child. The glow that emanated from both of them was palpable, with the inherent magic of Elves and the glorious glow of motherhood, a striking picture they made indeed.


She saw a young dusky skinned girl the likes of which she’d never spied, sitting alone and quiet. After a ‘keen lost his ale, a large cloaked figure stomped up the stairs. She admired for a moment a stunning woman with stately carriage looked travelworn. Several others were in the room, all requiring appraisal and sometimes frank admiration.

Raelyn sipped at her mead and gossiped with Chanell.


“Wow, where do you think that cloak came from? Oh the poor critter who gave up their pelt for that collar!” Raelyn said. “Would you look at that girl, that small one. Where do you think she is from?”


Chanell smiled and explained about Saracens, Avalonians, Britons and Highlanders. She pointed them out to Raelyn. Chanell and Raelyn exchanged knowing smiles and had a discussion of the merits of men in kilts. They turned to Raelian and looked at him. He quickly changed the conversation and discussed Norsemen, Trolls, Kobolds and Dwarves.


A long and merry discussion ensued of the advantages and disadvantages of many races and curious laughing questions of propositions they could make to several races. A Nawg evening in a bar, is never complete without some smooching, so the three looked about the room for likely candidates. The Celtic mother? Perhaps. But she seemed closed in discussion with the Elf. Elves are always good candidates for kisses, but again, this one was occupied.


The Saracen.. hmmm perhaps, they discussed her at length. Before they could decide, Raelian took a sip of his ale and the band on the stage set aside their instruments and joined several tables in drinking and eating. A lively minstrel and companions took its turn on the stage and started with a very jaunty tune. Many people set flagons aside and were drawn to the dance.


"Well, the music is lively, an so are the people too. Any of ye two ladies care for a dance?


<Raelian flashed a charming smile as he held out an arm and motioned toward the dancers on the floor>


Chanell lept up, “A Dance! Of course!” and she took Raelian’s arm. “Come on, Rae!” she beckoned and he three all stepped out onto the dance floor, whirling and laughing.


Raelian took turns spinning the two small red-headed Celts, who were smiling and laughing. Raelian spun Raelyn particularly stong and she whirled to the side just as the door opened.


In the doorway stepped two Britons, in cloaks with hoods down. A close inspection revealed a youngish man, roughly 5'9" or so, of median stature with a reddish-brown hair crimson hauberk, gloves and boots with gold helm, sleeves and leggings, and a holy symbol on heavy chain about his neck. His mace was hanging from a frog at his hip. He had a look of wary surprise on his face.


The second man, similar in age to the first, but stood barely four inches taller than Raelyn and Chanell – but he was muscular and well built – nary an inch of fat on his frame. He was impressive with golden-blond hair, in unadorned full plate. The blond had just removed his shield and had been talking as he opened the door


"Me?" he asked in mock surprise as they approached the door, "ou're the cleric, just keep me alive until I'm down killing them all!"


Chuckling, the two of them entered the Inn, hands held clear of their weapons. As Crispian stepped into the doorway a small Celtic lass spun right into his outstretched arms.


Raelyn laughed, and looked at this good- looking blond she’d spun into the arms of, and never one to pass up an opportunity, kissed him.


“Slainte!”

Crispian laughed as the small celt lass entered his arms and kissed him. A bit of a blush raised to his cheeks as he caught himself so astounded as to barely be able to speak. "Slainte!" he finally managed to get out around a very surprised smile.


Toby, bowing slightly to the trio, moved in a bit to inspect the room a bit more. He was amazed at the mixed crowd within, and noticed that it was true about the allure of elves, and to a degree celts. "Have you ale?" he asked as he found the barkeep.


Crispian was trying to extract himself from the dance he had somehow gotten involved in, and Toby had to admire that he danced well, even in plate mail.

 

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