Aran Thule
Fledgling Freddie
- Joined
- Jan 25, 2004
- Messages
- 650
Well it has taken 10 months but the story has finally reached its conclusion.
What follows is the first post, the whole thread can be found HERE.
Hope you get as much enjoyment reading it as we did writing it.
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The Blood Price
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Somewhere far beyond the horizon, where the setting sun meets the fathomless ocean, a ragged company marches on. At their head, a gaunt and battle scarred warrior. He carries such trophies that no man living has ever seen, torn from the dead fingers of mighty kings, wrested from the jaws of unthinkably terrifying beasts that none in Hibernia have ever dared to dream of. But he has paid a high price in the pursuit of these treasures, for where once his company numbered in the several hundreds, now he is accompanied by a mere fifty. And amongst those that have fallen he can count his two brothers, caught like him in the geas of a vengeful king. He must continue, however, for the path laid before him and his kin over a year ago must be travelled in full, whatever the price.
His men, tied by bonds of loyalty and duty, struggle on, unsure where the fates will lead them. Most of them know only that their lord and his kin spilled royal blood, and for this they have been punished by being set a near-impossible quest. With this quest came the promise of great treasure and manifold glory, so they accompanied the three brothers across the foaming seas to foreign lands, but little did they know what terrors they would face, such that many of them now hope for death as a merciful release. But being Celts, they cannot simply go softly into the dark night like old men, for the greatest honour is to die with a sword in your hand and the smell of your enemies blood in your nostrils. So still they march on, despite darkness crowding them round on all sides. They have been made to carry out such acts as they did not think their lord would countenance, but as more and more of their comrades fell, including the brothers of their lord, darker has his heart become, seeking as it does revenge upon those who set him and his men upon this course. And recently this dark hatred has found a focus, for they found a fellow Celt in the foreign lands in which they journeyed, who told a tale that beggared belief, of a face seen many hundreds of miles away that should not have been seen this side of the Veil.
Behind the troop a great pall of smoke can be seen. It rises thousands of feet into the air, a dirty black finger pointing to the site of what was, until the arrival of the troop, a village of about thirty souls. Now only burning cottages and slaughtered farmers and their families will be found there, for at the orders of the troop's leader every living thing was put to the sword. He came seeking answers he said, for the Celt he had spoken with was a native of the village, but the man had unfortunately borne the brunt of the lord's wrath when his story had been told, and had died before he could say where this face was seen. But the leader of the troop was convinced enough of the truth of the man's story to seek out his home village, in the hope that others there might provide further answers. That they did, however, was not enough for the lord to spare their lives, for he wished none to know on what course he now was bent...
From the body of the troop, a horse is spurred towards the solitary figure that marches always at their head, seemingly unheeding of the wind and rain that since their exit from the village has begun to lash down from the heavens like the very tears of Danu. Drawing alongside his lord and master, the warrior salutes.
"What is it Rabhan?", grunted the dread lord, not turning to look at his vassal.
"I would not question you my Lord, you know that, but the men were wondering to what end we continue on this path? We have retrieved all that the king asked us to get, and surely the wild imaginings of one man should not divert us from our return home? What did his wife tell you that could possibly-"
With a snarl, his master turned in his saddle to face him.
"No, you shall not question me Rabhan, lest you forget your place and forfeit your life! We have not come this far to forget the injustice that has been done to us!"
As the rain cascaded down his helm onto his face, the lord turned his gaze back towards the east, and urged his horse onwards.
"Before I ended her pathetic squealing, the woman told me that her mate travelled often to the east, trading goods with the tribes found there. And it was in one of the towns there that he saw...he saw the source of all my family's woes. So it is there that we travel, for I would not be a man if I were to pass up any chance for my revenge!"
Suddenly, he took up the bulging sack that hung from a halter around his horses neck and shook it at his follower.
"Aye, we could return to the king with these baubles he had us seek out, but you and I both know that he only set us this task in the hope that we would all lose our lives far beyond the borders of our home, nothing more than outlaws amongst barbarian peoples. But despite doing what he would have us do, I will not return to him as a chastened dog returns to its master, thankful for a pat on the head and the scraps thrown from his table! No, for if what that Celt told us is true, then I will have my revenge, and the king shall know of it! Now get back to the men and tell them to cease their blather, for soon this matter will be resolved and I will return in triumph to my father's side. And tell them that any man that wishes to end this journey can do so now, at the end of my blade!"
Rabhan looked at the grim determination in his master's eyes, and sighing realised that whatever his own feelings on the matter, he and the rest of the troop were just as tied into this geas as their dread lord. Before turning his horse to return to the rest of the men, however, he addressed his master.
"As ever my lord, I will follow you faithfully on whatever course you think best, for ever is my sword arm sworn to your protection. But is there no comfort you can offer the men if the road ahead promises to be as hard as that we have already travelled?"
"If it will cease their prattle, Rabhan, tell them that we travel now to lands inhabited by Celts such as ourselves, although not those of our kin who abide amongst the western tribes. Our search takes us to the kingdoms of those who consort with our ancient foes, the Sidhe descended from the Tuatha of Danann, and that our first port of call will be the town known as Mag Mell."
And with that, the dread lord kicked his heels into the side of his horse, turning its nose towards the east as his men struggled to keep up with him. Soon they were all lost to sight as the rain grew heavier and they were enveloped in its misty embrace. But it would be some time before the fires burning in their wake would be extinguished, or the blood of the innocent men, women and children in the little village they had so recently visited would be washed from their hands...
What follows is the first post, the whole thread can be found HERE.
Hope you get as much enjoyment reading it as we did writing it.
------------------------------------------------------------------
The Blood Price
------------------------------------------------------------------
Somewhere far beyond the horizon, where the setting sun meets the fathomless ocean, a ragged company marches on. At their head, a gaunt and battle scarred warrior. He carries such trophies that no man living has ever seen, torn from the dead fingers of mighty kings, wrested from the jaws of unthinkably terrifying beasts that none in Hibernia have ever dared to dream of. But he has paid a high price in the pursuit of these treasures, for where once his company numbered in the several hundreds, now he is accompanied by a mere fifty. And amongst those that have fallen he can count his two brothers, caught like him in the geas of a vengeful king. He must continue, however, for the path laid before him and his kin over a year ago must be travelled in full, whatever the price.
His men, tied by bonds of loyalty and duty, struggle on, unsure where the fates will lead them. Most of them know only that their lord and his kin spilled royal blood, and for this they have been punished by being set a near-impossible quest. With this quest came the promise of great treasure and manifold glory, so they accompanied the three brothers across the foaming seas to foreign lands, but little did they know what terrors they would face, such that many of them now hope for death as a merciful release. But being Celts, they cannot simply go softly into the dark night like old men, for the greatest honour is to die with a sword in your hand and the smell of your enemies blood in your nostrils. So still they march on, despite darkness crowding them round on all sides. They have been made to carry out such acts as they did not think their lord would countenance, but as more and more of their comrades fell, including the brothers of their lord, darker has his heart become, seeking as it does revenge upon those who set him and his men upon this course. And recently this dark hatred has found a focus, for they found a fellow Celt in the foreign lands in which they journeyed, who told a tale that beggared belief, of a face seen many hundreds of miles away that should not have been seen this side of the Veil.
Behind the troop a great pall of smoke can be seen. It rises thousands of feet into the air, a dirty black finger pointing to the site of what was, until the arrival of the troop, a village of about thirty souls. Now only burning cottages and slaughtered farmers and their families will be found there, for at the orders of the troop's leader every living thing was put to the sword. He came seeking answers he said, for the Celt he had spoken with was a native of the village, but the man had unfortunately borne the brunt of the lord's wrath when his story had been told, and had died before he could say where this face was seen. But the leader of the troop was convinced enough of the truth of the man's story to seek out his home village, in the hope that others there might provide further answers. That they did, however, was not enough for the lord to spare their lives, for he wished none to know on what course he now was bent...
From the body of the troop, a horse is spurred towards the solitary figure that marches always at their head, seemingly unheeding of the wind and rain that since their exit from the village has begun to lash down from the heavens like the very tears of Danu. Drawing alongside his lord and master, the warrior salutes.
"What is it Rabhan?", grunted the dread lord, not turning to look at his vassal.
"I would not question you my Lord, you know that, but the men were wondering to what end we continue on this path? We have retrieved all that the king asked us to get, and surely the wild imaginings of one man should not divert us from our return home? What did his wife tell you that could possibly-"
With a snarl, his master turned in his saddle to face him.
"No, you shall not question me Rabhan, lest you forget your place and forfeit your life! We have not come this far to forget the injustice that has been done to us!"
As the rain cascaded down his helm onto his face, the lord turned his gaze back towards the east, and urged his horse onwards.
"Before I ended her pathetic squealing, the woman told me that her mate travelled often to the east, trading goods with the tribes found there. And it was in one of the towns there that he saw...he saw the source of all my family's woes. So it is there that we travel, for I would not be a man if I were to pass up any chance for my revenge!"
Suddenly, he took up the bulging sack that hung from a halter around his horses neck and shook it at his follower.
"Aye, we could return to the king with these baubles he had us seek out, but you and I both know that he only set us this task in the hope that we would all lose our lives far beyond the borders of our home, nothing more than outlaws amongst barbarian peoples. But despite doing what he would have us do, I will not return to him as a chastened dog returns to its master, thankful for a pat on the head and the scraps thrown from his table! No, for if what that Celt told us is true, then I will have my revenge, and the king shall know of it! Now get back to the men and tell them to cease their blather, for soon this matter will be resolved and I will return in triumph to my father's side. And tell them that any man that wishes to end this journey can do so now, at the end of my blade!"
Rabhan looked at the grim determination in his master's eyes, and sighing realised that whatever his own feelings on the matter, he and the rest of the troop were just as tied into this geas as their dread lord. Before turning his horse to return to the rest of the men, however, he addressed his master.
"As ever my lord, I will follow you faithfully on whatever course you think best, for ever is my sword arm sworn to your protection. But is there no comfort you can offer the men if the road ahead promises to be as hard as that we have already travelled?"
"If it will cease their prattle, Rabhan, tell them that we travel now to lands inhabited by Celts such as ourselves, although not those of our kin who abide amongst the western tribes. Our search takes us to the kingdoms of those who consort with our ancient foes, the Sidhe descended from the Tuatha of Danann, and that our first port of call will be the town known as Mag Mell."
And with that, the dread lord kicked his heels into the side of his horse, turning its nose towards the east as his men struggled to keep up with him. Soon they were all lost to sight as the rain grew heavier and they were enveloped in its misty embrace. But it would be some time before the fires burning in their wake would be extinguished, or the blood of the innocent men, women and children in the little village they had so recently visited would be washed from their hands...
