I am the Chief of these Lands; master of all I survey, strongest of arm and sword. The Picts are proud people, and I am the proudest and richest of them all. We live in an ancient land, the land of our gods and ancestors. I claim descendance from the Gods, as do all the clans that live under my reign - together we are stronger than any southerner who dares cross our path.
Our land, however, is beset by turmoil and conflict. We prepare now to ride against our enemies, the Elitovids as is the ancient custom of our ways. This 'writing' is new to us, yet the High Druid insists it shall elevate our people. I have agreed to learn it, and teach it to my children. He has taught me much, and I begin to now see the value of words. Had we known what ancestors and gods thought of us long ago, mayhaps the chaos of today could be averted. You would not know of what chaos I speak, however, so allow me to start at the beginning...
It all started because of our laws, as ancient as the rocks themselves and as rigid. All disputes within our realm are settled between the clans themslves, and the High Chief has no right to intervene. So it was that the lesser clans would feud amongst themselves, pleased with the old ways which they had forever found suitable. To the south our great enemies grew in strength and power, and threatened even us in our high mountains. I purposed to change that: to unite the clans further and to ascend ourselves to something greater...
The southerners are violent and aggressive - I can hardly remember a year we were not involved in some kind of clash with them. My father's wife was no Pict, and I have heard tell that his father was also from the south. Nonetheless, our family grew to unite the tribes and bring them into council. I told them of my dream of conquering the southerners and bringing all the people of
Qritani together. They were impressed by bold words of conquest, but our armies were too weak. Marching into battle with little more than wooden spears, bows and the occasional iron axe or sword amongst the Chief's guards, we had little in the way of success against our enemies. The southern hills teemed with iron so abundant, hunters who strayed too far south claimed it spilled out of the hills and into the valleys freely. We must have it, yet we cannot...yet.
I hatched a bold plan with the support of the High Druid: we know how to cultivate grasses and vegetables, yet I believe this can be more. We would descend from our safe mountains until we reached the great southern river of Chluaidh. We have done so, bringing volunteers from all the villages and tribes of the highlands. We have built a grand village upon a crossing, with nearly five hundred men and their wives and children now living there in just three years time. The river gives us ample water and the plants grow as they never have before in the Highlands. This is a home of dreams, but it has not come without a price...
One of our rival tribes, the Duratids, has denounced the settlement and refused to leave the hills. Chluaidh grows and our people here are rich with food and fur, but they see such a grand settlement as an insult to the gods. I defy them to name me one god who fears men, but nonetheless they sought to leave our covenant and flee south. This I denied them, and with our settlement's control of the largest passage, they dared not march out yet in force. These were only the beginnings, however, and soon they found the support and allegiance of the largest clan in the area: the Elitovids.
The Duratids now came to me and asked that we either disperse Chluaidh or else they would move their great clan south of the river, by force if necessary. I needed them, as much as I hated to admit it - the land needs Chluaidh and it needs the Duratids. So, in spite of their disgust, I attempted to persuade them to stay with gift where swords had failed. They were not impressed. That was twelve sun rises before this day, and now they have made a great camp in the hills overlooking Chluaidh. I can see their fires in the distance as I write this.
I have instructed the High Druid to make copies of this and have them distributed to those few Chiefs who are still loyal, along with whatever disciples who can write these symbols. He has gladly obeyed, and claims he has seen a vision of nature itself approving of our actions. Whether it is nature, the old gods or simply men, I will ensure I am remembered. I will fight the Elitovids until the death if I must, whatever it costs me. Tomorrow, we go to war. Remember me, my people, and remember what I have started here. Let this be the new beginning for the Picts. I depart now to my doom...