The Last Son of Lugh

Here it is. This is an AAR I've been planning, researching, and dreaming of for months. I still have a few details to work out, but by and large I have enough to write the first few posts. The first post above has been written for a few days and I've just been putting off posting it. Finally I figured might as well dive in and start. So here it is. As always any feedback is appreciated, paticularly any advice or helpful criticism. Also if anyone on the board has a knowledge of gaelic terminology or Irish history in general, I'd love to talk with you.

This will be a lengthy AAR with the game details buried deep and/or distorted to fit into the overall scheme of the tale. I will mostly be using historical figures (though the two you just met are entirely fictional), but they and the events that surround them may not be from the exact time of the AAR. When it comes to history, I've taken the most interesting parts of Irish history in the mid 1400s and smooshed all together. Consequently some figures appear a little earlier or a little later than they did in reality. Please don't take me to task over this. I agonized with the desicion, but decided this would be best for many reasons.

Thanks for reading.

Craig

“Perhaps, Huin, perhaps.”

“I feared as much. Eric, I never thought this day would come. I'm the last of my kind. Even by our standards, my life has been unusually long. For a time, I truly believed I would live forever.”

“No man lives eternally. Eventually God calls all of his children home.”

“Am I a child of God? Many of His earthly servants would disagree. Rome would disagree. My kind are the children of Lucifer, if you listen to them.”

“Every man is God's child. Whether he his fresh from the mother's womb or five centuries old, God has still provided a path for salvation. One need only to accept it.”

“How can one church contain men such as you and still house beings like the Bishop of Ferns?”

“Do not judge God by His servants, we are all imperfect beings.”

“Some more imperfect than others.”

The monk smiled slightly. This was an old conversation. One they have had many times before. He tried a different tact.

“May I show you something?”

“By all means.”

The younger man walked over to a shelf on the wall. After rummaging through a collection of papers, he finally found what he was looking for. He took the manuscript over to the aged man and set it before him. Huin quickly and almost violently turned away, raising his hand to shield his eyes.

“No. Put it away, I beg you.”

“Huin, it's scripture, the Gospel of St. John.”

“I cannot accept this.” His raised hand quivered, in fright.

“I do not understand. What is the matter?”

“Take the papers away and I will explain.” Huin's voice became shrill, almost hysterical.

Eric did as he was instructed and Huin quickly returned to his usual self. “Did you know that before the Church even stepped foot on the Emerald Isle, the Celts had their own written language?”

“No I did not. I've seen or even heard of any Celtic text that predates Patrick.”

“Patrick. They say he chased all the snakes out of Ireland, but there are still a few of us serpents lurking about. One to be precise.” An awkward pause hung in the air. “Oh, the Celtic texts, you see I forget things sometimes, but only for a moment. Anyway the Celtic texts. There is a very good reason you have never seen one, they don't exist.”

“I don't follow you. A moment ago you said there was a Celtic alphabet and system of writing, but now you say there are no Celtic texts?” Eric looked at his friend, wondering if his mental state was worse than the elderly wizard let on.

“Don't look at me like that, Eric. I haven't lost my mind, at least not yet. Your right. It seems odd for there to be an alphabet but not to make use of it, but I assure you there is a reason and it isn't that this old man has taken leave of senses.

The Old Ways taught that there is great power in the written word. To actually transcribe our words would be to give them a life of their own. The Old Ways and old tongues were especially powerful in those days, or so I've heard. Even I wasn't around for this, but I know the stories of old. My ancestors, your ancestors too, rarely if ever wrote a word. Not our history, not our songs, not our beliefs, nothing. It was too dangerous. The bards were the paper of the Old Ones and their songs the ink.”

“Huin, I assure you there is nothing dangerous about this manuscript. I've read it dozens of times.”

“Ah, but there is power in those words. You, yourself have told me on several occasions you can feel the power of God through His Holy Word.”

“Yes, but I think you misunderstand me.”

“No. I believe I understand you perfectly. You say God is eternal, and you are right. He will live on through His Word. I hope no one ever sees fit to write down my words. When I have left this plane, I do not wish to linger on. Let me and my ways pass from the earth forever, never to be remembered. What you hold in your hand is a powerful document. Use it wisely and protect at all costs, but please do not entrust one such as myself. The power of His Word may seek to destroy me.”

“You have nothing to fear, but I will do as you wish. Perhaps someday I can read these words to you?”

“I would like that very much. Someday. But now let us talk of your garden, and more specifically your vineyards. Have the grapes been harvested?” The old man smiled as the monk nodded. “And has the wine been pressed? Sealed in the casks? Well I think it would be for the best if we sampled this year's fruits, don't you think?”

The two men drank and discussed this world and the next until the early morning light.

Wyvern: When you first started you Irish AAR, I was afraid I'd been scooped at first. However, you took yours in a different and interesting direction. I'm trying to catch up on yours, btw, but it's been so long I need to read from the begining again. Keep updating, I'll get there.

LD: Must read?! I'd settle for a small but devoted following. I'm glad the dialogue came across OK. I was a little worried it was too talky. Most of the story won't be quiet so dialogue heavy. Just when Huin and Brother Eric share a scene you can expect almost pure dialogue.

Huin's head pounded. Every step his mount took was like having a great spike driven through his temple.

“Are you all right, Master Huin?”

“I'll be fine, Ian my boy. When you get older, never make friends with a monk. They may be holy men, but their wine is the devil's tool.” The old man smiled weakly.

Ian reply with a dutiful, “Yes, Master,” and rode in silence.

Huin whispered ancient words of soothing, but felt little relief. He looked over to his squire and saw a remarkable boy. His clan, the Fernguards, came from the great Niall line, but they fell from grace a long time ago. Now they were minor chieftains, completely subordinate to the Ua Niall Mor. Would they ever recover from their disgrace on the fields of Faughart?

Over the horizon, a stone tower rose, standing in defiance of both time and nature. It was Castle of Niall, the greatest and oldest structure in all of Ulster. Castle of Niall had been sacked and burned many times, by the Viking-Norse, by the Normans, by jealous clans, but it remained standing a testament to the Cenel Niall, heirs to the Ard-Ri.

As they rode up to the gates, two hulking warriors stood as watchmen.

“Master Huin, it always good to see you. Make your way in, King Eoghan has prepared a place for you.”

Huin and Ian slid off their horses and handed the reigns over to the guards. As they walked into the depths of the castle, Huin could hear their snickering laughter.

Ian looked up, a question burning in his eye. Huin cut the boy off.

“Look straight ahead, Ian, and drop to your knee when you come into the presence of His Majesty.”

As they entered the throne room, both Ian and Huin dropped to their knee in unison.

“Rise my faithful servant, er servants.”

Slowly Huin rose to his feet, his bones aching. Eoghan, King of Ulster, took advantage of the time to get up and greet them in a less formal manner.

“Huin, it is good to see you, my old friend. I only wish the circumstances were not so grim.” Eoghan gave the old man a mighty bear hug. “Come, come let us go the dining hall, everyone is here now.”

Ulster's sovereign led the way. Eoghan was escorted to the head seat at the center of the room. Huin and his young comrade were led to a smaller table far away from the main banquet.

“Master, why are you not at the head table? Surely you are His Majesty's greatest and most faithful servant.”

Huin looked down at his charge. Ah, to be young again. To be able to see only what you want to see. “This is my place now, Ian. Trust me.” He saw the boy looking over the assembled faces.

“See that fellow big strong fellow next to the king? Don't point, Ian!” Huin slapped the boy's hand down. “That's Thomas Fitzgerald, the seventh earl of Desmond. The man with the funny hat seated to the king's left that is the Bishop of Ferns, Patrick Barret. Next to the Bishop, that big, heavy beast is Enri, Eoghan's son and heir. That tall drink of water, next to Thomas is John Cam Fitzgerald, seventh earl of Kildare.

The table over there, that's were the chieftains of the clans sit. See the man laughing in the center of them all? That's Sean Diarmada, head of Cenel O'Carolan. That man is a patriot if ever one lived. There is the head of Cenel Clannaboy. Oh don't look like that. They've come to accept the Ua Niall Mor, even if some of them don't like it. Anyway going around the table, you have the Clannaboys, the O'Domnalls, the O'Conaills, the MacLoughlins, the O'Gormleys, the MacLochlains, they're Brother Eric's people you know, the O'Lavertys and the O'Carolans.”

“Why do the clans sit away from the king, while the Norman lords sit with him?”

“A good question my boy, but be careful to keep those questions to yourself. The clans are important and powerful, but it is the lords who wield the true power. Even Egohan is in truth below them. The Normans rule with the blessing of the English crown, but in time they have adopted our ways. Some would even say they are more Irish than the Irish. The clans and the lords don't always like each other, but for now they will work together . . . mostly.”

“Then why . . .”

“Shush, the Bishop is about to deliver the blessing.”

Bishop Barret began a long winding prayer. He thanked God for the food, for the clans, for the the Castle of Niall itself. He prayed for wisdom, something he was sorely lacking. He prayed for guidance, mercy, strength. He prayed and prayed. Finally, Huin tired of it and raised his head. He began to look around the room. Eoghan twitched uncomfortably, no doubt wishing the fool would end his prattle. In stark contrast, Enri sat perfectly still, the model of Christian piety. Huin turned only to see another pair of eyes meet his. He smiled and Ian tried to suppress a giggle. Huin made a face and poor Ian could not resist. The boy's youthful laughter cut through the ancient hall. Mercifully the Bishop lost his way and cut his rambling short. He, Enri, and a more than a few others glared towards Ian and Huin's table.

“My apologies for the boy. He is young and impulsive, but I am working with him on that.”

Ian gave the old man a not so gentle kick under the table and Huin gave it right back. The two had a grand time during dinner, making not so Christian remarks about were the Bishop should keep is hat during dinner.

Vald: To be honest, Prussia is on thin ice. I hate the idea of not finishing it, but in a way I've outgrown Prussia. When I started Prussia, it was the first thing I'd written in years. I purposely choose a format that would let me skip in and out of various scenes. When I write for Prussia now, (there have been two fairly recent updates) I feel caged and confined by the format. In Prussia I never would done the last post, its all lead in and establishing character. Instead I would skip ahead to the reason behind the meeting and get to "the point." However, I enjoy little bits like the last that establish the characters and set the background as much as I do the meaty "plot posts."

Clash, I am cmpiling my notes and playing the final years for - though its now 1.06 so that changed things a little.

Pope's Basement, I have recently resolved my issues with the style. Writing for the evil Bey really helped me get to the point were I could convincingly write for despicable characters and not become overwhelmed by their mindset. That said, I have a plan for it that will be very interesting and hopefully jump start it.

This AAR is something I've been researching and planning little by little since the summer. I will finish it, only a sudden and tragic death would stop me.

Languish: Thanks Glad you like it.

I've tried to add a few Gaelic terms in this tale for flavor and to better immerse myself and you the reader in the world I am trying to create. I wonder now if it is too confusing for folks who don't have the benefit of months of research into Irish history. Here is a quick Gaelic to English guide.

Ard-Ri - High King
Cenel - Clan
Ua Niall Mor - the Great O'Niells

A few interesting historical notes (some other stuff will be ewxplained in story). The names of all the clans are real clans. Most in RL were branches off the main Niall line. Surnames were not used in Ireland until around the 10th century. The terms Fitz, O', Mac, and Mc all mean son of or some rough equivelent. There for the O'Nialls are the sons of Niall. The Fitzgerald line was established by a fellow named Gerald.

What was interesting for me was to see how Gaelic names became Anglicised. The modern name O'Donnell was actually an old clan that branched off the Niall line. The fellow who started the clan was named Domnall. Hence his ancester became known as the O'Domnalls, which later became the O'Donnells. Same thing for the O'Nialls that later became O'Niell.

I want againt to remind everyone not to use this AAR as a history lesson for Ireland. Many characters are real, but others are completely fictional. Some of RL history will be included in the story, other times history will be bastardized to fit my plans. Other elements will be strictly from the game and have no connection to reality.

Just so Pou know, the clans I listed are all real. Eoghan and Enri are the paradox monarchs of Eire and the RL kings of Ulster and leaders of the dominant branch of the Niall clan. I know only a little about their actions and have choosen to portray them as I see fit.

Bishop Barret was a real Bishop of Ferns, but not at this time. The real Bishop at the time was a fellow named Robert Whitby. His name sounded too English, and I needed a native bishop so I went with his predocessor. I have no knowledge of his actions as Bishop so my portrayal of him is completely fictional.

Sean Diarmada is the head of a real clan, but a fictional character.

Thomas Fitzgerald was the seventh Earl of Desmond and was just beginning his reign at this time.

John Cam Fitzgerald was in history the 6th Earl of Kildare and was dead by now. His son was Thomas Fitzgerald, a different Thomas Fitzerald from the Earl of Desmond. I had no intention of using the same name for two characters. So Thomas was removed and I went with his father.

Brother Eric, Ian Fernguard, and Huin are all fictional. Also the Fernguard clan is fictional.

That covers the main character you have met. Most of the others will be real life figures as well.

If you have any questions feel free to ask.

Eochaid: When I said Ceasar, I wasn't referring to Julius or any other specific ruler. I was using it more as a generic term for the emperors of Rome. I'm sure you know that the Russian word tsar means Ceaser which they picked up from the Byzantines who never had a Ceaser sit as emperor. So there is historical prescedent for using it in that context.

Which Eochaid did you name yourself after? There are several High Kings with that name. I never realized it was a Celtic name. I knew you were French so I figured it had something to do with France. Imagine my surprise when your nick kept popping up in my research. BTW, I'm sure I will take you up on your offer. Feel free to point out any errors you see. Was there a formal title for the head of each clan? I haven't been able to find out much on the clans and how they were organized in general.

Norg: Damn NVHLCC, you guys always foil our plans! Thanks for the kind words. Brilliant? We'll see.

Stnylan: Yup it's going to be a looooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong read. Hope you brougth some popcorn. Thanks for reading.

Huin and Ian were enjoying their fine roasted swine when the Bishop of Ferns came over.

“A word with you, if I may, Master Huin.” The Bishop headed off towards a quiet hallway not waiting for a response. Huin rolled his eyes and grinned at Ian before he arose and joined the Bishop.

The Bishop was an non descript man, average height, average build, average weight. He did have slightly aristocratic features that made Huin suspect he might have a drop or two of English blood flowing through his veins.

“I do not approve of what you are doing with that boy.”

Huin raised a shaggy eyebrow. “What exactly is it you don't approve up, Your Worship?”

“I'm not blind, old man. I see what you are trying to do. Trying to turn that innocent child into something . . . something like you.”

“And what exactly do you mean, Your Worship?”

“Don't play me for a fool. I can see what's going on. The way you teach him to disrespect me and the church.”

“I teach him to respect those who have earned it, perhaps you and your church are lacking in his eyes.”

“Blasphemer! Your not fit to raise the boy.”

Huin straightened himself. He had adapted the stoop of an old man years ago, but found it useful to stand erect at times like these. Huin stood tall, his eyes now red like flames. His voice no longer humble and meek, but strong and booming. “Who are you to question me? I who have seen the centuries come and go. I who the winds and sea answer to. I will not be judged by a mere mortal, no matter what his earthly rank.”

“Your cheap parlor tricks don't scare me.” Every movement of Barret's body betrayed his words. “You are a corrupting influence on the boy. He should be in the care of good Christians.”

“If you are the measure of a good Christian, then I am well pleased not to be counted among their ranks. As for Ian, if you so much as scowl in his direction, I will send a flock of diseased crows to peck you eyes out.”

“You wouldn't dare strike a man of the cloth.”

“Would I? Or have you forgotten just what sort of being I am? My kind are not bound by you and your precious church. Now get out of my sight before I turn your entrails into worms.”

The Bishop's face a mix of rage and absolute terror. Quickly he retreated to the main hall, stammering as he went. Huin sagged down, the aura of power gone, melted away. Leaning against the stone wall, the elderly man breathed heavily. His head felt light, almost faint. He continued to gasp for air. The sounds of an argument reached his ears.

Slowly, using the wall for balance, Huin made his way down the hallway to the source of the voices. At the end he found one man savagely beating another.

“What's going on here?” Huin asked sharply.

“Master Huin . . .”

“This is not your concern, Huin. Be gone.”

“I'm making it my concern, Prince Enri. What crime has this man committed against you?”

The man on the floor interjected, “I ain't committed no crime, Master Huin.”

“Shut up! This piece of filth insulted my honor.”

“I didn't say a thing, Master Huin.”

“You didn't need to. I saw the look of disrespect in your eye.”

Huin sighed. “This man has said nothing against you, Prince Enri. A man of your stature should be able to control himself. Your father has given you a fine example, I suggest you try to follow it.”

“As you wish, Master Huin.” The heir of the legendary Niall line turned and stormed towards the main banquet hall. Huin turned towards the man still on the floor.

Helping him up, the old enchanter spoke, “I would recommend you find a way to keep your distance from the prince. Enri will not forget what has happened here tonight.”

“Aye, Master Huin. I thank you from the bottom of my soul. I'll do what I can to steer clear of that brute, Enri.”

“See that you do.” Huin smiled and turned back towards the main hall. At least his head had cleared. As he reached his seat, he turned to Ian and whispered, “Fools. We're surrounded by fools, my boy. That this country hasn't fallen from within is a never ending source of amazement for me.”

Before the boy could respond. A powerful, barrel of man stood and addressed the court.

“Lord Eoghan, I thank you for your hospitality. I thank the various earls, the cenels, and the other honored guests who have traveled great distances to be here. I will make myself brief.

War has come to our beloved homeland. The House of Lancaster is not content to wage war with their own countrymen, they seek to bring the tides of war to the north in Scotland and to our fair isle. Their savage appetite for war will not end until they have conquered the world and us with it.

The House of York has continues to oppose Henry and his tyranny. The war for us, has been a war of words and not of deeds. Until now. As we speak, York withdraws from London and Henry's armies control the Scots. Now he seeks to finish the war and strike his last remaining foe. When the spring arrives, he will have an new army. A army destined for the Emerald Isle.

I have asked nothing of you, but now I ask for your help. I ask for the earls to raise up their armies for the spring. I ask the cenels to provide their greatest warriors. Only together can we defeat the English.”

The chieftain of Cenel O'Gormley arose. “For what? So we can replace one English tyrant with another? York or Lancaster. Richard or Henry. What difference does it make to us? You only seek to strengthen your own position by aiding the Yorkists. Tell me, Desmond, why should I bleed for you?”

The Clannaboy chieftain rose before Thomas could respond. “Aye! Desmond and the whole lot of Fitzgeralds only hope to rule over us all. What has Richard promised you? To become governor of Ireland when he rises to the throne?”

“Richard has made me no promises. He came here and you all met him. Is Richard of York not a man of his word? Did he not treat us all with respect and decency? Henry is a madman and a tyrant. His soldiers are coming here. They will not stop to ask, 'York or Lancaster?' They will ravage all of our homes. The will burn all of our fields. We must unite!

I know you look at me and see a Norman lord, but I am as Irish as any of you. This is my home, and no man, be he from York or Lancaster, will take it from me!”

O'Domnall took his turn. “Well spoke, Desmond. But this Isle will never be united. Where are the Earls of Shrewsbury and Ormond? As we speak, Brian O'Niall and his band of rebels roam the countryside. England has a civil war? Well this isle has endured civil war for two hundred years. I can only speak for the Cenel O'Domnall, but we will stand with ye!”

“Fools.” Stated MacLoughlin.

“And you are coward, MacLoughlin!” O'Conaill bellowed.

“How dare you! This coward will gladly give you a personal showing of his courage!”

A thick muscular red head stood. All the other chieftains fell silent. Sean Diarmada, head of Cenel O'Carolan, was about to speak. “I am not a great speaker, so I will say my part and be done. Ormond and Shrewsbury will put aside their differences and side with Lancaster. Brian O'Niall will choose whatever side that the Ui Niall Mor does not. Does that mean we should cower in fear? Never. O'Carolans will always meet their foes on the field of battle. Desmond, I have no love for you or any other Norman lord. Try as you might, you will never be one of us. But that does not matter now. We must face our foes. We must face them united as one people.

Thomas Fitzgerald, Seventh Earl of Desmond, I place myself under your service. Lord Egohan, King of Ulster and heir to the Ard-Ri, I vow to serve you and to serve Eire until my dying breath.”

Sean dropped to his knees and hung his head. Both Eoghan and Thomas acknowledged him and bade him to rise. One by one, every other chieftain came and swore their allegiance.

Lastly Huin rose to his feet. “Lord Egohan, my old friend, I swear to honor and serve you all of my remaining days. Thomas of Desmond, I give you my loyalty and my oath. Your cause is a just one and I will aid you with all of my skill. So sayeth Huin, son of Bardharn, son of Adamair, son of Elim.”

As the old man rose, Thomas smiled and Egohan practically beamed, but Huin could see Prince Enri and the Bishop of Ferns sitting at the table, casting daggers with their eyes.