Posts by Ian S

  • Sunday 22nd

    I can't make it, unfortunately. Family Xmas obligations have me firmly in their grasp. Bryan, I have a pile of bucklers you can have, but probably won't be down til next week.

  • First Round benefits

    What's the scenario in the campaign notes that's referred to as "River Crossing"? "Bassa's Ford" or "Strife of Camlan" (the only other one that features a river crossing is "Battle on the River Glein", but that's already named).

  • Findabair the Head-Taker and the Exiled Faithful of Danu - An Heroic Epic, by Lughar Honeythroat (Bard)

    Lughar the Bard burped and idly strummed his harp as he watched Connor-mac-Temrach, who sat cross-legged on the floor of the roundhouse, go slowly and deliberately about his work. The dark-haired warrior looked increasingly perplexed as he examined a length of carved wood he held in both hands.


    "The Queen and her Chieftain ruled o'er fair Leinster..." The Bard sang, beginning to slur.


    "Tch, it wasn't all of Leinster, y'know!" complained Connor. "It was just one valley. It wasn’t even a very big valley. And they weren't king and queen. So literally all of that was wrong.”


    “What were they then?” grumped Lughar, pushing his hand back through his spiky red hair.


    “The chief, Óengus Tuirmech, son of Eochaid Ailtlethan, was descended from clan Seanacháin, a sect of the Dalcassians, chiefs of Ui Ronghaile in the east of Thomand.


    “Findabair, before she left him, was his wife, daughter of Fergus Fortamail, son of Bresal Brecc." Connor nodded to himself, satisfied with his account as he offered up the wooden piece to the haphazard assemblage of parts that was starting to take up most of the room.


    “Pfft,” scoffed the Bard. “Good luck getting any of that to rhyme.”


    “Oh yeah? What were you going to rhyme with ‘Leinster’?


    “Shut it. Anyway, what do you know about the composition of a heroic epic?" scoffed the Bard.


    "I was fookin' there, mate." said Connor. "The old Chief got his head turned by one of those Christian priest fellers. Findabair wouldn’t convert and neither would half the valley, even when old Óengus threatened to save everyone’s soul by cutting their balls off instead.


    “For a moment there, it looked like there was going to be a war, but then Findabair got organised and nicked three big curraghs and sailed the lot of us over here. No need to make it complicated."


    "Christians!" spat the Bard. "Christians are hilarious. 'Oo, let's all be nice to each other! Oo, stop being so MEAN to each other! Oh no, I've been nailed to a plank!' Hardly a great example to inspire warrior heroes, is it?" He swigged again from the drinking horn and grimaced. "What's this shit called again?"


    "Guin calls it 'stout'."


    "It's horrid." said the Bard, refilling his horn from the skin bag. As the last dregs ran out of the skin. he used the last trickle to draw a leaf shape into the rising froth in his cup and giggled.


    Connor began hammering at a short beam with his shillelagh. “Aye, it is,” he said, between thumps.


    The bard started up strumming again:


    "Queen Findabair and the faithful of the SEX goddess Danu, took sail on the waves of the cruel Irish seaaa!" Lughar sang.


    Suddenly, a bald head, lined face and wild scraggly beard thrust itself into the hut.


    "Jesus Fookin’ Christ, Bard!" exclaimed Labraid Loingsech, Druid of Danu and advisor in the service of Findabair the Head-Taker. "How many times do I have to tell you, it's 'fertility Goddess Danu'! She’s the goddess of Fertility."


    The Bard rolled his eyes.


    "Whatever! Same thing! You want my epic song to persuade more warriors to join your little band, let the master do his work. Sex sells!"


    "Yeah? Well Findabair wants to see you, she got wind of that verse you added for the ceithern last night, about it taking '30 fierce warriors to satisfy her womanly desires'. Bring the harp, you're going to need something to take cover behind."


    The Bard's eyes widened suddenly and he scrambled to his feet, scooping up the harp and spilling his drinking horn in the process. He scuttled out of the door.


    The Druid peered into the hut, his eyes squinting at Connor's work.


    "Didn't look much like that when we took it apart, back in Ireland." He commented.


    Connor looked up from trying to pull a wooden peg out of the hole he'd just spent the last ten minutes hammering it into.


    "What? How doesn’t it?" he asked the Druid.


    "Well, for one thing, I'm pretty sure chariots only have two fookin' wheels," said the Druid.