Defenders of the Greenwood - Celtic Adventures

[Andrew D. Gable]

Kylie is an exile from the coastal village of Calad Carric who is just a touch nonhuman (fomorian). She fled that city after her father, the warrior Dylan ap Cei, was murdered. Hefting her father’s great sword “Skull-Cleaver”, Kylie has vowed to return to Calad Carric in the future and seek revenge on her father’s killer, the brutal warlord Ossian Red-eye.

Maeve ní Cormac is a blood-witch from the wilderlands of the Deeping Frith. The violet-eyed witch was once a member of a wandering caravan. Maeve narrowly escaped when her caravan was massacred by an army of undead. Wielding her gae bolga spear “Man-Raker”, she wandered the wilderness for days before meeting with Kylie. Unbeknownst to her, Maeve was actually born to Cormac mac Findtan, prince of the Iasg Dubh tribesmen.

Lucan Oaksilver is a wood elf from the depths of the Deeping Frith, from the city of Caer Sws. An archer, and a masterful shot with his bow “Rowan”, Lucan came across Maeve and Kylie in the forests south of his home while tracking one of the legendary white stags of the Frith.

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

The sunlight filtered through the fragrant pines of the Deeping Frith as the three companions pressed onward. Just a few scant moments ago, they had been fighting for their lives against the undead that had destroyed the wagons of the sorceress Maeve, led by the mysterious skeletal figure whose jaws did not move with his words.

But all were surprised at the band of warriors that had approached them from the sides. A muscular man, his hair shot with gray and scarred face announcing him as an old veteran of the fight, advanced towards the three. Kylie touched the hilt of her blade.

“Put your blade away”, the man said, flicking his hand. As Kylie acquiesces, he continues. “I am Bricriu mac Guaire, champion of the Frith Margadh. Who are you?” The introductions complete and the determination of their intent made clear, the old warrior turned to the party, motioning them to follow him as he and his squad of soldiers passed through the wood.

After about twenty minutes of walking, they came to a wooden palisade which stretched hundreds of feet in either direction. Bricriu tapped on the wooden gates in a rhythmic pattern, and they swung open. Another five minute’s walk led them across a cleared field to another gate, which Bricriu opened by repeating his first tap. The gates opened onto a bridge, which led over a small moat into a mounded fortress.

“Welcome to Frith Margadh,” Bricriu said. The town was circular, a mound of earth surrounding the village like a wall. Chickens, dogs, and cats scampered away as the aged warrior led the band of warriors among the crowded stone buildings. He paused at a great long hall, the door to which was flanked by two warriors. They stepped aside and let the champion past, and he led them past the threshold.

The smell of burning incense and wood fires wafted out to greet the three as they ducked down under the doorway, emerging into a long stone hall lit by torches and braziers along its entire length. A number of slaves excused themselves as they went about their business, but Bricriu led the two raven-haired girls and the elf through the hall to a raised dais, before which he fell to one knee.

On the dais rested a gilded and backless throne, on which reclined a thin and unimpressive figure in hide trousers and furs. Silver armlets glinted from under his cloak, and his beard and fingers were adorned with numerous iron warrior-rings.

“I am Conn Cruaslios,” he said, naming himself with the tribal word for “steel side”, and thereby denoting himself as a skilled warrior. “And hail to you, travelers. Bricriu has informed me you mean no harm.” Smiling slightly, he looked them over as he spoke again. “Well do I recall myself at your ages,” he said. “So young, so eager to prove my valor. And so I shall give you the chance! This evening, when the sun sets, this evening is the festival of Beltaine. You are invited to join us in the celebrations! And then tomorrow, after the celebrations are done and you’ve recovered from a night’s revelry, report to Bricriu at this building.”

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

The sun set, and the wood was laid in lines in the great field outside the town. Kylie and the others watched as the white-robed druids of Frith Margadh issued forth from the town, bearing torches. They bent and touched the torches to the dry wood, and within moments two walls of fire blazed forth. Following this, a number of young girls came forward, ushering the yearling calves through the fiery path. The cattle - the tribe’s lifeblood - thus purified and blessed by the Gods, the ceremony of Beltaine ended and the celebrations began.

*********

The next morning dawned cold and misty from rain. Once the aftereffects of the night’s revelry had been shaken off (Lucan, ever the prudent elf, had wisely abstained), the two young women and the elf went to meet with Bricriu, as ordered by Conn.

“We were told to meet with you,” Maeve announced, bowing deeply.

“Ah, so you were,” the aged warrior replied. “I’ll have you know, Prince Conn believes you have great potential. But potential is worthless until tested in the heat of battle - so test it, you shall! To the east of here lie the lands of the Tylwyth Rhaidd tribe. A band of our warriors are preparing for a cattle raid against the tribe while their warriors are still dazed from too much Beltaine mead, and I am instructed to send you along. In this skirmish can you lay rightful claim to your first warrior-rings.”

Kylie initially expressed some doubts over this course of action, wondering which side the Tylwyth Rhaidd were really on - “it wouldn’t do to anger our allies,” she reasoned. The raven-haired witch and Lucan quickly convinced her otherwise, however.

The three joined with a small army that was gathering on the festfields of Frith Margadh. All in all, there were about 80 soldiers present, all young tribesmen newly come of age. Lucan fell in with the unit of 20 or so archers, while Kylie fell in with the infantry and Maeve lent her spell casting expertise to the fray.

The “army” marched through the Frith for several hours, eventually coming to another palisade quite similar to the one surrounding Frith Margadh. Upon approach, an eerie, slow and thunderous drumbeat sounded. Suddenly the gates of the palisade burst open, and out rushed 80 or 90 screaming tribesmen brandishing spears. The army of the Tylwyth Rhaidd.

First the archers, under the command of Lucan, opened up fire on the approaching enemy, mowing down several soldiers. Then the infantry charged in, brandishing their great iron axes. Axes swung and connected, spears flashed and connected, and enemy arrows flew towards the army of the Frith. A quick spell cast by Maeve lent the assistance of goblins to the fray.

“Conn Cruaslios is the son of a fatherless goat,” spat one of the enemy champions, a burly man clad in a wolf hide cloak and a woolen shirt. “And the Tylwyth Rhaidd are the brothers to that goat,” Kylie retorted, and chopped down with Skull-Cleaver. She and the champion danced the dance of battle, and in a few scant seconds her blade was sticky with gore as she cleft his skull in twain.

Again Maeve cast a spell, and this time several men broke from the fray and fled towards the watchtowers on the palisade wall. 20 men from the Frith were sent into the towers to scavenge and steal and slay, and the remaining Frithsmen closed in to finish the battle with the Rhaidd. Lucan and his archers drew their swords and axes, and ran up to help finish off the Rhaidd. The remaining enemy units were surrounded, and Man-Raker thrust forward along with countless other spears, and soon the ground was bathed in the blood of the Rhaidd. The Frithsmen whooped their battle-cries.

After several minutes, the raiders returned from the tower and festfields with several captives, gold and a few captured cattle. They quickly made their way back to Frith Margadh. Bricriu greeted them at the gates. “Well done,” he said, “you’ve passed the Test of Iron.”

The iron from the captured armor and weapons was melted down into warrior-rings for the survivors of the raid. Maeve, Kylie, and Lucan were beginning to make a name for themselves in Frith Margadh.

Note: I cut out a lengthy section of play during the Beltaine festival, during which time Maeve proved herself to some of the warriors of the tribe with various feats of skill and Kylie’s player was outside arguing with his girlfriend. I’ve picked up at the point where we once again had all the players present.

Yes, I use the Slaine rules: you can probably tell. I'll also credit another inspiration to me while running this, Bernard Cornwell's Warlord Trilogy.

Next installment is coming Tuesday.

 

[Andrew D. Gable]

Five days later, a messenger came to the hut the party was staying in and summoned them before Conn once again. Conn, looking ill, greeted the adventurers along with Bricriu, congratulating them once again on the completion of the Test of Iron, and laying out another test before them.

“Some miles to the southeast, in the lands of the Tylwyth Rhaidd,” Conn said, gesturing to a crude map of the Frithlands on a table before him, “lies a lake called Llyn Ffel Pysgad, the Lake of the Sly Fish. In the middle of this lake, on Ynys Crochan, the Isle of the Cauldron, lies the fabled Cauldron of Life. Our druids tell us that Dagda himself used the Cauldron when he made men. The Cauldron has the power to restore life to those placed within its waters. However, the Cauldron will not be easy to get. It is guarded by a foul and evil ogre, the wicked and feared beast Gwrach Benyw.

“The quest for the Cauldron is the Test of Water. Should you succeed, the druids of the Frith will be feared and respected by all the tribes of the Frithlands. Complete this test, and only one will remain in the way of your full acceptance into the tribe of Frith Margadh.”

Kylie, Maeve, and Lucan bowed in respect to the lord, and waited for dismissal. Briucriu spoke up. “To get to the lake, you must pass through a dangerous section of forest,” he said. “That stretch of woodland is haunted by the horrid beast Ban Oiché. The creature was once known as Cullen mac Art, and was a respected warrior of a nearby tribe. However, a curse was placed on him by a witch, and he became a horrid creature with the head of a swine. I advise you to be careful in your journeys. You are dismissed.”

The three exited the long hall, and ventured outside of the village into the forests of the Frith.

*********

They had marched for several hours when around them stretched a vast stone circle, a cromlech. Maeve sensed this as a place of power - though the stones were burnt out now, this spot was sacred to the witches. In the center of the cromlech rose a single tree, a vast and mighty oak. Its gnarled branches swayed gently in the wind - but there was no wind. Steeling themselves, Kylie and Lucan readied their weapons, while Maeve prepared to cast a spell. With a shimmering and a great sound, a form materialized before the tree.

It appeared to be a man, nearly twice as tall as a normal person and with skin like the bark of its oak, rough and pitted and craggy. A great beard hung below its gaunt face, vaguely greenish, and hair of the same color covered much of its body. Countless leaves and plant matter stuck in its hair. Though the creature remained silent, Kylie sensed the voice speaking to her silently.

What are you doing here, the creature asked. These are my trees.

“We mean you no harm,” Kylie said. As she spoke, the creature’s head turned towards Maeve and the witch could have sworn she saw a brief smile flash across its face.

Sister, it said.

Maeve spoke, voicing an opinion that had been steadily growing in her mind. “It follows the Green Man as well,” she told Kylie and Lucan. “It’s a wodewose.”

The creature turned away, back to Kylie. Leave here. These are my trees. My grove.

The warrior-woman began to mouth a farewell, but the wodewose had already vanished.

*********

A day later, the three came to a crystal-blue lake. An island was visible in the center, and a single stone rose from the island. A fire burned on the isle. They worked for a few hours lashing together a raft, and it was nearly night when they set out across the waters. Eels and other fish were dimly visible within the lake, and then the fire on the isle was extinguished.

The raft ran aground on Ynys Crochan. Maeve investigated the standing runestone, while Lucan and Kylie checked in the forest.

A twig cracked behind them. Kylie spun around as the elf peered into the forest. The fallen leaves, green for the summer, stirred as if in the wake of something. Lucan readied Rowan as sharp claws raked his face. He shot blindly, and heard a shriek as an ancient woman became visible before him.

Hearing commotion, Maeve ran over as Kylie chopped down with her sword. The blade swept by the woman’s head and once again claws shot out. This time a gash was opened in Kylie’s leg. Blades flashed and arrows sung, and within moments, Gwrach Benyw lay in a bloody heap at their feet.

Maeve retrieved the Cauldron from a hole in the ground, and the warriors headed back to Frith Margadh with the Test of Water complete.