Caradoc ap Segovax: An old tale ends and a new one begins (Age of Arthur, Session 4)

When my eyes opened, the shape of the mighty wyrms lightning still clinging to my vision, I could see Scotia battling against a crowd of the deathless cursed, aided by the fey knights of our Kindly One escort; falling to my knees I sunk my fingers into the soil in the hope that our outsurge of power had contained the curse. Again I was assailed by the vision of the woman, being burnt alive by followers of the false risen God, I blinked away tears as she cried out in agony, calling on the dark forces of the Morrigan to avenge her death and punished the false believers; then, in the darkness beneath the worl, I felt the Morrigan answer. Rising shakily to me feet I groaned, the curse was empowered by the goddess of death and battle, it could not be contained or stopped until she was appeased, I shouted for Scotia to lead the deathless over to where I stood, perhaps if we sacrificed the bodies of these non-believers to true death then the goddess would be satisfied.
Scotia shouted over, the cursed seemed unable to move beyond the gateway from the village as though something held them inside, she also told me that she had seen a brown robed man in the town who appeared to be fending off the creatures; I should have known, the deathless were not the ones being punished, they were Morrigans punishment on another, this figure wearing the drab joyless robes of the new religion. Pulling my raven’s mantle around me I took flight and flew in the direction indicated by Scotia and felt anger flare within me as I saw the man attempting to repel the will of Morrigan with his puling faith; landing behind the man and assuming my human form I swung my staff into his head screaming “Your greed and your murderous nature have bought this doom on is all, and now you will pay for your crimes!”
The man stagger briefly and, seizing my opening, I let my hatred and loathing for his faith flow fourth from me like a black cloud which surged into his mind; the man’s eyes rolled back and I felt the spark of his life in my hands, it would have required just one small effort to extinguish, but no, the man had shown no mercy when he burnt that poor woman alive and neither would I. Pouring the power of this place and of my fury, enhanced by thatr of the Morrigan into the writhing man I severed his connection to whatever powers of faith he possessed, forever after he would know that the god made by man was no match for the ancient gods of the world.
A black shape began to gather like a storm cloud as the deathless were released and began to collapse, reognising it for what it was I dropped to my knees and bowed my head as the Morrigan made herself known, Siann who had been proteting me from the deathless did likewise; from the corner of my eye I saw the fey priestess round the corner, obviously having sensed the goddess, she immediately bowed her respects.
“You have not suffered enough” said the Morrigan is a voice like rotting flesh draped in velvet, with a gesture of her hand the limp form of the monk hurtled into a nearby pile of masonry.
Seeming to calm slightly the Morrigan bid me to stand and continued, “It is good, you have found a way to exact suitable vengeance, I will remove the curse.” She reached out a hand and produced a feather made from twisting smoke and shadows that I reverently accepted, explaining that I could not have carried out the vengeance without the support of our Huntsmaster Siann, our warrior Scotia, the support of the great wyrm and our Kindly One hosts.
Nodding the Morrigan lighting touched Siann’s sword and the blade turned a deep black, from within the folds of her robe she produced a similarly coloured hammer and handed it to Scotia saying “You will need this for your great task metal-worker.”
After the goddess had conversed with the fey in their own ancient tongue she turned to us and asked “What is it that you seek?”
“We are searching for a way to unite the people and return them to the old way” spoke Siann our Huntmaster
“Then leave this fool to live,” she said gesturing to the monk “his life will be long and painful; but go you into the forest to the place where the egg of the great wyrm lies, the Fair Ones will not trouble you whilst you are about this task, build a weapon that is worthy of a new king and thrust it into the stone. When he who an draw the sword is found then you will have your king.”
There was a loud cawing and the Morrigan dispersed, bursting apart into a cloud of ravens that fluttered into the sky.
With a loud thumping of wings the ancient wyrm landed nearby and beyond it in the sky was a burning burnished eye that seemed to stare down at the magnificent creature, I bowed low and said “Great one you have honoured us with your presence, if there is any way that we can repay your kindness all you need do is ask.”
“Your belief in my kind will be sufficient young one,” replied the great wyrm Bes “sufficient for me and my own god, thank you for the learning experience, it has been enlightening” and with mighty beats of its wings the wyrm was gone.
“How are we going to move the shell?” asked Scotia, a quick search of the town revealed a salvageable cart and some working animals, we quickly had them hitched up and ready to move, I also managed to take some useful powders and uguents from what must have been the town herballist’s before the curse. Scotia was excited that she had discovered a roman forge and immediately set about unlocking its secrets and working out how to transport it with us.
The excited voice of the Kindly One Slip caught our ears as he ran back into the town, reporting that, with the curse gone, the black fungus had begun to transform into the normal red and white spotted toadstools of the woodland. The elfish priestess approached saying that they would open a fey doorway to the forest where the egg lay in return for being allowed to contribute to the swords construction, gratefully we agreed and soon found ourselves in the forest by the egg where Scotia busied herself erecting the forge and Siann pumped the bellows.
A single shaft of sunlight shone through the canopy and illuminated a mossy patch of grass that seemed almost a perfect circle, it would appear that we had found the place where our sword would rest.
Days seemed to blur by as the sword was forged, and what a sword, made of cold iron heating so as to no longer prove anathema to the Kindly Ones, blessed by the elfish priestess and my own magics, in the moonlight it shone with twin inscriptions formed from my glamour:

Heated by strange flames from fey glass that they called dragonfire the warmth of the forge and sparks suffused the clearing until the endeavour was complete and, as the sword was held high, I produced the feather than Morrigan had gifted me and instructed Scotia to incorporate it into the blade; my gifts told me that it would make the blade proof against the passage of time and protect the wearer from harm.
Scotia plunged the sword into the stone and our work was done, biding us well the Fair Ones opened a door to our home village in the north, the snows had just begun to fall and the sound of feasting and merriment echoed forth from the celebration hall.
Bidding our hosts farewell we stepped through the door, I rapped on the hallway door with my staff three times and the Huntsmaster threw them open to reveal our kin revelling within, telling ancient stories and tales of our tribes history, a smile crossed the Huntsmaster’s face as she spoke:
“I have a story to tell you.”

Caradoc ap Segovax: A Darkling Village (Age of Arthur, Session 3)

With our escort of the Kindly Ones we made our way through the forest, guided with all speed past the natural hazards of this great place, heading southwestwards; my heart grew heavier as we neared the darkling village and I contemplated what doom the unbelievers and worshippers of the false god had bought down upon all of our heads. Whilst Soctia marvelled at the shining arms and armour of our guides we began to descend into a valley, the air growing soupy and quite unlike the pure clean vapours of our northern home. We stopped a days walk from our destination and built ourselves a small campfire, once more seeking to divine the will of the gods I stirred the ashes of the fire, peering into the swirling cauldron of red and black; I glimpsed a tall structure many leagues from us, some sort of building rising in a point into the sky as though foolish men had tried to reach the heavens. I sensed a great blackness that had experienced it’s birth within that strange place; but the gods showed me that the darkness did not extend to all places equally it seemed to have most affected those places who clung like drowning men to the false faiths, had it just affected them I might have been content to see it as divine punishment for their lack of true faith, but now it festered and threatened to corrupt the entire land, such evil could only lurk in the hearts of men.
Made cautious by my vision our fey guide pulled Sianns shadow over her to shield her from unfriendly eyes whilst I pulled natures mantle around my shoulders and, testing my new feathered wings, followed them towards the village. Siann quickly spotted a strange blood ref fungus with black stems that appeared to be blanketing the marshy land around the village, I examined it but it was like nothing I had seen before, our guide also seemed puzzled but said that he could sense that the spores were causing the land to rot and that it had grown by no natural means. As we left the trees a hazy black cloud of evil hung over the village and, believing danger to be close, we diverted back to collect Scotia from where she had remained with the rest of our guides; we appeared to arrive just as two of the more important Kindly Ones, a horned man and green woman, were having a heated arguement about how to deal with the village. The horned man told us to take ‘Slip’ a more human looking fey who bowed and wove a disguise around himself from glamour with us as his eyes to the village.
As we journeyed back to the cursed village my divinations revealed that the toadstools were park of some curse or pox on the new faith, but it was one that now threatened to spill outside its boundaries, one empowered by pain and loss terrible to comprehend; a mournful tolling sound accompanied our approach as a funeral bell rung from the top of the largest building in the village although it rose nowhere near as tall as the strange point that I had seen in my visions. Once more becoming one with the creatures of the air I soared up to where the bell tolled and could see how the haze seemed to carry the cursed spores from elsewhere, my ravens eyes spied the distant steeple that I had seen in my visions, leaping from the roof I flew towards the source of the evil infecting the land.
As I alighted and shook off my raven feather cloak the land around the spire was burnt and parched, I could feel in my bones that a follower of the old ways had been burnt here, and that in his death throes he had cried out for justice… no, not justice… vengeance, for that is the way of our gods to punish those who do us wrong; the death cries of the sufferer seemed to fill the clearing for a moment and I could sense the tremendous energies and agony that had infused their final curse. Pushing back with my own power I felt the strength of the curse bend but not break, here was more rage and pain than could be dealt with by any single man, druid or no.
Flying back to where I had left Siann and Scotia I heard an urgent knocking from the centre building; flinging the door open I saw a shambling horde of lost souls pursuing my companions, dead and yet kept suffering through the power of the curse, Siann slammed the door and, I gestured for torches to be made as we purified the building with cleansing fire.
Slip emerged from the shadows, seeming anxious to leave, I told him what I had seen and that the power of all of us, mortal and Kindly Ones, would be required to break the curse; gesturing at a shimmering in the air he lead us through a fey doorway back to his fellows, after some debate they agreed to accompany us. As we arrived near the birthplace of the curse, more of the cursed dead shambled from the darkness, as the fey warriors and Scotia held them back through force of arms, the remainder of the Fair Ones prepared their magics to batter at the resistance of the curse; I had one last gamble, with a need born of desperation, I screamed the name of the great wyrm Bes in my mind and was rewarded by the crash of thunder in the distance.
Above the roar of the thunder and the groaning of the dead I shouting for Siann to place her spear into the ground and call on the blessing of the Huntmaster to aid us, myself and the Fair Ones joined together forcing our power through Siann and into the spear, and through it into the ground, seeking to cleanse and purify it.
“Bes, we need you, the land needs you!”
A forked tongue of lightning struck the spear and I felt the power of the ancient wyrm rip through my body.
Then everything went black.

Caradoc ap Segovax: Ancient Spirits of the Forest and Air (Age of Arthur, Session 2)

I was awoken during the night by Scotia, the soft sound of laughter and other strange noises filtered through the forest trees that were illuminated but dimly by the flickering embers of our campfire; pulling a burning brand from the fire I blew gently on it, sending a small cloud of ash spiralling into the air and I peered into the patterns that it formed, seeking the will of the ancients in the chaotic swirls of grey.
“They are spirits of the forest” I said, almost as much to myself and to my companions, “we must show these guardians of the old ways respect.”
Picking up a handful of the seeds that lay scattering around the small clearing I spoke into the darkness, saying “May new growth spring fourth from these seeds that we spread, and may this great forest exist in the future as it always has done.”
After a few moments the noises seemed to have quietened and, deeming that my words had been accepted, I rolled over and soon drifted into a satisfied sleep, Siann remained awake on watch, but then the young have always required less sleep.
In the morning I awoke to find Siann not at her post by the fire and,  instinctively grabbing a nearby branch, I careful woke up Scotia and motioned for her to prepare her weapon for possible attack as I whispered a prayer to the old gods, asking them to make me one with the wild and the woodlands. Looking around as my senses became sharper, I spied some tracks and we set off after them, eventually catching up with Siann who was nearby; it appeared that she had tracked a giant wild boar that was roaming the area, this could only bode well as a good omen for our endeavour, and was surely a sign of Cerrunnos favour. Scotia seemed a little put out by the size of the beast, saying “The forest doesn’t want us here, it’s trying to repel us”
“Be assured that the forest could have been far more wrathful had it chosen, all it has done is shown us some of it’s true majesty; this is a place of the old ways and respects those who honour it” I assured her in a low voice.
A few minutes later we returned the remains of our campsite to the forest and continued our journey, mindful of the forces that lurked in the forest, ready to destroy us should we disrespect them or trespass where we were not wanted I ask Lugh to bless us with his sight that we might see our way clearly to our destination. Unfortunately not even the blessing of Lugh was able to prevent that clumsy girl Scotia from tripping over what we first took to be a rock and then, on further examination it appeared to be a clump of metal, the soil around it would seem to indicate that it was perhaps the remnants of a shooting star, surely an auspicious omen.
Drawing near the metal caused me great pain, it was though I could feel that part of me that I share with the Kindly Ones burning in my blood, although I agreed with Scotia that it could be useful should the fickle and capricious fair ones choose to act against her; perhaps it wasn’t simple clumsiness that lead her to discover it, the gods work their will through us all. I scattered seeds around the area as a sign of respect to the forest and Scotia began to see if she could extract some of the metal, but each time her hammer struck it, their was a rumble from somewhere deep within it.
Ignoring the stabbing pains that lanced into my arm as I got closer to the silver sphere, I gestured for her to cease and placed my ear and face against the metal; it was warmer than I expected and, as the throbbing beneath it’s surface continued, it seemed that there was something alive within the sphere. My eyes widened, could it be? Surely not? One of the great wyrm eggs of legend, it soon became obvious that I was correct as a small egg breaking horn cracked through the metallic shell but the beast appeared to be struggling; mindful that we had perhaps caused it’s struggle I focussed the powers of healing that I commanded into the egg and the majestic wyrmling emerged from the egg, it’s cry echoing through the forest.
As the magnificent beast gobbled up some of our rations, it’s cries were answered by a loud rumble of thunder that was in the distance but seemed to be growing nearer. The clouds parted and a huge wyrm, like an ancient god rising from the mists, lightning crackling around it’s form descended, a loud voice that seemed to sound in all our minds booming “You are not elves or of the fey?”
Taken aback at being addressed by such a living embodiment of the ancient ways we respectfully explained that we were from the north, beyond the ridiculous crumbling wall built by the unbelievers, and that we were seeking a way to unite those tribes who still respected the old ways under a single banner, we believed that the Fair Ones could help us with this. The creature seemed to appreciate our caring for it’s young and, after saying that we may address it as Bes, gave us directions to where the local Kindly Ones held court before flying off with a “fare thee well” and it’s youngling clinging to it’s leg.
Following the great wyrms directions I soon started seeing tell-tale signs of the Kindly Ones, toadstools grew in spiral patterns and trees seemed lined with aged faces; Scotia could have hardly been more noisy stomping through the trees, I believe her heavy footfalls would put even those of the great wyrm to shame. I held out a head for her to stop as my senses, attuned to the magics of the Fair Ones through the history of my blood, detected a hunting pit wove about with disguising glamour; indicating it’s boundaries to Siann and Scotia we moved on, a slight mist now covering the forest floor. I could sense the glamour and Fair Ones moving unseen all around us and, reaching to the power of my blood, wove together the stray strands of glamour into a glowing ball of faerie fire and a way of respectfully announcing our presence.
With a swish of wind it was as though a veil had been pulled back and the Fair Ones crowding the clearing suddenly were made visable perched on every tree and scamping through every glade, as mark of respect (both to them and the forest) I sunk my staff into the ground and bid it take root and grow leaves. As a terribly beautiful figure strode forward, our Huntsmaster Siann explained to them that we sought their aid and great wisdom to unite the clans; the figure nodded and said that they would grant us aid and passage but that they were troubled by a village with a darkness festering at it’s heart, if we would help them in their quest then they would aid us in ours.
Remembering the village from my earlier vision I nodded to Siann and, as the leader of our troupe, she nodded our agreement.

Caradoc ap Segovax: The Festival of Lughnasadh (Age of Arthur, session 1)

The old stories were once again told as the great hearth fires were lit in the village for the celebration of Lughnasadh, the harvest time would soon begin and all of the the tribe, young and old, gathered in the village as those amongst the eldest (like myself) passed along the ancient tales of our people; I presided over the dutiful kindling of the hearthfire in our small inn and lead the procession as the burning brand was carried to a large bonfire that the youths of the village had built near to our well. As the flames caught and the heart of the village once more awoke and burnt with flame, the face of all the people in the village both young and old were briefly illuminated in tones of burnt orange and yellow. I lifted my voice and, although my summer years are far behind me, I felt the winter recede a little in the glow of the fire as I lead the village in a prayer of thanks to the spirits.
Our chief, a mighty warrior who still strode through the village like a giant despite having many seasons behind him, thanked me and beckoned for the warriors of the village to come forward and tell a tale of their deeds so that we might acknowledge our present as well as our past; as each of the warrior stepped forward and told their tale one of the stories seemed to shine for a moment brighter than the rest. I cannot say whether it was my own connection with the person who told the story or the tale itself that drew my attention, but the young daughter of the village druidess (my female counterpart and balance), a rough a tumble young urchin who continually evaded the chiefs attempts to have her settle down with a warrior from the village, spoke of going to battle with her father and seeing that most mighty of men laid low by the treachery of the unbelievers. Thanking her for the story, but admonishing her to beware the black road of vengeances, the chief made a gesture to me and, with a handful of young helpers, I began to pour out the ceremonial mead for the villagers, handing to each a cup as they told their own stories, each of them weaving together into a tapestry that forms the history of our people. Raising his cup the chieftain said “We drink for all the fallen, in three nights the hunt begins,” I would be expected to lead the hunt for the stag with twelve horns, it’s presence (or lack of it) boding either good or ill for our next years harvest.
The chieftain sought me out after his speech, he had apparently been talking to Siann (daughter of the druidess) and Scotia (a young woman who had become the village blacksmith) and attempting to persuade them that part of their duty was to help produce the next generation of warriors for the village, but it appeared that they did not agree with him; he told me of a dream of vision that he had where he had walked across a battlefield littered with the bodies of our Roman enemies and our own people, the Morrigan walked amongst the fallen, her black robes flowing our behind her like crows wings, but she would not take the souls of those that had died. Troubled, I spoke of how the old ways were slowly being washed away like sand on a beach as the tide of unbelief took root in our lands and that those who forsook the old ways, the right ways, would be forsaken by them in turn and would know no rest in this life or the next; ancient legends and stories passed down to me had spoke of the living death, souls who could not pass from this world but were no longer living, forced to linger for eternity in the bleak grayness between realms, it was not a fate that I would wish on anyone.
At the urging of the chieftain, over the few days leading up to the hunt I talked to Scotia and Siann to see if I could discover why they continued to defy our chieftain; both of them were extremely headstrong and proud (as only the young can truly be), raised by warriors who fought with faith and sword to protect our way of life it seemed that the two had their doubts about the worthiness of the village’s younger warriors to be a husband to them. Seeking to find a solution that would satisfy both parties I suggested that perhaps, when we held the May festival, the two of them could set a challenge for the youths of the village where they could prove there prowess and then select a husband from those they deemed suitable, this would satisfy the chieftain and would also give them far more choice in the matter; my solution seemed to be acceptable to both parties and I began to seek out the village druidess for spiritual council as the hunt approached.
Finding the druidess in our sacred glad, we spoke at length about how the stories of the world were changing but that as long as tales were told then the gods would listen to them, both of us were old and our time, our world, was passing away but still we strove to keep the old faith alive so that the new world to be born afterwards would not be a faithless dark place where the old gods lay forgotten. We spoke of her daughter and her quest for vengeance, a dark, black road that is often dangerous to travel, but sometimes necessary if a stain is to be sponged from the soul.
On the day before the hunt, with the chieftains blessing I announced that the true test of a warrior was not simply killing, any fool with a stick could kill, sometimes the true test was in the capture of the prey; I told the young warriors that, with the blessings of the old gods, I would take on the form of the stag and that their goal would be to hunt and capture me without killing. The person who succeeded would have be marked in the eyes of the great god Herne and our Hunter.
Come the morning of the hunt I arose with the dawn and cleansed myself in the cool stream that runs through the village, giving thanks for the new day; it is necessary to cleanse the body and mind of impurities before assuming the form of a beast, lest your mind be lost and you become so lost in the tangle of the wilds that you cannot find reason and your way back to your own life. As the hunters gathered I repeated that their goal would be to return me unharmed to the village then, whispering a prayer to Herne, I pulled the tanned stag skin around me, feeling it hold fast to my own flesh and shrank down into the form of a shining white stag; kicking my now strong legs I bolted into the woods behind the village, my ears picking up the sound of the warriors moving in pursuit, slowly and clumsily in the way of man.
I darted through the woods with time and the trees flowing around me, I don’t know how long it was before the real pursuit began, time seems to move different when seen through the eyes of the beast, perhaps man does not really understand time or perhaps the way we see it is the only way we can understand it? A noise to my flank startled me and I raised my head to see Siann (I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised) closing on me, I lead her a merry dance through the woods until it became obvious that I would not be able to escape and that she had succeeded. Standing to my normal height I felt the stag skin slip from me, with it’s usual reluctant, clinging for a moment before allowing me to return to the form of man, I sometimes wonder when it is our time to leave this world whether we simply throw off the shape of man and move on to something else, but that is a question only time and the gods can answer.
Throwing Siann’s arm into the air as the other warriors crowded around her I lead them all back to the village where our chieftain proclaimed her the village Hunter, it was at this moment that he also chose to announce that both Scotia and Siann would be chosing a husband at the end of the May festival, whoever could best their challenges.
As was tradition the new Hunter went to the sacred glade in order to speak with the druidess, as the Hunter, Siann would be given a test, the success or failure would judge how the gods favoured us for the coming year; emerging from the glade Siann informed us that both myself and Scotia were to accompany her south through the Great Forest and the unbeliever kingdom of Vinovia, our goal was to successfully broker a peace or understanding with the Wild Ones that lurked in that area, ancient spirits in human-like forms whose ways were not our own, but who had existed since the time of the gods themselves. If the dying words of my old tutor the previous druid were to be believed, my own mother had been one of these creatures and something of their blood flowed through my veins; I had studied the old tales of the Wild Ones and new something of their ways, as precaution I directed Scotia to craft us some beaten iron weapons for the trip should the Fair Folk prove to be hostile.
Days later we travelled through Vinovia, I swallowed my distaste for the kingdom of non-believers, reminding myself that this task was set us by the gods and that my own personal likes and dislikes were not of importance, I was here to help the Hunter accomplish her task and return to the village, heralding a year of prosperity for us all. We passed by a huge ruined wall, a Roman folly that they had built to keep our people out before they had realised that Britain would not be cowed by the likes of them and had left these shores, their “great work” now lay in ruins, crumbling as the green mosses and lichen reclaimed it for the land; the old tales are changing indeed. As we travelled further south the air became warmer and richer until it felt like a soupy broth that left us all feeling quite light-headed.
We reached the Kingdom of Eberauch and began to move further inland, all around us were signs of what the unbelievers called ‘progress’, huge trenches and wound where they had cut into the land with their machinery and their tools, seeking the riches that lay within, in their blasphemy they had even gone so far as to redirect the flow of the rivers, ignorant that they were more than simply a source of water, that they were the lifeblood of the land itself. Not willing to let this simply stand I channeled my own anger and the seething, brooding will of the land, pulling it around the place as I wove small totems from the rocks, bones, wood and grass that I found and hung around the area, laying a curse of bad luck and ill-fortune on any who sought to profit from the desecration of the land here.
Our only real sign of other people so far had been an encounter with a solder who shouted at us in a language we didn’t understand and then moved on, other than that we had barely seen a living soul and so decided to make camp in the forest; whilst our Hunter was bringing down one of the many wild boar that roam the area I took a stick and poked the embers of our camp fire, gazing into the smoke and flames for a glimpse of the gods great pattern. In the embers I saw a village of the new faith and lurking at the centre of it, like a great spider was a deep and terrible darkness.