Post by King Adam Aberdeen I on May 24, 2008 14:24:43 GMT -6
The Threat and the Plan
His heart enlightened in her confessions and he too lavished her with adoration and love by simple touch and eye contact. "Yer a fine lass, Bessie Eve... fine lass indeed. An ah be proud tae marry ye still... tis long aeverdue..." then he went to kiss her then heard what she said. "Told ye what Bess? What did they tell ye?"
"Adam, Adam they told me.. .they told me ye were dead, and they told Kae n' me Dimitri was dead tae. Adam...his wife is dead, she is I saw the body but when I looked under the windin' sheet it was nay ye nor him! Kaelyn is here tae, lookin' for Dmitrii." If she spoke too loud, this dream would end, and she would be in Inverness again beside the winding sheet with the smell of rot. "I came out tae find either ye tae kiss or bur bury..." Her kisses were deeper, " I thought I lost you.." (d)
The sternness entered upon his face as his back straightened, shaking his head. "Nae mae luv... twas nuthin like that... Me and muh unit were cut off from the main body. We were suppose to stand the right flank, but the center faded... and the Ainglish broke thru... I lost all but 5 aer sae o'mae men... Sir Richard o' the Templars came in and saved us... and we six came tae Skye with him. It seems the Ainglish came in reinforcements more'n Ag knew... I saw Dmi days later in camp. He said he was going home or die...he rode off alone. Richard and ah came here... I could nae abandon mae men..." then he paused. "Lady Tory is dead?" then the pair discussed how it happened and how Dmi would be affected. "More Highlanders are coming by foot, horse, and boat every day... seekin' refuge where they kin... de Ainglish be closing in...”
"They be..." The details were portions of a story she filled in, "At the end o' the war people rejoiced, Adam. They though twas o'er and from what ye tell me...twas only a stalemate. They still be here..they be gaein North.." She sighed heavy. To leave and leave them behind? "Aye Victoria is dead, and the prince ne'er came home...he is missin." Fingers came up through her hair and she shook her head, "They are sittin' in a trap, Adam..Ah Gods.." But by the time she returned...she tried to sit up, and fell back against the propped pillows. (d)
“Ah was just waiting til the Ainglish moved toward Inverness by land, then Sir Richard and ah were going north by boat to aid in findin ye... if ye got mae letter, it said tae sail to Skye..." he kissed her longer, more passionate than before, afraid still her lips would crack. "Bess mae luv, ah don't know what ye went thru, but as for me, ah saw the Highlanders leave us, they turned and went a way that was nae planned... then instead of aidin' us, they kept movin away and left us tae slaughter. Twasn't Zahak's plan, twas Ag's..." he looks down, his hand holding hers. "If'en nae for Sir Richard and the Templars, ah'd be wolf bait…. ye be stayin still lass... if we need help, Sir Richard can lend us... ah can speak to him tomorrow."
"Adam, Adam, listen tae me." She took his hands into her own, lead up the path of limb to clutch his shoulders, "Serena is heavy. She's gaein' tae give birth at any time! Aislin is heavy 'erself...and Eirian, she's sae fragile. At any time..." The mind swam in a sea of blood, all they knew, coming to burn. "We… need… tae get the last stand. The Clansmen are fleein! ....This be worse than the clan wars, worse than the skirmishes before....Nay,nay I am nay stayin! " Determination in her tone, "Ye tell tha' woman tae heal me fast n' quick.....we've tae worn this Isle, who be the rulin' seat here, who be the rulin' chieftain, the laird?!"(d)
His hand caught hers and made her lay back down. "Ah be listenin'..." he looks at her determined eyes... and follows with a simple nod. "Yer ships can be ready on the morrow's eve... The waters deep sae ye don't need high tide... I will round up the men and contact Sir Richard..." He looks away, then back to her... "Say nae more... yu Captain yer ship and I command the knights..." She could hear his teeth grit. "One last time ah'll go to Inverness... ah swore on mae sword for Richard and Skye nae for the Highlanders..." Pushing her back down... "Dammit Bess... I said on the morrow's eve... til then ye lay still and sleep. ah'll get Aida ta fix more broth..." He curses as he stands, then he looks at her. "Ah do this for yu... and there is no Laird... no chieftain... save the Templars who mind their own... I'll speak tae them tonight..."
"The Templar Knights, wot o' the Lairds? The Skye Clans...many o' them, I remember…" she shook her head and pulled him close to lay with her. What more could she say? Nothing. Nothing could stop the fires from sweeping up through her beloved home and the scourge would come again to trample the heather beneath their boots. Steel would slaughter innocence and cut the threads of hope. "Nothin' be as it was, Adam," she mused on the bleak outcome coming to the mainland. They thought they had won, driven it back. What fools! In her eyes he could see the colors shift; blues commingled with moor's emerald wash until the sea was impossible to separate from the Skye. Scotland was alive in her, why could it not be unified with out? "Nothin' will e'er be the same again." (d)
"Ah can speak tae them... none vut the Templars aided in the fight with England... their too busy tendin their own... but ah can convince them… Bess, ye did all ye can... the Scots have tae stay together or the Ainglish will win... but the Scots keep fighting one anothjer..." he shrugs.... "Unless..."
"Unless wot, Adam, this is our stand...this is… the last stand. Fer years agae we feared this among our selves in reaches, halls, moors away from the south. in the South. Here! I was 'ere in Skye years agone where the blood fell from the land rivers intae the sea n' we prayed...we prayed. Templar, Scott, Laird, it matters nay." she turned over onto her side and touched the bed linens. White, unmarred. "Nothin' is sacred…" (d)
"Unless I can convince them that the English will think that Inverness is the last stronghold... we could bond our forces... and use the Isles to our advantage... a few good ships and we can keep the Ainglish at bay and if they want the Isles, then they will lose more than any battle before... it would make Bannockburn look like a cake walk." He looks down... "Besides... I know my Father has forces in Glasgow already... the south is his... we HAVE to make a stand in the Isles..." he paces around talking to himself as much as he is her... "To channel the English and use her own bloody tactics against her." trying to find the right speech to give to all the clan lairds... "Ta use the Isles as a weapon..."
"Nay wonder ye are here...." Adam talked and she listened. Listened hard and wondered now. Would Robert the Bruce have his chance to be the King Elect now, what of Edward, the one vying for Mordread's seat? Or would they hold the Scottish heirs and cradle the future in their war torn hands? Against better judgment her feet were put to the floor. Body came erect, and she shuffled to a window to regard Turas Lan for the first time. Upward progression into the hillside of building, wall, and road. "Ah've heard o' this place, ne'er thought tae see it done, or see it at all. She be beautiful." (d)
He looked Bess, then motioned for Aida. The healer knew exactly what to do... what was best for Bess... and to give Adam time to think, to talk, and persuade. Looing at Bess, he neared her as Aida handed him a bowl. "Drink mae dear Bess... if ye are tae fight, then I need ye at yer best..." he takes the bowl and holds it out for her, and before she took it to drink... he smiles... "Ah luv yer m'heart... no matter what."
"O'course. I love ye tae, I love ye more than life itself. When next I fall asleep," as if predicting outcome, though she knew it not. "All I wish fer is this land tae thrive, m'children's children tae see her splendor...I will dah what e'er it takes." She drank of the bowl deeply and was set to say more. But soon the effects of the dram were enough to bring her to bed... and into a sleep. A sleep unlike any known for it was true sleep. (d)
The Debate
The Lady slept and the man gathers a few friends, who sent riders north, and south, east and west. Men in boats rowed to the neighboring islands, signals were lit and clan leaders begrudgingly gathered. Turas Lan, usually full of life, got busier. Shops remained open, merchants and pub owners kept lights burning for those who wished to spend or barter.
On the box, the man dressed in black stepped up. Attempting several times to get everyone’s attention, his voice raising an octave each time. Adam huffed. Sir Richard simply stood up and neared Adam’s right side. Tapping his tankard on the bar, everyone looked then quieted down. “Please, give this young man a chance to speak…”
Amongst the grumbling of more than just being summoned to TurasLan, Adam attempted to explain the situation between Scotland and England. “The Scots ‘ave always fought the Ainglaish…” the old man said from a corner. Adam also explained that the English was moving in on Inverness and if Inverness falls, all of Scotland falls. “Whats that tae dae wit de Isles” came from someway in the crowd.
The debate went on after tankard after tankard… argument after argument. At times, it appeared that Adam could convince them, then arguments would begin again and he would lose ground. So far, he only had the Templars, his own men, and the MacLeods ready to fall under his command. Many of the leaders could not find a reason to join a new person to the Isles… one that did not have shed blood for them.
Through the night and well into the next morning, Adam and Sir Richard attempted to sway the attitudes and ideals of the men gathered at the Pubs at Dockside.
Men exchanged stances on the box as each spoke their minds. Adam stood by and made mental note of the speakers…taking to mind certain ones. A good judge of character, he noticed nuances that portrayed those certain few as traitors amongst loyal Scots. With no proof, he kept the comments hidden and logged them in conscientious note. Looking at Sir Richard occasionally, the Templar showed no emotion, no facial expression, he would merely look at Adam and wink.
Adam grumbled and moved to the box when the speaker finally finished. Nearly falling off the box from fatigue, Richard lent a hand and steadied him. “Hear mae please… some ‘ave accused mae of being Aignlish; aye, ah am… but m’heart lies in Scotland… and even Scotland has turned her heart on some of her loyalest kin…Ah ye, ah am here tae stay on the Winged Isle… ready tae die for her. Upon the sacred halls, Ah swear fealty upon the Isle as if ah was bairn ‘ere. And if’en ye side wit mae agin the Ainglish, I swear tae ye now, none will burden us agin. We shall be free o’tyranny. But ah cannaet dae it alone…Ah ask ye tae sharpen yer sword, and string yer baew and form an allegiance that cannaet be beat.” He looks around amongst the head shaking and mumbled conversations.
OOC Synopsis:
The flagship tale of war, great escape, and new beginnings!
The war between England and Scotland has been declared over, and having come to Turas Lan for answers, Beathag has found Adam alive and in the keeping of the Order of the Knights Templar, who has helped his small surviving unit of men escape when the central units of the military were divided in a large battle. Those remaining behind in Northern Scotland will come to find the war is not over, and in fact, Beathag and Adam now are faced, as are those behind, with a serious decision:
The fight, escape, and survive the oncoming siege to the seat of the Scottish monarchy in order to rescue those left behind. No doubt, plans are in place for them, but will they be caught unawares?
Battles have ended kingdoms, but this will be the battle to establish a force of Celtic heritage that will not be swayed no matter what becomes of the mainland.
Morrigu's Call
"Do ye hear the crock going on at the Pubs at Dockside? Some half English martyr is tryin' to rally people to go to the mainland for war. The war is over!" One man said this to another as they walked in the bustling streets of a Turas Lan evening. His fellow slapped his back with a heavy hand, laughing as his heavy tone joined with the slapping of soles into the street, "Aye, tha' be a riot lad. C'mon. I'll buy ye a drink at Bannockburn then! Keep ye from the company of the mad. Or shall we to the Pubs at Dockside? It will be better than the amusements in the lane! "
This is what Beathag would arise to as the sleeping draught subsided in effect. The blood in her veins quickened in turn to push the pulse like quicksilver from the beating heart. Her hands opened up to claim the plump cheek; left smothered the face while the right pulled back threads of hair. "Damn him," she grumbled, "and the healer." Her smile would have stayed because the woman, Aida, was a hearty soul who only did what was best to keep her patient at bay. What would Adam have said against that? Not a thing. It took quite a man to hold her patience, stay her pride, and calm her heart to the point of beating in time with his. It would be why the smile frowned as words came in through an open window to allow in fresh air on a warm night. They laughed at the talk of a siege with idol gossip's nonchalance, dismissing it as they went about their business.
Ignorance was not bliss. Inverness was ignorant and would pay for it, while Skye had all the warning in the world and cared little for it.
She hissed as she sat upward as the air taken in became a growl of stiff joints and lax muscles flaring to painful life. "Wot the hell did I fall on -- damn it all," were the docks so hard, " Ne'er mind it now, girl. Put ye courage n'be steadfast tae the stickin' place." In a linen gown with undone hair, she appeared as no more than a woman in a window awaiting her man's return. But behind the illusion of the common was brewing a black portent yet to be named. She could not stay a'bed and await the end in tales of burning, smoke, and blood. If blood would be spilled? She would spill it alongside the high and low born. If burning was to commence? She would set the English encampment on fire.
The healer's daughter came into the room and bid her go back to bed, to which she replied this: "Tell my lord to turn his eyes tae the docks in due time. His lady makes tae give honor tae our name, as he does."
The lass was perhaps eighteen or nineteen. As folk of the country are, she had grown hearty in the fields on fresh milk, good food, and the island air. It was her mother's expert profession that took her to the Infirmary employ, and would see her as a head healer herself one day. "But my lady, what if you grow ill again? You've only just recovered enough to go outside, but to war?"
Beathag only smiled, walking tall and straight in protest against her body's wishes of otherwise, "I was in war at ye age, worse than this. Come, ye may be o' use tae me, lass. Can ye tie laces as well as ye can tie a bandage?"
The daughter of a healer, a daughter of Skye, nodded her head, "If ye wish mam, shall we dress ye tae receive your lord?"
"Aye, and the eye of Morrigu, and the woman of the sea. Tae m'trunks, in the o'er room, aye. I will tell ye, and ye shall retrieve." The linen gown was pulled over head and the girl beheld a history of violence and triumph in the ancient whipping scars that adorned her. Fading into the pale skin, some were raised from the harsh thud of spreading purple bruise, fading now, into the white thick of scar tissue against the left hip. She lowered her eyes and hid the awe of arms that were long… but the vicious line in the softest part of the upper flesh above the pit of the right looked as if it had nearly been taken off once. Skin seemed always chapped at her throat even after the application of chamomile lotion, rubbed raw by ropes from a hanging.
"What happened to you, my lady?"
"Nothing tha' has nay happened afore. M'body is a history writ in small n' large things, tha's all."
She helped to clean her skin and noted the breasts of the lady were lifted for her age. Her profession allowed her a body of physical excellence amid wore torn beauty. One breast, the right, held old circular markings and healed indentations. As she dried it, she reached for a wool shirt and was instructed otherwise, "Nay, nay tha' one. The short rough cloth, there." Homespun of thick cotton, or it was once. She recognized the fabric and pint, but instead it was used to bind them. The tall legs gave way to full, round hips. Like the other limbs, one could find where scars were ghosts with age and left a startling perfection, and other places that drew out thoughts of horror. Wicked marks along the inner thighs. She had been raped? What sort of a woman was she serving now? A linen undergarment, not unlike a man's, and over it would go pants of thick leather hide that had been fashioned to be useful to a fighter. These needed to be laced along the sides over the garment, up up to the hip. Next she was bidden, "And tha', there."
Naked arms were lifted as a corset like garment went over her breasts as the laces secured the hide all around, yet left half of the belly exposed toward and flesh toward the hip. Soot mixed with paste? An odd request but it was done, and color brought forth too. Her mother and she were Christians but she had spoken of something akin to this before; the warriors of old would attire themselves in the markings of the War goddess to seek her boon in battle. The crows then, would not be for them, but for the enemy. A golden woman became a harbinger: Clad in brown, thick leather hide, marking her eyes with a thick line over each, so when they were shut one only saw a dark void. Small dots of blue went beneath, and on her arms? Bands of thick blue and black darkness, swirling down the entirety of the left arm, a strong fighting side.
An over robe of black went atop it all, leaving arms exposed. Dirks were slid into her boots on either side, a dagger on her thigh, her waist. What arrested the heart of the young woman the most would be the axes strapped into place: A battle axe, and throwing axes along straps in the back and front. She muttered as if in recognizing what she saw, "Stories, m'lady, stories.. .they say. M'aunt..."
But a finger came to her lips and instructions followed, "Gae, see tha' wot I told ye tae do is done." In the room she looked and found the standard he had taken with him to war, and now she would hold it up. A griffon of gold against a cloth of black. Gloves went over her hands to preserve them from stiffness for they needed to be steady for battle. Claiming the standard, she said nothing until looking in on her sleeping children. "Ye watch them for me, ye and ye mother, Aida. Ye will both be rewarded handsomely." She went to leave the Infirmary, but before she did she paid the girl with curious expression one last set of words, "Ye Aunt is good woman."
She walked through the streets, amid stairs and questions, to the docks where she placed a horn to her lips. The conversation of men was split in twain by the bellowing refrain of a ram horn's call; eerily it was echoed. Again, and Again. As if someone had waited for it, and added until the call reached certain ears. For now, crewmen raced about as she called, "Lift the anchor and make ready tae leave!" In the pub, they would mutter and be made simple at a woman in a sea of men, made ready for war of the sort their ancestors would praise. "If ye've mind tae make ready for the land, and tae keep ye homes, and tae do ye names proud… follow this standard!" She lifted the Griffin. "We make for Inverness, and for battle!"
His heart enlightened in her confessions and he too lavished her with adoration and love by simple touch and eye contact. "Yer a fine lass, Bessie Eve... fine lass indeed. An ah be proud tae marry ye still... tis long aeverdue..." then he went to kiss her then heard what she said. "Told ye what Bess? What did they tell ye?"
"Adam, Adam they told me.. .they told me ye were dead, and they told Kae n' me Dimitri was dead tae. Adam...his wife is dead, she is I saw the body but when I looked under the windin' sheet it was nay ye nor him! Kaelyn is here tae, lookin' for Dmitrii." If she spoke too loud, this dream would end, and she would be in Inverness again beside the winding sheet with the smell of rot. "I came out tae find either ye tae kiss or bur bury..." Her kisses were deeper, " I thought I lost you.." (d)
The sternness entered upon his face as his back straightened, shaking his head. "Nae mae luv... twas nuthin like that... Me and muh unit were cut off from the main body. We were suppose to stand the right flank, but the center faded... and the Ainglish broke thru... I lost all but 5 aer sae o'mae men... Sir Richard o' the Templars came in and saved us... and we six came tae Skye with him. It seems the Ainglish came in reinforcements more'n Ag knew... I saw Dmi days later in camp. He said he was going home or die...he rode off alone. Richard and ah came here... I could nae abandon mae men..." then he paused. "Lady Tory is dead?" then the pair discussed how it happened and how Dmi would be affected. "More Highlanders are coming by foot, horse, and boat every day... seekin' refuge where they kin... de Ainglish be closing in...”
"They be..." The details were portions of a story she filled in, "At the end o' the war people rejoiced, Adam. They though twas o'er and from what ye tell me...twas only a stalemate. They still be here..they be gaein North.." She sighed heavy. To leave and leave them behind? "Aye Victoria is dead, and the prince ne'er came home...he is missin." Fingers came up through her hair and she shook her head, "They are sittin' in a trap, Adam..Ah Gods.." But by the time she returned...she tried to sit up, and fell back against the propped pillows. (d)
“Ah was just waiting til the Ainglish moved toward Inverness by land, then Sir Richard and ah were going north by boat to aid in findin ye... if ye got mae letter, it said tae sail to Skye..." he kissed her longer, more passionate than before, afraid still her lips would crack. "Bess mae luv, ah don't know what ye went thru, but as for me, ah saw the Highlanders leave us, they turned and went a way that was nae planned... then instead of aidin' us, they kept movin away and left us tae slaughter. Twasn't Zahak's plan, twas Ag's..." he looks down, his hand holding hers. "If'en nae for Sir Richard and the Templars, ah'd be wolf bait…. ye be stayin still lass... if we need help, Sir Richard can lend us... ah can speak to him tomorrow."
"Adam, Adam, listen tae me." She took his hands into her own, lead up the path of limb to clutch his shoulders, "Serena is heavy. She's gaein' tae give birth at any time! Aislin is heavy 'erself...and Eirian, she's sae fragile. At any time..." The mind swam in a sea of blood, all they knew, coming to burn. "We… need… tae get the last stand. The Clansmen are fleein! ....This be worse than the clan wars, worse than the skirmishes before....Nay,nay I am nay stayin! " Determination in her tone, "Ye tell tha' woman tae heal me fast n' quick.....we've tae worn this Isle, who be the rulin' seat here, who be the rulin' chieftain, the laird?!"(d)
His hand caught hers and made her lay back down. "Ah be listenin'..." he looks at her determined eyes... and follows with a simple nod. "Yer ships can be ready on the morrow's eve... The waters deep sae ye don't need high tide... I will round up the men and contact Sir Richard..." He looks away, then back to her... "Say nae more... yu Captain yer ship and I command the knights..." She could hear his teeth grit. "One last time ah'll go to Inverness... ah swore on mae sword for Richard and Skye nae for the Highlanders..." Pushing her back down... "Dammit Bess... I said on the morrow's eve... til then ye lay still and sleep. ah'll get Aida ta fix more broth..." He curses as he stands, then he looks at her. "Ah do this for yu... and there is no Laird... no chieftain... save the Templars who mind their own... I'll speak tae them tonight..."
"The Templar Knights, wot o' the Lairds? The Skye Clans...many o' them, I remember…" she shook her head and pulled him close to lay with her. What more could she say? Nothing. Nothing could stop the fires from sweeping up through her beloved home and the scourge would come again to trample the heather beneath their boots. Steel would slaughter innocence and cut the threads of hope. "Nothin' be as it was, Adam," she mused on the bleak outcome coming to the mainland. They thought they had won, driven it back. What fools! In her eyes he could see the colors shift; blues commingled with moor's emerald wash until the sea was impossible to separate from the Skye. Scotland was alive in her, why could it not be unified with out? "Nothin' will e'er be the same again." (d)
"Ah can speak tae them... none vut the Templars aided in the fight with England... their too busy tendin their own... but ah can convince them… Bess, ye did all ye can... the Scots have tae stay together or the Ainglish will win... but the Scots keep fighting one anothjer..." he shrugs.... "Unless..."
"Unless wot, Adam, this is our stand...this is… the last stand. Fer years agae we feared this among our selves in reaches, halls, moors away from the south. in the South. Here! I was 'ere in Skye years agone where the blood fell from the land rivers intae the sea n' we prayed...we prayed. Templar, Scott, Laird, it matters nay." she turned over onto her side and touched the bed linens. White, unmarred. "Nothin' is sacred…" (d)
"Unless I can convince them that the English will think that Inverness is the last stronghold... we could bond our forces... and use the Isles to our advantage... a few good ships and we can keep the Ainglish at bay and if they want the Isles, then they will lose more than any battle before... it would make Bannockburn look like a cake walk." He looks down... "Besides... I know my Father has forces in Glasgow already... the south is his... we HAVE to make a stand in the Isles..." he paces around talking to himself as much as he is her... "To channel the English and use her own bloody tactics against her." trying to find the right speech to give to all the clan lairds... "Ta use the Isles as a weapon..."
"Nay wonder ye are here...." Adam talked and she listened. Listened hard and wondered now. Would Robert the Bruce have his chance to be the King Elect now, what of Edward, the one vying for Mordread's seat? Or would they hold the Scottish heirs and cradle the future in their war torn hands? Against better judgment her feet were put to the floor. Body came erect, and she shuffled to a window to regard Turas Lan for the first time. Upward progression into the hillside of building, wall, and road. "Ah've heard o' this place, ne'er thought tae see it done, or see it at all. She be beautiful." (d)
He looked Bess, then motioned for Aida. The healer knew exactly what to do... what was best for Bess... and to give Adam time to think, to talk, and persuade. Looing at Bess, he neared her as Aida handed him a bowl. "Drink mae dear Bess... if ye are tae fight, then I need ye at yer best..." he takes the bowl and holds it out for her, and before she took it to drink... he smiles... "Ah luv yer m'heart... no matter what."
"O'course. I love ye tae, I love ye more than life itself. When next I fall asleep," as if predicting outcome, though she knew it not. "All I wish fer is this land tae thrive, m'children's children tae see her splendor...I will dah what e'er it takes." She drank of the bowl deeply and was set to say more. But soon the effects of the dram were enough to bring her to bed... and into a sleep. A sleep unlike any known for it was true sleep. (d)
The Debate
The Lady slept and the man gathers a few friends, who sent riders north, and south, east and west. Men in boats rowed to the neighboring islands, signals were lit and clan leaders begrudgingly gathered. Turas Lan, usually full of life, got busier. Shops remained open, merchants and pub owners kept lights burning for those who wished to spend or barter.
On the box, the man dressed in black stepped up. Attempting several times to get everyone’s attention, his voice raising an octave each time. Adam huffed. Sir Richard simply stood up and neared Adam’s right side. Tapping his tankard on the bar, everyone looked then quieted down. “Please, give this young man a chance to speak…”
Amongst the grumbling of more than just being summoned to TurasLan, Adam attempted to explain the situation between Scotland and England. “The Scots ‘ave always fought the Ainglaish…” the old man said from a corner. Adam also explained that the English was moving in on Inverness and if Inverness falls, all of Scotland falls. “Whats that tae dae wit de Isles” came from someway in the crowd.
The debate went on after tankard after tankard… argument after argument. At times, it appeared that Adam could convince them, then arguments would begin again and he would lose ground. So far, he only had the Templars, his own men, and the MacLeods ready to fall under his command. Many of the leaders could not find a reason to join a new person to the Isles… one that did not have shed blood for them.
Through the night and well into the next morning, Adam and Sir Richard attempted to sway the attitudes and ideals of the men gathered at the Pubs at Dockside.
Men exchanged stances on the box as each spoke their minds. Adam stood by and made mental note of the speakers…taking to mind certain ones. A good judge of character, he noticed nuances that portrayed those certain few as traitors amongst loyal Scots. With no proof, he kept the comments hidden and logged them in conscientious note. Looking at Sir Richard occasionally, the Templar showed no emotion, no facial expression, he would merely look at Adam and wink.
Adam grumbled and moved to the box when the speaker finally finished. Nearly falling off the box from fatigue, Richard lent a hand and steadied him. “Hear mae please… some ‘ave accused mae of being Aignlish; aye, ah am… but m’heart lies in Scotland… and even Scotland has turned her heart on some of her loyalest kin…Ah ye, ah am here tae stay on the Winged Isle… ready tae die for her. Upon the sacred halls, Ah swear fealty upon the Isle as if ah was bairn ‘ere. And if’en ye side wit mae agin the Ainglish, I swear tae ye now, none will burden us agin. We shall be free o’tyranny. But ah cannaet dae it alone…Ah ask ye tae sharpen yer sword, and string yer baew and form an allegiance that cannaet be beat.” He looks around amongst the head shaking and mumbled conversations.
OOC Synopsis:
The flagship tale of war, great escape, and new beginnings!
The war between England and Scotland has been declared over, and having come to Turas Lan for answers, Beathag has found Adam alive and in the keeping of the Order of the Knights Templar, who has helped his small surviving unit of men escape when the central units of the military were divided in a large battle. Those remaining behind in Northern Scotland will come to find the war is not over, and in fact, Beathag and Adam now are faced, as are those behind, with a serious decision:
The fight, escape, and survive the oncoming siege to the seat of the Scottish monarchy in order to rescue those left behind. No doubt, plans are in place for them, but will they be caught unawares?
Battles have ended kingdoms, but this will be the battle to establish a force of Celtic heritage that will not be swayed no matter what becomes of the mainland.
Morrigu's Call
"Do ye hear the crock going on at the Pubs at Dockside? Some half English martyr is tryin' to rally people to go to the mainland for war. The war is over!" One man said this to another as they walked in the bustling streets of a Turas Lan evening. His fellow slapped his back with a heavy hand, laughing as his heavy tone joined with the slapping of soles into the street, "Aye, tha' be a riot lad. C'mon. I'll buy ye a drink at Bannockburn then! Keep ye from the company of the mad. Or shall we to the Pubs at Dockside? It will be better than the amusements in the lane! "
This is what Beathag would arise to as the sleeping draught subsided in effect. The blood in her veins quickened in turn to push the pulse like quicksilver from the beating heart. Her hands opened up to claim the plump cheek; left smothered the face while the right pulled back threads of hair. "Damn him," she grumbled, "and the healer." Her smile would have stayed because the woman, Aida, was a hearty soul who only did what was best to keep her patient at bay. What would Adam have said against that? Not a thing. It took quite a man to hold her patience, stay her pride, and calm her heart to the point of beating in time with his. It would be why the smile frowned as words came in through an open window to allow in fresh air on a warm night. They laughed at the talk of a siege with idol gossip's nonchalance, dismissing it as they went about their business.
Ignorance was not bliss. Inverness was ignorant and would pay for it, while Skye had all the warning in the world and cared little for it.
She hissed as she sat upward as the air taken in became a growl of stiff joints and lax muscles flaring to painful life. "Wot the hell did I fall on -- damn it all," were the docks so hard, " Ne'er mind it now, girl. Put ye courage n'be steadfast tae the stickin' place." In a linen gown with undone hair, she appeared as no more than a woman in a window awaiting her man's return. But behind the illusion of the common was brewing a black portent yet to be named. She could not stay a'bed and await the end in tales of burning, smoke, and blood. If blood would be spilled? She would spill it alongside the high and low born. If burning was to commence? She would set the English encampment on fire.
The healer's daughter came into the room and bid her go back to bed, to which she replied this: "Tell my lord to turn his eyes tae the docks in due time. His lady makes tae give honor tae our name, as he does."
The lass was perhaps eighteen or nineteen. As folk of the country are, she had grown hearty in the fields on fresh milk, good food, and the island air. It was her mother's expert profession that took her to the Infirmary employ, and would see her as a head healer herself one day. "But my lady, what if you grow ill again? You've only just recovered enough to go outside, but to war?"
Beathag only smiled, walking tall and straight in protest against her body's wishes of otherwise, "I was in war at ye age, worse than this. Come, ye may be o' use tae me, lass. Can ye tie laces as well as ye can tie a bandage?"
The daughter of a healer, a daughter of Skye, nodded her head, "If ye wish mam, shall we dress ye tae receive your lord?"
"Aye, and the eye of Morrigu, and the woman of the sea. Tae m'trunks, in the o'er room, aye. I will tell ye, and ye shall retrieve." The linen gown was pulled over head and the girl beheld a history of violence and triumph in the ancient whipping scars that adorned her. Fading into the pale skin, some were raised from the harsh thud of spreading purple bruise, fading now, into the white thick of scar tissue against the left hip. She lowered her eyes and hid the awe of arms that were long… but the vicious line in the softest part of the upper flesh above the pit of the right looked as if it had nearly been taken off once. Skin seemed always chapped at her throat even after the application of chamomile lotion, rubbed raw by ropes from a hanging.
"What happened to you, my lady?"
"Nothing tha' has nay happened afore. M'body is a history writ in small n' large things, tha's all."
She helped to clean her skin and noted the breasts of the lady were lifted for her age. Her profession allowed her a body of physical excellence amid wore torn beauty. One breast, the right, held old circular markings and healed indentations. As she dried it, she reached for a wool shirt and was instructed otherwise, "Nay, nay tha' one. The short rough cloth, there." Homespun of thick cotton, or it was once. She recognized the fabric and pint, but instead it was used to bind them. The tall legs gave way to full, round hips. Like the other limbs, one could find where scars were ghosts with age and left a startling perfection, and other places that drew out thoughts of horror. Wicked marks along the inner thighs. She had been raped? What sort of a woman was she serving now? A linen undergarment, not unlike a man's, and over it would go pants of thick leather hide that had been fashioned to be useful to a fighter. These needed to be laced along the sides over the garment, up up to the hip. Next she was bidden, "And tha', there."
Naked arms were lifted as a corset like garment went over her breasts as the laces secured the hide all around, yet left half of the belly exposed toward and flesh toward the hip. Soot mixed with paste? An odd request but it was done, and color brought forth too. Her mother and she were Christians but she had spoken of something akin to this before; the warriors of old would attire themselves in the markings of the War goddess to seek her boon in battle. The crows then, would not be for them, but for the enemy. A golden woman became a harbinger: Clad in brown, thick leather hide, marking her eyes with a thick line over each, so when they were shut one only saw a dark void. Small dots of blue went beneath, and on her arms? Bands of thick blue and black darkness, swirling down the entirety of the left arm, a strong fighting side.
An over robe of black went atop it all, leaving arms exposed. Dirks were slid into her boots on either side, a dagger on her thigh, her waist. What arrested the heart of the young woman the most would be the axes strapped into place: A battle axe, and throwing axes along straps in the back and front. She muttered as if in recognizing what she saw, "Stories, m'lady, stories.. .they say. M'aunt..."
But a finger came to her lips and instructions followed, "Gae, see tha' wot I told ye tae do is done." In the room she looked and found the standard he had taken with him to war, and now she would hold it up. A griffon of gold against a cloth of black. Gloves went over her hands to preserve them from stiffness for they needed to be steady for battle. Claiming the standard, she said nothing until looking in on her sleeping children. "Ye watch them for me, ye and ye mother, Aida. Ye will both be rewarded handsomely." She went to leave the Infirmary, but before she did she paid the girl with curious expression one last set of words, "Ye Aunt is good woman."
She walked through the streets, amid stairs and questions, to the docks where she placed a horn to her lips. The conversation of men was split in twain by the bellowing refrain of a ram horn's call; eerily it was echoed. Again, and Again. As if someone had waited for it, and added until the call reached certain ears. For now, crewmen raced about as she called, "Lift the anchor and make ready tae leave!" In the pub, they would mutter and be made simple at a woman in a sea of men, made ready for war of the sort their ancestors would praise. "If ye've mind tae make ready for the land, and tae keep ye homes, and tae do ye names proud… follow this standard!" She lifted the Griffin. "We make for Inverness, and for battle!"
