Post by Creative Consortium on Jan 23, 2008 22:17:51 GMT -6
Skye: The Winged Isle
Skye: The Winged Isle
Skye: The Winged IsleWe all know peace, above all things, is to be desired, but blood must sometimes be spilled to obtain it on equable and lasting terms. It is said that “Borders are scratched across the hearts of men, By strangers with a calm, judicial pen, And when the borders bleed, we watch with dread, The lines of ink across the map turn red.” [/I]
The year was 1317… Three galleys had sailed for days from Brest, now quite content to be dodging in and out between the Scottish mainland and the innumerable islands, some large and some small. The smooth sea had been a lovely melting blue, sometimes changing to sapphire and opal where it ran far inland on an Isle named Skye. All around the inlet, or Loch were indescribably beautiful mountains; a vivid mixture of rugged and sharp-peaks, while others sloped gently down to the water's edge; all wrapped in a veil of velvet, offering varied tones from soft brown to softer pale purple. At the top of the mountain peaks sat clouds, as if someone had caught and held them there.
As the galleys anchored in the deep part of the Loch, ship captains barked orders to secure the ships and prepare to land; the men aboard had finally made it to Scotland. Long boats were lowered, brave men ventured into a new land, seeking freedom from persecution. By early evening, in a characteristic downpour, the 35 men were ashore. On land, a thrifty number of townspeople provided them a hearty, though necessarily damp, welcome.
The men and their new hosts climbed a steep, slippery path which led to the road atop a bluff. The dirt road was narrow and rough, stretching over level portions of country, mostly level except for the rolling hills. Within an hours walk, the men zigzagged their way to dizzy heights, on a mountain-side; now dipped suddenly and crossing a rushing stream, only to begin another steep climb. Over the moors, just beginning to be tinged with the pinkish-purple of the haeddre, the sheep scampered at the sound of swords clanging. Along the ten-mile route, there were no houses, no people, no trees. Slowly the mountains grew steeper, sharper, harsher until the Castle, shrouded in mist, was reached, amidst of the giant "Black Cuillin" mountains.
The year is 1328.
Even so much as eleven years ago, the men, former Pauperes commilitones Christi Templique Solomonici, better known as Knights Templars, their Order had returned from the Crusades, suppressed by Pope and King alike, and escaped to lands far and wide as an asylum from the persecutions of the French monarch, had most interestingly and romantically fused themselves into the Scottish culture and life. They now find themselves a part of the largest and most northerly island in the Inner Hebrides of Scotland, the Isle of Skye. In Scottish Gaelic it is commonly referred to as An t-Eilean Sgitheanach - "The Winged Isle."
The wealth of Skye lived in clan castles while her people remained in the simpler ways of life as they had for generations prior. If the population was dense there was no evidence to support it. Huddled in villages on the outskirts of the island, save for the battle or a talked of moment made in passion, people kept close to home and socialized only among themselves. Slowly but surely, progress followed the original 35 men who fled from persecution in the form of advances in science, medicine, the arts, architecture, literature, and language that had trailed with them from homes in France and all across Europe. Some say the talk of witch arts were true and others said it was only the following of wealthy patrons to Skye later on. But soon after villages began to thrive, and they thrived so much funds were found to finish a project that had been abandoned two decades earlier. The capital city of Turas Lan in Southwestern Skye.
The Scot-English hostilities were never settled and always loomed for those who were, or could be touched by it… touching royal and commoner alike; what could separate and destroy families and friends and fill our hearts with hatred instead of love for our neighbors.
Even on the Isle of Skye, the hostilities could, any time, reach out… but it was the last stand that those herein would make… this Winged Isle would be there final home…[/font][/size]
