Maire Virtanen orders Gwendolen Maddox and [b]4 other thralls[/b] to start filling bowls with mature silverleaf tree sap. This toxic sludge can be slathered on the weapons of Clan Aonghus' gallocmen to give them an edge in battle. It could also be put into fragile clay vessels and thrown at enemy warriors.
[hr]
[center][b]Poison[/b][/center]
Maire stepped out of her shack and took in the scene of barely controlled chaos spread out before her. The air stank of wood smoke, heated metal, and fear. A great deal of fear. Those kerns capable of fighting alongside the warriors were grabbing whatever weapons they could while their wives helped them into the few pieces of armor they owned. Several of the herdsmen had gotten too fat to squeeze into their armor, and the alchemist could definitely sympathize with their plight. Prior to their banishment, Clan Aonghus had been prosperous and mostly well-liked so armor and weapons were rarely needed. There was nothing like being exiled to make you feel like everything that had happened before was a dream and your current situation was completely hopeless. Meanwhile, the gallocmen, their faces streaked with green and red war paint, strolled through the madness like gods made flesh. Holding their weapons in the loose grip of hardened killers, they ignored the thralls scurrying to and fro on various errands, the howls of terrified children, and the whinnying of panicked horses. These men, regardless of which Council member they were most loyal to, would ultimately determine the outcome of this raid. 

While the attackers' numbers were roughly the same as Clan Aonghus', the enemy was in the perfect position to outflank any potential offensives. Even with the aid of skilled warriors like Ardghal, Titania, and Eliz, Aonghus' fighters would have to waste time re-positioning themselves. Time they didn't have. At least, that's what Tristan Jory had told Maire when he'd arrived at her shack an hour ago, his eyes flashing with excitement and fear as he described the situation. The boy was young, but even he knew the clan was in trouble.

Pushing these dark thoughts from her mind, Maire started waddling towards the tula proper, her pale eyes narrowing as she pondered the events she'd set into motion. Once Tristan had finished telling her about the raid, the alchemist ordered him to return to his brothers-in-arms and then called for Gwendolen. The redhead had barely stepped into the hut's main chamber when Maire told her to bring four more thralls to the house. Gwen had bowed and dashed away, which gave Maire time to consider the story Garrick Derval, a kern and loyal friend, had told her prior to Tristan's arrival. 

Supposedly, an orc had rescued Fiona Anrai from the clanless that had taken her prisoner nearly a week ago. The clan had been searching desperately for the girl ever since she'd been kidnapped, and this grayskin just showed up at the tula this morning with Fiona in tow. The wonders of the Hidden Valley never ceased to amaze Maire. If what Garrick said was true, Carag and Hilda Anrai, Fiona's parents, intended to let the Council decide what should be done with the orc who'd saved her daughter. For the time being, the beast had returned to his home in the nearby hills to await the Council's verdict.

By the time Gwendolen had returned with four nervous-looking thralls, Maire had decided what she was going to say to her fellow Council members. 

She'd proceeded to send Gwen into the cellar to retrieve enough heavy leather aprons, gloves, and sharp knives to outfit herself and the other thralls. Once they were all properly dressed, Maire gestured towards five clay bowls she'd laid out beside the fire pit. The thralls, armed with their blades and bowls, were told to go outside and begin bleeding the silverleaf trees on the western edge of the grove. Those were the oldest trees by Maire's reckoning so their sap would be the most toxic. What could be better than having Clan Aonghus' gallocmen march into battle with [i]dorca vaientaa[/i] dripping from their weapons? Clan Nightfell's warriors were tougher than most so they would be able to endure the "dark killer's" effects better than Clan Greenfeather's gallocmen, but it wouldn't matter in the end. Just touching silverleaf tree sap was enough to cause painful blisters to appear, and ingesting it could kill a man in ten heartbeats. Maire briefly wondered how the raiders would handle seeing their companions covered in blisters and dying in droves. The image brought a smile to Maire's pale face, and she waved encouragingly at the five thralls working amongst the trees. They waved back as the alchemist continued plodding in the direction of the new clan hall.

Besides offering her insights about the orc and the raid, however, Maire had other plans for this meeting. She'd kept quiet for the remainder of the Rain Season after hearing about the speech Eliz had delivered after her return from Stormpeak. There was nothing she could say that wouldn't give credence to the rumors about her having a feud with the vicious spellcaster. However, the "dark child" had humiliated Maire in public, deriding her choices and claiming she hadn't put herself in harm's way during the sweetgrass expedition. That was unacceptable. While the alchemist had no intention of allowing her issues with Eliz to harm the clan or impede her desire to return to Urland, she intended to let the scarred raider know what she'd done.

She'd made Maire angry.

[hr]

"I believe we should offer the orc a gift to reward him for what he did for the Anrai family and the clan," Maire said in the clan hall as soon as Eliz finished saying her piece. The alchemist's deep soprano voice reached every corner of the wooden structure, a powerful yet compassionate sound that demanded attention. It was the voice of someone who knew how to say something in just the right way to elicit whatever feeling she desired. "I agree with Dunlad's suggestion that a few cows might be all we can give him. Everything else should be put towards the defense of our clan's territory from the Nightfell and Greenfeathers. I do, however, believe that one of our mightiest warriors should present our gift to the grayskin. Orcs are a vicious and temperamental people, and we should do everything in our power to avoid insulting him. Perhaps Titania or Ardghal could do it?"

Leaning forward in her throne-like chair and stroking the right armrest, which was carved in the shape of the Black Wolf, she said, "I am not opposed to offering him a place in the clan, but we should make him earn it. As Aran the Wise once said, 'Only a fool doesn't make use of all the tools available to him.' Let us first see if the orc is interested in living among us. If he is then we should ask him to show his commitment to Clan Aonghus by helping us fend off this raid. Our enemies won't be expecting that, and we can use their surprise to our advantage."

Pursing her lips and settling back in her seat, Maire said, "Now, I am no tactician so I cannot contribute much to the defense of the tula. I feel Ardghal, Titania,...and Eliz are capable of keeping our hold safe from Clans Nightfell and Greenfeather." Of course, if the Council knew about the three poisoned blades hidden beneath Maire's opulent red robes it might have weakened the sentiment behind this statement. Still, what they didn't know wouldn't hurt them.

"However, I would like to offer two suggestions for our warriors to consider. First, we need someone to stay near the kerns during the battle or they might break. After what happened during the Rain Season, especially with that accursed ditch, they are uncertain and nervous. If their attention is split between the attackers and their loved ones they will perish." Looking over at Dunlad and smiling warmly, she said, "I believe Dunlad would be the well-suited for this task, though Titania might also be a good choice. Perhaps she'd prefer to fight alongside the men she and Fintan have been training, though. And, Dunlad, if you'd rather focus on reinforcing our defenses then that's fine as well. This is merely a suggestion."

"Secondly, I have five thralls draining silverleaf tree sap from the grove around my home. This is a highly poisonous substance capable of creating painful blisters and killing in ten heartbeats. Our gallocmen should put this tree sap on their weapons before they march into battle. Or, and this is something I only just realized, we could fill some of the clay beakers I use to store salves with the "dark killer." These beakers are fragile so if our warriors threw them at their opponents they would break, splattering the enemy in question with sap. They would make devastating projectiles."

Maire leaned back into her chair and glanced over at Serhiem and Eliz. Now was the time. Taking a breath, she said, "Also, though I know this is hardly the time for such talk, I wanted to express my heartfelt gratitude to the both of you for handling that matter with Clan Stormcaller. We need all the friends we can get if we are to flourish in our new home. Thank you." And then, without looking at either the chief or the raider, the alchemist said, "We couldn't have reached such a favorable resolution without you."

It wasn't dramatic, but a slight was still a slight. By not naming or looking at anyone, Maire had cast doubt on who she believed was truly responsible for regaining the goodwill of the Stormcallers. It was a petty thing to do, but the alchemist had realized something during Waning Rain. Eliz was too hotheaded to ignore anything that demeaned or mocked her. Even words. Why else would she have been so enraged by what Maire had said to the kerns about the sweetgrass expedition? When the herdsmen had asked her why she hadn't taken more gallocmen to the Barrows, the alchemist had simply said most of them were headed to Stormpeak with Eliz. How could that be misconstrued as Maire saying the hideous woman's expedition was a "foolish errand?" She had called it a "hastily thrown together expedition" in an earlier Council meeting, but that was out of concern for Fintan Lariksen's well-being. 

Truthfully, if it wasn't for the diatribe Eliz had given when she returned from the mountains the alchemist might've been willing to let bygones be bygones. The Stormcallers were appeased and the rains had ended.

But Maire Virtanen was not her father. She would not be insulted in public by a child. More than that, she would not allow Clan Aonghus’ safety to be jeopardized by the stupidity and arrogance of one Council member. 

Maire would continue to work diligently to ensure Clan Aonghus' survival and eventual departure from the Hidden Valley. However, she also intended to expand her influence and power until the day came when even the gallocmen turned against Eliz. Some of them were already talking about some incident involving undead warriors calling her a "dark child." The alchemist could use that. Slowly turning her head to look at Eliz, Maire's pale blue eyes locked onto the other woman's eyes. For an instant, an expression of pure rage and contempt flickered across the urlandi’s doughy features. It was brief, but this look spoke volumes.

It said, "[i]If you ever put me or this clan in danger again I will make sure you never take another bite of food or sip of drink without testing it for poison first[/i]."