[centre][h1][i]Ehn Faoihdh ap-ehn Luhaedha Sinn Dhein[/i][/h1]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/KSKsTu6.png[/img][h3]The Seer of the Tribes of the Sinn Dhein[/h3][/centre]

The Seer saw this: the darkness of the rolling aeons since divine folk last walked the earth had not been kind upon the Sinn Dhein.

With the gods in ancient time they had fought that monstrous conquering race, the [i]ap-Morig[/i], and cast them into the farthest depths of the World Beyond the Veil; and when the gods faded one by one beyond the veil, why then the conquerors of the earth had set their gaze upon their pastures. Wave after conquering wave broke against Sinn Dhein flesh and bone, against the old oak and against the towering guardian mount where gods once dwelled, that stout and ancient Caer Seihdhar. And as the conquerors came and fell, bit by bit the Sinn Dhein broke; and all about and all around the great dark deluge brought them down.

The wyndyn of those ancient days, the glorious bards who smote with words, the feasts and songs, their warrior way; it all was lost and... fell away. And darkness danced upon their grave and laughed out loud and had its day. And he did weep, that sad old Seer who saw this all; who watched his people toil for years to ignorance and darkness thrall. He did not speak then, if you must know, but locked away his tongue so that all the tribes would laugh and think he had bitten it off and could do nothing now but weep. He did not care for their laughter though, he was busy - listening, listening, hearing, seeing. Feeling too and deeply - deeply! - breathing.

How long was it? Well, if you must know - it was long enough for all who laughed above to laugh again below. It is not an easy or short task at all to listen and see all your people's history - it is not easy to carry that burden upon your two narrow and swiftly aging shoulders. You think the Seer is old? He is! But it was not the passing of the seasons that turned his beard white, oh no: it was simply woe, friend. 

But man is a cup and can only hold so much woe, so much visions, so much tales, so much memory; and there comes a time when the cup must overflow and the tongue must awaken and speak once more. And when that old unspeaking Seer spoke at last, all between the great old mount and the world-water listened. The spirits in the leaves, those in the pebbles below, the breeze roiled the skies shivered, and all the tribes of the Sinn Dhein - for long asleep, for long in a daze - seemed at once to stir, seemed at once to shake off slumber and open eyes for aeons closed. And the Seer saw then that they were not lost; he had to exhort and continually remind, for indeed the reminder would benefit those who were long asleep.

In those times, before the lad of prophecy was come, the Seer walked among the Sinn Dhein and spoke and taught for generations. And he witnessed the birth of great mountain lairds and their deaths, the coming into the world of the men who would rule the vales, and their going. And none laughed at him, but plenty were those who laughed with him on occasion and more were those who came before him as they would a reclusive and reluctant god who - again and again - forced himself to tread the earth and speak among them. 

And in those generations before the lad who would be crowned was come, he taught them many things and worked to pave the way; and so they knew, if nothing else, that they - despite their feuding and their warring - were the Luhaedha Sinn Dhein, and for all their fighting knew that they were but one great and glorious tribe, children of the ancient saffron swordmother of love and war. This too they knew - and perhaps had never truly forgotten, for they took again to it as sunflowers took to the sun at morn - that great kyne brought great honour. And they knew that the great stones and henges and odd groves that dotted the earth all around were the ancient holy sites of their people, where one day they would learn to worship as once they did. They knew of Caer Seihdhar, the great godmountain, and came to know of many of the other gods too, they were often forgetful and so the Seer had to teach them again and again the tales. 

The children remembered far better than their stubborn parents and their eyes shone with wonder when the Seer sat them down and swept them away from the world of flesh on a spiritborne journey into the tale within his voice and song. And that voice inspired bardic imitators - for the poetic heritage of the ancient bards had not been utterly extinguished, and the Sinn Dhein were a people who enjoyed the verse and dance. And they loved the dance of swords too, and rebellion was etched into their veins, and so the outlaws of the ancient days were known to roam alone and in bands. Some offered their services to distant clans or allied themselves with them in whatever wars or feuds or raids they had.

And while they learned these things, and while there were matters they had no need to be taught - for who of the Sinn Dhein would forget the name of his tribe? - yet was there much that he could not yet teach them. The holy days and months of the ancients remained a mystery to his kin, as did the times of joy and revelry and song, and the noble traditions of marriage and fosterage were yet too much for them. 

Only the lad of prophecy, the one who would be [i]rhig[/i], could bring about those things once more. And that lad was now a man full-formed and mighty, and he had that Sinn Dhein fire and fury which would serve him well when dealing with his stubborn and martial kin. Aye, the lad was ready and the fruit was ripe; the harvest was come now at last. And the time of the fruit harvest was a time of death as much as it was a time of life. The return of their people was on the horizon, but so too were the forces of death and darkness - thus were they always.

The Seer stepped out from the shade of a tree and, with a great flourish, released the great raptor from his hands and sang for it to go off home. In its beak, mistletoe.
He watched as the raptor disappeared into the darkening heavens, just as in the distance the great red sun sank beneath Caer Seihdhar. The light was fading now, and the dark was here. But it was for the darkness that a Seer was made.

[hider=Summary]The Seer is ruminating on how the dark age after the disappearance of the gods saw the near-complete eradication of Sinn Dhein culture and religion. Through an unclear listening and seeing process, he came to know (or he thinks he knows) the Sinn Dhein's history and how they were in their glory days when the gods walked among them, and he has already set about restoring aspects of their religion and culture. But it is a slow and difficult process, and only the lad of prophecy can truly bring it all to completion. The lad of prophecy is now a mighty and fiery man, and so the time for the Sinn Dhein to rise and return to their ancient ways is returned at last.
But now death and darkness come, and the affair will not be easy. But it is for the darkness that we have Seers.
He has one of Cal's raptors and sends it back to its master with mistletoe.[/hider]