[center][h1][color=f7941d]𝕲𝖜𝖓𝖉𝖞𝖗𝖎𝖈[/color][/h1][/center]

The mild breeze that whispered through the dell hung like a blanket over the low valley walls and floor, caressing all within the confines of that long and narrow bowl with its demure embrace. With the sun peaking out from above the mountainside to reveal the deep emerald grasses and mosses that hugged and sprouted on both rock and soil in all directions. Copses of trees stood invitingly, the creatures of the morn stirring in the arboreal abodes made by those guardian regiments of oak and ash and thorn. In the distance the little splotches of white, black, and orange grazed, the tell-tale signs of a cattle herd breaking their fast in those far off glens. It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the epitome of a Sinn Dhein morning. 

On a solitary stone, his most favoured of perches in this particular scrap of land, sat the bedraggled form of Gwndyric. He was truly a specimen of his people despite the dishevelled nature of his early morning waking. Bright orange-red hair stood in a fiery dance of awkwardly standing fleece while the facial hair at his chin, cheeks, and above his lips seemed poorly maintained and hardly trimmed. Though a little dirt clung to him he was mostly clean and seemed more unkempt more than filthy. A skein of tattoos clung to his skin, bright blue in hue and depicting curling and twisting iconography least of which was the huge solar ring that hung above his heart.

Most notably of all, of course, was that he sat completely and utterly naked. 

The youthful carl sat on the smoothen stone, its well sanded down surface magnificent for nude setting. With that bracing morning breeze Gwndyric seemed contented, eyes mostly closed but for slits as the early light glared into his vision. His muscular torso gleamed pale and pink but for the wandering tattooed art across his body, only slightly tanned despite his constant days under the blazing sun. A solemn groan followed by a grunting sigh escaped his lips before the man leaned forward and spat a large glob of phlegm onto to ground before him. The spot was browned from a long history of Gwndyric spitting in that very spot and the newest glob only confirmed further his passion for the little smudge. A single bark from his hound caught his attention, Gwn turning over his shoulder to observe the large dog.

His wolfhound, of course, was a mighty beast indeed, the colossal dog sitting with her forelegs crossed and her head up to face him. He chortled at her as she stared at him, the look she gave one of disinterested pity.

[color=f7941d]“Ye'r th' ainlie loyal boot in mah lee, aren't ye, ay' Kenna?”[/color]

The bitch gave a simple woof back, her tail flopping back and forth twice before she set her head back down on her forelegs and simply closed her eyes. Gwn sighed before looking toward the laid out cloth of his great plaid, roughed up and clearly tumbled in. Already the warmth was leaving the poor and pitiable blanket, Gwn’s pair of breaches flopped in a pile. He turned, looking down into the vale to see a single pale star catching his eye. Ah, the lovely bairn who had been the apple of his eye the eve before. Now he saw her striding away, free as a bird, likely ne’er to look upon him again. Another sigh escaped his lips before he stood, stretching himself out in all directions; the women of the clans never were ones for simply falling for a man and forsaking kith and kin for a new love. Shame.

Gwndyric gathered up his things and pulled them about his person, taking no time to go through them despite the hypothetical chance of her robbing him of one of his possessions. Once or twice before a woman he had tumbled with in the night had made off with a few of his things, though never had it been enough to make much worry over. Clothes could, of course, always be replaced and if the items were truly worth keeping they could be simply regained. Hardly something to worry about, nevertheless. His thoughts were stolen from him with the rumble of his stomach, growling as loud as the hound by his side. Now that was an issue that could not be ignored.

With that thought Gwndyric belted his plaid across his chest and sheathed his sword before snagging up shield and spear, hauling them over shoulder and into hand, and went trodding off down the hillside.
[hr]
The great stag stood in the middle of the clearing, head down as it grazed on the fresh, dewy grasses that flowed across the ground. In the tall grasses and vine-strewn shrubbery of the underbrush, Gwndyric remained hidden. A gentle whisper continued from his lips, a whistle or hum more than anything, that kept the would-be hunter downwind. With the risk of being scented next to nil, Gwn went about his business with the patience and laxness of a very bored saint. Using his fingernail Gwndyric slowly but surely worked a stone down to a long, thin spike. The flakes and shards came off like peels from an orange as he worked it all away, adding in a throaty warble to his humming that made the earth give way like clay. At long last his dart was complete and the huntsman made effort to inspect his intended weapon.  Seemed good enough, Gwndyric considered, before lifting the stone thorn to his lips to lick and cover with spittle. Content with its readiness, Gwn rolled onto his stomach and stared dead down at the stag.

His warbling hum changed then, slowly warping into a high pitched whine. The wind suddenly no longer flowed in his direction, the Howling no longer commanding it to fly toward him. With a pleased grunt he sucked the dart into his mouth, only the point of the deadly object thrusting from his lips. With lips pursed Gwn turned that high pitched whine into a screech, catching the attention of the stag. Just as it began to realize the potential danger, Gwn let loose the dart from his lips and it launched like a lightning bolt, diving towards his quarry. One wet smack and the dart hit the stag square between the eyes, burrowing deep into its brain and dropping it to the floor, stone dead. Gwn let out a pleased little chuckle before rising to his feet and striding over to the slain beast.

The butchering of the stag was simple work, Gwn smashing a stone into a functional cutting tool to do the carving, butchering, and skinning. Leaving as little remains as possible, Gwn wrapped up as much of the meat into two rough satchels made from the hide. The bones, of course, would have to remain there but Gwn was sure the local band could make good use of it. With his well-earned gains held in satchels hung from either side of his spear, Gwn went trotting off towards the encampment he’d sighted during his climb down into the valley.

Though it took a short, brisk walk to reach the copse of trees where the camp had been made, Gwndyric had little difficulty finding his way to it. A dozen huts and then some sat spread about mostly at random in a clearing of the trees where the overgrowth seemed lightest. It was a common spot for this particular band to set up, the low stacked stones and dirt walls that made up the lower half of their huts an indication of repeat use. A large bonfire, now burned out down to coals, sparked and sizzled as the tribe’s folk went about their business. 

“Awright, pal Gwndyric; ne'er thought a'd see ye aboot sae earlie th' morns', nor sae thoroughly clothed.  Ah trust ye spent yer nicht up oan th' hill weel. Whit's brought ye doon fae yer nest tae oor humble grove?” 

Gwndyric turned at the pronouncement of his name, immediately noticing the local chieftain marching towards him. Gwndyric rapidly dropped his spear and shield, raising two fists into a fighting stance immediately. The older man raised his hands, clearly showing that he had no intent to cause a scuffle, and Gwn lowered his hands warily. Though he had little to fear from the old man, of course, he had very little interest in having another repeat situation where, in his drunkenness, he was beaten severely. With the situation seemingly defused, Gwn reached down to grab up his spear and twisted it around to drop the bags of meat before the chieftain.

[color=f7941d]”Glad ye seem tae hae pat bygones behind us, Laird Griogair. A've brought bridie fur yer spits, ah think, tae mak' up fur oor last troubles. How's yer daughter, anyhoo?”[/color]

Laird Griogair seemed to throw a snarling glare towards Gwndyric at his last comment but let the nosey attempt at bothersome rhetoric slide past him. With one pointed finger the highland Chieftain silenced the matter, even Gwn knowing when best to let his tongue stop wagging. Griogair nLaichlwn knelt low and untied the bags of hide, kept tight by sinew-made twine. The offal had been left back amongst the bones, leaving for Griogair and his host of warriors and womenfolk a fine collection of choice cuts from the large buck. A beast of that side could feed the tribe for a week, or a day if feasting was on the mind. Nevertheless, it was a fine gesture and one that salved the wound of Gwndyric’s bedding of until recently virgin daughters at least somewhat.

“Aye, that wull dae laddie; ah hud wee dreems fur treasures beyond a braw meal tae be kept wi`in yer bags. Th' seer, bless him fur his foresight beyond well n’ beyond mortal ken, kens yer value mair than me, that's fur certain. Keep some fur yersel' as a'm sure ye hud planned; ah jalouse ye hadn't expected oor fires oot sae earlie, lest ye hud awready cooked yersel' breakfast.”

Gwndyric scoffed at the man as if the words insulted him to his core but the poorly hidden smirk at the edge of his lips betrayed his true intentions. The younger man broke into a laugh soon shared, at least somewhat heartily, by the Chieftain before leaning down to spear two good sized cuts. With his butchered foe so rightfully impaled, Gwn stood and made for the fire. With little effort he toed several logs into the fire’s grave and leaned down to inspect it. A simple clearing of his throat followed shortly after, quickly accompanied by a keening howl. The final touch of his sorceries, so edified upon him by the diligent tutoring of the Seer himself, came in a very unique Gwn touch.

[color=f7941d]“Fuckin' light ye glaikit thing.”[/color]

With the appropriate application of several fitting curses, the dead flames roared back to life. Gwndyric’s face blazed with light and a pleased snarl revealed surprisingly pure-white teeth as the inferno danced in the reflections of his eyes. Standing and swinging spear to bare, Gwn held aloft the two stuck savory meats above the flame and waited patiently. Cooking, of course, held little interest to the fiery warrior but ne’er would it be said that Gwndyric relied on others. Though it lacked the garnish and fine flavourings of a well-trained woman’s touch, Gwn was pleased more than enough by meat of any kind. Leaving them bloody enough for his taste, the bearded brave pulled his breakfast from the fire and set about partaking with knife and hands. Soon enough the meal was devoured, the one rib bone from the second cut even broken into for the marrow. As his meal ended he saw a number of nLaichlwn men returning with the bones, no doubt having found them where he’d left them on the return from their morning ranges. 

“Ach, keek thare! Laird-o’-Mony-Breeks his-se, Gwndyric returns tae us, anither beauty vanquished!”

Gwndyric groaned under his breath as he wiped the juices of his morning meal from his face, wiping his hands clean on his breeches before turning to meet the collected mass of menfolk. They were primarily youths, the braves of the band, and each and every one of them had enjoyed a go at Gwndyric at least once or twice in their time. Where kyne was concerned every man, woman, and child of the Sinn Dhein was a fighter and the chosen student of the Seer himself was a prime target for challenges of many kinds. The small hunting band closed with him, patting him on the shoulder in friendly if aggressive greeting as each had their moment to square off with Gwn. Kenna, whom had previously been enjoying the smells of the temporary village, seemed to close in then to striking distance from his human companion.

[color=f7941d]”Hail, fare waither friends, ah see ye hae fun mah mornin' efforts 'n' made thaim yer ain. Na fashes, thae; ah hud meant tae pick up th' slack fur ye, anyhow.”[/color]

“Screw ye, boaster! We fun th' beast, slew it, 'n' pult aff tis carcass a' oan oor ain. Soonds lik' mair cheap blether o' a druid's student tae me. Neist thing ye ken, he'll be saying he murdurred oor mornin' meal as weel! Laird o' a' hunters, he is noo!”

[color=f7941d]“Ah suppose that's how come ye dinnae hae ony bridie wi' ye, eh eejit? weel, quit ye'r blether, fur none o' mah wurds ur boast. Ah swear oan mah kyne 'n' mah spear that ah kin throw farther 'n' truer aye than ony o' ye lot, wizard's tricks or naw ta.”[/color] 

With that the gauntlet was thrown and the band made quick pace towards the edge of the treeline. A number of womenfolk and older fellows plus the stripling children of the tribe merrily joined, bound to take some thrill from a challenge. Though he was not of their particular tribe, Gwndyric was well known as an adopted member of the clan nLaichlwn and his feats, often told from valleys far afield, were still yet known to them. To see him in action themselves was, no doubt, something worth taking time from the day for. With the crowd gathered and the warriors having set out a wicker shield in the distance as the target, a line of scrimmage was formed. Each young warrior hefted their weapons, a spear in their right hand with their shields set aside to help balance. With a call from the crowd the throwing began, each lad tossing their spear as far as their arm could carry it. Though some fell short the vast majority struck their target, landing at the edges of the posted up shield and either penetrating partially or bouncing, having not carried enough force to the end of their flight. One particularly large boy, a truly gargantuan fellow, used the ogre strength no doubt bequeathed upon him by his monstrous parentage to hurl his spear straight into the target and only just off center, penetrating so deep the bronze socket of the spearhead was no longer visible.

“Best that throw, wee laddie.”

Just as Gwn was about to make his toss that final stab at his pride got to him. Teeth ground like a mountainside coming down and he shot a deadly glance the way of the larger brave. With a grunt he hefted his spear, testing its weight in his hands. It was longer than most Sinn Dhein spears by a good half or more, the source of his epithet Langspear, and would have made for a poor throwing weapon in the hands of a different man. Nevertheless, in his mighty paws it was a weapon worthy of heroes. Gwndyric offered a single prayers to the Gods the Seer had told him so much about and loosed his weapon, shield still on his arm giving extra weight to his motion and credence to the quality of his throw; no unskilled thrower could make their mark with such awkward baggage binding their arm, after all. 

“Hah! Th' peely-wally missed his throw something pure mental; look, he tossed it clear o' th' shi-”

With tongue swallowed down the throat of his most recent detractor, Gwn raised a hand above his eyes to stop the glare of the sun from interfering with watching the weapon’s travel. It was true, of course, what the brave said; the spear sailed into the distance, well above the target, but did not simply land shortly beyond as if Gwndyric had missed his intended target. Across the glen, nearly two hundred meters in the distance, the spear found its mark. A large oak was speared directly in the knot, the Langspear vibrating violently at the impact. The crowd stared for a moment before bursting into wild cheers, knowing full well that Gwn had never intended to hit the shield in the first place. As final insult to his morning foes, Gwn drew his bronze hacking sword and launched it end-over-end at the shield, the point driving all the way through to the guard. With that he stood, his one free hand on his hip, pride swelling in his breast as silence was all that emanated from the band of young warriors.

“A'richt, eejit, noo gang git yer spear.”

Gwn’s pride deflated in that instant at Laird Griogair’s taunting jibe, realizing full well that he now had to show his backside all the way across the glen to the tree in which his spear was buried. After several seconds of deep frowning Gwndyric smiled and allowed himself a light chuckle. With that he hopped into a low jog, thumping down through the grasses and across the silvery creek that parted the glen and separated him from his spear, his faithful hound Kenna padding behind him.

[hider=Summary]
Our protagonist Gwndyric finds himself once more lovestruck but left hopeless, abandoned by another Sinn Dhein girl after an evening of good times beneath the starry night sky. With his ever faithful hound Kenna at his heel, he strikes out to acquire himself some breakfast. With some effort he brings down one of the elk native to Sinn Dhein lands, killing it with a dart made with his sorcerous art, The Howling. Gathering the meat from the slain buck, Gwndyric quickly makes for the nearby camp of the clan nLaichlwn.

Gwndyric meets with the chieftain of the nLaichlwn and his band of the clan. Offering up the rest of his meat as succor for previous issues involving the chieftain’s daughter, Gwndyric seems to mend any conflict between the pair. Nevertheless, several young warriors seek a chance to gain kyne for themselves by challenging Gwndyric. After some boasting by either side leads to the challenge being met, a spear throwing contest is called for. In demonstration of his extraordinary abilities, Gwndyric bests his opponents with a spear toss out to two hundred meters followed by a sword throw that equals the greatest spear toss among them. Despite his success, Laird Griogair humbles the fiery warrior before sending him on his way.
[/hider]