[centre][h2]Visitors from the East[/h2][/centre]

“They will reject us?” The girl riding beside Darragh, Ciara, said. Her dark eyes looked on as if they were peering through the burgeoning town. She always had a strange fascination with the place and the druids. Their connection with the gods was so much stronger than their own. Even though they had lived in these lands for so many years. Only a few years, which felt like a lifetime, she had snuck into the town again and again. Pretending to be a pilgrim as she learned about Reiya and Seeros. They were so different from her own seasonal gods. They did not go to sleep for three quarters of a year, and could apparently hear them everywhere.

“Yes.” Darragh said from atop his highland deer. A hundred miles at least to the east laid a cove of dead Sigeran worshippers. Slaughtered to the last. Their duty was fulfilled and he had no doubt that the [i]théin[/i] Boudicca would honor her word. But the druids were a dangerous and arrogant bunch. Where Ciara's dark eyes were filled with admiration as they approached the main gate, his blue eyes looked icy in comparison. They were slowed down at the gate, as a long line of entering travellers blocked the entrance with sleds of wares, livestock or big family flocks. At the gate stood guards - from their vantage point atop their deer, they could see he was carving down something on a wooden plaque as he let a family enter into the town before waving over the next.

The two of them awaited their turn. Darragh kept fiddling with his spruce wood carved icon of an owl that hung from his neck. Speaking wordless prayers to Irra to protect them. As her emissary was now protecting their homes. Ciara, for her part, could not suppress the smile she had on her lips as she would enter the great place once more. When they finally could approach the gate and its guards, Darragh said: “I have business with [i]théin[/i] Boudicca.”

The recording guard looked up past a raised brow. “That’s [i]sanndatr[/i] Boudicca now - long may she reign. Have you anyone to speak for you?”

“Only [i]sanndatr[/i] Boudicca herself.” Darragh already prepared himself for the refusal. Such was the way with the serpents. Words and honor never meant anything to them. None the less he remained calm. Hiding his disdain for the place behind a mask of friendliness.

“Mhm,” the guard mumbled skeptically and looked to one of his colleagues on the right. “Go, uh, go see if Aifric’s available.” The guard nodded and went off into the city. The gatekeeper pointed to a few benches off to the side of the gate, upon which there already sat some families around a campfire in the centre. “Please, have a seat while we see what we can do about your query. If you’d like anything to eat, ask for Duncan and he’ll bring you some grub. Now, if it pleases, move to the side, if you would. The line is long and the air is cold.” Before they could move, the guard had already stepped to the side and beckoned over the next family in line.

“We will, thank you!” Ciara practically beamed as she stepped her deer away and then dismounted. Darragh was right beside her. Out of earshot he mumbled: “Only a Dûnan would complain about the cold.” None the less the two Cenél sat around the fires. Families were talking and sharing food. Ciara was quick to join them in the conversation. Many children asked about the long braid that fell from her brown hair to her shoulder. Adorned with white plumes and small trinkets. Though she brushed it off as just something she liked. The girl asked many from where they were and what they were doing here, outside of the town.

Darragh, meanwhile, stayed away from the fire and the people but also stayed out of the way as well. He kept fiddling with the owl icon as he stared intensely at the gate and its keepers. His eyes strayed upwards from time to time. Hoping to catch a glimpse again.

“So, what brings you here?” came a voice. It came from a large, round man with a sloppy cap that hid his receding hairline and patchy brown beard covering his jaw like a ragged blanket. He wore thick furs, and in his gloved hands, he held a bowl of steaming oatmeal with what looked to be mushrooms and onions. In between chews, he offered Darragh a sun-like smile, enhanced by the redness of his face.

“The words of-” Darragh tried to say, but Ciara was quick to jump in: “We’re here for [i]sanndatr[/i] Boudicca. About a deal we made with her back when she was a [i]théin[/i].” The girl said as she pulled off her leather glove and offered a hand, together with a nice smile, to the man she assumed was Aifric. Her elder, first surprised, then took a step back. Letting the girl handle the dealings. She, after all, had a strange talent for talking with the Dûnans.

The man gave a small sign that the declaration had made him choke on his porridge. He brought his fist to his mouth and, after breathing for a bit, swallowed. The man took the hand politely. “Ugh-... Pardon me - didn’t expect that, is all. Where’re you from, to have business with the sanndatr?” He grunted. “Oh, and I’m Duncan, by the way. Nice to meet you…” He turned his hand as to gesture for her to name herself.

“I’m Ciara.” The girl said motioning to herself. Then she pointed to her elder behind her. “And this is Darragh. We’re from the-” A hand on her shoulder stopped her from speaking. The old man stepped in for a second. “We’re just with a band of mercenaries. The [i]sanndatr[/i] asked us to finish some heretics away from here. My daughter here, you see she loves the [i]sanndatr[/i] and always wanted to meet her. She’s a true inspiration.” Ciara, catching up quickly, nodded with a smile. “She’s amazing!” That, to her, wasn’t a lie though.

“Oh, she sure is,” agreed the cook, scooping another spoonful of porridge into his mouth. “Mercenary work must be good in these times - bet you two will be walking home with a bag of silver trinkets each. Was it Sigerans you went after?”

“Yes.” said Darragh, as he released his grip on the shoulder of Ciara. She glanced behind her, seeing Darragh take his seat again. “I’m sorry for my dad. He can be a bit grumpy. If I may ask a question, why must someone vouch for us now? I’ve been in town a few times and they always greeted strangers with open arms?”

“The Dûnlands ain’t what they used to be, y’know,” the cook lamented with a shake of his head. “With Sigerans on the warpath still, and bandits attacking traders and travellers in open day, sanndatr’s been pretty thorough with checking around for their ilk, and that’s why we’re taking down the names of those who enter and leave.” He ate some more porridge. “Ain’t nothing we want more than to welcome everybody in here to just live together in peace and joy, but, well, that just ain’t possible. At least not nowadays.”

Darragh was turned away from everyone. Luckily, because he nearly winced when he heard ‘Dûnlands’. As if it was theirs. As if they had always been around. They weren’t the same? What did the druid-kin know of these lands? Darragh walked over the bones of his ancestors. Ciara remained friendly though. “That probably explains why they didn’t let us through. They went to get someone called Aifric. Do you know who he is?” 

“Oh, Aifric’s no man. She’s a fine lady, a [i]théin[/i] at that! She’s in charge of the guards in town. Proper, polite, powerful - can’t ask for more in a [i]théin[/i]. Oh, there she is now, I think - yup, that’s her.” A leather and fur-clad woman with a bronze belt buckle and a woolen bonnet approach, flanked on the right by the guard who had fetched her. She had an axe at her belt, but otherwise looked rather civilian, her torso held warm by a red and green plaid and her legs, covered by a kilt of the same pattern reaching down to her knees. From her feet to her knees, she wore white, woolen kneesocks. Duncan offered her a chestbump salute, and Aifric returned it.

“Afternoon, Duncan.” She said politely. “Are these the ones?”

“The very same, [i]théin[/i]. Old man’s named Darragh; girl’s name’s Ciara. Say they’re mercenaries coming to claim the prize promised by the sanndatr.”

“Mercenaries? We haven’t hired--...” She paused for a bit, eyeing Darragh closed. A light of realisation flashed in her eyes. “... Oh, no, I, I know what this is. Alright. Thanks for waiting with them,, Duncan.”

“Least I could do!” the cook answered with a grin and toasted her bowl to both the guests and the [i]théin[/i].

“You two - come with me, please.” Aifric beckoned for them to follow while the guard at her side returned to her post.

“See you later Duncan!” Ciara said as she waved him goodbye. Darragh just offered him a very small nod and a grunt as he passed the cook. Letting Airfric guide them into the town. As usual, Ciara looked around with awe. Every time she returned it seemed as if the city had grown. Darrah, for his part, was looking for the scars left by the Sigerans. While great efforts had been made to hide them, three years of neglect and destruction could simply not be erased in the span of a few months: many buildings and houses were still in ruin; the road was bumpy and unkept; blood and soot could still be seen in spots and stripes on many walls and corners. This city’s scars would take decades to fully heal.

“How’s Cenél this time of year?” came a question from the [i]théin[/i] before them, her head turning slightly to ask as they walked.

“Well enough.” Darragh lied. The Cenél were reeling as much from the Sigeran threat as Ha-Dûna had, and they didn’t have the copious amount of blessings from the gods. However, they did have generations worth of knowledge of the land. They would heal like the land would heal. Their houses would be regrown and sacred groves would turn wild again. But for now, they were consigned to suffering as the Dûnans were.

“That so? That’s a relief. There were talks earlier about sending over a delegation with food and supplies eastward to those affected most harshly by the winter. Cenél was on the list, y’know.” She offered Darragh a knowing look. “The offer is still there - you know what they say about the oatcakes here.”

Darragh cast some dark, hard eyes towards the [i]théin[/i] but the pleading gaze of his student soften it. It would break his honor. What were they without their honor? Alive, at least. But the Cenél would have to restore their glory. “It would be appreciated.” The elder finally said.

Aifric nodded. “We’ll be discreet about it. If you’d like, you could bring it to them yourself, say you earned it on your own for your people. Ha-Dûna doesn’t have to be involved in any way. It’ll be Cenél’s achievement - not ours.” She took a left onto the main street and nodded to the guards flanking each side of the walled city core. She then pointed across a bustling marketplace to an ageing longhouse adorned with shields, carved animal heads and a great plaque featuring the symbols of the each represented with jewelry and gems: a golden sun, a marble moon, an aquamarine, a silver star, an emerald leaf, a tiny mirror, a wooden harp and a granite tusk. “She’s in there.” Aifric turned back to Darragh and crossed her arms over her chest. “And about the supplies… How you want it delivered, though, is up to you. We don’t want conflict anymore - none of us do. We understand, though, that nothing can go back to the way it was…” She looked off to the side. “We can only, well, beg for forgiveness and pray that bonds of friendship can be relinked.”

Can bonds be relinked if they never existed in the first place? Darragh was about to challenge Aifric’s statement, but chose not to in the end. “I thank you for your offer, but I would be lying to my people then.” With those words spoken Darragh passed the [i]théin[/i]. Ciara just offered up a meek smile as she followed her elder towards the longhouse. “They represent the eight Dûnan gods.” She whispered to Darragh, as they both looked at the symbols. The elder had no short amount of distaste. It was, after all, a Dûnan god who caused the atrocities. Not of the last five years, but of the last three decades. They pressed on, reaching the longhouse.

Pushing aside the bearskin door curtain, they were greeted by the scent of charcoal, burnt grain and sweat. The inside felt like a sauna, the heat slapping them in the face like a wash of hot water. Six bodies hunched around the central hearth turned their heads curiously, then lowered their brows in suspicion. “Hail,” came a polite greeting. “You lost, strangers?”

It took a minute for both Ciara and Darragh to recover from the sudden, almost oppressive wet heat. “We… [i]théin[/i] Aifric told us we could find the sanndatr here.” Said Ciara. Behind her, Darragh was already preparing for the worst: having been played with.

“Oh! Yeah, she’ll be here any minute. She’s just around the corner, uh, answering nature’s call.” The speaker tugged on his shirt, which was drenched in sweat. “By the gods, Brian, do you really have to keep it so warm in here?”

“Sanndatr’s orders, Faolán,” a fat bearded man likely known as Brian retorted with a nod. “Nothing irks her more than the cold.”

“Yeah, but this is just sadistic.” The man known as Faolán dabbed his forehead with a towel and turned back to face the two at the door. “Well, don’t just stand there - come join us by the fire! You must be freezing, you two!”

“Plus, you’re letting in cold air,” came a sour addition from a brown-skinned woman with black hair. Brian sighed.

“Now, now, Hilda, don’t be rude to our guests - all travellers are welcome in our town.” The woman scoffed and got up from her seat. However, just as she was passing by Darragh, she stopped, eyeing him closely.

“Hey, I remember you.”

Only a Dûnan would complain about the cold. Darragh’s eyes avoided those of the woman named Hilda, as he stepped inside. Though he kept his distance from the fire and the other people. “You must be mistaken.” He said with a faint smile as his eyes wandered around in the longhouse.

Ciara, meanwhile, did not have the same reservations and threw off her heavy fur cloak and the thick wool garment underneath that. Stepping closer to the fire in a very dull wool tunic that was held together with a belt and some copper pins. “It’s really warm here!” She exclaimed to both Faolán and Brian.

“Sure is. Hope it’s not offensively hot to you, friend. Hey, you hungry, by the way?”

“Oh I just ate outside at the gate!” Ciara said as she sat beside Brian with a big smile. “And I mean… I don’t think I’ve ever been in a place this hot.” The Cenél didn’t burn their fires so hot. At least not to warm such a big longhouse. They found it deeply wasteful. She wanted to ask how they could stand it for seemingly such a long time but she didn’t want to insult them.

“Yeah, none of us really do, either - well, except maybe Kaer Aethel over there.” Brian pointed at a bearded man sporting his first wrinkles of age, barely dressed in a white robe with a plant fiber rope around his waist. The man frowned back and slapped the pointing hand playfully away.

“That’s because I live here, you dolt!” the druid replied. Meanwhile, over by Darragh, Hilda cracked a smirk.

“No, I definitely know you. You were the one who held up Boudicca for an age just as we were marching on Ha-Dûna earlier this winter. Come to claim your prize for the work, have you?” Around the fire, the others grew wary.

Even Ciara turned tense as she watched her elder closely. Darragh turned to face the woman. “I have. And I shall claim it off the [i]sanndatr[/i].” His eyes trailed from Hilda towards the druid sitting by the fire. He would not like what would be said in moments.

Hilda eyed him up and down, her bead and bone-decorated brains swinging with her bobbing head. She eyed the cautious stares of her peers by the fire and then turned back to Darragh and scoffed quietly. “Alright. Behave yourselves while you’re here.” With that, she cast aside the door curtain and stepped out. “Shit, it’s cold,” was the last thing she said before her voice disappeared into the distance. By the fire, the five others unleashed as one a long sigh.

“Sorry about her, friend… She doesn’t take well to for-... Strangers,” Brian apologised quickly.

Darragh just let out a grunt and turned away again to observe the longhouse. It felt soulless and bloodless. Completely unlike the houses grown by the Cenél. Darragh was calming himself down. Once the Dûnans were strangers. In his eyes thirty years didn’t change that fact.

Meanwhile Ciara looked visibly anxious as she fiddled with her fingers. Her eyes darting around. Eventually she broke the question: “So what’s she like?”

The five got quiet, exchanging nervous looks. “She’s a bit of a wildcard, that one,” offered Kaer Aethel and took his ceramic pipe out. Brian caught the gesture and took out his own, as well; the remaining two who hadn’t identified themselves yet did the same. Lightning his pipe up with the bowl half-full of pipeweed, he continued, “Fantastic fighter, dutiful [i]théin[/i] and able commander, she is, but her heart is full of rage and hate for, well…” He took a slow drag and exhaled into the fires, the smoke shooting up through the hole in the ceiling with the hot air. “... Let’s just say she isn’t very supportive of the sanndatr’s wish to open up Ha-Dûna to everyone again.”

Ciara got quiet for a second. To her, Hilda probably lost someone. Recently. Someone dear. Darragh who overheard was more sceptical. The Sigerans came from within Ha-Dûna. Not from without. Hilda probably despised the locals. Despised them. The two remained quiet and just waited for the return of the [i]sanndatr[/i].

A few minutes passed in smoking silence, the room filling with the cabbagy scent of pipeweed and the occasional sound of coughing. Then, at last, there came stomping on the doorstep and the curtain flew off to the side, revealing none other than Boudicca, dressed in unlaced boots, a woolen kilt, a bear pelt that hung down over her shoulders a little past her chest, and nothing else. She gave her scarred cheek a scratch and groaned. “Ugh! That was the hardest, sweatiest, most painful shit I’ve taken in--” She then caught sight of the visitors and swallowed the rest of her sentence, clearing her throat. “Oh, uh… Good, you’re here.” She stomped over to sit by the fire, taking her reserved spot with the druid at her right hand and one other woman at her left, kissing the woman on the forehead and the man on the lips. “Welcome to my hall, Darragh the Cenél - I see you’ve brought a companion. What’s your name, little sister?”

“Ciara!” The bright eyed girl said. “It’s an honor to finally get to meet you, [i]sanndatr[/i].”

Darragh looked less enthusiastic. “[i]Sanndatr[/i] Boudicca.” He greeted her with a small nod. “The heretics lay dead.”

“Good. I expected nothing less from the Cenél. The Sigerans were once our kinsfolk - we take no pleasure in eradicating them; however, just like the herd must be culled when disease is found, so must the evil be vanquished so the kind may remain. You have done us a great service.” She rolled her head around on her neck and shrugged the bear pelt off her shoulders, sweat dripping down her forehead and making her chestnut hair stick to her face. “Name your prize.”

The elder suddenly straightened his back. Standing slightly taller and straighter than before. “A promise of tranquility, peace and respect towards my people and our lands.” The words had been carefully chosen to declare Cenél’s independence from Ha-Dûna. Taking back the conquered lands of the Sigerans, and simultaneously taking the assurance that they will not be attacked in the future by some warmongering Dûnan who would doubtlessly want to raid the lands they once saw as their own.

“And…” His eyes fell upon the druid sitting at the ring. “...a promise that the sacred rites and traditions of my people will never be ridiculed and prosecuted by the Dûnans ever again.” Anyone who knew anything about the Cenél, knew that he wasn’t asking for something as dull as religious freedom. Darragh was talking about magic and his gaze did not waver from the younger druid.

Boudicca furrowed her brow and pursed her lips. “Done,” she then said curtly and stood up, baked sweat running down her torso like rainwater. “Let anyone who speaks ill of the Cenél or transgresses their border be subjected to the whip and rod. Five lashes for blatant ridicule; fifty for religious persecution; one hundred for bringing unrest and chaos to their lands. Pen this down in [i]Dlíbóka[/i] post-haste, so it may be made law.” She looked back to Darragh and raised a brow. “Will that suffice?”

“One more thing.” He said, as he walked up towards Ciara sitting by the fire. He put both his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her, looking at everyone around them. The gods knew he hated this, but it had to be said. Ciara, for her part, had no idea what was happening and looked around rather nervously. “To foster prosperity between our people...I and Ciara will remain here. As representatives to the Cenél.”

“What!?” Ciara exclaimed as she shot up and turned around to face Darragh. “You can’t do that!” Yet as she looked into Darragh’s eyes, she realized he could. Slowly she sat down again. Still looking shocked by the news.

Boudicca gave her armpit a pensive scratch. Following her example, too, the other Dûnans around the fire started loosening up their shirts and robes to avoid their sweat soaking their clothes even more. With a wry brow, she leaned over to Aethel and whispered something to him. The druid’s face turned into a frown and he whispered something back. Boudicca’s answer was curt and the druid sucked regretfully on a tooth. “You’re both welcome to stay for as long as you’d like. You will be given lodgings and food as any other guest would, and you will have my ear should you have thoughts to share. However…” Boudicca rose up, stepped over the bench she had been sitting on and went over to a table upon which stood a covered pitcher and a couple of neatly arranged drinking horns. She lifted the fabric cover and poured some yellow, watery substance into the horn and gave it a sip. “... You will not be allowed to pray to your own gods in the Circle, nor in the temples. Just as we are to respect your faith, we ask that you respect ours by keeping it separated from the Eight. You may have a patch of land on which to build your own altars or godhouse, however - that can be arranged.”

Pray to gods in a temple? Darragh had to fight the disgust so it wouldn’t appear on his face. The Cenél did not worship the seasonal gods at man-made places.  They worshipped in places the gods had given them, amongst nature.  Of course, only druids would be so arrogant as to create their own, convenient places of worship. “I thank you for your hospitality.” Darragh said with a small nod. “May Cenél and Ha-Dûna prosper with this newfound friendship.”

“That was ever our intention,” Boudicca added and the two clasped hands.

[hider=SummaSum]
Darragh is grumpy, believing Boudicca (a Dûnan) will reneg on their agreement. Together with his apprentice, the young Ciara, he approaches Ha-Dûna. But is stopped at the gates. Because only [i]sanndatr[/i] Boudicca can really vouch for him they are asked to sit to the side amongst other families. Where the cook Duncan strikes up a conversation with Ciara. Though Darragh makes sure the fact that they are Cenél isn’t dropped. After a while [i]théin[/i] Aifric comes to get them.

She leads them to a longhouse which they enter. Only to be instantly hit in the face by some truly oppressive heat. Especially for a Cenél. Darragh keeps his distance from the people inside. Patiently waiting for Boudicca to appear while denying Hilda that she saw him before. Ciara talks a bit with the people inside until a bearskin-wearing Boudicca comes from the world's most descriptive dump session.

The Cenél Fakir and her engage in some basic diplomacy: a non-aggression pact, respect of Cenél religious practices (which basically means magic) and allowing himself and his apprentice to act as ambassadors within Ha-Dûna for the Cenél people. The sanndatr agrees on terms that they will not worship their gods within the Circle or the Temples.
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[hider=Prestigios]
10k+
Boudicca 7 + 5 = 12
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