Ardghal grunted in indifference in hearing the judgement the chief chose. It would suffice and Fintan seemed to be doing his job decently. He cracked his knuckles and decided to get to work. The clan had decent supplies of weaponry, but it never hurt to have some extra to trade or replace ones that were broken. With this in mind, he decided to make use of the skills he had learned as a boy and forge weapons for his clansfolk.

Maire Virtanen takes 10 goods, 2 kerns, 2 gallocmen and 2 cow's worth of food for her expedition.

---

Maire left the clan hall in a foul mood despite Serhiem's decision and Fintan's recitation. Who would have thought the lecherous idiot had it in him? People would willingly reveal their innermost selves if they trusted you and believed you cared about them. Eliz, and even Ardghal at times, seemed more concerned with proving their boldness and savagery than getting to know their fellow clansmen. Eliz was a "dark child" and should never have been allowed on the Council in the first place, but Maire could usually countermand her more outrageous proposals. Whenever Ardghal supported the scarred raider's suggestions, however, it became harder for her to protect the clan from their machinations. Chief Serhiem was undoubtedly aware of all this, but he couldn't risk dividing the Council by ignoring Eliz's and Ardghal's advice. It was maddening.

Gritting her teeth and ignoring the greetings of several clanswomen washing clothes in the river, Maire lumbered towards her modest shack, which squatted like a wooden toad amidst a grove of silverleaf trees. Many clansfolk believed the alchemist chose to live by these trees simply because they were beautiful. This thought finally brought a wry smile to the urlandi's round face and she chuckled. The sap of a mature silverleaf tree was highly toxic, almost as toxic as bane root, and it had no distinctive color or flavor. Maire's mother used to call it dorca vaientaa, which meant "dark killer" in the old urlandi tongue.

Having a supply of this venomous substance close at hand when there were people like Eliz Sala around was invaluable. Maire didn't need mystical abilities to know the spellcaster was displeased with the chief's decision concerning Fintan and Aifric. Something would have to be done, but the questions of when and how needed to be carefully considered. Maire wasn't foolish enough to publicly denounce someone who had the love of the clan's gallocmen. Not until she could do so from a position of unassailable superiority.

Deciding to reflect on these issues at another time, Maire approached her modest abode and her grin dwindled a little. Some of the clansmen called this shack "Maire's Mansion" because of the priceless treasures it contained. Outwardly, the alchemist laughed along with them when they said this, but her stomach always felt like it was full of burning pitch. This awful shack, much like Clan Aonghus' new clan hall, was nothing compared to her childhood home, the legendary Blue House. People from all over Urland had made pilgrimages to the building made of blue marble blocks in hopes of buying herbal remedies and potions to cure their ailments. Now, the daughter of Idunna Virtanen lived in a fucking hut. Sighing, Maire shoved open the sturdy redwood door and nearly collided with her thrall, Gwendolen Maddox.

The lean, red-haired maiden let out a shocked gasp and staggered backwards, grabbing hold of the intricately carved door frame to keep from falling. Gwendolen looked reproachfully at Maire and pointedly brushed some imaginary dirt off the front of her mistress' blue robes. Maire smirked, knowing most people wouldn't put up with a thrall glaring at them with such indignation. Gwen was special, though. She'd come into Maire's possession roughly seven years before High King Harlaus' decree banished Clan Aonghus from Urland. The girl used to belong to a clan whose name the alchemist could never remember. Clan Windwaker? Clan Windlover? Clan Pisstaker? It didn't matter. Her old clan had been ravaged by a series of raids, and Clan Aonghus just happened to launch the assault that sent the rest of their gallocmen to Camvor. After the looting and funerary rites were finished, only a quiet girl with hair the color of an open wound remained unclaimed by the victorious clan. Nobody wanted the burden of caring for a mute girl they didn't know. Instead of allowing one of her clan's gallocmen to kill the child, Maire had taken Gwen as her thrall. And she'd yet to receive a single word of thanks. Of course, Gwendolen almost never spoke, though the young woman's facial expressions and gestures were easy to understand.

Whenever the red-haired thrall did things like wipe down the front of Maire's garments, she was usually indicating there were guests in the house. The alchemist rarely asked Gwen to do anything strenuous or demeaning. When visitors came to call, however, the women needed to maintain the facade of an influential, haughty Council member and her devoted servant.

Snorting and shaking her head, Maire said, "I know I was gone for some time, Gwen, but you needn't wait by the door for my return. Your devotion to me is truly humbling."

The thrall made a face, apparently not amused by her mistress' mockery, and gestured to the group of four men standing around the shack's fire pit. Each of them was wearing the hide jerkin, green tunic, and leather leggings of a master herdsman, and Maire's eyes lit up when she saw the gangly form of Alban "Longshanks" Brennus striding towards her. A devoted follower of Luigibad and the loving father of five beautiful daughters, Alban was a good man. More importantly, he was a good man that could be convinced to do almost anything if he believed it benefitted Clan Aonghus. The gaunt kern stretched out one paw-like hand to Maire, and she gripped his wrist tightly.

"Yvene preserve me," Maire said, her voice brimming with warmth, as she let go of her friend's arm. "Your grip is like iron, Longshanks. How do you fare, hm? What brings you to my glorious mansion?"

Alban glanced back at one of his fellows, a plump herdsman with beady eyes the color of a fertile field. The man, whose name was Cathair Doyle unless Maire missed her guess, stroked his impressive blonde mustache and nodded once. Curious. Rubbing the back of his neck, Alban grinned sheepishly and said, "I am well, Maire, very well. And your grip hasn't weakened in the least since we were forced to leave Urland. As for the reason I'm here, well, we...that is, the kerns, need your help. It isn't a dire matter, nothing to bother Master Dunlad over, but I believe we could help the clan a great deal. Do you have time to sit and talk?"

"Of course I do! What sort of question is that?" Maire said, slapping Alban's arm and pointing towards the small thornwood table and five chairs set on the other side of the fire pit. "Have a seat, all of you, and Gwen will fetch us some wine. Perhaps the last of the goldenbough wine from Urland, my little daor? I know we only have half a barrel left, but these thirsty kerns deserve every drop." Cathair licked his lips eagerly when he heard what they would be drinking, and Maire smiled. She hadn't been sure if Cathair was the one who loved goldenbough wine more than life itself, but now she was. It was astounding what you could learn about people by shutting your mouth and paying attention.

Gwendolen bowed to her mistress and the kerns before disappearing into the cabin's back room, which contained a trapdoor leading down to Maire's cellar. As soon as the five clansfolk were seated around the table, Maire said, "So, Alban, what can I do for you and your companions, hm? I trust your herds are well?"

"Luigibad be praised, yes. The cows are adjusting well to their new home," the lean herdsman said as Gwen emerged from the cellar and began to distribute wooden cups full of goldenbough wine. Maire's cup was a silver chalice she'd gotten in a trade with one of Clan Stormcaller's craftsmen. All she'd given him in return was a few pouches of sirrac seeds. Considering how badly he'd been twitching and shaking, the man had probably been addicted to the energy-boosting properties of the mostly harmless seeds. His loss was Maire's delightful gain. "Erhem, there was a particular kind of grass that grew near our clan's old holdings, Maire. We called it stone king grass, because it only seemed to grow around a granite statue of High King Harlaus that someone erected near the northern steppes. Anyways, the cows loved it, and they seemed to put on more flesh by eating this grass over an extended period of time. I could swear there were days when the beasts appeared to grow before my very eyes! We were hoping you'd be able to help us find some stone king grass in the valley. You know more about plants than anyone besides old Domagoj, and I'd rather deal with someone I know. Someone who taught my daughters how to read. Someone I trust. What do you say, my friend?"

The other three kerns, with the exception of Cathair who was far too busy slurping down his wine, leaned forward eagerly in their chairs.

Sweetgrass. What these men wanted was sweetgrass. The heavyset alchemist took a long sip from her cup, relishing the taste of the lukewarm, fruity wine. Goldenbough wine was one of the few wines that tasted better when it was served at room temperature. It became unpleasantly thick when it was served cold. Pursing her lips and running one sausage-like finger around the rim of her chalice, Maire said, "I see. Longshanks, you've known me since I was a child. Normally, I would suggest you speak to Dunlad about this, but I want to help you. If you are willing to bargain with me then I'd be more than happy to help you and your fellows find this stone king grass. The only question is what are you willing to give me if I aid you?"

Cathair abruptly slammed his empty cup down and said, "I knew it! I knew it, by Luigibad's beard, I knew it! We shouldn't have come to this...this decadent place. Woman, you should be grateful that you can use your gods given talents to help your clan! Are the thanks of your kith and kin truly so worthless to you?"

Alban winced at the stout man's outburst and ran a hand through his scraggly beard, his eyes flicking nervously from Cathair to Maire. Offending a member of the Council tended to have unpleasant results. Offending Maire Virtanen tended to have worse than unpleasant results. The alchemist calmly took another drink from her silver cup and wondered what it must feel like to be so self-righteous. It seemed so tedious.

"I will pardon your outburst this once, good Cathair, because I know you speak from your heart. Allow me to do the same," Maire said as she set her empty chalice down with a firm thud. "I cannot eat gratitude, herdsman. It will not keep me warm during the Moon Season. So, no, the gratitude of the clan is not enough for me. Instead, I will agree to assist you in exchange for...three pounds from every cow you slaughter. Say Chief Serhiem orders you to butcher five cows for a feast. You will give me fifteen pounds of meat, which I will preserve in my larder with spices and alchemical methods beyond your ken. I am not a wasteful woman as you can see." Maire patted her sizable belly and arched one slender brow, waiting for the men to respond.

Alban inclined his head respectfully and said, "Give us a moment to confer, councilwoman." He scooted his chair over so he could join his brother kerns, and they began to whisper frantically, occasionally shooting excited or disgusted glances at Maire. The heavyset urlandi woman wasn't concerned. Cathair was obviously the sole dissident. The other three were already dreaming about how fat their herds would get. They'd be heroes. Such dedication to the clan was heartwarming to witness. And it would undoubtedly lead to Maire having plenty of meat during the lean times. Meat that could be given to those in need, and the people who benefited from the alchemist's charity would then owe her a favor. The Pearl Haired Goddess would be pleased by this. A bargain is a bargain no matter what form it takes.

Gwen walked over to her mistress' side, her face a blank mask of nonchalance, as the kerns finally stopped chattering and looked at Maire. Cathair was visibly upset. Alban, on the other hand, smiled toothily and said, "We agree to your terms, Maire. We will give you three pounds of meat from every cow we slaughter once you've shown us where the stone king grass grows. How soon can our expedition leave? We've decided that both Cathair and I will join you. We should also ask a few gallocmen to come with us for protection. Is that acceptable?"

Maire clapped her hands in delight and said, "Of course it is! And do not fear, my friend, I have a feeling we shall find your grass within the borders of our clan's new territory. As soon as I have found our warriors and gathered the necessary materials, I believe we can leave. It shouldn't take more than three or four days." Turning to her thrall, the bloated urlandi smiled and said, "In the meantime, you can watch the house, Gwen. I expect to find a fire and a mug of spiced wine waiting for me when I return."

---

Four days later, Maire, Alban, Cathair and two gallocmen set off down the dirt road leading to the northeastern reaches of Clan Aonghus' territory. Maire waved farewell to the small crowd of clansmen that had gathered to see the group off. The dark-haired alchemist was riding in a small ox-drawn wagon, which contained all the essential supplies for the journey, and she couldn't stop smiling. A little diplomacy never hurt anyone, but a little adventure could only increase her reputation as a woman of the people. And the love of the clansfolk would aid her immensely if the situation with Eliz worsened.

When one of the younger clan members running alongside the wagon asked where she was going, Maire laughed and said, "Fear not, little one, I shall return and, hopefully, I will bring back something that will ensure nobody goes hungry for a long time." The child was so surprised he stopped in his tracks and let out a delighted whoop. The wagon crested a rise and one of the expedition's gallocmen, a monster of a man named Uric Myrost, put a clay horn to his lips and blew a single note. A final goodbye and a promise to return with new hope for Clan Aonghus.

---

@Mardox @Eklispe @Lauder @Lexicon @Wernher @Tracyarmav @babbysama @Jangel13

---

Serheim finds himself welcomed as warmly as can be expected by the Gearalti people. Though at first the negotiations were dull and dry and the Gearalti chief was not enthused with the goods Serheim had brought, the Gearalti proved hospitable. It was over longer, more personal talks at night that the Gearalti chief and Serheim come to an accord: what the Gearalti really needed was food. They would trade goods to be sure, but during the winter months the Gearalti would want food instead of goods.

With that information, and with some respect shared between the two leaders, Serheim is free to return to his village. Trade will begin at the start of the next season.

(@Lauder Trade route with Gearalti established)

---

It takes the better part of a few weeks for Seòras to fashion together the traps he needed. Using helpers drawn from the kerns when they were not sowing the fields, Seòras managed to create a series of traps which would serve the clan well. They will have to be placed and prepared in advance, but nevertheless would be deadly enough. Perhaps they could be poisoned or enchanted, even. Either way, these traps will protect the clan.

(@Jangel13 -25 goods)

---

Maire's expedition starts enough. She and her companions travel north-east where long blades of grass on gently rolling hills sway pleasantly in the breeze. It's a fair country, to be sure. The land certainly looks fertile, the grass is lush and full of color... It seems rather surprising that nobody has settled the region yet, really.

No matter. The walk gets a bit rough for Maire, given her size, and for Alban, given his age and thinness. The further the group travels, the harder the going gets, and as dusk comes closer the sky becomes cloudier. But there are small patches of sweetgrass to be found, much to the kerns' delight, and they seem to grow thicker as the group heads up the tallest of the hills.

Something gnaws at the back of Maire's mind, telling her this could be a bad idea, but the group continues anyway. But when they crest the top of the hill, everyone in the party comes to a halt.

In the midst of a series of hills is a low valley, and in the midst of the valley is a huge mound. From the top of the mound jut four tall runestones, upon which are carved words in an old, old tongue. None of her compatriots can understand what they say, but Maire is a learned woman. These are the words of Ancient Urlandi. She's able to make out the words on one runestone, faded though they are:



While the full story isn't available, there is certainly something ominous about the warning, though the last line is confusing. Maire does not have time to ponder its meaning, however. As she finishes reading, she hears old Alban yell "MOVE, MAIRE!" at the top of his lungs. She's shoved, and then she hears a scream from behind her. She looks over as quick as she can, and what she sees is horrific.



Alban stands where Maire stood but a moment ago, his arm being yanked free of his body as a monster tackles him to the ground and gnaws on his flesh even as he's still alive. The gallocmen react quickly, rushing forward to assist the old man, but it's too late. Cathair helps Maire to her feet as quick as he can and yells to the others, "More are coming! We have to get out of here!"

Everything that follows is a bit of a haze. Maire remembers the sky being black and the runes on the stones glowing a terrible, throbbing red. She remembers one of the gallocmen staying behind to hold off the monsters so the others can flee. And then she remembers herself, Cathair, and a young warrior standing far away from those hills, panting for breath and leaning on walking sticks. Miraculously, Maire and Cathair managed to carry with them a copious supply of sweetgrass, but that doesn't make the day any less grim.

Something is very wrong in the Hidden Valley.

(@Lexicon -1 Kern, -1 Gallocman, sweetgrass discovered, The Barrows discovered)

---

Dunald's sacrifice to Lugibaid is not immediately answered. He presents a traditional sacrifice first - seven cows' worth of goods - but it becomes clear that something more is needed. So, he arranges for three cows to be sacrificed with the goods, and this is enough to earn Lugibaid's favor. The soil will be fertile this year, and the harvest should be good.

(@babbysama -7 goods, -3 cattle. Lugibaid gives us the Good Soil blessing.)

---

While Domagoj isn't able to create a vast quantity of his concoction to increase the health of the crops, Domagoj is able to devise a means of producing such a thing. It will take considerable time to gather all the ingredients necessary, however. It will cost some treasure to hire the workers to gather the goods, and the clan's kerns won't be willing to do this work during Rain season. Crops need to be planted still, after all.

(@Tracyarmav Will cost 10 goods to produce enough of the stuff to make the clan's crops healthier. You can make it in the Fire and Ash seasons.)

---

Titania makes good progress while training the youths to fight. Kerns and would-be gallocmen alike benefit from her lessons, and the help from Fintan proves surprisingly useful. Their progress isn't enough to really count for much in battle yet, but given another half-season or so of training, some quality fighters might be produced from these efforts.

(@Eklispe)

---

Though he once wanted nothing more to get away from the forge, Ardghal finds himself before it again, beating iron in a rather dispassionate manner. It isn't that he wants to be here, but that he needs to. The clan needs good weapons and armor, and he's one of the few that can provide that.

His work isn't what anyone would call a masterpiece. Ardghal knows that. However, he fashions some good swords, axe heads and spear heads, and he makes reinforcements for wooden shields. It's a good start, but the work leaves Ardghal worn out and bitter. The forge reminds him too much of the days when he labored under the guidance of his father. His last words to his father... before King Harlaus had him...

Ardghal tries not to think about those words he said. His father was a brave man. He deserved better.

(@Mardox You've fashioned together some solid equipment at a relatively low cost - 5 goods - but will suffer a -1 penalty to all rolls for this turn due to bitter memories of the past that won't go away.)

---

Eliz and her companions make their way to the Stormcaller tribe. Eliz and her group are welcomed warmly by the Stormcaller Clan who recognize them as being from Clan Aonghus. Like Clan Stormcaller, Clan Aonghus sided with the Storm Giants long ago, though perhaps not so zealously. Clan Stormcaller has always felt a sort of kinship with them, even though they are not allies.

However, Eliz's behavior is enough to bring about a whole lot of ire from the Stormcallers.

"You insult us with your demands," one of the members of Clan Stormcaller's Council shouts. "You insult us even further by suggesting that we should be honored to acquiesce because 'the gods will it!' We have our own task from the Tuad Rithe, and we will not have you and your clan treating us as lapdogs!

"We will tell you nothing of Stormpeak, give you no aid, and we will certainly not forget the insult Clan Aonghus has brought upon us!"

It is a fruitless venture, and although Eliz hoped to learn something of value from the Stormcallers, she instead learns nothing. She and her band of gallocmen continue on their trek to Stormpeak with plans to conduct a cattle raid on Clan Nightfell along the way.

Word reaches the Clan Aonghus Council of the diplomatic faux passe performed by Eliz days later. Apparently, Clan Stormcaller is very angry.

(@Wernher You should be done exploring and back home within a turn.)

---

Waning Rain

Unsurprisingly, heavy rain is not uncommon in the Rain season. However, these rains have been unrelenting.

The clouds have been gray and have covered the sky, preventing good sunlight from reaching the crops for a week on end. Moreover, the land could very well flood if the water keeps on coming at the rate it does. Clan Aonghus is situated right by the river, and while that means crops are more fertile, it also means that flooding is much more real risk for the clan.

But the strangest thing is that other clans haven't come forth looking for help with the potential floods, and that's normally exactly what they do at a time like this. In fact, traders entering our land aren't even talking about the weather, save to be exclaimed that Clan Aonghus is getting "such good rain." That probably means other clans are not suffering as we are.

Given the suspicious nature of the matter, the Council has decided to meet and determine what to do. Something MUST be done, after all, or there could be a flood. There is some push, too, for the Council to figure out what is causing these strange rains.

(@Mardox @Eklispe @Lauder @Lexicon @Tracyarmav @babbysama @Jangel13)

---

Ardghal and Titania are training with the other gallocmen. It's a rainy day, as it has been for the last several days. The Council will be meeting later today to discuss the matter, but a little bad weather never stopped a warrior from getting a good workout.

The two of them decide to spar with one another. The fight is a good one, and some folks come to watch. Suddenly, Ardghal trips in the mud, and most expect Titania to finish the battle. Instead, she and Ardghal both notice something in the ground by his foot: a large piece of bone.

The two of them get the other gallocmen to help them investigate the matter, and some nearby kerns come about and bring shovels. Before long, they reveal a large, monstrous skull in the ground, and everyone knows what it is: the skull of a small dragon. What's more, it's in very good condition, and there are two large horns sticking out from its head.

Dragonbone is a marvelous substance, and it could be put to good use. A dragon's horns are perhaps even more valuable. Now, as the discoverers of this beast's head, it's up to Ardghal and Titania to decide what is to become of the skull that the clan had been marching over for seasons.

(@Mardox @Eklispe)

Serhiem was not in the best of moods, in fact he was actually pretty mad at the fact the Eliz had gone and soured the good relations that they had with the Stormcallers. It added another thing to the list of many things he would have to do in order to keep everything flowing nicely in their new home. However, he had more pressing concerns about the whole issue involving the flooding, something that would decimate them if it got too out of hand. Luckily, the council would meet on this matter and could try to find a way to prevent this potential flooding from causing damage to their homes and more importantly the crops.

The chief had already come up for plans for a new system in the case that this were to actually happen to them, after all it was good to be prepared for such the occasion. "Now, my fellow council, we have the urgent matter of the rain and flooding. This can cause a lot of damage to us by ruining our important crops. No doubt you already know this. So, I propose that we set up a basin to help divert some of the water away from the clan so that way damage can be minimized, as well as give us extra water to work with when times get tough. I also see the need for us to build a small wall around the river to keep the water inside the river. Of course, this will require resources, a good amount of it too."

He turned his head to each council member before throwing out another suggestion for them to consider, one in which would help them for defensive reasons as well. "We could also make a ditch around the clan and connect to the river, essentially we would make a moat which would help to deter any of our enemies from getting to us. Of course I will see what all of you have to suggest before I make any final decisions on this matter." He then turned to those who were present, "Eliz seems to be more connected with the gods and spirits. I would like for her to see if there are any rain or water spirits that have been causing us blight. If no spirit is mad then see if it be a curse. It may be a bit before we see her though so if we must know what is the cause of this immediately then send for the god-talkers to do so without Eliz. Any objections or other suggestions to throw into the mix?"

Seòras was little proud of himself when he had finished the traps and had them ready for whenever they got attacked by a neighboring clan. However the biggest concern right now was the flood warning that he got from the other members of the council. No doubt this flood could do some major damage to the clan if not handled properly. The sad thing is that Seòras looked at the rain and it almost felt like he was a child again seeing his father go out on his last journey to get fish for the clan. It brought back bitter memories but right now he needed to focus.

Seòras soon joined everyone and sat down in his seat with the council again he had to cover his mouth when he started his coughing fit, obviously in weather like this his illness would no doubt be worse. He had heard the suggestions from Serhiem about what to do with the flood possibility and now it was Seòras turn to stand "my fellow council members I believe that would have a better chance of avoiding a catastrophe if we built a basin to divert the flow of water from us. With your permission I would like to go and call in a favor from clan Gearalti they owe us a favor and I believe I can convince them to help build us a basin. What I also know is that we owe them a favor already so my plan is this. If you will allow me I will make a deal with them to give them a new river as we make the basin." Seòras had an extra map on hand as he drew a rough idea of where the basin will head towards. "From the two points where out own rivers meet we will create a third one to head towards their territory im sure they would appreciate having more water to work with for their crafts two birds one stone" Seòras said giving the map to their chief to show him what Seòras meant before sitting back down in his seat. This plan was perfect if Seòras could do this right he would be able to pull a huge move with the Gearalti clan into being more cooperative in the future...

Dunlad felt as if his efforts the past season had all been for naught. He had conducted a sacrifice to Luigibaid, eager to earn his blessing. And, indeed, Clan Aonghus had; but by what perverted design had it come to pass that, even with the gods' favor, their lands had been overrun by flooding? From whence did this deluge come?

Not to mention that that crone Eliz had poisoned one of the only sweet wells that they had had available to them. With the suggestions that the other council members had made already, it was clear that they would require some form of assistance to achieve their ambitions. Redirecting water courses took manpower; and Dunlad only hoped, if the Council did indeed acquiesce to Seòras' fool counsel, that it was not the old witch they sent to parley.

After a pause in the deliberations, his fingers fingering his thick calfskin belt, Dunlad spoke his peace.

"I'm in agreement with the Chief," he began, shivering in the damp chill of the hall even with the fire crackling in the hearth, "Redirecting the water and constructing a basin would give us an ample water supply; furthermore, the construction of a dike along the water's edge would grant us the advantage of altitude, as well as protection from future floodwaters."

"However," he continued, eyeing Seòras critically, "I believe that redirecting the river's course towards the Gearlati would only deprive us of much needed water, while being costly to boot. Further, you need not be Mardoc to know that the Gearlati lands are hill country. No river can climb uphill, now can it? The Gearlit are cloistered folk too, and don't much care to come down from their mountain halls; that stretch o' plain there'd be far too open for their like, I think."

"We'd best focus our effort on our own ilk, not for some crafty miners who can scarce till a field of wheat without digging too deeply. They're well-watered enough as it stands, with those fresh mountain springs, while we sit here up to our eyelids."

---

Dunlad petitions the aid of the Council in leading a diplomatic expedition to Clan Andal. Being a devout of Luigibaid, Dunlad forwards that he is the best candidate for the job; and, furthermore, should the recent floods ruin the year's crop, Clan Aonghus could ask for relief from Andal's ample larders. Dunlad is interested in how Andal has been able to produce so much with such insalubrious and infertile fields, and suspects that the knowledge he gleans there might assist in the efforts to stymie the flooding (thinking that the Clan has dabbled in certain irrigation techniques that Aonghus might employ as well).

"I need an escort, needless to say; a few good gallocmen should be enough, I think, and a well-intentioned gift to slick them up. They're simple folk, I surmise, but fierce, and they'd be fiercer friends still if we offer a favor."

"And," he added, in acerbic tones, "I'll be sure not to give insult."

Domagoj volunteers to join the God-Talkers to try and discern whether the source of the heavy rains is something magical in nature. It does not take long for the healer to return with the expected news: Clan Stormcaller is behind the devastation, so say the spirits.

Maire Virtanen begins researching how to create a more potent version of Dyvella's Mercy, a weak but versatile healing salve. Her goal is to brew at least a dozen vials of this new mixture. She also returns the 10 goods she took on her expedition to Clan Aonghus' stores.

---

The end of the Rain Season had finally arrived, and Maire couldn't have been more delighted. Clan Aonghus had been living in the Hidden Valley for four seasons, but the events of Rising Rain had shocked the alchemist. Not long after her expedition returned home, Maire overheard several clansfolk gossiping about the high price she'd paid to find a new source of sweetgrass. Two lives for two seasons' worth of sweetgrass did seem like a poor trade, but the councilwoman was taken aback by how well-informed the smallfolk were. She'd done everything in her power to ensure any stories about what had transpired were stories she'd created. Listening to some one-eyed hunter mutter about how Longshanks had sacrificed himself so "that gluttonous sow of a woman" could escape had filled Maire with rage. Instead of lashing out, however, she'd leapt into action. Well, waddled into action.

After conferring with the god-talkers, the raven-haired alchemist had been permitted to speak during the funerary rites for both Alban Brennus and Uric Myrost, the gallocman who'd fought the monster to give the rest of the party time to flee. The overweight urlandi spoke passionately about the selflessness and valor of these two heroes, though she also took pains to remind the clan how unexpected the entire affair was. Nobody, except the holy Tuad Rithe, could've seen this coming. Luckily, Tristan Jory, the other warrior chosen to accompany the expedition, fully supported and believed Maire's retelling. Whenever someone asked him how Uric Myrost died, the young gallocman would claim he'd met his end while protecting the bravest woman in the clan.

Maire Virtanen.

Unfortunately, not everyone was convinced the alchemist didn't deserve some of the blame for the clan's losses. The Brennus family's patriarch was dead and, despite Maire's standing offer to help whenever she needed it, Fiona Brennus openly accused the councilwoman of negligence. The grieving mother of five claimed Maire should've sent scouts ahead of her wagon to ensure the road ahead was safe. If Maire had a jewel for every time she or the Council had been blamed for something they had little control over then she would've been an incredibly wealthy woman. This particular accusation was especially galling, however, because the alchemist had been so involved in the daily lives of Alban and Fiona's children. She'd taught Jaina, Marta, Cerys, Hope and Serena Brennus how to read for the love of Bodi! They'd spent hours in the Blue House's sitting room with Clan Aonghus' oldest scrolls and a platter of freshly-baked bean buns, puzzling through the convoluted prose and rewarding themselves with a treat whenever they navigated a difficult passage. Jaina, Marta, and Cerys often spent more time eating buns and mooning over the clan's gallocmen then reading, but Hope and Serena excelled. The two younger Brennus girls loved reading tales of bygone heroes and ancient battles fought by their clan's ancestors. Serena even expressed an interest in learning more about alchemy after reading a story about Ulster Hardheart, one of Clan Aonghus' most talented alchemists. Now that their father was dead, Maire had a suspicion she wouldn't be seeing the Brennus children anymore. Fiona wouldn't allow it.

To make matters worse, the kerns were sharply divided over the incident at the Barrows, which was what Cathair Doyle had started calling the region. Of course that slimy toad would be the one to think up a name for the place where Maire's reputation had taken a severe blow. Undoubtedly, he was also responsible for nearly a dozen kerns showing up at Maire's Mansion a week after the attack to demand why she hadn't taken more gallocmen with her. She'd calmly told them most of the clan's fighters were traveling to Stormpeak with Eliz, though this answer didn't satisfy the unruly group. They'd wandered off eventually, helped along by the sight of Gwen looming over her mistress with a spear in her hand, but the memory of the encounter sent a shiver of fear down Maire's spine. What if the kerns had been angry enough to attack her? Gwendolen could make a spear do things the alchemist didn't believe were possible, but one woman couldn't stand against twelve farmers. Thankfully, a few days after this incident, fifteen herdsmen visited Maire to let her know they didn't blame her for Alban's demise. She couldn't have known some hideous beast was waiting to make a meal of the poor man.

It was good to know that some people, like Tristan Jory, still had enough sense to listen to Maire's carefully worded account of the Barrows' tragedy.

Of course, the entire affair still weighed heavily on the alchemist's mind so it was no surprise that she felt exhausted as she listened to the Council discussing potential solutions to the excessive rainfall drenching Clan Aonghus' lands. Plucking at her green-dyed woolen robes so they sat more comfortably across her gut, Maire shifted forward and peered intently at Dunlad as he spoke. She liked the kern a great deal, and many of his suggestions were intelligent and practical. An alliance with the older man could potentially remove the threat of Eliz and Ardghal altogether. An interesting thought.

At any rate, it didn't take a god-talker to figure out where the rainstorms came from. While Maire had aggressively tried to stifle the story of the Barrows attack until she could reshape it to her liking, Eliz wasn't present to do the same with the account of her interactions with Clan Stormcaller. It was common knowledge at this point. And a certain alchemist may or may not have encouraged clansfolk that owed her a favor to make the whole thing sound much worse than it was. Politics aside, it was obvious to Maire that Clan Stormcaller was avenging their wounded pride by sending storms to drown Clan Aonghus.

It was as simple, and horrifying, as that.

Once Dunlad finished talking about taking a diplomatic journey to Clan Andal's holdings, Maire said, "I believe you all have the proper idea about this unnatural rainfall. We should start by diverting the river, which some call the Beatha River after our ancestor's word for "life." I do feel, however, that trying to construct a moat or even a basin would require too much time and manpower. Some of our strongest clansfolk are still following the dark child...pardon me, Councilwoman Eliz. What we need is a simple, effective solution. For now, let us dig a ditch to guide the water away from our homes. A temporary solution for a temporary problem."

The raven-haired alchemist gripped the sides of her polished thornwood chair and looked at Serhiem, her voice carrying a slight edge, "I do not think it wise to trust Eliz, who is clearly the cause of these storms, to commune with the spirits or the Tuad Rithe about our troubles. We all know who is behind this deluge, and they should be our focus. Clan Stormcaller has taken offense to the way a member of this Council treated them. I see two choices before us, but we could easily do both. We should send a sizable peace offering to Clan Stormcaller. Perhaps a wagon of fine foods and treasures one can only find in the lowlands? I also believe the god-talkers should speak to the spirits about what actions we can take to quell the storms ourselves. If the Stormcallers refuse our peace offering we must have another solution prepared."

Pulling up the hood of her splendid robes, which were decorated with tiny rubies cut into the shape of blood droplets, Maire said, "Also, Chief Serhiem, I would like to discuss a private matter with you at my home whenever you have time. I know you're busy, but I think I have an idea that would benefit all of us. It would require your approval and skills, however." The heavyset woman tapped one sausage-like finger against her lower lip and then said, "Oh, and Dunlad, would you also do me a small favor? During your visit to Clan Andal's territory, which I wholeheartedly support, could you mention the benefits of binding our clans together through marriage? I would be curious to hear their response. Do not press the issue, though. I believe Clan Aonghus has suffered enough thanks to the unnecessary forcefulness of certain Council members."

Maire grinned widely and sat back in her intricately carved thornwood chair, the seat groaning beneath her immense girth. There was a carving of Luigibad tilling a field somewhere near the base of the throne-like chair. Alban had whittled the image into the wooden seat a week after Maire joined the Council. He'd never stopped smiling as he worked. The alchemist's grin faded and she let out a low sigh. She hoped Longshanks' spirit had found peace amongst the Tuad Rithe and the ancestors.

---

As soon as the meeting ended, Maire waddled through the pouring rain towards her shack, her thoughts already turning to her latest endeavor. She intended to discuss two topics with Chief Serhiem when he arrived. The formation of a proper warband to further investigate the Barrows would be costly, but if the chief organized it and gave it his blessing than nothing was impossible. In truth, apart from the vicious monster and the runestones' eerie red light, the alchemist didn't remember much about what had happened at the Barrows. What would Bodi, the courageous Huntress, think if Maire didn't at least attempt to "hunt" for the truth? Considering the fate of her sweetgrass expedition, however, the alchemist knew she should distance herself from this new venture. Perhaps she could provide support in the form of potions and salves? Some clansmen wouldn't leave their homes if they saw an ill omen. What would they do if they knew Maire Virtanen was involved with a new adventure aimed at uncovering the secrets of the Barrows? They'd probably shit themselves.

Regardless, Maire had already devised a plan to ensure the next group that visited that accursed place wouldn't meet the same fate as the first.

About a year prior to the clan's exile, Maire had been toying with the idea of improving the formula for Dyvella's Mercy, a basic healing salve the clan used to close small injuries. The thick, silver-colored sludge took roughly two days to work, and the alchemist knew most warriors rarely had two seconds to wait around for the mixture to heal them. She also knew there had to be a way to make Dyvella's Mercy work faster. Almost any alchemical formula could be improved upon with the proper materials and conditions.

Furthermore, Maire intended to ask Serhiem to talk to Fiona Brennus about offering one of her five daughters to Clan Andal. Maybe not right now, but at some point in the near future. If the Andals were open to the arrangement, why not bind the clans together through marriage? All of the Brennus children were beautiful, and they were rapidly approaching marriageable age. Fiona would never consent to the idea if Maire suggested it, but Chief Serhiem might be able to persuade her.

Groaning as she pushed open the door to her house, Maire nodded to Gwen, who was sharpening her spear by the fire pit, and said, "Daor, I want you to kill and cook the fattest chicken in the coop. Use the blue peppers we brought from Urland to season it. Serhiem has a weakness for blue peppers, and I have a feeling he'll be paying us a visit soon. I have work to do in my laboratory, but I want you to let me know if Serhiem or anyone else arrives. Do not let them inside until I'm up here, understand?"

The red-haired thrall bowed and set her spear down before heading out into the rain to get a chicken from Maire's small coop. Lowering the hood of her sodden robes, the alchemist smirked as she lumbered towards her backroom. It wasn't entirely safe to have her alchemical laboratory set up in the cellar, but there was no help for it. Her house was too small to offer her the privacy she needed to conduct her more dangerous experiments. The raven-haired alchemist whispered a quiet prayer to Yvene as she trudged into the backroom and opened the trapdoor leading down into the cellar. Maybe the Pearl-Haired Goddess would consider the loss of Alban and Uric as a fair trade for successfully brewing a new salve?

Maire decided that, if this worked, she'd call the final result Maire's Mercy. It had a nice ring to it.

Titania was satisfied with the progress the new recruits were making. What's more, while she had half expected Fintan to drag his feet about everything he proved to be quite useful. The initial intensity of training wears off slightly as they learn the basics and it becomes a matter of occasionally teaching new concepts and mostly enforcing old ones. However by far the most exciting event to happen was the discovery of the dragon skull. Of course Titania's first thought was to forge it into usable equipment, barely giving a second thought to using it ornamentally. Titania shook her head lightly and refocused on the meeting. "I believe it to be ideal we create a basin for holding water as well as expand the walls of the river to keep in the water. However I believe that the extra effort for creating a moat would yield minimal benefits and require much labour. Especially considering Seòras has already prepared traps in the event of an attack." Titania said, with a small nod to the council member in question.

"Now as for the matter of Clan Stormcaller I think it best we resolve this as quickly and as peacefully as possible so as to avoid harming the crops anymore. As you may well know Ardghal and I discovered a dragon skull. By his estimates we can make a set of armor and a weapon as well if done carefully. Though I am somewhat reluctant to offer this, dragon-bone is a rare thing indeed and it could easily pacify Clan Stormcaller. Along with the initial offerings we send them perhaps a promise of dragon-bone armor as well. As for Dunlad's expedition I have no quarrel with it." Ardghal and her had already spent some time discussing the matter and she had promised to aid him in his crafting efforts while she wasn't busy with her recruits.

"Alright, I have made my final decision," the chief begins as his eyes blankly going across the room to indicate for the others to know that he was ready. Serhiem cleared his throat and gave out his statement, "Dunland, I want you and the god-talkers to find a way to come these spirits as to stop the flood. I also want a ditch to be build to redirect the flow of water before we build a dike or anything else. Titania, if you would so graciously produce the dragon-bone armor then I will be grateful. I will go to the Stormcallers and vigorously apologize for Eliz's behavior and bring a small amount of gifts to them. With that being said, everyone get to work! I don't want anyone to be idle now of all times."

Ardghal sighed inside as he worked at the forge yet again. The memories haunted him without mercy and here he was having to do something that would only make them stronger. And of course, it was due to the stupidity and incompetence of another. Camvor take Eliz! Camvor take her and her lack of diplomacy! Now the village was flooding and he had to turn the precious dragon bone into a gift for Stormcaller. Such a rare find mostly gone because someone couldn't avoid offending their friends. He snarled his frustration as he did his best to turn the gift from the gods into a peace offering to smooth over the mistakes of another.

He had high hopes for this dragon bone though. It would make a fine suit of armor and there should be enough left for a sword. Father and mother would be proud... They were in Camvor's noble grasp now but he would never let them down. Maybe Titania would let him keep the sword. Even if it were unlikely to be reality, Ardghal couldn't help but breathe in a sigh of contentment as he imagined thrusting a sword of dragon bone through the heart of the High King. Ah, Camvor had been kind to give him (and Titania) enough dragon bone to not only patch over the folly of one who shouldn't have been put on the Council in the first place but also to forge a blade worthy of carrying out the holiest justice and retribution.

Wait. Eliz shouldn't have been let onto the Council. It was too late to change the past but damage control could still be done. He knew Maire disliked both him and Eliz. Hopefully, that was due to her associating him with the dark child. She would be a good ally in his attempts to protect the clan from further folly. He would approach her once he was done in the forge...

The rain seemed to pour down a lot more since that little negotiation with clan Stormcaller had soured. Fools. Eliz had gone in there very aware of her own weakness and her own temper. She was self aware, contrarily to what a lot of people claimed, which was why she spent so much time away from the clan, because she simply couldn't care enough to put her foot in her mouth. Ultimately, she had tried to make the negotiations as short as possible. These giant loving sons of whores though... they kept pushing and prodding, worst of all daring to use this... passive aggressive attitude Eliz had learned from Maire to hate so much.

'I have no interests in having men who will only talk and question what must be done following me in this expedition.'

That was when things went bad. The council room erupted with protests about how she, a mere child by the standard of the grey beards there, lacked wisdom and insight, and how it was preposterous for her to insinuate she should see them not as possible associates, but as people who should accept her leadership in this expedition. Eliz had been quick after that to turn on her heels and leave without any goodbye or apologies.

"So... what do we do now?" Asked Bedwyr. Eliz turned around, her head sinking in her shoulder to keep warm under the rain.

"What now? It doesn't change anything. We go to Stormpeak and explore, to bring back whatever bounty the gods have for us there."

______________________________________________

Eliz's boot smashed in the face of one of the 2 survivors of the Nightfell patrol, sending him on his ass on the ground and causing some laughter among her own men. So much for the impressive reputation of the monster hunter clan at fighting, they were perhaps better with beasts than men but it didn't matter right now.

Eliz had gotten what she wanted and the 4 horsemen were dead or dismounted, at the mercy of the scarred archer and her crew. "Give us everything and you may live."

The duo didn't need to look at each other before removing their armor and any weapons they had left to throw it in front of Eliz's horse who only looked down on them with a self satisfied arrogant smile, shared by the rest of the mounted men around her. When they finished removing their gear, Eliz just leaned on her horse, taking out one of the javelin on her back, still bloodied from having been thrown at the back of one of these men's comrade, and pointed it at the two men. "Everything." Their expression sunk further away from anger to shame as they undressed completely under the grins and laughter of their enemies.

"You pathetic worms, I can't believe they'd let you take care of horses when all you do is grovel naked in the mud. Go! Go before I change my mind!" The duo left running toward the village. A more careful commander would have ran now, the weapons and armor of 4 men, along with the glory and above all, 4 horses, seemed quite the prize for such little effort. But Eliz wanted more, and she knew she had precious little time. As one of the gallocman dismounted to get the loot, Eliz turned her eyes toward the small farm houses outside the forest.

"Cadoc, Fflur! You are with me, Bedwyr, you take the rest to another house! We continue as planned, we have few precious moments before the Nightfell reinforcements arrive! Take anything of value that can be carried, things or people! Work for your pay damn it!" Without much concern for her horse, Eliz pulled on the rein, making the horse stand on two legs for a moment before shifting direction and begin to run toward the defenseless homes of the kerns they targeted.

Bedwyr went for the first house and did as his men, unsaddling to walk toward the house and kick in the door, walking in with his two handed war axe, causing the in occupants to scream in terror. Going to her own target, Eliz slowed down but still kept going before once again pulling in the reins and making the horse stand. A second later, the door was forced open by a powerful kick from its forward hooves.

The scene of violence went on for two minutes before the first of the reinforcements arrived. Not gallocmen, but nearby kerns, hearing their brethren in need of help had regrouped and decided to move on the raiders with old weapons and farm equipment they had at hands. Considering the dust cloud at the distance, even Eliz's terrible sight could see cavalrymen were not far either. She took her horn and blew into it, signaling a fighting retreat.

The gallocmen's training and discipline along with the ranged help from the hunters allowed everyone to make out of there alive, with 4 sheeps and two child along with some goods. Eliz's prefered target since they could be re-educated more easily than normal thralls, even if it meant they'd be less productive at first. But they were not out of the woods yet.

Behind them a group of 8 horsemen followed them. That seemed a little light in term of what was needed to take them down, did Nightfell lack in terms of horses? But even if they could beat them, fact was some people would probably get hurt or killed in the process, and that would slow everyone down. The small group of raider simply ran away.

But the enemies gave chase. Signaling with her hands to the others, Eliz took along Cadoc to the right to slow down and be at the level of the enemy riders. A small group turned to go and meet them, but Eliz already had a good position next to the main group and threw a javelin at them. A horse got it right in the neck and fumbled at high speed to the ground, his rider following him. Eliz went on to put distance between herself and the fringe group going after her and the chase went on, only ending when Bedwyr unsaddled a Nightfell gallocman by throwing a sheep backward, hitting him right in the chest! Deciding it wasn't worth it to pursuit with two of their comrades down, the Nightfell fell back.

"Piss off you cowards! HAHAHA!" The men cheered with Eliz at the success of their raid! It wasn't much, but for how little they were and at the cost of no casualties and not even slowing down their travel? This was a resounding victory!

_____________________________

The escape was a resounding success. The group had gone to the river to walk inside it for a little bit as to erase their tracks and make sure no bad surprise came after them and had now reached Stormpeak. It was, by far, the highest mountain Eliz had ever seen or heard of, even back in the old kingdom. What was most peculiar was how it stood perfectly in the middle of grassland, like a tower of sort.

Eliz had found shelter for her followers in a cave, one of many in the mountain it seemed. Now, they were all around a piece of parchment on which Eliz had drawn a crude map.

"Wait, so we're here, and this is the village? And this must be Nightfell..."

It seemed people were not keen on her drawing skills. To be fair, it was actually voluntary since this was only a note to help herself navigate, not something meant for anyone else to try and understand. "I know, shut up. This is the village, the mountain, Nightfell, blablabla. Now, if we look upward, we found that old, crumbly stone stairway and we know we have gods know how many caves around here. After that of course, there's that field."

The battlefield. Not something you could see from a mountain normally if it wasn't so big... "Here's what we'll do. We'll see to the battlefield today and then the caves for the next few ones."

The gallocmen looked at each other in confusion. "Why bother?" Finally one of them said. "The gods pointed at the mountain, so lets climb the mountain and be done with it!" Eliz frowned toward Cadoc. "You just earned yourself a stay at camp, idiot. And you should know why. Going to the battlefield will take only a day and will allow us to see some history of what this mountain is about and clearing out the nearby caves will maybe allow us to get up the mountain or at the very least, make sure we don't have some nasties living next to us, ready to kill us in our sleeps or eat these children." The hardy men turned around to look at the 2 frightened kids they had kidnapped.

"My decision is final."

________________________________________

And her decision was one she wasn't sure was the right one. Her comportment had been exemplary, Serhiem would have been proud and she knew in her guts that the gods looked down favorably on her for that moment... but still. "Hey, fryfa... I mean, Eliz. What happened out th-"

She turned towards the warrior. It was easy to read her, when she was pissed and turned around like that, she showed her hideously burned half first. "Not... a word..." Saying only this, she looked back forward and continued for a moment before stopping again, her memories of her encounter vanishing as she leaned down and looked at a stone. "...This stone was carved."

The trio spread out, looking for more. "Hey, there's another one on the floor here... and one over there!" Eliz looked up from her finding and walked toward the next spot so she could see better in the darkness but as she did, she stepped on the stone she had seen. Something moved. Eliz ducked, expecting a trap of sort... but nothing... Going back up, she went back on the stone, hearing that 'click'... She looked at the two other stone and signaled her men. One went on the other and one on the last...

There was a rumble as a wall of the cave began to lift, revealing an archway. Inside seemed to be a corridor, but it had caved in unfortunately. Under the rubles was the dead body of a dwarf, of all things. The favored of the giants, here... and on him, a bow, of sort. Only it was different, with an handle and a mechanism holding the string and a shorter arrow, with a metal tip, eldritch dwarven engineering. Eliz took the thing from the skeletal hands of the long dead dwarf... It was big for a dwarf it seemed, but for most of her men it would be too small. Looking at the thing, she shouldered it, knowing the arrow had to be shot the other way. The ergonomy was weird but fitting somehow for a short and lanky girl such as her.

Her hands moved around the weapon, finding a protuberance... looking at it, it seemed to be the release mechanism for the string. "Fflod, why don't you throw your shield in the air." He muttered something about weird dwarven bows before executing himself. Eliz pulled on the trigger and at such short range, the arrow went directly where she was aiming and sent the shield flying, much more than if it had been hit by a normal arrow, and on it, the small arrow was jammed much further in than a big one.

______________________________________

From that moment on, there had been no doubt in Eliz' mind, the gifts the gods wanted to give the clan, to give her, was dwarven weapons. She searched the caves of the mountain, forgetting about the stairs and trying to find more Dwarven ruins, but to no avail. Before she knew it, the supplies were running low, even with 2 hunters present, and they had to go home.

The travel was easy, as instead of going on the south bank of the river and through nightfell, they came back home north where no enemies were to be found.

When they arrived home, the first to come out were the families of everyone involved, going to their loved ones despite the rain still pouring in. By the gods this was muddy as hell. What Eliz didn't expect however was the glares of everyone around her. She sent hideous gazes in return of course, but what was this about?

Oh please, she knew exactly what this was about, her problem was one with an ego almost as large as herself, but she wondered what had been told again.

Now that the group was home, they began to split the loot. It had already been talked for long hours on the way back home and Eliz didn't care since her share was already determined: The horses and the dwarven bows. It was, of course, immensely unfair toward everyone else, but Eliz had financed the entire expedition out of her pocket and if she hadn't been there, the Gallocmen involved would just have sat home and planted crops, so there wasn't much of a fuss. They were back home safe and sound and ready for the coming raiding season.

As she waited next to her men however, a small group had formed around her. It was something she knew, they wanted to ask something but didn't have the courage to speak. They knew Eliz wasn't one for taking insults, and kerns knew better than frustrate a gallocman. Finally, someone pushed and shoved his way up the crowd and spat at Eliz's horse. The ratty little...

"It's your fault! The rain, its all your bloody fault! You had to open your big, ugly, stupid mouth! We had trade with the Stormcallers! And look at all this mud! Now all we have is rain! You screwed everything up!" Eliz frowned. So that was what was up. The crowd erupted, throwing insults and questions as around Eliz, a small gathering of people standing beside her in the matter formed, protecting her and her horse, signaling that the crowd couldn't just lynch her.

Finally she spoke. Her voice however was drowned by the crowd. She tried to scream, to no avail. Rolling her eyes, Eliz slammed her heels in the side of the horse, causing him to rise and scream in pain. The heavy frame seemed to advance toward the crowd as people made way as not to be trampled by the black beast. Still, she retained control and didn't hurt anyone.

On her face was a look of rage as she pointed toward the crowd. "You good for nothing, cowardly slobs... Of course you'd plead and beg for peace, you're just like the Stormcallers! What is this that I hear, we find dragon bones, but only use them to sooth another clan who is frustrated I hurt their little feelings... Did I think this would happen? Of course not! Insulted as they were, the Stormcallers looked down at their feet every time I looked at them as I left, revengeful as they were, not one of them even tried to block my way, much less ask me for a duel to save their honor!"

The crowd had gone dead quiet, the only sound around being that of the falling rain. Eliz stayed her fingers, moving her horses to trot around the crowd. Going next to people and looking down on them, daring them to assault her. "Cowards, pompous weaklings that cannot defend their honors... GODLESS fools who would not help when the god talkers spoke, even more hilariously!" She brandished the dwarven bow triumphantly for everyone to see. "Here I am, home at last with a wondrous weapon forged by the dwarf, that the stormcallers had to pass the opportunity on having for themselves because their narrow minded ego could not stand with working with us, their so called 'inferior'..."

She lowered the bow and looked at it, her expression somewhat of amused disgust. "A weapon so complicated to understand... Yet so simple to use." She pointed it at the door of Jugo's brewry with one hand and pulled the trigger, the crowd flinching nervously at the sound unlike anything they had heard before and whispering after they heard a much louder 'TCHAK' than one would expect when the bolt collided with the wooden door. "The gods sent us a message to go east, and with that message we found this weapon..." She looked at the crowd with a smile for a moment before returning to an expression of disgust. "Its a sign that the gods find us weak. That we need a weapon so simple to use for the power it welds because our sons and daughters are too busy doing like their fathers, planting crops, making goods to trade or worst... give away so we might not suffer the wrath of easily crushable weaklings, to learn how to fight. How to defend ourselves and to show those who would dare PISS on us-!" Eliz pointed upward at the rain.

Her voice went more quiet, forcing people to stay silent to hear her. "Our enemies, because make no mistake, the Stormcallers are our enemies... have decided to use their magic against us, to ruin us... And now we'll just... send a rare and priceless artifact to them, so we may beg, please, stop! Well I wonder what message this sends to the other clans!"

That was it, what frustrated her the most. This passive, submissive attitude. That they might blame her? Fine... but that they would just roll over at the first little thing that went wrong... She had made her point, but as she moved onward to her house to finally get away from this hellish rain, someone else said something to attract her ire.

"A lousy dwarven bow! It wasn't worth it, it wasn't worth two lives!" Was this woman blind? Could she not see not a single of Eliz's men had even a scratch? She turned slowly toward the woman who had talked. "...I could guess the reason I'm on the council is because I'm half blind and so I'm half wise..." She said, taking a jab at Serhiem. "But I'm pretty sure I see all my men back with me, completely unharmed.

"The barrows. Maire told us-" Eliz started to laugh as she looked upward at the clouds. "-that you took away all the gallocmen on that foolish errant of yours! That's why... that's why a gallocman and a kern died when she went to gather her herbs!"

Silently, Eliz leaned out of her saddle toward the woman, a rather unsettling smile on her face. "Foolish... errant... A foolish errant that the god talkers had a vision about, to go to the highest mountain of these lands, to find a wondrous weapon the likes of which we've never seen was somehow more foolish... than a fat little alchemist wanting to go in unexplored land, on her own volition, to fetch some grass and insisted on leading this expedition, yet was not decent enough to put herself in harms way to protect her own men?"

She looked down on the woman who had brought up the point with a sneer of disgust she'd reserve normally only for Maire herself. "And me, I went with 5 other men, successfully raided and moved through the entire Nightfell clan, to unknown territories where I crawled in the ideal breeding grounds of monsters of all sorts for an entire season and for how many casualties?!"

She raised two fingers in the air, before pointing them at the two new thralls she had captured. "There were none! In fact, where Maire Virtanen led two men to their death, I brought back two to better our clan! Where Maire Virtanen brought grass, of all stupid things we have more than enough of near a bloody river, I brought back 4 strong horses!"

Eliz felt like she could go on and on about Maire, but she knew this was enough, that it would change nothing and that she just wanted some god damn peace and quiet. She moved both her hands to the reins of her horse. "So unless you can back your words with actions, shut up. I will not hear anything from ungrateful idiots that just stand in awe when a fat pig regurgitates all the honey she feast on in the form of words, those same idiots forgetting how grateful they were a year back when I saved them and their children from starving on the way to this valley, from starving during the first winter by doing exactly what I am and have always been doing and that, now that we have some prosperity, would rather sit on their laurels, and lead us in the same situation that exiled us in the first place. Weakness."

"...I'll keep doing that too. I'll wipe away Maire's mistake and all life in the Barrows, because I must. I'll keep raiding, again and again, because there hasn't been a single year where our cattle gave birth to more offspring than the number we brought back. Because when we prove their weakness to the other clans, their men concentrate on defending themselves and their homes before attacking us. And, if the thick headed fools that are against it would let me, I'll make the stormcallers undo what they have done, because I cannot stand that people would blame me for the enormous ego they have to have to punish an entire clan for one woman's actions, because they are unable to deal with her face to face, in their crippling weakness."

Eliz fell silent and slowly walked her horse toward her home. If the clansmen didn't make way, the Gallocmen on foot around Eliz sure as hell would make them. And that, that made Eliz smirk. As long as the Gallocmen were on her side, Maire and her clique of effiminated submissive weaklings could do nothing. Where Maire worked with subtle intrigue, Eliz would meet her with brute force at every turn.

As Eliz began to walk away from the crowd that had been so ungrateful to her, Serhiem stepped out of the group and shouted to the dark woman. “Eliz! Come back here now! You have to answer for what you have done!” He was accompanied by his sister of course as she was his guide. Though, Serhiem’s face showed the anger that he has built up over the seasons. The normally peaceful man seemed gone as he faced Eliz, sending many of the crowd to seem confused or shocked about the chief’s new demeanor.

Eliz closed her eyes as she heard that voice. Oh that was just… peachy, just what she needed now on top of all things. She turned on her saddle to slowly face Serhiem, showing her ugly side to him. “...Would you mind if we did this inside, chief? I just travelled around the valley for an entire season and I’m tired at the moment.” Tired of being the piss bucket everyone had a go at, that was. Nothing she wanted more right now than go back outside to do her things and be away from here… Mostly however, she knew there was no reason to make this a public encounter for her, since she’d either come head to head with Serhiem, thus forcing him to be more drastic to establish his authority in front of everyone, or she’d have to kneel in the mud for him. In front of everyone.

“As you wish,” Serhiem said, paying no mind to her face as he was blind after all. His sister guided him over to her, through the mud and rain. He did seem to be muttering many curses, not all of them seeming to just go to her, but also Stormcaller and more importantly the mud.

It took only a few minutes for them to be at Eliz’s house, and move through the thralls and the stuff being stored around. It seemed to be more of a workplace than a house and in many aspects, it was. Leading them to the second floor, the group went to a single room who seemed to be the closest to a living space there was here, rather luxurious all things considered, showing many of the fruits of Eliz’s previous expeditions. “Feel free to take the seat.” Singular, the only chair being behind an overloaded work desk. Eliz herself flung her boots around the room and began to undo her armor. It was a courtesy, but in truth? Eliz simply wasn’t one to sit around.

Serhiem was guided to the one chair, which he grudgingly sat in. “Now, you have been stirring up quite the trouble Eliz. The kerns are angry, the Stormcallers have cursed us, and you seem to be disrespecting the rest of the council.” He sighed deeply before continuing on with what he wanted to say. “You are risking a lot right now. I could have you banished, but I am not going to. I believe you can still right your wrongs. Unfortunately, I cannot allow the things you have done to go unpunished. First I must ask, what did you exactly say to the Stormcallers?”

Eliz finished undoing her armor pieces, letting them fall on the ground as she clenched her teeth. Punished, punished for having a backbone? And what punishment did Maire have for doing something that ended the lives of two persons? “You believe I’ll become a bandit and be more trouble than I am.” She spat out before taking a deep breath to try and contain her anger. “I tried to say little, because I know I am not a diplomat. But they kept probing, twisting every words that I used and I can say this, they were looking to be insulted. So I did what any good clansmen would do and when people ask for something, I deliver… ‘I have no interests in having men who will only talk and question what must be done following me in this expedition.’... I’m going to guess this is what justifies the rain, in their mind… A rain that didn’t kill anyone, might I add.”

“No, but a rain that could destroy our homes and crops. A rain that could force us to move once more! The problem here Eliz, is that you do not know when to keep your mouth shut. While you do good things, such as raid our foes and bring back a strange bow, you bring the ire of other clans. Have you thought that the Stormcallers were simply being cautious when you went to them? Have you thought to consider that maybe it takes more backbone not to say anything? In fact, you have proven to be as spineless as a thrall.”

Yes, she had considered them being cautious, she kept nodding, infuriated at the speech about moderation and cautions until he went on to tell her it was her, that had lost her backbone. “You… you would dare… Y- ARG! You would tell me that I lack backbone?! While your solution, is to send the few priceless resources we have to people who have brought us nothing but ruin? So they may, if they would be oh so generous and merciful toward our poor and weak selves, as to please stop the rain they sent our way?! At least when I do something I commit to it, and I go through with it! I- Oh by the gods! Since when has honestly being considered as such a default as now! At least I speak my mind, I don’t do as Maire and talk behind my back, blaming me for her own shortcomings! And you want to punish me, for something that MIGHT happen while she is free to go around and spill all the venom about me as she wants?! People died while my mission was nothing but success!” Eliz’s jaws wagled some more for a few seconds as she tried to find words, but she wasn’t foolish enough not to realize Serhiem had after all, just told her to know when to shut up. She finally closed her mouth and her eyes for a moment, finding her words. “I’ve never been so insulted in my life at this moment, and yet I am not coming to blow. It's the difference between me and… them.” She said, talking about a very wide and non specified group, that Serhiem could in fact very be apart of. “Anyone who feels insulted by mere words rather than actions… I cannot…” She stopped, her words failing her mind. She knew Serhiem understood though… even if she didn’t really expect to sway him.

“Listen,” he began before sighing, not really seeming to react to what she had said. His sister, however, seemed very nervous that Eliz might try and do something. “You are not like everyone else, you make your thoughts heard and you have never lied. At least to what I have heard. While, Maire has cost the lives of two people, it was not her fault for not knowing the beasts that lay in the Barrows. I like that you are straight forward and take an effort to help the clan against our enemies.” Serhiem casts his gaze to where he knows the stairs are. “You just must know, I have to manage a good lot and I am sorry, but a majority of the people in this clan, are idiots. They simply do not know what they truly want. However, they are the majority and I must appease them. Thus, all I am going to do is take one of the horses you have captured and have you work alongside the kerns during the harvest. I am sorry that you feel insulted, but now you how the Stormcallers feel.” The chief gets to his feet before saying one last thing. “I hope you do not think any lesser than me. Also, I hope to study that how you acquired. We may be able to replicate that for the rest of the Gallocemen and the hunters.”

Eliz clenched her teeth, as if incompetence was an excuse for failure. Probably if she had gone and lost her men they’d have told her it was unacceptable because she could have prevented it. “At least there’s one thing we agree with.” She said, referring to the comments about people being idiots. “Still, even if I might agree to losing a horse I worked so damn hard and risked my life to get, you know sending me to work with the Kerns is just a recipe for disaster…” She thought for a moment. Realistically, this should be over, but… there was one thing. “Give me one shot. To right the wrong that I’ve made…” She puffed a small laughter. “I’m sorry the Stormcallers feel insulted, you know how I feel…” She said, twisting the words used a moment ago around. She turned to face Serhiem. “Allow me to go to them… and challenge them. We know they did it, it’s undeniable. They know it to. Send someone with me to do the talking, I don’t care. Their problem lies with me and I will challenge them to a duel for it. If I win, they will have to stop, if I lose… I’ll die and their quarrel will be over.” She looked impatiently at Serhiem.

“You would give your life just to end the rain? While if I were not blind I would follow you to them and challenge them myself, I cannot. I feel that what you say will end the rain and I will permit it. However, I urge you to find a more… peaceful solution to this. One that satisfies both your honor without the risk of you dying. Though, who am I to stop you. You have my blessing to challenge them if you so wish,” Serhiem smiled at her, warrior to ex-warrior. “Now, I will not take up anymore of your time. My sister and I will see ourselves out.” He then turned to his sister who guided Serhiem out and to his place in his home.

Later he announced the punishment to the rest of the clan, even going as far as to publicize the duel. Serhiem did leave out that Eliz would work with the Kerns mainly to keep the kindles of that relation from going ablaze.

(@Mardox @Eklispe @Lauder @Lexicon @Wernher @Tracyarmav @babbysama @Jangel13)



As Ardghal brings the dragonbone to the forge, the memories tear at him as always, but he doesn't chase them away. He takes up his tools and begins to work with the dragonbone, the memory of his family gripping his mind.

It's a lengthy process, working with dragonbone. The bone by itself does not make the best of armors, but when mixed with high-quality iron it produces a gleaming metal that is strong, lightweight, and inherently magical. It's not as tough as dragonscale armor, but it's still a great material.

Together Ardghal and Titania begin laboring over at anvil and the forge. It's long, arduous work that takes over two weeks to complete. Yet as Ardghal labors, he feels a strange sort of passion, passion that he never had for smithing before. The pounding of his hammer becomes relentless, his arm becomes tireless, his body becomes one with the forge. He botches some of the work, sure, and loses the material needed to make a weapon from the dragonbone, but when he is done he and Titania behold a masterpiece.

As Ardghal prepares to leave the forge after that last day of labor, he feels a strange urge to look behind him. And when he does, he sees his father standing there, a ghostly figure in the gloom.

He smiles at his son before he fades away.

(@Mardox @Eklispe - You make the following treasure:

Dragonsteel Lamellar: Made by Ardghal and Titania, this suit of armor is a beauty to behold. It shines like gold beneath the sun, and at night it glows a ghostly, pale white. While whoever wears it will certainly not be able to hide their presence, they are an inspiration to their allies and incredibly difficult to harm.

You do not have enough material remaining to also make a weapon, sadly.

Ardghal also gains the following trait:
Blacksmith - Your father's spirit is with you, and he is proud. You are treated as if having the Craftsman trait for purposes of smithing weapons and armor.)

---

Eliz and Serheim leave to go negotiate with the Stormcaller Clan. Meanwhile, the kerns at home struggle to keep the flood waters at bay. While they go off to do so, Dunlad appeals to the godtalkers for help, and together they manage to slow down the storm. While the flooding continues, it does not do that much damage. Only part of the village is harmed by the floods. The kerns work very hard to dig a path for the water to follow, but without good leadership it's not enough. The fate of the clan is in Eliz's hands.

When Serheim and Eliz arrive at the Stormcaller Clan, Serheim confronts them about their part in the storms and convinces them their fight is with Eliz, not with Clan Aonghus. The Stormcaller Chief decides to challenge Eliz to a duel himself, and the two of them begin fighting. With a pair of well-placed javelins, deft movements and bursts of magic, Eliz manages to absolutely trounce him in battle. There's no doubt about it: the gods have chosen Eliz to be the victor, absolving her of any crimes against the Stormcallers.

Begrudgingly, the Stormcaller chief accepts his defeat, agrees that Eliz is innocent, and promises to end the spell on Clan Aonghus' land.

As Serheim and Eliz leave the Stormcaller tula, they look out at their own lands and see that the stormclouds are fading into nothingness with surprising speed. The rains have come to an end.

(@Lauder @Wernher @babbysama

Eliz and Serheim stop the flood and create peace between Clan Aonghus and Clan Stormcaller once again. Dunlad manages to slow down the rains enough to keep it from ruining the harvest, but a dozen homes are lost along with 10 goods.)

---

Rumors spread through the village slowly that Eliz left out a detail of her expedition. They say that Eliz found some walking dead, skeletal warriors of some sort, that said she carried a terrible burden - some sort of unspeakable crime. The name 'Dark Child' clings to Eliz's name now.

And yet for some reason the clan's magic seems stronger since Eliz has returned from her adventure. What happened out there to bolster it so?

(Clan Aonghus has +1 Magic in reserve.)

---

Maire's goal eludes her. She has labored day and night, dedicated countless hours to trying to find a means of improving the clan's medicinal salves. Experiment after experiment, failure after failure, she has yet to produce a salve that improves on Dyvella's Mercy.

Yet she believes she is coming closer. She does not know how long it will take, but if she dedicates herself to her effort, surely she will find the answer. She must. The raids are soon to come.

(@Lexicon Maire fails to improve on the existing salve yet, but she has made some progress.)

---

Domagoj works very hard to improve the traps created by Seoran before. He supplicates the gods with a sacrifice of sheep, then gathers alchemical components and ritual artifacts together to conduct his spells. If he could only enchant the traps so that they would not harm the children...

He prays long and hard to Dyvella, goddess of Mercy. He prays, too, to Aire, she who watches the hearth and children. He prays long and hard, and as the final part of his ritual, he presses his withered hand down upon a stick with burning embers at its top. He clutches those embers long and hard as he chants, ignoring the terrible pain it brings him. Then, he speaks the final words, and the traps all hum.

His ritual has been successful. The traps will not harm children, nor will they harm the people of Clan Aonghus. His work is done.

(@tracyarmav Domagoj has successfully enchanted the traps. You will not need to set them up before raids, but instead can leave them out as long as you please. Occasional repairs may still be necessary.)

---

(@Jangel13 As I did not see a post from you about your action for this turn, I'm letting you have 2 actions this turn instead of 1. From now on, anyone that misses a week can carry over 1 unused action from the last turn into the next, meaning they get a maximum of 2 acions in a single turn if they do not spend their action.)

---

Rising Fire

The warm sun is a welcome respite after the terrible storm that wracked the land last season. The grass turns a shade more golden, and the sky is crisp and clear, the clouds thin, white serpents that swim about the air. Though Clan Aonghus certainly had its fair share of problems last season, the warmth brings a little cheer to everyone's hearts, and there's a sigh of good fortune in the sky: Urak's favorite star twinkles even in the day.

Besides the members of the council, we have 736 clansmen and 79 thralls. We have two less adult clansmen and two more thralls than we did last season. Three children were born.

• 303 of our clansmen are children.
• 16 of our clansmen are Gallocmen.
• 12 of our clansmen are Craftsmen.
• 15 of our clansmen are Hunters.

Our herds are rather average for our clan's size.

• We have 701 healthy cattle. We lost 6 cattle this season and gained 2 more.
• We have 990 sheep. We gained some sheep.
• We have a sparse 24 horses for use in raiding and war.
• We have some hounds to help our shepherds protect the flocks.

We have some wealth to our name.

• We have 116 goods for trade. Our crafters were very productive, creating 9 goods last season, and we lost or used 42 goods. We acquired 9 more goods by other means.
• We have 3 Treasures:
  • Cloak of the Black Wolf: This cloak imparts on its wearer great skill in stealth, and it is useful when taken on adventures that require such skill. The legends warn, however, that wearing the cloak too much might make one become closer to the Black Wolf than one might like...
  • Dwarven Crossbow (Eliz): This strange weapon is a weird sort of bow, and surely it should be studied. It works off of strange mechanisms that let it be shot by a simple pull of the trigger. Reloading it is slow, but its striking power is impressive.
  • Dragonsteel Lamellar: Made by Ardghal and Titania, this suit of armor is a beauty to behold. It shines like gold beneath the sun, and at night it glows a ghostly, pale white. While whoever wears it will certainly not be able to hide their presence, they are an inspiration to their allies and incredibly difficult to harm.

We have sufficient food to see us through to harvest season.

We know the following blessings.

• Aire
  • Fertility - Our women will be more likely to have children.
  • Preservation - This will prevent our food stores from spoiling. (Active - Temple)
• Bodi
  • Long Watch - We are more likely to spot invaders. (Active - Temple)
  • Blessed Aim - Our hunters will produce greater quantities of meat.
• Dyvella
  
  • Cure - Heals the sick immediately, or protects us from illness if active.
• Lugibaid
  
  • Good Soil - The land is more fertile. (Active - Sacrifice)
• Urak
  
  • Hungry Earth - Makes our land more fertile as more people die on it.

The Gallocmen feel satisfied. The Kerns feel uncertain.

---

A strange story is brought to the Council by a kern family: Hilda is the mother, Carag is the father, and their daughter is named Fiona. The mother and father begin first, telling you about how just one week ago they were herding their landsman's sheep when they heard their daughter scream. When they looked over to see her, they saw bandits - clanless warriors, exiles and criminals - grabbing their twelve year old daughter and riding off with her on a horse.

You remember this incident. The whole clan had searched high and low for these bandits, but to no avail.

But then Fiona continues the story. She explains that as they tied her up, and as she screamed the men beat her terribly. They dragged her off to a cave, a large gray-skinned man who had a pig-like face came out from the trees with a massive axe. He then proceeded to slay each and every one of her assailants, throwing himself against overwhelming odds (seven to one) against dangerous men. Fiona then fell unconscious due to her wounds.

"But when I woke up," she says slowly, "I found myself inside a small hut, and I smelled fresh venison. When I got up, I saw a plate of food on the table, and because I was very hungry I went to eat it. And that's when he walked in: the orc."

She goes on to explain that the orc (for that is what the tusked man was) terrified her at first, but he treated her very kindly and nursed her back to health. He did not speak very much of the Urlandi language, but when she was well enough to travel again he led her back to Clan Aonghus' tula.

The question now presented to the clan is what to do about this orc. He lives very near the clan's lands, and apparently has ventured onto them in the past. Orcs are considered to be enemies of the Urlandi, but they have never been a sworn enemy of Clan Aonghus, and perhaps an exception can be made in the Hidden Valley.

(@Mardox @Eklispe @Lauder @Lexicon @Wernher @Tracyarmav @babbysama @Jangel13)

---

Word reaches Clan Aonghus from Clan Cinaede that Clan Nightfell is preparing to attack. We have enough time to muster a defense against them, so most of our battle-ready kerns and gallocmen move out onto the field. Unexpectedly, however, Clan Greenfeather has moved onto the field as well, crossing the river to flank us while our forces are focused on preparing to fight against Clan Nightfell.

Our forces are evenly matched in numbers, but we are outflanked. None of our warbands have clashed yet, so there is time to get a plan together. It had best be a simple one, however, and it had best be done fast.

(@Mardox @Eklispe @Lauder @Lexicon @Wernher @Tracyarmav @babbysama @Jangel13)

The duel would have been a magnificent spectacle to watch, unfortunately, Serhiem would never again no the feeling of being able to fight against any foe. He hated that he would never again know the feeling of being in the middle of the battlefield and fighting for his clan with sword and shield. However, the seasons of blindness had made him wiser and that was something that he would forever be grateful for as he had acquired both a blessing and a curse. Though the raiding season had come for all, meaning that the clan would most likely encounter a good raid from one of the two clans that they were feuding with.

However, that was not the case as a girl had come to be kidnapped by bandits then rescued by an orc, the typical enemy with the Urlandi people, this girl had brought a strange case to the council. [b]"Now this is certainly a predicament now. An orc, the typical enemy of our people, has actually rescued this girl for some reason. Do not take this the wrong way as I am grateful that the orc did save her. It is just all so strange. At least they are not-" he stops to spit on the ground at the mere name, "the Moon Tribe." He strokes his long, unkempt beard for a few moments before suggesting, "Maybe we should give him some gifts? Or possibly offer him a spot in our clan? I do not know, but surely he must be rewarded for rescuing one of our people." he goes silent afterwards, seeming to think of what should be done about this weird situation.

---

The Nightfell were a foe that the Aonghus people had fought before, not within the valley, but back in the homeland before the everyone had been exiled by the bad king. Serhiem refused to take his place with those who physically could not fight, instead he was at the very back where the warriors had gathered. Yet, he received word that the Greenfeathers had gone to outflank them, he was no tactician, but this did not bode well for the clan. He led some men to do a ritual so that they would preform better during this battle and he found a free set of drums, thanks to his sister of course. Serhiem would trust Ardghal and Eliz with the aspects of tactics for the defensive, but he would inspire the men. Without another notice, he began to beat the drums of war in hopes that the men would feel inspired.

Dunlad strode warily into the council hall, heavy thoughts weighing on his mind. There had been many happenings in the tula lately, and above all, tensions between the dark child and the apothecary. And while he bore no love for Eliz—thinking her too hot headed and crude for her own good, though that was the case for most gallocman—he knew that the feuding between Maire and Eliz would only deprive the council of its legitimacy in the eyes of the tula. They were faced with a new home, and enemies on every side; the least they needed was dissension from within. At the very least, the dark child had gone to set right the mess she had wrought.

And he would never let her forget it, either. A dozen homesteads lost. A dozen families bereft.

At the very least he had, with the efforts of the kerns and many others, been able to avert disaster and save this year's harvest, a dozen families lay on Eliz's conscience. And on his heart. The dark one, with her cruel face and bitter words, had lambasted Maire's failed expedition, for it had caused the death of two good men. But could she not see what her own actions had wrought? Did she believe a handful skinny mares and some rusting bow (whose discovery, she claimed, was ordained by the Tuan Rithe themselves) was enough to balance the scales?

Had it been up to him, he would have doled out a harsher sentence. Dunlad was not a violent man, but he thought that perhaps she deserved more castigation than just the wretched scar that mangled her cheeks. He even thought of bringing the matter before the Council, demanding that she pay reparations for her crimes. He’d likely garner no small amount of support in the tula.

Whatever came, he would support Maire. Although he did lament the death of Alban and the others, he did not begrudge her her expedition; he knew that she had gone about her purpose with only the best interests of the clan at heart. Had the dark child done anything without first thinking of herself?

Dunlad remembered well her wineskin of a father. A fitting heir he thought, bitterly, She need only to take to drink and she'll match his failings.

Just like youself. He spat into the mud before crossing the threshold.

---

Dunlad listened intently to the girl Fiona's tale, preparing his long pipe all the while. He had never heard tell of a kindly orc before; indeed, rather the opposite. The word orc, most often whispered around a Moon Season hearth to weather a snowy eve, conjured images in the Urlandi mind of bloodthirsty hordes of mongrels who stole into their tulas and ate their children in their cots.

However, cautious man that he was, he could not but be intrigued. But, cautious man that he was, he wished to temper Chief Serheim's suggestions with a kernel of wariness. Knitting his brow, he drew deeply on his pipe, and exhaled a plume of bittersweet smoke.

"I think that we should not be so keen on offering this beast a place in our tula..." he began, pensively, "...at least, until he's proven his mettle. After all, we can't know if he be friend or foe on one seeming act o' kindness. It could be a ruse, for all we know."

"Mind you, I do doubt it," he continued, "But one can't be too cautious when dealing with orcs."

"I say, we offer him a reward for having saved little Fiona's head. Whatever orcs like---a cow or two, I know not. If that sits well with him, then maybe there'd be something more in the future for services rendered. But don't let him step one foot beyond this tula's walls, I say. I'd fain lay with a goat than let an orc walk free on Urlandi soil—at least, until we know for certain he means us no ill-will. What if he brings more o' his ilk with him?"

---

With the arrival of the news of the Nightfell's imminent raid, Dunlad offers his services to the fortification efforts. "I'm no military man," he says, bluntly, "But I can make use of these hands." He holds them up: thick hands, calloused and knotted by hard labor.

He also begins to reconsider his stance on the orc issue. Seeing as how the tula was to be more or less encircled by Nightfell's and Greenfeather's strongarms, it wouldn't hurt to have an extra pair themselves. He bore no love for orcs, and he thought that, even un-suspicious as he was, that having one around would bring nothing but more calamity down upon their heads; but, exiles here in Hidden Valley, what could they do but turn to unlikely allies for aid? "This," he said, pausing after every word, "Would certainly show us if we can place our trust in him or no. Mind you, I defer to the Chief's judgement. But I do hope by Urak that it be well-placed."

---

The tula was in an uproar. With the Nightfell and Greenfeather raiders nigh upon them, it was bustling with the toils of kerns and gallocmen alike to ensure that the proper preparations were made. They would be heavily outnumbered, and might well suffer great loss of life and hearth. Furthermore, their clan magic was not as strong as they had hoped; and while they would sacrifice to Urak, Cairis, and Dyvella, Dunlad thought that there was little expectation of divine favor gracing their prospects. This would be a crucible forged in steel and fire.

The sky was dimming to a deep gold, streaked with skirling cloudbanks and hints of the distant stars, when Dunlad brought his mare to a halt under the eaves of his estate. He was weary, his entire body aching from the day’s whirlwind, and what he wanted most of all was a strong ale to settle his bones. He called in a hoarse voice for his youngest, Wenscel, to come help him dismount—he always had troubles with that part.

This thrice-damned leg…

The boy, a youth of a twelve with umber curls and amber eyes, darted out from the hearth room with a grave look.

“Ho there, Wenscel,” Dunlad said, venturing a cracked smile, “Help your father if you would.”

Wenscel was still of the age when children loved their fathers without discrimination or pretext. He liked them better that way—for his eldest, Odo, displayed all the ill effects of pubescence. Wenscel’s eyes still had an innocence about them, and an inquisitiveness which implied that he would be no doughty gallocman like his brother. But, according to Dunlad, there wasn’t a single thing wrong with that.

He had thought that the boy wore a strange face when he had emerged due to the impending threat of the raid—perhaps he was afraid (rightly so), and trying to hide it behind a veil of stoicism. But Wenscel said little even after they had led Dunlad’s mare to the stable, and he knew that something seemed amiss.

“What’s the matter, boy?” he asked, in wry tones, “I haven’t raised a mute, now have I? How is your mother?”

“It’s about that, father…” Wenscel replied softly, his eyes still trained on the earth.

Dunlad crossed the threshold to the sound of weeping. Feana knelt on the rushes before the hearth, her thick raven hair wild and threaded with ashes.

“What’s this about then?”

He glanced to the far wall, where the arms and armor of his late master, Mochan, were reverently arrayed—at least, usually so. There Odo stood, Mochan’s unsheathed blade in hand and adorned with the etched leather cuirass which was still scarred by the leavings of forgotten edges. His eyes, blue as the Beatha’s course (where that color had emerged in the line he knew not, for neither he nor his wife had it in their blood), regarded him with an aloof elegance beneath a crown of chestnut locks.

Somehow I don’t think this will end well, he thought.

“Father,” Odo said, trying his very best to appear booming and broad. He raised his sword arm, and pointed the tip directly at him from across the hall.

“I am going to fight!” he declared, proudly, with an air of finality, “And no one will stop me, least of all you!”

There was a pregnant moment, taut with tension, and interrupted only by the popping of the fire and Feana’s stifled sobs.

Then, Dunlad erupted into a spurt of gruff laughter. Feana, her eyes limned with red and still glazed with tears, regarded him curiously, whereas Wenscel comported a similar expression.

Finally, he limped to the fireside bench and seated himself heavily. He whispered to Wenscel to fetch him a skin of water and a platter of seed bread, maors (a type of seasoned lard of which he was fond) and honey, then turned his gaze to Odo, who still stood firmly with blade outstretched, like a heroic fetish.

“Cease with this mummers’ farce, son,” he began, softly, “I am weary, and will not have you point at me with some rusted sword as if I were a thrall. Let us speak of this as men.”

Odo, endeavoring to maintain his unyielding aura, lowered the sword with an elegant gesture which smacked more than a little of the theatrical. Brusquely, he sat upon the opposite bench, and, hands crossed atop the pommel, drove the tip into packed earth beneath the rushes.

“As you wish,” he said grimly, “Let us speak as men.”

A brief moment of silence passed. Then, quite without warning, Dunlad imploded.

“Look what you have done to your mother!” he raged, slamming a knotted fist onto the bench beside him, “Have you no shame, you imp? She scatters ashes into her hair and still you will not abandon this foolishness? You will crawl upon your knees and kiss her feet, you whelp!”

Feana began to weep again.

“I knew it, I knew!” Odo spat, brows furrowing, “You would deny me my right as a clansman, to defend my tula—“

“Your right! Your right! What makes you think—“

“You should know, father! You sit on the Council! I am of age, I have been trained in the weapon arts, and yet you would rob me of what is mine.”

“Odo—“

“We are vastly outnumbered, and need all the able bodies that we have. You understand this, as much as anyone, and yet still you and mother would have me sit idle while kerns are put to the sword. Who will account for their deaths? Will it be you? Or shall it be mother?”

“Hold your tongue, boy,” Dunlad warned, “You say nothing of your mother.”

Odo closed his eyes, collecting his thoughts. A silence reigned as Wenscel meekly brought the requested platter, although Dunlad only preoccupied himself with the water.

Finally, Odo continued, “I have trained for this day, father. You have supported me on that account. You have wished me to be a gallocman all my life. Both you and mother knew it would come. Why, then, do you pause?”

“I…” Dunlad ventured, softly, “…I did not foresee Harlaus’ treachery. I did not foresee the Valley.”

He studied the flames for a moment, “We have lost much and stand to lose much—“

“Do not say that, father,” Odo interjected, sharply, “We both know how much you have gained in coming here. Land. Wealth. Title. Regard. Cattle. A seat on the Council. You have lost nothing but a view of the mountains.”

“You’re not wrong, my lad,” Dunlad replied, sighing, “In fact, you’re quite right. But what is it all worth if I lose you, my boy?”

Twilight had now descended, and the fire began to cast sarabands of shadow across the hall. The pungent aroma of blue peppers and toasted seeds trailed from the platter. Wenscel popped a honey-slathered morsel in his mouth, the crunch shattering the silence.

“No father should have to bury his own child.”

“I see,” Odo whispered, studying his father’s downcast face, “Then you are afraid.”

“For the clan, yes.”

“You act as though you are still a kern,” Odo said without expression, and stood, hands still clasping the sword pommel.

“I go now to offer my sword to Clan Aonghus, and will fight, and die, if need be, in the name of Urak.”

The only sound left by his leaving was the rush of his cloak in the night air.

Gallocmen, Dunlad thought, all the same.

He wondered if fathers and sons had played such roles with one another since the gods made the world and set the stars in motion.

For a time the room lay mute as the shadows lengthened and danced on the walls. Finally, Feana, his poor wife, rose to her knees and looked at him with heavy lidded eyes. She had, he thought, never been a pretty woman, but had a certain handsomeness—perhaps the way her long nose played with her winking eyes and scarlet cheeks—which had endeared her to him. He thought it peculiar that, caked in ashes and tears, her once peach-like cheeks wrinkled by the years, her once full form trimmed to waifishness, she did look quite handsome indeed.

“I’m sorry, Dunlad,” she began, her voice reed-like, “for all this.”

He drew her up from the rushes and gave her some water to moisten her hoarse throat. He asked Wenscel to fetch a wet cloth and he stroked the ashes from her hair until it ran black again. Then, he busied himself with the cleaning of her clothes, while Wenscel snoozed in the corner, a woven blanket wrapped around him.

They ate wordlessly from the platter, a brief and cold repast washed down by lukewarm water. Directly afterwards, Feana collapsed into bed, without removing her clothes or gathering up the coverlet to ward away the night’s chill.

Dunlad stole into the pantry, poured himself a horn of ale, and drank deeply, replenishing it four times more before electing to fill a waterskin with the stuff. Gathering his cloak about him, he went out into the night.

The stars were out, coruscating dully beneath a veil of clouds, and a balmy wind from the south whispered through the grazing grasses. His mind was flooded with thoughts of the battle to come, of Eliz the dark child and Maire the alchemist, and most of all, of his sons. He drank intermittently as he roamed the broad pasture, stopping here and there to catch his breath, as his limp made it difficult to walk so far and the drink only added insult to injury. Finally, he found a knoll, fragrant with wildflowers, on which to rest his head.

Beholding the stars, he held up his hand to regard the ring which Mochan had given to his care before his demise, on the road to Hidden Valley.

This, faithful Dunlad, is the ring of my house, he had said, barely above a whisper, Keep it so that you may remember me as I was, the last hollow husk of a great line—and so that you may have an example to which you may aspire. Whereas I signify an end, you, I think, represent a beginning.

He laughed, clearly and brightly, ringing like a bell in the night air.

Then, he drank broad and deep, until both thought and feeling had abandoned him.

Seòras sighed as he walked into the council room knowing they had to talk about a few things especially about the raid he heard about was coming. Thankfully Seòras built his traps for just this kind of emergency. He would need to have some help setting them up. Seòras sat down with his fellow council members and then their was something odd which was about how an orc an actual orc helped one of their children out of a situation with some bandits trying to kill the child. Apparently their were unique cases even with the orcs and Seòras wanted to establish something with this Orc and possibly setting an example with other orcs that their are those with sense to acknowledge a good deed when they see one. "I have to agree with Serhiem on this matter, this orc is no doubt a unique case we cant deny that he did a good deed and needs to be rewarded for it. If you will allow me id like to talk to this orc and find out his intentions. If his intentions are indeed of a friendly nature I will see about establishing a rapport with him so we can be seen as a understanding tribe" Seòras said hoping it will help.

Now they had to talk about the raid against them that left them at a disadvantage so now he needed to find a way to help. He was an intelligent person so if anyone could find a way from this mess he could. "If you will let me I will put my traps to be faced against the flanking enemy so that way our fighters can focus on clan Nightfell If we can relief some of pressure from a flanking attacking I am sure that will win."

Titania considered the issue of the Orc. To her the issue was much the same as for a thrall. Let it prove itself if it sought more rewards. "A good turn deserves another. Give the Orc a reward if he desires it. If he wishes to live here, then let him earn his worth as any thrall would. Fight and serve for us until he proves himself deserving." Titania nodded to herself silently and thought about the eventful season. It was a pity they hadn't had enough material to make a weapon as well, but the armor was certainly impressive. Of course her other council members had been far from idle, Titania was pleased with the progress the clan was making. They were generally becoming used to life here. For now she wanted to check back on her recruits, they'd made good progress in the season she'd spent with them, hopefully they had kept improving.

---

Titania grabbed her distinctive shield and stepped out of her hut, quickly making her way to where the council members were gathering for the most part. Given no orders she would take the force she'd spent a few seasons back training and lead them into combat. They would obey her well and she knew, with no false modesty, that she made for an intimidating figure as well as oft an inspiring one. There was no time for Titania to come up with a plan other than hit stuff until it died, especially as she knew others were more well suited for it than her. Hopefully someone had the foresight to grab the dragon armor. The stuff was too light for Titania's taste, she preferred the comforting weight of her own armor and knew it would most likely best go to one of the warmages.

Eliz had thought about wearing the new armor that had been made. She didn't need magic to see it had amazing properties that would have no doubt helped her greatly, but the last thing she needed was to cheapen the fight. Her victory had to be absolute and leave no doubt to her superiority. No one could pin this on a fancy suit of armor. She looked up on the chief of Clan Stormcaller and his entourage. He seemed rather certain to win against a scarred and seemingly frail girl, so much so he didn't hesitate to call on the duel to be in the middle of the village. Good, his humiliation would be complete then.

Wearing her unremarkable leather armor but without the cloak she usually had with it, Eliz clenched her hand on her Javelin, waiting for the signal to use what precious moments she had before her opponent rushed to close combat. He was old, wearing a suit of heavy armor along with a shield and a sword that seemed to weight rather heavily after all these years, but Eliz knew better than to see this as a sign of imminent victory. It could be a faint, he could have more tricks up his sleeve than he let on.

Finally, they saw it, the sun going just pass the line drawn on the floor, thus begining the duel. Too bad, Eliz would have liked to see the old man cook in his scale armor some more. He didn't lose time, lunging in with a roar meant to intimidate her no doubt, but she didn't lose time to lift and throw her first javelin in a swift movement. Her first strike saw itself stopped by the shield, but Cairis was on her side, for it strike true non the less, the point of the weapon just making it pass the wood to poke the chief in the arm.

Swiftly, he threw away his shield, not only because of the wound but because it was now useless, off balance. He had no time to remove the javelin. Still, that left him exposed for the second and last javelin Eliz had in reserve. Assuming she would throw it before he closed the gap, he quickly showed agile footwork by feinting to one side and the other and raising his sword. Eliz raised her throwing arm backward, but instead of throwing, also raised her shield arm. She wasn't competent with shields, oh she had some training but she just so rarely faced people in such close combat. But she didn't set her only eye toward the sword, but toward the chief himself, stepping forward to push the chief back with her own shield, his footwork preventing him from seeking his balance back and his blow being unable to get any momentum to do anything but hit her shoulder and leave a small scratch through the leather pad. Still, some blood.

As he fell back, it was now that Eliz threw her javelin. He tried to roll out of the way despite the weight of his armor and almost managed to do so. If his age hadn't betrayed him maybe? Now however his leg was grazed and he didn't manage to complete his maneuver, falling instead of landing on his feet. Seeing Eliz approach from the corner of his eyes, he raised his sword and slashed on Eliz's blind side as he got up.

She dodged under it. Not by reflex or because she had seen it, but because she had expected him to make this move. The blade went pass her face by only a few inches, actually cutting some hairs as Eliz dodged under his arm. With Eliz behind her, the chief tried to move forward and to the side to get her in his sight once more, but found pressure on his back. Glancing backward, he caught a glimpse of a wicked smile on her twisted face as her own back was against his. Back to back, his movement ended when his foot tangled with Eliz's, making him fall down forward.

He turned back, slashing the air as he did and noticed he only narrowly missed the hideous face that was closing in on him. He tried to move back for another swing, but with no momentum, Eliz simply stepped on his blade and forced it to the ground. Eliz raised her own sword above her head, that of her father which she so rarely even unsheathed, and looked at the Stormcaller chief with a look of pure satisfaction and malice, a smile that told him she wouldn't ask him to surrender before landing this final blow.

"I yield!" He finally blurted out as he raised his arm above his face to try and protect his cranium from the unwanted and most probably deadly haircut.

The movement of the woman slowed down and finally came to a crawl as she slowly descended her sword on the side of the Stormcaller's face, that murderous gaze now softening to smug satisfaction. "...Didn't take time to think about that one, uh?" She said, adding insult to injury by reminding him of what, at the start of the season, had caused all of this. But he couldn't reply, he could say nothing. She had won and by the ancient laws that united men, that meant the Gods favored her.

Around the crowd was silent as Eliz turned her gaze on them, managing to somehow look down on them all despite her own petite size, just by rising her chin in the air. It was over, the rains were over and she had proven herself to speak the truth: Might makes right.

___________________________________________________

Then why did things go from bad to worst?

It had been 2 weeks since the duel and yet the overall situation had somehow managed to deteriorate. Even the Gallocmen who had cheered for her triumphant return for a few days looked at her with something in their faces that betrayed revulsion. Oh they always did, with her face and all that, but this was something else, there was suspicion. Ultimately, Eliz didn't have to talk to anyone to figure out what this was about: Someone had opened his god damn mouth and went to talk about the 'terrible burden' that afflicted her.

It was either Bedwyr or Fflur. Or both.

The problem was that going and interrogating them, or dueling them for honor would only be admision of gilt, transforming rumor into reality. Oh she just wanted to get revenge on the filthy traitors they were in her eyes, but she knew she had to be smart about this. Most worryingly however, this only gave ammunition to the people who hated her guts. It made those who she counted to be on her side without any doubt question her.

Which was why she was with Cadoc and Morwen.

Cadoc was a big oaf, with an intellect only matched by his temper, him being in short supplies of both but still being smart enough to know he was dumb. No one was sure if Eliz had befriended him or manipulated him, but the truth was he didn't really care either way, Eliz knew how to get loot and was fun to be around because of all the problems she created. All he knew was that she spoke his language: You take what you want, do what you want and say what you want and if people felt frustrated by that, well it was unfortunate this big oaf was also a beast of a man that could knock a bull unconscious with a slam of his fists.

Morwen on the other side was all but stupid, he and Eliz had been partners at a time, planning raids together and, for a time, sharing their tents as well (Before Eliz was inflicted with that new appearance of hers) but he had gone on to other things. He was never quite the same since the 'Great Cattle Raid' that had made Eliz the woman she was, respected, if by fear, and on the council, if because refusing a spot to a Gallocman of her prestige would have alienated the entire warrior caste. All he did as a warrior now was guard the gates, maintain the peace and manage the couple of thralls he had acquired over the years.

A strange thing today was that Eliz had invited the duo to dine with her, something she never did with anyone, something no one would think she'd do with any of them both. Cadoc because he was currently emptying her food supplies at an alarming rate with no regard for manners and Morwen because they barely even spoke together in the last year.

"So..." Said Morwen over the sound of Cadoc eating like a glutton. He looked at Eliz who had barely touched her already diminutive plate. Her appetite was even smaller than usual. "I'm going to guess this isn't a social meeting. Can I... help you with something?"

Eliz looked at her old friend and lover before leaning back in her chair and nodding slowly. "...Yeah... I... I'm thinking of going away for a while. Do the raiding season and then, something else. So... you know how it is Morwen, I'd need someone to take care of business while I'm gone, feed the thralls and watch over the cattle..." Oh? Well, that was less dramatic than Morwen thought. Though he did wonder why Cadoc, of all people, would be here. "You can count on me, no problem, I'll make sure that herd of horses of yours keep growing... and indeed that the thralls don't starve to death and that the cattle stay where they are. Might I ask though, how much time do you think of leaving?"

Eliz sighed and shrugged. "It depends. A few seasons? A few years? I just don't want people to have redistributed my stuff once I come back, because I will come back." The room went silent for a moment as Morwen slowly processed. Out of nowhere however, Cadoc belched and then spoke. "Is this because of the skeleton thing and everyone raving about dark here and dark there?"

That certainly addressed the elephant in the room in a way only Cadoc could. Morwen leaned in his chair, not as much to get comfortable but as to get away from Eliz who clenched her fists and her teeth in obvious anger. "And then there's that..." She allowed herself a silence, but no one took it as an opportunity to talk. Only Cadoc used it to take the pitcher of ale and drink directly from it loudly. Eliz thus continued.

"Had to know this would come back to haunt me." Morwen looked around for any thralls or kerns working in the house that might have heard that and looked at Eliz with a frightened look. "You mean..." She sighed. "The last raid, 'Great Cattle Raid'... it seems if an undead says it then its true, it was material for a Blood Feud. And that's bad."

Probably even Cadoc realized Morwen was about to talk about the rumors of Kin slaying that haunted Eliz since she was young, but she had swept that under the rug completely and went to this instead. That explained Cadoc's presence. He along with Morwen and Eliz were the only people left alive that had partaken in that raid. Morwen's gaze sunk as his face seemed to become paler. "Why can't I escape from this..."

A year, no more raiding, no more senseless violence... He was a changed man and still, this... "I won't tell anyone, of course. I don't want anyone to go through what I'm living right now." Morwen could understand this but... he eyed Cadoc for a moment, the giant of a man too busy snapping the bones of venison in front of him to suck out the marrow to notice. Eliz followed his gaze and nodded. "Its ok, really..." Cadoc had been with her for how long now? Surely they could trust him...

But Eliz knew that it was not the case. Cadoc didn't think before he spoke and frankly? It suited her just fine. That business with her brother, it was the go to thing people talked about in her back whenever something was wrong with her. No, the word that Eliz's Great Raid was a violent massacre would go out, at least a rumor of it, and that would distract, or at least split the minds of people on what the skeletons could have meant about her. Wasn't this putting oil on the fire? Of course not. It was only one year ago and everyone remembered how desperately they needed these cattle, how much of them and their children would have starved if not for Eliz's actions. The guilt was on everyone.

__________________________________________

Another season, another council meeting... This time however, Eliz was extremely interested and waited for everyone to have spoken before doing so. Of course, the council was leaning toward the more inclusive approach. And of course, Eliz had to disagree... mostly. "...As much as it may surprise people here, I have nothing against the inclusion of an orc. Did our clan not fight against the Thuad Rithe so long ago? There is hope for everyone and we should share the mercy given to us... That being said."

"Orcs are dangerous beasts, in general, and this one managed to say 7 seasoned bandits. This is no small feat. And I am extremely wary on how and where he acquired such skills! I agree that it would be an immeasurable help to see them at our service, but as a Gallocman of our clan, someone who needs to think about our security before anything else... whatever our decision today is, we must find out where he comes from, what happened to his companions and those who thought him, where they are and if they are so docile as he... or if the nest must be exterminated before they become a problem."

"Anything else is foolish. As in terms of reward, should he cooperate or not, as we would have normally killed him on sight under any other circumstances, I think leaving him be is reward enough. After all, perhaps he desires tranquility..."

______________________________________

Maire Virtanen orders Gwendolen Maddox and 4 other thralls 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.

---

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 dorca vaientaa 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.

---

"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, "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."