Alltarach

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/bluehouse400.png" alt="A circular, windswept house by the sea." class="landscape-img animated-img"></img></div><div class="body-text text-animated"><span class="starter">H</span>e doesn't wake you that morning. It's usually terse, but you've come to expect that; he says little to anyone and even less to you. A single word that could be mistaken for an exhalation, delivered without joy or anger or warmth — "Up". He leaves you the morning's catch, and then he's out again with his rods, down to the beach where he sits bentback all day listening to the ceaseless sea, the sound that will background the actions of you both until the day you die. Today you open your eyes to the clatter of pans outside and cattle mooing and children screaming and gulls screeching and everything that demands you take it in, that reminds you that the day is off happening without you.</div> <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/protag400.png" alt="A portrait of you. You look worried." class="portrait-img animated-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text text-animated">You get up, look around. No sign of him. Your bed in the little alcove that marks your sleeping area is modest, straw stuffed in linen to lie on, covered with a sheet that doubles as a cloak thrown half-way onto the floor. You fetch the little bag you take everywhere with you, wool-woven, and sling its strap over your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span>. There's not much else here save a couple of [[toys in the corner|Doll]]. From the window opposite you can see old [[Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh|Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh]] directing a herd of wayward cattle. There's a low homely bleat coming from the field behind the house where your little ewe <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span> sits watching the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*rírá*</span><span class="annotation-text">A state of noisy confusion or disorder. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɾʲiːɾˠaː/ English phonetic approximation: *Ree-raw*</span></span>. You're [[hungry|Kitchen]].</div>

(unless: $inventory contains "Horse Doll")[<img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/doll200.png" alt="A little horse doll.">]There's some seashells thrown about, a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span> with a puncture in its goatskin head and a frame black from overuse, the tipper missing, and a curious cloth doll with a horse's head resting on a folded quilt. Some wool is poking out from an open seam, a mark of where he'd ripped it away from you trying to get at your face when he was ten and you were seven. (unless: $inventory contains "Horse Doll")[Pick up the horse.[(click-replace:"Pick up the horse.")[You pick up the horse and place it in your bag.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Horse Doll"))]]] You're [[hungry|Kitchen]].

{(set: $ailbhe to (dm: "name", "Ailbhe", "bio", "Ailbhe Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "ailbhe.png", "desc", "Childhood friend.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $ailbhe))}(unless: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh" and "Kitchen")[You suppose you'd better go see what all the commotion is about. (display: "Outside")<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's granny and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> offers you a broad smile as you approach, but you catch her eyes wandering back towards the heifers scattered here and there on the dirt path, eating wild flowers or wandering off. She's a big woman, softened from childbirth but with the strength that comes from a life of hard labour. Mam used to call her "granny", even though you're not related; she's always had a welcome in her for your family. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/niche400.png" alt="A portrait of Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh, one of the island's matriarchs. She's old, plump, and affable." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Lovely soft day that's in it, eh <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" "It is, yeah. Have you seen my brother?" She looks as if she's trying to keep her face together. "Not this long time, no. Maybe try down the village?" You turn as if to walk away. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> was about not too long ago. Fine mood on her today! Not a word said to me and she could see the trouble I'm in here."](else:)[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's granny and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> is still pottering around when you return well-fed. ] (display: "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Options") (unless: (history:) contains "Kitchen")[You're [[hungry.|Kitchen]]]</div>

(if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh")[Your stomach is still at you, so much as you'd really rather just find him you're compelled to fill it. You mumble a hasty goodbye to Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh and head back, stumbling into the kitchen area.](else:)[You stumble into the kitchen area.] Like the rest of the little cottage, the walls are bare stone, unpainted and unornamented, and in the centre is the hearth where last night's sad embers, smoored with ash, struggle on. You look away reflexively, flushed with the shame of knowing that it's not the same fire that Mam had tended every night since she moved to the island; you had let it die, not long after it happened, and for a long time you lay barely sleeping with him in a hollowed home, damp and dark, wind groaning through every crack. Now you keep it diligently, even though it still feels like someone else's responsibility. Leftover breakfast is porridge again, a thin grey gloop. <img src="Images/C1/fishsmall.png" class="inline-img" alt="A trio of bass.">You're surprised to see a trio of bass hanging glistening from the line over the low table — it's still early in the season. You've always hated that sour smell, the blank eyes that suggest nothing behind them; he used to hold one out mouth agape and chase you around belting, "I shall have a fishy on a little dishy", the old folk ditty she'd send you both off to sleep with... Where is he, anyway? Someone down in [[the village|The Village]] might know, or that [[nosey priest|The Church]](unless: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh")[, or [[Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh]]]. You could check his [[sleeping area.|Donn's Room]]

{(if: (passage:)'s name is "Inventory")[]\ (else-if: (passage:)'s tags contains "donotshowinventory")[]\   (unless: (passage:)'s name is "Title Screen" or "Settings")[<script>removeAnnotations();</script>] [<script>getFont();</script>]  (set: $tags to (passage:)'s tags) (if: not ($tags contains "no-footer"))[ <div class="sidebar"> [[<img src="Images/icon_bag.png" class="footer-icon" id="inventory-icon" alt="Inventory icon"></img>|Inventory New]] [[<img src="Images/icon_characters.png" class="footer-icon" alt="Character menu icon"></img>|Character Menu]] [[<img src="Images/icon_settings.png" class="footer-icon" alt="Settings icon"></img>|Settings]] [[<img src="Images/icon_home.png" class="footer-icon" alt="Home icon"></img>|Title Screen]] </div>]}

(set: $inventory_list to (ds: $inventory))(if: ($inventory.size) is 0)[There's nothing in your bag.](for: each _item, ...$inventory)[ (display: _item) ] (set: $previous to (history:)'s last) <label class="container">|mainmenu>[(link: "RETURN TO GAME")[(load-game: $_autosave_slot)]]</label> <label class="container">|mainmenu>[[[RETURN TO MAIN MENU|Title Screen]]]</label>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Horse Doll</strong></h2> A little <strong>horse doll</strong>, cloth body and button eyes, with wool poking out from an open seam where he ripped it during a childhood argument. It stares blankly up at you.

(unless: (history:) contains "Kitchen - Return")[He's not here, of course. He doesn't spend more time here than is demanded by sleeping and eating, and it occurs to you that if he *had* been here you would have heard him stomping around by now. ]There's something sad about this corner of the house. He usually drapes a spare sheet over it so as to give himself some small privacy, but since they died you've made a point of eating with your back turned to it anyway. Now as you pull back the drape and stand in the negative space you're repelled, as if to enter the little patch he's made for himself in a shared home would be a violation of some unsaid law. Your heart wants to bound out of you, *dud-dud-dud*. Still, Curiosity's dead cat has you feeling furtively around for clues. There isn't really much here. Fishing tackle is gone, clothes are gone. His bed is as messy as yours. You sit. He was here last night, but it doesn't have his smell, that salty tang that sticks to him like honey. There's a tear in the mattress and as you trace your hand under it you feel something small and smooth — a wooden box. [[Pull it out.|Box]] [[Let it be.|Donn's Room 2]]

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Whittling Knife</strong></h2> A modest whittling knife, no more than five lengths at the blade. You're not certain you know how to use it.

(unless: $inventory contains "Whittling Knife")[<img class="inline-img" src="Images/C1/item_knife.png" alt="A modest whittling knife.">The box is wood, but smooth, sanded with obvious care. You turn it around in your hands, enjoying the novelty, wondering where it came from. There's a metal clasp, unsecured. You lift it up and peer inside. Poking out of a cloth sheath is a modest whittling knife, no more than five lengths at the blade, sharp at the tip as if recently whetted. He'd never mentioned taking up whittling, but you can well imagine it: out on the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">currach</span><span class="annotation-text">A small fishing boat with an animal hide. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkʊɾˠəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Curr-ack*</span></span> waiting for a rod to tug, needing something to pass the time. You feel around in the weak light. There's nothing above the alcove that suggests he ever got very far with it, and surely you'd hold on to anything you'd made? Pick up the knife.[(click-replace:"Pick up the knife.")[Your chest twinges as you pocket the sheath. It's his and you shouldn't be in here and this isn't right, but you'll give it back to him when you find him. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Whittling Knife")) ]]] [[Put the box back.|Donn's Room 2]]

You close the box and return it to its place underneath the tear. He'll know you've been in here anyway; he's always been keen. Nothing else of note in here. (if: (history:) contains "Kitchen - Return")[You look out the window, down to the beach beyond the knoll. (display: "Island Options")](else:)[You wonder how [[Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh]] is getting on.]

{(if: (history:)'s last is "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Brother")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Your Brother", "bio", "Brother Desc", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 2", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))](if: (history:)'s last is "The Guard - Brother 2")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $ailbhe)) (set: $ailbhe to (dm: "name", "Ailbhe", "bio", "Ailbhe Desc", "bioAppend", "Ailbhe Desc Update 1", "img", "ailbhe.png", "desc", "Childhood friend.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $ailbhe))]}(if: (history:)'s last is "Kitchen" or "Donn's Room 2")[(display: "Outside")](else:)[(display: "Village Description")]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin)) (set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 0", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin))}"What's up with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, anyway?"(if: (history:)'s last is "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Brother" or "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Help")[ You don't recognise her in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's granny and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span>'s description,](else:)[ It's not like her, you want to say,] but she *has* been strange lately. Last night you saw her coming up the knoll from their usual fishing spot with him nowhere to be seen and a sour look on her face, and she bid you nothing more than the briefest goodnight in a hoarse, hushed voice without stopping to wait for you to acknowledge her. (unless: (passage:)'s name is "The Village")[<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/niche400.png" alt="A portrait of Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh. She's old, plump, and affable." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">]"You're asking the wrong woman. 'Tisn't a bit of bother on her, a fine young girl like that! Sure the lads are queueing up to make her match." "But did you see where she—" "Sure amn't I busy enough here and no husband to help me?" "Right. Sorry." "That lad over by the church might've seen her... <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>, isn't it?" You give her the faintest wag of your head, just enough to confirm the name. Hard to imagine *him* as anything other than a last resort right now. (unless: (passage:)'s name is "The Village" or "The Church")[(display: "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Options")]</div>

(if: (history:)'s last is "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Ailbhe" or "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Brother")[You've been a bit rude. ]She's a kind woman, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's granny and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span>, and you don't like seeing her flustered. "Can I give you a hand, Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh?" Her eyes brighten and she smiles with a set of mostly intact teeth. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/niche400.png" alt="A portrait of Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh. She's old, plump, and affable." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Ah no, love, it's grand. Himself wouldn't like it, and I'm almost done here anyway." You nod, try to sound cheery. "Just let me know if you change your mind." (display: "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Options")</div>

You avert your eyes, your cheeks pinkening. "Sorry to bring this up again, but do you, er... do you remember the last time you saw my brother, by any chance?" Her face is going in all directions again. She sighs. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/niche400.png" alt="A portrait of Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh. She's old, plump, and affable." class="portrait-img"></img></div><div class="body-text">"I *might've* caught a glimpse of him the other night, but that's as much as the gods themselves would get from me on the matter. He's probably just out on that fecking boat as usual." "And what was he—?" "Quarrelling, as a matter of fact. With our Christian friend." She laughs hollowly. "Father Silvanus?" you say, unable to hide your incredulity. "Indeed, the one who calls himself a holy man. Himself won't be entertaining that nonsense for long, I reckon." "That's... odd. What were they quarrelling about?" "Well, religion! What else?" He's a hothead, but he usually keeps it in the family. Arguing with a stranger, about religion of all things, isn't like him at all. "Right... well, I'd best [[be off|The Village]]. Have a nice day, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's granny and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span>." "May your namesake keep you, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a ghrá*</span><span class="annotation-text">An affectionate form of address meaning 'love'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ɣɾˠɑː/ English phonetic approximation: *A graw*</span></span>."</div>

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "The Mummer", "Fergus")) (set: $mummer to (dm: "name", "The Mummer", "bio", "Mummer Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "mummer.png", "desc", "Local eccentric.")) (set: $fergus to (dm: "name", "Fergus", "bio", "Fergus Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "fergus.png", "desc", "An old friend of Mam's.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $mummer, $fergus))}(set: $heardMummerStory to false)You walk by this pub almost every day, but have mercifully managed to avoid any urgent need to enter it before now. The wooden door is hanging from its hinges by a bare sinew; there are long dents and fist-sized holes running its length. Gingerly pushing it in you get all at once the collected stenches of twenty or so grown men: sweat, ale, sheep, fish, flatulence. They're roaring with laughter, or rage — you're not sure which — and totally ignore you as you step inside. There are no windows, and all that keeps away the darkness are candles placed haphazardly all over, on wooden tables, a long counter, shelves. It might as well be the middle of the night; time begins to thin even for sober you. Snooping around and doing your best to seem small, you recognise a man standing on a wooden crate surrounded by the baying crowd spread over — and on — tables. He's long of hair, face and body, wearing a thin <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span> stitched together from multiple yellow, red, brown-red wools. His pupils are pulled upwards towards the ceiling so you can only see the whites of his eyes, and he speaks with arms flailing in mad gestures rather than through any affectation of face. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummove4.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you, his pupils pulled up towards the ceiling." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"And it was in THAT TIME that the young men of Ireland were wild, and foolish, and drunk on their own boldness, and knew no law but that of the sword, and THE AXE, that <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fionn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Usually refers by itself to Fionn Mac Cumhaill, the legendary leader of the *fianna*, wandering bands of young noblemen. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲʊːn̪ˠ/ or /fʲiːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fyunn*</span></span>'s <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fiann*</span><span class="annotation-text">A wandering band of young noblemen. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲiən̪/ English phonetic approximation: *Fee-an*</span></span> reigned. MEN a band the like of which this country will never see again, now that it is soft and formless like sand, and knows neither its own gods nor the stories of its people." He continues on in this manner, stressing words now and then as if suddenly seized by some terrible insight that transcends the logic of ordinary performance. The men, careless with laughter, sup and choke into their drinks. "Gerrup out of it already!" a voice bellows. "Have ye no heed to the warnings of a man far older and wiser? Are we not the sons of Queen <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Méabh</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary queen of Connacht whose army fought Cú Chulainn during the Táin Bó Cuailnge, the cattle raid of Cuailnge. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mʲeːv/ English phonetic approximation: *Maeve*</span></span>?" "Sons of her fucking donkeys, maybe!" yells one of them, letting out a guffaw-cum-bray. You know how this will play out. The old man, politely referred to on the island as the mummer and impolitely by all manner of swears and half-blasphemies, will continue to totally ignore the heckling until either the audience gets bored of him and returns to drinking and gossiping or he snaps out of his trance and finds he would rather tend to his sheep or go lie in the field behind the pub. Before any of this, though, before you're even able to turn away, those terrible eyes dart downwards and catch you in their corners. He squeezes his own chest and lets out a hot plosive sound like the huffing of a bull: then, as if gathering sense, addresses you in a breathless whisper. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*A chailín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A form of address meaning 'girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə xalʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A calleen*</span></span>! Girl! I want a word with your father!" Before you can answer, another interjection. "He's found his peace, as you very well know, you aul' <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">gobdaw</span><span class="annotation-text">A chatterbox or pretentious person.</span></span>." You recognise this man too: <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span>, a family friend. His tree-thick face is considering you with the seriousness becoming of death, and you can tell, despite the apparent flippancy of his remark, that he is pained rather than amused by the old man's disregard for you. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/fergussit.png" alt="Fergus, holding a mether." class="portrait-img-small"></img></div>[[Coax down the old man.|The Mummer]] [[Ask Fergus about your brother.|Fergus]]</div>

(if: (history:)'s last is "Kitchen" or "Donn's Room 2")[(display: "Outside")](else:)[(display: "Church Description")]

Still heady from the trance, the mummer passes no remarks on your adoptive uncle's comment and continues to fixate on you (if: (history:) contains "Fergus")[while you speak to Fergus] as if trying to read a reply on your lips. Once you think the men aren't looking, you usher him down from the crate and into a quiet corner. You're still flushed from that sudden reminder, the man-sweat and the attention, and he notices. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummer.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"'I see it crimson, I see it red,' replied the poetess," he says, softening his features into a guileless smile. You don't get the reference. "My dad, he... he's dead," you say by way of explanation, even though his head is suddenly off somewhere else entirely. As usual. "Well, he owes me a luuump of flesh and two sacks of grain! The heart of a boar!" You're not convinced at all, but you're already humouring him. "I'll ask my brother." Then tentatively, afraid of any more bald truths, "Have you seen him?" "I haven't seen much lately, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a chailín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A form of address meaning 'girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə xalʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A calleen*</span></span>." He sucks in his chest again and squeezes out a long sigh. "Our neighbours are here again, and they take up all my waking hours, and most of the hours besides." He does look tired, like a stowaway off on a long journey at sea, kept awake by the nattering of the ship's crew. "But," he continues and is calmer, as if just mentioning his night travails offers some relief, "there are lots of things out there to amuse a young man, should he have the inclination." [["What kinds of things?"|The Mummer - Young Men]] [["Tell me about your neighbours."|The Mummer - Fairies]] [["What was that story earlier?"|The Mummer - Legends]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/fergus.png" alt="A portrait of Fergus, a big bull of a man who looks weary." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You turn towards <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span>, nursing a cup of ale next to a hard-nosed group of men who regard you with smirks. (display: "Fergus Description") He grunts at the men, then the counter, and they take the hint and shuffle off. Then, resting a massive hand to his face, he says in a hushed voice as if willing himself not to shout, "What the feck are you doing in here, of all places? Have I not told you to stay away from silly old men?" "I—" "Forget it. Where's that brother of yours to knock some sense into you?" "That's... what I was going to ask you. Have you seen him?" "No, I haven't. Look, he's a grown man now, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>; you don't need to spend your life wandering after him like some poor, wronged wife. Have you nothing better to be doing?" (if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Ailbhe" and (history:) contains "The Mummer - Brother")["He didn't wake me this morning, his fishing rods are gone, he's been giving out to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, and even the mummer thinks something's off."](else-if:(history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Ailbhe")["He didn't wake me this morning, his fishing rods are gone, and he's been giving out to the priest... or so says her aunt."](else:)["He didn't wake me this morning, and his fishing rods are gone. He *always* wakes me."] (if: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Brother")["That fucking fairy fancier doesn't know his arse from his elbow. He bathes in pig shite to disguise his own stench from them. Don't take any advice from him. Just go about your business and he'll be back soon enough."](else:)["*That's* enough to convince you he's not just off fishing somewhere? And your mother took you for a smart one..." He breaks into a grin as if unable to help himself.] "If you see him, just tell him I'm looking for him. Please." "Right so." His men take your frowning as an invitation to return. "Bye for now, uncle." He likes being called that; regards it as a kind of honorific. It might butter him up so you'll catch him in a better mood later on. (unless: (history:) contains "The Mummer")[[[Coax down the old man.|The Mummer]] ][[Leave without ceremony.|The Pub - Exit]]</div>

"Father!" You raise your voice at the last second and it comes out as a breathy half-cry. "I need to talk to you." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/priest.png" alt="A portrait of the priest, a somewhat severe man who looks half-bemused, half-sceptical." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">The priest extends a wry smile in your direction, then corrects himself when he sees you've noticed. He's a man approaching middle age with a taut, latinate face: tall, dark-haired, and somewhat severe. "I think this is the first time I have seen you in here without your parents, child." He speaks your language well, with a practised authority and an accent you don't recognise; it's from somewhere far beyond the mainland. "What concerns you?" (if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Brother")[ You know he's had a testy encounter with your brother recently, so perhaps he has some idea of where he headed after that. You don't think it's advisable to bring it up directly, however; the priest and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's aunt and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> are not friends, and it would be ugly to paint her as a gossip. ] "Have you seen my brother?" "Messy-haired young man, yes? I last saw him this Saturday evening just gone. I suppose he fancied a little theological debate, but he can be quite... abrasive? Curt, I mean," he adds, thinking you won't understand the Latin. "What did ye talk about?" (if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Brother")[Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh has already told you, but you're not quite prepared to admit that you don't know what "theological" means.](else:)[You're not quite prepared to admit that you don't know what "theological" means.] That wry smile is on open display now; he's clearly not used to these kinds of direct questions. "Oh, this and that. You have a decent plot of land and not enough people to farm it. There are many ways to aid the faith, you realise. Going to mass is just one." "We've... a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">meitheal</span><span class="annotation-text">A party of farm workers who share communal responsibility for their land. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmʲɛhəl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meh-hull*</span></span> to help us." "Charming. Well, your poor brother has some strange ideas about religion, but nothing you need concern yourself with." He's never spoken to you about religion before, your brother. Neither of you practices, so why would he? You swallow, then ask, "And do you know where he headed after that?" "I saw him with that red-haired girl down by the shore on my evening walk. That was the last time. Is something amiss, child?" "I don't know, but I... I haven't seen him today." (display: "The Priest - Brother")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummer.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You already know who his "neighbours" are, but deign to humour him again. "What has the Folk visiting, then?" (if: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Young Men")[He leans back, perilously close to tipping over, but manages to steady himself. "I tell you what now, I'll tell you if you get me a sup of drink. My throat's parched." You gesture to the publican, a squat man with a blotchy red face who smirks at you like he's already concocting a story to serve to the evening regulars alongside their feed of drink, and back to the mummer. He pulls out a wooden drinking vessel with a square top and two handles and pours in some mead from a decanter. You hold out the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span> to the mummer and he inhales greedily. "Ah! That'll put the fire into you." He sighs. "Now what was it—" "Your neighbours," you repeat. "What has them visiting?" "Ah... fire! The fires!" He's suddenly grave. "The fires beckon them to this world.](else:)["The fires," he says gravely, "beckon them to this world.] They call to our little ones, seek to steal them away. 'Tis better to avoid angering them so I try to put up with it the time they're here." It's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>, when each village welcomes the lengthening days with twin bonfires, and otherworldly beings stalk the land. You've seen him before on spring nights, tracing his own steps around the rings, chanting intercessions with that same terrible insight you heard in his voice earlier. The madness has abated now, but he looks dreadfully sad. [["What drew them to you?"|The Mummer - Fairy Encounter]] [["What was that story earlier?"|The Mummer - Legends]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummer.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(if: (history:)'s last is "The Mummer - Fairies")[He's looking at you with a doleful expression; probably best to change the subject. His admonishing of the jeering audience reminds you of the stories Mam used to thrill you with,](else:)[Mam used to thrill you with] tales of bands of fighting men, who'd rove the country settling disputes or exacting vengeance, often both. She did not dress their butchery in virtue; these were, she said, the acts of a people untouched by God's grace who knew no better. "Where did you hear the story you were telling?" His eyes widen. "Heeeear? I felt it in my breast!" he says and beats his chest theatrically, one, two, three times with his right fist. A silence passes, then he's calm again. "It's of our people. Your mother knows it well, for she too belongs to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Méabh</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary queen of Connacht whose army fought Cú Chulainn during the Táin Bó Cuailnge, the cattle raid of Cuailnge. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mʲeːv/ English phonetic approximation: *Maeve*</span></span>'s clan." Present tense; you wince. "I suppose she thinks them fools, and they were, but they have things to teach us. Even the brutes, the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainns</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>, had an eloquence about them. We are choosing to forget because they embarrass us in front of our foreign friends, because we see ourselves in them and are ashamed. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's aunt and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> will tell you all about that if you ask her. Anyway, I won't meddle in things that don't concern me, as the man says. I'm just here for a sup of drink." He stands and moves to leave you. (unless: (history:) contains "Fergus")[[[Ask Fergus about your brother.|Fergus]] ][[Head back.|The Pub - Exit]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummer.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You haven't had the pleasures of a male adolescence, let alone the kind he had, storied and monied, and you're curious. "Such as?" "Ah, you know yourself. Going out gallivanting, chasing fun. They" — and he makes a vague gesture you guess is directed at the church — "would will them sit and study, practice humility, but they're still warriors' sons at heart. They just don't understand what to do with it." Neither do you. "When I was his age," he continues, "neither law nor <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span> could keep me on this island. The sea rings your mind, hems you in. It's not enough for a smart young man. If he's gone, he'll be back once he's gotten over himself." The mainland, then. A bigger island, with people to meet, scrapes to win and lose, memories and regrets to make. You wonder what this urgency feels like, to compel him to leave his sister (if: (history:) contains "Kitchen")[a few dead fish and some cold oats] and set off across the dark waves, especially after everything. You've kept yourself attached to life here by contenting yourself with stories; the mainland is no more real to you than <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Tír na nÓg</span><span class="annotation-text">The land of eternal youth. Said to have been visited by the legendary poet Oisín. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˌtʲiːɾˠ n̪ˠə ˈn̪ˠoːɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Teer na nowg*</span></span> or the Roman forum. The most you've seen of it is on a clear day looking east, when a mass of sharp rocks bent towards the sky stares out from across the sound. A sickening fear rises in you to think of him there alone. "Anyway, that's that, as the man says." He sinks down into the stool as best he can and looks surprisingly sedate, as if taken by a sudden flush of nostalgia. [["Tell me about your neighbours."|The Mummer - Fairies]](unless: (history:) contains "Fergus")[[[ Ask Fergus about your brother.|Fergus]]] [[Head back.|The Pub - Exit]]</div>

You don't much understand how to pray. You've seen the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*cailleach*</span><span class="annotation-text">An old woman; a hag. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkal̠ʲəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Call-yuck*</span></span>, the island's goddess — half-cow, half-hag — in the long folds of the faces of the elderly prostrating themselves before her holy well, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> in the opening of the flowers at first spring, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Lú</span><span class="annotation-text">A god equally skilled in all arts, associated with the late summer festival that bears his name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /luː/ English phonetic approximation: *Loo*</span></span> in the way the young men hold themselves at the festival that takes his name, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> in the clean, pale faces of the dead bundled away in branches. The Christian god forces you to reach for something without smell or shape, something you can't grasp even when you find yourself alone at night caught in that liminality between wakefulness and sleep. Here at least you're aided by the trinkets of faith. You clasp your hands together in the centre of the nave and genuflect towards the cross on the altar, like you remember. Silent worship is not your people's custom — nor solitary worship — so keeping your eyes fixed on the priest you try on a piety you hope will be to his liking. "May you grant us a good harvest this year, oh Christ, god of mercy, and plenty of calves, and, eh, protection from invaders, and good weather, and..." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/priest.png" alt="A portrait of the priest, a somewhat severe-looking man who looks half-bemused, half-sceptical." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">The priest extends a wry smile in your direction, then corrects himself when he sees you've noticed. He's a man approaching middle age with a taut, latinate face: tall, dark-haired, and somewhat severe. "I think this is the first time I have seen you in here without your parents, child." He speaks your language well, with a practised authority and an accent you don't recognise; it's from somewhere far beyond the mainland. "What concerns you?" (if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Brother")[ Had he come here to ask repentance and been rejected, or was he just looking for a fight? The errand boy outside should know more; you'd be embarrassed to ask the priest. ] "I'm trying to learn more, Father." A half-lie. You swallow the too much saliva sloshing around inside your mouth and continue. "My brother is..." — what was the Latin? — "contrite. Or will be, I think. The last few years haven't been easy for him." "Of course. Someone's passing is easier to cope with when you know the promise of eternity, as I said to him last. The body of life counters the body of death." He stares at the altar distractedly. "Well, I will not give up on him, nor you. Where is he, anyway?" "Oh... I was hoping you might know, Father. I haven't seen him today." (display: "The Priest - Brother")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/priest.png" alt="A portrait of the priest, a somewhat severe-looking man who looks half-bemused, half-sceptical." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I..." You shuffle awkwardly. "Well, I just thought it might be useful knowledge in the event that he..." Realising how flimsy it sounds, you trail off and there's an awkward silence. What good will a catalogue of mainland dangers do him if he's already been and returned? The real reason sits on your tongue. He looks at you sceptically. "'In the event that he'...?" "Never mind." "This is not about him, is it? Or, at least not directly." "I'm just curious, Father." His lip twitches and he stands over you looking as if he's about to give you a whack, but restricts himself to a glare. He mutters something about "evil fantasies", then utters a long sigh and busies himself tidying the altar while you stand there and try to stay standing. Minutes pass. The guard is coughing outside; a ray of sunlight scatters at the window and hits you clean in the eyes. Eventually he says, "Do you know the *Ave Maria*?" You'll react later; let's just get out of here. "Yes, Father." "Go home and say five *Ave Maria*, and pray the Blessed Virgin imparts some of her grace on you." "Yes, Father." "God be with you." Before you can process it you're running, out the nave and through the door. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> cries out, "I'll be back in a sec, Father", and is in front of you before you can get away. [[Push past him.|The Guard - Ignored]] [[Ask him what he wants.|The Guard]]</div>

"Well, my dear child, I will keep an eye open for (if: (history:) contains "The Priest - Spirits")[him](else:)[your brother]. You will be joining us at mass later, I trust?" You look away. "Yes, after I've run a few errands." "God keep you until then." He smiles weakly and turns back to the altar. As you pass through the jambs of the door <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> cries out, "I'll be back in a sec, Father" and blocks your path before you can get away. [[Push past him.|The Guard - Ignored]] [[Ask him what he wants.|The Guard]]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $priest)) (set: $priest to (dm: "name", "Father Silvanus", "bio", "Priest Desc", "bioAppend", "Priest Desc Update 1", "img", "priest.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's parish priest.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $priest))}You're not in the mood for this. You shove him out of the way — he's not strong — and keep walking, ignoring the apology that he splutters out after you: "I'm only joking! Christ, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>! Amn't I bet up enough without you joining in?" (display: "The Village")

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $priest)) (set: $priest to (dm: "name", "Father Silvanus", "bio", "Priest Desc", "bioAppend", "Priest Desc Update 1", "img", "priest.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's parish priest.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $priest))}<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">Cornered. He stares you down, puffing out his chest in a display of self-conscious virility. The skin on his neck is blue-white, and you're so close you can see little flecks forming as his body sways almost imperceptibly from the wind and the tension. He's never stopped anyone like this before. You stand in place and look him in the eye. "What is it, Gusheen?" A rather unkind nickname that your brother coined after catching him with a nosebleed for the first time, but you're feeling unkind today. There's that awful toothy grin again. "What is it, indeed! Are you trying to keep the poor Father up at night worrying about the souls of his baptised faithful?" You doubt he heard much; the wind is fresh today, and even the worldliest of the converts uphold the sanctity of counsel given in confidence. "Continue down that road and you'll be worrying about your own soul," you chide. You're still not entirely sure what a "soul" even is, but it has the desired effect; he steps backwards and runs his hand along the spear shaft. "Don't think I don't, sister. What is it you're hoping to achieve here, anyway?" [["Finding religion."|The Guard - Religion]] [["Finding my brother."|The Guard - Brother]]</div>

{(set: $ailbhe to (dm: "name", "Ailbhe", "bio", "Ailbhe Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "ailbhe.png", "desc", "Childhood friend.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $ailbhe))}You take the dirt path bending gently down the knoll towards the shoreline. The rain has cleared, and the sky beats its pitiless blue on your back; it's been an unusually mild spring. You spot her before she does you, on a flat rock to your east, looking out to where a moat of seaweed the colour of dried blood bisects the sand and sea. You stumble over, failing to look graceful, failing to tread finely on the shifting sand while it flows in and out of the spaces between your toes, failing to ignore your gut. She hears you coming and turns. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/ailbhe.png" alt="A portrait of Ailbhe smiling faintly, her hair tied in a loose braid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"What took you so long?" She's leaning back, cross-legged, with her arms stretched behind her and her long, wet, orange hair falling everywhere. It's normally up, but judging by the finely woven net full of little fish flapping on the rock she's already been out today. "Looking for you. Where is he?" She lets out a little sad laugh. *[[Her laughter...|The Beach - Laughter]]*</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(if: (history:)'s last is "The Guard - Religion")["Save it for some other time, will you?"](else-if: (history:) contains "The Guard - Religion")["One more thing."] You hold his gaze. "I'm looking for my brother." "Ah, and you're sure he's not off fornicating with the dolphins as usual, then?" He means it in jest; they're friends, of sorts. "You shouldn't assume everyone else shares *your* perversions. We were to give up that stuff when they held us over the water, or were you too young to remember?" *[[He went first...|The Guard - Aside]]*</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I'm seeking guidance, I suppose you could say." Let's keep it suitably vague for now. "Oh *really*? The apostrate repents!" "*Apostate*. I've nothing to repent for, it's just..." You struggle to honey the lie. "It's just as well to try to get with the times. I've heard people live in great big communities of churches on the mainland." "Indeed!" he says, with that practiced surety that comes when he's about to impart one of his knowledge dumps. "Monasteries, they're called — all the food and safety you could ever want, *and* eternal happiness on top of it. I grew up in one in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cill Dara</span><span class="annotation-text">"Church of the oak": a double monastery in Leinster. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈciːl̠ʲ d̪ˠaɾˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Kill Dar-ah*</span></span>. There was a great oak tree we'd dance around, and scholars visiting from all over, and *weee*" — he lingers a little too long on that word — "held off bands of heathens every second week. Once I saw one of the church soldiers take a sword and lop someone's head clean off, in the time it took to draw a breath..." You let out a shudder, pawing your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span> away from your body so as to hide it as best you can. These are the dangers the priest refused to elaborate on, though there's a good chance the head detail is one of what <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> charitably refers to as <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>'s "flights of imagination" and your brother calls "a pack of fucking lies". At least it's somewhat more plausible than the one he told about how, as a young lad on his way to live on the island, a band of roving pirates had attacked the boat and made off with the Roman riches intended to adorn the new church. All but an absurdly ornate golden cross, of course. "Mank. And the Father came from one of these communities as well, right?" He doesn't need to know the particulars of your conversation with the priest, but maybe he can tell you how best to draw him out. "He lived there with us for a time after he came to the country, but pro...prosetilising —" "*Proselytising*." "PRO-SE-LY-TIS-ING" — he spits each syllable at you — "is his calling, he said. Wanted to bring the Good News to the dirty heathens of the world, and youse are as dirty as they come." You snort. "Brave words from a lad who's been known to sleep in a stable." "We should humble ourselves before God, I'm told, and the horse is a humble animal." He grins again. "Anyway, it's no joke, the mainland. I've had my fair share of run-ins with danger there." "Oh, you have, have you?" Here we go. "Knew a lad, right, used to run off into the forest to meet some young one he was seeing. I followed him this one time, because the priests asked me to keep an eye on him" — you roll your eyes — "You'll *never* guess what happened." [["You saw how little Oisíns are made?"|The Guard - Sex Joke]] [["The Other Crowd got him?"|The Guard - Fairy Joke]] [["I really couldn't give a shite. I'm looking for my brother."|The Guard - Brother]]

ᚇᚑᚅᚅ

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(if: (history:) contains "The Priest")[(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Your Brother", "bio", "Brother Desc", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 4.1", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))](else:)[(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Your Brother", "bio", "Brother Desc", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 4.2", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))](set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))(set: $characters to it - (ds: $ailbhe)) (set: $ailbhe to (dm: "name", "Ailbhe", "bio", "Ailbhe Desc", "bioAppend", "Ailbhe Desc Update 2", "img", "ailbhe.png", "desc", "Childhood friend.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $ailbhe))}<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/ailbhe.png" alt="A portrait of Ailbhe smiling faintly, her hair tied in a loose braid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"No one's seen him. (if: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Young Men")[A few of them](else:)[Father Silvanus] mentioned the mainland." "Well, your boat's gone, so that's a good guess." She's been searching too, though she'd hardly admit it. She looks into your pale face and says, "I know you're not mad about the sea, but the sea doesn't have any feelings about you. You should respect it, of course, but you don't have to fear it." You turn away from her and bring your right hand up to your cheek, clawing at the skin until you feel the hurt. "I can't..." "I'm heading over with a group to sell the catch at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span> before the festival. You'd be with me the whole way." You feel sick. You think you're screaming, "And what then? Should I just rove around until I come across him dead in a ditch somewhere?" "You'll have things to go off of. There are villages there, and monasteries, that'll house a Christian girl and give her counsel. Someone *must* have seen him." You hunch down, in on yourself, like Dad taught you to do when you felt like your heart would stop. A couple of breaths — *in and out, in and out* — and you're steadier. She's seen you do this before and waits for it to pass, standing, alternating her gaze between you and the path down the knoll. You look up at her. Seagulls wail above, and you swear you hear an oar rend the surface of the water somewhere very far away. "I'm fine now." "You sure, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brídín</span><span class="annotation-text">Diminutive form of "Bríd", a feminine name related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedjeen*</span></span>?" It's a motherly diminutive. "I am." The suggestion of the mainland comes to you again. Men in golden chariots, wheeling around bellowing dreadful cries of vengeance, the great brown bull loose amongst them. But also culture, indigenous and Roman, hiding in their fortresses and churchyards. He wouldn't fit in there, but nor would he much care. Stubborn, like yourself. "He doesn't need to be rescued," you conclude. She laughs again — still too quickly, but lightly now, without sadness. "I know *that* perfectly well. But look, do you think he's going to want to come back to this fucking rock in the sea after getting up to all sorts over there? After meeting foreigners?" "So we drag him back?" You're smiling now. "No, you big <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span>. You join him! Sure what's even here for you anymore?" You're suddenly plaintive. "Well, yo—" "I'm over there all the time! These scaly feckers don't trade themselves." She yawns and stretches. "How about we find him first, then sort out the details?" [["Where do we even begin?"|Ailbhe - Start]] [["I'm not sure he wants to be found."|Ailbhe - Persuasion]] [["Who'll take care of the land?"|Ailbhe - Practicalities]]</div>

Curiosity is winning again. You're still afraid, but it's giving way to visions of the world beyond your little island. You'd like to live a while in a monastery away from danger, maybe learn Latin properly, and see the Hill of Tara where druids and dignitaries from the five provinces meet to crown the High Kings. "I'll need your help on the way over," you say. "Of course. You won't have to do any rowing, either — we'll be taking a sailboat, travelling in a group." "Dead weight, in other words." "Ha! It's only a night and a morning. Be unlucky if someone complained, and most of them coming are crusty old seafarers like myself who won't pay you much heed." She winks. Time to prepare, then. "When are we leaving?" "Tonight! You've a decent cloak and a skin for water, right? That's all you should need. You can take some of our catch to keep you going until they start to stink, then live off what you can find." (if: (history:) contains "Kitchen")[Stinking, squirming, blank-eyed: you remember this morning, and shudder. "Fish I've plenty of — he left three bass hanging in the kitchen." She splutters, amused rather than aggrieved. "The show-off! It's only two weeks into the fecking season. He'd have us all bate if he hadn't already fucked off, and we the ones doing this for a living."](else:)[On cue, your guts squeeze out a reminder; with everything that's happened you'd forgotten to check the kitchen. "Don't tell me you haven't eaten anything? Your mam'd be raging at me if I let you head off on an empty stomach. Anything at home?" "I didn't look."] The sun is high over you now. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> gets up and slings the net over her shoulder. "Right, I've to get these back to the little ones before we head off. (unless: (history:) contains "Kitchen")[Eat something, for fuck's sake, then g](else:)[G]ather your things and be back here by dusk. My da told me the druidess said the wind would pick up again in the morning, so we don't have much time to spare." You nod and say your goodbyes, watching her carry the heavy net up the knoll all grace and strength. (display: "Island Options")

(if: (history:) contains "Kitchen")[The bass are still swaying above the table when you step back inside. You](else:)[You step back inside and get the smell before you see them: a trio of bass hanging glistening above the table, the morning's catch. <img src="Images/C1/fishsmall.png" class="inline-img-left" alt="A trio of bass.">He'd planned ahead. You've always hated that rank sourness, the blank eyes that suggest nothing behind them; he used to hold one out mouth agape and chase you around belting "I shall have a fishy on a little dishy", the ditty she would send you both off to sleep with... There's leftover porridge too, a thin grey gloop. You sit at the table and eat it cold, glad to get something into you, and then] take some salt from the family pan and smear it over (if: (history:) contains "Kitchen")[them](else:)[the bass], wrap them in a piece of cloth and bundle it into your bag.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Trio of Bass")) The fire will go out, but it's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> Eve; tonight it's the custom to watch shivering shapes foretell futures on the wall, and tomorrow you'll ask <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> to make sure it's relit with a flame from one of the twin bonfires and smoor it until you get back. Mam would understand; the duty wasn't handed to you like it had been to her, packaged with the meagre gifts the fisherman's family could come up with as a bride price, salt and wheat and sheep's milk. You've done your best with it, you tell yourself. (unless: $inventory contains "Bodhrán")[<img class="inline-img-left" src="Images/C1/item_bodh1.png" alt="A punctured goatskin drum.">After finishing the last of the porridge you return to your alcove and consider what to take. You're a dab hand at the *bodhrán* if you could get it reskinned; anything will do as a tipper.[(click-replace:"You're a dab hand at the bodhrán if you could get it reskinned; anything will do as a tipper.")[You place the *bodhrán* carefully in your bag, looking to avoid further damage.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Bodhrán"))]]](else:)[You'll hold on to the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span>; you're a dab hand at it if you could just get it reskinned.] Then, warmth! Gathering up the sheet-turned-cloak, you hold it clasped against your neck and sit on the little straw mattress, thinking. <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/brooch200.png" alt="Your mother's brooch.">Mam's brooch is yours because he never wanted it, and you know it's sitting by the hearth and will do so as long as you leave it be. Burglary is not practiced on the island. Still, to take it would be to admit that you may never come back here. There's a border to be crossed into a place large and unknown. |links>[(link: "Take the brooch.")[(replace: ?links)[It's there as always, a long silver pin ringed by a semi-circle the shape of a torc. You tear it through the folds of cloth on either side of the cloak and twist it around, so that the gap faces down. You feel strangely adult.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Brooch")) (unless: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[<img class="inline-img-left" src="Images/Inventory/saltpouch200.png" alt="A cloth pouch filled with salt.">Using a spoon, you bundle the last of the salt into a little cloth pouch and place it in your bag; it's valued on the mainland. ](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Salt Pouch")) Then the skin: you grab one made from sheep's bladder and fill it with well water pooled in the bucket outside. That's everything(unless: (history:) contains "Donn's Room")[, unless you want to try checking [[his sleeping area.|Donn's Room]]](else:)[.] (display: "Island Options")]] (link: "Leave it.")[(replace: ?links)[It should have been buried with her. Leaving it here where she lived and loved you is right, as much as you understand the word. (unless: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[<img class="inline-img-left" src="Images/Inventory/saltpouch200.png" alt="A cloth pouch filled with salt.">Using a spoon, you bundle the last of the salt into a little cloth pouch and place it in your bag; it's valued on the mainland. ](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Salt Pouch")) Then the skin: you grab one made from sheep's bladder and fill it with well water pooled in the bucket outside. That's everything(unless: (history:) contains "Donn's Room")[, unless you want to try checking [[his sleeping area.|Donn's Room]]](else:)[.] (display: "Island Options")]]]

You dance your way around the blocks of men and step outside. The salt tang on the sea air draws you back to him; you gulp it in. (display: "The Village")

You wander around for a while looking for <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's aunt and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span>. The chieftain keeps her busy, less out of genuine need than as a demonstration of the power he enjoys over her, and over her the community, matriarchs being the keepers of households on the island. After checking the mill, the well, and any number of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*goirt*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *gort*, 'field'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɡɔɾˠtʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gurtj*</span></span> you're about to give up when she comes marching over to you from the direction of the village. The legs under the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span> she keeps rolled up are stubby, streaked blue and purple with varicose veins, but she makes a show of walking anyway because she needs to project strength. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/niche400.png" alt="A portrait of Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh. She's old, plump, and affable." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>! What's all this I hear about you heading off?" (if: (history:) contains "Oisín - White Lies")[So much for keeping a low profile.](else:)[Ears and eyes everywhere.] "Who told—" "Sure <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, who else?" Reproachful. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s not a gossip, but nor is she a liar. Her aunt must have asked if you'd found him. "We're leaving tonight." "And c'mere, listen, you're right to do it. There's not much here for you anyway sure, only sheep and pockmarked boys playing at being men." She chortles to herself. That's surely a dig at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>,(if: (history:) contains "Oisín - The Plan")[ and you're half-tempted to say something,] but the mention of sheep brings to mind matters more pressing. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>! Can you keep an eye on her for me?" You don't like to ask, but... "Since you're over by the cottage so often." Buí is a placid, passive little thing that doesn't require much more than somewhere to graze and an annual shearing. You wear her wool and she wears a length of rope around her neck that you fashioned for her in the tenderness of childhood. You like to think it's fair. "That your little ewe? Indeed'n I can, but I'm not everywhere at once and there's not much to be done if the village strays take a liking to her. Dogs... or people." The thought horrifies. She catches you struggling to react and laughs again, this time full-body. "Come on now, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a ghrá*</span><span class="annotation-text">An affectionate form of address meaning 'love'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ɣɾˠɑː/ English phonetic approximation: *A graw*</span></span>. Himself doesn't tolerate that kind of behaviour, and even the Christians have to have *some* standards. Not much I can do about the dogs, but she's lasted this long time, hasn't she? She'll be grand." You smile and thank her, promising to be back. As you're about to head off she looks at you, her soft features hardening. "I have some parting advice, Bríd, if you'll hear it." You swallow. "The gods hold dominion over the seasons, and everything in the heavens and on the earth and in the Otherworld. All doings, even terrible <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geasa*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *geis*, an obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɟasˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Gjaa-sa*</span></span>, are extensions of their will." Those words have an ugly weight. Opening your mouth, you're about to say something when she preempts you: "Just know that what happens to other people is sometimes out of our hands. That doesn't mean we shouldn't try, of course, but there's never a field without some fallow land in it. Go to the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like , it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> celebrations, let your hair down a bit, and the gods' blessings will be on you." Find a way to forget, in other words. You push back. "Why're ye all so convinced he's hopeless?" "Ah now, I didn't say that! Look, don't pay nattering old ladies any mind. Go on and talk to Ailbhe." You mumble assent. "I'd best be heading back now anyway. Safe journey, and I'll look out for your sheep." You nod another thanks and she begins the slow uphill walk towards the fort. Only when she's small and shadowed do you turn away. (display: "Island Options")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text"><span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> is still at his post. He sees you from some distance and waves, grinning. "How'd it go?" he yells. When you're close enough you shush him and say in a half-whisper, "Grand, sure tell the whole fecking village!" "Tell them what?" He's caught you jumping ahead. [["Let's go inside."|Oisín - The Plan]] [["<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Whisht</span><span class="annotation-text">Interjection meaning 'shut up!', 'be quiet!'</span></span>!"|Oisín - Whisht]]</div>

There's no sign of the mummer when you peer through the door of the pub. The laughter is gone and a couple of the men from earlier are stooped over tables or lying face-down on the stone floor. (unless: $seenFergus)[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span> is still there and decently upright, though he's talking to one of them with a face that looks as maudlin as you've ever seen it. He doesn't notice you and you're glad of it.(set: $seenFergus to true)] Heading out again you see the mummer sitting cross-legged in a field behind the village, tearing into the guts of an eel with a look of pained concentration. You hunch down and dart around as you approach, trying to make yourself small. The village isn't many and human eyes put fear enough into you. He's only learnt to ignore them because the Good Folk are more persistent. "Hello again." You can't quite muster a smile, but he doesn't seem to mind and grunts what you take to be a greeting. He's preoccupied. "Sorry to, er... interrupt, but I wanted to ask about what you said before. I'm going away, and I wanna be able to defend myself." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummer.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He doesn't look up. "'Tis him who needs defending." "My brother?" "He's the wild one. And he might get over himself or he might not." "Right, but you said you'd tell me what to do if I came into contact with fairi—" — he winces — "the Good Folk." He starts to scoop the guts of the creature into his mouth. It's not an eel but another thing entirely, a long piece of slime-skin with a star-shaped mouth. You wonder where he got it, but it's probably best not to ask. When he's done he tosses it away and murmurs what sounds like a prayer of intercession. You catch the name <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">"Manannán"</span><span class="annotation-text">A sea god and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠanˠanˠɑ:nˠ mˠɑk l̠ʲɪɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Man-nan-nawn Mac Leer*</span></span>, a sea god. "Now." He utters a long sigh. "I said I would and I will, but with a warning: they are a cunning people and their ways are not everywhere the same. I can catalogue my methods, but you may require your own." "Understood." "The first thing is ritual. Most of the ones I know are taken second-hand from druids I met at the fort after my affliction, so I can't claim any authority, but a willing pupil could be taught something. There are twenty-two in total for bounding an area, and another thirteen ask the gods to intercede on your behalf—" "I only have a few hours before the boat departs, so if there are any that you'd recommend in particular..." "Well, that's unlucky for you then, because learning in haste cannot rightly be called learning. But it's just as well, actually, because the thing that works best... is not magic at all." The creature, hollowed, writhes somewhere beyond pain. "It's their faces. They're afraid of looking at themselves." A bevy of beasts, twisted like the tree they worship, dance before you. "I know what you're thinking. Ugly they are not, or at least not always. But I suspect we do not see their true forms. The mirror reveals." He produces from under him a small disc of polished bronze and holds it up to your face. <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/mirror_smol.png" alt="A polished bronze mirror.">You lean forward and suddenly exist outside yourself, wide, tired eyes and dark hair trapped in the liminal space. You've seen that same face before in the deep water of the well behind the cottage, on rare windless days when the world finds a way to be still. "I always keep one on me." His face is grave. You want it. Your vanity wants it. You'd sit all day with a comb and a mirror, rinsing your hair in limewater, scalding away the brown. But it's also a talisman, and if he has indeed gone to the mainland you may need a means of warding off the Folk to find him. "W-where did you get that?" He catches your lip quivering. "I know a bronzesmith on the mainland. Tough work, and not cheap." He knows you're not going to ask for more details, but says nothing for a long time. Then: "But look, I've a couple. If you promise to come back with that lad I'll give you it. Just as visitors, if you want." "I don't have any way to guarantee that, but we'll try our best." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bíaidh doberad ar ndee is ar dtoicthe dúinn</span><span class="annotation-text">We will have what our gods and our fate decree.</span></span>." He almost smiles. (unless: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[Pick up the mirror.[(click-replace:"Pick up the mirror.")[He holds it out to you and you grab it a bit too eagerly, like a cat snapping up a morsel. It's cold, colder than a man's wealth should feel. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Bronze Mirror")) "Thank you." "If the autumn leaves were gold, and the bright waves silver, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fionn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Usually refers by itself to Fionn Mac Cumhaill, the legendary leader of the *fianna*, wandering bands of young noblemen. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲʊːn̪ˠ/ or /fʲiːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fyunn*</span></span> would give them all away. Safe journey, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a chailín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A form of address meaning 'girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə xalʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A calleen*</span></span>." You head back towards the village. The vastness of the sun, cloud-clear now, stretches out over the horizon. It'll be dark soon. (display: "Island Options")</div>]]]

There's no sign of the mummer when you peer through the door of the pub. The laughter is gone and a couple of the men from earlier are stooped over tables or lying with faces mashed into the stone floor. (unless: $seenFergus)[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span> is still there and decently upright, though he's talking to one of them with a face that looks as maudlin as you've ever seen it. He doesn't notice you and you're glad of it.(set: $seenFergus to true)] Heading out again you see the mummer sitting cross-legged in a field behind the village, tearing into the guts of an eel with a look of pained concentration. You hunch down and dart around as you approach, trying to make yourself small. The village isn't many and human eyes put fear enough into you. He's only learnt to ignore them because the Good Folk are more persistent. "Hello again." You can't quite muster a smile, but he pays no heed and grunts what you take to be a greeting. He's preoccupied. "Sorry to, er... interrupt, but I was wondering if you could tell me anything more about the mainland. I'm going away, and I wanna be able to defend myself." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummer.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text"> He doesn't look up. "'Tis him who needs defending." "My brother?" "He's the wild one. And he might get over himself or he might not." "Right, but what about myself?" He grunts. "Your uncle might know." You're not going to get much more out of him, it seems. You thank him without heart and head back towards the village. The vastness of the sun, cloud-clear now, stretches out over the horizon. It'll be dark soon. (display: "Island Options")</div>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Bronze Mirror</strong></h2> A polished bronze mirror you were given by the mummer. He claims it can deter the fairy folk.

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/priest.png" alt="A portrait of the priest, a somewhat severe-looking man who looks half-bemused, half-sceptical." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You look down. "I'm sorry, Father. (if: (history:) contains "The Priest - Fury")[I said those prayers you asked me to."](else:)[I felt unable to show my face."] "Mass is *for* the benefit of the sinner. You must feel it your holy obligation, as He willed it." He's lecturing you. You make a show of nodding compliantly. He looks at you with some pity. "God is the father of the fatherless. His is a comfort you will not find elsewhere, believe you me." Time to be direct. "My brother is a terrible sinner," you begin. Unwelcome tears well up; you're not acting. You gulp and exhale. "And I want to bring him the light, even if that means I put myself in danger. I've made up my mind. C-can..." Short, shallow breaths. "Can you help me?" He utters a long sigh and examines you for some time. You turn away, but feel his eyes still on you; your back is hot from his gaze and the heat from a hundred recently smothered candles. Finally: "You do not understand the danger you are in. Both of you." "I know we don't. If there's any guidance you can offer, anything whatsoever—" You're hoping for a talisman, something physical, but good advice might do. "My guidance is to pray for him, hard and ceaselessly. But as I do not seem to have any power over your obstinacy, and I have an obligation to my parishioners, however misguided, I can offer you some protection. Provided you confess your sins to yourself and accept penance." "I will, Father." You're relieved. He retrieves a thick manuscript from under the altar and thumbs through it, his expression grave, murmuring to himself in Latin. You don't have the grammar, but recognise the occasional term: "Eucharist", "venal", "sin". "Right. Due to your, ahem, ignorance, the nature of the sin is not mortal, but I fear the direction your curiosity will lead you. Fast for one night and one day, think on your relationship with God; then, if you must set out after that, take this with you." <img class="inline-img-left" src="Images/Inventory/rosary_smol.png" alt="A set of simple prayer beads.">He opens his palm.(if: (history:) contains "Oisín - Take Beads")[ Prayer beads, the same ones you stole earlier. ["I have some already."[(click-replace:"\"I have some already.\"")["Oh? And where did you get those?" You blush blood red. "Er... my mam. A keepsake." He frowns. "Very well. Use them to pray the Lord's Prayer every few hours. Now go, and grow in grace." A heavy exhortation. You don't intend to fast, or wait before setting off, but you might perform the prayer ritual. Mam would want you to. (display: "Island Options")</div>]]]](else:)[ It's a short piece of rope, interspersed with knots every inch or so. A wooden crucifix hangs from it. Prayer beads. [Take them.[(click-replace:"Take them.")[You thread them through your fingers. The rope is frayed.{(set: $items to it - (ds: $prayerbeads))(set: $prayerbeads to (dm: "name", "Prayer Beads", "img", "rosary_smol.png"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Prayer Beads"))(set: $items to it + (ds: $prayerbeads))} "Use the knots to pray the Lord's Prayer every few hours. Now go, and grow in grace." A heavy exhortation. You don't intend to fast, or wait before setting off, but you might perform the prayer ritual. Mam would want you to. (display: "Island Options")</div>]]]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/priest.png" alt="A portrait of the priest, a somewhat severe-looking man who looks half-bemused, half-sceptical." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You try to look him in the eye; he's a lot taller than you. "I require aid, Father." "Is this about your brother?" "Yes. I'm going away for a bit and I need to know what aw—" "It is a fool's errand, child. You should rather pray for him, hard and ceaselessly." You push back. "If God hasn't abandoned him, then why should I?" His eyebrow twitches. "Because you are not God! And to pray is not to abandon him. Ask earnestly and according to His will and He will hear you." "I'm going, Father." Your face reddens as you say it and you sway with a sick fear. You try to walk away, but he holds your gaze. "Please think on it." Then, gravely, "You do not understand the danger you are in. Both of you." "I know we don't. But I can't stay here anymore. Thank you for your time, Father." He calls after you, but it's done. You would've gotten more out of him if you'd been prepared to "play the lamb", as <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> had put it, but you've never fit that mask. The buildings and the grass bend around you; you haven't steadied yet. You crawl back to the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*goirtín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small field. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɡɔɾˠtʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gurtjeen*</span></span> and sit down for a while, watching shapes move about the sky. (display: "Island Options")</div>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Prayer Beads</strong></h2> A set of simple prayer beads that you received from the priest. A wooden crucifix hangs from a short piece of frayed rope, interspersed with knots every inch or so.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Brooch</strong></h2> Your mother's brooch. It's a long silver pin ringed by a semi-circle the shape of a torc that you wear clasped to your cloak.

<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>'s a friend, or what passes for one on a small island, and it won't be long before he finds out second-hand. You beckon him into the church, straighten out your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span>, and sit on the hard stone by the altar. He stays standing. "Where's the priest, anyway?" you ask. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Off giving the last rites. Or maybe it was a christening. Something holy like that. Buuut..." He looks down at you expectantly. "You had something to say?" "Look, if I tell you will you wait a while before making some stupid snarky remark?" "Oh ye of little faith!" He reels back, mock-offended, then catches you failing to smile. "Yes, I'll wait, I promise. But just wait till you hear what I come up with tomorrow!" "I won't be here tomorrow. We're leaving to find him tonight." "*We*?" He's not smiling now either. "Well, me. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> is heading over anyway." He begins to pace back and forth like you'd catch him doing outside on a lazy day. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your right ear. "Nothing to say?" "Well, you did tell me not to—" "Just no acting the maggot, for once." It comes out a little harsher than you meant it. "Right." Then a sigh. "I'm not sure if he's worth it, to be honest. And aren't you scared of the water?" "He's my brother, Ois. I need to know what's happened to him. I guess that's hard for you to understand—" He scoffs. "It's hard to understand because he's never been anything other than a gigantic arsehole to me—" "Oh, and I suppose you were a newborn innocent in all of that?" "No, but he enjoys this power he has over people. I've seen how he acts with you." "What power? What are you on about?" you growl, a hot tension spreading over your face. "The way he ignores you. The way he left you to yourself and—" You pull back and up until your face is level with his. You're fuming, teeth bared, fists curled. "Shut up!" you yell, and sink back to the floor as if you've startled yourself. He sits down beside you, looking away. "Sorry," you get after a while. "It's grand. I just want you to know that I'm going, whether you like it or not." "Right. Is there anything I can do to increase your chances of coming back alive? I'd really like you to come back alive." You glance at the altar. He catches your drift and does likewise. "I dunno, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, the gold is a tiny bit heavy..." You smile, despite yourself. He gets up and begins rummaging around the altar, rooting through cupboards and books. <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/rosary_smol.png" alt="A set of simple prayer beads.">"How about this?" A short piece of rope interspersed with knots every inch or so is threaded through his fingers. A wooden crucifix hangs from it. "What's that?" "Prayer beads. You use the knots to remind you when to say the Our Father. You *do* know that one, right?" "In the finest Latin." You frown. A serious sin in a serious house, this. "He won't even notice it, I swear to you. I'd bet he has a whole pile of these sitting in some press somewhere." [[Take it.|Oisín - Take Beads]] [[Refuse.|Oisín - Leave Beads]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Oh, just that you're a nosy shite," you say. He makes a mock sulk, then reverts to the grin. "Nothing to share with your dear friend <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>, then?" [[Lead him into the church.|Oisín - The Plan]] [[Change the subject.|Oisín - White Lies]]</div>

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Buí")) (set: $bui to (dm: "name", "Buí", "bio", "Buí Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "bui.png", "desc", "Family ewe.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $bui))}<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/bui.png" alt="A portrait of the family ewe Buí." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She's out relaxing in the sunny patch of the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*goirtín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small field. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɡɔɾˠtʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gurtjeen*</span></span> behind the cottage. A simple two-strand rope knotted at the back, your handiwork, sits loosely around her neck. Her head turns towards you enough to get your hopes up as you approach, then she's back in her own world, happy (you hope) but impassive. You reach into her wool with your hand and nuzzle up against her body. There's an impressive amount even though you sheared her not yet a month before. It's warm. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span> buí buííí," you whisper, half-singing, rough, relaxed. "Which of the gods sent you to meeee..." She is still and accommodating. Then, "I'm going away, Buí. To find your brother. Our brother." You're still whispering, a little embarrassed now. She doesn't pass any remarks. "He'll be fine, so be good while I'm gone. If any dogs come, try to puff yourself up and make a face, like this." You spread your arms and scowl like a cornered animal. She observes quietly. "(if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Good Return")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's aunt and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> will take care of you. And ]I'll bring you back a new necklace. A fancy one." You nuzzle back in and cry hot, wet tears, finding your own silence in hers. It feels freeing. Once you've gotten it out you give her one last pet, whisper goodbye, and head back in the direction of the village. (display: "Island Options")</div>

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Druidess")) (set: $druidess to (dm: "name", "Druidess", "bio", "Druidess Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "druidess.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's resident druidess.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $druidess))}You walk down to the jetty by the beach where the boat stands expectantly. It's a fine slender thing, with a single mast, a long, wide, yellow sail, and a marked tumblehome. Two men, one young, one old, are loading it up with the island's spoils: simples, fish, seaweed, salt. A stern-looking woman in a loose robe, carrying a wooden staff, watches them aloofly, looking rather out-of-place amongst the ordinary men carrying boxes of ordinary things. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> is a little ways off, laughing with a lively young man whose hands are flailing all over the place. [[Talk to the woman.|The Druidess]] [[Approach Ailbhe.|Ailbhe - Heading Off]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/druidess.png" alt="A portrait of the druidess, a stern-looking woman with her hair set in elaborate plaits." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You recognise her, though you can't say from where. She's long, middle-aged, with a sharpness to her face and joints only somewhat offset by a loose grey hooded robe and dappled cloak. Her hair is set in elaborate plaits, two interweaving on the head and the third hanging down past her shoulders, and she carries a severe, slender ash staff. "Good afternoon, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>," she says as you approach, unsmiling but not unkindly. "Hello, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a choimeádaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">An honorific used to address a druid, meaning 'keeper' or 'curator'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə xʲɪmʲɑ:dˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *A Come-made-di*</span></span>." It's just as well the respect is due, since you can't remember her name and you're too intimidated to bother asking how she knows yours. You pass some minutes in silence, looking out at the sea. Then she asks, "Come to see us off, have you?" "No, actually, I..." You're not sure how to say it. "I'm heading over myself. To look for someone." "Oh? Who?" "M-my brother." Her eyes widen. You catch her fixed on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, and after time interminable she excuses herself politely and walks over. The young man seems spooked — he bows clumsily to the druidess, then heads back to the boat. Ailbhe's slumped down, humbled, apologetic; it's strange seeing her like this. She glances your way when she thinks you're not looking (you are looking, though making a good show of pretending otherwise), then back to the druidess, who's giving her a proper telling to. You suppose this is because she doesn't want you coming, though you can't make anything out. When the druidess is done she marches back towards the boat, past you, and sits down on the bare sand as if waiting for her name to be called. Ailbhe's staring at you with a mute rictus. [[Approach her.|Ailbhe - After Druidess]] [[Board the boat.|End of Act I]]</div>

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Féilim", "Fechín")) (set: $feilim to (dm: "name", "Féilim", "bio", "Féilim Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "feilim1.png", "desc", "Affable young sailor.")) (set: $fechin to (dm: "name", "Fechín", "bio", "Fechín Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "fechin.png", "desc", "Considerate young sailor.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $feilim, $fechin))}The young man smiles in your direction as you approach. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> sees you coming and drops the laughter. "You must be the famous <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>," he says and holds out his hand. He's a dirty blond, the one loading the boat darker; their pale open faces and big ears suggest they might be brothers. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/feilim1.png" alt="A portrait of Féilim, a relaxed young man." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You shake. His hand is a little clammy. "How're you? I'm <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span>, and that's my cousin <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> on the boat. His da's the captain. We'll be accompanying you over." "So what have you heard about me?" you say, trying to seem nonchalant. He laughs. "I don't think Ailbhe's said anything you wouldn't've yourself, unless I have totally the wrong idea about her." "Yeah, and that's because I have the right idea about you. Sailors love to talk." Her tone is mocking, but you can tell she's sincere. "Shame no one ever told poor Fechín that! You could cut his tongue out and not notice much of a difference." "I feel that's a fate you're more deserving of, Féilimid. Anyway" — she looks at you — "are you ready?" You nod. "I think so." Tilting your head in the direction of the strange woman, who's now sitting down on the bare sand as if waiting for her name to be called, you ask in a whisper, "Who's she?" Ailbhe's eyes bulge. "We are from the same island, right?" "I think I recognise her, but—" "She's the chieftain's druidess, Bríd. Being Christian shouldn't mean you're sheltered." Féilim, sensing he's been edged out of the conversation, offers his goodbyes and boards the boat. You continue, "Well, it's not like I've had many dealings with her..." She sighs. "No, but your parents did." "Why would they—" "Let's talk about this later. And one thing—" She pulls you close. Her skin smells of saltwater. "*Don't* tell her anything about your brother." She's pulling you up onto the gangplank in a daze before you can even ask why. [[Board the boat.|End of Act I]]

You walk up to her. The young man has returned to the boat, but you feel his eyes on the two of you. "What was that?" "I'll tell you later." "No, if I'm getting on that boat you're telling me now." She sighs and hisses, "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, seriously, this is not something you should want to talk about here, of all fucking places." "How should *I* know that?" She's really exasperating sometimes. "Look..." she begins in an animated whisper. "She just doesn't want you going. You're too young, too liable to be seasick, too nervous, and this whole expedition is stupid. You already know what she said. Now let's get on the boat." You're not entirely convinced by her summary of events. Even if she is telling the truth, the act of bald defiance the journey now involves makes you uneasy, Christian or not. But you've already started walking towards the gangplank... "Who's that you were talking to, by the way?" you ask. "Just one of the lads from <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>. The other lad, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> — his dad is the captain. Gorgeous, isn't she?" You nod. [[Board the boat.|End of Act I]]

{(if: (history:) contains "Ailbhe - Heading Off")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $druidess)) (set: $druidess to (dm: "name", "Druidess", "bio", "Druidess Desc New", "bioAppend", "", "img", "druidess.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's resident druidess.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $druidess))] (if: $inventory contains "Hand Hoe")[{(set: $items to it - (ds: $handhoe))(set: $handhoe to (dm: "name", "Hand Hoe ", "img", "handhoe_smol2.png"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Hand Hoe "))(set: $items to it + (ds: $handhoe))}]}You step up on the gangplank and onto the ship one after another, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> ahead, you catching the wooden gunwale and manoeuvring yourself in gradually. There's not much space to sit or stand; Ailbhe directs you to the stern and you take a spot next to her and try to compress yourself, small as you already are. When the sailors are red-faced and tired enough and the hooker swaying with the weight of her cargo, the captain, a big, weatherbeaten man who looks half-squid, barks an "all aboard" and stares down at the druidess. She rises slowly, staff in her left hand and a wooden bucket in her right. The sand on her robes shifts between the folds and falls away. She dips the staff in the bucket, stands, and begins chanting in a pitched murmur, up and down, quiet first, then rising steadily while her face contorts as if struck by something terrible to behold. It's unintelligible until word and deed meet in sudden clarity — "East", she says, and flings the contents of the staff in one clean gesture over the ship and straight onto your face. You wince as it hits you, the stench in everything, that rusty taint you associate with bloating and dressing wounds. Wiping it off it's sticky, already coagulating. Ailbhe suppresses a snort and squeezes your (bloodless) hand. |links>[(link: "Squeeze back.")[(replace: ?links)[Her hand is surprisingly warm. You just barely smile, steadied a little. The gesture is repeated for each cardinal direction, and by the time the north has received its drenching the gulls are already massing, eager to taste the pudding. Leaving the bucket behind her, the druidess steps onto the ship and takes her place next to the captain. The young men pull up the mooring line and unfurl the yellow sail, Ailbhe assisting, and [[you're off.|Ferry Animation]]]] (link: "Pull away.")[(replace: ?links)[You pull away from her. You don't want her smelling it on you, not now. The gesture is repeated for each cardinal direction, and by the time the north has received its drenching the gulls are already massing, eager to taste the pudding. Leaving the bucket behind her, the druidess steps onto the ship and takes her place next to the captain. The young men pull up the mooring line and unfurl the yellow sail, Ailbhe assisting, and [[you're off.|Ferry Animation]]]]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C2/boat.png" alt="A sailboat crossing the sea." class="chapter-img animated-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text text-animated"><span class="starter">T</span>he boat launches straight out like a gull, fanning its full sail. You grip the gunwale and try to accustom yourself to the rocking, the foam spraying your cheeks, still stained a browny red, the tang of salt in every breath. Once <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s convinced the young sailors have a good handle on the rigging, she takes her place next to you again. The captain's at the steering oar, and his men slink down onto the deck and await instructions. The druidess is sitting by the mast, looking out across the sound. There's a breeze bracing, and the sun is going down. (display: "Ferry - Options")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/ailbhe.png" alt="A portrait of Ailbhe smiling faintly, her hair tied in a loose braid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(if: (history:)'s last is "Ferry - Festival" or "Ferry - Young Men" or "Ferry - Cousins Ailbhe" or "Ferry - Crush")["I thought you could use a break from them. They're a bit much sometimes." "No worse than you or <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>, to be honest." "Ha. You're not wrong."](if: (history:)'s last is "The Druidess - Truth") ["How's her holiness?" Her tone belies the heaviness on her face. You don't say anything. Thinking you've dozed off, she says again, "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>? Brídín? How is she?" Now there's something approaching worry in her voice. "I asked about my parents. She knew them well and I had no idea." She rubs her long hair. "I suppose they didn't want you to have any relationship to the old ways once they'd converted." "But then why *did* they have so many dealings together? What was — what is — so wrong with him that a druidess had to step in?" "Bríd." She grips you by the shoulders with that surprising strength and stares into your face. "Bríd, tonight we are going to sing and laugh and forget ourselves, and tomorrow we'll talk about this. I promise you on all the gods. All right?" Her cheek nudges yours, soft, unweathered, sunset-red. The terms are fair. You concede. "I don't think I'll be sleeping tonight." "Ah look, sure sleeping at sea is like being back in the cot. The waves'll mother you. You'll be grand." It's not the *getting* to sleep that worries you, but you leave it unsaid.](if: (history:)'s last is "The Druidess - Lie")["How's her holiness?" Her tone belies the heaviness on her face. "Grand. I don't think I managed to convince her I'm over visiting my aunt whose name I could barely remember, though." "You've always been a shite liar. There isn't much he can teach you when he barely says anything, I suppose." "He says plenty to you." She cracks a smile. "Yeah, 'cause I'm the only one willing to listen to it. You haven't been missing much."](if: (history:)'s last is "Ferry - Captain") ["I hope you haven't been disturbing the captain." Her tone is mock motherly. "Tried my best not to. He's very... calm out here." "I'd say he came out of his mother's womb calm. Not like you or me." You smirk. "Of anyone I know, I'd have assumed *you* were born calm." "A skill well cultivated."](else-if: (history:) contains "The Druidess")["How's her holiness?" Her tone belies the heaviness on her face. "Didn't seem very interested in talking to me." "Yeah? Well, her loss."] She takes a swig from a jug of water and offers it to you. |links>[(link: "Drink it.")[(replace: ?links)[You pick it up and gulp it down, imagining you can taste her on the rim. Your body tingles and you start to splutter, just managing to prevent yourself choking. "You all right there?" "Fine." (display: "Ferry - Ailbhe Holding Up")]] (link: "\"I'm grand, thanks.\"")[(replace: ?links)["I'm grand, thanks." You don't want to give your stomach something to complain about, not just now. "Well, it's here if you want it," she says, stowing the jug under the deal plank. (display: "Ferry - Ailbhe Holding Up")]]]</div>

(unless: (history:) contains "Ailbhe - Heading Off")[{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Féilim", "Fechín")) (set: $feilim to (dm: "name", "Féilim", "bio", "Féilim Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "feilim1.png", "desc", "Affable young sailor.")) (set: $fechin to (dm: "name", "Fechín", "bio", "Fechín Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "fechin.png", "desc", "Considerate young sailor.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $feilim, $fechin))}](if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain")[Fechín](else:)[The young sailor you don't recognise] is sitting with his legs bunched up, forearms resting on his knees. (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain")[His cousin Féilim](else:)[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s friend] is lolling about, arms stretched out languorously behind him, at ease. (unless: (history:) contains "Ailbhe - Heading Off")[He's a dirty blond, the other one darker; their pale open faces and big ears suggest they might be brothers.] You overhear the words "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> festival", followed by a laugh. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C2/cousins2.png" alt="A portrait of the young sailors." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Good ears! We were just talking about you," says (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain")[Féilim the blond one](else:)[the blond one, Ailbhe's friend,] as you approach. (unless: (history:) contains "Ailbhe - Heading Off")[He holds out his hand.] The other one reddens. (unless: (history:) contains "Ailbhe - Heading Off")[ "I'm <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span>, and this is my cousin <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>," he says, taking your hand in a clammy grip. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>."] [["Do I want to know why you were talking about me?"|Ferry - Crush]] [["Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not going to be at the festival."|Ferry - Festival]] [["So, how do you know Ailbhe?"|Ferry - Cousins Ailbhe]]

(unless: (history:) contains "Ferry - Young Men" or "Ferry - Captain" or "Ailbhe - Heading Off")[{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Féilim", "Fechín")) (set: $feilim to (dm: "name", "Féilim", "bio", "Féilim Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "feilim1.png", "desc", "Affable young sailor.")) (set: $fechin to (dm: "name", "Fechín", "bio", "Fechín Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "fechin.png", "desc", "Considerate young sailor.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $feilim, $fechin))}]You sit near the stern and watch the captain work. He doesn't ask anything of you, and the silence is not awkward. His hand is resting relaxed on the steering oar, occasionally tilting it lightly port or starboard in anticipation of some sunken rock he's met many times before. After a while you say something, almost not expecting a reply. "Are ye a family of sailors, then?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C2/captain.png" alt="A portrait of the boat's captain, a big, weatherbeaten man who looks half-squid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He looks your way and breaks into a smile. "We are. Me da's da took me out on these waters when I was still swaddling. So I got a good education, but it's not an easy sound to sail, I'll tell you that much." He looks up at the sky. "We have good weather for it today, at least. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Lir</span><span class="annotation-text">A sea god. Father of Manannán. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA):/lʲirʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Leer*</span></span>'s blessing." The wind is still slack, just enough to pull the boat along, and the water sways gently, blue-black in the last of the sunlight. You silently thank Lir yourself, then wonder what Mam would think. Somehow, the thought doesn't grieve you, despite your family's history with this sea. You look back and hold out your hand; the island fits in the gap between your thumb and index finger. (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Young Men")["And the lads?"](else:)["And your sons?"] you ask. "(unless: (history:) contains "Ferry - Young Men")[Cousins. ]<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> the black-haired lad's mine, and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> the fair one's me sister's. (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Young Men")[Hope they weren't giving you too much grief.] They're good lads." You smile. (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Young Men")["They're quite different."](else:)["They look to be quite different."] "Ah, Fechín seems shy, but he's bold enough when he wants to be. Lovely singer, if you can believe. Would have the heart leaping out of you." His face is puffed with pride. Examining him as he looks off to sea you can almost see it. He's sunk into himself, somewhere else entirely; forgetting yourself like that is the gift of those who mediate between worlds in song. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> has it as well. "Will he give us a song tonight?" He laughs. "If you can convince him! He's girl-mad, but little he'd tell you that." "I'll see what I can do," you say.(if: $inventory contains "Bodhrán")[ I play the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span> myself, but..." You fiddle in your bag and pull out the broken instrument. "I know someone in the village who might be able to fix that up for you. We've some skins we use for cleaning you could take, and she'll help you fit it right." "That would be lovely. But I don't have anything much to offer..." (if: $inventory contains "Brooch" and "Mirror")[You don't want to part with the brooch, or the mirror.] "It's no trouble — she owes me a favour. Go down the market and ask for <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sadhbh</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Famously borne by the wife of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhaill. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /saɪv/ English phonetic approximation: *Sive*</span></span>. "Thank you." {(set: $characters to it - (ds: $captain)) (set: $captain to (dm: "name", "Ferry Captain", "bio", "Captain Desc", "bioAppend", "Captain Desc Update 1", "img", "captain.png", "desc", "Veteran of Inis Caillí's waters.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $captain))}](else:)[" ](if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Young Men")[ The sun is down, and the little waves ripple across the blue-black water. Ailbhe's looking serious; you wonder what she's thinking. The lads are eating their few bits and laughing. ] (display: "Ferry - Options")

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/druidess.png" alt="A portrait of the druidess, a stern-looking woman with her hair set in elaborate plaits." class="portrait-img"></img></div> (if: (history:) contains "The Druidess")[The druidess' face is unmoving, statuesque, but you can tell that she's still bothered by the earlier incident. You don't dare approach her. (display: "Ferry - Options")](else:)[You approach the druidess gingerly. You *do* recognise her, though you can't say from where. She's long, middle-aged, and the sharpness of her face and joints is only somewhat offset by her loose white robe and dappled cloak. Her hair is set in elaborate plaits, two interweaving on the head and the third hanging down past her shoulders. A wooden staff rests next to her on the deck. "I'll admit I wasn't expecting to see you here, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>," she says, unsmiling but not unkindly. Her speaking voice takes you aback; it's certainly assured, but not as deep as the chanting had led you to expect. "What has you travelling with us?" [["My brother's gone missing."|The Druidess - Truth]] [["Just visiting family."|The Druidess - Lie]]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C2/cousins2.png" alt="A portrait of the young sailors." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Do I want to know why you were talking about me?" <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> laughs. "I'm sure you can take a wild guess." His cousin somehow manages to turn even redder, which causes you to blush in kind. You drop your head and turn away from them. "No need to be shy — I'm just messing with you." You say nothing. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> stands and starts fiddling with the ropes. "So are you meeting up with family? <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> tells us she's heading back," Féilim asks. Fechín moves with slow, deliberate movements, obviously listening. "No, not this time." Then, after a pause: "I have other business." (display: "Ferry - Cousins Explanation")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C2/cousins2.png" alt="A portrait of the young sailors." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not going to be at the festival." "Ah, that's a shame. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> here is in need of some female company." Fechín stands up straight as if suddenly smarted, glaring at his cousin. "Shut up! What he meant to say is—" "What I *meant* to say is that, should you change your mind, he'd be delighted to accompany you." You're not used to male attention from people not named <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>, and you like it even less. "I, uh, appreciate the offer, but I have other business." (display: "Ferry - Cousins Explanation")

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Bodhrán</strong></h2> A goatskin bodhrán with a puncture in its head and a frame black from overuse, the tipper missing. Maybe you can get it repaired?

<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> didn't want you to say anything, but Ailbhe doesn't have the reach or the influence of a druidess. She probably has all sorts of ways to assist with finding someone. Still, you hesitate a bit, and it's not all that impressive when it spills out in a nervous whisper. "I-I'm looking for someone. My brother." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/druidess.png" alt="A portrait of the druidess, a stern-looking woman with her hair set in elaborate plaits." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">Her eyes widen. You catch her gazing at Ailbhe, who's somewhat listlessly chewing a twig and half-listening to the sailors' gossip. It feels as if she's willing herself not to march over, but eventually she turns back to you. "I suppose you don't remember me, but I knew your family. That boy was wild, and wilder still his fate. Do watch yourself." You nod; the reminder is hardly needed, but you sense something else buried in it, something ugly and fetid. The tense doesn't help. Then, because she's a stranger who knew them and you don't have to worry about her judging your grief, you have to ask: "What were my parents like?" "Strong." Her face is impassive, but there's admiration in her voice. "They were strong to embrace the Roman religion when they did, and strong to raise a boy like that." Then, an afterthought: "And yourself, of course." You want to ask what she means by "a boy like that", but you're afraid of the answer. Ailbhe must know, and you'd rather hear it from her. You thank the druidess for her time, bow, and shuffle towards the stern. (display: "Ferry - Options")</div>

"Eh..." You look up. "I'm visiting family." You should know by now that you're a terrible liar. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/druidess.png" alt="A portrait of the druidess, a stern-looking woman with her hair set in elaborate plaits." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Oh? Your mother's family?" She doesn't sound unconvinced, at least. "Mmm. Aunts and cousins and the like." "Your mother's eldest sister is a lovely woman. She used to supply my mainland counterpart with wormwood for his tea, had a big shrub growing just outside her house... You'll forgive me for asking since it's been so long, but what was her name again?" You know your aunts' names. They're conspicuously alliterative: Móirín, Méabh, Muireann. Who's who is another matter entirely... "Eh... that would be <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>," you guess. "Yes indeed, Muireann the Munificent! Lovely woman. Keeps to herself, but a great big heart on her." She's satisfied. The memories take shape: Muireann's the eldest, the one you've heard the most about, but not in terms so glowing. Dad didn't get on with her. You untense, hoping she doesn't notice. "Didn't think she lived in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>, though?" "Well, I suppose I'll find out." You giggle awkwardly. She looks towards the sound again. "Do watch yourself." You nod. She knows. You thank her for her time, bow, and shuffle in the direction of the stern. (display: "Ferry - Options")</div>

The young sailors are almost done with their dried fish and oatcakes supper when you step into the huddle. (unless: (history:) contains "Ferry - Young Men" or "Ferry - Captain" or "Ailbhe - Heading Off")[You introduce yourself nervously; the confident blond one says he's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span>, the quiet black-haired one his cousin <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>. You had thought them brothers from their pale open faces and big ears. ]They're close enough to the steering oar that the captain can partake in the conversation, and even the druidess steps in, though she does not eat. The sea breeze is damp, and you feel the want of a fire's warmth on your skin as you pull your cloak tighter around you. The sky is pricked with stars. Your people tell tales of a place that lies far to the west — <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Uí Bhreasail</span><span class="annotation-text">A mythical land said to lie west of Ireland. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i: vʲrʲæsalʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-vrastle*</span></span>, the land of Breasail's tribe — but as you look out your mind halts at the endless black, and the consideration that your own little island with its little thatched houses marks the end of the world fills you with a strange sadness. The talk is lively: this year's lambs, arrangements for the upcoming festival, your chieftain's quarrels with his overking. You hadn't realised how exhausted you were, and are content to listen and eat. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> and the sailors share a skin of ale. When they've drunk enough the goading starts: "Don't we all want to hear <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>'s lovely voice," says Ailbhe. "Haven't we waited all night," she says, nudging you awake. (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain")[You nod and say he has a reputation to uphold.] He's got enough drink in him to encourage a bit of boldness, but not so much that his vocal cords have dried out. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> pats him on the back and bellows, "LET'S HEAR IT!" He closes his eyes, turns a little away from you, and begins. It's a sweet, simple melody about a sea captain's first love, sung in a high, ornamental register with the surety of the singer who feels when to turn a note or pause for effect. The group rocks in trance, in a space where there's nothing but his voice on the salt air and the swaying of the waves. He stops as suddenly as he begins, to hearty applause. Then it's Ailbhe's turn. She lowers her head, but keeps her eyes open, and sings in a melody that trembles like whale song: <div class="translation"> <div id="irish"> Is bean ón slua sí mé... </div> <div id="english"> I am a woman from the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*sí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Short for "aos sí"; the race of beings that live in "sí", or fairy mounds, and inhabit the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃiː/ English phonetic approximation: *She*</span></span>... </div> </div> [[You think you're soon asleep...|Ferry - Dream]]

<div class="text-animated-dream"><div class="background-container">You're inside the cottage. It's evening, the half-light of a fading autumn, and the wind is keening down the chimney. A young man formed like a reed is lying on a mattress. His unwashed brown hair stands up in loose tufts; his eyes are glassy as if he is somewhere else entirely. You're busying yourself repairing a hole in your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>. There's someone missing. You feel it before you remember it and then comes the familiar ache, the pain that wants you to scream and weep and fall into yourself. You keep knitting. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C2/brother-dream.png" alt="A portrait of a young man formed like a reed." class="portrait-img"></img></div>He gets up and heads to the door. There is a purpose in those blue eyes that terrifies you. "<div class="blurred">______</div>, where are you going?" "Out." "Out for what?" "A walk." He's gone before you can protest. You run down the incline. The sky is coagulated red clumps of clouds colliding with each other in the semi-storm. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>! You run against the rain and the gathering wind, your wet hair flapping around you. Ailbhe's not home, just her father. The beach! Check the beach! The waves are whipping against the shore, and though the boat has already left there's no sign of it in that great and terrible swell that fills your eyes and ears. You swear you're screaming his name. You spot a speck way beyond the cliffs bobbing up and down in the little currach, two oars rending the water in grim defiance. He's screaming too, head to the sky. Ailbhe's arrived; they launch their own boat straight out, rowing furiously. You watch an enormous wave lift up the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">currach</span><span class="annotation-text">A small fishing boat with an animal hide. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkʊɾˠəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Curr-ack*</span></span>. Before he can react, another comes and rips it clean in two. He drops the oars and falls straight down. They drag him out of the sea. Run ahead, run ahead and call the healer! You see the profile of a drooping head and red torso, enough, enough, enough, he's wounded — [[go!|Ferry - Dream 2]]

<div class="body-text text-animated-dream">You're shocked awake. It's already dawn, though you don't feel particularly well-rested. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> is lying at your feet, head buried in your cloak, a sliver of drool rimming her half-open mouth, serene. Everyone else appears to be asleep save <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>, who's manning the steering oar and doesn't notice you stir. Gulls screech above; the ship must be nearing land. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C2/bullrock.png" alt="Bull rock" class="chapter-img animated-img"></img></div> You lift yourself up and almost fall straight down again. Off to the west is a huge black stack with a gap cleaved through its centre, rising out of the mist that pools around it. The gap looks man-made: a passage. It's in the same direction as the island and should be visible from there, but you're sure you've never seen it before. You look towards Fechín, hoping to get his attention, confirm you're not mad. His gaze is fixed east. The shifting boat brings to mind what troubled you in the night, that half-dream, half-memory you've grown well familiar with over the past two years. Something was different this time, though; something you try to localise in your mind, and then... Fuck! You're pushing Ailbhe awake, tears rolling down your cheeks, stuck in a breathy half-whisper: "Ailbhe, Ailbhe, what's his name? What's his name, Ailbhe?" She turns over, rubs the sleep from her eyes. "Wha' ⁠— what do you mean? It's..." Her face whitens. "How can I not remember his name? How?" Your heart wants to stop and you force yourself to breathe. She's up and holding you against her, trying to get you to calm down. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, I know what this is. It's all right. Take your time and then we'll talk." Fechín looks over; you don't see his face but imagine he's overheard. She gives him a weak thumbs-up and he takes the hint. You let it leave you: no thrashing, no struggle. When you're calm again she resumes. "Right, I don't know *exactly* what it is, but I have an idea⁠—" "Wait! Can you see that rock formation to the west?" She cranes her neck beyond the stern. "Eh, I don't see anything. Have we already passed it?" She's right ⁠— it's gone. "Never mind. Must have still been dreaming. It was the same dream as always, but when I said his name there was just a... a hiss..." Ailbhe clears her throat, pressing her nose against the crown of your head, and says, "I need to tell you something." Without waiting for your reply, she begins. "Are you sure you don't remember the druidess visiting when you were younger?" (if: (history:) contains "The Druidess - Truth")[You think of the druidess' words the previous night, and shudder.](else:)[A familiar pang of dread settles in your chest.] *[[They were in and out all the time.|Bull Rock Aside]]*</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/c3-beach.png" alt="A beach on the mainland" class="chapter-img animated-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text text-animated"><span class="starter">T</span>he chorus of the gulls deafens as the bay, ringed by white sand, grows ever larger. The boat is caught in an onshore wind, carried along helplessly and entirely too quickly by the force in its yellow sail. For the first time this crossing, you feel queasy. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> stands up, gives (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain" or "Ailbhe - Heading Off" or "Ailbhe - After Druidess")[his father](else:)[the captain] the steering oar, and supervises the other two. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s fumbling with the ropes; <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> barks something at her and she snaps back. The druidess' eyes are fixed on land. "Head up — get her into a broad reach!" barks the captain. Then a nervous approach in the shallow water, the boat twisting between tiny islands of sharp rocks. When you're close enough the captain orders the sails lowered and it glides gently into the dock, settling between a school of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">currach</span><span class="annotation-text">A small fishing boat with an animal hide. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkʊɾˠəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Curr-ack*</span></span>s at the cusp of sea and shore. You scramble out first, breathless despite your inaction, still dizzy, glad. There's no one around, but it's far from quiet — the beach is black with seals, basking and braying in the weak morning sun. You sit by the dock for a while and watch the pups waddling about, their worried parents, the occasional gull swooping in to try its luck. Ailbhe joins you when everything's unloaded. "You mad at me?" [["I'm mad at life."|Mainland - Mad at Life]] [["A little, yeah."|Mainland - Ailbhe Blame]] [["It's not about you."|Mainland - Brother Blame]]

You cut a path down the shore, past the seals, going south. Clouds are mulling about above, threatening rain. The cries of nesting curlews ripple on the wind, full of the frail promise of spring. You walk for about twenty minutes, rounding the bay, until you see in the distance a green <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">currach</span><span class="annotation-text">A small fishing boat with an animal hide. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkʊɾˠəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Curr-ack*</span></span> docked outside a little round shack. Even from far off you can tell the shack is ramshackle: the unpainted wood is peeling as if damp, and there are barrel-sized holes in the thatch. You run up. You think the boat is yours, though you find yourself unable to read the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">ogham</span><span class="annotation-text">The alphabet used to write the early Irish language. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈoː(ə)mˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-m*</span></span> inscription on the hull that used to be so clear. You *are* able to make out the ogham running along the wooden frame of the shack, however: *Donn's House O' Mirrors*. It looks like the "O' Mirrors" bit was inscribed later; the marks are looser, spindly. [[Knock on the door to the shack.|Mainland - Teach Doinn]] (unless: (history:) contains "Mainland - Town")[[[Turn back towards the town.|Mainland - Town]]]

{(if: (history:)'s last is "Fechín - Walk")[(if: (history:) contains "Donn - Brother 2")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 6", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))](else:)[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Your Brother", "bio", "Brother Desc After Bull Rock", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 6", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))] {(set: $characters to it - (ds: $fechin)) (set: $fechin to (dm: "name", "Fechín", "bio", "Fechín Desc", "bioAppend", "Fechín Desc Update 3", "img", "fechin.png", "desc", "Considerate young sailor.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $fechin))}](if: (history:)'s last is "Town - Ailbhe")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $ailbhe)) (set: $ailbhe to (dm: "name", "Ailbhe", "bio", "Ailbhe Desc", "bioAppend", "Ailbhe Desc Update 5", "img", "ailbhe.png", "desc", "Childhood friend.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $ailbhe))] (if: (history:)'s last is "Donn - Farewell")[(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Muireann")) (set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "bioAppend", "Muireann Desc Update 1", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $muireann))] (if: (history:) contains "Revellers - Horsehead")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $feilim)) (set: $feilim to (dm: "name", "Féilim", "bio", "Féilim Desc", "bioAppend", "Féilim Desc Update 1", "img", "feilim1.png", "desc", "Affable young sailor.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $feilim))]}(if: (history:) contains "Mainland - Teach Doinn" and $donnpremable)[The walk back has you distracted with thoughts of the strange god-man. The dead, wet, heady air, his ancient attire, (if: $drankBrew is true)[that awful-tasting drink,] and the grim spectacle in the mirrors all combined to overwhelm your senses, and even now they seem to belong to some unreality that people like you can glimpse but not behold, or *should* not behold. You imagine him here, enormous even outside the confines of the little shack, shrouded in smoke blending with the dawn mist, laying your small human brother broken and desperate onto the white sand. Knowing that he's alive, that he's held on to some purpose, even if it's in the form of an aunt you have reason to be wary of, is enough for now. Your heart swells with hope. (set:$donnpremable to false)](unless: (history:) contains "Mainland - Town")[You're surprised that the collection of wattle-and-daub buildings you spied from the beach isn't much larger than your own village, though it's market season and there's a steady murmur of people outside haggling, bartering, jostling for fish or gossip, herding unruly animals. Fine-shaven men in simple dress get close enough to rub up against you as they hurry by, speaking an oddly melodic language you don't recognise. The druids are out counting cattle, readying the night's celebrations. No sign of the church here, though you have the odd feeling of eyes on you. Maybe they've sent spies, or maybe they're from the other crowd: the druidess keeping watch on you. You try to put it out of your mind. ](if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Religious Appeal" and not ($inventory contains "Prayer Beads Given" or "Stolen Prayer Beads") and not ((history:) contains "Monastery - Abbess"))[The market is finishing up when you arrive back in the town, exhausted and damp. You walk towards [[the traders.|Town - Traders]]](else:)[(unless: (history:) contains "Town - Ailbhe")[[[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s|Town - Ailbhe]] sitting at the market, cross-legged with her catch spread out in front of her. ](unless: (history:) contains "Mainland - Town")[[[A bevy of other traders|Town - Traders]] hawk everything from talismans to utensils](else:)[[[The traders|Town - Traders]] are still there, hawking everything from talismans to utensils](unless: (history:) contains "Town - Sadhbh")[. They're mostly men, though there's [[a lone heavyset woman|Town - Sadhbh]] sorting animal skins.](else:)[.] (unless: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[Beyond the thoroughfare, [[revellers|Town - Revellers]] in traditional <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> costumes have already started dancing and chanting: giant, terrible animals shadowed by the vast forest behind them.]](if: (history:) contains "Town - Ailbhe" or "Fechín - Walk")[(unless: (history:) contains "Town - Pub")[ To the east, the dirt path towards the bog rises lonely and bare; [[that solitary stone pub|Town - Pub]] is just past the bend.]](if: (history:) contains "Town - Ailbhe" and not $hasVisitedMonastery)[(unless: (history:) contains "Mainland - Teach Doinn")[ You never did find your boat; you should head back and [[check the shoreline.|Mainland - Rounding the Bay]]](else:)[ The sun has risen well above the boglands: [[it's time to head east.|Monastery - Journey]] The journey to the monastery should take a good few hours.]]

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Donn Fírinne")) (set: $donn to (dm: "name", "Donn Fírinne", "bio", "Donn Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "donn.png", "desc", "Ancestor of the Milesians.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $donn))}Start simple. "I come from the island across the sound. I'm looking for my brother." He ascends the dais and settles into the chair, the throne. You see him now how the dead that waited here must have, every inch the petty king of this strange domain. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"And what is your brother's name?" he says as if he's talking to a toddler. "I... I don't know." He laughs; this time it's genuine, strange, a discordant melody like an out-of-tune harp. "I know they say you're all a few pieces short of a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fidchell*</span><span class="annotation-text">A board game similar to chess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲɪhəl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fi-hell*</span></span> set on that island, but you surely must know your own brother's name, little one." You gulp, and try explaining yourself. "I've been told he's been placed under a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>, so I can't remember it. There's a boat moored outside that looks like it could be ours." His pupils glimmer again. "Do you know who I am?" There's no one else here, so he must be the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">'Donn'</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> who put up the sign. It's a perfectly ordinary name, common enough to feel familiar; it means "brown-haired", and his is a deep black, but people age. And yet... there's another Donn spoken about in whispers on the islands, one who dwells at the entrance to the other domain... "The Dark One," you say in a half-whisper. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn Fírinne</span><span class="annotation-text">"Donn of the truth". The ancestor of the Milesians; the god who guides the dead to the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ fʲiːɾʲən̠ʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Done Fear-in-nye*</span></span> — Donn of the truth." He claps his hands mockingly. "Well done! And do you know who the Dark One does *not* have dominion over?" "Er... the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Tuatha Dé Danann</span><span class="annotation-text">The tribe of the goddess Danu. The primary gods of the Gaels, who dwell in Alltar, the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈtu.əhə deɪ ˈdɑːnən/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh Day Don-nan*</span></span>?" The stories you'd memorised about your people's gods suddenly feel distant. "Apart from the Tuatha Dé Danann. Of course you don't know — priest worshippers! Devotees of the Roman god! That's why you're still standing, though it's just as well given that you *clearly* did not know what you were getting yourself into." So this is <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Teach Doinn*</span><span class="annotation-text">House of the death god Donn, where the souls of the dead are said to gather before their departure for Alltar.</span></span>, where the souls of the dead gather to await passage. What a miserable farewell. He catches your thought and says indignantly, "It only looks like this because it was cast into the sea, and I've not had the time to do it up since then. And the children of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Míl</span><span class="annotation-text">Short for Míl Espáine: the purported ancestor of the Milesian people, the final inhabitants of Ireland. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mʲiːlʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meal*</span></span>, *my* people, would rather worship a foreign god who sends lackeys in his stead..." He reaches for a decanter, quaffs its contents, and throws it against the wall, sighing. You grimace. "It's too fucking quiet! The men who used to walk through that door! Sure, sometimes they were missing limbs, sometimes" — he grimaces — "heads, but I'd usually just send them to wait in the reception. The rest..." — he sighs wistfully — "I'd teach them discipline, teach them to fear us more than they feared their generals or their wives..." He breaks into an even stranger laugh. This isn't going anywhere. "Can we get back to my brother..." "Yes, yes!" He's surprisingly receptive all of a sudden. He pulls out what looks like a small stick, puts one end of it into his mouth, and moves to sit down on the bed. Smoke streams out. "But first, I shouldn't neglect to provide welcome. What're you having?" "I... I don't drink." "In this house you do." He grabs one of the decanters, pours an indeterminate brown liquid into a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>, and hands it to you. [[Sip it.|Donn - Sip Drink]] [[Refuse it.|Donn - Refuse Drink]]</div>

You knock on the shack's door gingerly. You're afraid of putting your fist through: the wood *is* damp, and smells like it's been immersed in sea water. No answer. Reasoning that this is the best lead you have, you hold your nose and push the door in. It cedes without a fuss, revealing a dimly lit space enveloped in a wispy smoke. You can't distinguish any walls, any ceiling or floor. There's a faint acrid smell, like burnt wood. You start to splutter and turn back in a clammy panic, but the door's gone — you're trapped here now. [[Wave away the smoke.|Donn - Smoke Wave]] [[Call for help.|Donn - Call For Help]] (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[[[Sprinkle some salt to make a trail.|Donn - Salt Sprinkling]]]

"I've never seen a robe that colour before," you say. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Oh, this?" he says with feigned modesty. You can tell he's had this conversation before. "It's made with a dye secreted by distressed sea snails, fascinating stuff. You have to milk them until they squeeze it out, or crush them whole!" His pupils glimmer. "The Romans do it — or did it, I should say, because haven't you heard that Rome has fallen? — but we <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Milesians</span><span class="annotation-text">The final inhabitants of Ireland, after the Tuatha Dé Danann, and the ancestors of the modern Gaels.</span></span> came up with the technique long before them, before we settled here. These waters are a wee bit too frigid for that species, unfortunately, otherwise I'm sure we'd have armies of slaves out catching them in buckets..." "And this..." — he fingers the gold neck ornament — "is called a lunula. I suppose there's no one around to make them anymore. You'd have to dig one out of a bog somewhere." He laughs. "And the seaweed?" He's puzzled. "What seaweed?" "In your hair." He runs his fingers through it and retrieves a whole clump, looking horrified. "You mean to tell me it's been like this since... fuck, I genuinely had no idea." Then he's upending the things scattered around the room. "There must be a comb around here somewhere..." (display: "Donn - Options")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(if: (history:) contains "Donn - Clothes")[Still tugging at the seaweed, h](else:)[H]e leans back against the wall. "Oh, I needed a reason to get people in the door, and mortals love death. What'd you think?" "I think you have some very strange ideas about mortals." "Oh, believe me, this isn't without cause. You're all obsessed with second chances. They used to come up to me here, after the fact, and say," — he raises his voice and imitates the folk accent — 'Oh Great Dark One, oh <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn Fírinne</span><span class="annotation-text">"Donn of the truth". The ancestor of the Milesians; the god who guides the dead to the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ fʲiːɾʲən̠ʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Done Fear-in-nye*</span></span>, Knower of All Deaths, I'm troubled by me ignorance. How could I have avoided this fate, crushed by me horse's hooves', or hacked to bits on the battlefield, or walking too close to a cliff face after a few scoops, or whatever. And I'd say" — he leans into you — "well, first I'd say, 'No need for the formalities; please just call me <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>', and then I'd whip out the mirrors and show them any fate they could dream up, and many they couldn't, and they came away awed and trembling." You're about to protest when he continues, "*And*, as if that wasn't enough, you're all flocking to a fucking foreign death cult right now. Have I not seen people prostrate themselves before depictions of the dead godhead?" [["Christianity is about overcoming death, not worshipping it."|Donn - Overcoming Death]] [["And why does that offend someone of your, er, profession?"|Donn - Profession]] [["You'd be obsessed with it too if you were mortal."|Donn - Mortality]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"You read?" you ask, gesturing in the direction of the crumpled papers. Some of them are soggy, or sepia-toned, or both. "Oh, all sorts. Mostly Latin these days. Pure bolloxology for the most part, but they were right about one thing: <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*scientia non olet*</span><span class="annotation-text">Latin: "Knowledge doesn't stink".</span></span>. I can't say I understand their motivations any better, mind you. They don't tend to write down what they're really thinking." "They don't?" "Why do you think they're doing this? It's not for the sake of a few <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*barbari*</span><span class="annotation-text">Latin: "barbarians".</span></span> at the arse-end of the world, I can tell you that much. It's power. Rome has fallen, but the church sends armies of priests to conquer in its stead, cut black deals with kings who've forgotten that they rule by *our* mercy." There's that glimmer again. |links>[(link: "\"But our faith is what matters—\"")[(replace: ?links)["But our faith is what matters—" (display: "Donn - Religion Faith Disagree")]] (link: "\"They have all the power in the world already.\"")[(replace: ?links)["They have all the power in the world already. (display: "Donn - Religion Disagree")]] (link: "\"Our chieftains should be ashamed of themselves.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Our chieftains should be ashamed of themselves." (display: "Donn - Religion Agree")]]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"What happened to... the other <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>?" It still feels strange to call him that. "I told you, I left him on the beach." "So you don't know where he went? Why didn't you take him here?" "Because this isn't a parochial house. I offer only one sort of succour, and even though little Donnán Óg smelt of death I don't think he much wanted it. Put up too much of a fight." Lifting the smoke-stick to his lips, you'd swear you see a trace of pride in the curl of his mouth. "Look." He sighs. "He wasn't interested in staying here. Said he was looking for some hag named... something beginning with M." 'M'? One of your aunts, perhaps? "Móirín? Méabh? Muireann?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>, yeah. *White sea*. Probably just considering fucking himself back into it." Muireann, Mam's eldest sister: you only know of her second-hand. A healer, they say, but also a recluse, one who never had much time for your family. Is he that desperate? "Anyway, I said I don't know her, but my dear friend <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>, at the abbey at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cluain Fearta</span><span class="annotation-text">A monastery in Connacht. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkluənʲ fʲærta/ English phonetic approximation: *Cloon fart-a*</span></span> might. Y'know, women-only; they're bound to have crossed paths with her at some point. And she's fond of charity cases like him. As to whether he heeded that advice, I've no idea. Wouldn't be surprised if he'd collapsed in a ditch on the way." You smile despite yourself. "So you led him straight to the church." "You're baptised anyway — lost causes the lot of you!" he says airily, pouring himself another drink. Feeling like you've got everything you came for, you stand up and shake off the smoke clinging to you. It's made it under your skin. "Leaving already?" he asks. "Well, how long do your 'guests' usually stay for?" "As long as it takes for the portals to open, and longer if they've made themselves warm in my bed." He grins. You imagine the lot of the dead stuck in this miserable shack for months on end: him permanently half-drunk, harping on about missed sacrifices or some god who slighted him three hundred years ago, trying to ingratiate himself into the spaces between their thighs. He might have been telling the truth — perhaps the shack has seen better days. "Right, go on, find him and bring him back to me," he says. You nod and say nothing, knowing you owe him but unwilling to make any promises. He clicks his fingers again and the door to the outside appears in front of you, ajar. You step through, enjoying the first blast of fresh air as you shut it behind you. (if: (history:) contains "Mainland - Town")[Then it's back to [[the town.|Mainland - Town]]](else:)[Then it's off to [[the town.|Mainland - Town]]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He looks bemused. "This is a gathering place, little one, and I'm a host. I live with as many people as there are to fill it." "Which is..." — it's impossible to make it sound polite — "... not that many." "Not that many *right now*, but whose fault is that? The children of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Míl</span><span class="annotation-text">Short for Míl Espáine: the purported ancestor of the Milesian people, the final inhabitants of Ireland. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mʲiːlʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meal*</span></span> have a lot to answer for. You're all being waylaid by those who should know better, though. Like *her*..." "Her?" "Her! <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>! <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">The Dagda</span><span class="annotation-text">A father god and member of the Tuatha Dé Danann, known for his strength and virility. His name means 'the good god'.</span></span>'s daughter, serving another god!" He's yelling, pupils swimming wildly. He takes a swig from another decanter and splutters. "Have you ever heard the likes..." Brigid you know: Brigid the goddess of spring and cycles, Brigid who wields fire and pets lambs and who gave you your name. You didn't know that gods *could* convert, and you certainly hadn't heard the news. He rises to his full height, at least a head taller than any man you've ever met, and bellows, "I am meagre, little one! My people have forgotten how to fear me, and I grow weak! And she shines, and is good, and I want her, but with strength, not serving a silent god who only reveals himself through emissaries..." "Why *has* she—" "Slaves! Or something. I don't know. It's preposterous: our people have always kept slaves. And what fault could they find with this place, where they have food and drink and someone sucking their cocks every night? I've lived long enough to know that a man doesn't want for much more. It's a high slavery indeed; better than the lot of some stinking islander brought low before a foreign church." "Thanks." He smirks. "Just saying." "And where are your slaves now?" "Gone, I suppose. Not much to do around here anymore. Sit around and wait for someone to show up, or try to get into <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Alltar</span><span class="annotation-text">The world beyond ours; the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈal̪ˠtˠəɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *All-tur*</span></span>." "Alltar—" "—is our people's final home. The Otherworld. Where *you* were supposed to end up." "And how do you get there?" "Portals," he replies. "Portals that open around this time of year, and at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span>. While they're closed, the departed faithful wait here with yours truly." The passage through the black islet, surely. "I think I saw one this morning..." "Over by Bull Rock? Where this house used to be: a little more conveniently located, certainly, but honestly I'm just glad to still be able to provide this service to the community after *everything*..." He rolls his eyes. (display: "Donn - Options")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/ailbhe.png" alt="A portrait of Ailbhe smiling faintly, her hair tied in a loose braid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> (display: "Town - Ailbhe Villager") (if: (history:) contains "Mainland - Ailbhe Blame")["Anyway," She turns towards you. "I'm sorry." "No, don't even... look, it's grand." "I just... I wanted to make sure someone was looking out for him." "Even if⁠—" "Even if that meant shutting you out, yeah. Made a hames of it as usual." "It's not like I was easy to get on with. We, both of us... it wasn't good for us to be there." "No, but sure where else could you have gone?" ]You look towards the sea again. "What's the plan?" she asks. (if: (history:) contains "Town - Pub")["I checked round the pub. Someone had been there, but no sign of him." "Someone who?" "I..." How to explain the tuft of fur? "I'll have to ask around. It looked abandoned; I don't know how they'd even have gotten in." "Oh, *I* know." She seizes your arms, gazing to high heavens like the mummer. "It was a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bean sí*</span><span class="annotation-text">A fairy woman. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bʲanˠ ʃiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Banshee*</span></span>, looking for a skinny young girl to serve with butter and curds!" She erupts into a fit of laughter. "I doubt it. I'm gamey even as skinny young girls go."](else-if: (history:) contains "Fechín - Walk")["What was it your man said there? There was an islander 'running round that old pub'?" "You thinking it's the same one Fechín saw him at?" "It's gotta be." "Feel like finding out? Have some <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bean sí*</span><span class="annotation-text">A fairy woman. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bʲanˠ ʃiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Banshee*</span></span> drag you down into the Otherworld?" "Or worse, end up like the mummer," you say, smirking.](else:)["What was it your man said there? There was an islander 'running round that old pub'?" She nods. "Yeah, there's one over by the bog. Derelict, like. They say it's cursed." "Could he have...?" "Feel like finding out? Have some <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bean sí*</span><span class="annotation-text">A fairy woman. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bʲanˠ ʃiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Banshee*</span></span> drag you down into the Otherworld?" "Or worse, end up like the mummer," you say, smirking.] (if: (history:) contains "Donn - Brother")[ It doesn't feel right to tell her about your aunt; not if he insisted on keeping it from her. And you have even less idea how to explain the god-man. Best keep it vague. "I heard something about a monastery nearby. Might try there." She laughs a little snidely. "I somehow can't imagine him just wandering into a monastery unless he was in a really bad way, but it might be worth a shot." "Any idea where it is?" you ask. "Well, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> mentioned something about a monastery over by the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span> border. So, em... due east, across the boglands."](else-if: (history:) contains "Revellers - Horsehead")["Any other ideas?" she asks. "Well, there's the woods, and I heard something from Féilim about a monastery nearby serving as a kind of sanctuary. I can't imagine him just wandering into a monastery unless he was in a really bad way, but it might be worth a shot." "Any idea where it is?" "Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> said due east, through the boglands, just before the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span> border." ](else:)[ "I might check the beach again, like you said." "And if there's nothing there, come back and ask around." ]You sling your bag over your shoulder. "Right, I suppose I'll be off. Don't want him to get too far ahead." (if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Bad Return")[Oh!" You'd almost forgotten. "Can I ask you a favour?" "Ah, sure you know you don't have to ask — I'll make sure to give <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> a good box for you." She grins. "Heh... it's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>. Can you keep an eye on her? I don't trust them dogs round the place." She nods and ](else:)[She] gives you a long, warm hug. You feel yourself reddening. "I probably won't be here when you get back," she says. "Enjoy your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>, and come the feck back to us." "I will. You too." [[You walk off|Mainland - Town]], your heart beating furiously.

You've never seen such an assortment — fresh and dried food, cooking ware, textiles, clothes, toys, weapons, charms, jewellery, religious trinkets — some coiled out of familiar shapes, marked with familiar patterns, others decidedly foreign. A set of silver coins glimmers in your direction, impressed with the profile of a man wearing a wreath: some dead Roman king. Old women wander around admiring what's on offer, their menfolk bartering and bragging.(unless: (history:) contains "Town - Merchant")[(unless: $inventory contains "Prayer Beads Given" or "Stolen Prayer Beads")[(if: $hasVisitedMonastery)[ There's a hooded young woman selling various oddities designed to bring luck or curry favour with the gods: rush crosses, bronze amulets, figures carved into stone slabs. You're surprised to see a set of glinting rosary beads amid all the pagan bric-a-brac. Your ticket into the monastery. [[Trade with the merchant.|Town - Merchant]]]]](else:)[]\ (if: not ((history:) contains "Town - Bladesmith"))[(if: $inventory contains "Whittling Knife")[ You could do with a real knife. [[Trade with the bladesmith.|Town - Bladesmith]] ](else:)[ You could do with a knife. [[Trade with the bladesmith.|Town - Bladesmith]] ] ](if: not ((history:) contains "Town - Hunter"))[You're going to need fire where you're going. [[Trade with the hunter.|Town - Hunter]] ]\ (if: (history:) contains "Town - Pub")[The hunter might be able to help you identify the tuft of fur. [[Talk to the hunter.|Town - Hunter Fur]] ]\ (else-if:(history:) contains "Town - Bladesmith" and "Town - Hunter")[ You've exhausted all options worth pursuing.] On second thought, maybe it's [[time to go.|Mainland - Town]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin_mam400.png" alt="A portrait of the matronly woman sorting skins at the market at Trá Bhán." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">The woman is seated in front of a pile of skins from various animals. She settles her sharp eyes on you from a wide, matronly face and gestures for you to come over. (unless: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain" and $inventory contains "Bodhrán")[It's worth a shot: with all the comings and goings today, she might have seen your brother. ]You kneel down opposite her and muster your best smile. She responds in kind. (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain" and $inventory contains "Bodhrán")[You suspect this is the woman the captain mentioned.] "Good morning!" she begins cheerily. "Are you here for the day that's in it?" "Yes," you lie; you still have no intention of attending the Bealtaine festival. (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain" and $inventory contains "Bodhrán")["Are you <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sadhbh</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Famously borne by the wife of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhaill. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /saɪv/ English phonetic approximation: *Sive*</span></span>?" "I am." "I was told you could help me repair this." You retrieve the broken bodhrán from your bag and place it atop the pile. "Well, you won't get much playing out of it without a new skin, I can tell you that much." "Oh..." You'd almost forgotten. "I've one on me." But there's no skin to be found in your bag. Your hands grope for something you could trade for one, your face flushed with shame. A tall shadow looms over you. You look back; it's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>. "Hi, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>," he says. "Hi, Fechín. Sorry, just give me a second..." He places a large hand on Sadhbh's shoulder. "Mam, she's a friend." Her brow furrows. You should've caught the relation sooner; she has his curly black hair, set in thick ringlets that hang down over her shoulders. "Oh, she is, is she? Fine job of you bringing her to me when she's clearly got business here!" She turns back towards you. "Sorry, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a chuidín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A term of endearment for a child or loved one. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə xidʲiːnʲʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Uh kudjeen*</span></span>. He's away with the fairies half the time, and out to sea the other. We'll set you up with a new skin, no problem at all." Before you can protest, she takes one from the pile and submerges it in a bucket of water, then begins to pry out the old nails stuck in the frame with her bare hands. You wince. "I'll get you another one, I promise. The captain of the boat I came over on gave me one, but I just… forgot, with everything." She lets out a little clipped laugh, barely a breath, and fishes up the goatskin from the bucket, wringing it and stretching it out taut over the head of the drum. "Sure it's not a bother on you. The gods know we owe each other enough." You're curious, but don't want to pry. Seeing your face she laughs again. "Don't worry about it, love, it's grand. Your captain is my ex-husband." "Oh." "Ah, sure it's ancient history. I should've known what I was getting myself into marrying a sailor. And of course our son here is now following in his footsteps." Fechín blushes furiously. She turns to him and says, "Go on now and fetch me a hammer and nails like a good lad." Once she thinks he's safely out of earshot she puts the drum down, leans into you, and asks conspiratorially, in a whisper, "Who are you of?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Eochaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /oːxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-kuh*</span></span> son of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Aodh</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /eː/ English phonetic approximation: *Ay*</span></span>, a fisherman. He's dead." You try to say it without emotion. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she says, not sounding like she means it. Over her head you spot Fechín walking back. "Whose land is it, then?" "My older brother's." "A fisherman? Free?" You nod. There's a lump in your throat. "Here," says Fechín, returned. He hands her the hammer and nails, looking first at you and then back to her, askance. She draws the band over the frame and begins to hammer in the nails, eyes still on you, saying in a loud whisper, "Take him to me, next time the two of ye're on the mainland." Then she's finished with you and turns her focus to the drum. Not knowing quite what to do, you watch her thick, steady wrists line up the nails and pierce them through the wood with the hammer. Ten minutes later the new skin is comfortably in place. <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/item_bodh2.png" alt="An intact bodhrán.">{(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Bodhrán "))(set: $items to it - (ds: $bodhran))(set: $bodhran to (dm: "name", "Bodhrán ", "img", "item_bodh2.png"))(set: $items to it + (ds: $bodhran))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Bodhrán "))}She hands the drum to you, beaming. You thank her, offering the customary Bealtaine blessing on her and her family, then begin walking away, your embarrassment getting the better of you.(set:$drumFixed to true)](else:)[ She regards you for some time, as if sizing you up. "What's a lovely-looking girl like you doing travelling alone?" "I'm with my cousin," you lie again. Her eyes narrow. "Islander, are you?" You nod. "Came over on the boat this morning." She glances down at your feet, then beyond you and out into the crowd. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>! Fechín!" she shrieks. "Why didn't you tell me you were travelling with this girl?" The boy's making his way past the stand in the opposite direction, dog absent. He jostles through the crowd towards you, blushing furiously. "Mam, I'm *just* after getting back." He dusts off his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span> and turns towards you. "Hi, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." "Hi, Fechín." You should've caught the relation sooner; she has his curly black hair, set in thick ringlets that hang down over her shoulders. "Sorry love, I know he's not much of a charmer. Away with the fairies half the time, and out to sea the other." He's still blushing. "Here, be a good lad and fetch me some water." He gives her a look as if to remind her that she's just had breakfast, but says nothing. She looks like she's about to tear into him. "Would you begrudge your elderly mother a drop of water?" "Right, I'm going." He wanders off. Once she thinks he's safely out of earshot she leans into you and asks conspiratorially, in a whisper, "Who are you of?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Eochaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /oːxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-ka*</span></span> son of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Aodh</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /eː/ English phonetic approximation: *Ay*</span></span>, a fisherman. He's dead." You try to say it without emotion. "Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," she says, not sounding like she means it. Over her head you spot Fechín walking back. "Whose land is it, then?" "My older brother's." "A fisherman? Free?" You nod. There's a lump in your throat. "Here." Fechín hands her a skin of water, looking first at you and then back to her, askance. Eyes still on you, she says in a loud whisper, "Take him to me, next time the two of ye're on the mainland." Then she's finished with you and turns back to folding the skins. You thank her for her time, offering the customary Bealtaine blessing on her and her family, then begin walking away, your embarrassment getting the better of you.] Fechín shouts after you. "Hey! Hey, er... are you up for a walk?" [[Say yes.|Fechín - Walk]] [[Say no.|Fechín - Rejected]]

You haven't been to a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> festival since you were little. Your parents made a point of not taking you after the conversion, and these same dark shapes you're walking towards are fixed to your childhood, screaming and wriggling somewhere between pleasure and pain, trying to lure you into their cosmic dance. Now there are no parents to cling to, soothe your night terrors, just memories misshapen by what came after. The whole animal kingdom is out rehearsing. A deer, two great antlers and a wooden face, is gyrating with blank eyes stretched towards some hidden truth, its long body shrouded in red cloth; a small hawk that's a shriek of feathers, a black mask, and a yellow bill runs back and forth, while its partner, a straw body and a monstrous thick fur covering shaped like a wolf's skull, chomps its canines and barks for food. There are beetles and bears, rabbits and goats, and some shapes that just suggest the idea of an animal, a snout or tail sufficing for the change needed. Each costume carries its bearer's stamp, but all are large, frighteningly organic, sublimating. As you approach, you notice a huge wicker horsehead lying on the dewy grass. Wolf grabs you and pulls you into the crowd before you can refuse. The voice comes muffled through the covering. "Horse needs a body! Horse needs a body!" Deer and Hawk stand on either side. Hawk lifts the horsehead up over herself, somewhat clumsily with the beak in the way, and holds it out to you. "Horse lost her body!" she shrieks. [[Put it on.|Revellers - Horsehead]]

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Sadhbh"))(if: $drumFixed)[(set: $sadhbh to (dm: "name", "Sadhbh", "bio", "Sadhbh Desc Fixed", "bioAppend", "", "img", "fechin_mam400.png", "desc", "Deft tailor."))](else:)[(set: $sadhbh to (dm: "name", "Sadhbh", "bio", "Sadhbh Desc Not Fixed", "bioAppend", "", "img", "fechin_mam400.png", "desc", "Deft tailor."))] (set: $characters to it + (ds: $sadhbh))}<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin_walk.png" alt="You and Fechín walking together." class="portrait-img-small"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Sure." You follow him away from the town, walking at an amble so he can keep pace with you. "Where's Liath?" you ask once you've made it past the crowds. "Gone with Da. Mam doesn't... she's not mad about animals. Can't have dogs round the stall, scares away the trade." (if: (history:) contains "Liath - Apprehensive")["Makes sense. I wouldn't want a dog sniffing round while I was trying to work either."](else:)["She seems harmless enough."] (if: (history:) contains "Liath - Apprehensive")["That's fair.](else:)["She is.] Look, I'm sorry about..." he falters, picking at a loose thread on the sleeve of his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span>. "I've no clue why she's like that." You're conciliatory. "Just wants what's best for her son, I suppose." "Yeah, just like she wanted what was best for Da. Him out ploughing that patch of shite land..." He bites his lower lip. "Sorry. Look, I wanted to ask if you'd had any leads on your... the relative." (if: (history:) contains "Donn - Farewell")["I spoke to, er... someone who thinks he might have head to the monastery at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cluain Fearta</span><span class="annotation-text">A monastery in Connacht. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkluənʲ fʲærta/ English phonetic approximation: *Cloon fart-a*</span></span>." "Oh, sure that's not far at all. Only an hour or so's walk. Is that where you're headed next, so?" "Not sure yet."](else:)["Nothing yet."] "I, er..." He rubs the back of his neck. "I should've said this to you sooner, but I think I might have seen him here the other morning. It was just before we set sail, and I was going down the town to gather up a few things. I saw this lad I didn't recognise hanging round the old pub off towards the bog, on his own. He was short, messy hair, like you said. Looked a bit sick." (unless: (history:) contains "Donn - Brother")[So he survived the journey. Your heart leaps.](else:)[That lines up with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>'s account.] "What time was that at?" "Just before noon, I'd say." "Thanks, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>. I'll have a look around." "But, er..." "What?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin2.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín. He looks relaxed." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Nothing. Just watch yourself. And I'll keep an eye out. Let me know if you need anything before you leave. I'm heading home for a bit of a nap now." "Sleep well, and thanks." He only half-blushes this time. You turn [[back the way you came|Mainland - Town]] while he disappears over a hill into the forest. </div>

{(set: $inventory to (dataset:))(set: $charactersNew to (a:))}{}{(set: $hasVisitedMonastery to false)(set: $cowpat to false)(set: $takenPrayerBeads to false)(set: $drankBrew to false)(set: $_version to "0.1")(set: $_autosave_slot to "autosave")(set: $_autosave_filename to "save v"+$_version)(set: $_start_passage to "Title Screen")(set: $heardMummerStory to false)(set: $seenFergus to false)(set: $hasReset to false)(set: $donnpremable to true)(set: $hasNapped to false)(set: $journeyChoices to false)(set: $drumFixed to false)(set: $guardFight to false)(set: $wearingNecklet to false)(set: $pacifistrun to false)(set: $visitedPub to false)(set: $guardName to false)(set: $characters to (dataset:))(set: $items to (dataset:))}{(set: $sister to (dm: "name", "You", "bio", "Sister Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "protag400.png", "desc", "Inquisitive young woman.")) (if: (history:) contains "Donn - Brother")[(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))](else:)[(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Your Brother", "bio", "Brother Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))] (set: $mrsnic to (dm: "name", "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh", "bio", "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "niche400.png", "desc", "Island matriarch.")) (set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "oisin.png", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $ailbhe to (dm: "name", "Ailbhe", "bio", "Ailbhe Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "ailbhe.png", "desc", "Childhood friend.")) (set: $priest to (dm: "name", "Father Silvanus", "bio", "Priest Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "priest.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's parish priest.")) (set: $mummer to (dm: "name", "The Mummer", "bio", "Mummer Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "mummer.png", "desc", "Local eccentric.")) (set: $fergus to (dm: "name", "Fergus", "bio", "Fergus Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "fergus.png", "desc", "An old friend of Mam's.")) (set: $bui to (dm: "name", "Buí", "bio", "Buí Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "bui.png", "desc", "Family ewe.")) (set: $druidess to (dm: "name", "Druidess", "bio", "Druidess Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "druidess.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's resident druidess.")) (set: $feilim to (dm: "name", "Féilim", "bio", "Féilim Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "feilim1.png", "desc", "Affable young sailor.")) (set: $fechin to (dm: "name", "Fechín", "bio", "Fechín Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "fechin.png", "desc", "Considerate young sailor.")) (set: $captain to (dm: "name", "Ferry Captain", "bio", "Captain Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "captain.png", "desc", "Veteran of Inis Caillí's waters.")) (set: $sadhbh to (dm: "name", "Sadhbh", "bio", "Sadhbh Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "fechin_mam400.png", "desc", "Deft tailor.")) (set: $donn to (dm: "name", "Donn Fírinne", "bio", "Donn Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "donn.png", "desc", "Garrulous death god.")) (set: $liath to (dm: "name", "Liath", "bio", "Liath Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "dog.png", "desc", "A very good girl.")) (set: $abbess to (dm: "name", "Dar Lugdach", "bio", "Abbess Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "abbess01.png", "desc", "Acting abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $blathnaid to (dm: "name", "Bláthnaid", "bio", "Guard Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "blathnaid450.png", "desc", "Restless monastery guard.")) (set: $twins to (dm: "name", "Twins", "bio", "Twins Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "twins.png", "desc", "Orphaned monastery twins.")) (set: $cowkiller to (dm: "name", "Cowkiller", "bio", "Cowkiller Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "cowkiller.png", "desc", "Fierce old woman.")) (set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $brigid to (dm: "name", "Brigid", "bio", "Brigid Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "brigid.png", "desc", "Storied abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $cu to (dm: "name", "Cú Chulainn", "bio", "Cú Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "cuchul.png", "desc", "Legendary warrior.")) (set: $laeg to (dm: "name", "Láeg", "bio", "Láeg Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "laeg.png", "desc", "Cú Chulainn's charioteer.")) (set: $parents to (dm: "name", "Mam and Dad", "bio", "Parents Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "parents.png", "desc", "Your parents, Íde and Eochaid.")) (set: $prayerbeads to (dm: "name", "Prayer Beads", "img", "rosary_smol.png")) (set: $saltpouch to (dm: "name", "Salt Pouch", "img", "saltpouch200.png")) (set: $whittlingknife to (dm: "name", "Whittling Knife", "img", "item_knife.png")) (set: $horsedoll to (dm: "name", "Horse Doll", "img", "doll200.png")) (set: $bodhran to (dm: "name", "Bodhrán", "img", "item_bodh1.png")) (set: $bronzemirror to (dm: "name", "Bronze Mirror", "img", "mirror_smol2.png")) (set: $brooch to (dm: "name", "Brooch", "img", "brooch200.png")) (set: $sile to (dm: "name", "Síle na gCíoch", "img", "item_sile.png")) (set: $irondagger to (dm: "name", "Small Iron Dagger", "img", "item_dagger.png")) (set: $necklet to (dm: "name", "Necklet", "img", "item_neck.png")) (set: $tuft to (dm: "name", "Tuft of Fur", "img", "item_hair.png")) (set: $silverdagger to (dm: "name", "Silver Dagger", "img", "item_silver.png")) (set: $flint to (dm: "name", "Flint", "img", "item_flint.png")) (set: $bass to (dm: "name", "Trio of Bass", "img", "fishsmall.png")) (set: $crucifix to (dm: "name", "Small Crucifix", "img", "item_crus.png")) (set: $rushcross to (dm: "name", "Rush Cross", "img", "item_rush.png")) (set: $rosarybeads to (dm: "name", "Rosary Beads", "img", "rosary_smol.png")) (set: $handhoe to (dm: "name", "Hand Hoe", "img", "handhoe_smol2.png")) (set: $fruit to (dm: "name", "Otherworld Fruit", "img", "item_fruit2.png")) (set: $items to it + (ds: $prayerbeads, $saltpouch, $whittlingknife, $horsedoll, $bodhran, $bronzemirror, $brooch, $sile, $irondagger, $necklet, $tuft, $silverdagger, $flint, $bass, $crucifix, $rushcross, $rosarybeads, $handhoe, $fruit)) }

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Salt Pouch</strong></h2> A cloth pouch wrapped with string containing the last of the salt from your family pan. Salt is a valuable commodity on the mainland.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Silver Dagger</strong></h2> A slender silver dagger that you traded the mummer's bronze mirror for at the market at Trá Bhán. Probably more for ornamental use, but even if it's not much good in a fight you should be able to trade it on.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Rosary Beads</strong></h2> A set of simple rosary beads that you traded for at the market at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>. A wooden crucifix hangs from a short piece of frayed rope, interspersed with knots every inch or so.

[[Town - Traders]]

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Síle na gCíoch</strong></h2> A votive offering in the form of <strong>a stone ornament</strong> that's more vulva than woman.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Flint</strong></h2> A small piece of flint you received in exchange for some salt at the market at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>. It'll come in handy if you need to kindle a fire.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Short Iron Dagger</strong></h2> A short iron dagger you traded for at the market at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>. Crude but keen.

"Right, so, we'll be standing around in a circle in the dark like this — little ones at the front" — she herds the small bodies together, straightening the beak on a hawk's mask — "yeah, that's good — and don't tap out or start acting the maggot — and then when the druid goes, 'Turn your eyes east, towards Uisneach' and lights the torch we all start the chant." She pauses. An unsteady ululation rises up through the crowd. "Goood, but time it right. One, two, three after the torch is lit — go again.... now!" This time it feels like a single energy, passing through you like a wave. "Better! Keep that up until they bring the cattle out. Right, that's it. Meet back here at sundown. Don't even *think* of smearing anything on these outfits before then!"

You grasp the horsehead. It's surprisingly light, and so wide it slips on and covers your entire upper body. Inside is dark and heavy. "How does Horse like her new body?" asks one enclosed head to another. You can barely make the sound out. "I..." No, not I. Horse. "Horse is happy to walk again!" "Her blood shall serve the harvest well! Her blood shall serve the gods well!" You hear them dance around you. There's laughter. You start to move with them, twisting your mane, dazed by the heat. The grass is wet underneath your hooves. You are <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Enbarr</span><span class="annotation-text">The horse of the sea god Manannán Mac Lir.</span></span>, you are <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Liath Macha</span><span class="annotation-text">One of the horses of the legendary hero Cú Chulainn; literally "Macha's grey one", for the Ulster goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA):/ˈl̠ʲiə mˠaxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Lee-uh mak-kuh*</span></span>, the horsiest of horses, equine among equines, about to become meat for supper in the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*sí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Short for "aos sí"; the race of beings that live in "sí", or fairy mounds, and inhabit the otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃiː/ English phonetic approximation: *She*</span></span>. You utter a long whinny and collapse to the ground. Someone's pulling the head off you. It's Wolf. He removes the covering — no, it's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span>. He's smirking. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/feilim1.png" alt="A portrait of Féilim, a relaxed young man." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Surprised you went for that, to be honest. Are you all right?" You nod, feeling the heat on your cheeks, the sweat on your brow. You're not at all surprised that he dragged you into this; you should've expected him here. "Lovely little bit, though. I think we've found our Horse." He sits down next to you on the grass. Even his wide head looks tiny on top of the swollen straw body. "Sorry, but I won't be here tonight," you say as casually as you can. "Yes you will, unless you fancy trying to blag yourself into a monastery on lockdown." "Lockdown?" "Yep." He straightens out the fur on the head covering. "Gotta get in a few prayers for us mad <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">yokes</span><span class="annotation-text">A thing or miscellaneous object. "Mad yokes" — mad people.</span></span>, make sure they don't get attacked, that kind of thing." He doesn't much sound like he knows what he's talking about, so you change the subject. "Did you make that thing yourself?" "Yep." He beams. "Mam hates it. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> too. But then he's a bit of a dry shite." (if: (history:) contains "Fechín - Walk")["He's grand. Just not much of a party person."](else:)[A bit unfair, but you say nothing.] "Anyway, we'll be at the City tonight, on the cliff to the north overlooking the sea. Hope you'll bless us with more of your *unbridled* enthusiasm." He puts the covering back on before he can see you groan and jumps back into the throng, lunging at Deer. (display: "Mainland - Town")</div>

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Guard")) (set: $blathnaid to (dm: "name", "Guard", "bio", "Guard Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "blathnaid450.png", "desc", "Intimidating monastery guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $blathnaid))}(set: $hasVisitedMonastery to true)You exit the town on (if: (history:) contains "Town - Pub")[the](else:)[a] narrow dirt road that gives up past (if: (history:) contains "Town - Pub")[the pub](else:)[a rough, abandoned-looking building of irregular stone], leaving you alone on the blanket bogland. It's ugly, craggy country: thin stalks of purple-tipped grass huddled around <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">turlough</span><span class="annotation-text">A body of water found in limestone bogland that swells or shrinks seasonally</span></span>s; swampy, difficult peat moss that sticks between your toes; and everywhere the heavy, sodden stench of wet earth. The clouds have caught up with you, threatening rain. To the south is the same forest you saw from the town, while Beola's Peaks dominate the north. The twelve still giants once marked all that you knew of this place, and they feel no less inscrutable up close, only realer, stripped of the safe distance of story. You trundle forward until the rain begins. Taking shelter under a rare fir, you look out and discover that you're utterly alone. No birdsong suddenly abated by the downpour, no foxes foraging or insects scuttling. It's a strange freedom, and the fear that comes with it nestles comfortably in the back of your mind. It watches and waits, actualises, sharpens everything. You lean against the scaly bark and eat one of the bass, (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger" or "Small Iron Dagger" or "Whittling Knife")[using your knife to peel off the skin.](else:)[pulling it apart with some difficulty.] (if: (history:) contains "Donn - Brother")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>](else:)[He] must have passed through here. Not at night, you hope — bogs are libraries of the dead, recording every old bone and ancient grudge, and this is the time of the year when spirits march up and down, marking their restlessness on the land. Quickly, and under a guiding sun, would be best. The rain passes and you start walking again. After a slow hour, the bogland begins to recede and a walled settlement on the lip of a hill comes into view, almost totally obscured by forest. The monastery, surely. You ascend, half-walking half-climbing, mud bathing your bare soles, until the trees clear and a long, angular face greets you with a barely suppressed smirk. It belongs to a tall young woman carrying a spear, standing at the circular rampart's high wooden door. She tugs on her <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>, an undersized grey thing that barely comes past her podgy pink knees. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"State your business," she says. [["I seek sanctuary here."|Monastery - Religious Appeal]] [["I want to talk to whoever's in charge."|Monastery - Secular Appeal]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(if: $inventory contains "Prayer Beads Given" or "Stolen Prayer Beads" or "Rosary Beads")[You fumble in your bag for the prayer beads, face red, feeling her bearing down on you. Finding them, you hold the crucifix end out towards her and deliver your plea. "I... I seek sanctuary. As a fellow Christian." You're wobbling, in standing and in speech. Her brow furrows. "What're you doing out here alone in the bog?" You hadn't thought that far ahead. If she saw him she'd surely reject you; he doesn't exactly carry himself like one of the faithful. Time to improvise again. "I'm being chased by... er, heathen mobs. They're not happy about my love of Christ." "From <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>?" There's incredulity in her voice. "They usually stay out of our business." "It's just a single group. Family dispute. Please help me." You sigh inadvertently, taken by the pressure, but it seems to have an effect. Her expression softens. "How old are you, anyway?" "Seventeen." You wonder what prompted the question, but don't dare ask. She twists her smirk into a smile. "Heh, you're small for your age." Then: "Gimme a second." Unlatching the door, she disappears into the stone fortress. The door groans and you hear a click from inside. Alone again, you look up at the high stone wall, trying to make out anything at all of the world inside. It's topped with a wooden palisade, row after row of stakes lined up like shark's teeth. She returns after what feels like a long time, pushing out the large wooden door with a heavy breath until it's just barely ajar. "The acting abbess has agreed to speak with you. Follow me." [[Follow her.|Monastery - Intro]]](else:)[(if: $takenPrayerBeads is false)[You wish you'd taken those prayer beads now.](else:)[You wish you had some prayer beads, a crucifix, anything to make you look less like one of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>'s "dirty heathens".] You try to summon the piety you've seen in others and deliver your plea. "I... I seek sanctuary. As a fellow Christian." You're wobbling, in standing and in speech. Her brow furrows. "What're you doing out here alone in the bog?" You hadn't thought that far ahead. If she saw him she'd surely reject you; he doesn't exactly carry himself like one of the faithful. Time to improvise again. "I'm being chased by... er, heathen mobs. They're not happy about my love of Christ." "From <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>?" There's incredulity in her voice. "They usually stay out of our business." "It's just a single group. Family dispute. Please help me." You sigh inadvertently, overwhelmed by the pressure, but it seems to have an effect. Her expression softens. "Sorry, but we're not permitted to admit anyone who can't demonstrate their baptism. Security reasons," she says sounding bored, as if reciting from the monastic rulebook. Her vowels are polished; you don't recognise the accent. "And how do I—" "Letter from your parish priest, or a token of baptism." "What's a—" She utters a little clipped laugh, girlier than you would've expected. "If you have to ask, you're not getting in." You sigh again. "I hope you realise what you're doing." "God will protect you if you're telling the truth. Come back with the evidence and I'll let you in." [[Head back to the town.|Mainland - Town]](set: $hasVisitedMonastery to true)]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I need to speak to your..." — what *do* they call the heads of monasteries? — "leader?" You're wobbling, in standing and in speech. Her brow knits. "Why?" You're not feeling terribly prepared, but you just have to say enough to convince her to let you inside. "(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Religious Appeal")[I'll be honest. ]I'm looking for information on some... thing, and an acquaintance recommended that I seek out his friend <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>." An *acquaintance* indeed. "The abbess isn't here. Who's this acquaintance?" She looms over you, gripping the spear with a deadly surety. "We don't fraternise with men here." "He's... known to her." You can't exactly give the name of a pagan god. Her brow folds into an even messier knit. "Who's in charge in her absence?" "The acting abbess." "Please. Tell him it's urgent." You offer her your best pleading eyes. "*'Her'*. Again, we're a community of women." "Sorry, 'her'." Then, in desperation, "You can take my bag, bind my hands. Please. I just want to talk to her." She smirks. "You're what, three heads tall? How old are you?" "Seventeen." "Cute. Right, gimme your bag and wait here." Unlatching the door, she disappears into the stone fortress. The door groans and you hear a click from inside. Alone again, you look up at the high stone wall, trying to make out anything at all of the world inside. It's topped with a wooden palisade, row after row of stakes lined up like shark's teeth. She returns after what feels like a long time, pushing out the large wooden door with a heavy breath until it's just barely ajar. "The acting abbess has agreed to speak with you. Follow me." [[Follow her.|Monastery - Intro]]

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Dar Lugdach")) (set: $abbess to (dm: "name", "Dar Lugdach", "bio", "Abbess Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "abbess01.png", "desc", "Acting abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $abbess))}Like the monastery, the stone building seems smaller from the inside. Even sparsely furnished with a wooden desk, chair, and bed just about big enough for two, it feels cramped, and the low ceiling doesn't help. Books and paper are stacked high on the desk, dried scabs of wax stuck to the wood. Two women fill out the rest of the room: one sitting turned towards the other, her face hidden in profile behind a sky blue cowl, the other standing scribbling notes on a piece of parchment, middle-aged, plain. Both are wearing what you assume are nuns' habits. "Make sure everyone is in by sundown; do a headcount," says the one sitting. It's the same serious voice that summoned you. "Take the cattle in, too — all the way up. And put people on watch tonight." "Yes, Sister." "I'll check in again soon, after I've tended to this matter." The middle-aged woman nods and takes her leave, glancing at you with some wariness as she walks past and shuts the door gently behind her. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Now." She faces you, still sitting, mouth pursed. You're taken aback, expecting another dowdy woman well past childbearing age. She couldn't be more than a couple of years your senior. She watches you intently with grey eyes set in a plump, well-shaped face, clasping her hands at her chin. They're smooth and white, not those of a farmhand or fisherwoman. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Secular Appeal")["I'm told you were directed here by a friend of our abbess," she says matter-of-factly. "Yes, he—" "What is his name?" Her tone is clipped. You notice the bags under her eyes, smudges so dark they almost look painted on. "D-D-" Fuck, what's a Christian name? "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dáibhí</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name; the name of a biblical prophet. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈdˠɑ:vʲi:/ English phonetic approximation: *Daw-vi*</span></span>." "She's never mentioned anyone by that name. What does he want?" "We-I... need help locating someone. A young man, short, brown-haired. My friend told him to come here, seek <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>."](else:)["I'm told you're fleeing persecution," she says matter-of-factly. "Yes, some of my family—" "It's okay." She smiles faintly, though her eyes don't wrinkle. They're ringed by smudges so dark they almost look painted on. "You have my sympathies. It's hard to turn against a wicked culture, even more so when the sinners are those who suckled and raised you. Rest assured that no one is getting in here if I can help it." You volunteer your own weak smile back; then, snapping out of the reverie of the lie, remember what you came for. "My brother went ahead of me... short, brown-haired. I'm worried about him." Christian or not, you need to know if anyone's seen him.] She lifts herself out of the chair and walks over to the rear window. You can just about make out the children chasing each other through the grass. Beyond them, the wall blocks the yellow light of mid-afternoon sun. She turns to face you again. She's not much taller, and suddenly seems a little uncomfortable in her power. "I—" There's a rap on the door. She bids them enter, her mouth pursing again. The middle-aged nun dashes in breathlessly. "What?" the younger nun says. "A-apologies, Sister, but there's been... an incident that requires your attention." "Right. One minute. What was your name?" she says, turning to you. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, actually," you say a little sheepishly. That almost gets a smile out of her. "Well, Bríd, you're welcome to stay and eat with us. I'm <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠaɾˠ l̪ˠuːd̪ˠaxˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Dar Loo-dack*</span></span>. The children call me Dar," she says. "Let me show you the refectory." She leads you out of the room through the yard and escorts you to another stone building, opening the door to give you a glimpse inside. It's cruciform, with a long dining table and a scullery opposite the entrance. "Tea is in an hour," she says, meaning the early evening meal. "You're free to wander until then." She leaves without another word, disappearing inside what you suspect is the nunnery itself. [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]</div>

"Not at your post?" you ask, sitting down beside the tall guard. She's pushing green beads spread across her lap through a metal ring. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"We take turns. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ciara</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈciəɾˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Keerah*</span></span>'s on now." She yawns. "How was Dar?" "She was nice, yeah. Let me stay for tea." She gives you that half-smirk again. "Good. Always need more hands here." You watch her work. The beads bend the sky, meeting each other in the centre of the ring with a clink-clink. It looks satisfying. "Where'd you get that jewellery?" "One of the priests is after bringing them over from Britain. They're back and forth with new bits every summer. It used to be enough to last us the year, but things've been busy lately. C'mere." <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/item_neck.png" alt="A necklet Bláthnaid made for you.">She edges up against you. Holding the finished necklet up to your chest, she frowns and adjusts it. "The blue would've suited you better." You blush and are still. "W-what's this for?" "To welcome you to our community. I make them for all the girls." She pauses. "And the little lads, if they want them. Not their fault they were born with cocks." She laughs, her face darkening. You shift uncomfortably. "Thanks, but I... I won't be here very long. I can't accept this." You hold it back out to her. She ignores the gesture, looking wounded. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Cowkiller Brother")[ "Why wouldn't you stay?" she says suddenly, tersely. "I'm looking for someone. The lady there said you might have seen him?" She exhales heavily. "Of course. Nope, haven't seen anyone." You suspect she's not entirely forthcoming, but before you can pursue that thought, she picks up her stocky body and says, "Anyway, almost time for tea. See you around." She walks off in the direction of the refectory, leaving you holding the necklet and wondering what you did to upset her. You pocket it. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Necklet")) [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]](else-if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Religious Appeal")[ "Why wouldn't you stay?" she says suddenly, tersely. |links>[(link: "Tell the truth.")[(replace: ?links)["Someone else fled with me. I'm looking for him." She exhales heavily. "Of course. Anyway, almost time for tea. See you around." She picks up her stocky body and walks in the direction of the refectory, leaving you holding the necklet. You pocket it. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Necklet")) [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]]] (link: "Lie.")[(replace: ?links)["My mother's waiting across the border." "She fled too?" "No, she lives there. I was raised by foster parents." The lie is hollow; fosterage is for warriors and poets. "Anyway, almost time for tea. See you around." She picks up her stocky body and walks in the direction of the refectory, leaving you holding the necklet and wondering what you did to upset her. You pocket it. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Necklet")) [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]]]]](else:)["It's lovely, though. Thank you." You're not sure what else to say. She rubs a leftover bead absent-mindedly, her head in her lap. "I'll see you at tea," you say. Pocketing the necklet, you walk off in no particular direction, trying to stop yourself shivering. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Necklet"))(set: $guardFight to true) [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]]

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Twins")) (set: $twins to (dm: "name", "Twins", "bio", "Twins Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "twins.png", "desc", "Orphaned monastery twins.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $twins))}Neither of the twins notices you approach. They're tremendously loud for being so small, but none of the other kids seem all that bothered by the furiousness of their declarations. You don't recognise their clothes; folded over the linen gown is a sheet-like garment fastened with a brooch on top and belted at the waist. One wears a disc brooch, elaborately set with jewels, while the other's penannular brooch reminds you of your mother's. The browns and greys are a little muted compared to the dress of a typical layperson, but fit right in here. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/twins.png" alt="A portrait of the twins." class="portrait-img-small"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"*No*!" The twin with the disc brooch is on the offensive. "He was like a druid but he got his powers from Jesus, and he made a big spell" — she picks up a branch and waves it about — "that scared all the snakes so they jumped into the sea" — she mimes diving — "and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Manannán</span><span class="annotation-text">Manannán Mac Lir, a sea god and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠanˠanˠɑ:nˠ mˠɑk l̠ʲɪɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Man-nan-nawn Mac Leer*</span></span> ate them and got sick... and *died*." Her sister counters. "Well, *I* heard he was twenty heads tall, and lifted up the roof of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Sí an Bhrú*</span><span class="annotation-text">A passage tomb. Said to be a portal to the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃʲi: an wˠrˠu:/ English phonetic approximation: *She ah vroo*</span></span> and yelled, 'Be gone, evil presence!'" Her voice is softer, though no less full of conviction. "That drove all of the fairies away, a-and that's why we don't leave out the whitethorn branches any more." "That's stupid! Sister Dar said he was just like us." "Sister Dar never met him! I have inside info." "From who, that old priest who stinks of mouldy farts?" You remember your squabbles with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>, the dire necessity of being right, his smug tendency to claim victory through silence because he knew it wound you up, and can't help but smile. Her of the disc brooch turns suddenly and gazes at you wide-eyed. "Who are *yooou*?" "My name is <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. I'm here on the acting abbess' invitation." "Brííííd? Oh my God, that's the abbess' name!" Her sister rolls her eyes. "No it's not, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Canna</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span>; her name is <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>. It's not the same name." "It deffo is!" You nod and smile. "It's a lot like it, isn't it? What are yer names?" "Canna," — she pats her chest — "and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Gwenffrewi</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span>. I'm the eldest!" says Canna. "By t-t-twelve fecking minutes," mumbles her sister. Their accents don't suggest it, but they're definitely foreign. You're not sure you can even make those sounds. "Well, nice to meet ye. Will I see the two of ye at tea? I'd love to hear more of those stories." The soft-spoken one blushes and whispers something you barely make out: "I know about Ruth." They're delights, these two. "Ruth from the Bible? That's lovely, G-eh—" you say and have to stop, the syllables catching in your throat. "They used to call me <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fionnait</span><span class="annotation-text">Feminine form of the masculine name "Fionn". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲũːn̪ˠatʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fyun-at*</span></span>," she says. "Well, I reckon you know more Bible stories than me, Fionnait," you say, relieved but a bit embarrassed that you don't have to call her by her actual name. "Reeeeallly?" "Definitely. Let's sit down together at tea." "S-sure! Bye." Canna starts going on about how she's sure she knows more about <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span> than Gwenffrewi knows about Ruth. You leave them to it. [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]</div>

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Cowkiller")) (set: $cowkiller to (dm: "name", "Cowkiller", "bio", "Cowkiller Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "cowkiller.png", "desc", "Fierce old woman.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $cowkiller))}The woman is leaning back against the cool stone wall of the building, eyes closed. When your form passes over her she makes a sweeping motion with her right hand as if to shoo you away, like you'd do to a dog. You step out of the light sheepishly and stand at her side, taking the opportunity to observe her. She has the wild, dignified look of an old she-wolf. The strands of her abundant grey hair are knotted into one another like tree roots, as if they'd been combed backwards; they poke out from the lines of her face at mad angles. Her apron is yellowed like parchment and stained with innumerable tints of blood and dirt, deep dried reds and browns, paler pinks, a sickly orange. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cowkiller.png" alt="A portrait of the butcher woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Sorry for blocking your light," you say. She's totally still, as if sleeping. You continue, though it feels like talking to yourself. "My name is <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. I was allowed in on the acting abbess' generosity." [["Have you seen a young man pass by?"|Monastery - Cowkiller Brother]] [["Do you know of any healers in these parts?"|Monastery - Cowkiller Aunt]]</div>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Necklet</strong></h2> A simple necklet of green beads, made and given to you by the guard at Cluain Fearta. You're not sure if you agree that blue would've suited you better.

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $abbess)) (set: $abbess to (dm: "name", "Dar Lugdach", "bio", "Abbess Desc", "bioAppend", "Abbess Desc Update 1", "img", "abbess01.png", "desc", "Acting abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $abbess)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $brigid)) (set: $brigid to (dm: "name", "Brigid", "bio", "Brigid Desc", "bioAppend", "Brigid Desc Update 1", "img", "brigid.png", "desc", "Storied abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $brigid))}(unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Guard")[You step outside, looking around. [[The guard|Monastery - Guard]] is sitting by herself fiddling with something.] (unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Twins")[[[Two mousy-haired girls|Monastery - Twins]] in long, linen gowns are having a heated argument; you overhear the words "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span>" and "snakes".] (unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Cowkiller")[[[The butcher woman|Monastery - Cowkiller]] is still sunbathing outside the nunnery.] (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Guard" or "Monastery - Cowkiller")[There's a sweet milky smell coming from [[the refectory|Monastery - Refectory]].]

(if: $hasNapped)[The meal has already begun when you stumble in, hot and thirsty and out of time and place. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name.</span></span> stands delivering an address at the head of a long table that seats about ten on each side. You take the sole empty seat, next to the guard whose name, it occurs to you, you still don't know.](else:)[You push open the door, which responds with an audible creak. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name.</span></span> is readying herself at the head of a long table that seats about ten on each side. You sit at one of the empty seats towards the foot of the table, watching the hall fill up. The twins take the seats next to you.] Laid out is a feast of white foods: thick and thin milks, curdled cheese, porridge, bread, and fresh butter, of course: that mainstay of the summer diet on the mainland. (if: $hasNapped)["Thank you for joining us, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>," <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠaɾˠ l̪ˠuːd̪ˠaxˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Dar Loo-dack*</span></span> says and smiles. "I was just telling the oblates that we need to remain vigilant." You don't know what an oblate is, but nod vigorously. ](else:)[When everyone has taken their seats, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠaɾˠ l̪ˠuːd̪ˠaxˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Dar Loo-dack*</span></span> clears her throat and watches the waiting audience. Her face looks paler in the wan evening light. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"A very good evening to you all, and a warm welcome to our guest." Twenty pairs of eyes turn towards you. "We have enjoyed the serenity of a quiet Easter, devoted wholly to the remembrance of our Lord's suffering, death, and resurrection. We have had time to think and to pray, to ponder on how we can best spread our message and grow our flock. But we cannot take this period of tranquillity for granted. On the contrary: we must remain constantly vigilant, alert to dangers from without and within." ]You look around. Everyone is attentive, tense, serious. Even the twins manage to refrain from fidgeting and squirming, though <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Canna</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span> is gazing at the food. "I want to remind you why this community exists." You swear her eyes meet yours. "Our dear founder and abbess wanted to spread the hope of Christ's salvation and raise a new generation who could boldly go forth and reason with heathens, show themselves to be full of the promise of the Good News. Even today, she wanders from field to field and home to home, teaching, baptising. Before her came others, and the greatest of these was the Apostle <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span>." Though her speech is resonant and expressive, she doesn't gesture or even move much, beyond tucking a stray strand of hair back into her cowl now and then. You get the feeling that she's not very used to this. "He found us here, even here, in this country of dread, to which we brought him in chains shackled to the side of a boat. He saw the godly in fairy worshippers and asked *us* to pray for him. How false are our idols, those unclean things we cling to with no hope of salvation in death!" A chill runs down your spine. "This doesn't mean that they lack power, however," she says gravely. "Remember Christ's words: you cannot serve two masters. You serve false gods through story as much as the heathens do through idol worship, in keeping them alive in hearts and minds. Reject them! Cast them aside; do not speak of them." The guard has an intense, inscrutable expression on her face; the twins look worried. "Now, let us give thanks and eat." You join them in bowing your head while she recites a short prayer in Latin. Once grace has ended she sits down next to another one of the nuns. She doesn't say a single word for the remainder of the meal, but you sense her watching you. You pick up [[your bowl|Monastery - Refectory 2]].</div>

Alone and free, you want to witness the festivities, the changing of the season and its wild ritual. The monastery is homely, familial, structured, but its walls remind you of the chieftain's fort on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>, a rejection of the outside world and an attempt to create a new reality on terms you can't readily accept, at least not for yourself. You imagine yourself staying, getting to know everyone, learning to read and write Latin, taking your vows. Awake at night wondering what happened to him. Awake at night wondering if you'll ever draw water from the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*cailleach*</span><span class="annotation-text">An old woman; a hag. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkal̠ʲəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Call-yuck*</span></span>'s well behind the cottage again, walk in the fields with your little ewe, touch someone... You're an ingrate, you know. "I want to thank you for the hospitality, but I'd... best be off. I've business back in town." It comes out in a heap as if it's someone else saying it. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She looks at you as if she's about to laugh, catches herself, and scowls instead. "'Business'? That's a funny word for idol worship." "I'll come back in the morning." This time she snorts. "As if you'd be let back in!" You rub the cold stone with your bare feet. Thirty seconds or so pass, then you move off with a mumbled goodbye. She grasps your right arm above the elbow, firmly but not painfully, and says, "Did you learn *nothing* from my address this evening?" Then she loosens her grip, conciliatory: "This is the wrong path for you, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. It's not too late to turn back." You face her. "I need to get into his head to find him, and he wouldn't've come to a place like this." She sighs. "I won't stop you, but I can't in good conscience admit you again after what I told the oblates. They deserve better." "I understand." "Let me fetch some food for you." You turn the offer down, saying there'll be food at the festival. She summons the guard, who flashes you a befuddled look when you tell her you're leaving already, but obeys her superior. She (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Secular Appeal")[relinquishes your bag and] forces the heavy wooden door open enough to allow you to slip through. You utter one last sheepish goodbye to the two and take off down the hill. [[Make for the City.|Bealtaine - City]]</div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $abbess)) (set: $abbess to (dm: "name", "Dar Lugdach", "bio", "Abbess Desc", "bioAppend", "Abbess Desc Update 2.1", "img", "abbess01.png", "desc", "Acting abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $abbess))}You hurry back over the bogland. The sky is smooth, a flat pink like suckled skin, darkening slowly. It's still mild. The earth under you gurgles as you put your weight on it, and you imagine it losing its foundation, engulfing and liquifying you until you're just another putrefying bog body sleeping under the moss. Out of the corner of your eye you think you see moving shadows. You quicken your pace, exhausted as you are. The place the locals call the City is immediately north of the town proper, on a promontory overlooking the sea across which you came. There's nothing there but a grassy field and the collective remembrance of past rituals, but that's enough to give it a charged energy. A group of well-groomed young men on horseback are hanging around some distance from the site itself, drinking and bellowing. The loudest is regaling the others with a story. "So I was like, 'Right, there's not a hope you virgins are getting anywhere near this buzz, fuckin' morto to be seen anywhere near youse.' And the rest of us get up on the horses, right, there's like ten of us in total, and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bairre</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /baʲːrʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bar-ruh*</span></span>'s already out of it, fuckin' *creamed* so he was, and we do one lap and take a drink, then another, drink again, and by four laps the poor fuckin' horses were practically throwing us off their backs. Bairre's still got the hoofprint, don't ya?" "And who won?" says another. "Who do you fuckin' think won? Yours fuckin' truly! Greatest horseplay of all time, it was." As you approach, the storyteller comes into view: a cloak trimmed with golden thread that catches the fading light, a hulking, well-fed torso, and a head of messy blond hair that looks bleached. You know what these men are now, and feel your face burning as you walk past. "How's the feet, islander? Keeping 'em moist?" says the blond. They howl with laughter. You're not sure what he means by that, nor how he knew that you were an islander; you keep your head down and keep walking. This is the first time you've had the honour of meeting one of the notorious <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fianna*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of '*fiann*', a wandering band of young noblemen. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲiən̪ˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Fee-ana*</span></span>, groups of young noblemen who roam around hunting and drinking for lack of anything better to do, and if that interaction was typical you'd be happy if it remained the last. At the clifftop itself a crowd is gathering around two large stacks of tinder, mostly logs, but also some more modest kindling, twigs and leaves probably placed by children. The druids are there with their cattle, flanked by the chieftain and a few other local dignitaries wielding swords and spears and colourful silks. The rest have come from all the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath's*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span> many scattered villages and farmsteads: families, young men out to impress, young women eyeing them up, elders waiting patiently for the cleansing ritual that follows the dying of the consumptive flames. All classes and tribes gather together in hope tonight, waiting for the sign from the hill where the five provinces meet. (if: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[You spot your group by the western fire, still only half-animals. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> saunters over, looking relieved. "Well, here's our prized mare!" he says and hugs you, the fur brushing against your bare sleeves. "We thought we'd lost you to the Jesus freaks." "Sorry, forgot the time." "Lookit, sundown's in ten, let's say no more about it. Are you ready?" You're not sure you'd be ready even if you'd gone to a proper rehearsal. "Er, what do I do?" "Just follow my lead! I'll stand next to you. Watch the heat, though — you get a lick of those flames, you'll ruin all of our nights." He looks over at the others. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Úna</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈuːnˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oo-neh*</span></span>! Úna, d'ya have the horse head?" The short girl you know as Hawk comes over with the head, tripping over her plumage. She glances at you, then back to her leader. "No body, Féi?" "Too late. It worked the first go, right? It'll be grand." She hands you the head, whispers a thanks, and stands to Féilim's right, holding her own mask. Féilim grins at you reassuringly and puts on the wolf skull. He barks and shakes his body, as if to warm up. The teenager falls away, and in his place stands a creature both deadly and unknowable. You're no less awed having actually seen the transformation this time. A few minutes later, after the sun has set and the druids have assembled between the two stacks of tinder, Wolf herds you and the other animals into a circle enclosing them. You slip the horse head on and listen to the suck of his breath.](else:)[As the sun sets, the druids assemble between the two stacks of tinder. A group of dark beings in the shapes of animals form a circle enclosing them.] The crowd hushes without needing to be told, bending their heads in the presence of the gods. The whole country waits in the darkness. [[Watch the ritual.|Bealtaine - Ritual]]

(if: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[A woman's voice](else:)[A tall woman carrying a wooden staff stands before her peers and] bellows, "Turn your eyes east, towards <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Uisneach</span><span class="annotation-text">A ceremonial hill at the centre of the island of Ireland. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪʃn̠ʲax/ English phonetic approximation: *Ish-knock*</span></span>!" (if: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[There's a silence of some minutes, then the clean smell of burning wood, the heat of the flames at your side.](else:)[It's your druidess, the one who came over on the boat. You tremble. The crowd looks towards and beyond the black forest until a dim light can be seen many miles out. The signal received, she lights the torch and draws the flames to the western stack. There's soon a great warm orange blaze and a vigorous acrid smoke.] The druidess begins to chant, the crowd with her. <div class="translation"> <div id="irish"> Am gáeth i m-muir, Am tond trethan, Am fúaim mara, </div> <div id="english"> I am the sea breeze, I am the tidal wave, I am the sea's thunder, </div> </div> A ululation rises from the animals, slight, unsteady at first(if: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[, but eventually you find the group's rhythm and form a single energy that passes through you all like a wave.](else:)[, but eventually the group finds its rhythm and forms a single energy that passes through you like a wave.] Then another silence. (if: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[You sense the druidess moving in the darkness.](else:)[The druidess lights the eastern stack.] <div class="translation"> <div id="irish"> Am dam secht ndirend, Am séig i n-aill, Am dér gréne, Am cain lubai </div> <div id="english"> I am the seven-tined stag, I am the hawk on cliff, I am the sun's bright tear, I am herb among the grass, </div> </div> The wave ebbs and flows again.(if: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[A large body grabs your arm, whispers, "Dance, Horse", and pushes you away like a parent teaching a child to swim. You flail about, dragging your hooves on the grass, twisting your forelegs, trying to avoid the twin fires. You're very hot. The crowd have begun to clap in time and you let it guide you as you bump against sweaty bodies, whinny and moan.] <div class="translation"> <div id="irish"> Am torc ar gail, Am hé i l-lind, Am loch i m-maig, </div> <div id="english"> I am the raging boar, I am the swift salmon, I am the placid lake, </div> </div> (if: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[Another body taps you on the shoulder and says you can take the head off. You tilt your head, let it fall onto the grass, and utter a heavy breath. The light from the gibbous moon sheens silver on the grass. ](else:)[The animals begin to dance and howl, wildly and blindly. A deer, two great antlers and a wooden face, gyrates with blank eyes stretched towards some hidden truth, its long body shrouded in red cloth; a small hawk that's a shriek of feathers, a black mask, and a yellow bill runs back and forth, while its partner, a straw body and a monstrous thick fur covering shaped like a wolf's skull, chomps its canines and barks for food. There are beetles and bears, rabbits and goats, and some shapes that just suggest the idea of an animal, a snout or tail servicing the change required. Each costume carries its bearer's stamp, but all are large, frighteningly organic, sublimating.] <div class="translation"> <div id="irish"> Am bri a ndai, Am bri danae, Am bri i fodb fras feochtu, Am dé delbas do chind codnu, Coiche nod gleith clochur slébe, Cia on co tagair aesa éscai, Cia du i l-laig fuiniud gréne? </div> <div id="english"> I am the point of creation, I am the tip of the voice, I am the battle-sharpened spear, I am the god who sparks desire: Who kindles fire, Who makes stone into dolmens, Who tells the ages of the moon, Who knows where the sun rests? </div></div> The crowd hushes, watching and waiting with a tense fervour. The Song of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ollamh Éireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A professional designation; the chief bard of the High King of Ireland. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈolaṽ ˈeːrʲenʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ul-lave Air-ren*</span></span> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Amhairghin</span><span class="annotation-text">A great bard, supposedly the first Milesian to set foot on the island of Ireland. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈolaṽ ˈeːrʲenʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Oww-reen*</span></span>: your people's oldest prayer. Everyone knows it, to a greater or lesser extent, but you've never experienced it like this, an invocation to the gods on the night when the season changes and the worlds become one. "Bring up the offering," orders the druidess. Two of the druids coax a jittery calf up the cliff. One holds it in place while the other pulls out a dagger, presents it to the audience, and draws it across the animal's throat. There's a tiny wail; you wince. They drip the blood onto the dewy grass until they're satisfied it's enough, then toss the body into the western bonfire. The flames splutter and belch an acrid smoke. The rest of the cattle have been kept at a safe distance, but start to moo skittishly as they're herded closer. Back and forth between the bonfires, four times each: <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span>, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Imbolg</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival marking the beginning of spring. It is associated with the goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɪˈmˠɔlˠɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Im-bol-ig*</span></span>, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Lúnasa</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held at the end of summer marking the beginning of the harvest season. It is named for the god Lú. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈl̪ˠuːn̪ˠəsˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Loo-nasa*</span></span>. One catches her hoof on the burning timber and trips. She screams as the fire licks at her flesh. A druid moves her on with a prod and an admonition and the burn is superficial, but the crowd has already started murmuring. You catch whispers: "Would want to leave more out tonight". The druids' work done, it's time for the bold and the stupid to try jumping the length of a bonfire. The first to volunteer is one of the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fian*</span><span class="annotation-text">A wandering band of young noblemen. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲiən̪/ English phonetic approximation: *Fee-an*</span></span> lads, the thin young man they called Bairre. He looks tense, as if he's been goaded into it. Closing his eyes, he sighs, straightens his back, and runs towards the eastern bonfire at an oblique angle, clearing it with a graceful leap as the flames flatten before his form. He grins dazedly while you clap along with the rest of the crowd. A queue soon forms of hopefuls emboldened by the opening act. (if: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[Feeling lazy after the performance, y](else:)[Y]ou sit and watch them make the run and jump one after the other. Everyone succeeds, some with a little more room to spare. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Úna</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈuːnˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oo-neh*</span></span>, still in costume from the neck down, hold hands and make it across together, to riotous applause from the rest of the animal kingdom. Food is being passed around, bread and butter and oat cakes, but many have skipped straight to drinking. It wouldn't hurt to go [[mingle with the crowd|Bealtaine - Crowd]] while most of them are still capable of standing.

You wander through the small groups the crowd has dispersed into, marking the whole field like fairy rings, swerving to avoid someone stumbling from having taken too much drink or bodies pressing up against each other. All around there's the low buzz of talking, eating, drinking, touching. Someone's playing a small harp(if: $drumFixed)[ and you're half-inclined to get out your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span> and [[join in.|Bealtaine - Session]]](else:)[.] (if: (history:) contains "Town - Sadhbh")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>'s mother <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sadhbh</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Famously borne by the wife of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhaill. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /saɪv/ English phonetic approximation: *Sive*</span></span> is sitting with a group of older women, wearing a pale blue <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> that looks like occasionwear and loudly discussing the ceremony. "What in the name of all the gods was happening with that poor heifer? Have you ever seen the likes before? They'd want to take better care if they're in the business of keeping us alive until next <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>." A saggy-jowled woman pipes up. "'Twas a disgrace! A bit of get up and go's what's needed." "Uf, don't talk to me about it!" Sadhbh spots you and begins waving in your direction. You keep walking, pretending not to notice. Further on, a](else:)[A] [[familiar face|Bealtaine - Mummer]] is sitting playing <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fidchell*</span><span class="annotation-text">A board game similar to chess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲɪhəl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fi-hell*</span></span> with an old man you don't recognise. His patchwork <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> is bunched up around his knees and he's gazing at the board with a look of pained concentration. (if: (history:) contains "Fechín - Walk") + (unless: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Fechín")[You spot [[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>|Bealtaine - Fechín]] sitting alone, dazedly staring off into the distance.]

He's lost in thought and starts when you wave your hand in front of his face. You laugh and then instantly regret laughing, hoping he won't think you mean. "Lot on your mind?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin2.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín. He looks relaxed." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"No, I just... wasn't expecting you," he says, blushing. You remove your cloak, place it on the grass, sit down next to him, and say,(if: (history:) contains "Town - Revellers")[ "It was a favour to your cousin." "Oh, was that you in the horse's head? I didn't know you could dance so well." "You mean you *didn't* think I was the life of the party?" "No... well, I just..." He blushes even redder. "I'm messing with you, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>." ](else:)["I just wanted to experience it." "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad to see you." ]He clasps his hands together and wraps them around his knees. "Any joy with the relative?" "I went to the monastery. They saw him there, heading east towards the border." "So you came back here?" "Wanted to see the festival," you say curtly. "And any idea what he was doing at the pub?" (if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Mummer")["Apparently they get quite the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">quare</span><span class="annotation-text">Queer, strange.</span></span> characters hanging around. That's all I know."](else-if: (history:) contains "Town - Pub")["Well, drinking, I guess. I didn't find much." "How'd you get in?" "Oh, er..." You tense. He smirks. "Forget I asked."](else:)["Well, drinking, I guess. I've yet to ask anyone."] He gets up. "(unless: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Crowd")[Speaking of which, ]I'm gonna grab a drink. You want anything?" (if: $drankBrew)[You can still taste that vile brown liquid <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> Fírinne served you in the back of your throat. ]"Some water. Thanks." He limps off in the direction of his cousin. You lie on the grass, shutting your eyes. The smoke from the bonfires is thin and clean-smelling, like the hearth at home, and it's so dry and mild you think you could stay out all night. He nudges your shoulder gently; you hadn't heard him return. "Sorry to wake you." He hands you a beaker. You sit up. "Just resting my eyes, as my mam used to say." He's drinking something that smells faintly sweet — mead, you suppose — and gripping the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span> handles tightly with both hands as if afraid someone might take it from him. "Nice night," he says. "It is. I suppose that's a good omen." "Ignoring that cow earlier... Mam'll be onto me about lashing the door with whitethorn branches, or some shite." "She seems a bit..." You're struggling to put it nicely. "Overprotective? Yeah, she's always at me about something." "Still, must be nice." Looking wounded, he touches your elbow as if he doesn't realise he's doing it, and says, "Oh <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, I didn't mean to... I'm sorry..." "It's grand," you say. It *is* grand. "I'm used to it." You move back a little and he does the same, realising the space he's stepped into. He sips his drink and watches you out of the corner of his eye. "Will you be marrying the sea like your dad, then?" you ask. He takes another sip. "Maybe not quite that far. But I do enjoy sailing. It's... exciting, I guess. Leaving everything up to the waves." "My dad and brother are the same," you say. "I can't say I've ever really understood it — Mam and me used to joke about Donn being half-seal." "Sure aren't ye all, with the webbed feet?" (if: (history:) contains "Oisín - Advice")["Webbed feet my arse!"](else:)[You laugh, incredulous. "What?" "You haven't heard? They say the islanders've all got flippers like seals or ducks." "So *that's* what your mam was doing looking down at my feet! I was fucking wondering!" ]You shriek and hit him in mock indignation. Tossing his mether aside, he grasps both of your hands and holds you in place. Your heart, large in your small chest, throbs a beat you don't recognise. Looking into your eyes, he says, "I *might* marry a selkie, actually. That's sort of like marrying the sea, if it could swim and talk." "Well, you might find one down by the beach tonight, if you're lucky." You pull away, heart still racing. "Anyway, I'm gonna take a walk." "Want company?" He's trying his luck now. "No, I'm grand." (display: "Bealtaine - Options")

You shuffle away on tired legs. A sheltered bit of field where you can lay your cloak should be enough. Past the old men playing <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fidchell*</span><span class="annotation-text">A board game similar to chess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲɪhəl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fi-hell*</span></span>, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Úna</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈuːnˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oo-neh*</span></span> are prone, bodies and bits of fabric bundled together, preoccupied. You look away as soon as you see it; you don't want to see it, and they don't notice you walking by. The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fian*</span><span class="annotation-text">A wandering band of young noblemen. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲiən̪/ English phonetic approximation: *Fee-an*</span></span> boys are drinking and gambling further down the slope, their horses pawing the dirt. You slink away as quietly as you can, trying to carry yourself as far away from them as possible, but you're spotted: the blond ringleader nudges his comrades, pointing. "Well lookit lads, it's the lovely little islander! Wanna show us if your tits are slimy too?" There's a chorus of whoops and jeers. You recall what you know and are not allowed to forget: you're a woman, and a body. Your flesh exists to wrap around, to receive, to incubate. They know it, and they know how easily they could, how much terror they could inflict just to demonstrate the power they wield over you. Your [[chest tightens.|Bealtaine - Confrontation Aside]]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $feilim)) (set: $feilim to (dm: "name", "Féilim", "bio", "Féilim Desc", "bioAppend", "Féilim Desc Update 2", "img", "feilim1.png", "desc", "Affable young sailor.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $feilim))}(set: $lastPassage to (history:)'s last)(if: $drankBrew)[(go-to: "Day 2 - Dream")](else-if: $lastPassage is "Bealtaine - Confrontation")[Your sleep is restless, but dreamless. You wake more than once to shuffling footsteps and muffled giggles. ](else-if: $lastPassage is "Monastery - Bath")[Your sleep is long and dreamless. ][[Wake.|Brother - Waking]]

<div class="text-animated-dream">First light wakes you. The hearth is bare and you're shivering. The two lovers are still flat on the floor, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> snoring as loudly as the night before. There's no sign of his cousin. You carefully put on your cloak and tiptoe past them to the door. The sky has returned to its usual grey, though yesterday's heat has put life into the clouds moving rapidly over the land, threatening rain. (if: (history:) contains "Town - Sadhbh")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>'s mother <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sadhbh</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Famously borne by the wife of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhaill. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /saɪv/ English phonetic approximation: *Sive*</span></span>](else:)[A heavy-set woman] is peeling turnips on a bench by the side window, talking to her neighbour. "That's it now for another year," she's saying. "Where does the time go altogether?" replies the other woman. (if: (history:) contains "Town - Pub")["You'd never guess what <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Síle</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃiːlʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *She-leh*</span></span> down the lane told me last night," says Sadhbh. "What's that?" "Some mad thing broke into the old Ó Flannagáin place." "Surely not the family home—" "Worse! The pub.(if: (history:) contains "Town - Pub Door Hand Hoe")[ And they're saying they broke the door in! With a blunt instrument." She waves the peeling knife about animatedly.](else:)["] "Dreadful altogether, Sadhbh. And poor Ó Flannagáin *Mór* only looking to do it up." "Wasn't I only telling you last night that that heifer business was an ill omen? 'Tisn't a bit of good they do. Look at this fecking parsnip" — she holds it up to the tutting woman — "It's half rotten!" You're glad they haven't seen you yet, glad you're not asked for an opinion on your own bad behaviour.] At the boundary to the household, you notice the sprig of whitethorn that's been stuck into the ground, decked out with colourful bands of eggshells, ribbons, and forget-me-nots. An extravagant May Bush: there must be competition around here. You're glad(if: (history:) contains "Town - Pub")[, too, that ] they don't see you leave, not wanting to explain what you're doing there (if: (history:) contains "Town - Sadhbh")[or be asked to consider another marriage proposal.](else:)[.] It's time to head east, back across the bog and through the woods to the river that marks the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath's*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span> border. You're not quite sure where you are, but Beola's Peaks are still visible on the far-off horizon to your left, so it must just be a matter of heading downhill and cutting a path through the modest patches of farmland until you find the bog again. You run into <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> on the way. He's carrying a small basket. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>..." He stops and dusts off his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>; it's stained black in places. "Aren't you staying for breakfast?" "I can't. Have to get going. What's in the basket?" "Ashes from the fires. As if they're going to magically make crops go in barren land..." You half-nod, not wanting to get involved. (if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Fechín")["You'll be back here, right?" he says after some time. "At some stage, yeah." "I'll get Da to sail you over." "That would be nice." ]"Right, well, I'll let you go," he says eventually, smiling a bit sadly. "Safe journey." You thank him and stand there for a while, watching him disappear up the hill as a sun cloaked in cloud emerges behind you. You feel an odd affinity for this boy you've barely known a few days — maybe because you see how, despite his meekness, he stands apart and makes a point of being himself. You'd like some of that fearlessness. [[Continue towards the bog.|Forest - Bog Again]]</div>

"Where has the abbess gone?" She makes a face as if you've reminded her of something she was trying to forget. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I... don't know, actually. She just told us she was sojourning somewhere for a few weeks. She does this a lot." "Somewhere?" "Simplicity is a bit of a life philosophy for her. We used to sleep in ditches, live off whatever little <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bitín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small bit of something.</span></span> of food we could find in the forest..." Her cheek reddens a little. "That feels like a long time ago now. I sometimes think she's better with nature than people." You start picking at the dried candle wax on the desk. She doesn't notice. "How long have you known each other?" you ask. "She baptised me, so, er... five years Monday week. Converted when I was eighteen. She was the first person who really listened to me. We used to do everything together — read, pray... sleep..." She folds her arms behind the back of the chair, uttering a heavy sigh. "Bed looks a little small," you say, glancing over. She grins, the first time you've seen her do so. Her teeth are off-white, but all there, intact. "We did the best we could." You think of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>: her hair, those soft, red cheeks, the way your body fits into hers when she holds you. You think of Ailbhe and understand suddenly, the truth like a lantern held out in a dark room. Men love each other, or at least fuck each other; of course women can too. Your face flushes and you sink into your chair, ashamed of being so naïve. She throws you a knowing smile. "Love, above all else, is what he asks of us. And sometimes that involves being brave, or impetuous, or silly, but it's not wrong." "I didn't realise you even could..." "I think we'd all benefit from more of an education, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>," she says firmly. "We don't have secret knowledge here — what's worthy of being recorded is. Druidry has kept us in the dark long enough." The sell again. You ignore it, and ask, "So how long has <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, from the goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> been gone for?" "She left last week. I know she's gone east, over the border. Maybe she'll run into your brother, set him straight." "I hope so," you say. "He could use it." (display: "Monastery - Abbess Questions")</div>

"That incident earlier. What happened?" "One of our grazing cattle was stolen. A very valuable heifer." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She takes a swig from her <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span> and slumps into the chair, looking beyond you. "We're close to the border of the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span>, you know, and incidents like this aren't unheard of; they're often precursors to raids. The chieftain here tolerates us, but there's some bad blood between him and our neighbours. We have to assume this peace isn't going to last forever, prepare accordingly." She sighs. "I didn't really sign up for this. I expected it, sure, but I didn't think *I'd* end up being the one having to deal with it." "How did you end up second-in-command?" you ask, and quickly add, "If you don't mind me asking." "Just by virtue of being her confidant. I can't swing a sword worth much, but she trusts me." "Then you've probably got virtues you can't see." She smiles. "And limitations I see all too well." You start picking at the candle wax again. Through the window the blank sky, a pale pink like suckled skin, is darkening slowly. It's still warm. "Right. So what if a raiding party does show up?" you ask. "We use our wits, and pray." She bites her lip again, sullen-faced. (display: "Monastery - Abbess Questions")</div>

"So what brought you here?" you ask. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She flashes you a quizzical look. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Connacht</span><span class="annotation-text">A province of Ireland.</span></span>?" "No, the monastery. As a nun." "Oh." She thinks for a minute. "I ran away, actually. Like most of us here. Parents wanted to marry me off to some brute twice my age. Had a big misshapen head on him and these awful thick, black nostril hairs... I'll never forget them." She grimaces. "Marrying well, they said. Horrendous." (if: $darHistory)["You ended up in Cill Dara, then?" "I did, mostly because it was nearby. ](else:)["So you came here?" "No, I was at the monastery in Cill Dara first. ]I didn't know much about the religion at the time. Embarrassed myself a lot at first, missing masses and questioning doctrine. Teenagers, you know?" She flashes you a smile. "We're a shower of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span>s." "But to have that boundless enthusiasm again... I spent almost all my waking hours with my head in books, and some of the hours I should've been sleeping besides that. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> helped a lot. She was patient." "Is she also a convert?" "I honestly don't know," she says with some frustration, swigging her <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>. "She makes a point of not talking about the past. She would've been young when <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span> arrived, though, so I imagine she wasn't born into the faith." "And she met him?" "She did, and saw his feats. A great reckoning on this land, it was." You wait for her to elaborate, but she just stares wearily off into the distance. It's been a long day for the both of you. "Anyway, she taught me to humble myself." She fingers the collar of her habit. "No embroidered flourishes, single colours. I do miss the old dress sometimes." Standing in your simple yellow <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>, you can't help but feel that the ornamental blue silk she's wearing might be stretching the definition of "humble", but you choose not to pursue the point. She yawns. "Are you sure you don't want a little nightcap?" "I'm grand, thanks," you reply. (display: "Monastery - Abbess Questions")</div>

"How did the other oblates end up here?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She looks pleased that you remembered the word. "There's a story that would keep you up at night for every one of them. Mostly slavery. Heathens" — she spits the syllables — "have no respect for human dignity." (if: (history:) contains "The Guard - Religion" and "Monastery - Raids")[You think of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>, but say nothing.] "And the twins are foreigners?" She nods. "They were taken across the sea with their mother as toddlers. This country is basically all they've ever known." "What... happened to their mother?" She casts you a strained look.(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Guard")[ "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> too?" "Bláthnaid is like me," she answers.] (display: "Monastery - Abbess Questions")</div>

(if: (history:)'s last is "Monastery - Abbess Nun Accept" or "Monastery - Abbess Nun Reject" or "Monastery - Abbess Nun Deflect")["Not right now, no. I think I'm gonna head to bed," you say. ](else-if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Dar Oisín")[{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin))(set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 3", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin))}](else:)["Right, I think it's time for me to head to bed," you say. ]<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"We don't have any separate facilities for our guests, but you're welcome to use the communal baths." "That sounds nice." You must smell awful. "Is... is the water heated?" She laughs. "Do you think we're trying to punish you?" You never had a tub at home, only washed your hands and feet in well water and your body twice a week wading into frigid seawater, though you'd taken to avoiding it after your parents died. A warm bath is almost unimaginable luxury. She directs you to what she calls the *lavatorium*, a long, windowless room adjoining the refectory filled with circular oak vats, each wide enough to comfortably fit a sitting adult. A waning fire crackles gently at the end closest to the door, next to four stacked buckets and a stand full of steel tongs. Everyone has already gone to bed, and there's a serenity in the silence and the way the lambent yellow light plays across wood and stone. "There should be water in the tub already," she says, turning. "I wish you a pleasant sleep." "But how do I—" Your face reddens. "How do you what?" "Heat the water." She flashes you an incredulous look. "If that's the kind of life you're accustomed to, this place must feel like Paradise. Here, look in the fire." Stones as big as <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*sliotair*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *sliotar*, a small, hard ball used in the game of hurling. Can be made of various materials, including wood, leather, animal hair, or bronze. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈʃlʲɪt̪ˠəɾʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Slit-ur*</span></span>, gleaming red, are piled up between the flames. You get it, all of a sudden: you're to lift the heated stones into the bucket with the tongs and place them in the water. "Two should be enough. There's soap along the walls," she says. "Enjoy, and God bless." "God bless," you say meekly. Then you're alone again. You take a pair of tongs and a bucket and gingerly cusp one of the stones, holding your arms and arm-extension as far away from your body as possible. Then you waddle over to the nearest vat and plop it in, the stone hitting the water with a mighty hiss and a wisp of steam. You repeat the process, wait a little while, then test the water with your finger. Lukewarm. That's good enough, so you strip, soap up, and, with much difficulty, scale the staves of this vessel that comes up to your chest. You're not used to water feeling welcoming. You don't have to struggle against it, overcome it; it's there just to soothe. Here you can breathe and you do, deeply, and it's enough to make you realise that you're exhausted. (if: $hasNapped)[The nap wasn't enough.] Fifteen minutes pass. You play around a little, enjoying the splish-splash of your hand meeting the water, pretending you're a wee girl in the sea with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> again. When your eyes start drooping you get out, get dressed, and go to the dormitory. The flat bodies are breathing gently, ebbing and flowing like waves. A sliver of moonlight from the single window slit plays across them, creating strange shadows. You nestle in under the one set of empty sheets and close your eyes. This is the first night of your life where you haven't lain in bed and taken in the sound of the ceaseless sea. It must be how a child removed from the womb feels. Not to be surrounded, enveloped, but to suddenly become something entirely new, separate, exposed, breakable: strange. Strange, but the feeling's been with you for a while. You've left the sea and the island behind, in search of someone bound to them. Terrible that it should be him and not you. Terrible... [[Sleep.|Day 2 - Bedtime]]</div>

<div class="text-animated-dream">The twins wake you jumping on the mattress, shrieking, "Morning! Morning!" in your language and theirs. The slit casts a new light, cold and grey and bright. Another soft day. It must be early because someone else is waking you. You groan and roll over. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Gwenffrewi</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span> jumps on your calves, her sister yelling in your face: "TIME FOR BREAKFAST!" You shake them off and force yourself to stand. Your hair is everywhere; you wish you'd thought to bring a comb. Shaking it out of your face as best you can, you shuffle over to the *lavatorium*, rubbing your eyes and taking wrong turns. It's once again empty when you finally stumble in, closing the door behind you. Late for your own funeral, Mam would say. You wash your face, quickly and in cold water like you're used to. (if: $inventory contains "Necklet")[It occurs to you as you run the water along your bare neck that you might wear the necklet you were given. |links>[(link: "Put it on.")[(replace: ?links)[You like the green; it's deep and earthy like the colour of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>(set:$wearingNecklet to true) (display: "Monastery - Morning Breakfast")]] (link: "Leave it be.")[(replace: ?links)[On second thought, best not have Bláthnaid assuming anything of it. You're leaving today, whatever happens. (display: "Monastery - Morning Breakfast")]]]](else:)[ (display: "Monastery - Morning Breakfast")]</div>

{(set: $fechin to (dm: "name", "Fechín", "bio", "Fechín Desc", "bioAppend", "Fechín Desc Update 5", "img", "fechin.png", "desc", "Considerate young sailor.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $fechin))}You head south-east instead of north across the bog this time, slowly, cursing the endless crags and hidden pools of water. Your legs feel fat and damp, like twin turf sods. A fog begins to roll in. You look up, try to find your bearings, but it's like the sky itself has vanished; there's no guiding light. You hold your hand out in front of you and it dissolves, as if you were made of air. Your chest tightens. You trundle forward, trying to find a way out, and then to find anything at all. First the bog answers your desperation with its silence, utterly still. And then the earth [[begins to move.|Forest - Bog Trapped]]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 11", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $brigid)) (set: $brigid to (dm: "name", "Brigid", "bio", "Brigid Desc", "bioAppend", "Brigid Desc Update 3", "img", "brigid.png", "desc", "Storied abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $brigid)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $muireann)) (set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "bioAppend", "Muireann Desc Update 6", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $muireann))}You follow the spring out of the clearing. The ground here is tough, but it doesn't yield as easily as bogland: there's no risk of putting a foot forward and ending up with your leg submerged. You sing songs in your head that <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> taught you, beating a melody on your forearm with your fingers. By the time you notice that the air has changed it's already late afternoon, and you're not sure you're going east anymore. The tree cover is even thicker this far in; the canopy blocks the sky almost completely, and barks that might have provided <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">ogham</span><span class="annotation-text">The alphabet used to write the early Irish language. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈoː(ə)mˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-m*</span></span> hints from other travellers are bare. Soon the sun will be gone and you'll have to sleep here and risk attack. You look down at your feet — they're almost mud, barely outlined against the forest floor like they're taking root. You start to sweat. You stop, drop your bag. A river is what you're looking for. A river that probably has guards stationed at it ready to gore you with their spears on sight. This is stupid — *you're* stupid, and you're going to get devoured by wolves long before you reach it... But no — you're already far, far from home, (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger" or "Small Iron Dagger")[carrying a weapon, ]fearless now. You pick up the bag and begin walking again. Then, a noise to your left. A man in a crimson cloak is standing off in the distance where the trees begin to thin into a glade you hadn't noticed in your panic. There's another man sitting on a log next to him, beside two horses, one grey, one black. The standing man is short but well-built, with sandy blond hair that bends in the light and a beardless face that is sad and terrible and beautiful all at once. A bronze torc hangs around his neck. He stares at you unsmiling, a steady, wary, forceful gaze, and bellows a poem: <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cuchul.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">*A little fawn thinks to pass with her tail up, and the Hound’s ears cocked, out for trespass and nothing that living men fear. She’ll sidle past, she thinks, two men camped and idle, even half-asleep with drink Cú and Láeg none the wiser. A silly fawn to try her tricks on men from better times. Her race grown incautious, fretful of the divine. Women I’m not known to bother, so little need cause you alarm if you flee* <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Lú*</span><span class="annotation-text">A god equally skilled in all arts, associated with the late summer festival that bears his name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /luː/ English phonetic approximation: *Loo*</span></span>*’s bright son: not long-lived, no, but long-armed.* [[You stand mute.|Forest 2]]</div>

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Cú Chulainn", "Láeg")) (set: $cu to (dm: "name", "Cú Chulainn", "bio", "Cú Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "cuchul.png", "desc", "Legendary eccentric.")) (set: $laeg to (dm: "name", "Láeg", "bio", "Láeg Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "laeg.png", "desc", "Cú Chulainn's friend and charioteer.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $cu, $laeg))}<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cuchulaeg.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn and his charioteer Láeg." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You sit next to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>, who offers you a section of the boar's ribs and some fresh water from his skin. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> removes his cloak and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span> and begins picking lice out of them. Your eyes linger on the belt of scars running along his torso. Every now and then he gazes at you with a look so fierce and sullen you feel he's surely going to kill you before the night is out; he *did* threaten you, after all. Perhaps you should make your excuses and leave. Láeg catches your expression and laughs. "Don't pay him any mind, love. He's a sweetheart really, just not great with strangers." "Empty words earlier, then?" "Aye. Call it rhetoric. We're not supposed to use it on civilians," he says, looking pointedly at his companion. Cú Chulainn murmurs something about civilians not wandering around the woods waiting to ambush people, and this being <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Connacht</span><span class="annotation-text">A province of Ireland.</span></span>. "Not sure I caught your name," says Láeg. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." "Fine name. Unusual, or at least it was when we were around. I'd say you think ours are awful <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">quare</span><span class="annotation-text">Queer, strange.</span></span>." He chuckles. "What's his real name again?" you ask, gesturing towards Cú Chulainn. It's rude, but you're a little afraid of addressing him directly. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sétanta</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's given name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃedana/ English phonetic approximation: *Shay-danta*</span></span>," answers Láeg. Cú Chulainn, whetting his spear on a stone, growls. "So what has you out here?" asks Láeg. [["Need to reach the border."|Forest - Truth]] [["I'm just out for a walk."|Forest - Lie]]</div>

(set: $topic to (random: 1, 2))"A lot of arguing about faith these days. Even on the islands." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> looks a bit puzzled. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/laeg.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn's charioteer Láeg." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Like faith in your king?" "More like... which gods to worship. Hard to explain." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> stops himself mid push-up, stares at you, and asks, "How do you know what's happening on the islands?" "My dad's a fisherman," you say. Present tense. "An honest profession," says Láeg. (if: $topic is 1)["And how about you? How did a fisherman's daughter end up serving a god?" "She found a shack by the shoreline and was stupid enough to wander in." A candid lie, you think, somewhat pleased with yourself. "And what's his take on this faith thing?" "That they should sooner worship the old gods, those even older than our race, than take new ones." "What new gods are these?" "They — or... he — is foreign." Cú Chulainn snorts like a dog that's caught a particularly foul odour. He mumbles something about it being bad enough that they no longer venerate their local gods, that this is what happens when men forget themselves for women or power, and then resumes his push-ups. "Must be a powerful god indeed, to have the whole country fighting over him," says Láeg.](else:)["And how about you?" You find yourself a bit taken aback; you'd never considered it much. You're silent for some time, then say, "For now, I'm just a fisherman's daughter. Or a fisherman's sister." "And you're to die a fisherman's wife?" Láeg asks, then immediately adds, "Sorry, that slipped out. None of our business." "You're grand. And maybe I will, after I've wandered around a bit." "You can well find yourself enough wandering to last a lifetime, if that's what you'd prefer." That sounds like something you wouldn't object to, you think, and surmise that it must have been an ambition of Láeg's before he was struck down by his master's enemies. To live according to another's whims carries consequences. As if to counter, Cú Chulainn huffs and says, "And get impaled on the spear of some bored sentry." You had assumed he wasn't listening.] [[Discuss the plan.|Forest - Plan]]</div>

"Probably much the same as in your time. Fighting over cattle and bits of land." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/laeg.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn's charioteer Láeg." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"There's never enough of either of those to go around," <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> says, his blue eyes fixed far ahead as if settled on something not really there. "I... I can't say for certain, though," you feel the need to add. "We just work the sea, my family." "Those borders should be fairly undisturbed then, at least," he says and laughs. "Nothing wrong with a quiet life." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> huffs like a dog with a blocked nose and rejoins bitterly, "Spoken like a true <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ulster</span><span class="annotation-text">A province of Ireland.</span></span>man." The province is, depending on whom you ask, either a nest of rough places and sour-faced, haughty soldiers, or the home of Ireland's best warriors, raised on contentions and pride. You haven't met many of them, but *have* learnt to fear that terrible intensity they carry themselves with, the banter that's always threatening to spill over into something else. Perhaps stories of Cú here are the source of many of those prejudices. "A true Ulsterman knows when enough is enough," counters Láeg and turns towards you. "Who are these lads at the border, then?" You shrug. "This is the edge of our <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span>. It's still <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Connacht</span><span class="annotation-text">A province of Ireland.</span></span> beyond, but I guess they don't welcome free travel." "Right. Well, we'll give them a welcome of our own." [[Discuss the plan.|Forest - Plan]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cuchulaeg.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn and his charioteer Láeg." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I'm heading to the border," you say. "Why's that?" asks <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>. "I'm... looking for someone." Láeg frowns. "Heavy security, I'd say, if it's anything like it used to be. We came from the other direction." (Display: "Forest - Trade Favours")</div>

"Just out and about," you say. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cuchulaeg.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn and his charioteer Láeg." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Funny place to go for a walk," says <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>. "I'm a funny person." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> frowns. "And you said you were lost?" "I don't usually wander in this deep. Me and my brother got separated," you say, hoping they might have noticed something. Láeg says that's a shame and looks over at his companion. "Haven't seen anything, and my eyes are better than yours," says Cú Chulainn. He's picking at his food, his canines glinting in the slender evening light. "Have you passed by a river?" "By the border? No, we came from the other direction," says Láeg, pointing with his thumb at the thickly forested area behind you. "So it's the opposite way, then?" "Been several lifetimes since we were last here, love, but as far as I remember it was. You sure you're from round here?" "Further out." "And you think your brother wandered in that direction? Knowing there are guards there?" You nod, now certain they've caught you in the lie. (Display: "Forest - Trade Favours")</div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $cu, $laeg)) (set: $cu to (dm: "name", "Cú Chulainn", "bio", "Cú Desc", "bioAppend", "Cú Desc Update 1", "img", "cuchul.png", "desc", "Legendary eccentric.")) (set: $laeg to (dm: "name", "Láeg", "bio", "Láeg Desc", "bioAppend", "Láeg Desc Update 1", "img", "laeg.png", "desc", "Cú Chulainn's friend and charioteer.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $cu, $laeg))}You finish your meal in silence. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> stokes the fire with the hilt of a sword, lies back on the log, and absent-mindedly runs his fingers through his red beard, looking a little pensive. His friend eats very little, then drops to the ground and begins bending his knees and stretching his muscles with a sort of performed restlessness you find irritating. It must be exhausting to spend whole days with this man. You think you'd like to unfurl your own limbs, so you get up. You're just beyond the horses when <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> stops his performance and barks, "Stay if you want to live." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cuchulaeg.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn and his charioteer Láeg." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I'm not going anywhere," you say. "I just want to move around a bit." "Give her that at least, Cúa," says Láeg. "She can give herself sooner to the wolves." You sit back down with a barely concealed sigh, forced to admit you're under the protection of these men. Morning can't come soon enough. Láeg flashes you a sympathetic look and asks, "So, since the night is young: any news from the wider world?" [["There's a lot of talk of faith lately."|Forest - Religion]] [["Same old tribal warfare."|Forest - Warfare]] [["Not much. Any news from the Otherworld?"|Forest - Otherworld]]

(if: (history:)'s last is "Forest - Otherworld")["Right you are," says <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>. "What's our plan?"](else:)["So... tonight," you say, letting the thought hang in the air. Your heart is thumping a round.] <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>(if: (history:)'s last is "Forest - Night")[ leaps into an upright position](else:)[ stops mid push-up, leaps into an upright position,] and walks towards the fire, where he looms imperiously over you, his arms folded. The orange light plays unsteadily across his body, his eyes and the many wounds on his bare torso, as if it can't decide what to illuminate. This man is dead, you remind yourself. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cuchulaeg.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn and his charioteer Láeg." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(if: (history:) contains "Forest - Violence" or "Forest - Distraction")["We'll approach in a single group, find the closest ford, then part ways," he volunteers, with the first note of enthusiasm you've heard all night. "You stay concealed; don't start crossing until you hear our signal." "What signal is that?"](else:)["You approach the border guard with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>. I'll stay concealed, right the situation if anything goes wrong," he volunteers, with the first note of enthusiasm you've heard all night. "No, I want you close to me. Láeg can be backup." Láeg chuckles. "Should I be offended?" "I just think he's more—" "Aye, you're not wrong. He's the warrior.(if: (history:) contains "Forest - Musicians")[ But I doubt you'll convince them he's much of a flautist, him with no instrument to speak of." "They only need to be looking at me. If they ask, he's the singer."](else:)["] "And if it goes wrong?" asks <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>. "You'll know it by my signal," says Cú Chulainn.] He arches his head, opens his mouth, and howls a long, wavering howl. It's utterly ridiculous, but so pitch perfect you can't even bring yourself to laugh; instead, the hairs on your neck bristle and you imagine the dreadful death wails of the creatures unlucky enough to face him in the dead of night. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> is skeptical. "What if there's a real wolf?" "Then she's already after crossing at that point, put a bit of distance between herself and it. But there won't be any real wolves, for I've three gifts, as you well know: namely, the gift of sight, the gift of intellect, and the gift of reckoning, and with those it's a trivial thing to spy any tracks on the way there." "Aye, you won't soon let me forget that, Cúa," says Láeg between mocking laughter. "I'll go find the river. We leave when I return; do what you will until then." That seems to be the last word on it. He puts on his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> without belting it, slings a spear across his back, and disappears into the dark wall of trees in the opposite direction to where you first spotted him. Alone with Láeg you find yourself feeling shy, unsure of what to do with this stay you've been granted. "No chariot?" you ask after a while. "No chariot. We were only planning on a short walk; seemed too cumbersome. I do feel a bit lost without it, though. Dub here" — he pats the black horse gently on the mane — "isn't used to the weight." "They're not very common these days, so maybe it's for the best." "Oh? Well honestly, that makes sense," he says, a little smile curling around his mouth. "Not the best terrain for them, this country. We had some strange notions. Anyway, I'd say Cúa and me stand out enough in this time as-is." "I think he'd stand out in any time." Láeg laughs heartily. "Aye, you're not wrong." He stokes the fire and begins packing away the cutlery. "Do you need help?" you ask. "No, you're grand," he replies. "So, tell me, where are you really from?" [["Is it that obvious?"|Forest - Plan 2]]

"If you're telling it," you say without much enthusiasm. "Well, I've not the same eloquence as my friend here" — <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> snorts — "but I'll give it a shot. "There used to be a fair in the Plain of Muirthemne every <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span> that all of the clans of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ulster</span><span class="annotation-text">A province of Ireland.</span></span> would attend. We'd gather with much finery and pomp and play games and feast; great <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">craic</span><span class="annotation-text">A versatile word meaning 'fun in good company'. 'What's the craic?' - 'What's up?'</span></span> altogether, it was. One year some of the women had noticed these particularly beautiful birds nestled by a nearby lake, and naturally they wanted them for themselves, so myself and Cúa set out to strike them down so they'd land in the water. We caught two for each woman except <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Éimhear</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈeː.vʲəɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ey-ver*</span></span>, Cúa's wife—" "Girlfriend," Cú Chulainn murmurs. "I was *at* your wedding, you <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">gobdaw</span><span class="annotation-text">A chatterbox or pretentious person.</span></span>. Anyway, this would not do, and besides, there were two birds left, but these were of an altogether different kind. There was a gold chain between them and they were chirping a trill melody that brought on sleep. Now, I knew right away that there was something not quite right about this, and Éimhear agreed, so we thought it best to leave them, but 'tis no easy thing to oppose my friend here." Cú Chulainn makes a face that almost suggests some sort of contrition, but says nothing. "Were they magical?" you ask. "Ah, I'm getting to that, don't worry," Láeg says. "So we decided we'd take them down anyway, and it was the sling Cúa tried first. Twice he aimed and missed, the man who'd never missed a target before in his life. My suspicions weren't off, indeed. But then he got out a spear and managed to dent the wing of one of them, and the other drowned when they hit the water. "And then he fell into a deep sleep and was sick and had awful <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">quare</span><span class="annotation-text">Queer, strange.</span></span> dreams of two women in long, strange cloaks who lashed him with whips." "Fairies," you say. He laughs. "That's some mouth on you! We needn't worry about it, we're dead, but you might want to watch yourself. "Anyway, the bird women left him nearly dead, and he slept thrashing with fever for just short of a year, until one of them, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Lí Ban</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̠ʲiː bˠanˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lee-ban*</span></span>, came to us from their world and requested that he aid their ruler in battle. In turn Fand, the most beautiful of all the women of the Otherworld, would heal him and give him the, er, friendship of her thighs. "Now, Cúa is not a man much prone to scepticism, as you well know," he says with a twinkle in his eye, "but so fantastical was this offer that he asked me go and get a sense of this world for myself. So I set off with Lí Ban, and I was to hold on tight to her lest I slip away and forget myself." "I reckon you enjoyed that," says Cú Chulainn. "I had other business to occupy me, Cúa. Anyway, there are many realms in the Otherworld: where the dead reside, and where the people of the mounds themselves reside, all of the creatures both fair and hideous not normally known to simple mortals like ourselves. We were journeying to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Magh Meall</span><span class="annotation-text">A place in the Otherworld; literally "enticing plain". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mʲɑːmʲɑːl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Maw-mall*</span></span> which was at the far end of the realm, so naturally I saw a lot." |links>[(link: "\"What are the dead like?\"")[(replace: ?links)["What are the dead like?" "Silent," he says. "The communication is very much one-way. When we're here in the world of the living we can talk across the gap, having once belonged to this place ourselves, but men of flesh and blood experience their world from a distance, without belonging to it." "And is that what death is like, then? Endless silence?" You dread to think of your parents confronting that infinity. "Oh no, don't get me wrong." He pats you on the shoulder reassuringly. "It's only the living we can't speak with, and then only in the Otherworld. And the dead can talk among themselves no bother, of course. Sure how would I have known Cúa wanted to go out for a walk otherwise?" "Whining and scratching at the door?" you blurt out. "You've some neck on you for a woman, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a bhaothóg*</span><span class="annotation-text">Means 'foolish, giddy girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə wˠiːoːɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *A wee-owg*</span></span>", Cú Chulainn snarls. Láeg laughs and says, "He might try that next time." Now, as for Magh Meall itself..." He strokes his beard. "Have you ever woken up from a deep dream, looked around, and thought to yourself, 'The colours here look wrong?'" "Yes, actually," you say, recalling your night on the ferry. "Well, then you have a sense of it. It was November in our world and we'd already had some frosty nights, but their trees heaved with leaves, flowers, and fruit all at the same time. The fruit would sate you by itself and there was a vat continually overflowing with mead besides. Nobody had to work or want for anything. But it felt unearnt somehow, like..." He trails off for a half a minute or so, then concludes the thought with, "Like it wasn't in keeping with the natural ebb and flow of things. "Anyway, I was well received by their king <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Labhraid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈl̪ˠoːɾˠa/ English phonetic approximation: *Lao-rah*</span></span>, and I returned to Cúa with news that he seemed a good man and would surely honour any agreement made. Then Lí Ban came back to us, patched Cúa up and extended the invitation again, but he didn't much like it coming from a woman, so back again I went and got it straight from Labhraid's mouth, and Fand's besides, but I guess she didn't count." You can't help but laugh. "Sounds a bit frustrating." "It wasn't anything new, at least. So, long story short, we went the two of us to Magh Meall on the day they were to fight this great battle, and didn't Cúa run into their enemy out taking a piss and finish him off there and then? And that was that. Fand came back to Ulster with us, but she inspired Éimhear's jealousy, and it wasn't looking good until they both realised they had more in common than they did opposing each other. It's not easy to love Cúa here, believe you me." "Well, it's not easy to have every woman in the country lusting after you the whole time, Láeg," deadpans Cú Chulainn. He's finally sat down and is still with his red cloak wrapped around him, seemingly enjoying hearing his friend recount the tale, though you know he'd never admit it. "Anyway, that's that for tonight," says Láeg. "I hope it wasn't too boring." "I enjoyed it," you say, truthfully. You're aware of an encroaching weariness. "Oh, and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" Láeg searches under his mantle and withdraws a plump, gleaming red fruit you don't recognise. "I won't see any loss on you." <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/item_fruit2.png" alt="A strange Otherworld fruit.">You snatch it up eagerly, running a finger along its skin, dotted with small fine hairs, and the cleft down its middle. It doesn't look like it should be this ripe this time of year, but if it is indeed a delicacy from the Otherworld, perhaps it doesn't spoil. You'll resist the temptation, take it back to the island with you(if: (history:) contains "Oisín - Delicacies")[ and show it off to Oisín.](else:)[.](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Otherworld Fruit")) [[Discuss the plan.|Forest - Plan]]]] (link: "\"What kind of creatures?\"")[(replace: ?links)["What kinds of creatures?" "Oh, all sorts... <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*leipreacháin*</span><span class="annotation-text">Leprechauns.</span></span> and mermaids and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span>. All of these beings are subservient to the Good Race themselves, as are the dead, and all can wander back and forth as long as the portals are open." "What are the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> like?" you ask. "Only saw them from a distance. I hear they're awful bold, though. Always up to something." Now, as for Magh Meall itself..." He strokes his beard. "Have you ever woken up from a deep dream, looked around, and thought to yourself, 'The colours here look wrong?'" "Yes, actually," you say, recalling your night on the ferry. "Well, then you have a sense of it. It was November in our world and we'd already had some frosty nights, but their trees heaved with leaves and flowers in bloom and fruit all at the same time. The fruit would sate you by itself and there was a vat continually overflowing with mead besides. Nobody had to work or want for anything. But it felt unearnt somehow, like..." He trails off for a half a minute or so, then concludes the thought with, "Like it wasn't in keeping with the natural ebb and flow of things. "Anyway, I was well received by their king <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Labhraid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈl̪ˠoːɾˠa/ English phonetic approximation: *Lao-rah*</span></span>, and I returned to Cúa with news that he seemed a good man and would surely honour any agreement made. Then Lí Ban came back to us, patched Cúa up and extended the invitation again, but he didn't much like it coming from a woman, so back again I went and got it straight from Labhraid's mouth, and Fand's besides, but I guess she didn't count." You can't help but laugh. "Sounds a bit frustrating." "It wasn't anything new, at least. So, long story short, we went the two of us to Magh Meall on the day they were to fight this great battle, and didn't Cúa run into their enemy out taking a piss and finish him off there and then? And that was that. Fand came back to Ulster with us, but she inspired Éimhear's jealousy, and it wasn't looking good until they both realised they had more in common than they did opposing each other. It's not easy to love Cúa here, believe you me." "Well, it's not easy to have every woman in the country lusting after you the whole time, Láeg," deadpans Cú Chulainn. He's finally sat down and is still with his red cloak wrapped around him, seemingly enjoying hearing his friend recount the tale, though you know he'd never admit it. "Anyway, that's that for tonight," says Láeg. "I hope it wasn't too boring." "I enjoyed it," you say, truthfully. You're aware of an encroaching weariness. "Oh, and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" Láeg searches under his mantle and withdraws a plump, gleaming red fruit you don't recognise. "I won't see any loss on you." <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/item_fruit2.png" alt="A strange Otherworld fruit.">You snatch it up eagerly, running a finger along its skin, dotted with small fine hairs, and the cleft down its middle. It doesn't look like it should be this ripe this time of year, but if it is indeed a delicacy from the Otherworld, perhaps it doesn't spoil. You'll resist the temptation, take it back to the island with you(if: (history:) contains "Oisín - Delicacies")[{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin))(set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 2.2", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin))} and show it off to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>.](else:)[.](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Otherworld Fruit")) [[Discuss the plan.|Forest - Plan]]]]]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $donn)) (set: $donn to (dm: "name", "Donn Fírinne", "bio", "Donn Desc", "bioAppend", "Donn Desc Update 2", "img", "donn.png", "desc", "Ancestor of the Milesians.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $donn)) {(set: $characters to it - (ds: $laeg)) (set: $laeg to (dm: "name", "Láeg", "bio", "Láeg Desc", "bioAppend", "Láeg Desc Update 2", "img", "laeg.png", "desc", "Cú Chulainn's friend and charioteer.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $laeg))}}<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> pulls on the reins and slows the mare to a trot. Your eyes clear. The remains of a campfire, rocks arranged in a circle and two logs. There's a piece of fabric slung across one of them. "Let me down." He halts the beast and you dismount awkwardly, tumbling towards the fabric. A sleeve of wool, dyed a bright saffron. You recognise it immediately and hug it to your chest, your heart leaping. He was here. He was here and left it behind, maybe because it was torn off on a sharp branch, or someone — something — ripped it away. "You said she was slow," you say once you've recovered. "No, I said she was *not that fast*. You think I'd ride a slow horse, and I responsible for every dead body this fucking island produces? What's that, anyway?" "It's from my brother's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>." "Good. Or maybe not so good. He's not dead yet, at least, that I can tell you." He pats <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sioc</span><span class="annotation-text">Donn Fírinne's mare. Means 'frost'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃʊk/ English phonetic approximation: *Shook*</span></span>'s flank. "Off we go?" "Wait." You look beyond the glade where the forest begins to recede into vast, rolling fields of farmland, crops and cattle appearing and disappearing behind the shifting horizon, trying to reconcile it with your vision. Where the dawning sky bleeds into the horizon is the smudge of a tall tree. "That oak: that's where I saw her. We're going there." Your head lolls again. "But I need to rest first." He gestures to the bodies. "And I suppose you're all right sleeping next to two putrefying corpses?" "I'll have to be." "They'll last another few hours. Go on. I'll keep watch." You huddle under an inviting yew and pull your cloak over you. Further than before, and even further than that: there aren't many commoners who ever journey outside their own <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronounciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span>. You're stopped by the land and the livestock, the demands of family and community, and then, when you finally make it, borders and spears. Now you really feel a stranger to yourself — in a new land, having watched these men die to get you here. Something inside you writhes painfully. You try to remind yourself the stench is just meat. [[Sleep.|Farmland - Morning]]

You sleep a dreamless sleep and wake with the gentle drizzle of morning, bright and soft. The two men have left. After finishing the final bass for breakfast, you dry the log as best you can and sit for a while looking at the sky and wondering what to do. You know roughly where the river is, if <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>'s assumption was correct. (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger" or "Small Iron Dagger" or "Whittling Knife")[If you mark the trees you should be able to make it without getting lost, and you can always come back here if you find yourself going astray. You pick up your pack and head back into the thick, wet canopy. Each tree you pass on your left gets a thick horizontal stroke: the character ᚁ, *B* for <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Bríd*</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. Sooner than you thought it would take you hear the gush of water and see the trees giving way where the river runs through them. In their place is a hastily erected wooden guard tower, a man's head and back just about visible above the sides. You approach cautiously. "G-good morning," you say first, anxious for it to appear as if you mean no harm. He peers down at you and breaks into an eyeless smile. "Good morning. Fierce mild, isn't it?" "It is, yeah." "Fetching water?" His face is pale, unformed, like dough, and he has a thin, reedy voice that you find distracting. "N-not quite, no. I've to visit relatives across the river." "Border's closed," he says impassively, looking straight ahead. "Can I suggest we, er, perform an exchange?" He raises his eyebrows. You fumble in your bag. (if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[[Offer the mirror.|Forest - Mirror]]] (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[[[Offer salt.|Forest - Salt]]] (if: $inventory contains "Brooch")[[[Offer your mother's brooch.|Forest - Brooch]]] (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger")[[[Offer the silver dagger.|Forest - Dagger]]] (if: $inventory contains "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament")[[[Offer the Síle na gcíoch ornament.|Forest - Síle na gCíoch]]] (unless: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror" or "Salt Pouch" or "Brooch" or "Silver Dagger")[[[Panic.|Forest - Bribery Failure]]]](else:)[It's unfortunate you don't have anything to mark the trees with. You're used to the bare crude rockiness of the islands, not this living maze, so you fear your instinct won't be much use. Still, you can't stay here and you'd struggle almost as much to find your way back. Peering up, you try to make out the sun. Blank. Well, your options aren't many. You pick up your bag and head back into the thick, wet canopy. The yew aren't exactly lined up, and you struggle to imagine a straight path passing through the thick, tangled earth. After one turn too many you're admit to yourself that yes, you're probably lost. You slink against a tree trunk, straining your ears. Birdsong, the bleating of a red deer far off, and then — yes, what's unmistakably a gush of water to your... left? You let the instinct take you, stopping now and then to adjust. The gush widens and soon fills your ears. The river is in sight, and a wooden guard tower level with the parting trees. Before you can even make it there a shout rings out with terrible clarity: "Hey! Stop!". You look back and a man is descending the tower's ladder with something gleaming in his right hand. [[Keep going.|Forest - Getaway]] [[Stop.|Forest - Extra Bribery]] ]

You keep digging in the bag as if something worth giving away might materialise if you try hard enough, but eventually you're forced to give up. You look back up at him and make your plea: "Sorry, I... I don't have anything. But I need to get across." "Border's closed," he says again. "Please, I can owe you... you can take my cloak." "That filthy rag? I'm grand. But look, I must be sending you round the bend." "What?" "I said, I must be sending you round the bend." He mouths each syllable carefully, staring into your face, then tilts his head upriver. "Oh!" Now you're beginning to cop it, but you can't resist asking: "Why?" "I've a daughter myself." You utter a quick thanks and set off following the curve of the river. "Hey!" he whispers. You turn around. "Stay low until the turn. There's another guard out the opposite way." You walk for about ten minutes until you reach the bend, then hoist up your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> and wade into the cold, biting water. The current isn't particularly strong here, but you still struggle to stay upright at times, and you're glad when the short crossing is over and you can lie still and mute on the new bank. (display: "Forest - Exit")

You hold up the heavy stone object. "The fuck is that?" he asks, making a face. "Fertility aid," you murmur. "Do I look like I need help there?" |links>[(link: "Suggest something else.")[(replace: ?links)[(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[[Offer the mirror. |Forest - Mirror]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[[[Offer salt. |Forest - Salt]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Brooch")[[[Offer your mother's brooch. |Forest - Brooch]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger")[[[Offer the silver dagger. |Forest - Dagger]]]\ (unless: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror" or "Salt Pouch" or "Brooch" or "Silver Dagger")[You have nothing else. You [[start to panic.|Forest - Bribery Failure]]]]\]]

He peers down expectantly. You remove the brooch pinned to your cloak and hold it up to him with your left hand, your right keeping the cloak in place. He looks over it, the gleam mirrored in his eyes. You can't bear to watch. "You steal this?" "It was my mother's," you say. Her face rests in your mind, clearer than you've seen it in months. A little wren face, Dad would say, with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>'s wild blue eyes. No admonishment, though; she's smiling. It makes you feel worse. "Didn't know there was metalwork like that on them islands." "She wasn't from the islands." "And you talking like that?" He snorts. "I doubt it. Anyway, I don't want to part you from a family heirloom. Sure you haven't got anything else?" |links>[(link: "Give him the brooch.")[(replace: ?links)["I haven't, no. Take it." You're still looking away. "Right. Go on."(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Brooch")) (display: "Forest - Bribery Crossing")]]] |links>[(link: "Suggest something else.")[(replace: ?links)[(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[[Offer the mirror. |Forest - Mirror]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[[[Offer salt. |Forest - Salt]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger")[[[Offer the silver dagger. |Forest - Dagger]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament")[[[Offer the Síle na gcíoch ornament.|Forest - Síle na gCíoch]]]\ (unless: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror" or "Salt Pouch" or "Silver Dagger" or "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament")[You have nothing else. You [[start to panic.|Forest - Bribery Failure]]]]\]]

You remove the dagger from its sheath and hold it up and out, parallel to your thumb. He looks satisfied. "This'll do nicely, all right. Silver, is it?" You nod. It occurs to you in a mad moment that you could ascend that ladder and catch him by surprise. You see the sweep of it, leaping up and drawing it across the neck. Him wrestling with you as the blood runs out of him, drip-drip-drip, cursing foul oaths. Then silence, then a still heavy thing under your chest. But anyway, you wouldn't know how, and you don't really want to. You're just held by the image. "Well, are you going to give it to me or not?" he says. "Oh... I am, yeah. Here," you say, placing it back in the sheath and handing it up. He reaches for it greedily. You wonder why a man who's surely furnished with enough weaponry to defend his post cares for yet another knife to be whetted and watched over. Thinking women's thoughts, as one of the aul' lads on the island would say. To him it's just another trinket.(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Silver Dagger")) (display: "Forest - Bribery Crossing")

You hold the mirror close enough to see yourself once more as you're taking it out, rays from what little sun there is criss-crossing your oval face. You're dirty and haggard and very aware of it, your vanity wounded. "What's that? Something to look at yourself in?" "A mirror, yeah." "I've not much use for something like that, truth be told. But what is it? Bronze?" You confirm that it is indeed bronze. "Right, go on. I'll take it." You look at your pale, anxious face one last time and hand it up to him. The blonde dream is dead, and moreover, you haven't got much else you can use to ward off fairies. Oh well. (set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Bronze Mirror")) (display: "Forest - Bribery Crossing")

"Do you need salt?" you ask. "How much salt?" You hold out the little pouch. He leans over the side of the guard tower as if it might collapse from his weight. "Giz it here." You toss it up. He shakes it vigorously, pursing his thin lips, and pockets it. "Anything else of note?" You want very badly to sigh, but stop yourself.(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Salt Pouch")) |links>[(link: "Suggest something else.")[(replace: ?links)[(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[[Offer the mirror. |Forest - Mirror]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Brooch")[[[Offer your mother's brooch. |Forest - Brooch]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger")[[[Offer the silver dagger. |Forest - Dagger]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament")[[[Offer the Síle na gcíoch ornament.|Forest - Síle na gCíoch]]]\ (unless: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror" or "Brooch" or "Silver Dagger" or "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament")[You have nothing else. You [[start to panic.|Forest - Bribery Failure]]]]\]]

He sends you off and slinks back into his box. Just as your feet are about to touch the water he stops you with, "Not there. Go a bit further up, until you're past the bend; it's just as shallow. There's another guard the opposite way, and it's my head if he sees you." You're a little annoyed knowing you could've saved yourself the trouble of the interaction, but at least it's done. Doing as he says, you walk for about ten minutes until you reach the bend, then hoist up your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> and wade into the cold, biting water. The current isn't particularly strong here, but you still struggle to stay upright at times, and you're glad when the short crossing is over and you can lie still and mute on the new bank. (display: "Forest - Exit")

|links>[(link: "Suggest something else.")[(replace: ?links)[(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[[Offer the mirror. |Forest - Mirror]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[[[Offer salt. |Forest - Salt]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Brooch")[[[Offer your mother's brooch. |Forest - Brooch]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger")[[[Offer the silver dagger. |Forest - Dagger]]]\ (if: $inventory contains "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Síle na gCíoch</span><span class="annotation-text">A carved folk ornament depicting a woman spreading the lips of her vulva, said to aid in childbirth Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈʃiːlʲə nˠə ɟiːx/ English phonetic approximation: *Sheela na gee-uk*</span></span> Stone Ornament")[[[Offer the Síle na gcíoch ornament. |Forest - <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Síle na gCíoch</span><span class="annotation-text">A carved folk ornament depicting a woman spreading the lips of her vulva, said to aid in childbirth Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈʃiːlʲə nˠə ɟiːx/ English phonetic approximation: *Sheela na gee-uk*</span></span>]]]\ (unless: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror" or "Salt Pouch" or "Brooch" or "Silver Dagger" or "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Síle na gCíoch</span><span class="annotation-text">A carved folk ornament depicting a woman spreading the lips of her vulva, said to aid in childbirth Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈʃiːlʲə nˠə ɟiːx/ English phonetic approximation: *Sheela na gee-uk*</span></span> Stone Ornament")[You have nothing else. You [[start to panic.|Forest - Bribery Failure]]]]\]]

You keep going towards the river, heart threatening your legs. He's almost upon you as you start wading in and that cold, biting water pools around your upheld <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>, and though the water is shallow and the current is strong your fear decides for you that it would be faster to swim, so you drop the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> and everything and push away, your arms first flailing, then finding a stroke. You look back; the gleaming thing was a spear, but he's not using it, just standing there with a bit of a miffed expression across his face. You're not a competent swimmer, and it takes you longer to get across than it might have wading. But then you're there on the new bank, free, and he can only look over and shout, "You will be dealt with should you attempt to cross this border again." (display: "Forest - Exit")

That's that. You hold up your hands in a gesture of surrender. He stays where he is, but thrusts the gleaming thing — a spear — in your direction and demands to know what you're doing out here. "I... I've a need to cross the border. To visit relatives." "It's closed," he says impassively, lowering the spear and retreating back into the tower as if he's finally realised you're not much of a threat. "Can I suggest we, er, perform an exchange?" He looks interested. You fumble in your bag. (if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[[Offer the mirror.|Forest - Mirror]]] (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[[[Offer salt.|Forest - Salt]]] (if: $inventory contains "Brooch")[[[Offer your mother's brooch.|Forest - Brooch]]] (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger")[[[Offer the silver dagger.|Forest - Dagger]]] (if: $inventory contains "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament")[[[Offer the Síle na gcíoch ornament.|Forest - Síle na gCíoch]]] (unless: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror" or "Salt Pouch" or "Brooch" or "Silver Dagger")[[[Panic.|Forest - Bribery Failure]]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"How'd the chat with Dar go?" <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> asks as you take the seat next to her. "Why, going to report back?" "Maybe," she says noncommittally. [["She'll make a good Christian out of me yet."|Monastery - Guard Dar Positive]] [["Not sure we see eye-to-eye."|Monastery - Guard Dar Negative]] (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Slavery")[[["She said she was like you."|Monastery - Guard Dar Similar]]]</div>

You find Cowkiller sitting against the old stone wall again, hands behind her head. This time her eyes are open wide to the rain, her expression strained. "Sorry to interrupt," you begin. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cowkiller.png" alt="A portrait of the butcher woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She yawns loudly, stretching her limbs and making a show of it. Then her mouth drops and she offers you a blank stare as her way of indicating that she's now paying attention. "Do you know anything about how people generally cross the border here?" She shakes her head. You sit down next to her, waiting for something to happen. Your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> swells with the rain, smelling of a heavy wetness, the kind you associate with spring. It's picking up, and the wind too; even the kids have gone inside. "There's a river," she says after a while. You're not sure if she's talking about the weather or the border. She tongues each syllable slowly as if she's struggling to get them out, and the sounds are lacking in colour, unmusical like the skin of a broken <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span>. "Guarded?" "No notion." She's licking up the rainwater at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Máire</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɑːɾʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Moira*</span></span>. I'm heading back in. Don't catch your death." She returns to looking up at the great wet mouth. Hardly your problem, you think, and retreat back into the refectory. (unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Abbess Morning")[Sister Dar is nowhere around.] Then, from somewhere beyond, a man's shout [[punctures the silence.|Monastery - Interruption]]</div>

<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠaɾˠ l̪ˠuːd̪ˠaxˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Dar Loo-dack*</span></span> is in her study, the door shut tight. You stand outside in the wet mist and knock. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Enter." She's sitting behind the desk. "Good morning, sister," you say, bowing a little awkwardly. "No need for pleasantries." Her mouth isn't curled and she looks a good deal less tense than the night before. Good, you think.(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Raids")[ [["Did they find the cow?"|Monastery - Abbess Cow]]](else:)[ ] [["Did anything happen last night?"|Monastery - Abbess Quiet]] [["I'll be leaving soon."|Monastery - Abbess Leaving]]</div>

{(if: (history:)'s last is "Monastery - Butcher Morning New")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $cowkiller)) (set: $cowkiller to (dm: "name", "Cowkiller", "bio", "Cowkiller Desc", "bioAppend", "Cowkiller Desc Update 2", "img", "cowkiller.png", "desc", "Fierce old woman.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $cowkiller)) {(set: $characters to it - (ds: $muireann)) (set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "bioAppend", "Muireann Desc Update 2.2", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $muireann))}]}Everyone within the walls of the monastery turns suddenly, simultaneously, wordlessly. An angry rap sounds on the rampart door. There's a pause of a few seconds, then another. "Open up at once!" The same man's voice, hard and resonant. (if: (history:)'s last is "Monastery - Abbess Morning")[Without saying a word to you, Sister Dar rises from her seat and leaves the study. You follow after, watching her walk barefoot across the wet grass over to the rampart door.](else:)[You run outside with the others. Sister Dar emerges from her study and, without saying a word to anyone, walks barefoot across the wet grass over to the rampart door.] "We don't admit outsiders," she booms. "Oh, but you'll admit my fucking slaves! Open up or I'll kick this door down myself!" She looks over at Cowkiller, tilting her head first towards the twins, then you. Cowkiller disappears into a small shed by the dormitory, emerging with what looks like a bundled-up rope ladder. Two ladders; she passes one to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span>, who swings the top loops around two of the stakes on the palisade and begins climbing up, bow and arrow on her back, and takes the other herself, gesturing for you and the twins to follow her towards the opposite end of the enclosure. The visitor continues to alternate between rapping on the door and shouting for it to be opened. The twins run over to the ladder. [[Follow them.|Monastery - Interruption 2]]

Cowkiller leads the group into the forest. It's dark, hollowed in the thick, dank smell of decaying leaves. The trees are yew, a huge mass of wood, rock, and moss twisted around one another. Their roots run along the forest floor like exposed veins. You run as long as you're able, in no particular direction, until you hear the lap of the current and realise you're already almost at the river. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Canna</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span> is panting. "Can we... please... stop... for a sec?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cowkiller.png" alt="A portrait of the butcher woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"No," says Cowkiller flatly. "The border first." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Gwenffrewi</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span> clutches at you, whispering that she's scared. "Don't worry, we'll be grand," you say, and squeeze her hand, as much to comfort yourself. "Should we check downriver, for guards?" you ask Cowkiller. "No time. Let's just go — we'll shield them. Have you any weapon?" (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger" or "Small Iron Dagger")["I do," you say, removing your dagger from your bag.](else:)[You tell her you don't.] She withdraws a large knife from the folds of her <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> and, looking around cautiously, emerges from the overgrowth down towards the riverbank. The group follows warily. "Right, girls — go between us," she says. "Shouldn't we take our clothes off?" Canna asks. "Just hold them up at the bottom. Now go!" You wade into the cold, biting water together. Gwenffrewi hesitates; she can't swim, she says. Her sister raps her on the shoulder and tells her to keep going. The current isn't particularly strong, but even you struggle to stay upright. Cowkiller pulls up her garments with one hand with the knife in the other and widens her legs, low to the silty riverbed, crossing with her eyes on the bank on the other side. You don't see him until you've started crossing, with the water gushing in your ears and your legs waggling under trying to find the bottom. He's approaching at speed along the riverbend — a fully-grown man twice your size with a spear drawn — and you need to get the twins out so you grab on to Gwenffrewi and haul her roughly towards the bank, though she's scarcely any lighter than you are. Canna and Cowkiller are up and they pull the girl out and then you see the gleam of the spear flash around your eye and start the shoulder scramble up, tripping over pebbles under the surface. They run, all three of them in different directions, and you're still scrambling, unable to get any air into you, sure this is the end, when a bright and terrible figure grips the guard from behind and with one agonisingly long sweep of a sword across the neck [[cuts his head clean off.|Monastery - River Crossing Cú]]</div>

The heroes are gone, if they were ever even there. You heap yourself onto a mossy rock under one of the yews and gaze dazedly at your legs. The right shin is cuffed where you tripped and banged it against the riverbank, three angry red lines. Away from the river the forest rustles, teems, sings. The wet smell of the spring earth after rainfall rests on everything, overwhelming. You offer a mute prayer to the god of mercy, that He deliver those poor children to safety. For a long time you lie there, wondering what to do, afraid to move lest some other strange man come upon you but itching to know they're all right. You close your eyes, thinking you might have slept if you were able to, until a stray sunbeam interferes with the idea and a pang of hunger puts an end to it altogether. Pulling out the last bass, you sit up and pull it apart with your teeth, watching the colour of the light on the trees change until everything not in shadow is orange. The forest is less dense here; you must be almost out. You wake up your legs and pull yourself off the rock, slowly and awkwardly. The river is behind you as you continue out, following the setting sun. In a small glade you come across the remains of a campfire, rocks arranged in a circle and two logs. There's a piece of fabric slung across one of them. You pick it up; it's a sleeve of wool, dyed a mute saffron, pricked with a splotch of blood. You recognise it immediately and hug it to your chest, your heart leaping. He was here. He was here and was hurt. Maybe he tore the sleeve on a sharp branch, or someone — something — ripped it away. You speed up, emboldened by the discovery. Soon the forest starts to recede into vast, rolling fields of farmland, crops and cattle appearing and disappearing behind the shifting horizon. You spy some stables in the distance and approach, your body low; no house or hostel would refuse you, even here, but unnecessary questions are best avoided. There's no lock on the door, but you're greeted by the foul stench of animal shite and the whinnies of four horses, young-looking — colts, perhaps? More exhausted than perturbed, you curl up in a heap of hay and [[doze off.|Farmland - Morning]]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 12", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))}<div class="body-text text-animated"><span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sioc</span><span class="annotation-text">Donn Fírinne's mare. Means 'frost'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃʊk/ English phonetic approximation: *Shook*</span></span>'s expectant nickering wakes you too early. The death god is laying out a scattering of hay for her, a scene so comfortingly domestic you find yourself stifling a laugh. Your mind goes to your own <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>, the promise that <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> made to you. You hope she's being looked after. "Sleep well?" You nod, though your legs feel leaden. "Good. Then we're off. The sun won't be kind to these two." You glance at the corpses, grimacing; they're already beginning to bloat. "Can you go at a slower pace? I'm not able for that galloping again." He huffs. "*I've* nothing but time. The same can't be said for you." You mount the horse and pull off, this time at a trot. The river is behind you as you continue out, following the rising sun. "So. My servant, are you?" [["I wanted to give them a good scare."|Farmland - Donn Servant Scare]] [["Weren't you looking for servants?"|Farmland - Donn Servant Looking]] [["It just slipped out."|Farmland - Donn Servant Inadvertant]]</div>

(if: (history:)'s last is "Forest - Getaway")[You get away as quickly as you can.](else:)[You wake up your legs and pull yourself up, slowly and awkwardly.] The river is behind you as you continue out, following the rising sun. In a small glade you come across the remains of a campfire, rocks arranged in a circle and two logs. There's a piece of fabric slung across one of them. You pick it up; it's a sleeve of wool, dyed a bright saffron. You recognise it immediately and hug it to your chest, your heart leaping. He was here. He was here and left it behind, maybe because it was torn off on a sharp branch, or someone — something — ripped it away. You speed up, emboldened by the discovery. Soon the forest starts to recede into vast, rolling fields of farmland, crops and cattle appearing and disappearing behind the shifting horizon. [[Walk.|Farmland - Morning]]

<img src="Images/alltar-logo.png" class="main-menu-img" id="logo" alt="The game's logo."></img>(set: $inventory to (dataset:)) <table class="menu"> <tr class="menu">(unless: (saved-games:) contains $_autosave_slot and (datavalues: (saved-games:)) contains $_autosave_filename)[](else:)[<button class="main-menu-button" id="start-menu-button">{|mainmenu>[(link: "CONTINUE")[(load-game: $_autosave_slot)]]}</button>]<div class="modal"> <p class="message">Save data exists. Are you sure you want to start a new game?</p> <div class="options"> <button class="modal-button" id="yes-button" onclick="checkButtonLogic(this.id)">YES</button> <button class="modal-button" id="no-button" onclick="checkButtonLogic(this.id)">NO</button> </div></tr><tr class="menu"> <button class="main-menu-button" id="start-menu-button">|mainmenu>[(link-repeat:"NEW GAME")[(unless: (saved-games:) contains $_autosave_slot and (datavalues: (saved-games:)) contains $_autosave_filename)[(goto: "Intro")](else:)[<script>displayPopUp();</script>]]]</tr><tr class="menu"> <button class="main-menu-button" id="start-menu-button">|mainmenu>[[[CREDITS|Credits]]]</button></tr><tr class="menu"> <button class="main-menu-button" id="start-menu-button">|mainmenu>[[[SETTINGS|Settings No Return to Game]]]</button></tr><tr class="menu"</div> </tr> </table>

{(unless: (passage:)'s tags contains "nosave")[(if: (save-game: $_autosave_slot, $_autosave_filename))[](else:)[GAME COULDN'T BE SAVED!<div class="modal"> <p class="message">*Alltarach* couldn't be saved. Make sure you're not playing in private browsing mode.</p> <div class="options"> <button class="modal-button" id="okay-button" onclick="checkButtonLogic(this.id)">OKAY</button> </div>]]}{}

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<div id="back-credits">|mainmenu>[(link:"<img src='Images/icon_back.png' alt='Back icon' id='back-icon'></img>")[(go-to: "Title Screen")]]</div> <div class="text-animated">An interactive novel by <img src="Images/wildisland.png" id="wild-island-logo" alt="The Wild Island logo."> <div class="header">WRITING AND DESIGN</div> Katie Canning <div class="header">ART AND DESIGN</div> Josef Olsson <div class="header">PLAYTESTING</div> Leia French Konrad Olsson <div class="header">QUOTED SOURCES</div> <div class="citation-section">*Adze-head...* — Old Irish source text traditional. Translation: Carney, James. "Adze-head". 2012. *The Penguin Book of Irish Poetry.* Edited by Patrick Crotty. London: Penguin. *Cétemain, caín cucht...* — Old Irish source text traditional. Translation ours, with influence from: <ul class="citation"><li>Heaney, Seamus. *Summer*, at <a href="https://rememberedlore.com/2023/05/12/i-feel-i-need-a-holiday-a-very-long-holiday/">https://rememberedlore.com/2023/05/12/i-feel-i-need-a-holiday-a-very-long-holiday/</a> Last accessed 14th January 2024.</li><li>Murphy, Gerard. *Finn's Poem on May-Day*, in *Ériu*, Vol. 17, 1955, pp.86-99.</li></ul> *The Song of the Poet Amergin/Amhairghin*. Old Irish source text traditional. Translation ours, with influence from: <ul class="citation"><li>Burch, Michael R. 2018. *The Song of Amergin: Modern English Translations* <a href="http://www.thehypertexts.com/Song%20of%20Amergin%20Modern%20English%20Translation.htm">http://www.thehypertexts.com/Song%20of%20Amergin%20Modern%20English%20Translation.htm</a> Last accessed 14th January 2024.</li><li>Gerrard, Lisa. 2010. *Aimhirghin's Song- An Invocation of Ireland* <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GE3eDXQDe28">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GE3eDXQDe28</a> Last accessed 14th January 2024.</li><li>Gregory, Isabella Augusta. 1904. "Part I Book III: The Landing", in *Gods and Fighting Men*. <a href="https://sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/gafm/gafm09.htm">https://sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/gafm/gafm09.htm</a> Last accessed 14th January 2024.</li><li>Magan, Manchán. 2020. *Thirty-Two Words for Field.*, pp.11-12. Dublin: Gill Books.</li></ul> Carson, Ciaran. 2007. *The Táin: A New Translation of the Táin Bó Cúailnge.* London: Penguin. Ó Dálaigh, Tom na hInise. *Port na bPúcaí*. Melody traditional, lyrics Ó Dálaigh via Muireann Nic Amhlaoibh.</div>

<div class="text-animated-dream"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brothervision1.png" alt="A portrait of you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">Waking, towards a blue-grey sky and the hiss of breakers. Your stomach stings where the salt water rubbed against the old scar; your head aches. Dead or a failure, [[maybe both|Brother - Waking 2]].</div>

<div class="background-container">Pain again, pooled around the wound. You tear at the shoulder sleeve of your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> with your teeth, put a finger in the hole, and pull it off. Wrap around: once, twice. A staunch, enough for now. Rising again and trying to walk, trying not to touch your torso. The sand is warm, your back is warm, worn... thirsty. Maybe there's a pub somewhere. Market time, isn't it? <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> was going. Can't look a fright here. The bird man left your belongings; you wrap the damp mantle around you, wash your hands and face in the sea, ruffle your hair. Town's buzzing already. Means no eyes on you: good. Snake through the crowds, head down. Out the other end, where the town trails off into the bog that wraps around it, there's a solitary stone building. Must be it. Door locked, but it's early. You lean against the side wall and wait. She'll be wondering now, no doubt. Asking round. Fuck… "I, er... are you all right? Do you need help?" A tall enough lad, one gammy leg. Dark curly hair and a wide face. He stares down at you. "Grand, thank you." It should've come out as blunt, not curt. You're not sure it did. "I know a healer here. I can take you; it's no trouble at all." Big feet shuffling. He must've debated whether to keep walking or not. A right fucking state you are… "Muireann?" "No—" "Just an old wound. Staunched. It's fine." "Well, er, up to you. I think the owner of this pub has left, just so you know. Have a nice <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>..." he says and continues walking. A side door you hadn't noticed opens. No one comes out. [[Peer in.|Brother - Pub]]</div>

<div class="background-container">Eyes adjusting to the dark and then you see them, two at a table. One little lad, one longer, cradling <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>s with their backs to you, hoods up. "Story?" says the tall one, with a voice strangely small and distant as if he's talking to you from somewhere below. No one serving; the place looks abandoned. They're just here taking advantage. "Any drink going?" you ask. The other one points towards the counter. A wooden barrel. You grab and fill a mether and sit down on the stone. Big yellow eyes without a face; everything dark. They turn their stools towards you. Slink down, make yourself small. "How's it? What's your name?" says the first. Holes puncturing all of your memories where it should be. It's just down to the state you're in, surely? It'll come back when your head's on right... "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Rónán</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɾˠoːnɑːn/ English phonetic approximation: *Row-nawn*</span></span>," you lie. Little seal. At least you can remember when they called you that. The short one brays like a seal, so convincing you'd swear it was real, then erupts in a fit of guffawing. "Little seal in the sea," says the other. You sup the drink, a weak ale. Pain's not as sharp anymore, just vague, like the outlines in dreams. Get up and have another, then sit for a while watching them murmur away in some language you can't understand. Far away. Lean back against the counter, [[forget for a second...|Brother - Pub 2]]

<div class="background-container">Across the bog now. You look back as the town blurs together. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> will be setting sail soon, doted on by that blond lad with the big ears and lazy eyes. One of many, you are, and probably not even the most important. Still, you can't exactly demand anything: you have a debt to her. Shouldn't have said anything. Best would've been to leave without ceremony and be gone from her sight. You're not sure where they're taking you. Looking, not finding: then what? Will your sister come too, or will fear get the better of her? A wave of shame washes over you. They'll learn to forget you, though; they'll have to. Fuck fuck fuck... And if you find <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>? Terrified of what you'll say. A sister Mam barely mentioned, as if a secret they were content to keep from the both of you. The ones who left you to raise your own sister, dying deafened under white heaving waves. To leave you a boy with a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>, alone and weak. Weaker still now; your head lulls. What little strength you had has gone out of you. Land that twists and sinks and ensnares. They're better able to navigate it than you, this strange pair. The little one keeps looking back with those yellow eyes, innocent and mad. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Rónán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ˈɾˠoːnɑːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A row-nawn*</span></span>!" it yelps. "*Róóónán*!" Concern, it is: they wait for you to catch up, drunk and halting and stupid. At the edge of the forest they stop. Sitting then, exhausted, ready to sleep again and never wake up, when you're suddenly lifted clean off the ground and are moving before you can understand what's happened. A black horse under you, and another beside. Yellow eyes. You've known what these creatures were all along, but here it is. You cling to the little one's mane, head reeling. They're in charge, and they gallop through the dense forest with a familiarity that impresses even feeling as you do. Eventually the trees part. Eyes closed, you think you hear running water. A trickle, not a rush: not like back home. There's a smell like the blackweed that dominates the shores of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>'s inlets at low tide, a damp, ancient smell. Then steadier ground, rushing towards their destination. They stop. Hands loosen; you're falling. (if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Confrontation")[[[Under, below, beyond.|Bealtaine - Morning]]](else:)[[[Under, below, beyond.|Monastery - Morning]]]</div>

You dismount the mare with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>, staring all the while. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>. You're arrested by her, imagination made flesh: a fierce but gentle face, framed by wavy orange hair and a long, thin neck, black eyes that glimmer like the night sky. You see the beauty of them set in her features, that infinity that yields to no one, and kneel almost without realising. Her mantle is blue – a light wool, not silk – and it shines as if illuminated from within. She isn't veiled, but you recognise the plain brown habit of the Sisters from her abbey. "Thank you for bringing her here, Donn. I see you've business to attend to." "Oh, you know yourself," he says. You'd swear you see some colour pooled around his cheeks. "I'm sure you're plenty busy with whatever the foreigner's god has you doing these days. Permit me to ask: is he a harder taskmaster than your father? Or noticeable by his absence?" She smiles, unperturbed. "My god is a not a man." "No, indeed! It seems he's a phantom as well as a foreigner. What would the poor <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">All-Father</span><span class="annotation-text">an epithet meaning "All-Father", used for The Dagda, a father god and member of the Tuatha Dé Danann.</span></span> think, and he left to rot in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Alltar</span><span class="annotation-text">The world beyond ours; the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈal̪ˠtˠəɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *All-tur*</span></span>?" "Remind me, Donn. When did *your* people come to these shores?" "Oh, my darling, you don't remember?" He strides up to her, whispers it in her ear. "Right before they conquered yours." "Whatever you bind on earth will be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth will be loosed in heaven. The past is done; my concern is your people's salvation." He grits his teeth. "You are debasing yourself—" "Would that you were willing to do the same. I'm grateful for your help, but please leave us now. The girl is safe with me." "Grand so," he says, hopping on the mare. He gazes down at you. "Know you're always welcome in my house," he says, then pulls on the reins and [[disappears in a blur.|Brigid - Introduction 2]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brigid.png" alt="A portrait of the abbess Brigid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"What has you out here?" "Travelling," she says. "Going into the world, telling people the Good News." (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Brigid")[ "Sister Dar said she didn't know where you'd gone. I... I think she was worried." You feel a little embarrassed bringing it up, as if you're putting your nose where you shouldn't. "I'm sorry to have worried her. I love her dearly." She pauses as if she's reminding herself of the truth of that statement. "My mission needs to come first, though." ] "What does that involve?" "Preaching, setting up new convents, making peace between enemies. Talking to women and to slaves. Cultivating the faith in this country." "Sounds like a lot of work for one woman." She smiles, holding up the pot. "More tea?" You accept it gladly. (display: "Brigid - Questions")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brigid.png" alt="A portrait of the abbess Brigid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I've been told you're *the* Brigid." "Oh yes?" She offers you another kindly smile. "By whom?" "Our friend from earlier." "Oh? They're a notoriously untrustworthy type, death gods. And that one is no exception." "So are you?" She sips her tea. "I am and I amn't. I don't quite understand it myself, to be honest. All I know for certain is that I'm a servant of God, and sometimes I glimpse fragments of another life and feel its memories my own." "So you've served other gods before?" She laughs a little sadly. "Perhaps. But there's only one God worthy of serving, and I think perhaps the one who styles himself the Dark One has failed to understand that. Worship motivated by love rather than fear isn't something he can easily grasp. That's why his cult is dying." "And yours?" "Mine shouldn't be distinct from the worship of Our Lord, otherwise I've failed." And yet her servants still come out on that dead winter night on the eve of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Lá 'le Bríde*</span><span class="annotation-text">A feast day in honour of the goddess Brigid and the coming of spring. Part of the wider festival of Imbolg. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠɑː lʲɛ bʲɾʲiːdʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Law Leh Bree-djeh*</span></span>, Brigid's Day, going from house to house with rush crosses marking her blessings, the promise of spring. Is this the doing of that other life, the one she says she can only see sometimes in scattered moments? You've been the designated Brigid yourself — it's the duty that comes with the name — and were welcomed by all houses, pagan and Christian. "Your feast day..." you mumble. "It's very old indeed," she says. "And I've always loved it. For the hope. Please let us keep the tradition." She smiles. "God will keep it if it serves him." (display: "Brigid - Questions")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brigid.png" alt="A portrait of the abbess Brigid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Where's my brother?" She listens to the breeze. "He's in the earth. Not far. A burial mound, I think it must be." "How—" Hushing you, she whispers, "There's someone coming" and gestures towards a nearby bush. "Go behind there and I'll deal with them." You don't hear anything, but do as you're told. After a while there's the rumble of hooves, followed by someone stepping off a horse. Then two bodies breathing together as if they'd never been parted. You peer out. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> is holding <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠaɾˠ l̪ˠuːd̪ˠaxˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Dar Loo-dack*</span></span>, who's weeping with tears that might indicate relief or resignation or something else entirely, you're not sure. She embraces her for a long time with a steadied, serious expression, as if she's afraid she might catch the same crying sickness if she lets go. They're whispering something. You strain your ears. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*A stór*</span><span class="annotation-text">An affectionate form of address meaning 'my darling' or 'my love'; literally 'my treasure'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə stoːɾ/ English phonetic approximation: *A stoor*</span></span>," Brigid is saying. "What happened?" "We had an intruder, looking for his slaves, the twins. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> killed the man, speared him through the heart. I fear she may never recover." "We'll worry about that later," says Brigid, stroking (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Brigid")[her lover's](else:)[the other woman's] cheek. "What about the others?" "T-they're fine," says Sister Dar. "They escaped. I found them not far from here. Wet and shaken, but healthy.(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Interruption")[ Our visitor fled somewhere else, though." "She's here. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" You step out. "Hello again." Sister Dar runs to you and embraces you warmly. "I'm very glad to see you. We all feared the worst." "I'm glad the others are safe." {(set: $characters to it - (ds: $blathnaid)) (set: $blathnaid to (dm: "name", "Guard", "bio", "Guard Desc New", "bioAppend", "Guard Desc Update 4", "img", "bláthnaid450.png", "desc", "Intimidating monastery guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $blathnaid)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $twins))(set: $twins to (dm: "name", "Twins", "bio", "Twins Desc", "bioAppend", "Twins Desc Update 2", "img", "twins.png", "desc", "Orphaned monastery twins.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $twins)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $cowkiller)) (set: $cowkiller to (dm: "name", "Cowkiller", "bio", "Cowkiller Desc", "bioAppend", "Cowkiller Desc Update 4", "img", "cowkiller.png", "desc", "Fierce old woman.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $cowkiller)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $abbess)) (set: $abbess to (dm: "name", "Dar Lugdach", "bio", "Abbess Desc", "bioAppend", "Abbess Desc Update 3.1", "img", "abbess01.png", "desc", "Acting abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $abbess))}](else:)[{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $abbess)) (set: $abbess to (dm: "name", "Dar Lugdach", "bio", "Abbess Desc", "bioAppend", "Abbess Desc Update 3.2", "img", "abbess01.png", "desc", "Acting abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $abbess))}" You step out. "Did something happen?" Sister Dar's expression freezes. The two bodies part. "It's you." "You've met?" asks Brigid. "She rejected our hospitality." "I needed to get going," you say. It's half-true. "Oh, so you went back the way you came to debauch yourself with a crowd of animal worshippers?" "Dar, please," says Brigid. "She's just a child. Now, as I was saying.](if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Interruption")["So am I. They'll need time, but the girls... they're resilient. And God is with them." She turns to you. "Now, as I was saying. ](else:)[ ]The young man is very close. There's a mound about half an hour's east from here, in a field just beyond a little grove. I reckon it's there. And it looks like the rain is clearing up." She smiles warmly, as if she'd had a hand in it herself. "Is it... permitted?" you ask. "I'm no druid, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. But I'll say this: some places and paths are only accessible at certain times of the year, going inside or out. Do it now if you're doing it." You gulp, Muireann's warning ringing in your head. "I'll leave you then. Thank you both, for everything." "One minute," urges Brigid. She yanks a couple of rushes out of the grass and begins weaving them together, pinching and folding, pinching and folding until a cross shape emerges, ties the ends, then hands it to you, saying, "God be with you at sunset, God be with you at sunrise."(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rush Cross"))(if: (history:) contains "Oisín - Delicacies")[{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin))(set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 2.3", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin))}] <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/item_rush.png" alt="A rush cross.">One becomes many: something brittle on its own finds strength interlaced, bound to others. It's got a powerful beauty, this cross she's known for. You thank her again and set off [[into the unknown.|Fairy Mound Animation]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brigid.png" alt="A portrait of the abbess Brigid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"How did you become a nun?" "Through persistence. Butting up against the men who tried to stop me, and forming alliances with those who didn't." "Oh?" "My father was the first. He was pagan, of not inconsiderable wealth. I was born to his Christian slave, and he sold her off to a high-ranking druid thinking they'd put manners on me. I came back to him and found pantries overflowing in a province full of poverty and slavery, so started sneaking things out. He didn't like that one bit." She gazes off into the distance. "I left him then, and went back to my mother. Her eyesight was failing so I worked the farm in her stead. I managed to convince the druid to let her go, and I was able to ignore the pull of the growing church for a while and live a simple farmhand's life. Then we had a visit." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span>..." you say. "The very man," she says, smiling. "Can you keep a secret?" "I can try." "I actually fell asleep listening to him." If you didn't know better you'd swear she was blushing. "Don't get me wrong, he was a wonderful orator, but I'd been up late the previous night and, well... it happened. But I dreamt a dream, and that finally made my mind up for me." [["What was it?"|Brigid - Origin 2]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brigid.png" alt="A portrait of the abbess Brigid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Where do our dead go? I-if that's not too difficult a question," you add. "It's not." She considers her answer. "They go to a new land that God has prepared for us, that was opened to us by Christ's sacrifice on Earth." "Like... <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Alltar</span><span class="annotation-text">The world beyond ours; the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈal̪ˠtˠəɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *All-tur*</span></span>?" "No. Alltar is an aspect of our own world, a bodily place. The soul belongs to Heaven, not the body." (if: (history:) contains "Forest - Cú and Láeg")[ "I met two men, two pagan men, who said they were dead and that they were visiting from Alltar. What if they lived before God?" You're not asking what you really want to ask, but it might give you the answer anyway. "There is no time before God, my dear <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. But everyone who lives is capable of experiencing His love, even though they may fail to understand it. I believe even those who came before us are judged at the moment of death." "Oh, I see." You shudder, thinking of your parents. "Who were these men, anyway? Sounds like quite the adventure." "It's ridiculous." "I'm not God to be judging you," she says, flashing you a reassuring smile. Her pupils are glimmering in that same unsettling way <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>'s did. "Do you know the story of the *Táin Bó Cúailnge*, the Cattle Raid of Cúailnge?" "I do indeed. I grew up not far from where it took place, actually." Of course: there aren't many who don't know it in this part of the country. "It was him. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> and his charioteer <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>." She claps her hands together in delight. "That's incredible! What were they like?" "Láeg was nice. Cú was... exactly like he comes across in the story." "That doesn't surprise me in the least. Young men like that often house a terrible bitterness. And we write stories about them."](else:)[She turns towards you. "Is there someone in particular you're wondering about?" "Just... if they never got the chance to accept God, would they still..." You can't bring yourself to say what you mean. "Because of ignorance, or?" "Because they waited too long." "God will judge them fairly. Everyone who lives is capable of experiencing His love, even though they may fail to understand it." "I hope so." "I *know so*, my dear. Would you like a hug?" "I..." You don't know how to react. You would like a hug, desperately. "Yes," you squeak. She wraps her arms around you, warm, strong. It feels like it's been forever. You try not to cry, and cry anyway. "It's okay," she coos. "Take all the time you need."] (display: "Brigid - Questions")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/c4-cave.png" alt="A hole in the earth under a whitethorn grove." class="chapter-img animated-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text text-animated"><span class="starter">Y</span>ou bid the women goodbye and head east, over flat wet fields pasturing lowing cattle eager to be out after the long winter. Eventually there are no more of them and the land silences as you approach the grove, a thin band of trees wavering in the wind. Beyond it, a hole in the earth with a limestone roof peers out of the overgrown mound, crowned by a whitethorn tree. The air feels thinner here, though you're no higher up than before. You wonder what the mummer would say to you. "This is a sacred space, and you are fool indeed to tread it." (if: $inventory's length is 0)[You don't even have any protection on you.] (else-if: $inventory's length <= 3)[You have very little protection on you.](else:)[Protection alone won't be enough.] He might come out of his own accord, but you doubt it. It's not a world that's all that easy to leave. You peer into the hole, then crouch down and feel around for a bottom. Nothing. With a deep breath, you swing over the threshold and jump into the blackness. Mercifully, the fall isn't long, but you land awkwardly, caked in earth. It's so quiet you can hear the rasp of your breath, and terribly cold. (if: $inventory contains "Flint")[Grabbing the driest branch you can find, you hold it between your legs and rub together the flint you traded for and a dry stone. A spark, and your surroundings take form. Orange stone and an endless curling passage.](else:)[You run your hands along the walls, blind, trying to discover a form. The passage curls around endlessly.] You keep walking, and it feels like you must be going down inside the earth. You shudder. There's no flooring; the soil under you is damp and sticks to your feet. You're not sure when you'll be able to tell you've passed over. Perhaps it's gradual, not a border but a film, permeable and unfixed. Perhaps you'll know when your form changes terribly or you cry out with a fear that takes your words. You keep walking. The passage keeps winding. (if: $inventory contains "Flint")[There are occasional inscriptions on the walls, strange and beautiful spiral forms you don't recognise. The ones who came before your people were here. You stop to touch the grooves as if it might bring you closer to them, make you feel what they were feeling as they crouched and cut away at the rock in this damp dark cavern.](else:)[When you touch the rock wall you feel something cut out of the surface, but you can't see the shape. Others have dwelt here. You've never known a darkness like this, unmediated by shapes from the light or the lightness of the air.] It's good to remind yourself to breathe. You hear something scuttling around, turn, (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger" or "Small Iron Dagger")[fumble around for your dagger,] and wait. A pair of yellow eyes (if: $inventory contains "Flint")[looks up at you from a badger, entirely black.](else:)[glints in the black.] A sigh is all you can muster. They stay staring at you (if: $inventory contains "Flint")[while you watch their form sink into the darkness, then gather into the shape of a small furry creature a little like a person, like an animal's imitation of a person. You almost drop the torch stepping back, hugging the wall.](else:)[while the eyes move around and up, as if they've gotten up on their hind legs.] (if: $inventory contains "Flint")[<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/puca_standing.png" alt="A púca" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">]"S-Story?" says a wavering voice. It is the creature's voice. [["I... What are you?"|Fairy Mound - Púca]]

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Rush Cross</strong></h2> A simple cross woven from rushes that you received from the abbess <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>. It resembles the type often hung in homes to honour her pagan namesake.

(set: $brotherActivity to (random: 1, 2))<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/ailbhe.png" alt="A portrait of Ailbhe smiling faintly, her hair tied in a loose braid." class="portrait-img animated-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text text-animated"><span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><span class="starter">A</span>ilbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> wakes you that morning. Earlier than you'd like; it's always earlier than you'd like... "Up with ya, sleepyhead. They're here soon." You groan, reach for your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> and the sheet that doubles as a cloak, and look out. There's a hint of rain in the grey of the clouds, and the sea is limber, lively, tossed around by the bracing wind. You still prefer to observe from a safe distance, like with people. But it's a good day to be out on a boat, as Dad used to say. Enough of a breeze to get you there, but not so much that you'd be worried. You're not worried anymore, you tell yourself. Ailbhe's gone on ahead. You make your way down to the village. There's a small crowd assembled at the beach where the boat will dock, including, to your surprise, the braggadocious church guard <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I convinced you in the end," you say as you approach. "I don't be all that busy on weekdays anyway, love," he retorts. "Figured I'd come along for the laugh." You smirk. "That's the thanks I get?" You're not expecting anything, just glad he's able to make the journey. Having friends in high places has certainly been to your benefit. He still doesn't believe you know <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>, so you told him you'd introduce him personally. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span> is just the milk on top of the cow, as they say on the mainland. Someone spots the boat off on the horizon and the talk turns to final preparations. (if: $left)["Have you seen <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>?" you ask. "I haven't. Off gallivanting as usual, that brother of yours." He grins, showing off the gaps in his mouth. [[Look for Donn.|Epilogue - Brother]]](else:)["Anyone we're waiting on?" you ask. "Just Ailbhe, I think. But she said they'll be a while yet. Loading and unloading and all that." [[Look for Ailbhe.|Epilogue - Ailbhe]]]</div></div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C2/cousins2.png" alt="A portrait of the young sailors." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text"><span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>'s looking well, his hair longer than before, set in neat braids. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> is much the same as ever. "No captain?" you ask. Féilim gestures towards his cousin. "You're looking at him." "Oh. Fair play." Fechín reddens. "Just filling in." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, dropping the bundles she's brought with her, saunters up to Féilim and gives him a warm hug. "I heard congratulations were in order! How's it feeling?" "Terrifying," says Féilim. "Well, you couldn't be any worse than my aul' lad," she says, half-joking. "Any idea how far gone she is?" "Couple of months. But sure didn't I come here to get away from all that? Thanks for reminding me." He flashes her a sly rictus. "Right, c'mon so." They begin unloading the barrels and boxes, working with an easy, steady rhythm: there's still plenty of time before the festival. Ailbhe needn't have rushed you. (if: $brotherActivity is 1 and $left)[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> steps in somewhat gingerly, allowing Ailbhe to introduce him, but he's used to the work and does it quickly and carefully, if mostly silently.](else-if: $brotherActivity is 2 and $left)[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> is content to watch them at first, but his curiosity moves him to examine the frame of the boat and Ailbhe manages to convince him to lend a hand after introducing him to the others. He's used to the work and does it quickly and carefully, if mostly silently.] (display: "Epilogue - Oisín")</div>

(unless: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh" or "The Village")[The door blows shut behind you as you step out. A formless rainmist tickles your cheeks as your feet find the mucky grass. From atop the slight incline the cottage rests on you see down towards the few buildings that make up the village, dotted between fields where stalks of rye fed on seaweed and sand seem to defy the limestone out of which they grow. Beyond that, occasional clusters of trees huddle naked against the sky, and a great stone fort marks where the cliffs rise above the murmuring sea, the sometime residence of the local chieftain.] (if: (passage:)'s name is "The Village" or "The Church")[<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/niche400.png" alt="A portrait of Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh. She's old, plump, and affable." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(unless: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh")[Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh offers you a broad smile as you approach, but it drops fast as soon as she realises you're about to march straight past her. She's a big woman, softened from childbirth but with the strength that comes from a life of hard labour. Mam used to call her "granny", even though you're not related; she's always had a welcome in her for your family. The heifers are scattered here and there on the dirt path, eating wild flowers or wandering off.](else:)[You manage to shut the door this time, but you're distracted and step right into a fresh cowpat. That's for not making yourself any shoes when you had the wool. Embarrassed, you scuff your foot on the grass and try to slink off, but Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh abandons her herding as if she's determined not to let you get away so easily this time.](set: $cowpat to true) "Where are you off to like the clatters, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" |links>[(link: "\"Just heading over to the well.\"")[(replace: ?links)["I, er..." You stop suddenly, almost as rudely as you started... off to a great start. What would you be doing? Practicalities; housework. Water! "I'm just off to the well." <img class="inline-img-left" src="Images/Inventory/handhoe_smol2.png" alt="A crude but effective hand hoe.">"You are, are you? Think you could drop this into the Domhnall place?" She places a hand hoe into your awkwardly outstretched palm and closes your fingers around it.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Hand Hoe")) "I... I suppose I could, yeah." "Grand so. Tell the woman of the house I send my regards." "Right." The Domhnalls, and the well, are on the other side of the island, and you refilled the house's bucket barely two days ago. You'll have to figure out a way out of this later. (if: (passage:)'s name is "The Village")[(display: "Village Description")](else-if: (passage:)'s name is "The Church")[[[The church |Church Description]] is just up ahead.]]] (link: "\"Going to Ailbhe's.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Eh..." You stop suddenly, almost as rudely as you started... off to a great start. You've always been a terrible liar. "I'm just on my way to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s gaff." "Well, I'd watch that one, if I were you. Fine mood on her today! Not a word said to me when she went by earlier and she could see the trouble I'm in here." (display: "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Ailbhe")She turns back towards the heifers and says distractedly, "G'wan, I won't keep you! More to be doing out here." "Bye for now, then." (if: (passage:)'s name is "The Village")[(display: "Village Description")](else-if: (passage:)'s name is "The Church")[[[The church |Church Description]] is just up ahead.]]] (link: "\"Looking for my brother.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Looking for my brother. Have you seen him?" No point in pretending otherwise. She looks as if she's trying to keep her face together. "Not this long time, no. But if he went anywhere he'll have to have passed by the village." "Right, I'll check there." "You'd want to watch him, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>!" You keep going, not in the mood for another lecture about your wayward brother. You know he's wild, sullen, stubborn, or some combination of all three, better than any of the rest of them, but his moods aren't your responsibility. You'll find him and get him home and go back to ignoring each other. (if: (passage:)'s name is "The Village")[(display: "Village Description")](else-if: (passage:)'s name is "The Church")[[[The church |Church Description]] is just up ahead.]]]]]</div>

(unless: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Ailbhe" or (passage:)'s name is "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Ailbhe")[[["What's gotten into Ailbhe?"|Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Ailbhe]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Help" or (passage:)'s name is "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Help")[[["Do you need any help?"|Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Help]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Brother" or (passage:)'s name is "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Brother")[[["Are you sure you haven't seen him?"|Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Brother]]]

You walk down towards the church: four walls of roughly hewn stone joined with a steep, sharp roof. It seems like an aspect of the landscape, pocked with moss, sculpted from limestone fields as if by the wind and the sea, but you know it's scarcely as old as you are. You haven't been to mass [[since...|May Day]]

Regretting the whole sorry escapade, you turn as if to leave. "I, er... I took a wrong turn. I'll be off now." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span> places a massive hand on your shoulder and draws you towards him. He's sitting nursing a cup of ale with a hard-nosed group of men who regard you with smirks. (display: "Fergus Description") "Nonsense. Ignore him and c'mere to me." He gestures to his men to back off and casts you a sceptical look. "What the feck are you doing in here?" "I—" "Forget it. Where's that brother of yours to knock some sense into you?" "That's..." You sigh. "I was hoping you'd know, actually." He takes a swig of his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>. "Oh, you were, were you? I don't keep tabs on him, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. He's probably just out on the boat, sure you know yourself. Stop feckin' worrying about him and focus on your own life." "Right." "Everything all right at home?" "Yeah, grand, just..." You don't know how to express it, so you don't. "I getcha. Let me know if you need anything." You nod, then leave at last, dancing your way through the blocks of men and stepping outside. The salt tang on the sea air is calming after that dose of headiness. (display: "The Village")

Under his loose <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span> hides an ox of a man, a great solid form who used to swing the two of you around at the same time like sacks of wheat. His face — loose, heavy, lined, lacking the musculature of the rest of him — shifts somewhere between weariness and incredulity as he examines you.

Thinking on it, you're almost certain you've heard this one before. Something about a fairy tree and forbidden fruit. You open your mouth, hoping he'll take the hint, but the words continue to flow out of him at an easy velocity as he sits, now back-straight, in the stool, grave eyes finding the back wall. "Sorry to interrupt, but I... I'd best be off. Have to attend to our ewe." "G'wan." He doesn't turn to look at you. You had hoped he would be used to this type of thing, and gape at him blankly for a minute or so as if waiting for him to say something else. "Bye so," you say finally. He grunts. (unless: (history:) contains "Fergus")[[[Ask Fergus about your brother.|Fergus]]] [[Take your leave.|The Pub - Exit]]

|links>[(link: "Defend yourself.")[(replace: ?links)[Defend yourself. "But our message is sincere—"]] (link: "Defend them.")[(replace: ?links)["But their message is sincere—"]]] (link: "Second line of selectable text")[ (replace: ?links)[Second line of selectable text] (show: ?reply2) ]

(set: $seenFergus to true)(set: $fergusTopics to 2)(set: $fetchedWater to false)(if: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Good Return" or "The Mummer - Bad Return")[You force yourself through the same battered door and get the whelming whiff of those manly odours yet again, hoping that <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span> has sobered himself up a bit and you won't have much reason to linger here. He's there in the corner, now without the hangers-on, still looking maudlin.](else:)[You take the short walk of shame back to the pub, praying it's quick this time. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span> is still there and decently upright, though he's staring into a cobwebbed corner with a face as maudlin as you've ever seen it.] You approach him with what you hope is a look of concern. "Are you all right, uncle?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/fergus.png" alt="A portrait of Fergus, a big bull of a man who looks weary." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">Someone who didn't know him as well would say he started, but you're not in the habit of sullying ex-soldier's reputations like that. He turns and offers you a bleary stare. "Uh... <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. I thought I told you to head home." He lets out a great big hiccup that rocks the unsteady table he's unsteadily leaning on. (if: (history:) contains "Kitchen - Return")["I did. And I'm back."](else:)["Well, I'm back now."] He makes a sound somewhere between a huff and a grunt. "N-never can keep a good woman down." He seems receptive. Now's for striking. You fill his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span> and seat yourself on the rickety stool next to him. "I wanted to ask you something, actually, if you've a minute," you say. "I've nothing but them." He guffaws, then hiccups again. "Not like there's much going on back in t-the... the aul' gaff." Marital discord would explain why a man who should have better things to be doing is spending whole afternoons in a pub half an island away from his partner. Something to ask <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> about, perhaps. You've always been a gossip, despite your best instincts; it's the curiosity that does it. "It's about the mainland." "What about it? Shite buzz now." Not his favourite topic, in other words. Probably best to be delicate here. (display: "Fergus - Return Questions")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/fergus.png" alt="A portrait of Fergus, a big bull of a man who looks weary." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(set: $fergusTopics to $fergusTopics - 1)(unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - Relatives")[Circle around; don't land yet.] "You lived there, right?" He grunts, takes a swig of his drink. "When was that?" "Ah, I was born there. Da moved us over here when we were young; like ye, I suppose. Then I went back as a hired hand. Ended up a soldier." "And now you're... retired?" "That's a term you could use, yeah." "We moved over before I was born," you clarify. "I've never been." You think; you're not sure if the images in your head are from stories or memories sometimes. "And what, now you're suddenly curious? Too many fairy stories?" (unless: $fetchedWater is true)[He smirks, shoving away the already empty <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>. "Here, do us a favour and get me some water." You run dutifully over to the publican and return with a new vessel. He swigs it in one, surprisingly fluid, motion and then slams it back down on the wood with an assertive thud, a spare gesture that's enough to remind you that this man has killed people.(set: $fetchedWater to true)](else:)[He smirks, casts a quick eye over at the publican and then back on you, as if changing his mind. He knows you've noticed and he knows you're not going to say anything about it. It's why he's so open with you.] "Right, what d'ya wanna know?" "Just..." You're suddenly not sure. "What it was like for you. If there's anything I should watch out for." Fuck. "Oh, so you're *going* there, are you?" "*He's* gone there. I'm just going to find him." "For feck's sake, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, we talked about this," he says with a voice raised and hard. The publican glances over. "Let him make his own mistakes." "I already have. I'm sure you remember how that went." "He survived, didn't he?" He clasps his palms together and runs them along the length of his face. "He survived." "I'm going, uncle." You try to match his firmness with your own. He smirks. "Your ma never believed me, but I told her you'd be the stubborn one. That lad cares too much about what other people think of him, even if he'd never admit it. Anyway..." He sighs. "I can't stop you. What was it like for me, was it? Sleeping in ditches with cantankerous sweaty arseholes, waiting and waiting and more fucking waiting. I was glad to see the back of it." "Even though people here talk—" "At least they're our own. If they didn't want us here they'd have made it known long 'go the day. They're not used to it, no, but there's no harm in curiosity." "And it doesn't bother him?" "It doesn't, no. He knew what he was getting into. People on the mainland would be pretending they like you and plotting how to burn down your house all the while. We've a plain people here; you know the measure of them." He sucks his massive chest in and lets it fall slowly. "As for what to watch for... well, those kinds of people, for one. Just keep to yourself and you'll be grand. Don't talk to strange men. Actually, don't talk to any men if you know what's good for you." You smile, and he notices. "What's so funny?" "Ah, nothing, just... same advice Mam gave me." "A fine woman, your ma. I miss her terribly." You try not to let your face move too much; it'll set you off, and you need to stay in control. The stool squeaks as he leans back and watches you. (if: $fergusTopics > 0)[[["Everything all right at home?"|Fergus - Home Life]] (display: "Fergus - Return Questions")](else:)[(display: "Fergus - Return Exit")]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/fergus.png" alt="A portrait of Fergus, a big bull of a man who looks weary." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(set: $fergusTopics to $fergusTopics - 1)You withdraw the mirror from your bag. Its dull light finds his eye. "What's that you have on you there?" "A mirror." You're looking at yourself again, fed by a terrible compulsion. "Did you ever come across one of these on the mainland?" He guffaws. "I did in my hole. Not a single cow to my name, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, as you well know. Where did *you* get that?" You look up at him, say it with your eyes. "Ah here... y-you're not..." (unless: $fetchedWater)[He peers into his already empty <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>. "Get me some water, would you?" You run dutifully over to the publican and return with a new vessel. He swigs it in one, surprisingly fluid, motion and then slams it back down on the wood with an assertive thud, a spare gesture that's enough to remind you that this man has killed people. Then, l(set:$fetchedWater to true)](else:)[L]ooking around as if he's half-afraid of who's listening, he leans down until he's eye-level with you and says conspiratorially, "He's let you in on it now, so he has. Smear you in pig shite and have you do invocations to the gods next." "I'm not quite there yet, I'd say." "And what did he want for this lovely gift? A virgin's blood?" "Just asked me to bring the brother back." He snorts. "Strange bedfellows." "He was fiddling with a... what d'you call those eel yokes?" "Hagfish," he says, unable to suppress a laugh. Your eyes widen in a moment of dark clarity. "You're joking." "I'm dead serious, Bríd. Shattering your perceptions of this place, no doubt." "I..." You'd always been told that it was named <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> for the island goddess, the old cow deity who survives mostly in the hushed whispers of the elderly, the one they call the Wise Hag. The word is the same: <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*cailleach*</span><span class="annotation-text">An old woman; a hag. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkal̠ʲəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Call-yuck*</span></span>, hag and hagfish. "But the goddess..." "Haven't you heard, love?" He widens his eyes, looks up to the ceiling and affects a charitable imitation of the mummer, "Before the GODDESS, when this country was young, there was nothing but the sea, and hagfish in it." Then, back on you, in his own voice: "Not very sexy, I know. But then this has never been a particularly sexy place." "So he was—" "Honouring the land and sea, in his own weird way. No idea how he catches those fucking things; would want to be out wading in deep waters." You're back looking into the mirror. "Is it true what he says, that it can deter the Folk?" "You're asking the wrong man there. Not the foggiest. (if: (history:) contains "Fergus - History" or "Fergus - Wolves")[I'd say there'll be some gods-botherer on that boat you're heading over on who knows more about that kind of thing.]" "Right so." (if: $fergusTopics > 0)[(display: "Fergus - Return Questions")](else:)[(display: "Fergus - Return Exit")]</div>

(unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - History" or (passage:)'s name is "Fergus - History")[[["How long did you live on the mainland for?"|Fergus - History]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - Relatives" or (passage:)'s name is "Fergus - Relatives")[[["Ever meet any of my mam's mainland relatives?"|Fergus - Relatives]] ]\ (if: (history:) contains "The Guard - Religion")[(unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - Wolves" or (passage:)'s name is "Fergus - Wolves")[[["What are these 'sons of the land' I keep hearing about?"|Fergus - Wolves]]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - Mirror" or (passage:)'s name is "Fergus - Mirror")[(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[Hold up the mirror. "Ever seen one of these there?"|Fergus - Mirror]]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/fergus.png" alt="A portrait of Fergus, a big bull of a man who looks weary." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(set: $fergusTopics to $fergusTopics - 1)You navigate the question a little warily in your head. You've known him to be a pretty private man, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span>; that's what led him to settle down here. You should couch it in worry, not curiosity, though you feel both. "I... I hope everything's all right for you at home, uncle." He looks at you with a wry smile, as if he's on to you, but it's not begrudging. "Yeah, grand, just..." He runs a hand along the length of his face. "He's just acting the cunt, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. Nothing I want to bore you with." "You're always welcome to stay the night at ours," you say, regretting it almost as soon as the words leave your mouth. You're too nice for your own good sometimes. "I'm not sure that invitation's yours to make, love, but thanks. I'd only be stinking of drink anyway." You didn't want to say anything, but at least he's honest. He's stopped smiling and has that maudlin stare set on the corner again. It's quietened down a lot now, though the air is as dead as ever. You suspect the men are saving their energy for the upcoming festival. (if: $fergusTopics > 0)[(display: "Fergus - Return Questions")](else:)[(display: "Fergus - Return Exit")]</div>

(set: $fergusreturn to true)He sighs. "Well, that's the story. When are you heading off?" "Tonight." "Right. The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>'s good <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">craic</span><span class="annotation-text">A versatile word meaning 'fun in good company'. 'What's the craic?' - 'What's up?'</span></span>. Big huge bonfires. You going?" "Haven't decided yet." It'll depend on what you find once you get over there, you assume. "Well, if you do go, watch that mummer's back for us, would you? I don't trust the cunt not to do something stupid." "If I see him," you say, trying to sound as non-committal as possible. It's certainly not going to be your priority. Some moments pass in silence. His head lolls and he jerks forward as if starting out of sleep, colliding his torso with that unsteady table and then gingerly grabbing it before the whole thing flips over. You realise it's probably time to go. "I'll be off so, uncle." "Mmm," he says, head sunk into his neck again. "G'luck." You leave, unimpeded this time. (display: "Island Options")

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Your Brother", "bio", "Brother Desc", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 3", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))}His brow furrows. "Is this usual?" You swallow again. "Not entirely, no." Not since that time a year ago, at least... "And I suppose you suspect the mainland?" (unless: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Young Men")["I hadn't considered it."](else:)["He's a capable sailor, and the island is small." And it wouldn't be the first time he's surprised you like this, but that's none of his business.] "Life here is so peaceful, is it not?" he says, not sounding at all as if he believes it. The errand boy outside snivels. "It may cause some people to think that the world is everywhere the same. But even the sea shows us with its violence how wrong this is, and the land beyond it is even denser with hidden dangers." On this at least he doesn't need to convert you — you haven't so much as entered a boat since the accident, and even the white spray tickling your face on a windy day along the shore can bring up that gut-sickness that lives somewhere between fear and memory. The mainland's many hazards, on the other hand, are no more than abstractions belonging to the stuff of stories, and you wonder how much of what you've heard is actually true. "What kinds of dangers?" "Oh, child — may you never have to know! I do not wish to give you nightmares." [["Forewarned is forearmed."|The Priest - Fury]] [["How does anyone live there?"|The Priest - Survival]] (if: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Fairies")[[["Like fairies and spirits?"|The Priest - Spirits]]]

You think of your mainland-born mother, casting fretful glances at the men you'd meet on the way to the well, warning you not to wander after dark. It was an impulse you could never really make fit with the gormless lads you grew up with, the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>s of the island who were more likely to fall on their arses chasing after girls than actively threaten them. Your brother's the only one of them with anything approximating sophistication, but even he wouldn't dare intrude on a stranger's space. She must have learnt that fear there first. "How does anyone live there, Father, if it's so terrible?" It's an innocent question and you ask it innocently, with no ulterior motive. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/priest.png" alt="A portrait of the priest, a somewhat severe-looking man who looks half-bemused, half-sceptical." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Many do not, or at least do not indulge in anything that can rightly be called living," he says gravely, lining up the sacred ornaments on the altar at evenly spaced intervals. "Wretched existences that end with a whimper, souls who have never known God's grace. But even the pious must learn to be on their guard. Many mock us for our faith, even in lands that have already been conquered for the Lord." "Then why—" "Because the Kingdom of God belongs to us. The next life. Such hardships are nothing in comparison to the reward waiting for us..." — he looks up from the altar, catching your eye — "or the suffering waiting for sinners." It seems unlikely you're going to get any actual details from him. Like with Mam, then. Thinking of your brother tired, angry, vulnerable, a vague fear clutches at your chest. You were never able to protect him, even here, but at least there wasn't much in the way of external threats to worry about. Now he's most likely alone in territory he doesn't know, watched by people whose motives are totally unknown to you... if he's alive at all. Enough. You cover your mouth with your hand, close your eyes, and blow air out the gaps between the fingers, a technique Dad taught you. The priest billows to his full height. (display: "The Priest - Conclusion")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/priest.png" alt="A portrait of the priest, a somewhat severe-looking man who looks half-bemused, half-sceptical." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He must be referring to the mummer's "neighbours". They're from the mainland originally, but judging by your chat earlier they took up residence here along with him, long before you were born. "Do you mean like... the Good Folk?" you ask. "I thought we had them here." He frowns. "The beings you call by that awful name are emissaries of Satan. They exist wherever they are believed in, and they draw strength from that belief. It is better not to speak of them." "So they're not the danger, then?" "It..." he says tongue-on-teeth, looking you in the eye, "is no singular thing, but varied, multifaceted. Worldly and godly." He sighs. "You're terribly curious, child." His tone is hard. "I'm worried about my brother," you admit. Him being alone in strange terrority is bad enough without the fear that he'll accidentally step into a fairy ring and marshall the forces of Satan. "Better to worry about yourself. Pray for him and God will guide him back to you." "I... right, Father. I'll do that." He'd rather you just accepted it, like they insisted you do when Dad got sick. (display: "The Priest - Conclusion")</div>

(unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - History" or (passage:)'s name is "Fergus - History")[[["How long did you live on the mainland for?"|Fergus - History]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - Wolves" or (passage:)'s name is "Fergus - Wolves")[[["What are these 'sons of the land' I keep hearing about?"|Fergus - Wolves]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - Mirror" or (passage:)'s name is "Fergus - Mirror")[(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[Hold up the mirror. "Ever seen one of these there?"|Fergus - Mirror]]]

ᚐᚂᚂᚈᚐᚏᚐᚉᚆ

She hasn't really grasped what you're getting at. Everything's a problem to be solved to her, through food or sleep or soothing words. It works on you, but you've never known him to be very willing to take the advice of others. Still, they did spend a lot of time out on those boats together after your parents died. She must know some ways of getting through to him. "What I'm saying is..." She watches you patiently as you struggle to make words out of it. "I'm just not entirely convinced that he wants us to go after him." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/ailbhe.png" alt="A portrait of Ailbhe smiling faintly, her hair tied in a loose braid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"He doesn't," she says bluntly. "That doesn't mean he's right, though. He's still in bits over everything, you know. Blames himself. But he's not beyond us." "So how do we convince him?" "Well, first we have to find him." She laughs. "Then... we'll see. Listen, we'll talk about it on the boat. It's getting on. Are you up for it?" (display: "Ailbhe - Journey")</div>

You think about your parents' farm falling to rot, dust gathering on the spinner and the quern and the hearth. Your little ewe <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>, uttering bleak, lonely baas out in the rain until she's mauled by some stray dog. The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*goirtín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small field. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɡɔɾˠtʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gurtjeen*</span></span> where nothing grows anymore, surrendering at last to the triumphant limestone. "I can't just leave it all behind, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/ailbhe.png" alt="A portrait of Ailbhe smiling faintly, her hair tied in a loose braid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She smiles. "Only a suggestion. I'll keep an eye on things for you, and you can decide when the time comes what you wanna do. But it doesn't hurt to be open, unless you *want* to end up with one of the lovely lads here. Sure I can't stop you!" "Gods fucking forbid," you say and the two of you laugh together, with a warmth that feels like it belongs to better times. (display: "Ailbhe - Journey")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/ailbhe.png" alt="A portrait of Ailbhe smiling faintly, her hair tied in a loose braid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She always makes everything sound so simple. It's part of why you both like her, you think — if you're lacking in direction she's straight as an arrow. Now, however, you're afraid she's gotten a little ahead of herself. "He could've gone anywhere. Do you know how big it is?" She snorts a little unkindly and says, "Do *you*? Anyway, sure if I know the lad like I hope I do he won't stray very far from the water, and there are borders that'll keep him in this <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span> if their guards are up to much. Best thing to do is to head over and ask round the town." "And if nothing comes of that?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, that's his attitude that's rubbed off on you, not yours. We'll think about that when the time comes." "I just..." You utter a long sigh. "I'm just tired of this." "Me too, believe you me." She pats your shoulder. "Can't do more than our best, can we? Words of wisdom courtesy of Da. And who knows, maybe you'll like it so much you'll never want to set foot on poor aul' <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> again. Find yourself a nice farmstead and settle down." You huff and say, "I'd have to find someone to settle down with first." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span> not good enough for you, then?" You both laugh. "Sure she's even more afraid of water than I am." (display: "Ailbhe - Journey")</div>

Your friend <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>.(mouseover: "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>")[A masculine name. Pronounced /ə.ˈʃin̺/, "Usheen"] This text is displayed in the |clickme>[<span class="definition">hook.</span><span class="tooltip">This text will appear in the tooltip</span>]

<div id="back-credits">|mainmenu>[(link:"<img src='Images/icon_back.png' alt='Back icon' id='back-icon'></img>")[(load-game: $_autosave_slot)]]</div> <label><div class="container"><div class="label">ANNOTATIONS</div><input type="checkbox" checked onchange="changeCheckboxValue();"><span class="checkmark"></span></label></div> <div class="container"><div class="label">IN-GAME FONT</div> <button class="settings-button" id="serif-button" onclick="changeFontType(this.id);">SERIF</button> <button class="settings-button" id="sans-serif-button" onclick="changeFontType(this.id);">SANS-SERIF</button></div> <div class="container"><button class="main-menu-button" id="content-warning-button">[[CONTENT WARNINGS|Content Warnings]]</button></div> {<script>getFontButtonStyling();</script> <script>getCheckboxValue();</script>}(set: $previous to (history:)'s last)

{(if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Good Return")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $bui))(set: $bui to (dm: "name", "Buí", "bio", "Buí Desc", "bioAppend", "Buí Desc Update 1", "img", "bui.png", "desc", "Family ewe."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $bui))] (if: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Good Return")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $mummer))(set: $mummer to (dm: "name", "The Mummer", "bio", "Mummer Desc", "bioAppend", "Mummer Desc Update 1.2", "img", "mummer.png", "desc", "Local eccentric."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $mummer))] (if: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Bad Return")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $mummer))(set: $mummer to (dm: "name", "The Mummer", "bio", "Mummer Desc", "bioAppend", "Mummer Desc Update 1.1", "img", "mummer.png", "desc", "Local eccentric."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $mummer))] (if: (history:) contains "The Priest - Help")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $priest)) (set: $priest to (dm: "name", "Father Silvanus", "bio", "Priest Desc", "bioAppend", "Priest Desc Update 2.1", "img", "priest.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's parish priest.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $priest))] (if: (history:) contains "The Priest - Contrition")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $priest)) (set: $priest to (dm: "name", "Father Silvanus", "bio", "Priest Desc", "bioAppend", "Priest Desc Update 2.2", "img", "priest.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's parish priest.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $priest))] (if: (history:) contains "Fergus - Return Exit")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $fergus)) (set: $fergus to (dm: "name", "Fergus", "bio", "Fergus Desc", "bioAppend", "Fergus Desc Update 1", "img", "fergus.png", "desc", "An old friend of Mam's.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $fergus))] }<div class="exploratory-section">(unless: (passage:)'s name is "Ailbhe - Start" or "Ailbhe - Persuasion" or "Ailbhe - Practicalities")[There's a [[large boat|Setting Sail]] moored at the jetty, its single sail sheening in the afternoon sun. It's almost time to go. ](unless: (history:) contains "Kitchen - Return" or (passage:)'s name is "Kitchen - Return")[(if: (history:) contains "Kitchen")[You should head back to the [[cottage|Kitchen - Return]] and gather up your things. ](else:)[You should head back to the [[cottage|Kitchen - Return]], eat, and gather up your things. ]](if: (history:) contains "The Guard")[(unless: (history:) contains "The Priest - Bad Return" or (passage:)'s name is "The Priest - Bad Return")[(if: (history:) contains "The Priest - Good Return")[You spot [[Oisín|Oisín - After Priest]] on your way out of the church. ](else:)[[[Oisín|The Priest - Bad Return]] will probably want to say goodbye to you. ]]](if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Help")[(unless: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Good Return" or (passage:)'s name is "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Good Return")[[[Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh|Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Good Return]] might have some advice. ]](else-if: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh")[(unless: (history:) contains "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Bad Return" or (passage:)'s name is "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Bad Return")[[[Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh|Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh - Bad Return]] might have some advice. ]](if: (history:) contains "The Priest - Survival")[(unless: (history:) contains "The Priest - Good Return" or (passage:)'s name is "The Priest - Good Return")[Maybe you could try convincing [[the priest|The Priest - Good Return]] of your good intentions — a blessing would be valuable aid. ]](else-if: (history:) contains "The Guard")[(unless: (history:) contains "The Priest - Bad Return" or (passage:)'s name is "The Priest - Bad Return")[Maybe you could try convincing [[the priest|The Priest - Bad Return]] of your good intentions — a blessing would be valuable aid. ]](if: $heardMummerStory)[(unless: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Good Return" or (passage:)'s name is "The Mummer - Good Return")[[[The mummer|The Mummer - Good Return]] promised to tell you more about the fairy folk. ]](else-if: (history:) contains "The Mummer")[(unless: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Bad Return" or (passage:)'s name is "The Mummer - Bad Return")[[[The mummer|The Mummer - Bad Return]] is probably sitting in a field somewhere. ]](if: (history:) contains "Fergus")[(unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - Return" or (passage:)'s name is "Fergus - Return")[Activity at the pub has levelled off, but you never saw [[Fergus|Fergus - Return]] come out. ]](unless: (history:) contains "Buí" or (passage:)'s name is "Buí")[[[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>|Buí]] deserves your goodbyes.]</div>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Hand Hoe</strong></h2> A crude but effective hand hoe, iron blade and wooden handle, that <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's aunt and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> asked you to drop in to the Domhnall household.

<div class="title-parent"><div class="title">ISLAND · AN tOILEÁN</div></div> <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/bluehouse400.png" alt="A circular, windswept house by the sea." class="landscape-img animated-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text text-animated">He doesn't wake you that morning. It's usually terse, but you've come to expect that; he says little to anyone and even less to you. A single word that could be mistaken for an exhalation, delivered without joy or anger or warmth — "Up". He leaves you the morning's catch, and then he's out again with his rods, down to the beach where he sits bentback all day listening to the ceaseless sea, the sound that will background your actions until the day you die. Today you open your eyes to the clatter of pans outside and cattle mooing and children screaming and everything that demands you take it in, that reminds you that the day is off happening without you. You get up, look around. No sign of him. Your bed in the little alcove that marks your sleeping area is modest, straw stuffed in linen to lie on, covered with a sheet that doubles as a cloak thrown half-way onto the floor. You fetch the little bag you take everywhere with you, wool-woven, and sling its strap over your <span class='definition'><span class='annotation'>*léine*</span><span class='annotation-text'>A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span>.</span> There's not much else here save a couple of [[toys in the corner|Doll]]. From the window opposite you can see old [[Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh|Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh]] directing a herd of wayward cattle, and there's a low homely bleat coming from the field behind the house where your little ewe <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span> sits watching the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*rírá*</span><span class="annotation-text">A state of noisy confusion or disorder. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɾʲiːɾˠaː/ English phonetic approximation: *Ree-raw*</span></span>. You're [[hungry|Kitchen]].</div>

(if: (passage:)'s name is "Donn - Solitude")[[["What's Alltar like?"|Donn - Alltar]] ]\ (if: (passage:)'s name is "Donn - Sip Drink" or (passage:)'s name is "Donn - Refuse Drink")[[["How are things with Diarmuid?"|Donn - Diarmuid]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Donn - Clothes" or (passage:)'s name is "Donn - Clothes")[[["What's that you have on you?"|Donn - Clothes]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Donn - Mirrors" or (passage:)'s name is "Donn - Mirrors")[[["What's with the mirrors?"|Donn - Mirrors]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Donn - Solitude" or (passage:)'s name is "Donn - Solitude")[[["Have you always lived alone?"|Donn - Solitude]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Donn - Religion" or (passage:)'s name is "Donn - Religion")[[["What are those scrolls?"|Donn - Religion]] ]\ [["Where's my brother?"|Donn - Farewell]]

<div class="tutorial-text">Progress saves automatically. To start over, select <span id="start-menu-button-eg">NEW GAME</span> in the main menu, or delete your web browser's local storage. Hover over <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">an underlined word</span><span class="annotation-text">This is an annotation tooltip!</span></span> to display annotations. This can be disabled at any time from the settings menu. Note that Modern Irish spelling is used throughout the game, except for where a place or character is more commonly known by their English or Old Irish name (e.g. Saint Patrick). <button class="tutorial-button">|mainmenu>[[[BEGIN|Morning Animation]]]</button></div>

{(save-game: $_autosave_slot, "not-a-real-save")(reload:)}RESETTING SAVE DATA

He takes a sup of his drink, as if to steady himself, and continues. "Now, just as a child must learn to listen before he can begin to speak, a *seanchaí* keeps his ears open and his mouth closed to all barring his king, lest *a stray* word lead him astray." He chuckles at his own joke. "I said only as much as was needed to endear myself to them, which meant making myself a fool in their eyes, but a fool anxious to learn and rid himself of the death sentence of sin. They liked that. "Over time I began to know their customs. And strange customs they were altogether: foreign rites to rid children of the supposed evils of birth, worship of a foreign king — a foreign *god-king* — who presides in Rome and is said to harbour the secrets of the faith. But the strangest of all to my young mind was the refusal of sacrifice. "It was around the festival of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span>, when the daylight begins its long retreat and the first morning frosts whiten the grass. The harvest had been good to us, and I was soon free of my mission, having planned to report back to the king's *seanchaí* by mid-Nollaig. I was in a mind to celebrate, then, and went to the barn to select a sow for slaughter. Arrogance and pig-ignorance!" His eyes darken. "She trotted happily alongside me all the way over to the dining quarters, a little hut where we'd take meals twice a day. It was dusk already, so I requested the priests and the rest of the community join me on what I said was urgent business. Dagger in hand, I waited. "Now, there's no Christian festival that matches our Samhain exactly, but it was Sunday, and that surely was reason for sacrifice enough? I know enough of their faith now to see the silliness in this, but 'tis well they say that you can't put a wise head on young shoulders. I aimed to please above all else. "I told the group that I thought it right to offer up this sow that God should keep us well this winter, and gesturing with the dagger asked the head priest to perform the ritual in the manner of one of our druids. "The head priest was a man they'd sent over from Britain, Roman through and through. He looked at me like I'd two heads, then turned to two of our own lads, Connachtmen whose families had converted. I saw in the ugliness of their eyes that they too thought me a barbarian, though they said nothing. "After a while the priest spoke, and I remember clearly the words. 'Our Lord says that he desires mercy, not sacrifice. He has not come to call the righteous, but sinners.' "I was shamed and scorned, red seeing them judge me and my people's traditions. I'll freely admit I made a poor spy. The times called for one and I was supposed to do, but came up wanting. So you may judge and think what you like, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a chailín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A form of address meaning 'girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə xalʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A calleen*</span></span>, and I'll do little but agree. The gods know I've hardly anything in the way of reputation left." You feel a little sorry for him, but can't think of much to offer in the way of solace. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span> catches sight of you and grunts. "Anyway, I lost my temper. 'Your Lord does not rule here!' I said. I was about to offer an explanation: though his words were dressed up and presented with the authority of the learned man, it was book knowledge sundered from another time and place. Our lives belong to the seasons, and the seasons belong to the gods. We survive when they favour us, and wither when they don't. "An explanation was to follow, indeed, but the Connachtmen turfed me out before I'd time to open my mouth. One man wins a game of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fidchell*</span><span class="annotation-text">A board game similar to chess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲɪhəl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fi-hell*</span></span>, as they say. "That was a cold year and a cold Samhain. Lough Rí had already begun to frost over, and the settlement was far from any friend of mine and farther still from the warmth of the king's fort. I wandered far and slept under the sky. My teeth cracked and I could do little but wrap my thin cloak tight around my bones and ask the gods to let me live until I could perform my duty. "Three days and nights went. Hunger had found a host and maddened it to fever. I was at that time a man of little resource, fond of soft furnishings and firesides, and could not have hunted or fished up anything of much worth even when well. So I drank fresh water from brooks and stumbled vainly about searching for any little <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bitín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small bit of something.</span></span> of nourishment that that cruel winter hadn't killed off yet. "On the morning of the fourth day I was preparing to lay down and die by a stream, that the fish might find some use for me, when I spotted a whitethorn tree bearing fruit. They were tiny red haws that seemed to my eyes like the fruit growing fat and supple on boughs in the domains of the gods themselves. Have you ever seen a whitethorn tree, *a chailín*?" You shake your head. The island's plant life differs quite a bit from the mainland's, so you've been told. "It is hunched and gnarled like one elderly, and carries the same wisdom, and more, for it is older by far than us. You feel as you approach it a FIERCE magical energy." He stands up suddenly, eyes stark again. The tense change unnerves you. "I am a fool and a blasphemer, to approach that tree. I plucked its fruit and was punished for it. It was sweetly delicious and I ate well and felt new, until their eyes rested on me all at once. Eyes and eyes and eyes!" He sucks a sharp breath. "I made my way back to the fort, but from that day onwards I was never free of roving eyes, and had to give up the apprenticeship. It is right that they keep watch on one who has transgressed, just as we watch over our own children. Still, sometimes the mind requires peace." He looks tired. You thank him for his time and move to leave. "Ask me how to handle them another time. The boy will need it." Unsure of who he means by "the boy", you smile a little awkwardly and head in the direction of the door. (unless: (history:) contains "Fergus")[Fergus casts you a look of consternation.](set: $heardMummerStory to true) (unless: (history:) contains "Fergus")[[[Ask Fergus about your brother.|Fergus]] ]\ [[Take your leave.|The Pub - Exit]]

You quickly run the prayer beads up and down, then stuff them into your bag. The rope is frayed.{(set: $items to it - (ds: $prayerbeads))(set: $prayerbeads to (dm: "name", "Stolen Prayer Beads", "img", "rosary_smol.png"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Stolen Prayer Beads"))(set: $items to it + (ds: $prayerbeads))} "Tell no one. Especially not Ailbhe," you say in a whisper. He threads the sign of the cross in the air across his chest. You're not sure how much reassurance this is supposed to give you, but you don't feel it.(set: $takenPrayerBeads to true) The two of you draw out the farewell in silence. When the last spoke of light leaves the dusty corner behind the altar, he gets up. "I'd better get back to my post. Sometimes we get lads coming out of the pub who treat the church wall like a jacks, get a lovely little spray going. We do have an image to uphold, you know?" Walking out together you vacillate. The boat is waiting impatiently at the jetty, watching the reddening sky, a minor crowd thickening with each passing minute. "Hey, Ois, em..." [["Anything I should watch out for?"|Oisín - Advice]] [["Want me to bring you back anything?"|Oisín - Delicacies]] [["Will you come with me?"|Oisín - Offer]]

You've never heard of a thief from <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> and you're not about to become the first. "I feel like it'd mess up the bead's powers if I got them this way." "Ah." It hadn't occurred to him. "Good point." The two of you draw out the farewell in silence. When the last spoke of light leaves the dusty corner behind the altar, he gets up. "I'd better get back to my post. Sometimes we get lads coming out of the pub who treat the church wall like a jacks, get a lovely little spray going. We do have an image to uphold, you know?" Walking out together you vacillate. The boat is waiting impatiently at the jetty, watching the reddening sky, a minor crowd thickening with each passing minute. "Hey, Ois, em..." [["Anything I should watch out for?"|Oisín - Advice]] [["Want me to bring you back anything?"|Oisín - Delicacies]] [["Will you come with me?"|Oisín - Offer]]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin)) (set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 1.2", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin))}(if: (history:) contains "The Guard - Religion")["Apart from not wandering into forests, you mean?" "Apart from not wandering into forests."](else:)["Has someone told you you'd need to watch out for something?" "Something like that."] Let's see if he has any actual truths to impart. "Well, em..." — he strokes his still hairless chin — "sons of the land are most of what you'd need to worry about, I reckon. You're half-heathen — and it kinda shows — so most people wouldn't pass you a bitta remarks. Buuut, now that I think of it... some of them don't like islanders." "Why?" What possible reasons could they have to scorn a few fishermen from a limestone rock? "Ah, I reckon it's the accent. Or the feet thing." You flash your eyebrows at him. "The *what*?" He flashes the hollows of his mouth right back, opening into a loud gappy guffaw. "You are priceless, Bríd... you *are* joking, aren't you?" (if: (history:) contains "The Guard - Religion")[This again.] You take in a sharp breath and square up to him. "I'm not, no. We haven't all had the benefits of a monastery education, as you well know. What's the feet thing?" You sound like Fergus, but it has the desired effect. He straightens up his face, as well as someone like him can, and prepares another knowledge dump. "Well, they say the islanders have certain, er, oddities compared to us mainland folk. Oddities of the amphibious variety." You proffer your fist and an expression that's all mad eyes, impatient, and he hastens to his conclusion. "They say you've all got webbed feet. All the better to swim with, right?" He grins again, awkwardly. "But you *know* we don't! Look at my feet, Oisín!" "Yeah sure, if they *were* webbed I probably wouldn't be able to smell them from halfway across the island on a windless day—" Patience exhausted, you give him a thump and he withdraws, flinching. (display: "Oisín - Parting")

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin)) (set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 1.1", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin))}He smirks, thrusts the spearpoint at the air to your right slapdashedly, forcing you to step several paces back, and says, "*You* are awfully confident for someone who's never set foot in a boat." You glare at him. (if: (history:) contains "The Guard - Religion")["I told you to watch that fucking thing!](else:)["Watch that thing, feck's sake.] And I have been in a boat before. Sure half my family are fishermen!" "Sorry. I just meant... out on that, you know." He gestures vaguely, again slapdashedly, towards the hissing blue void, then drops it. "Anyway" — his eyes are gleaming — "bring me back what?" "Well, you tell me. What do they have? I could relay a message for you, if nothing else." He scratches his chin for a minute with a look of vacant abstraction, as if he's trying to reach for a memory that isn't there, then says, "Ah sure, surprise me." "No message, then?" "No, you're grand. There's no one missing me enough to want to hear from me." That's a little sad, and you're feeling brave. "Your parents?" He shakes his head, grinning awkwardly. No go. (display: "Oisín - Parting")

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin)) (set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 1.3", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin))}He turns to you and breaks into a half-smirk as if he's certain you're about to rescind the offer. When you say nothing, he volunteers, "Ailbhe not enough, then?" You lean against the jamb(if: $inventory contains "Prayer Beads Given" or "Stolen Prayer Beads")[, fiddling with the beads](else:)[]. "She can't stay, and I didn't wanna ask. And you know the mainland better." Or so he claims. "And... I thought you might enjoy it." He grins awkwardly. "Ah, Bríd, this young Oisín has had more than his fair share of adventures already. And I'm only sixteen! I think a quiet life's for me. But thanks for asking." You're not satisfied with that explanation; he's rationalising. "Are you afraid of what the Father would say?" "Well, I do technically work for him, in as much as you can call it 'work'..." Let's come clean. "What about your parents?" "They're... otherwise occupied," he says with unconvincing nonchalance. But listen" — he's tapping his fingers on the spear shaft — "I'll be grand here! Don't worry about me." "You don't miss them at all?" He grins awkwardly. "I've no right to complain. I'll see them someday." "Well, your choice." (display: "Oisín - Parting")

You look down towards the jetty. The sky is wound-red. "Right, I'd best be off. (if: (passage:)'s name is "Oisín - Advice")[Thanks for sharing your wisdom.](else-if: (passage:)'s name is "Oisín - Delicacies")[I'll see what I can find.](else:)[Take care of yourself.]" "(if: (passage:)'s name is "Oisín - Advice")[Any time, sister.](else-if: (passage:)'s name is "Oisín - Delicacies")[Don't go out of your way.](else:)[And you, sister.] Safe journey and God bless." He reaches over to hug you, like he's never done before. You hesitate at first, then pull in and rest your head on him. It feels familial. His hair smells of incense and candle wax. You let go, nod, give him one last pat on the shoulder, and set off. (display: "Island Options")

(unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Brigid" or (passage:)'s name is "Monastery - Brigid")[[["Where's Brigid?"|Monastery - Brigid]] ](else:)[{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brigid)) (set: $brigid to (dm: "name", "Brigid", "bio", "Brigid Desc", "bioAppend", "Brigid Desc Update 2", "img", "brigid.png", "desc", "Storied abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $brigid))}]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Raids" or (passage:)'s name is "Monastery - Raids")[[["What was that incident earlier?"|Monastery - Raids]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Dar Origin" or (passage:)'s name is "Monastery - Dar Origin")[[["How did you become a nun?"|Monastery - Dar Origin]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Slavery" or (passage:)'s name is "Monastery - Slavery")[[["How did the others end up here?"|Monastery - Slavery]] ]\ (if: (history:) contains "The Guard - Religion" or "Oisín - Delicacies" or "Oisín - Offer")[(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Dar Origin" or (passage:)'s name is "Monastery - Dar Origin")[[["Tell me more about the monastery at Cill Dara."|Monastery - Dar Oisín]]](else:)[(unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Dar Oisín" or (passage:)'s name is "Monastery - Dar Oisín")[[["Do you know the monastery at Cill Dara?"|Monastery - Dar Oisín]]]] ]\ [["I'd best be off to bed."|Monastery - Bath]]

(unless: (history:) contains "Brigid - Vocation" or (passage:)'s name is "Brigid - Vocation")[[["What are you doing out here?"|Brigid - Vocation]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brigid - Godhood" or (passage:)'s name is "Brigid - Godhood")[[["I was told you're *the* <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>."|Brigid - Godhood]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brigid - Origin" or (passage:)'s name is "Brigid - Origin")[[["How did you become a nun?"|Brigid - Origin]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brigid - Death" or (passage:)'s name is "Brigid - Death")[[["Where do the Christian dead go?"|Brigid - Death]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brigid - God Gender" or (passage:)'s name is "Brigid - God Gender")[[["Why do we refer to God with 'He'?"|Brigid - God Gender]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brigid - Brother" or (passage:)'s name is "Brigid - Brother")[[["Where's my brother?"|Brigid - Brother]] ]

{(if: (passage:)'s name is "The Druidess - Truth")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $druidess)) (set: $druidess to (dm: "name", "Druidess", "bio", "Druidess Desc", "bioAppend", "Druidess Desc Update 2", "img", "druidess.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's resident druidess.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $druidess))]}(unless: (history:) contains "Ferry - Young Men" or (passage:)'s name is "Ferry - Young Men")[[[Talk to the young men.|Ferry - Young Men]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain" or (passage:)'s name is "Ferry - Captain")[[[Talk to the captain.|Ferry - Captain]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Ferry - Druidess" or (passage:)'s name is "Ferry - Druidess")[[[Talk to the druidess.|Ferry - Druidess]] ]\ (if: (history:) contains "Ferry - Young Men" or "Ferry - Captain" or "Ferry - Druidess")[[[Talk to Ailbhe.|Ferry - Ailbhe]]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C2/cousins2.png" alt="A portrait of the young sailors." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"So, how do you know Ailbhe?" Féilim shrugs noncommittally. "Ah, sure you know yourself. My uncle there runs the ferries, her dad has a stall in the village... they're small communities. And I'm a garrulous young gentleman." He grins. "Ah, I'm just surprised she hasn't mentioned you before." You try, not particularly successfully, to make your suspicion sound casual. "Well, I understand her aul' lad's not a fan... can hardly blame him, really. High standards. Not that I'm off running desperate myself. Poor Fechín here, on the other hand..." Fechín somehow manages to turn even redder. He casts his cousin a frown, then turns away, making a show of busying himself with the ropes. Féilim grins. "Don't suppose you're on your way to the festival, then? Speaking of which." "No, not this time." Then, after a pause: "I have other business." (display: "Ferry - Cousins Explanation")

(if: (passage:)'s name is "Ferry - Festival")[Fechín pipes up again.](else:)[Fechín gives you a shy look.] "What business?" |links>[(link: "\"I'm looking for someone.\"")[(replace: ?links)[There's nothing to indicate you can actually trust these young men, but <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s their friend and it wouldn't hurt to have more eyes and ears. Maybe shouldn't tell them everything, though. "Looking for someone. Lad about your age: short; dark, messy hair; blue eyes." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> smirks. (if: (passage:)'s name is "Ferry - Festival")["Oh, so you *are* attached?"](else:)["Oh, a man on the mainland, is it?"] "No. He's a distant relative. Carrying a family debt. If you see him, tell Ailbhe. Then maybe we can hang around for a bit." "Sounds saucy." Fechín curls his fist. He's bigger, and broader. Féilim doesn't recoil; the threat must be empty. Fechín sighs. "Can't you just keep your gob shut for five minutes?" he says. "I don't think <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span> here has a problem with me, do you?" You don't like the questioning from either of them and you don't like being asked to soothe someone's ego. But it's a small space you're sharing and you're not much of a swimmer. You're about to muster something diplomatic when Ailbhe, with the gift for timing she's known for, wanders over. "Hope these two <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span>s aren't bothering you, Bríd?" "Nah, they're grand. Just talking about the mating rituals of lampreys." She splutters. "Oh, you are, are you? Bet little Féilimid here loves that. Mad for all manner of marine life, is he. Sailors, you know." "Well, I'll admit to experimenting in my loneliner moments..." That gets a laugh out of everyone, even Fechín. Ailbhe takes you by the shoulder and pulls you away from the lads. (unless: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain" and "Ferry - Druidess")["Here, c'mere and give us a hand," she says.] (display: "Ferry - Options")]] (link: "Say nothing.")[(replace: ?links)[These young men are friends of Ailbhe's, but that doesn't mean you can trust them; her friendship with your brother alone confirms that she has questionable taste in men. You squirm on the stern's deal plank and throw Fechín a look. It's enough to deter him, but not his cousin. "Is it a lad? It's a lad, isn't it?" Féilim asks. You blush. Let them think it. "Who?" "No one you'd know," you say curtly. "Sure who're we gonna tell? Fechín's mam? It wouldn't be the first time he's let her down, in fairness." Fechín looks like he's about to hit his cousin. He's bigger, and broader. Féilim doesn't recoil; the threat must be empty. Fechín sighs. "Can't you just keep your gob shut for five minutes?" he says. "I don't think <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span> here has a problem with me, do you?" You don't like the questioning from either of them and you don't like being asked to soothe someone's ego. But it's a small space you're sharing and you're not much of a swimmer. You're about to muster something diplomatic when Ailbhe, with the gift for timing she's known for, wanders over. "Hope these two <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span>s aren't bothering you, Bríd?" "Nah, they're grand. Just talking about the mating rituals of lampreys." She splutters. "Oh, you are, are you? Bet little Féilimid here loves that. Mad for all manner of marine life, is he. Sailors, you know." "Well, I'll admit to experimenting in my loneliner moments..." That gets a laugh out of everyone, even Fechín. Ailbhe takes you by the shoulder and pulls you away from the lads.(unless: (history:) contains "Ferry - Captain" and "Ferry - Druidess")[ "Here, c'mere and give us a hand," she says.] (display: "Ferry - Options")]]]

{(set: $inventory to (dataset:))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Hand Hoe"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Bronze Mirror"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Bodhrán"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Whittling Knife"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Salt Pouch"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Brooch"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Horse Doll"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Prayer Beads"))}You could do with a proper knife. [Trade with the bladesmith.[(click-replace:"Trade with the bladesmith.")[He's a mean-looking man who leers at you as you approach. Splayed out in front of him is a collection of blades of all shapes and sizes: daggers, knives, swords. (if: $inventory contains "Whittling Knife")[[You offer him the whittling knife.]<whittlingknife|[(click:"You offer him the whittling knife.")[ He pulls it out of its sheath and scoffs at you. "You'll have to come up with something better than that, love." (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[Throw in the salt pouch.[(click-replace:"Throw in the salt pouch.")[He opens it up and runs his fingers through. "Right, go on," he says and hands you a sheath housing the smallest dagger, not much longer than your own hand. Glancing furtively around, you pocket it and walk away.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Small Iron Dagger"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Whittling Knife"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Salt Pouch"))]](replace:?bronzemirror)[{}]]]]] |links>[(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[You offer him the bronze mirror.]<bronzemirror|[(click: "You offer him the bronze mirror.")[ He examines it carefully, then, satisfied, gestures for you to pick one of the gleaming silver knives. Giddy, you grab a short dagger with a flat blade and place it in the sheath he hands you. You don't stop to check who's watching before walking away.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Silver Dagger"))(replace:?whittlingknife)[{}]]]]](else:)[You don't have anything to offer him.]]]]

{(set: $inventory to (dataset:))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Hand Hoe"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Bronze Mirror"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Bodhrán"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Whittling Knife"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Salt Pouch"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Brooch"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Horse Doll"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Prayer Beads"))}You could do with a proper knife. Trade with the bladesmith.(click-replace:"Trade with the bladesmith.")[He's a mean-looking man who leers at you as you approach. Splayed out in front of him is a collection of blades of all shapes and sizes: daggers, knives, swords. |links>[(if: $inventory contains "Whittling Knife")[(link: "You offer him the whittling knife.")[(replace: ?links)[You offer him the whittling knife. He pulls it out of its sheath and scoffs at you. "You'll have to come up with something better than that, love." (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[Throw in the salt pouch.(click-replace:"Throw in the salt pouch.")[He opens it up and runs his fingers through. "Right, go on," he says and hands you a sheath housing the smallest dagger, not much longer than your own hand. Glancing furtively around, you pocket it and walk away.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Small Iron Dagger"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Whittling Knife"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Salt Pouch"))]]]]] (if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[(link: "You offer him the bronze mirror.")[(replace: ?links)[You offer him the bronze mirror. He examines it carefully, then, satisfied, gestures for you to pick one of the gleaming silver knives. Giddy, you grab a short dagger with a flat blade and place it in the sheath he hands you. You don't stop to check who's watching before walking away.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Silver Dagger"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Bronze Mirror"))]]] ]]

"Here for this, are you?" <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/item_sile.png" alt="A Síle na gcíoch stone ornament.">She holds up a stone <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Síle na gcíoch</span><span class="annotation-text">A carved folk ornament depicting a woman spreading the lips of her vulva, said to aid in childbirth. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈʃiːlʲə nˠə ɟiːx/ English phonetic approximation: *Sheela na gee-uk*</span></span>, a bug-eyed figure parting two enormous labia. "Er, not right now, no. Them," you say, pointing at the rosary beads. She grins. (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[You offer her some salt.(click:"You offer her some salt.")[ She looks insulted. "Sure isn't the sea right there? Salt I've plenty of." |links>[(if: $inventory contains "Horse Doll")[(link: "You offer her the horse doll.")[(replace: ?links)[With a twinge of guilt you hold out the wounded doll. The memory will have to suffice. She seems amused by it, poking and prodding its belly as if she expects it to react. "Certain, now? I'm sure they'd give you some at the monastery, if you ask nicely." "Ha... you'd be surprised." You pocket the beads and walk away. Your heart hurts.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Horse Doll")) Then it's time for the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]]]]](else-if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[(link: "You offer her the bronze mirror.")[(replace: ?links)[You offer her the bronze mirror, shushing your screaming vanity. Its gleam falls on her face as she holds it up. "Here, this demands more. Take it." She furtively thrusts the Síle into your lap, before you muster the heart to say no.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Síle na gCíoch"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Bronze Mirror")) (if: (history:) contains: "Oisín - Delicacies")[{(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Síle na gCíoch"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Síle na gCíoch Oisín"))(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin))(set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 2.1", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin))}Well, maybe Oisín might get a laugh out of it if you can't find anything else to use it for.]]]](else:)[You don't have anything you're willing to part with. (if: $hasVisitedMonastery)["I, er... can I owe you for them?" She frowns. "Depends on what you're owing me." "What do you want?" "An auspicious thing." She makes a drawn-out moaning sound, which you take to be her pondering. "Your first-born son. His name." "I..." She can't be serious. "Can I at least give you some options?" She nods. "Right, er..." What names for boys aren't terrible? 'Oisín' is out, and it's a bit stale to go with Dad's... you think for a minute. |links>[[(link: "\"Something traditional.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Something traditional." Why fight the classics? As long as it's not 'Oisín', anything will do. "Very well. 'Fionn', then." Not a name you would've chosen yourself, but then you're not exactly going to see her again. You pocket the beads and begin the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))]]] [(link: "\"Something noble.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Something noble." A noble name might set him up well... better than circumstance alone, at least. "Very well. 'Cormac' it is." Not a name you would've chosen yourself, but then you're not exactly going to see her again. You pocket the beads and begin the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))]]] [(link: "\"Something pious.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Something pious." They say the gods favour their namesakes... you sure haven't seen much evidence of it, but maybe you'd be even unluckier with a different moniker. "Very well. How about 'Donn'?" "We already have more than enough Donns in the family." "Sure all the more reason to re-use it! A cherished name will serve him well." You nod in mute accedence and pocket the beads. Not like you're going to see her again, anyway. Then it's time for the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))]]] [(link: "\"Something modern.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Something modern." Name fashion's changing, and it's just as well to try and keep up with it. Who knows if people will even bother naming their children after gods in twenty or thirty years? "Very well. I hear the Roman names are all the rage these days... 'Columba', perhaps?" You frown. "'Columba'? What's that mean?" "No idea. But it'll set him up well!" You nod in mute accedence and pocket the beads. Not like you're going to see her again, anyway. Then it's time for the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))]]] ]](else:)[(display: "Town - Trading End")] ]]]](else:)[|links>[(if: $inventory contains "Horse Doll")[(link: "You offer her the horse doll.")[(replace: ?links)[With a twinge of guilt you hold out the wounded doll. The memory will have to suffice. She seems amused by it, poking and prodding its belly as if she expects it to react. "Certain, now? I'm sure they'd give you some at the monastery, if you ask nicely." "Ha... you'd be surprised." You pocket the beads and walk away. Your heart hurts.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Horse Doll")) Then it's time for the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]]]]](else-if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[(link: "You offer her the bronze mirror.")[(replace: ?links)[You offer her the bronze mirror, shushing your screaming vanity. Its gleam falls on her face as she holds it up. "Here, this demands more. Take it." She furtively thrusts the Síle into your lap, before you muster the heart to say no.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Síle na gCíoch"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Bronze Mirror")) (if: (history:) contains: "Oisín - Delicacies")[{(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Síle na gCíoch"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Síle na gCíoch Oisín"))(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin))(set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 2.1", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin))}Well, maybe Oisín might get a laugh out of it if you can't find anything else to use it for.]]]](else:)[You don't have anything you're willing to part with. (if: $hasVisitedMonastery)["I, er... can I owe you for them?" She frowns. "Depends on what you're owing me." "What do you want?" "An auspicious thing." She makes a drawn-out moaning sound, which you take to be her pondering. "Your first-born son. His name." "I..." She can't be serious. "Can I at least give you some options?" She nods. "Right, er..." What names for boys aren't terrible? 'Oisín' is out, and it's a bit stale to go with Dad's... you think for a minute. |links>[[(link: "\"Something traditional.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Something traditional." Why fight the classics? As long as it's not 'Oisín', anything will do. "Very well. 'Fionn', then." Not a name you would've chosen yourself, but then you're not exactly going to see her again. You pocket the beads and begin the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))]]] [(link: "\"Something noble.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Something noble." A noble name might set him up well... better than circumstance alone, at least. "Very well. 'Cormac' it is." Not a name you would've chosen yourself, but then you're not exactly going to see her again. You pocket the beads and begin the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))]]] [(link: "\"Something pious.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Something pious." They say the gods favour their namesakes... you sure haven't seen much evidence of it, but maybe you'd be even unluckier with a different moniker. "Very well. How about 'Donn'?" "We already have more than enough Donns in the family." "Sure all the more reason to re-use it! A cherished name will serve him well." You nod in mute accedence and pocket the beads. Not like you're going to see her again, anyway. Then it's time for the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))]]] [(link: "\"Something modern.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Something modern." Name fashion's changing, and it's just as well to try and keep up with it. Who knows if people will even bother naming their children after gods in twenty or thirty years? "Very well. I hear the Roman names are all the rage these days... 'Columba', perhaps?" You frown. "'Columba'? What's that mean?" "No idea. But it'll set him up well!" You nod in mute accedence and pocket the beads. Not like you're going to see her again, anyway. Then it's time for the long walk [[back to the monastery.|Monastery - Return]](set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Rosary Beads"))]]] ]](else:)[(display: "Town - Trading End")] ]]]

He's a mean-looking man who leers at you as you approach. Splayed out in front of him is a collection of blades of all shapes and sizes: daggers, cookery knives, swords.|links>[(if: $inventory contains "Whittling Knife")[(link: "You offer him the whittling knife.")[(replace: ?links)[ You offer him the whittling knife. He pulls it out of its sheath and scoffs at you. "You'll have to come up with something better than that, love." (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[Throw in the salt pouch. (click-replace:"Throw in the salt pouch.")[He opens it up and runs his fingers through. <img class="inline-img-left" src="Images/Inventory/item_dagger.png" alt="A short iron dagger.">"Right, go on," he says and hands you a sheath housing the shortest dagger, not much longer than your own hand. Glancing furtively around, you pocket it and walk away.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Small Iron Dagger"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Whittling Knife"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Salt Pouch"))]]]]] (if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[(link: "You offer him the bronze mirror. ")[(replace: ?links)[ You offer him the bronze mirror. He examines it carefully, then, satisfied, gestures for you to pick one of the gleaming silver knives. <img class="inline-img-left" src="Images/Inventory/item_silver.png" alt="A silver dagger.">Giddy, you grab a short dagger with a sharp tip and place it in the sheath he hands you. You don't stop to check who's watching before walking away. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Silver Dagger"))(set: $inventory to it - (dataset: "Bronze Mirror"))]]](else:)[You don't have anything you're willing to part with. ]]\ (display: "Town - Trading End")

The hunter is a broad man who has the solidity of an old yew. He's mostly selling deer meat, optionally roasted over an open fire and so pungent you think you could probably smell it halfway to the island, but you spy some flint. It's all over the place on the island, but you forgot to take any with you. (if: $inventory contains "Salt Pouch")[Offer him some salt.[(click-replace:"Offer him some salt.")[He opens the pouch, places some on his finger, and lifts it to his mouth, licking his lips. Rank. <img class="inline-img" src="Images/Inventory/item_flint.png" alt="A piece of flint.">Nodding, he holds out a piece of flint and his own pouch. You empty about a quarter of the contents into it, keeping well back, then nod and mumble thanks.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Flint"))]]](else:)[You don't have anything you're willing to part with.] (display: "Town - Trading End")

Maybe you have time for another quick glance at [[what's on offer|Town - Traders]], although you probably [[shouldn't dawdle...|Mainland - Town]]

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Trio of Bass</strong></h2> A trio of bass your brother caught to keep you going. You're not a fan of the smell, but you need to eat.

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín. He looks relaxed." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Liath</span><span class="annotation-text">Means "grey" or "light blue". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈl̠ʲiə/ English phonetic approximation: *Lee-uh*</span></span>," <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> says. "Her name's Liath. Hope she didn't scare you." Makes sense: she's mostly blue-grey, with only a few white whiskers around the eyes to suggest her age. "Just not used to dogs," you say. "We only have a ewe." "Sure you wouldn't be, then. But on our gods, Liath's a sweetheart. She won't touch you." (display: "Liath - Pet") (display: "Mainland - Farewell")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín. He looks relaxed." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text"><span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> does a little snort of a laugh and then tries to stop himself; he splutters and blushes. "Eh, no... no, she's an absolute sweetheart. She won't touch you, I swear on our gods." (display: "Liath - Pet") (display: "Mainland - Farewell")</div>

You take a few steps back until you can no longer smell her; that feels like a safe distance. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> sees your apprehension, crouches down, and collars her. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin2.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín. He looks relaxed." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Are you all right?" "Yeah, just..." — the smell, it was the smell that reminded you — "Just not used to dogs." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Liath</span><span class="annotation-text">Means "grey" or "light blue". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈl̠ʲiə/ English phonetic approximation: *Lee-uh*</span></span> wouldn't touch you. She's a sweetheart. But I'll keep her here for now." He rests a large hand on her shoulder. It reminds you of Mam, Mam coming in to sit by the fire when it started lashing and she couldn't do much but wait for it to end. Wet must, like her <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span>. Why a fucking dog, why now? You breathe hard and steady yourself. (display: "Mainland - Farewell")</div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $fechin)) (set: $fechin to (dm: "name", "Fechín", "bio", "Fechín Desc", "bioAppend", "Fechín Desc Update 2", "img", "fechin.png", "desc", "Considerate young sailor."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $fechin))}"I'd better let the two of ye go. It's... it's getting on," you say. The boy and the dog bid their goodbyes, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> looking uneasy again as if he's just remembered what happened at dawn. Alone, you scan the shoreline for any sign of your boat. Nothing moss green. It could be [[further down the shore|Mainland - Rounding the Bay]], or maybe you should join the others [[in town.|Mainland - Town]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/dog.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín's dog." class="portrait-img-small"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You edge forward warily and hold out your hand. She seems even larger up close, and her fur has the same strong wet must as <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>'s. You feel a little sad all of a sudden. But then she places her little head under your palm and pushes it up. You bend down, take her head between your hands and rub her fur, let her lick you, her stubby tail thumping your ankles. You laugh in a happy panic. "Told you! She gets like this if we're gone so much as a few hours. Follows my mam around the place; drives her mad." (if: (passage:)'s name is "Liath - Cautious")[ "What's her name?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Liath</span><span class="annotation-text">Means "grey" or "light blue". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈl̠ʲiə/ English phonetic approximation: *Lee-uh*</span></span>." Makes sense: she's mostly blue-grey, with only a few white whiskers around the eyes to suggest her age. "Hey, Liath," you whisper. "Aren't you lovely?"] As the first rays of sunlight rise over Beola's Peaks in the east you come back to yourself, giving (if: (passage:)'s name is "Liath - Cautious")[her](else:)[Liath] one last pat on the head before standing up and brushing off your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span>.

He breaks into a sneer, nodding towards the front of the shack. "Did the mirrors scare you, little one?" |links>[(link: "\"They did.\"")[(replace: ?links)[(if: (history:) contains "Mainland - Teach Doinn Mirrors")["But I'm better informed now, so I suppose I should thank you." "You're quite welcome." He nods in your direction. ](else:)["Not enough to stop you from seeking me out." He smirks. ](display: "Donn - Parents' Deaths")]] (link: "\"Not really.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Nothing worse than what I've seen in dreams." "Oh yes? Maybe you'd let me mine your imagination for my next project, then." He gazes at you malcontentedly. (display: "Donn - Parents' Deaths")]]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He laughs. "Pah! Don't think I haven't read their letters. "To live is Christ and to die is gain."  <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Cupio dissolvi*</span><span class="annotation-text">Latin: "I wish to dissolve".</span></span>. Either/or suits them fine." (display: "Donn - Mirrors End")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">It's a bold inquiry, but you're genuinely curious. "Because they're hurrying into the arms of someone who pretends to promise them a death marginally less shite than their miserable lives. I can't offer anything like that, but at least I'm honest." (display: "Donn - Mirrors End")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Would. Were." He yawns, displaying a set of unnervingly white teeth. "Was." "So you...?" "Well, you're mortal, and I'm your ancestor. Technically speaking. Only had the one kid, and he... well, he had time, at least." "So we're related?" "In much the same way a wolf is related to one of those little yappy dogs that does everyone's head in, yes. But you're making me melancholy. Change the subject." (display: "Donn - Options")</div>

You do your best to hide your anger. "No. Just… mad at life, I guess. I'll keep looking." "Do," she says. "We're heading into town now, so you know where to find me. I'll be there until the afternoon." "Right, go on so." (display: "Mainland - Wolfhound")

You sigh, looking out and away from her towards the expanse of shore and tree and mountain. "It's on him. And them. So I'll deal with it when I—" "'Cause it's all right, you know. To blame me as well." "I... I'd best be off." "Right," she says. "We're heading into town now, so you know where to find me. I'll be there until the afternoon." "See you there." (display: "Mainland - Wolfhound")

You say it before your brain can catch up with your mouth. "I never pegged you as the type to keep secrets—" "I... We were only for your good—" "Thanks, Mam!" you say bitterly. "And I'm sure it would've been for *your* good not to spend months out on boats with someone sick in the head, putting ideas into..." You falter, collapsing onto the jetty. It's too much. One of the cousins — you're too overwhelmed to tell which — glances back at you. "Catching your dinner." "You didn't have to do it together," you whisper. She looks at you pleadingly. "You know what the alternative was. He needed us, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. And he still does." She's right, you know, but the seed of rancour has been planted. You sit cross-legged on the jetty, plugging your ears with the hiss of the wind, willing it to drown out the evil rhythm of your breath. Eventually she taps you on the shoulder and says, "We're heading into town now, so you know where to find me. I'll be there until the afternoon." "Right, go on so." You turn once you're sure she's gone. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> hasn't left, and he's found a friend: a shaggy wolfhound about the size of a ram. It bounds over the beach towards him, tongue lolling, panicking the seals clumsily waddling back to the water. He rises and begins – you notice with alarm – limping towards it, catching it in his arms. "Didn't I tell you to wait at home, you silly goose?" you hear him whisper, nuzzling its neck as it smothers him in licks. It's the first time you've seen him smile. He catches you looking and invites you to give her a pet. (display: "Liath - Options")

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Liath")) (set: $liath to (dm: "name", "Liath", "bio", "Liath Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "dog.png", "desc", "A very good girl."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $liath))}A shaggy wolfhound about the size of a ram comes bounding over the beach towards you, tongue out, panicking the seals waddling back to the water. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> rises and begins – you notice – limping towards it, catching it in his arms. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/dog.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín's dog." class="portrait-img-small"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Didn't I tell you to wait at home, you silly goose?" you hear him say, nuzzling its neck as it smothers him in licks. It's the first time you've seen him smile, and when he catches you looking he invites you over with a broad wave. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín. He looks relaxed." class="portrait-img"></img></div><div class="body-text">(display: "Liath - Options")

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $ailbhe)) (set: $ailbhe to (dm: "name", "Ailbhe", "bio", "Ailbhe Desc", "bioAppend", "Ailbhe Desc Update 4", "img", "ailbhe.png", "desc", "Childhood friend.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $ailbhe))}[["What's the name?"|Liath - Name]] [["Does she bite?"|Liath - Cautious]] (unless: (history:) contains "Liath - Fechín Limp" or (passage:)'s name is "Liath - Fechín Limp")[[["Did you hurt yourself?"|Liath - Fechín Limp]] ]\ [[Stand back.|Liath - Apprehensive]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He shrugs. "Never been." "Why not?" "Let's just say, like our Hellenic cousins might, that it's a matter of *ontology*." You blink. "What?" "I'm not of the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*aos sí*</span><span class="annotation-text">The race of beings that live in "sí", or fairy mounds, and inhabit the otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /iːsˠ ʃiː/ or /eːsˠ ʃiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Ees She* or *Ace She*"</span></span>, so my *being* isn't permitted there. A perk of the job description. There's a remedy, but then I'd need a replacement, and... eh... sure I'm grand here for now." "So you've never even been where you're sending them? A death god?" "I mean, I probably could get there in much the same way you could, at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span>, but then I doubt I'd be received particularly warmly. Our worlds are separate for a reason." "But the people you transport, they're all—" "Human. And dead. You see what I'm getting at?" "You'd have to—" "I'd have to do the decent thing and die, yeah," he says, fumbling with the smoke-stick again. A red heat lights the room briefly, then a wispy stream that makes your eyes water trickles out. "And it wouldn't be very fair on the rest of you if there's no one left to do the black work of lugging your bodies around, now would it? It's a fine fucking service I offer, for all the thanks I get." "I had no clue." "I'd say your grannies did, though. I'd say they kept me fed and watered well enough... they respected their gods, didn't they?" He frowns, as if you're responsible for your parents' decisions. "I... I don't mean any disrespect..." You're fumbling for the right term of address. "Er, Dark One." He huffs like a stopped animal, but his eyes are glimmering. "False courtesies won't get you far here, little one." (display: "Donn - Options")</div>

He picks up one the scrolls and begins to read aloud: "'There was a blessed Irish woman of noble birth, a most beautiful adult whom I baptised. She came to us a few days later for this reason. She told us that she had received word from a messenger of God, who advised her that she should become a virgin of Christ, and that she should come close to God.' "'A virgin of Christ'?" he snorts. "Did you ever hear the like? Why does a celibate God demand virgins?" You change tack. "And is it all right for gods to read?" "Ha! What do you think I am, some bloody druid?" (display: "Donn - Options")

"Speaking of which, little Donnán Óg had the same odour of death on him as you do, shifting under the stank of that foul priest water. I knew you were orphans." You nod. "Parents die at sea?" You mumble assent. You can't think of a worse person to be discussing this with. "The sad lot of the fisherman's brood! I might have met them, actually, during a storm about two years ago. Daddy was sick, wasn't he?" You say nothing. He shouldn't have been there then. "I've met a few unfortunate souls who raised their children in the new faith, but waited too long to sign themselves up lest the weight of their own *peccātī* undo it all..." he says, mouthing the Latin genitive for "sin" with what sounds like decent pronunciation, though your ears aren't much tuned to it. You wince. "Well, rest assured that they were saved the honour of making my acquaintance." "I *really* don't want to talk about this." Secretly, you're relieved; you had convinced yourself they weren't baptised. "Just thought you'd want to know. No harm meant!" He flashes what you imagine he thinks is a reassuring smile, but it's unctuous; impossible to gauge his sincerity. You slink onto the floor. (display: "Donn - Options")

The town's "pub" is a rough hovel of ugly, irregular stone that seems to be slowly drowning in the bog holding it. Above the crooked wooden lintel, the wind is murmuring through a small window, no doubt less an intended feature than an accident of the building's construction. It's utterly still and unyielding as you approach, so unlike <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>'s local. On a market day, a market day for the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> festival, a place so convenient to the direction of travel should be black with visitors from the plains and rivers beyond Beola's Peaks and the bog, from all the five provinces of Ireland. Even a sheltered islander like you knows this. You feel eyes on you again, but glancing around you're utterly alone. No matter. The wooden door looks bolted shut. You approach it and... [[... try the handle.|Town - Pub Door Handle]] (if: $inventory contains "Whittling Knife")[[[... try forcing the lock with the whittling knife.|Town - Pub Door Knife]] ]\ (if: $inventory contains "Hand Hoe")[[[... try breaking the mechanism with the hand hoe.|Town - Pub Door Hand Hoe]]]

Nothing; it's definitely locked. You scan left and right, making sure you're not being watched. An Mhuicín has a narrow side door behind the counter that's used to load barrels of drink — maybe... [[Search for a way in.|Town - Pub Side Door]] (if: $inventory contains "Whittling Knife")[[[Try forcing the lock with the whittling knife.|Town - Pub Door Knife]] ]\ (if: $inventory contains "Hand Hoe")[[[Try breaking the lock mechanism with the hand hoe.|Town - Pub Door Hand Hoe]]]

You've never picked a lock before, but the person who set this one clearly put it in place more to create the appearance of security than actually safeguard anything important, and after a period of coaxing just long enough to make your heart start bounding again, the keyhole yields. You push in the door with a creak that sounds enormous in the silence of the boggy plain. (display: "Town - Pub Interior")

This will be noticed. This will be noticed and someone will tell the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">brehon</span><span class="annotation-text">A class of lawgiver and judge in ancient and early medieval Ireland.</span></span> and your meagreness will hardly suffice to convince them you haven't done wrong. They'll take <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>, and whatever belongs to him and what belonged to Mam and Dad before. But enough: either you do this now or you never find any trace of him. You grasp the hoe with two hands, swing it above your head, and hit the wood with a heavy thud. Two more thwacks and there's a hole big enough for you to climb through. (display: "Town - Pub Interior")

Your instinct was right: there's a door at the back that's just tall enough to admit you at your full height. It has a ward lock, but it's not bolted; you push in the door with a creak that sounds enormous in the silence of the boggy plain. (display: "Town - Pub Interior")

(set: $visitedPub to true)Inside is bare of people but not of things. The counter is draped in dust, save a large barrel propped in a corner that's dripping something malty. Two half-empty <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">methers</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span> dot one round wooden table; an empty one stands on its neighbour. You close the door as slowly as your pulse permits you, then pad towards the tables. Here the malt smell mixes with something else, a strange heavy earthiness like wet soil, but deeper, older, atavistic. It's as if you're standing at the shrine of the hag goddess. You look around. There's an apple core, still white, next to the empty mether. Someone was here not long ago, and they probably came from further south; apples aren't harvested in this <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span> until late summer. A streak of light from the accidental window is settled on something on the floor. It's not until you're down on your hands and knees that you see it for what it is. A small wooden crucifix, but not just that: knotted through it is a tuft of fur. Fur, but not like <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>'s or <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Liath</span><span class="annotation-text">Means "grey" or "light blue". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈl̠ʲiə/ English phonetic approximation: *Lee-uh*</span></span>'s. It's coarse, matted, and the light seems to stop at its surface, as if suspended. You think it's brown, but you can't be sure, and you know of no animal with a coat like this. (if: (history:) contains "Fergus - Wolves")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>'s "sons of the land", maybe? But there are no signs of a hunt.] Bringing the crucifix up to your eyes, you notice a depiction of a small animal cut into its surface towards the base. It's vaguely dog-like, but its four legs are short and stubby. |links>[(link: "Take the crucifix and the fur.")[(replace: ?links)[<img class="inline-img-left" src="Images/Inventory/item_crus.png" alt="A small wooden crucifix with an animal carved into it.">You untangle the fur from the crucifix carefully and pocket them, vowing to ask around.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Tuft of Fur"))(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Small Crucifix")) If he was here, there's not much sign of him. Disappointed, you make your way back to [[the town.|Mainland - Town]]]] (if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[(link: "Hold the bronze mirror up to the fur.")[(replace: ?links)[You untangle the fur from the crucifix carefully, fish out the mirror and take it in your left hand, the fur in the right. As the bronze lustre passes over it, it begins to smoke and shrink, screeching like something alive, like a wounded animal. You drop it in your shock and it shrivels into nothing on the cold stone floor. Something not of this world? You should ask the mummer. But if he was here, there's not much sign of him. Disappointed, you make your way back to [[the town.|Mainland - Town]]]]]]

You're feeling nosey. "How's your relationship with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Diarmuid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Usually refers by itself to Diarmuid Ua Duibne, son of Donn, a legendary warrior and member of the *fianna* known for his beauty. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈdʲiəɾˠmˠədʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Djeer-midj*</span></span> now?" "He's dead, thank you for asking." "Is... is that an obstacle to you?" "You'd be surprised." He snorts, then says ruefully, "His prick of a foster father never liked me. I seem to have a talent for making myself unpopular, would you believe?" You would well believe, but opt not to indulge him. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Aengus</span><span class="annotation-text">God of beauty and youth, and one of the sons of The Dagda. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈæŋɡəsˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Angus*</span></span>?" "The very same. Oh, don't get me wrong, little one, I *let* Aengus foster my child, even after his underlings had cursed him for a mistake no fault of his own." "What mistake?" You want to hear it from him. He glares at you, and a pitch of black smoke briefly rises around his nostrils, then vanishes. He sighs. "My Diarmuid would've lived a long life, with what the gods gave us. I was still in their favour then, inasmuch as they were willing to humour some Milesian upstart who saved them the bother of having to touch dead human flesh. But they had a way of..." He falters, glancing around the room. He suddenly looks strangely old. "You were expected to do a bit of acting the maggot; it was how you showed your status. It ran away with me a bit. Let's say no more of it now." "What was he like, Diarmuid?" His pupils glimmer. "A fine fucking <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fidchell*</span><span class="annotation-text">A board game similar to chess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲɪhəl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fi-hell*</span></span> player and hurler. Had his father's looks and his mother's sense of justice. Not sure if either served him well in the end." He fiddles with the bowstring. "But sure, that's it. I'm well used to it now." You're not sure if he means the death of his son or death in general; you decide not to ask. (display: "Donn - Options")

I mean... they have Rome. Constantinople." Your mother, and Father Silvanus, told you of the glittering palaces in the east where the Lord's acolytes dwell. "Why would they come to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> of all places if they didn't believe they could save us?" He laughs. "And why did Míl come here, do you suppose? It wasn't to make friends, I'll tell you that fucking much." "That's different. Patrick–" He sneers. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span>'s is a civilising mission he dresses in false modesty, as if we weren't the ones mapping the movements of the planets thousands of years ago when they were pawing around in the dirt." Yet again you get the feeling you're not going to persuade him. (display: "Donn - Patrick")

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Tuft of Fur</strong></h2> A tuft of fur from an animal you don't recognise. It's curiously dull.

You ignore the smell of putrid venison as best you can and approach the hunter(unless: (history:) contains "Town - Hunter")[, a broad man with the solidity of an old yew.](else:)[.] He smacks his thin lips together and waits for you to speak. <img class="inline-img-left" src="Images/Inventory/item_hair.png" alt="A a tuft of matted fur.">"Can you tell me what animal this fur is from?" you ask, holding it out to him. He stares at it but doesn't take it. "Where'd you find this?" You don't recognise his accent, though it doesn't seem foreign. "I... does it matter?" He splutters a dry laugh. "Sure how d'you expect me to tell you anything about it if you can't even tell me where you got it? Beasts are every bit as habituated as you and me." [["I found it loose in the old pub up the road."|Town - Hunter Truth]] [["I found it hanging off a bush in the woods to the east."|Town - Hunter Lie]]

He narrows his eyes. "And what were you doing in there?" "M-my—" He laughs again, heartier. "Would you ever relax? I'm not gonna rat you out, love. But I wouldn't be snooping around there if I was you." "Why not?" "Ah, you know yourself. They say it's watched. Now, give us it," he says, gesturing for the fur. (display: "Town - Hunter Fur Examination")

"And what possessed a young island girl who hasn't any knowledge of beasts or trees to wander into the woods?" "My mam was reared here. I know it well." He frowns. "Look, love, either be honest or give me a decent fecking story." "Can you just take a look at it?" (if: (history:) contains "Town - Hunter" and $inventory contains "Flint")["Well, you are a customer. Give us it." (display: "Town - Hunter Fur Examination")](else:)["I will if you take something off me hands." Deer meat, no, but you could use some flint. |links>[(link: "Offer him some salt for the flint.")[(replace: ?links)["Would you take a quarter pouch of salt for the flint?" you ask. "Depends. Give it here." (display: "Town - Hunter Trade") He splutters an even heartier laugh. "Now, doesn't a bit of honest business serve you better, love? Give us a look at it." (display: "Town - Hunter Fur Examination") ]] (link: "Refuse.")[(replace: ?links)["I can't afford it," you mumble. He shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'm here all afternoon if you get some sense into you." [[You walk off, head down.|Mainland - Town]]]]] ]

He takes the tuft with a surprisingly delicate flourish and sniffs it thoroughly before holding it up to his eye, rotating and prodding. When he sets his gaze back on you he's frowning, furtive, eyes low. "I've a fire here if you wanna burn this. I won't tell anyone." "Give it back to me." "I've no intention of keeping it from you—" "What animal is it?" you half-yell, surprising yourself. "No animal I know, that's all I'll say. Last chance now." He holds it above the flaming barrel. |links>[(link: "\"Go ahead.\"")[(replace: ?links)["Go ahead." He casts it into the barrel. As it smokes and shrivels, it begins to screech like something wounded. "Is it... was it alive?" you ask. "Not a kind of living we'd recognise. Anyway, that's it done with." "Thanks for your time," you croak, turning hurriedly to leave. Is this the trace of some ugly creature that draws strength from a broken *geis*, to inspire such fear? (unless: (history:) contains "Town - Ailbhe")[You consider telling <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, but think better of it. She'd only make it into a reason to take you back with her.](else:)[Ailbhe's gone: you'll have to rely on your own smarts to figure out what it was, and what it wanted from him.] Best wait with it and finish up your business in [[town|Mainland - Town]].]] [(link: "\"Don't, please—\"")[(replace: ?links)["Don't, please—" You reach for it before he has time to act, raising yourself up to meet him. He accedes, cupping it in your palm and saying, "I'm warning you, it's no good to you." "Thanks for your time," you croak, turning hurriedly to leave. Is this the trace of some ugly creature that draws strength from a broken *geis*, to inspire such fear? (unless: (history:) contains "Town - Ailbhe")[You consider telling <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, but think better of it. She'd only make it into a reason to take you back with her.](else:)[Ailbhe's gone: you'll have to rely on your own smarts to figure out what it is, and what it wanted from him.] Best hold on to it and finish up your business in [[town|Mainland - Town]].]]]]

He opens the pouch, places some on his finger, and lifts it to his mouth, licking his lips. Rank. Nodding, he holds out two pieces of flint and his own pouch. You empty about a quarter of the contents into it, keeping well back, then nod and mumble thanks.(set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Flint"))

{(set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "img", "placeholder.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $muireann))}There's a commotion outside: a heavy thud on the monastery door, as if someone is pushing their whole body against it, followed by a woman's voice. You lie frozen and listen. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>! Íde, please... I want to speak to her. Let me speak to her!" She's hoarse, trying to shout but without the volume necessary. "I'm not to permit anyone. And there's no one by that name here." It's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span>, the guard. Then silence again, so long you wonder if you didn't just hear it in sleep. "The small one you let in earlier, with the brown hair." Your heart stills. "Íde, please! Come outside!" "Look, if you don't leave I'll have no choice but to report this," Bláthnaid says, her voice wavering ever so slightly. "You've probably just had one too many. Go on home." "You'll not keep her from me!" You think you hear another bang, but you're already up, fumbling at your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>. She's seen someone else in you, that's all; she'll be kicking herself when she realises you're not one of her people. You toss the cloak around yourself and pad a path to the door, past the unstirring women in the dormitory. The door yields silently and you run towards the entrance. "Final warning!" Bláthnaid yells. "Bláthnaid, let me—" "Fuck!" She starts, thrusting her spear at you. "Don't fucking scare me like that!" "Is that you, Íde? Come to me, my dear!" "Let me talk to her," you say. Bláthnaid shrugs, relaxing her spearhand. "You're wasting your time." She unbolts the door, more laboriously than she did in the morning, and waves you out into the night. "Tell me when you want back in." The woman waiting for you is a stooped, fretful-looking thing in a tattered *léine*, brown hair turning to grey. She's gawping at you as if she sees something beyond. "My dear, dear Íde. I'm broken-hearted thinking about what I..." Eyes glistening, she looks away from you, ashamed. [["Who are you?"|Muireann - Identity Old]] [["My name isn't Íde."|Muireann - Name Old]] [["Thinking about what you what?"|Muireann - Boy]]

{(set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $muireann))}A woman's voice is calling out into the night, just beyond the hut's sole window. You lie frozen and listen. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>! Íde, please... would you come out and talk to me?" Then silence again, so long you wonder if you didn't just hear it in sleep. Your eyes dart around. The two lovers are flat on the floor next to you, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> snoring like someone who's still drunk in his dreams, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Úna</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈuːnˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oo-neh*</span></span> sprawled out beside him with her loose frizzy hair aheap on the floor. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> is curled into a ball, making soft whimpers. "C'mon, Íde... please!" No one stirs; this is your problem to solve. A case of mistaken identity, surely, or maybe she's one of Úna's people. You toss your cloak around yourself and pad a path to the door, past Féilim, Úna and her hair, then one or two others you don't recognise. The door yields silently and you step out into the broken night. You get a little ahead of the loose assemblage of dwellings, so as not to wake any of the rest of them, but you don't see her. No stars, no gibbous moon to light a path: you don't know where you are and your fear and exhaustion are beating your concern. You're about to return to bed when you hear a rustling behind you, and then she's there: a stooped, fretful-looking woman in a tattered <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>, brown hair turning to grey, gawping at you as if she sees something beyond. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"My dear, dear Íde. I'm broken-hearted thinking about what I..." Eyes glistening, she looks away from you, ashamed. [["Who are you?"|Muireann - Identity Old]] [["My name isn't Íde."|Muireann - Name Old]] [["Thinking about what you what?"|Muireann - Boy]]</div>

"Who else?" she says. "Who did you say you were? I don't recognise you," you say firmly. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Sure it's been ages, I know. I... I was expecting you last <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span>, but <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Eochaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /oːxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-ka*</span></span> probably didn't want you to... I can't blame him, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>. After everything." She heaves a dry sob. Now you understand: this is someone messing with you, someone hollow and evil. You harden your expression and will yourself some dignity. "You can tell whoever put you up to this to… fuck off if they think it's funny." You're barely able to finish before your eyes are puffing and moistening. "Íde, d'you really not know me? <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Crom</span><span class="annotation-text">Short for "Crom Cruach"; a god associated with occult rituals. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkɾˠuːmˠ ˈkɾˠuəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Krom Crew-ack*</span></span> alive..." "What did they do, tell you it was a bit of craic to go slag off the orphan?" You grit your teeth. "'Use her parents' names; that'll have her balling!' Who was it, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span>?" "Look, it's no surprise you don't know me: only one of us kept our looks. That's all I could give you in the end, Íde. It's me. It's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>." Muireann? *Aunt* Muireann: Mam's eldest sister. If this is someone playing a prank, they've certainly asked around. You stoop to see her eyes: grey-blue even in the darkness, like your mother's and brother's. The thin lines on her forehead suggest she'd be about the right age. But how does she not know, then? Weren't they at the wake if not the funeral, your mainland relatives? You strain, but can only remember the feeling of that day, not the shape of it — the teary daze you walked through for weeks afterward. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Muireann")[(display: "Muireann - Bláthnaid Interjection")](display: "Muireann - Truth") You nod. "'Poor' how? What do you know?" Her eyes pool downwards. "No good portent. Only how much I..." She draws a reedy breath. "He was such a lovely little lad, and Íde used to dote on him..." You suddenly understand. You understand and tremble, as if your whole body is crying out for an answer. You say it sharply: "Until what? What did you do to him?" "Words spoken in anger... ye'd wronged me, all of ye, but I never meant to..." She collapses in a heap at your feet, grovelling, "Daughter of my dear sister, forgive me." (display: "Muireann - Options")</div>

"I'm not <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>," you say firmly. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She gawks at you. (if: $inventory contains "Brooch")["You think I don't recognise poor Mammy's brooch?](else:)["You do say awful silly things, Íde.] Whatever the Dark One dubbed you at that threshold, you'll always be Íde to me." That's it: she thinks you're a spirit, fresh from the Otherworld. Hearing your mother's name rancours, but it's coincidence. You steel yourself and step closer to her. "Look, I'm as alive as you," you say, holding out your arm and pinching the flesh. "It's just dark out. Sorry to upset you." "But sure I saw you in the purest light of day! Travelling the worlds is confusing, believe you me I know, but try to remember." She takes your hand. "I need... I need to talk to you about... <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Eochaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /oːxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-ka*</span></span> didn't want me near you, and I don't blame him, it's just... your boy..." She heaves a dry sob. "When did you see me?" "This afternoon, down the town." That feeling of being watched: you weren't wrong. And she knows your parents' names, and this "boy"... if this is someone playing a prank, they've certainly asked around. You watch her, stoop to see her eyes: grey-blue even in the darkness, like your mother's and brother's. "Who are your people?" you ask. She animates the hand of yours she's holding and entreats, "Do you not know me, Íde? You kept your looks, not me, I know, but sure I'm not *that* different. It's me, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>." Muireann? *Aunt* Muireann: Mam's eldest sister. The thin lines on her forehead suggest she'd be about the right age, but then why does she have no idea who you are? Weren't they at the wake if not the funeral, your mainland relatives? You strain, but can only remember the feeling of that day, not the shape of it — the teary daze you walked through for weeks afterward. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Muireann")[(display: "Muireann - Bláthnaid Interjection")](display: "Muireann - Truth") You nod, then suddenly understand. You understand and tremble, as if your whole body is crying out for an answer. "You. What did you do to him?" "Words spoken in anger... ye'd wronged me, all of ye, but I never meant to..." She collapses in a heap at your feet, grovelling, "Daughter of my dear sister, forgive me." (display: "Muireann - Options")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Huh?" She looks at you askance. "You said you were broken-hearted thinking about something." She daubs away the tears on the sleeve of her <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span>. "Oh <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>. You know yourself, surely..." You'll humour her for now; she's probably just emotional from the night's drinking. "It's been ages. Remind me." "Have you any brain left in you after the world beyond, Íde? Your boy, of course! What I did to him..." She collapses onto the earth, head bowed. "The world beyond"? That's it: she thinks you're a spirit, fresh from the Otherworld. The name rancours, but it's coincidence. You pray to your mixed pantheon that it's coincidence. "He was such a lovely little lad before, and I..." You watch her grovel snivelling at your feet, and as she lifts up her face you see her eyes for the first time, grey-blue even in the darkness: your mother's and brother's. It hits you, suddenly, who she must be and what she's done. "You're—" "Sister, my dear sister," she clutches at your knees. "Forgive me. Let's be <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span> and Íde again." *Aunt* Muireann: Mam's eldest sister. The thin lines on her forehead suggest she'd be about the right age, and of all your relatives she'd certainly be the one who knows the most about witchery and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geasa*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *geis*, an obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɟasˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Gjaa-sa*</span></span>. But doesn't she recognise you? Weren't they at the wake if not the funeral, your mainland relatives? You strain, but you can only remember the feeling of that day, not the shape of it: that teary daze you walked through for weeks afterward. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Muireann")[(display: "Muireann - Bláthnaid Interjection")](display: "Muireann - Truth") You nod. "Now tell me what you did to him," you say sharply. "Words spoken in anger... ye'd wronged me, all of ye, but I never meant to..." She dissolves further into the heap of rags and flesh at your feet, entreating, "Daughter of my dear sister, forgive me." (display: "Muireann - Options")</div>

"Ma-… Íde is... g-gone four years now. (if: (history:)'s last is "Muireann - Identity" or "Muireann - Name")[And Eochaid.] My name is <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." You stop yourself getting any closer; she's had shock enough already if she thought you were your mother. She cracks a slight smile. "Bríd? You're the image of my Íde, you know. I just thought, with the week that's in it..." She scrunches up her features and rubs the length of her face with both hands, uttering a long sigh. "I never should've—" "I'm her daughter." She gazes at you as if to get your measure, eyes widening, then, seeing the truth, starts prodding and pinching your cheeks, like you'd do to a small child. "You are and all! <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*A stór*</span><span class="annotation-text">An affectionate form of address meaning 'my darling' or 'my love'; literally 'my treasure'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə stoːɾ/ English phonetic approximation: *A stoor*</span></span>, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a leanbh*</span><span class="annotation-text">An affectionate form of address for a child; "my child". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ˈl̠ʲanˠəw/ English phonetic approximation: *A lan-nuv*</span></span>... I heard she had had another, all right, but I didn't want to be butting in. You and your poor poor brother... are ye Eochaid's the both of ye?"

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $muireann)) (set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "bioAppend", "Muireann Desc Update 5", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $muireann))}[["It was a long time ago."|Muireann - Forgiveness]] [["I'm not the one you should be asking for forgiveness."|Muireann - Unforgiveness]] [["I've got more to deal with right now."|Muireann - Present]]

"I'm not fit to judge what you did so many years ago, Aunt," you say. "If you tell me you did what you thought best, I believe you." You have to believe her. What are you to make of Mam otherwise? <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She turns to you, tears in her eyes. "And d... d'you think he'd—" "Feel the same? I doubt it. But we've more to worry about. (display: "Muireann - Geis")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"He could be dead because of you." You sigh. "What reason does he have to forgive you?" "He—" You stop her. "(display: "Muireann - Geis")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Help me find him first," you say, your words coloured with a faint irritation. Let her stay self-absorbed if it pleases her; you've more important things to worry about. "Then we can talk about forgiveness." "How can I—" (display: "Muireann - Geis")</div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother)){(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother) - (ds: $parents))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 10", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $parents to (dm: "name", "Mam and Dad", "bio", "Parents Desc", "bioAppend", "Parents Desc Update 2", "img", "parents.png", "desc", "Your parents, Íde and Eochaid."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother) + (ds: $parents))}(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))}"Your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span> is broken, or malformed, or both," you say gravely. "You know yourself what that means." She breaks away from you and says, as if to herself, "I felt it slipping away from me, a few nights ago. What he bears." His name. You're afraid to speak it, as if it might give the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> even more power over him. She turns to you, clutching your arm. "How long? Exactly. When did he violate it?" "Not more than two nights ago," you answer, trying not to yelp in pain and force her into worse. Her sudden intensity frightens you. "Then you still have time. Find him and bring him to me before <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> is over." She relaxes her grip. "He... he might not want to see you." "Convince him. What I broke I can just as easily mend, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, believe me. Time is no object." [["Where should I even go at this point?"|Muireann - Geis 2]]</div>

- Ach - Catch yourself on - Wains - Cracker - Boke

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She snorts. "Your aunt? You're not serious." "Every bit," you say. "I don't think we've seen each other since the funeral." "You don't think?" "I... I can't remember." Something heavy falls away from you. It's good to admit it. She looks at you a little subdued. "I'd say ye'd a fair bit to talk about. And then she just fecked off?" You nod. "She's not Christian." "Sure I could've guessed that," she deadpans. "But God, we wouldn't have refused her. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, from the goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> wouldn't've, anyway." "She wasn't interested." "So," she says, slurping another bowlful. "Family reunion time?" "Not much chance of that anymore." You try to say it impassively. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Religious Appeal")["Oh." She clasps her hand to her mouth. "Sorry. I forgot." "It's grand, not much to be done about it now."](else:)["Because of your, er... acquaintance?" she asks. "Something like that, yeah."] "Well, back to the post." (display: "Monastery Guard - Good Conclusion")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"What'd she say?" "She was just raving about some woman named <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>. Probably pissed." You flush and turn away, hoping she hasn't seen. "Coming from the City, I'd say." "The City?" "Where they have the bonfires. You've never been?" She looks at you incredulously. You smirk and say, "And you have? What business does a good Christian woman have with that debauchery?" "You know yourself, anything to get me out of evening mass. That was back in the day, before I had my responsibilities." "Now you're an old biddy?" "Now I'm a 'productive member of the lay community'. Those parties, though..." She leans back in her chair, sighing wistfully. "Ever seen a lad leap three cows?" "I've barely seen three cows, never mind someone leaping them." "Next year, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." She touches your shoulder. "I'm taking you whether you like it or not." "And whether Dar likes it or not?" "Yep," she says, grinning. "Well, back to the post with me." (display: "Monastery Guard - Good Conclusion")</div>

"Have you ever been east of here?" you ask. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Not since I arrived. Why?" "Just curious. Where're you from?" She drops her spoon and casts you a withering look. "Does it matter? I've to put in a report with Dar — what did that woman want?" "Should we really be bothering her with that if she didn't even hear anyth—" She explodes off the table and bellows, "Answer the question, for Christ's sake!", but almost as soon as it's out she's shrinking back into her seat. There's a brief, tortured silence from the others, then they descend into murmurings, snatching sideways glances at the two of you. You're reminded that you can blaspheme the mercy god just by uttering his name. "Sorry," she mutters. You lean closer and half-whisper, "She thought I was someone else, that's all." "Who?" You sigh. "Just a mutual acquaintance. Look, she won't be coming back." "I'm still gonna have to report this." "Let me come with you, then." She nods. "Right, we'll go after this." You pass the rest of the meal in silence, head down despite the furtive looks, from both <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> and the others, boring into you. Then there's a [[shout from outside.|Monastery - Interruption]]</div>

She downs the last of her milk, stands, and then stops abruptly(if: $wearingNecklet)[ as if she's seeing you for the first time, lingering for a long time on your neck and the sweep of your shoulder. "It looks better on. The green is nice." "Thanks." Your face flushes. "I'd say the lads are mad about you," she says, twisting a strand of dark, wavy hair around her finger. An incredulous snort slips out of you. "Never been much into them, to be honest." "That's probably prudent, like Dar would say. No time for them myself." "Going to become a nun, then?" She laughs a bitter laugh, her mouth wide open. You see every (surprisingly pale) tooth. "Not if the 'rents have anything to say about it. Wanted to calm me down here, they said." "I wouldn't exactly describe you as 'calm'." "Have you heard what Dar's been going on about lately? They'll be along any day now, and I'm the first fuckin' line of defence!" She looks towards the sky and mutters a quick "sorry", then concludes the thought: "Of course I'm a bit jumpy." "Have they considered hiring anyone a bit..." "What? Older? Stronger? Manlier? It's a community, not a barracks." "Right," you say. "Sorry. For what it's worth, I rate you. It wasn't exactly easy for me to get in, and I'm probably fairly non-threatening by the standards of people you encounter." She grins. "It was too easy. I liked the look of you. Anyway, I have to go get changed."](else:)[, as if she's seeing you for the first time. She takes a step towards you but almost immediately pulls back. "What are your plans for today?" "Sleuthing," you reply. "Sounds like something forbidden according to the precepts of the monastic rulebook," she drones, imitating Sister Dar reading aloud. "Can you forgive me it?" "Only if the end of your sleuthing isn't just figuring out how to leave," she says, rather more seriously, you sense, than intended. "Then I'll have to remain unforgiven." "Hmm. Well, gimme a send-off before you go, at least."] She steps out into the bare shapeless drizzle. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Cowkiller Aunt")[You're about to follow her when someone nudges you from behind. It's [[Cowkiller.|Monastery - Butcher Morning New]]](else:)[Then, from somewhere beyond, a man's shout [[punctures the silence.|Monastery - Interruption]]]

"Was it, er, rowdy last night?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She says nothing at first, only looks at you as if she's working something out in her head. Then she volunteers, "I believe it was quiet. Without incident." You stop yourself from sighing with relief. "That's good." "I will say though, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> never came to me this morning, so I can't be sure. I don't suppose you've seen her?" "I—" "Because it would be a terrible sin to try to deceive the head of the community, you understand. What's not said is every bit as important as what is if we're to survive." Your eyes glisten. You look down and away from her and say, "I'm sorry. She's coming to you, she said she would. We promised we'd tell you together..." "Well, you can start now. What happened?" (display: "Monastery - Abbess Muireann Options")</div>

(unless: (passage:)'s name is "Monastery - Abbess Leaving")[Now" — she regards you intently — "are you leaving us today?" "Probably, yes," you say. "Probably?" "I am, yes. ](else:)["Today, probably," you say. "Probably?" "]I don't know how to cross the border, though." She looks towards the window and mutters darkly, "It's difficult. There's a river in the way. Not every ford is manned, as I understand it, but the easier ones are. You can swim, of course?" You've been avoiding it since they died, afraid that your body would rather give up on you than allow you that serene weightlessness again. "I can," you answer eventually. "Right, then you'll have a better time of it. Just watch out for the guards." "Are there many of them?" "I don't make a habit of being there," she says dryly. That's that. You sit for some time, the acting abbess frowning and taking notes, you trying not to look and praying to be dismissed(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Cowkiller Aunt")[. Then there's a knock on the door. "Enter," she bids with some trepidation. It's Cowkiller, looking markedly uncomfortable in this place of authority. She gestures in your direction. "You're sure, Máire?" asks the acting abbess. She regards the older woman quizzically. Cowkiller nods. "Right. Don't give her any trouble, Bríd." You follow Cowkiller [[outside.|Monastery - Butcher Morning New]]](else:)[, until a man's shout [[punctures the silence.|Monastery - Interruption]]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Woke me?" she asks. "Were you up late?" "No, it's just that... there was a..." You falter. "Someone at the gate—" Her eyes widen in horror. "A reveller. Or worse? And <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> never came to me?" She looks like she's about to leap out of her seat and cuff Bláthnaid by the neck when you grab her hand and say, "Please. It wasn't anything like that." "This had better be good." (display: "Monastery - Abbess Muireann Options")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Religious Appeal")["I take it she wasn't one of the ones pursuing you?"](else:)["Your aunt? On a pagan feast night?" "She was just a bit confused, acting abbess. We calmed her down and sent her on her way," you say. "But she is pagan?" You want to tell her it doesn't matter, it *shouldn't* matter, she's family, but stop yourself.] "I, eh... no," you falter. "She's pagan, but she's not bad." She looks at you gravely. "Remember, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. Two masters. Serving the Lord requires us to make difficult choices." (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Religious Appeal")[She tuts, and looking away from you, asks, "What happened to her?" "We calmed her down and sent her on her way." ](else:)[She tuts, and looking away from you, says, ]"I don't want to see her here again." "I don't think you've anything to worry about on that front." "Let that not be an empty reassurance," she says, [[turning back towards you.|Monastery - Abbess Crossing]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Pagan?" "I don't know. Maybe. She didn't say much about it." "She was out wandering the fields the night of their death rituals. That says enough. Why didn't <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> come to me?" she asks, and then adds as if to herself, "That girl is too lax for her own good." "She was harmless, just drunk. I swear it on Christ." "*Do not* take that name in vain. Bring Bláthnaid to me." Come up with something, quick. "I know the woman; she's a regular in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>," you say. "You have nothing to fear and I said as much to Bláthnaid. That's why she didn't come to you first thing this morning. But she'll be along soon." She frowns. "Don't presume to tell me how I should run my own community, Bríd." "There's no danger of that anymore. I'll be leaving soon." "Oh yes? When?" she asks, [[turning towards you.|Monastery - Abbess Crossing]]</div>

It's not totally untrue; you'd drag yourself around the house in a stupor in the months after they died, murmuring, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> said, about it being time to shear <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>. She was staying with you because <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> wasn't well, because you weren't well either; anything too novel caused the wounds to smart, so you buried yourself in the remedial, sewing and sitting by the fire, letting her brush your hair and praying to no god you believed in for the oblivion of sleep. You don't remember what it felt like, even when she had to drag you back in and bolt the door behind you. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> caught me during her shift. Had to take me back to bed. I'm sorry for the trouble I caused." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"And you dreamt about someone at the gate, did you? Your superstitions are running away with you, child." That, you think, is a bit much given the state she was in just yesterday, but you hold your tongue. "What did they look like? This person in your dream." (if: $drankbrew)["A man. Crozier and white beard. Tall. Kind of terrifying, actually." "Speak the truth to me, Bríd, or don't speak at all."](else-if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Mummer")["I think they... had an adze for a head." "Speak the truth to me, Bríd, or don't speak at all."](else:)["A middle-aged woman. Grey, bent over, like she had aged before her time." "Who was she?"] (display: "Monastery - Abbess Muireann Options")</div>

[["Christ brought my aunt back to me."|Monastery - Abbess Aunt]] [["It was just some mad woman. Bláthnaid dealt with her."|Monastery - Abbess Mad Woman]] [["I sleepwalk; I must've just dreamt it."|Monastery - Abbess Sleepwalking]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(set: $drankBrew to true)It's vile. You look at him and muster a polite smile. He's pleased. (display: "Donn - Brother")</div>

"I really can't." You push the drink back in his direction. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He huffs. "The obligation is reciprocal, child. I've enough to be worrying about without the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">brehon</span><span class="annotation-text">A class of lawgiver and judge in ancient and early medieval Ireland.</span></span>s fining me for inhospitality. But suit yourself." He downs it as it were a thimbleful, sighs, and says, (display: "Donn - Brother")</div>

"Now, where was I... your brother. I found him out on that little boat at dawn, half-dead, the poor <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*créatúr*</span><span class="annotation-text">Poor thing, creature. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈcɾʲeːt̪ˠuːɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *cray-tur*</span></span>. He stank of priest water. I pulled him out of the sea and left him by the shore. He was cute, though even my vanity has its limits." "What?" "His name." Now you're desperate. "You *know* his name?" He exhales a billow of smoke, prompting you to cough. "Of course! So do you. It was carved into that bloody boat." "But the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>..." "I'll give you a clue: you're looking right at it." You almost don't want to admit that it fits. But it does fit, right over that hole in the centre of you. [["Donn..."|Donn - Brother 2]]

He sneers. "Yes, I've read <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span>. It's a civilising mission he dresses in false modesty, as if we weren't the ones mapping the movements of the planets thousands of years ago while they were pawing around in the dirt." Yet again you get the feeling you're not going to persuade him. (display: "Donn - Patrick")

"Indeed! I've half a mind to pay the converts a visit, put the fear of their ancestors into them. For all the good it would do." "Wouldn't they listen to you?" "Maybe. Maybe I haven't made myself *apparent* enough lately." He says it through gritted teeth. "All this Patrick shite... have you actually *read* this guff?" (display: "Donn - Patrick")

"How are you holding up, anyway?" "Grand, actually. Not even seasick." "Then you're doing better than I was the first time. Threw up half my stomach." You look at her with incredulity. "A seasick fisherwoman?" "I got used to it. A rough day will still give me the fear, but it doesn't usually amount to anything. How's the appetite, speaking of which?" (unless: (history:) contains "Kitchen" or "Kitchen - Return")[How could you have forgotten to eat, after her reminder? Best to say nothing; it's not worth her concern. ]"I guess I'm a bit peckish." "You brought the fish he left you, right?" (if: ((history:) contains "Kitchen") and not ((history:) contains "Kitchen - Return"))[That's what you should've gone back for. You look back at the speck on the horizon and sigh. She splutters a laugh as if she's trying to hold it back, then says, "Sorry, Brídín, these looks you get sometimes" and busies herself rooting around in one of the wooden crates she brought on board. "You're not going to starve, don't you worry. Here." You're handed a trio of bass, salted and wrapped in a thin linen. "I thought you hadn't fished up any yet." "When did I say that?" There's a glint in her eye. "I've more to be doing than making a competition out of it, that's all." "You're sure your da's all right with it?" "He won't have to be, unless you've a problem with me stopping by when I return." Oh..." It hadn't even occurred to you. "No, go on, take them. Fair's fair." "Just don't tell yer man the captain; we do have certain quotas to sell to pay for this, you know." She winks. "Right, that'll do you for the journey. I'm warping with the hunger! Let's go see if the lads have anything."](else-if: not ((history:) contains "Kitchen" or "Kitchen - Return"))[You shake your head. "I didn't think to check. How did you—" "Oh, em..." She stands up, shifting her weight around. "He always leaves you something, doesn't he? But listen" — she's down rooting around in one of the wooden crates she brought on board — "You're not going to starve, don't you worry. Here." You're handed a trio of bass, salted and wrapped in a thin linen. "You're sure your da's all right with it?" "He won't have to be, unless you've a problem with me stopping by when I return." Oh..." It hadn't even occurred to you. "No, go on, take them. Fair's fair." "Just don't tell yer man the captain; we do have certain quotas to sell to pay for this, you know." She winks. "Right, that'll do you for the journey. I'm warping with the hunger! Let's go see if the lads have anything."](else:)[You pat your bag. "Not exactly relishing the thought of them, but they'll do." "They'll have to, for a while at least. He's not usually one for forethought..." She purses her lips. "Right, I'm warping with the hunger now. Let's go see if the lads have anything."] [[Follow her.|Ferry - Supper]]

"Bang of fish off you. How's business?" you ask, throwing your bag down and trying not to get too close. You grew up with that smell, but you'll never like it. She starts. "Fuck! Don't scare me like that." "Not good, then?" "It's slow going," she says. "No one really has anything we need. Can you imagine the cheek it takes for someone to try peddling salt to an islander sitting here selling fish?" You roll your eyes; it's baffling. "Any luck with the brother?" (if: (history:) contains "Donn - Brother 2")["Well, I have his name, for one." Her eyes widen. "Don't make me guess — my heart can't take it." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">'Donn'</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>. Makes sense, doesn't it?" Grabbing your hands, she jumps up and then down, bouncing with the fish splayed out in front of her, gleeful. "That's it! Donn! Donn, that brown-haired little fecker who needs a good smack." She lets out a sigh of relief. "How'd you find out?" You don't doubt that she'd believe you, but you're not ready to explain your encounter with his namesake, especially not here. It's nearing noon and the town is thronged. "I, er... I found the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">currach</span><span class="annotation-text">A small fishing boat with an animal hide. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkʊɾˠəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Curr-ack*</span></span>," you say, neglecting to mention the engraving you couldn't read. "Further down the beach." "And no sign of him?"](else-if: (history:) contains "Fechín - Walk" and not $visitedPub)[ "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> says he saw him hanging around the pub here before he left. Said he looked sick." "Oh?" She's unimpressed. "Why didn't that <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span> say anything on the boat?" "I dunno." "If it's the pub by the bog, it's abandoned. Derelict, like. They say it's cursed."](else-if: (history:) contains "Mainland - Rounding the Bay")["No, but I found our boat in one piece, docked further down the beach. He must be around here somewhere."](else:)["Not much, no." You're not trying to mask your dejection. "Maybe you should give the beach another look? That currach is there if it's anywhere."] A middle-aged, weather-beaten man approaches with a heavy sack slung over his back. He sighs loudly. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> gives him a placating smile and her best formal Irish. "I'm sorry, sir: can I ask you to wait a few minutes?" He huffs. "This is a trading post, not a fecking gossip shop. Plenty of people would be happy to take this spot off you." "I'm sure that's true, but this young woman is also a customer of mine, and deserves every bit as much attention as anyone else." She's holding his gaze and her smile. "Please wait your turn and I'll be happy to see what you're offering." "Bad enough ye are, running round that old pub, attracting trouble. Can't even mind your bloody manners on the mainland." He turns dramatically and walks off, huffing what sounds like "Fucking islanders..." You both burst out laughing. "Lovely man!" she musters, wheezing. "I don't know how you do it, Ailbhe," you say when you're able to form words again. "Do what?" What indeed. Not walk through life constantly afraid? "Just... stand up to people like that." "I just give as much of a shite about them as they do about me." She grins. "And I'm used to it. You're probably going to meet more than your fair share of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">gobshite</span><span class="annotation-text">An empty-headed chatterbox or unpleasant person.</span></span>s like that out here." "God, I hope not..."

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín. He looks relaxed." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He grins. "No, this is just how I walk. It's in my bones." "Oh." You mentally berate yourself for asking such a silly question. "I hadn't noticed." "Yeah, luckily the boat's small enough that I don't have to do much running around. I'm finished if it ever capsizes, though," he says and laughs. "Well, you've got some capable hands at the helm." You blush, glad that he's still preoccupied with the dog. "Wind knocks us over, the only thing that's saving us is this good girl here. Aren't you, *aren't you*?" She thumps her tail in agreement. (display: "Liath - Options")</div>

"I'll see you at tea," you say. Pocketing the necklet, you walk off in no particular direction, trying to stop yourself shaking. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Necklet"))(set: $guardFight to true) [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]

Description of the item followed by a snippet of Bríd's thoughts on it.

*It was left to you to tend to Dad while your brother went out in search of the day's catch, so Mam would make the short trip to mass on her own, warning you not to touch him or the blood-flecked napkins he coughed into. You'd sit and sing to him while the wind whistled down the chimney, songs of other seasons...* <div class="translation"> <div id="irish"> Cétemain, cain cucht, rée rosaír rann; canait luin laíd láin día laí grían gaí ngann. Gairid cuí chrúaid den; is fo-chen sam saír: suidid síne serb i mbi cerb caill chraíb. Melldach rée rann: ro fáith gaíth garb gam; gel ros; toirthech tonn; oll síd; subach sam. </div> <div id="english"> Summer, shimmer, First morning of May; Light comes creeping slowly Blackbirds warble the day. Cuckoos, cuckoo, A summer song they vow; Far from winter's hardships, Heave the broad-leaved boughs. A woman, watches, Birds make homes in bushes; Towards the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">sí</span><span class="annotation-text">A fairy mound. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃiː/ English phonetic approximation: *She*</span></span>'s dark calm, Bright woods, rustling rushes. </div> </div> *That was not long before they left. Not long before...* You shake your head. [[It's time.|Church - Entrance]]

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Father Silvanus"))(set: $characters to it - (ds: $oisin))(set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "bioAppend", "Oisín Desc Update 0", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $priest to (dm: "name", "Father Silvanus", "bio", "Priest Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "priest.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's parish priest.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $oisin, $priest))}<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">A young man stands at the door, just a little taller than you, still freckled, ruddy, with a long nose and pale, slight lips, gripping a spear and doing his best to pretend he knows how to use it. He snaps his jaw at you as you walk by, then grins, displaying a smile that's more holes than teeth. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>. You want to tell him to stick the spear up his arse, but the faint smell of incense chastens you. You make the sign of the cross — as Mam taught you to, but perfunctorily — glare at him, and step across the threshold marked by jambs jutting out from the bare earth. The church itself is tiny — a larger community would call it an oratory. Window slits on either side let in the faintest slivers of light; candles for morning mass haven't been lit yet. A ringed cross of pure gold, about the size of your hand, gleams from the altar. Once a week the faithful perform the minor pilgrimage from all over the island, stand through the sermon and receive the Eucharist. Now there's no one here save the priest, who has his back to you, hunched over something you can't see. [[Call to the priest.|The Priest]] [[Utter a prayer.|The Priest - Prayer]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/fergus.png" alt="A portrait of Fergus, a big bull of a man who looks weary." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(set: $fergusTopics to $fergusTopics - 1)"You're from the mainland, right? Did... do you know any of my mam's people?" He swigs his drink. "Why the sudden interest?" "Maybe he's gone to look for them," you say, though you have almost no reason to believe it. "He is in his hole. Never met a lad more eager to avoid a bit of harmless small talk. Be honest, Bríd." Now you're fraying a bit. "*You* be honest. Did you know them or not?" "Never met them on the mainland, but your aunt was over once." "Which one?" He buries his face in his massive hand. "Look, get me another drink, would you?" You glance over at the publican, who makes a cut-throat gesture and resumes rubbing the bar. "I reckon you're grand for now, uncle.(unless: $fetchedWater is true)[" "Water, then. Something." You run dutifully over to the publican and return with a new vessel. He swigs it in one, surprisingly fluid, motion and then slams it back down on the wood with an assertive thud, a spare gesture that's enough to remind you that this man has killed people. "(set: $fetchedWater to true)](else:)[ ]Now, my aunt," you say. "I think it was..." He makes a sucking sound. "Winter after the young lad was born, maybe? Your ma was having a hard time of it; your aunt was over just to help out a bit." "What was she like?" You should know, for fuck's sake. Surely you met your aunts when... "Seemed nice enough, but you could tell there was a bit of tension. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>, your ma... the Jesus malarkey didn't land very well with her crowd. She went over a few years later to help set up a church. They didn't like that one bit; got the entire family at loggerheads. And then your poor da started getting sick..." Mam barely mentioned the mainland, let alone setting up a church there. Her faith seemed a private conviction, not a duty; you'd never known her to bother converting others. To hear that she'd been willing to defy her own family to create a house for the faith makes you wonder how little you knew her. "Is she still alive?" "Haven't the foggiest. If she is, I'd say she'd be well into her fifties by now." (if: $fergusTopics > 0)[(display: "Fergus - Return Questions")](else:)[(display: "Fergus - Return Exit")]</div>

The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púca*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkə/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-ka*</span></span> is used to these passages. They walk you through them, changing shape now and again so the grip loosens just a moment, and you're suddenly holding a paw or a hoof instead of a hand. Then comes a growl or a buzz or a bray, usually accompanied by that strange childish giggle, and even as they lead you further into the Otherworld, this dank recess in the endless earth where the old gods rule the dead, you're still able to hope. Eventually the path you're on opens into a high-ceilinged area, dimly lit by candles set in sconces. Hillocks like warrens are dotted here and there, and you can hear scuttles and faint murmurings. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Rónán</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ˈɾˠoːnɑːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A row-nawn*</span></span>!" the creature shrieks, then hiccups. They turn to you and say "wait", then scuttle off in the badger shape again. You feel eyes on you, but no one approaches. You wait, standing in the blackness. You wonder why he's calling himself Rónán, that endearment Mam used to use. Is there something about his actual name, as if he can't get it any nearer to him? Is it the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>? You had forgotten it too, after all. The creature finally returns, dragging something along. It's all fur, only... only the slight, gaunt shape is the same, and the blue eyes, and the mess on his head, and the way he looks at you as if he's trying to blot you out of existence. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He's carrying a torch like his eyes haven't adjusted to the dim yet, and there's a loose bloody bandage sealing the old wound on his torso, reopened. You approach cautiously and say... [["Is that really you?"|Brother - Recognition]] [["You look terrible."|Brother - Look Terrible]] [["What's happened to you?"|Brother - What's Happened]]

<div class="background-container">"Is that really you? I hardly recognise you," (display: "Brother - Shifting")</div>

<div class="background-container">"You look terrible. Even by your standards," (display: "Brother - Shifting")</div>

<div class="background-container">"What's happened to you? What is this?" (display: "Brother - Shifting")</div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 15", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))}the small figure out of the blackness says(if: (passage:)'s name is "Brother - Look Terrible")[, then smirks, barely.](else:)[.] It's her. Standing in front of you again, here, where you'd gone to get away from them all. She looks older somehow, harder, dirt-weathered. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You try to speak but your voice has gone with your name. Watching her watching you, your form ugly and strange. You turn away. She shouldn't be here. "We missed you. Me, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, all of us. You didn't have to leave like that," she says. "I did," you mouth. Every hair on your body sways, flickering, carried on its own wind. You can't be still. You shift your posture, trying to ward it off, will away the nothingness; then you're steady, anxiety keeping you vigilant. You grip the torch firmly. [[Let it happen.|Sister - Brother Don't Resist]] [[Try to fight it.|Sister - Brother Resist]]</div>

<div class="background-container">"A dog?" The thought is enough to stabilise you for a couple of seconds. Still feeling a tail, and fur, and extra ears. Some fucking <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*créatúr*</span><span class="annotation-text">Poor thing, creature. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈcɾʲeːt̪ˠuːɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *cray-tur*</span></span> you must be. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Yeah, like, a *real* dog. Claws and fangs and spittle. Scare the shite out of me." Humouring you. Well, it's working, so she deserves your attempt at least. Focus: a beast it'd take more than a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*sliotar*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small, hard ball used in the game of hurling. Can be made of various materials, including wood, leather, animal hair, or bronze. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈʃlʲɪt̪ˠəɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Slit-ur*</span></span> to rip the throat out of... [[Try to shift your form.|Sister - Brother Transformation]]</div></div>

<div class="background-container">"Like what, a fucking fish?" The image is enough to stabilise you for a couple of seconds. Still feeling a tail, and fur, and extra ears. Some fucking <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*créatúr*</span><span class="annotation-text">Poor thing, creature. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈcɾʲeːt̪ˠuːɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *cray-tur*</span></span> you must be. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She snorts. "A sheep, you dope. Think of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>." Humouring you. Well, it's working, so she deserves your attempt at least. Focus: a placid little woolly grass-eater... [[Try to shift your form.|Sister - Brother Transformation]]</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"You're hurt," she says. "Try to save your energy." Fuck it. Your head is dizzy and your torso still stings, but if you concentrate... "Watch this." Focus: a great clawed beast, thrashing a serpent's tail. Something that lives in the nothing beyond <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>. [[Shift your form.|Sister - Brother Transformation]]</div></div>

He twists away and erupts into a reverie of animal forms, shifting in and out and back and forth like he can't hold on to anything. The torch falls to the ground with a dull thud and then goes out, its last light making a half-moon of his face. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Stand back," he barks. "Stand back, or I–" He winces, his eyes blue and red and wet, all you can see in this place under the earth. You need to get him to calm down. Think think think. [["Think of something strong. A dog."|Brother - Shift into Dog]] [["Focus. Try an animal you know."|Brother - Shift into Ram]] [["You're hurt — you should save your energy."|Brother - Shifting Concerns]]

He winces, gritting his teeth as if hurt, then twists away and erupts into a reverie of animal forms, shifting in and out and back and forth like he can't hold on to anything. The torch falls to the ground with a dull thud and then goes out, its last light making a half-moon of his face. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Get away," he barks. "Get away now, or I–" He sets his jaw, his eyes blue and red and wet, all you can see in this place under the earth. "I've no control over this." You need to get him to calm down first. Think think think. [["Think of something strong. A dog."|Brother - Shift into Dog]] [["Focus. Try an animal you know."|Brother - Shift into Ram]] [["You're hurt — you should save your energy."|Brother - Shifting Concerns]]</div>

(if: (history:) contains "Brother - Shift into Dog")[He stands, puffs himself up and snarls, a dog-cum-wolf raising his hackles. Flecks of spit play around his canines, and the wildness in his eyes reminds you of (if: (history:) contains "Forest")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>.](else:)[the hulking beasts in the mummer's old stories.] Only the way he looks at you, as if demanding a reaction, reminds you that he's still human. ](else-if: (history:) contains "Brother - Shift into Ram")[He stands, puffs himself up and grows a pair of thick spiral horns, his eyes gleaming wildly. Only the way he looks at you, as if demanding a reaction, reminds you that he's still human. ](else:)[He exhales sharply as if directing his energy, but soon gives up, saying nothing but continuing to stare at you from the shadows.] This formlessness... [["Is this because of the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>?"|Brother - Geis]] (if: $inventory contains "Tuft of Fur")[[[Show him the fur. "Is this their doing?"|Brother - Tricksters]] ]\ (if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[[[Show him the mirror. "Look at yourself."|Brother - Mirror]]]

<div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>. Is this what happens when you violate it?" she says. She shouldn't. You've never even heard her say the word. As if you've the foggiest. *Your geis*: as if you willed it, willed a way out of your useless fucking human mind and ended up here. "No idea. Woke up like this..." It holds you again, that nothingness, and you shift in and out, a weightless surrender — cat, badger, horse, then another beast entirely. Hold it, steady yourself. [["How do you know about that?"|Sister - Geis Awareness]] [["I doubt it."|Sister - Noncommittal]] [["This is who I really am."|Sister - Defiant]]</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Is this their doing?" she asks, gesturing towards the warren bumps. As if you've the foggiest. As if you willed it, willed a way out of your useless fucking human mind and ended up here. "No idea. Woke up like this..." It holds you again, that nothingness, and you shift in and out, a weightless surrender — cat, badger, horse, then another beast entirely. You fall to the floor, panting, and grip the clump of fur in her palm. Even in the darkness you can tell it's flat, void of colour. Holding it up against your own skin, prodding the thick coarse hairs, you wonder again what you must look like. [["Where did you get this?"|Sister - Fur]] [["Could be them, yeah."|Sister - Noncommittal]] [["This is who I really am."|Sister - Defiant]]</div></div>

"I found it in a pub," you say. "Funny place to stop on your way to the Otherworld." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He laughs bitterly. "Have you taken to the drink or were you just following me around again?" "Maybe if you'd given a rat's arse about your sister and told me where you were going, I wouldn't've had to chase you out here." "Mam did always say a walk does you good." (display: "Sister - Ultimatum")

"Right. So you've no idea, then?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I'm not a fucking druid. I don't know the what or why of it," he says. "How do you reckon people are going to react to you having fur and a tail?" He winces, flickers so briefly you wonder if you missaw. "Fuck 'em. Don't care." (display: "Sister - Ultimatum")

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"This is who I really am." He looks away from you and says it with the deadpan conviction that means he's serious, that he's thought this through. This is who he really is, which means you're not anyone, any*thing*, just a bauble like the others he can throw away once he reaches manhood and decides he's too good to keep playing with toys. "No," you say, gripping his arm, forcing him to turn, take you in, see the person. "Did we not have some sort of life at one stage, before you decided to run off and piss it all away?" He winces, flickers so briefly you wonder if you missaw. "Nothing left for me up there." (display: "Sister - Ultimatum")

"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> told me," you squeak. You don't want to implicate her, but the scab needs to be picked. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Of course she did," he says. It's so venomous you're a little taken aback. "She had to. I don't know why you kept it fr—" "You know very fucking well why! *They* kept it from *me*!" He winces, flickers so briefly you wonder if you missaw. (display: "Sister - Ultimatum")

You sigh. "It doesn't matter. We need to go, get out of here." "What's the rush?" [["You need to see a healer."|Brother - Healer]] [["We're going to get trapped down here if we don't move."|Brother - Trapped]] [["You know why."|Brother - Know Why]]</div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"You need a healer. You're hurt," she says, gazing at the seeping wound. Eyes wavering, you grunt — "Not new" — and watch her warily. "Here, let me..." She crouches down and moves towards your torso, grabby hands reaching for the bandage. No. You recoil, flickering again, in and out, being and unbeing, so that for the briefest moment you disappear and she's left alone in the blackness. The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púca*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkə/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-ka*</span></span>'s run off somewhere, but there are still eyes on you. "Leave it," you say, trying to unstrain your face. "Are you all right?" "Grand. Leave it." "You need to be seen to..." "*You* need to leave," you say firmly, standing up and regarding her blankly. A flash of darkness again, then you're back with a cat's tail and claws in place of nails. (display: "Brother - Why Sister")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like , it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>'s ending," she says firmly. "Do you wanna get stuck down here till <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span>?" You're already animal. Running your long, clawed fingers down your hair, you find it: the spot at the nape of your neck where hair becomes fur. You rub it absent-mindedly. "Maybe it's too late." She slinks back. Flustered. "No. No, it's not. But we've gotta go now." (display: "Brother - Why Sister")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"C'mon, cop on. You know why," she says. The spark, running through every hair on this animal thing you've become. The worlds are parting, she's planning to drag you back to your own. That's the why. Gazing at you again, willing someone else in your place. "Mmm," you muster. "But I think I'll take my time." (display: "Brother - Why Sister")</div></div>

What's *her* why, anyway? What shook her out of her stupor and convinced her you were worth saving? Blood running after blood — stupid. Wrapping herself up in you, making your faults hers. You're glad she's not hurt, but she shouldn't've bothered. [["Should've stayed at home."|Sister - Stayed Home]] [["Well, you've come this far — fair play."|Sister - Stronger]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Big bad world beyond <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>. You could've gotten hurt," he sneers. He's some cheek, as if he's not the one cowed, bloody, barely human. But it is true: you've always preferred to feign invisibility, avoid standing out. A good girl, a good daughter. No trouble at all. He's never been able to bend himself to others; maybe that's why he seems more at home in this world of spirits and shades. [["You expected me to give up on you?"|Brother - Give Up]] [["I had help."|Brother - Sister Help]] [["Rich coming from you."|Brother - Sister Mocking]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I'll say one thing: you're stronger than I'd figured," he says. The compliment catches you off-guard. You snort. He knows you're strong, knows what you went through with Dad while he was off pretending it wasn't happening. You had to tend to that household when they left you, *you* had to forget that there was a world outside of that wattle-and-daub hut and do your best to salve him and his head-sickness. [["Out of need."|Brother - Necessity]] [["I'm good at hiding it."|Brother - Hide Weakness]] [["Why did you leave if you thought I was so weak?"|Brother - Sister Weak]]</div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"You're not so hopeless I'd give up on you. Besides, it's done me good to get off the island," she says. She fought her fear, you'll give her that. Held it down the entire way to the mainland, no doubt: must have sailed over with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>. And she so timid before, so afraid of the hissing treachery that took them from you both. It's done her good and it's done you good to hear it, that even in your cowardice you're not completely useless. "Good." (display: "Brother - Why")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I got the ferry over with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>. And... there were others, too," she says. Ailbhe, who'd promised to keep her safe. Funny idea of "safe", to leave her alone out on the mainland with beasts and fairies and men only out for themselves sniffing and prowling around. Ailbhe you thought you could trust(if: (history:) contains "Sister - Geis Awareness")[, Ailbhe who couldn't even hold a secret.](else:)[.] But you shouldn't've... "And what happened to that help?" "She just went over to sell a few fish. She trusted I'd be fine, and I was." (display: "Brother - Why")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She laughs snidely. "*I* could've gotten hurt? You're the one who tried to feck your life away. Again." Intention wasn't quite the same this time, but it doesn't matter. No convincing her. Have you even convinced yourself? Hard enough just to stay upright, form words. (display: "Brother - Why")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Not like I had very many options." Doing her best Mam impression again. *"What choice do we have, Ró—"* That wasn't it. That's not your name. Holes puncturing your memories again, huge empty holes where it should be. Where you should be. Does she maybe... no, what would asking about that look like? Fucking fight it. (display: "Brother - Why")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I'm good at hiding it. The fear, I mean. All the fucking fear I've been carrying around with me since..." She sucks on air. "Learnt from the best." "Mam wasn't great for hiding it, in fairness." (display: "Brother - Why")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Stronger than you'd figured? Are you just that up your own arse?" she says. You never thought her weak, not really. Just that in order for *you* to be strong you needed someone under you. Playing some sad little version of manhood: you and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, parents before your time. That role didn't suit you much either though, did it? She kept it together, kept you together, found you out on that fucking boat... (display: "Brother - Why")</div></div>

You watch her and she holds your gaze, even if she's clenching her fists. No turning away, not like she used to. There's a poise there, a defiance of the revulsion she must be feeling at this unbeing-with-her-brother's-form. You're not the only one who's changed. "Why *did* you leave, anyway?" she asks. (if: (passage:)'s name is "Brother - Sister Help")[[["Ailbhe said she'd take care of you."|Sister - Ailbhe Help]]](else:)[[["Knew <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> would take care of you."|Sister - Ailbhe]]] [["Figured you'd marry <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>."|Sister - Oisín]] [["I just had to."|Sister - Brother Why]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text"><"Yeah, like she'd take care of me, you, her siblings, and the rest of the fecking village," you say. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s driven mad with us; I didn't want to burden her even more." "Mmm," he says, swishing a newly formed tail. "Can't blame you. How'd you get over?" "Took the ferry." "Wasn't she heading over to the market?" "Maybe. Didn't see her." The lie hurts a little, after the help she's given you, but there's no need to tangle her up in your mess more than is needed. He looks at you sullenly, as if daring himself to say something. There's a silence, broken only by distant squeaks and flutters, then he finally asks, "How is she, anyway?" [["Misses you, I think."|Brother - Ailbhe Missing Him]] [["Selling fish, keeping busy."|Brother - Ailbhe Keeping Busy]] [["Seems to be getting along well with this lad <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span>."|Brother - Ailbhe Jealousy]] [["Give me a real answer. Why did you actually leave?"|Brother - Brother Why]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Thought you'd end up with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>. Little gobshite's mad about you," he says dryly. "And I'm not much of a matchmaker." You guffaw. *Oisín*? "Are you actually serious?" Like marrying your little brother. "A fine Christian lad. Mam'd approve." "Mam felt sorry for the poor fuc—" "Marriage is just legalised pity, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. Who else is gonna wanna marry some orphan from a fucking island full of inbreds with webbed feet? Take what you can get." "You sound like him." "Who?" "Your namesake." He looks to you, eyes wide, and says again, sharper, "*Who*?" "I'll tell you later. Now give me a real answer. [[Why did you actually leave?"|Brother - Brother Why]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Wasn't really thinking," he says, turning his head away so that all you can see is a crown of messy brown hair atop whatever strange creature he is now. "Just wasn't able for it anymore." "Able for what?" He shrugs. "The fucking... the island. Fishing. Life. I dunno. What do you want?" [["Try an explanation?"|Brother - Explanation]]</div>

<div class="background-container">(display: "Brother - Sister Journey Prompt")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> promised me she'd take care of you." He laughs bitterly. "Even she didn't bother her arse being honest." "She did take care of me," you say. "Got me over here, didn't she?" He knows how you were, knows that fear that swept you under, flooded your dreams. Ailbhe was able to break through that. He looks at you sullenly, swishing a long tail, as if daring himself to say something. There's a silence, broken only by distant squeaks and flutters, then he finally asks, "How is she, anyway?" [["Misses you, I think."|Brother - Ailbhe Missing Him]] [["Keeping busy."|Brother - Ailbhe Keeping Busy]] [["Was palling round with this lad <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> last I saw her."|Brother - Ailbhe Jealousy]] [["Give me a real answer. Why did you actually leave?"|Brother - Brother Why]]</div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Misses you. I know you were... close." You're not sure how much she *does* know. But she surely couldn't have failed to see. She's a lot, but she's not thick. Why is she so guarded, then? (display: "Brother - Ailbhe Reminiscing")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"You know. Catching fish, going to market. The usual." "Any mention of me?" She wavers. "Once or twice, maybe, yeah." She must know. She couldn't fail to know — you're not subtle, even where <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> is. Why is she being so guarded, then? (display: "Brother - Ailbhe Reminiscing")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"They seemed to have a lot of time for each other." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span>, that blond sailor fucker. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> indulges him, like all the rest of them. She's too good-natured to tell him to fuck off. She's playing a little game, trying to make you jealous. Why's she so guarded? (display: "Brother - Ailbhe Reminiscing")</div></div>

<div class="background-container">You're silent, thinking she might drop it. <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">Then she asks again: "Why?" Rummaging around in that hollow little skull of yours, trying to find something she can hold up, show off. You turn away from her, not wanting to give yourself away, and lie, "Wasn't really thinking. Just wasn't able for it anymore." "Able for what?" You shrug. "The fucking... the island. Fishing. Life. I dunno. What do you what?" (display: "Brother - Explanation Standalone")</div></div>

He sidles along one of the walls of the cavern, as if he can't quite stay upright, and begins rubbing his right temple. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"She's strong," he says. "Has a big family. She'll be grand." [["I know she will. Will you?"|Brother - Sister How]] [["Like you've been grand, you mean?"|Brother - Sister How]]</div>

He sidles along one of the walls of the cavern, as if he can't quite stay upright, and begins rubbing his right temple. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I mean..." he begins. "She knows the mainland better than you." [["Can't expect everyone to chase you halfway across the world."|Brother - Sister How]] [["She has family to think of."|Brother - Sister How]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He sidles along one of the walls of the cavern, as if he can't quite stay upright, and begins rubbing his right temple. "Grand so," he says. [["You're a shit liar."|Brother - Sister How]] [["No need to pretend you don't care."|Brother - Sister How]]</div>

He sidles along one of the walls of the cavern, as if he can't quite stay upright, and begins rubbing his right temple. Then he just stares at you, as if he can see right through you. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text"> [["Not bothered?"|Brother - Sister How]]</div>

You hold Ailbhe's face in your mind. |links>[(link: "Laughing...")[(replace: ?links)[*Her laughter, bright and clear and musical, like birdsong. Like old stories, like the two of you huddled around the fire watching her make faces and pull shapes, do fierce <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Gráinne</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Usually refers by itself to Gráinne daughter of High King Cormac Mac Airt, a cunning young woman promised to Fionn Mac Cumhaill who defied her fate and eloped with Diarmuid Ua Duibne. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɡɾˠɑːn̠ʲə/ English phonetic approximation: Grawn-nye</span></span> and gallant <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Diarmuid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Usually refers by itself to Diarmuid Ua Duibne, son of Donn, a legendary warrior and member of the fianna known for his beauty. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈdʲiəɾˠmˠədʲ/ English phonetic approximation: Djeer-midj</span></span> both. She'd hide in laughter sometimes, make a joke of her fear. She couldn't even do that the day you left her.* (display: "Brother - Ailbhe Choices")]] (link: "Crying...")[(replace: ?links)[*Her tears: the first and only time, the day you left. She held her hands up to her face so you wouldn't see it, what you'd reduced her to. Bright-eyed Ailbhe, everyone's sister. You flushed hot with shame, but your mind was made up.* (display: "Brother - Ailbhe Choices")]]]

(if: (passage:)'s name is "Brother - Ailbhe Jealousy")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> or not, i](else:)[I]t won't happen, the two of you. Her da has it in for you, and there's no shortage of lads he'll approve of lining up to replace you. Best to get used to being alone, put up walls so you don't impose yourself on anyone else. (if: (passage:)'s name is "Brother - Ailbhe Missing Him")[[["She'll be all right."|Sister - Ailbhe Okay]] [["Why didn't she come with you?"|Sister - Ailbhe Left Behind]]](else-if: (passage:)'s name is "Brother - Ailbhe Keeping Busy")[[["Why didn't she come with you?"|Sister - Ailbhe Left Behind]] [["Good."|Sister - Brother Indifferent]]](else:)[[["Good."|Sister - Brother Indifferent]] [[Stay silent.|Sister - Brother Silent]]]

<div class="background-container">(display: "Brother - Sister Journey Prompt")</div>

"How'd you find me?" "We took the boat over, then I travelled on foot. Asked around." He gazes at you wearily, the bravado of earlier fading. At least his form seems to be neutral — he's sitting on any tail he might still have. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"And since?" He says it in a low voice, as if he's a little embarrassed to be asking what he's put you through on his account. (display: "Sister - Journey Choices")</div>

Your head and your abdomen are both at you now. Will she stand here poking and prodding until you've unburdened yourself, become a man again, willed yourself to return plodding into the sunlight, back to that cottage by the sea infected by the smell of them? Stooping down, finding the wet earth, you're reminded how exhausted you are, how easy it would be to close your eyes and slip into nothing, wake a different beast entirely. Let her tell her tale, keep your attention like she and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> used to. [["How'd you find me?"|Sister - Journey]]

(display: "Brother - Sister Journey Prompt")

(unless: (history:) contains "Brother - Portal")[[["We passed another portal."|Brother - Portal]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brother - Donn Mór")[[["I met our people's ancestor, the death god."|Brother - Donn Mór]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brother - Bealtaine")[(if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - City")[[["I welcomed in the summer."|Brother - Bealtaine]] ]]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brother - Monastery")[(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Abbess Chat")[[["I spent the night at a monastery."|Brother - Monastery]] ]]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brother - Cú")[(if: (history:) contains "Forest - Cú and Láeg")[[["I met The Hound and his charioteer, back from the dead."|Brother - Cú]] ]]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Brother - Abbess")[[["The abbess <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> sends her regards."|Brother - Abbess]] ]\ (if: $journeyChoices)[[["How was your journey, Donn?"|Brother - Journey Recap]]]

(set: $journeyChoices to true)<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"A black islet. On the ferry over." You've seen it too. May dawns, with no sleep in your body, when you'd be out searching for the season's first bass. A great black void pulled across the cool sky. You had thought it part of your head sickness, as if it was leaking into the rest of the world. Maybe she's caught it from you? Best not egg her on. (unless: (history:) contains "Sister - Ailbhe")["Dreaming. Bet no one else saw it." "They couldn't've. It only lasted a minute."](else:)["Dreaming. Bet <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> didn't see it." She never mentioned it to you, at least. Maybe she too was afraid she was imagining things? "She couldn't've. It only lasted a minute."] "How'd you find the water?" you ask. She wouldn't even go down to the well after... <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> had to beg her, when she started stinking like a dog. And now she's found enough courage in her to take to the sea again. "Er, wet?" She grins. [["Glad that's the only trouble it gave you."|Sister - Portal]]</div></div>

(set: $journeyChoices to true)<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Seemed to be fond of you." Death god? The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Morrígan</span><span class="annotation-text">A triple goddess associated with war. The three sisters Badb, Macha and Nemain appear to foretell warriors' fates. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠoːɾˠ ɾˠiːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: Moor ri-an</span></span>, or <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Manannán</span><span class="annotation-text">Short for "Manannán Mac Lir", a sea god and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠanˠanˠɑ:nˠ mˠɑk l̠ʲɪɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Man-nan-nawn Mac Leer*</span></span>? What's she on about? "I met no death god." "Tall, long dark hair, smelt like smoke?" You huff, your torso stinging again. "*That* cunt? Just some gobshite noble." "Did you see his eyes? Even gobshite nobles don't have that gaze." He did have a brutishness to him, and a sort of preening divinity. A minor god, must be. "What did he want with you?" Not what he wanted with you, you hope. "I came to him. The boat was outside his shack." Surprised he didn't leave it to rot. Stupid girl, to go in there... [["Shouldn't be palling around with people trying to do you favours."|Sister - Donn]]</div></div>

(set: $journeyChoices to true)<div class="background-container">"Welcomed in the summer where?" you ask, though there's only one real answer. <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"The City, the cliff overlooking the island there." Where you'd gaze out on the bonfires once every few years, on nights so clear you knew you'd live to see that summer. When the smoke drifted close enough to sting your eyes. "I got on well," she volunteers. "Met the mummer, and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s friends, the sailor lads. They have this tradition: people take turns daring each other to vault over the fires, like..." She makes a leaping motion with her right hand. "My heart was in my fecking mouth watching them. You should've come." "Was busy." Busy becoming whatever you are now, busy convincing yourself that your sister and Ailbhe would be better off without you. [["Doubt I missed much, anyways."]]</div></div>

(set: $journeyChoices to true)<div class="background-container">"Saw it. Looked cramped." There's a memory there, but it's not connected to anything: dark falling across the bogland and you with it, drunk and pained and stupid, trying to keep up with the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span>. You swear you heard laughter, a girl's laughter, from up at the lights on the hill that already seemed impossibly distant. <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"They wouldn't have let you in anyway. Women-only." Grunting, you ask, "How was it?" "Well, nice and peaceful until some mad fecker showed up looking for his slave girls the next morning. I had to flee with them." (if: (history:) contains "Sister - Stronger")["And you made it." Stubborn sister of yours, who's willed away her fear. "Just barely," she says demurely.](else-if: (history:) contains "Sister - Stayed Home")["Didn't I tell you you should've stayed home?" Stupid sister of yours, and after Mam had put the fear of God into her about the mainland. "And didn't I tell you you didn't leave me much choice?" she scoffs.](else:)["And you made it." Stubborn sister of yours, who's willed away her fear. "Just barely," she says demurely.] "The important thing is that the others made it, the slave girls." [["So is this why you smell like a pig in shite?"]]</div></div>

(set: $journeyChoices to true)<div class="background-container">"The Hound," you repeat. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>?" She's cracked. What would Ireland's greatest warrior want with her? <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Yeah. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like , it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>, y'know. Spirits come out." "Bealtaine, right, but Cú Chulainn has better things to be doing than entertaining some fucking lost island girl. Like—" "He was looking for a way back to the Otherworld. Him and his charioteer. We talked. I... sent them on their way... they helped me cross the ford." Faltering, as if even she realises how stupid this sounds. "Oh yeah? What did he look like?" "Blond, round" — she waves her hand about half a head above you — "this tall, and... like he'd sooner kill you and be done with it than bother his arse with you. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> was nicer. Big red beard on him." Wiley men did a job convincing her, anyway. You shake your head. [["Cú Chulainn... there's a lad knew a thing or two about geasa..."]]</div></div>

You don't tell him about the dread before, the gut-sickness, how <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s coaxing and the comforts of food and music were all that got you through it. Maybe it's no harm that he thinks you stronger than you are. Fisherman or not, you wonder how he ever managed it with a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>. (display: "Sister - Journey Choices")

"It was good <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">craic</span><span class="annotation-text">A versatile word meaning 'fun in good company'. 'What's the craic?' - 'What's up?'</span></span>." Good craic until those <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fian*</span><span class="annotation-text">A wandering band of young noblemen. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲiən̪/ English phonetic approximation: *Fee-an*</span></span> lads showed up anyway, but you don't mention that. Don't want to be pitied, least of all by him. (display: "Sister - Journey Choices")

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Is this why you smell like a pig in shite? Or is my sense of smell just totally gone now?" he says, with a familiar deadpan that gets a smile out of you. You feel a little lighter. You gaze at your hands and feet, covered in dirt from the scramble through the deep earth. Not that he's one to talk. "And I after having a nice warm bath last night." "Maybe it'll get you in the habit again." His mouth twitches just long enough to resemble a grin, though it's a little tricky to tell. "Filthy fucking rich!" You move as if to slap his shoulder, then correct yourself. Don't push it. He's not exactly wrong; it took a gentle reminder from <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> to compel you to start bathing again after, once you smelt off enough for it to turn into village talk. That's when the gut-sickness started, the first morning you forced yourself to scramble towards the cove and the black void that had taken them. (display: "Sister - Journey Choices")</div>

"Her monastery is closed to men. But maybe she'd see you if I ask." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He huffs. "It's grand. I'm done with all that shite." "What, faith?" "Putting my life in other people's hands." (display: "Sister - Journey Choices")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Got caught in a storm on the way over. Must've hit the head. Washed up on the shore." It was soft morning, but rainmist is hardly inclement weather. Something must've stood in his way. [["Christ?"|Brother - Bad Weather Christ]] [["<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Manannán</span><span class="annotation-text">Manannán Mac Lir, a sea god and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠanˠanˠɑ:nˠ mˠɑk l̠ʲɪɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Man-nan-nawn Mac Leer*</span></span>?"|Brother - Bad Weather Pagan]]</div>

(if: (history:) contains "Sister - Fur")["Knew you'd been to that pub," you say. ]<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Was just there for the drink." "Then?" "Then I had a few too many and followed them." Were the mummer's stories just noise to him? Hardly the only one on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> with that attitude, but to see them, drink with them, fall under their spell... [["And they changed you?"|Brother - Geis Learning]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Got lost. Was hurt, not thinking straight. Wandered around for a bit and thought that was the end of me." Alone in unfamiliar territory. Alone and quite content to stay alone, avoid the bonfires, the monastery. You imagine him shuffling around with that flimsy staunch, trying to make himself invisible and standing out all the more because of it. "How did you make it out here?" "They got me unlost," he says, gesturing towards the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púca*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkə/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-ka*</span></span> warrens. [["And let you into their home."|Brother - Púcaí]]</div>

(unless: (history:) contains "Sister - Brother Accident")[[["Had a bit of an accident."|Sister - Brother Accident]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Sister - Brother Púcaí")[[["Ran into these lads in a pub."|Sister - Brother Púcaí]] ]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Sister - Brother Lost")[[["Got lost."|Sister - Brother Lost]]]

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"They changed you? Into... this," she adds, as if she could possibly be misunderstood. Only holes where that memory should be. Their power alone couldn't do this, though, you're sure of that. "They didn't do this." "Have you found it, then?" she asks. "What you came out here for." She looks very small in the darkness. You owe her your honesty. [["No."|Sister - Brother Uncertainty]]</div></div>

<div class="background-container">*Home*: like the rabbits living at the end of your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*goirtín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small field. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɡɔɾˠtʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gurtjeen*</span></span>. Other creatures here have more of a right to that term, and spirits, and slumbering gods, impossibly old. Closing your eyes, inhale exhale, you swear you can hear them snoring. "They have the same obligations as us," you say finally. "To make welcome." (display: "Brother - Journey Recap Choices")</div>

Unbecoming

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Maybe... maybe the Lord's not happy you've been missing Mass?" You snort. "Silvanus was on to him about me, you think?" "*Father* Silvanus." "He's no fucking father of mine. Anyway, I made it." How doesn't matter. (display: "Brother - Journey Recap Choices")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I hear the Son of Lir's protective of that sound." "And what, you're saying one broken <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span> offends him that much?" "It might," she mumbles. Not wrongly: the gods aren't known for their sound judgement. But *he's* culpable, not you for taking the chance. "Anyway, I made it." How doesn't matter. (display: "Brother - Journey Recap Choices")</div></div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"No," he says again, eyes downcast. "No, I haven't." "How did you end up here?" "I was brought here," he says, as if that's a real answer. You wonder how much he knows, if he's figured out his obligation to these creatures or if he was drawn to them by some force beyond the comprehension of either of you. Maybe not finding <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>, he allowed them bring him here for other reasons, to find and force some meaning out of Mam and Dad, staunch his grief. You've asked them the same questions in your head for years, when you can bear it — *where are you?, why did you leave us, will we see you again?* You've asked them and never received any answers, only a silence that bleeds into every possible future. You owe him your honesty. [["I know why you left Inis Caillí."|Brother - Muireann]]</div>

He hunches, clutching his stomach, then wheezes like he's trying to form words, but he's shifting so fast there's nothing to hold on to. You can barely make out each creature, and even the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> are silent, watching, your fear theirs. Do something! [["Breathe. In and out."|Brother - Breathe]] (if: $inventory contains "Horse Doll")[[[(Show him the horse doll) "Remember this?"|Brother - Horse Doll]] ]\ [[Hug him.|Brother - Hug]]

<div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Are you all right?" "Grand," you say to no one in particular. Then: "Aunt <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>. I never found her." "I know. I did. She..." She sighs. "She had a lot to be sorry for." "Yeah?" "You've never wondered who put the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span> on you? Why Mam wouldn't talk about it?" You've wondered it every day since you overheard them, in all of the fraught silences and rows that followed. After you confronted them and they admitted it, some but not all of it. *"Put it out of your mind."* So it was her, then. The very woman you sought to cure you, in all of your pitiful naivety. "Why?" is the next question. "It's better you talk to her yourself. She promised to guide us out of here." "Mam mentioned the name, y'know. That night." You gather a clump of earth in your palm, to anchor yourself. "That's who they were visiting." She looks at you a long time, as if welling up courage. Then says, "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>, what happened to them?" [[Tell her.|Sister - Parents' Deaths]]</div>

<div class="background-container">(display: "Brother - Disassociation") Then, out of the blackness, clarity, like the church bell rung at dawn. "Breathe, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>. Just breathe." She's calling you back. How can you breathe, you shapeless thing? With what heart, what lungs? "C-can't," you wheeze. "You can. Just in through your nose, out through your mouth." The edge of the pain. Try: in-out, in-out. You come back to yourself and she's there, firm, standing over you. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. You turn away, not wanting her to see the small pale thing you are now, the wetness in your eyes. (display: "Brother - Muireann Background")</div>

<div class="background-container">(display: "Brother - Disassociation") Then, out of the blackness, something nuzzling the thing that is still you. "Remember this, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>?" She's calling you back. How can you see with no eyes, remember with no brain? No shape? "C-can't," you wheeze. "Donn, it's okay." Grasping, a soft shape with a tear along its side. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Capaillín*</span><span class="annotation-text">"Pony" Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkapˠəl̪ʲi:nʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Cap-ull-een*</span></span>, your little pony toy. You come back to yourself and she's there, firm, standing over you. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. "Didn't wanna leave it behind," she says, grinning. You turn away, not wanting her to see the small pale thing you are now, the wetness in your eyes. (display: "Brother - Muireann Background")</div>

<div class="background-container">(display: "Brother - Disassociation") Then, out of the blackness, something clasps the thing that is still you. You feel it through the writhing, through the pains of those nothings and everythings. She's calling you back. How can you hold her, you shapeless thing? With what hands, what arms? Closer now. Not since the last time you tried to become nothing. And warm. Strong. You come back to yourself and she's there, firm, arms around you. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. You turn away, not wanting her to see the small pale thing you are now, the wetness in your eyes. (display: "Brother - Muireann Background")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Coming out here, risking your life. For a no-hoper," he says. (if: $inventory contains "Brooch")["Even got the brooch to match."] "You think I'd've bothered if I thought you were a no-hoper? <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> loves you. I love you. You're more than this." (display: "Sister - Returning")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"More fussed about other people's health than your own," he says. "I was fussed about your *life*, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> — would you begrudge me that? <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> loves you. I love you. We want you alive and well." (display: "Sister - Returning")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Trying to keep me there. Whatever the cost," he says. "I'm not trying to keep you anywhere. But you have a home to go back to. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> loves you. I love you. We want you with us." (display: "Sister - Returning")</div>

Would you return to it? Already so far away. A mess of shapes and smells: damp, fetid, ugly. The snarl of hunger, and a dagger pain in reply. You lie on the earth and shut your eyes, will what is you away.

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"It was happenstance, that's all," she says. She wants something more of you, always has. A better brother, a better son. Can hardly blame her. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>. This is not your fault." [["You remind me of Mam."|Sister - Mam Reminder]] [["You remind me of Dad."|Sister - Dad Reminder]] [["You remind me of Muireann."|Sister - Muireann Reminder]]</div></div>

It hurts to hear him say it, to know all your efforts will never be enough. Something catches in your throat, and then— You hear the faint peal of a bell from somewhere far above, somewhere in your own world. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span> is calling you back. [["We have to go. Come on."|Brother - Leaving]]

<div class="background-container">You're not done here, not yet. Why they brought you here — you understand now. Not to face your true form, not to become nothing, but to make amends. That must be it. <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She yanks your arm. "It's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span> ringing the bell. The portal's closing." [["Not until I find them."|Sister - Parents]]</div></div>

"Find who?" You know, of course, but need to hear it. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Mam and Dad." He says it under his breath. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>, listen to me..." [["They're not here."|Brother - Parents Nowhere]] [["They're with God."|Brother - Parents Heaven]] [["They're out of our reach."|Brother - Parents Otherworld]]</div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"They're not here," she says. Softly. "But they're dead." Lip quivering. What a mess you are. "We're Christian. We don't end up here." "Right, somewhere else then." You clenching your fists, the fur on end. "Heaven?" She shakes her head. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>, please." (display: "Brother - Return")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"They're with God. The Kingdom of Heaven," she says. Softly. What heaven would have them, and so long they waited for the sacrament? "But they weren't—" (if: (history:) contains "Brigid - Death")["They'll be judged fairly," she says. "But they're not here."](else:)["Don't," she says, resting her head on your shoulder. "Please."] (display: "Brother - Return")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Alltar</span><span class="annotation-text">The world beyond ours; the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈal̪ˠtˠəɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *All-tur*</span></span> is huge. We could search for years and never find them. And time is different here." Like <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Tír na nÓg</span><span class="annotation-text">The land of eternal youth. Said to have been visited by the legendary poet Oisín. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˌtʲiːɾˠ n̪ˠə ˈn̪ˠoːɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Teer na nowg*</span></span>: a year to a day. "But they are here?" You ask it as if she knows. "Could be here, could be in Heaven. But <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>, please…" (display: "Brother - Return")</div></div>

"I can't..." Head slumped over, your whole body insubstantial again. It being right doesn't make it hurt any less. "They're gone, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>." She shudders. "I miss them too." "I know." You lean back against the raised earth, eyes wide. "I just... I don't be well, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." You sigh. "I can't fucking rip it out of me." "It?" "This head-sickness. I still... have these dreams, where I'm out and they're there. On the sea, d–" Stop. Pinch your wrist, stay you. "And I dream about you," she says, sitting down beside you. "Don't do this to me again." You watch her, your expression wide open. Let her see all of you. "I thought it would be better for you." She shakes her head, tears welling up. "No, a thousand times no. And not just because you're all I have left of them." "Even though I'm a moany shite?" She smiles. "Even though you're a moany shite. Just... let's deal with it together." Your stomach snarls again, and your limbs cry out for sleep. "So, are you coming back with me?" she asks. [["Coming back to what?"|Sister - Come Back]] [["Too much has changed."|Sister - Same Person]] [["Why are *you* so eager?"|Sister - Eager]]

The both of you left a house full of memories and an empty hearth. Every nook still smells of them, every dirt path and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*goirtín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small field. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɡɔɾˠtʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gurtjeen*</span></span> and stone wall. But there's structure there too, routine. Land you know; a place to grow old. "How about a life? A field to tend... <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Some fecking life, and all them watching us, laughing behind our backs." "All who?" "Fucking... <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s family. The priest. Even <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span>." "You think they're half as concerned with you as you are with them, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>?" "I've heard the talk," he says, sighing. (display: "Sister - Possibilities")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I'm not the same person. It wouldn't work, to go back to that." It's true. In time he'd get restless, pull a few belongings together, and flee without you again. (display: "Sister - Possibilities")</div>

<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> did say there's nothing for you there anymore. You wonder if you should take her at her word. "Because..." You bite your lip. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I knew it. You've no more love for it than I do." "Oh, and I suppose I'm imagining how well you used to get on? Those summers down the cove, you and the Ó Ceallaigh kids out in the water morning, noon, and night?" "Was the company that did it, not the place." (display: "Sister - Possibilities")</div>

"Look, we don't have to go back. Anything's open to us." "Like what?" [["Maybe the mainland coast."|Brother - Mainland Coast]] [["We could go inland, get some good land."|Brother - Inland]] [["What's stopping us from seeing the world?"|Brother - Abroad]]

<div class="background-container">Easier to settle somewhere on the coast than find arable land. You'd be able to keep seeing <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, too. But... "The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>?" Furrowing her brow, as if it slipped her mind. <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>—" This fucking aunt shite again. "Muireann gave me the *geis*. Do you really think she's up for breaking it?" "She told me she could. Anyway, I think it'd do us good." (display: "Brother - Possibilities")</div></div>

<div class="background-container">Would be easier to find work, sure, but not land. Not unless... "You have someone in mind?" <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"What d'you mean, 'someone'?" Coy, but you can tell she's blushing. "Well, you're not just going to find a little plot somewhere and start ploughing. You'll have to find some poor lad with the acreage. And make him put up with you." "No, I won't actually. We *have* land.(if: (history:) contains "The Priest")[ Land that Silvanus seemed awful interested in when I went to ask him where you'd fecked off to." "You want to sell Dad's people's farm to them fucking Romans?"](else:)[ Someone has to be interested." "You want to sell Dad's people's farm to some fucking random mainlander?"] "I want to do what's best for us." (display: "Brother - Possibilities")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Think about it: Rome. Constantinople. All the cities Mam used to tell us about." You guffaw. "You think two fisherman's kids from the arse-end of nowhere can fund a journey abroad?" "If they sell their land to the richest faith in the world, maybe." "You want to sell Dad's people's farm to them fucking Romans?" "I want to do what's best for us." (display: "Brother - Possibilities")</div></div>

"'Us'...?" [["You're awfully keen on leaving the island all of a sudden."|Sister - Island Return]] [["You really think we could leave for good?"|Sister - Adventures]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He eyes you sceptically. "You never had much of an interest in the mainland. I'm the one who was barred from it, not you." [["I've been terrified of water since..."|Brother - Sister Water Fear]] [["I'm considering a vocation."|Brother - Sister Vocation]] [["<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> told me to make a life for myself here."|Brother - Sister Mainland]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"We wouldn't make it far." It's strange to hear from someone who was willing to risk his life not to be bound to that rock in the squirming ocean. As if he doesn't dare convince himself it could work. [["What are you so afraid of?"|Brother - Fear]] [["I've made friends in high places."|Brother - Friends]] [["Or we could go home? <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span> must be missing you."|Brother - Home]]</div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"A what?" "Becoming a nun. A woman of God." You snort. "You into all that shite all of a sudden?" "Not really. But I... I could learn other languages, meet people from all over. Sure every day on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> is the same." "Meet people locked up in a convent?" (display: "Brother - Bell Ringing")</div></div>

<div class="background-container">(if: (history:) contains "Sister - Ailbhe Help")[You redden, a flare of anger igniting your face. "What else did she tell you behind my back?" <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Your back was well and truly behind her at that point," she says, huffing. "It's on you."](else-if: (history:) contains "Sister - Ailbhe")["And here's me thinking she'd take care of you." <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"She did take care of me," she says, huffing."Got me over here, didn't she?"](else:)[<div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Said there's nothing for me at home." "That's not what she told me." "Oh?" "Said she'd take care of you. Can't do that when you're off gallivanting on the mainland." "When you do it it's" — she puts on a crude little imitation of you — "'I had to get away', when I do it it's 'gallivanting'? Cop on."] (display: "Brother - Bell Ringing")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"And you chasing <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> down here," she says. "What fear can you have left in you?" "I'm afraid for y—" "I'm grand, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>. Sure didn't I get here of my own accord?" "With help." "Yeah, like the help I'd get from you. I would hope." (display: "Brother - Bell Ringing")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Think they'd be willing to lend us a hand. They've contacts, at least." (if: (history:) contains "Brother - Cú ")["Who, the fucking dead Ulstermen?"](else-if: (history:) contains "Brother - Abbess")["Who, the woman who's convinced herself she's the reincarnation of a goddess?"](else-if: (history:) contains "Brother - Donn Mór")["Who, that creepy noble?"](else:)["Who, whoever got you here?"] "Why not? Worth a go, sure." (display: "Brother - Bell Ringing")</div></div>

<div class="background-container">"Probably the only one on that island who is, the poor <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*créatúr*</span><span class="annotation-text">Poor thing, creature. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈcɾʲeːt̪ˠuːɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *cray-tur*</span></span>." You stroke your woollen <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>, your last connection to her. <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Sure <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s only pining for you." "Fuck off. Anyone else mention me?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fergus</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern English pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfɛɹɡəs/</span></span>. The mummer. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's granny and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> said you were arguing with Silvan—" "That cunt. (if: (history:) contains "Brother - Inland")[Yeah, about the land.](else:)[Not fit to mulch fields, he is.]" (display: "Brother - Bell Ringing")</div></div>

The bell chimes again, distant but clear. Unmistakeable. "Look, we'll figure out the details later," she says, tugging your arm again. "Let's go." [["Lead the way."|Sister - Brother Leaving]] [["I'm staying here. For now."|Sister - Brother Staying]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>," he says. He's human-shaped, leaning against the bare earth, thin and lonely and frail. "I'm staying." "H-here?" Your voice wavers, as if it no longer belongs to you. "Here. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Alltar</span><span class="annotation-text">The world beyond ours; the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈal̪ˠtˠəɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *All-tur*</span></span>. They led me here for a reason." He brushes your hand off him, smiling sadly. "I'll see you again at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span>." You know there's no more convincing him. Your heart hurts. "Right," you say. He moves in and hugs you gently, pushing his stomach away. The salt tang is gone; he smells like the soil.(set: $left to false) "I'm sorry," he says. The words hang in the air. [["Don't be."]] [["I'll manage."]]</div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 16.1", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))}Then, from somewhere inside the labyrinthine network of warrens, a squeak: a squeak and you're reminded that you're not alone. [[Call out to the púcaí.|Sister - Púca Parting]]

They emerge from the burrows in the darkness, a network of golden eyes, two-legged, four-legged, tail and no tail, hooves and paws and claws. Capturers and deceivers, if you put any stock in the stories, but this is a mutual parting: they're gathering to say goodbye to him. You're strangely gladdened to see them, in this place under the earth. An aspect of your world, like <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> had said, but not a prison; a home for some beings, and a corridor for others. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Rónán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ˈɾˠoːnɑːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A row-nawn*</span></span>!" you cry out. The little one comes bounding out from the throng in the shape of a cat, though their bounding gait reminds you more of a dog. It must be a new form for them. "Can you guide us out, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a chara*</span><span class="annotation-text">A form of address meaning 'friend'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ˈxɑɾˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *A kara*</span></span>?" you ask them gently. They bound towards the exit, panting happily. You turn to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>. "Anything you want to say to them?" He looks down and thinks for a while. Then he nods and says, "Thank you for your hospitality." "Goodbye all. Thanks again," you add. [[Follow the little one out.|Sister - Púca Escort]]

The little one runs ahead, and you follow by the sound of their scuttling and that strange, earthy scent of theirs that carries even here. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> is limping, you notice; adrenaline has given way to exhaustion. His form is human, though he still looks a little furrier than he should be. The journey out seems to take longer, the passages winding endlessly. You've forgotten what the sun looks like, the brush of wind on your cheek. Dithering, and getting stuck here — you shudder and quicken your pace. He's falling behind, but you don't dare to remind him. He's doing his best. "Can I ask you something?" you say eventually, as much to take your mind off it as anything else. "G'wan." "Did you really think the slippers would work?" "Dunno," he says. "But they're comfortable, at least." You shake your head, unable to stifle the laughter. It rings through the tunnel, and the little <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púca*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkə/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-ka*</span></span> looks back perturbed. "Jesus, Donn!" You turn to the púca. "Don't worry, it's grand. Let's keep going." You don't notice when you've reached the threshold, but the *púca* does. They plonk themselves on the other side, a badger now, and wail, "Closing! closing!" "Thank you dearly for all your help. We're in your debt. Donn?" He nods in the creature's direction. "Bye so," you say. Should you rest? No, the bell was enough warning. You trundle on, and when he starts to falter you offer him your shoulder and he's too exhausted to resist. He was always scrawny, but now you hardly feel him. The fur is gone, too; it's as if his whole being has diminished. Then, at last, a shard of weak light. You wince despite yourselves, as if you've already forgotten how to live in this world. It's late evening. If you'd left it any longer the portals would have shut for the season. You stumble up over the raised entrance and reach out a hand for him. He hesitates, shakes his head, and pulls himself up, grimacing sharply as his left leg hits the wall of earth. You lie on the grass together, watching the sky darken. When the stars come out, you rise, shake the dew off your mantle, and begin walking towards <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>'s cottage. He follows you wordlessly [[into the night.|Epilogue Animation]]

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Don't be sorry. You're right; we'll see each other again," she says. A conviction you're lacking, but you say nothing, only stare, fixing the sight of her to your mind one last time. (display: "Brother - Sister Leaving")</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"It's your decision. Just... don't forget about us," she says. That's not possible, you stop yourself from saying, only stare, fixing the sight of her to your mind one last time. (display: "Brother - Sister Leaving")</div></div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 16.2", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))}"I'll be off so." Are you abandoning her, them? No: it's better this way than at night, furtive, emboldened by shame. You need to find a way to live with yourself again before you can face it. The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> may not be that, but this realm is much larger than this little nest by one of the portals. At least you'll have lived it, whatever shape you end up. "Bye for now, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." She turns to you, her face wet with tears. <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>..." Smile, don't let her see you faltering. [["See you soon."|Epilogue Animation]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Least of all gods." "Well, he got me to you, didn't he? Besides, we're baptised. Don't think he has much power over us." He huffs, as if you've reminded him of something he'd rather forget. (display: "Sister - Journey Choices")</div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 14", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))}(if: $inventory contains "Flint")[<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/puca_standing.png" alt="A púca" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">]"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">RÓNÁN</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɾˠoːnɑːn/ English phonetic approximation: *Row-nawn*</span></span>!" they giggle and shriek. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ban</span><span class="annotation-text">Feminine, womanly.</span></span>-Rónán! Banán! What are you?" "I don't mean you any harm." You crouch down, trying to diminish the threat. (unless: $inventory contains "Flint")[You wish you could see them.](else:)[They regard you with benign curiosity.] "I'm looking for my brother. He's a bit taller than me, with messy brown hair. Have you seen him?" "Róóónáán! Boy seal, boy horse. Here. Come!" They take your hand and [[lead you further in.|Fairy Mound - Meeting Brother]]</div>

<div class="intro intro-animated">*Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine. <br>It is in the shadow of each other that people live.* Seanfhocal · Irish Proverb</div>(live: 8s)[(goto: "Morning")]

(if: $hasVisitedMonastery)["I, er... can I owe you for them?" She frowns. "Depends on what you're owing me." "What do you want?" "Something auspicious." She makes a drawn-out moaning sound, which you take to be her pondering. "Your first-born son. His name." "I..." She can't be serious. "Can I at least give you some options?" She nods. "Right, er..." What names for boys aren't terrible? 'Oisín's out, and it's a bit stale to go with Dad's name... you think for a minute. |links>[(link: "\"Something traditional.\"")[(replace: ?links)[Solid, traditional names. ]]] (link: "\"Something noble.\"")[(replace: ?links)[Names of some of the men that have influenced you. ]]] (link: "\"Something modern.\"")[(replace: ?links)[The names of the gods never go out of fashion. ]] ]]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Couldn't get enough of me, could you?" the guard sneers as you approach. You hold up the prayer beads. "This your token of baptism?" "They'll do. Where'd you get 'em?" "Does it matter?" "Suppose not. Gimme a second." Unlatching the door, she disappears into the stone fortress. The door groans and you hear a click from inside. Alone again, you look up at the high stone wall, trying to make out anything at all of the world inside. It's topped with a wooden palisade, row after row of stakes lined up like shark's teeth. She returns after what feels like a long time, pushing out the large wooden door with a heavy breath until it's just barely ajar. "The acting abbess has agreed to speak with you. Follow me." From the inside, the enclosure seems unbefitting of such a great wall. A stone oratory with arched, Romanesque windows not much bigger than the church on the island forms the centre. Dotted about it are several more modest stone buildings, some solitary trees, and thick, tall high crosses with bare reliefs, their bases pockmarked with moss. Children and dogs run about; the only adult save the guard, who seems to be scarcely older than you, is an old woman wearing a bloodstained butcher's apron sprawled against one of the buildings, head raised towards the emerging sun. Everything feels a little thrown together, as if the community is new. The guard leads you to the entrance to one of the stone buildings and knocks on the door. A taut, serious voice bids you enter. [[Walk through the door.|Monastery - Abbess]]</div>

You wander in the direction of the harp player's group, trying not to look too conspicuous, and withdraw the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span> from your little bag. She finishes on a clean, sonorous high note, to some applause, and beams up at you from a face lined like a tilled field. "Up for a session?" You nod. "I'm not very good, though." "Sure we'll be the judges of that, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a ghrá*</span><span class="annotation-text">An affectionate form of address meaning 'love'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ɣɾˠɑː/ English phonetic approximation: *A graw*</span></span>." You scan the crowd: there's a flautist, the harpist, and some hangers-on, most just a little older than you are. The flautist begins the round with a lively ditty, and you're soon tapping your feet, finding the rhythm, your moment to step in. When the harpist joins him you start tipping, shakily at first, but try to do what you've learnt from Ailbhe and Fechín and forget yourself in the melody. The hangers-on swirl and twirl around you, laughing, finding quick little lyrics to fit the beat. The music twists and gathers speed, erupting in a crescendo that leaves everyone breathless, plonked on the grass. The harpist pats you on the back. "Now, didn't I tell you needn't've worried!" "Not in so many words." "Well, pretend I did! Time for another?" You want to, but you have business to take care of. You thank them and shuffle back towards the larger crowd. (display: "Bealtaine - Options")

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummer.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You walk up to the two men and sit — then, realising you don't know his name, are struck silent. You redden. "'Tis yourself," the mummer says without looking up. You do a little awkward curtsey. "Blessings this <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>." "Sure, if you've seen one you've seen them all as far as I'm concerned," he grunts. He picks up one of the flat, circular bronze pieces and stares at the board for some time. "Make your move already!" the other man barks. "You are on UNSTEADY GROUND to rush inspiration, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dáire</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /dˠɑ:rʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Daw-reh*</span></span>! I'll take exactly as much time as I need and not a SECOND more." Dáire looks at you conspiratorially. The mummer slams the piece on to the board with an exaggerated waving of his fingers. Dáire smirks. "I've got you now, so I do." "Did you come over on a later ship?" you ask. "With a few stragglers. They'd be late for their own fecking funerals. Any sign of the brother, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a chailín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A form of address meaning 'girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə xalʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A calleen*</span></span>?" [["He was looking for a healer woman."|Bealtaine - Mummer Healer]] [["He might have stopped by the pub at Trá Bhán."|Bealtaine - Mummer Pub]]</div>

{(if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Mummer Pub")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $mummer))(set: $mummer to (dm: "name", "The Mummer", "bio", "Mummer Desc", "bioAppend", "Mummer Desc Update 2.1", "img", "mummer.png", "desc", "Local eccentric."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $mummer))](if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Mummer Healer")[(set: $characters to it - (ds: $mummer))(set: $mummer to (dm: "name", "The Mummer", "bio", "Mummer Desc", "bioAppend", "Mummer Desc Update 2.2", "img", "mummer.png", "desc", "Local eccentric."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $mummer))](set: $characters to it - (ds: $sadhbh))(if: $drumFixed)[(set: $sadhbh to (dm: "name", "Sadhbh", "bio", "Sadhbh Desc Fixed", "bioAppend", "Sadhbh Desc Update 1", "img", "fechin_mam400.png", "desc", "Deft tailor."))](else:)[(set: $sadhbh to (dm: "name", "Sadhbh", "bio", "Sadhbh Desc Not Fixed", "bioAppend", "Sadhbh Desc Update 1", "img", "fechin_mam400.png", "desc", "Deft tailor."))](set: $characters to it + (ds: $sadhbh))(set: $characters to it - (ds: $fechin))(if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Fechín")[(set: $fechin to (dm: "name", "Fechín", "bio", "Fechín Desc", "bioAppend", "Fechín Desc Update 4", "img", "fechin.png", "desc", "Considerate young sailor."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $fechin))]}(if: (history:) contains "Fechín - Walk")[(unless: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Fechín" or (passage:)'s name is "Bealtaine - Fechín")[[[Talk to Fechín.|Bealtaine - Fechín]] ]]\ (if: $drumFixed)[(unless: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Session" or (passage:)'s name is "Bealtaine - Session")[[[Join the session.|Bealtaine - Session]] ]]\ (unless: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Mummer" or (passage:)'s name is "Bealtaine - Mummer")[[[Talk to the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*fidchell*</span><span class="annotation-text">A board game similar to chess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲɪhəl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fi-hell*</span></span> players.|Bealtaine - Mummer]] ]\ [[Find somewhere to sleep.|Bealtaine - Confrontation]]

<div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Look." Handing you a piece of bronze. "Are you the same thing at all?" You tighten, wincing. It has a quare energy like something alive, vibrational. Your body, or the animal thing inside of it, wills you not to touch it, but she forces it on you, won't admit your fear. Grasping it, it moulds to you, and you're soon vibrating at the same tempo. "It's a mirror," she says, expectant. You hold it up. A shriek of fur and teeth and tail, some other thing entirely. Until... out of the dull lustre, the shadow of a face, gaunt, older than you remember from the well. Worn like a piece of driftwood. "Well?" she asks. "Dunno. Woke up like this..." It holds you again, that nothingness, and you shift in and out, a weightless surrender — cat, badger, horse, then another beast entirely. Hold it, steady yourself. [["Where did you get this?"|Sister - Mirror]] [["Why wouldn't I be?"|Sister - Noncommittal]] [["This is who I really am."|Sister - Defiant]]</div></div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"The mummer," you say. "Gave me the lend of it." "Should've known it was from that fairy fancier. Just a party trick." "What's a party trick? Did you see something in it?" He had hovered over it as if afraid of being burnt, as if he only convinced himself to look because he didn't want to face your slagging. "Nothing worth seeing, no." (display: "Sister - Ultimatum")

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Otherworld Fruit</strong></h2> A strange plump fruit, supposedly from the Otherworld. It seems to remain perfectly ripe.

(if: $brotherActivity is 1 and $left)[You make your way down the beach, past where the land bends and you're watched by a crowd of tall cliffs. He's there in the cove, his usual hiding place, whittling a shape out of a block of wood. The green currach with his name on it is resting in the water. "We'll be heading off soon, you know," you shout in his direction. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_ep2.png" alt="A portrait of your brother." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He looks up, then turns back to his task and says distractedly, "Grand so." You sit down on a rock next to him. "What's that you're making?" "Seal," he says. "Can I see?" "When it's done." "And when will that be?" "A while yet," he says. "But before I'm gone." You walk around the bow of the currach, doing your best to avoid splashback from the frigid breakers. "There's been no lasting damage, then?" This is the first time you've seen him out with it since before <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>. "There hasn't, no. He kept it well, in fairness to him." (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - River Crossing Cú")[You haven't told him you lent it to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>; you haven't needed to. It arrived back in one piece.](else:)[The death god must've patched it up before he returned it, or paid someone else to.] "Think you'll be ready to head out again when we get back?" He bows his head and says sheepishly, "With <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>." He's running his fingers through his beard; it's filled out along with his face since the spring, now that he's started eating properly again. "Good. Should we head?" "Yeah." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>." You place your hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure this is what you want?" "I'm not, no. But I'll give it a crack." He ventures a slight smile. "Just remember that we'll still be here when you get back." He nods. ](else-if: $brotherActivity is 2 and $left)[You take the path back up to the cottage, and from the height you see down into the little cove where the green currach with his name on it is resting in the water. Peering around the sparse, rock-scarred little <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*goirtín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small field. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɡɔɾˠtʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gurtjeen*</span></span> at the back you find him there with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span>, stroking the wool on her neck and whispering his secrets, totally oblivious. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>?" A brief look of horror folds across his face and he lets go of her. "We'll be heading off soon, you know." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_ep2.png" alt="A portrait of your brother." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Grand so," he says, already up, trying to be nonchalant. "What were you talking to Buí about?" You try to sound sincere — you *are* sincere — but you're not sure if it registers. "Just things." "Donn." You place your hand on his shoulder. "Are you sure this is what you want?" "I'm not, no. But I'll give it a crack." He ventures a slight smile. "Just remember that you're always free to go." He nods. "That goes for you too." You've considered it, but you're kept busy by other things. It doesn't feel like it's time to make the decision yet. ][[Head back to the beach.|Epilogue - Brother 2]]</div>

You bid <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> bye for now and head back in the direction of the village, then beyond, towards <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s family home. She's a hard woman to get a hold of, even if she always seems to have one eye on you. You invite yourself in and find her in the kitchen, lulling one of her younger sisters to sleep. "They're here soon, you know," you say in a whisper, grinning. "I'll be there on time, don't you worry. Just got a few stray things to take care of." Her smile falters for a second, exposing the dark hollow of her eye. Have you heard from him at all?" you ask. "Nothing solid. I spoke to the druidess—" "You fucking didn't, did you?(if: (history:) contains "The Druidess")[ After last time."](else:)["] "I *spoke* to the druidess" — she raises her voice — "and she said there's not much we can do. But she was able to relay a message." "What message?" "I asked him to meet us there. So I guess we'll see if he shows up, and in what form." She says it with a twinge of excitement, almost as if she enjoys the thought of encountering the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púca*</span><span class="annotation-text">A small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkə/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-ka*</span></span> him. "I'm not sure about this." "Sure you said yourself they weren't keeping him there. He's doing this because he wants to, and maybe he'll grow out of it. We'll see." She gets up and fastens her cloak at the chest. "Right so, she's asleep now. Will we head off?" [[Head back to the beach.|Epilogue - Ailbhe 2]]

The boat's visible on the far off horizon by the time you return, and the crowd has filled out by a few more, including the druidess, standing wordlessly by the jetty. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> looks around and, not seeing <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, goes to sit on the sand by himself. You sense he's a little embarrassed by some of his old behaviour, and his preferred way of dealing with it has been to retreat rather than engage. You've been trying to get him to open up, but you can only do so much. Ailbhe comes panting just as they're pulling up to the jetty. "Sorry, got delayed with the sister," she says to you. "Ready, Donnán?" He nods. (display: "Epilogue - Sailors Arrival")

"Here they are now," (if: $left)[she says.](else:)[says <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>.] The young sailors drop the anchor, set down the gangplank, and walk onto the shore. [[Greet them.|Epilogue - Part 2]]

The boat's docking by the time you arrive back, and the crowd has filled out by a few more, including the druidess, standing wordlessly by the jetty. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> is pacing about with a twitchy impatience unbefitting a guard. (display: "Epilogue - Sailors Arrival")

You try your best to stay out of their way; your efforts to volunteer have always been rebuffed in the past. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> takes your lead and hangs back, fingering the crucifix around his neck, his eyes darting towards the mountains barely visible across the sound and then back to the busyness of the others. [["Ready to admit you're nervous?"|Epilogue - Oisín 2]]

You give her a wave and she responds in kind, a big beam of relief on her face. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She leans over the gunwale and yells, "How's tricks?!" "Grand, and yourself? I wasn't expecting you. Not that that's..." "The abbess requested that I accompany our guests. Said it would do me good." "Sounds like she was trying to get rid of you!" She grins. "I can't say I blame her, but I get some time off out of it so no complaints here." She looks out on to the beach. "Where's this dashing young man?" "Short lad with the crucifix. Who else?" "You know how to pick 'em, so you do." "Would you ever feck off?" You say it teasingly. "I told you I wasn't..." "I'm only messing with you. C'mere, get in and we'll wait for the rest of them." You step onto the boat and sit with her in the stern. "Seriously, how've you been holding up?" "I..." You're not sure you're ready to admit how tough it's been. "It's been a lot, hasn't it?" she interjects. "There's a lot going on everywhere." "And how are you? I heard you'd had to..." "I'm fine," she says a little too quickly. "It's really good to see you again." "You too. Will we [[get going?"|Epilogue - Final]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/fechin.png" alt="A portrait of Fechín. He looks relaxed." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Hey. And congrats... seriously." "I told you, I'm just filling in." "Still, it's a lot of people on that boat this time. No joke. Not that I'm..." Fuck. "Not that I'm trying to make you nervous, or—" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" "Yeah?" "It's grand." He grins. "How have you been?" "All right. Just..." You're not sure you're ready to admit how tough it's been. "I get you. Will you help me get the boat ready?" You nod again, finding yourself without words. He leads you onto the boat; you take your usual place in the stern. "It's nice to see you again, Bríd," he says. "You too. Will we [[get going?"|Epilogue - Final]]</div>

You hold the stone ornament out to him. "Here, been meaning to give you this." He guffaws. "Are you trying to tell me something, Bríd?" "Only that you'd make a fine mother." "Heh. I thought you'd forgotten our little promise." You smile. "Just been busy. But I'm fucked if I have you going around saying women's words are lies." "No danger of that, I assure you." He rotates the ornament. "My granny used to have one of these hanging above the hearth. I thought yer one was holding a clam." "Last fanny you saw, was it?" "Well, not anymore..." "Glad to help." (display: "Epilogue - Options")

You hold the plump fruit out to him. "I don't think you'll be following your namesake into <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Tír na nÓg</span><span class="annotation-text">The land of eternal youth. Said to have been visited by the legendary poet Oisín. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˌtʲiːɾˠ n̪ˠə ˈn̪ˠoːɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Teer na nowg*</span></span> anytime soon, so I brought some of it to you." He sniggers, incredulous. "Where in God's name did you go, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>? On my account—" "Don't flatter yourself. I picked up a few things on the way." "Thanks. Figured you'd forgotten our little promise..." You smile. "Just been busy. But I'm fucked if I have you going around saying women's words are lies." "No danger of that, I assure you." He rotates the fruit. "What is this yoke? Looks like a smacked arse." "Let's hope it doesn't taste like one." "Should we give it a go on the way over?" "If you're volunteering." (display: "Epilogue - Options")

You hold the cross out to him. "Handiwork of the abbess <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> herself." He shakes his head. "Ah, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, this again?" "I don't give two shites if you believe me or not, just accept it." "But come on, I can't—" "I've had my use of it," you say, locking his fingers around it. "It's yours." "Thanks. Figured you'd forgotten our little promise..." You smile. "Just been busy. But I won't have you going around saying women's words are lies." "Your Brigid will make sure of that." "That she will." (display: "Epilogue - Options")

(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Guard Morning" and $wearingNecklet)[You scan the horizon and notice someone else on the boat. It's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span>, hunched as she's for once in her life trying her hardest to make herself small. "Gimme me a minute, Ois." [[Wave at her.|Epilogue - Bláthnaid]]](else-if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Fechín")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> whispers something to his cousin and walks up to you. "H-hey," he says. "Give me a minute, Ois." He nods, slinking back into the crowd. [["Hey."|Epilogue - Fechín]]](else:)[You glance at the boat; it's looking a good deal more loaded than ten minutes ago. "Right, will we [[get going?"|Epilogue - Final]]]

When everything's loaded, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> announces boarding and the crowd pushes brusquely on, with the exception of the druidess, who stays behind to perform the usual ritual. You're glad to be at a safe distance. Then it's time to push off. (if: ($brotherActivity is 1) and $left)[You watch <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> watching the shoreline, that same dread-hope in his eyes you carried around with you six months ago. Knowing only that inaction gobbles you slowly up. He catches your gaze. ](else-if: ($brotherActivity is 2) and $left)[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> catches your gaze from the stern, as if to ask how you're feeling. You nod, hugging your mantle to you. ](else:)[You look back. You're leaving without him again, but at least you know where he is. You offer a silent prayer to all the gods, Christ, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Lú</span><span class="annotation-text">A god equally skilled in all arts, associated with the late summer festival that bears his name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /luː/ English phonetic approximation: *Loo*</span></span>, even the death god, that they would keep him and keep him safe. ]The boat launches straight out like a gull, fanning its full sail. <button class="main-menu-button" id="start-menu-button ">[[THE END · DEIREADH|Credits]]</button>

{(set: $sister to (dm: "name", "You", "bio", "Sister Desc", "img", "protag400.png", "desc", "Inquisitive young woman.")) (set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Your Brother", "bio", "Brother Desc", "img", "brothervision1.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman.")) (set: $mrsnic to (dm: "name", "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh", "bio", "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh Desc", "img", "niche400.png", "desc", "Island matriarch.")) (set: $oisin to (dm: "name", "Oisín", "bio", "Oisín Desc", "img", "oisin.png", "desc", "Cheeky church guard.")) (set: $ailbhe to (dm: "name", "Ailbhe", "bio", "Ailbhe Desc", "img", "ailbhe.png", "desc", "Childhood friend.")) (set: $priest to (dm: "name", "Father Silvanus", "bio", "Priest Desc", "img", "priest.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's parish priest.")) (set: $mummer to (dm: "name", "Mummer", "bio", "Mummer Desc", "img", "mummer.png", "desc", "Local eccentric.")) (set: $fergus to (dm: "name", "Fergus", "bio", "Fergus Desc", "img", "fergus.png", "desc", "An old friend of Mam's.")) (set: $bui to (dm: "name", "Buí", "bio", "Buí Desc", "img", "bui.png", "desc", "Family ewe.")) (set: $druidess to (dm: "name", "Druidess", "bio", "Druidess Desc", "img", "druidess.png", "desc", "Inis Caillí's resident druidess.")) (set: $feilim to (dm: "name", "Féilim", "bio", "Féilim Desc", "img", "feilim1.png", "desc", "Affable young sailor.")) (set: $fechin to (dm: "name", "Fechín", "bio", "Fechín Desc", "img", "fechin.png", "desc", "Considerate young sailor.")) (set: $captain to (dm: "name", "Ferry Captain", "bio", "Captain Desc", "img", "captain.png", "desc", "Veteran of Inis Caillí's waters.")) (set: $sadhbh to (dm: "name", "Sadhbh", "bio", "Sadhbh Desc", "img", "fechin_mam400.png", "desc", "Deft tailor.")) (set: $donn to (dm: "name", "Donn Fírinne", "bio", "Donn Desc", "img", "donn.png", "desc", "Garrulous death god.")) (set: $liath to (dm: "name", "Liath", "bio", "Liath Desc", "img", "placeholder.png", "desc", "A very good girl.")) (set: $abbess to (dm: "name", "Dar Lugdach", "bio", "Abbess Desc", "img", "abbess01.png", "desc", "Acting abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $blathnaid to (dm: "name", "Bláthnaid", "bio", "Guard Desc", "img", "bláthnaid450.png", "desc", "Restless monastery guard.")) (set: $twins to (dm: "name", "Twins", "bio", "Twins Desc", "img", "twins.png", "desc", "Orphaned monastery twins.")) (set: $cowkiller to (dm: "name", "Cowkiller", "bio", "Cowkiller Desc", "img", "cowkiller.png", "desc", "Fierce old woman.")) (set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $brigid to (dm: "name", "Brigid", "bio", "Brigid Desc", "img", "brigid.png", "desc", "Storied abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $cu to (dm: "name", "Cú Chulainn", "bio", "Cú Desc", "img", "cuchul.png", "desc", "Legendary warrior.")) (set: $laeg to (dm: "name", "Láeg", "bio", "Cú Desc", "img", "laeg.png", "desc", "Cú Chulainn's charioteer.")) (set: $parents to (dm: "name", "Mam and Dad", "bio", "Parents Desc", "img", "parents.png", "desc", "Your parents, Íde and Eochaid.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $sister, $brother, $parents, $mrsnic, $oisin, $ailbhe, $priest, $mummer, $fergus, $druidess, $feilim, $fechin, $bui, $captain, $sadhbh, $liath, $donn, $blathnaid, $abbess, $brigid, $twins, $cowkiller, $muireann, $cu, $laeg))}

Brief descriptions of characters, together with some info on when Bríd last met them.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>You</strong></h2> Your name is <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, like the goddess. You were born a fisherman's daughter on the island of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>, west of the mainland. You live in a little thatched cottage with your brother. Your parents are gone. <br><br>You work the land and tend the house most days. You're a decent <em>bodhrán</em> player, though not much of a singer. Little you'd admit it, but you've always wanted to travel, see the great cities: Rome, Constantinople, Athens... <br><br>You're maybe a little vain. And you love a good gossip.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Your Brother</strong></h2> Your brother's a couple of years older than you, a fisherman by trade and now the head of your household. He's always been difficult. Taciturn, like yourself — but stubborn too, and too stubborn to admit it. From what <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> tells you he's most himself when he's out at sea with her.<br><br> But he looks out for you too: leaves you fish and porridge, grinds blackweed into a dose when you're so sick you can barely stand. Some days you just wish he'd give you more of himself, more than a grunt on his way out the door.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's granny and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> serves <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>'s chieftain. She's known your family so long she's practically family, though she's actually Ailbhe's granny. She's warm but no-nonsense, and a bit of a traditionalist: best avoid any mentions of the new faith.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Oisín</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>'s a pain. He's also one of your oldest friends. He came to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> to work in the church about a decade ago. At first it was Mam who put you up to spending time with him, but you, him, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, and your brother soon became fast friends. There are rumours that his family sent him to work for the church to pay off a gambling debt, but he's never uttered so much as a squeak about them and you don't dare ask.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Ailbhe</strong></h2> You and your brother have been friends with <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> since before either of you could talk. The eldest of many siblings and a fisherwoman by trade, she's always been your anchor: a solid, calming presence in stormy waters. Lately she's been a bit distant, though. Maybe it's your brother's influence — it usually is…

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Father Silvanus</strong></h2> You've never been entirely comfortable around Inis Caillí's parish priest. Maybe it's a cultural thing, though he speaks your language with only the slightest foreign accent. Maybe it's the intensity of his bearing, the way he can shush an entire congregation with a look. Whatever it is, you're going to have to get over it: you need his help finding your brother. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>The Mummer</strong></h2> You're not sure where the mummer came from: he's been on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> since long before you were born. He's got a lot of nicknames, some kinder than others, and most don't take him seriously. Everyone in the village has heard of his altercations with the Good Folk — he won't soon have you forget them — but whether they're the source of his peculiarities or not you really can't say. He knows much of the world beyond Inis Caillí, though.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Fergus</strong></h2> Fergus is Mam's oldest friend. You've always called him "uncle", but lately he hasn't been living up to it. It's hard to blame him — you just wish he'd find something to do that isn't drinking himself into a stupor. He soldiered on the mainland and knows it well, if you can get the stories out of him. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Druidess</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>'s druidess is someone who's had dealings with your family before. She carries a quiet authority you find intimidating. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Féilim</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> is one of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s friends. He and his cousin Fechín are deckhands aboard the ferry between <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> and the mainland. He's loud, brash, funny, and seems to fancy himself <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>'s wingman. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Fechín</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span> is a deckhand abroad the ferry between <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> and the mainland, along with his cousin <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Féilim</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲeːlʲɪmʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fail-im*</span></span> and dad, the captain. You sense there's a lot simmering underneath his reserved exterior. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Ferry Captain</strong></h2> The captain of the Inis Caillí ferry is Fechín's dad. He's a kindly man who didn't ask much more of you than some conversation. You forgot to get his name.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Sadhbh</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sadhbh</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Famously borne by the wife of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhaill. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /saɪv/ English phonetic approximation: *Sive*</span></span> is a woman who runs a stall at the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> market, and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>'s mam. She was kind — kind enough to fix your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span> for nothing — but very keen to pair you up with her son. With as hard as she is on him, you're not sure you'd fancy her as a mother-in-law. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Abbey Guard</strong></h2> The abbey's guard is a tall, stocky young woman about the same age as you. Judging by her accent, she comes from noble stock. You didn't get a warm welcome out of her, and you're finding it hard to tell how she feels about you, but she's got a confidence to her you rather like. She seems to share the acting abbess' distrust of men. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Dar Lugdach</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠaɾˠ l̪ˠuːd̪ˠaxˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Dar Loo-dack*</span></span> is the acting abbess of the women-only abbey at Cluain Fearta. Though scarcely older than you, she's taken charge of the monastery in abbess <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>'s absence. She doesn't seem entirely at ease in the role, but it might just be the week that's in it — she's very concerned about the possibility of raids. You can tell she's a woman of deep faith and learning, and not just from her smooth white hands. She speaks of faith with the same conviction Mam had. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>The Twins</strong></h2> Twin girls who live at the monastery. Their names, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Canna</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span> and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Gwenffrewi</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span>, are foreign: they must have been taken to this country as slaves. They don't seem much affected by that, though: maybe they were too young to remember. They're storytellers the both of them, cheeky, and up for a good argument, either with each other or you. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Cowkiller</strong></h2> An old woman in a bloodstained butcher's apron who lives at the abbey. She moves little and speaks even less, but you sense she'd have stories enough to tell if you were brave enough to ask her. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Brigid</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> is the storied abbess of Cill Dara and Cluain Fearta. You've heard rumours that she's the next Apostle Patrick, and that her connection to the goddess who shares her name is more than mere coincidence. You're not sure what to believe. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Cú Chulainn</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> is — or was — a legendary warrior from the northern province of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ulster</span><span class="annotation-text">A province of Ireland.</span></span>. He and his charioteer <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> are long dead, but apparently have a tradition of sneaking out of the Otherworld at Bealtaine to go for walks. He's angry about basically everything and can't sit still, which accords with the tales you've heard of him. He's also fanged, like the hound whose name he bears. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Láeg</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> is <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>’s long-suffering charioteer and friend. He's a good deal more affable than his master, but seems to have difficulty controlling him. You feel a little sorry for him. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Liath</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Liath</span><span class="annotation-text">Means "grey" or "light blue". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈl̠ʲiə/ English phonetic approximation: *Lee-uh*</span></span> is Fechín's dog and a very good girl.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Muireann</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span> is one of your aunts, a healer woman. From what you've heard Dad didn't get along with her — that's probably why you've never met her. <br><br>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Buí</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Buí</span><span class="annotation-text">Your sheep's name. Means 'yellow'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Bwee*</span></span> is your family's ewe. She's a placid, passive little thing that doesn't require much more than a few clumps to graze on and an annual shearing. You wear her wool and she wears a length of rope around her neck that you fashioned for her in the tenderness of childhood. You like to think that's a fair deal.

You nod. Time you're not sure of, and inclination may waver, but let's hear the start of it at least. "Right so." He closes his eyes and fingers his temples with a look of pained concentration, as if trying to coax it out from some cobwebbed corner of his mind. After a long exhalation he's back again(if: (history:) contains "The Mummer - Young Men")[ and takes a swig from the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>]. "When I was young I worked as an apprentice to a great <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*seanchaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">A storyteller and historian, usually in service of a king or the head of a prominent household. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃænʲxʲi:/ English phonetic approximation: *Shana-ki*</span></span>, a man who served as historian and wit for the King of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Connacht</span><span class="annotation-text">A province of Ireland.</span></span>. Now, a *seanchaí* 's role is to gather and present information, whether that be natural science, stories, laws, or annals, so that when the king has a query he can pluck an answer right away from that store of knowledge that exists within him. Of course, this store required replenishing often, as events transpired and the world changed, and this was a particularly eventful time. A man once a slave had come across the water preaching a foreign religion, and many of our chieftains heard the jangle of Roman gold and spied a chance to betray their own." He's completely present; you wonder if he's told this story often. "So the *seanchaí* sent me out into this uncertain world to find out as much as I could about the new faith and its followers. I was to seek them out, make noise about converting, and study their language and texts until I was certain I knew enough to benefit my master and my king. There was at that time a little group of acolytes of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span> building a community at Lough Rí, that glassy lake on the border between Connacht and Meath, in a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span> whose land was unwisely traded away by a chieftain who preferred counting his calves to his people. I played the humble heathen and was given lodgings and food, should I be willing to work for them, which well I was." [["Sorry, I'm in a rush."|The Mummer - Interruption]] [[Keep listening.|The Mummer - Fairy Encounter Part 3]]</div>

You don't want him to get too involved in this. He's going to notice you're gone eventually, but you'd rather give him a few days before he starts fretting that it might be a forever farewell. Maybe you'll even be back by then. "Where's the priest?" you ask. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Off giving the last rites. Or maybe it was a christening. Something holy like that. Buuut..." He looks at you expectantly. "You were saying?" (display: "Oisín - White Lies Convo")

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Mam and Dad</strong></h2> You remember less of Mam and Dad every day: their voices, faces, the smells that lingered on them. <br><br>Dad, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Eochaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /oːxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-kuh*</span></span>, was a fisherman, even-tempered and kind; Mam, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>, the daughter of a cooper, keen and adventurous and a deep thinker. You were closer to Dad, who taught you ways of coping with a world that seemed to expect so little of you. Mam found the new faith a comfort after settling on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>, but it made the family the target of gossip and your brother especially couldn't shape himself around its edicts. <br><br>They died at sea; you're still not entirely sure how. Dad had been sick for some time.

You swish your arms, trying your best to wave the smoke away, but it's unyielding; it twists around you like an eel. (display: "Donn - Push On")

"H-hello! Help! Help?" Your cries seem to dissipate into the smoke. No answer. (display: "Donn - Push On")

As the salt touches the ground, it dissolves in a sibilant puff. You pick some up and rub it through your fingers; it's taken on a bitty texture like ash. (display: "Donn - Push On")

You push on, ignoring the throbbing in your chest. If he's lost in here, maybe you'll find each other. Or he'll hear you stumbling around at least, come running. You want to call out to (if: (passage:)'s name is "Donn - Call For Help")[*him*](else:)[him], futile as it is. Would he respond to "brother" alone, respond to the voice of someone who can't even name him? You come upon a clearing in the smoke. Three human-length mirrors made of a brilliant glass stand arranged in a semi-circle, still and expectant. [[Look into the mirror with the thick wooden frame.|Donn - Hanged Death]] [[Look into the mirror with the rotten wooden frame.|Donn - Poison Death]] [[Look into the mirror with the cankered wooden frame.|Donn - Wound Death]]

Dazzled, you step in front of the mirror. You see yourself, clearer than in still water(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[, much clearer than in the bronze mirror], but it's *wrong*: you're hanging limply from the long bough of an oak tree, a rope hugging your neck. You step back, horrified, only to see yourself in all three mirrors at once. Three deaths: hanging, a great spurt of blood gushing out of your chest, and the sickly pallor of poison. (display: "Donn - Thwack")

Dazzled, you step in front of the mirror. You see yourself, clearer than in still water(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[, much clearer than in the bronze mirror], but it's *wrong*: you're prone, fighting a pallor that spreads from your cheeks to the rest of the body as poison takes hold. You step back, horrified, only to see yourself in all three mirrors at once. Three deaths: the poison, a great spurt of blood gushing out of your chest, and your body hanging limply from the long bough of an oak tree. (display: "Donn - Thwack")

Dazzled, you step in front of the mirror. You see yourself, clearer than in still water(if: $inventory contains "Bronze Mirror")[, much clearer than in the bronze mirror], but it's *wrong*: there's a wound, a great spurt of blood gushing out of your chest, and your face is milk white. You step back, horrified, only to see yourself in all three mirrors at once. Three deaths: the chest wound, your body hanging limply from the long bough of an oak tree, and the sickly pallor of poison. (display: "Donn - Thwack")

It's dreadful to see the light fading from your own eyes, your face contorted in absolute terror. It's dreadful and yet you stand, transfixed. You stretch your hand out, but the mirrors seem to retreat into the smoke. A noise from further in takes you out of your stupor: *thwack thwack thwack*. [[Move towards it.|Donn - Follow Sound]]

You step slowly away from the mirrors, trying to find the source of the noise. Something in here moves and is solid; something in here is *alive*. You come upon another clearing with two more mirrors, facing each other. [[Look into the mirror with the dark navy frame.|Donn - Drowning]] [[Look into the mirror with the blood red frame.|Donn - Consumption]] [[Refuse to look.|Donn - Refusal]]

You see yourself wheezing a voiceless shriek as the water pulls you under, then up again, a desperate scramble for breath, then down, down, down into a dark heavy mass of nothing. He's there too, parting the swell in grim defiance, his eyes agape as he pleads with you to save him— No! Your hands move with animal speed, grip the mirror, solid like the earlier ones weren't, and shove it as hard as they can. It hits the floor with a sound like the cracking of ice, shattering into innumerable pieces. Before you can register the shard grazing your cheek, an arrow zooms past you and lodges in something you can't see with a thwack. The sound from earlier: is someone aiming for you? You crouch, willing yourself to run, but something's holding you in place. Merging with the smoke you see a man in profile in a deep purple robe, long, lithe, and wiry. He's holding a longbow that's taller than you are and firing arrows one after another into a wooden wall with the practised grace of years, so fast you can barely make it out. He's middle-aged, not unhandsome, with a sharp, wan face, heavy-lidded eyes, and a short beard. There's what looks like seaweed matted through his dark damp hair, and around his neck hangs a thin gold ornament shaped like a crescent moon. You get the acrid smell again here, ash-like. He lowers the bow and turns towards you, his face shedding its graveness and breaking into a thin smile that makes you even more nervous. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"What a *lovely mess* you've made, little one," he says. [["It fell over of its own accord."|Donn - Fell Over]] [["I'll work it back."|Donn - Work It Back]] [["It was an accident."|Donn - Accident]]</div>

You see yourself wasted, reduced to a gaunt thing of bone and sinew. Your head bulging from your frame, your throat parched and starched, stiffened with blood. He's there too, his skin a mottled blue, eyes agape as he pleads with you to cure him— No! Your hands move with animal speed, grip the mirror, solid like the earlier ones weren't, and shove it as hard as they can. It hits the floor with a sound like the cracking of ice, shattering into innumerable pieces. Before you can register the shard grazing your cheek, an arrow zooms past you and lodges in something you can't see with a thwack. The sound from earlier: is someone aiming for you? You crouch and will yourself to run, but something's holding you in place. Merging with the smoke you see a man in profile in a deep purple robe, long, lithe, and wiry. He's holding a longbow that's taller than you are and firing arrows one after another into a wooden wall with the practised grace of years, so fast you can barely make it out. He's middle-aged, not unhandsome, with a sharp, wan face, heavy-lidded eyes, and a short beard. There's what looks like seaweed matted through his dark damp hair, and around his neck hangs a thin gold ornament shaped like a crescent moon. You get the acrid smell again here, ash-like. He lowers the bow and turns towards you, his face shedding its graveness and breaking into a thin smile that makes you even more nervous. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"What a *lovely mess* you've made, little one," he says. [["It fell over of its own accord."|Donn - Fell Over]] [["I'll work it back."|Donn - Work It Back]] [["It was an accident."|Donn - Accident]]</div>

You turn away, refusing the truths the mirrors offer. You're not ready for them, you sense; it would be a violation. The frames promise secrets better left unseen. While you're considering your protest, an arrow zooms past you and lodges in something you can't see with a thwack. The sound from earlier: is someone aiming for you? You crouch and will yourself to run, but something's holding you in place. Merging with the smoke you see a man in profile in a deep purple robe, long, lithe, and wiry. He's holding a bow that's taller than you are and firing arrows one after another with the practised grace of years, so fast you can barely make it out. He's middle-aged, not unhandsome, with a sharp, wan face, heavy-lidded eyes, and a short beard. There's what looks like seaweed matted through his dark damp hair, and around his neck hangs a thin gold ornament shaped like a crescent moon. You get the acrid smell again here, ash-like. He lowers the bow and turns towards you, his face shedding its graveness and breaking into a thin smile that makes you even more nervous. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Admiring my handiwork, are you?" [["They're something else."|Donn - Mirrors Admiration]] [["Just leaving."|Donn - Just Leaving]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">He clicks his fingers and the smoke dissolves in an instant, revealing a room decorated by scarcely more than <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>s, decanters, crumpled scrolls and manuscripts, a sad-looking bed, and an ornate chair on a dais. "Now..." He looks you up and down. "My, it has been a while. You'll have to excuse the place; wasn't expecting company." You open your mouth. "I—" "Orphan, is it? Want to make it stop? Woes of this world too much?" "How did you—" (if: (passage:)'s name is "Donn - Mirrors Admiration" or "Donn - Just Leaving")[His smile widens and he lets out a little laugh, polite, practised.] "You are not the first wretched soul to seek out this house, and I very much hope you will not be the last. Now, ready?" "Ready for w—" He leans down, pushing his face up to yours. You try to step back, but something about his presence holds you in place. His pupils are glimmering like the night sky, cold, indifferent. The smoke that was everywhere pools around his mouth and he sucks it in, then — He stops and splutters. "Fucking priest stank! Why didn't you say anything? Why are you here?!" He's looking at you with a thick fury and all you know is that you need to find a way out of this. [["I'm looking for my brother."|Donn - Backstory]]</div>

"It just fell over. I didn't even touch it, I swear," you murmur. His smile widens and he lets out a little laugh, polite, practised. "Shame I missed the look on your face, and you've such a lovely little deer mien on you." He catches your look of horror and adds, "Not to worry, little one. They're just illusions. It's been such an ordeal getting people in the door, you would not *believe*—" He sighs. (display: "Donn - New Intro")

"I can make up for it. Work, whatever you need..." you plead. His smile widens and he lets out a little laugh, polite, practised. "Shame I missed the look on your face, and you've such a lovely little deer mien on you." He catches your look of horror and adds, "Not to worry, little one. They're just illusions. It's been such an ordeal getting people in the door, you would not *believe*—" He sighs. (display: "Donn - New Intro")

"I just... touched it, barely. I didn't think it'd—" His smile widens and he lets out a little laugh, polite, practised. "Shame I missed the look on your face, and you've such a lovely little deer mien on you." He catches your look of horror and adds, "Not to worry, little one. They're just illusions. It's been such an ordeal getting people in the door, you would not *believe*—" He sighs. (display: "Donn - New Intro")

"I'm glad someone appreciates them. It's been such an ordeal getting people in the door, you would not *believe*—" He sighs. (display: "Donn - New Intro")

"Changed your mind, have you? That's not how this works, I'm afraid." (display: "Donn - New Intro")

"There was a lady by that name used to treat my sister's bunions, but that was years ago. Can't tell you what happened to her since."

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Simple Crucifix</strong></h2> A simple wooden crucifix about the size of your palm that you found in an abandoned pub on the outskirts of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>. There's a depiction of a small animal cut into its surface towards the base. It's vaguely dog-like, but its four legs are short and stubby.

{(set: $abbess to (dm: "name", "Dar Lugdach", "bio", "Abbess Desc", "img", "abbess01.png", "desc", "Acting abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $abbess))}Like the monastery, the interior of the stone building seems smaller than from the outside. Even sparsely furnished with a wooden desk, chair, and bed just about big enough for two it feels cramped, and the low ceiling doesn't help. Books and paper are stacked high on the desk, dried scabs of wax stuck to the wood. Two women fill out the rest of the room, one sitting turned towards the other, her face hidden in profile behind a sky blue cowl, the other standing scribbling notes on a piece of parchment, middle-aged, plain, both wearing what you assume are nuns' habits. "Make sure everyone is in by sundown; do a headcount," says the one sitting. It's the same serious voice that summoned you. "Take the cattle in, too — all the way up. And put people on watch tonight." "Yes, Sister." "I'll check in again soon, after I've tended to this matter." She says it without turning her head. The middle-aged woman nods and takes her leave, glancing at you with some wariness as she walks past and shuts the door gently behind her. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Now." She faces you, still sitting, mouth pursed. You're taken aback, expecting another dowdy woman well past childbearing age. She couldn't be more than a couple of years your senior. She watches you intently with grey eyes set in a plump, well-shaped face, clasping her hands at her chin. They're smooth and white, not those of a farmhand or fisherwoman. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Secular Appeal")["I'm told you were directed here by a friend of our abbess," she says matter-of-factly. "Yes, he—" "What is his name?" Her tone is clipped. You notice the bags under her eyes, smudges so dark they almost look painted on. "D-D-" Fuck, what's a Christian name? "Dáibhí." "I've never heard her mention anyone by that name. What does he want?" "We-I... need help locating someone. A young man, short, brown-haired. My friend told him to come here, seek <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>."](else:)["I'm told you're fleeing persecution," she says matter-of-factly. "Yes, some of my family—" "It's okay." She smiles faintly, though her eyes don't wrinkle. They're ringed by smudges so dark they almost look painted on. "You have my sympathies. It's hard to turn against a wicked culture, even more so when the sinners are those who suckled and raised you. Rest assured that no one is getting in here if I can help it." You volunteer your own weak smile back; then, snapping out of the reverie of the lie, remember what you came for. "My brother went ahead of me... short, brown-haired. I'm worried about him." Christian or not, you need to know if anyone's seen him.] She lifts herself out of the chair and walks over to the rear window. You can just about make out the children chasing each other through the grass. Beyond them, the wall blocks the yellow light of mid-afternoon sun. She turns to face you again. She's not much taller, and suddenly seems a little uncomfortable in her power. "I—" There's a rap on the door. She bids them enter, her mouth pursed again. It's the middle-aged nun. "What?" the younger nun says. "Apologies, Sister, but there's been... an incident that requires your attention." "Right. We'll resume this conversation later," she says, turning to you. "What was your name?" "I saw him last night from the ramparts over that way, wandering alone. He didn't stop here. Not that we would have admitted him. This is a sanctuary for women and children." Your heart thumps. "But you'd have given him food, and a blanket?" "Yes." She's distracted. "Did you see which way he was going?" you ask. "The border, probably. Straight across the river. Not a great idea with the times we're living in." She sits back down. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Secular Appeal")["What is he to you?" "My brother." "Christian?" You nod. She seems to relax a little, though her mouth remains pursed.](else:)["Is *he* Christian?" You nod. "He... he's somewhat misguided, but I've been trying to get him on the right path. Prayer a-and all," you add. "Our first duty is to God." She says it to herself, face downturned and eyes narrowed as if she's straining to recall something, mouth pursed again. Then she looks at you. ] "He..." She hesitates. "He was talking to himself. Not like a madman does, ranting and raving and vying for attention. It was sort of... subdued, without gesture." You've never known him to do anything like that. He's aloof, silent, even more so since your parents died. "I have some more preparations to make in advance of tonight, but please stay and eat with us." She makes another face as if she's forgotten something, then asks, "What was your name?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, actually," you say a little sheepishly. That gets a proper smile out of her. "I'm <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name.</span></span>. The children call me Dar," she says. "Now, follow me." She leads you out of the room and escorts you to another stone building, opening the door to give you a glimpse inside. It's cruciform, with a long dining table and a scullery opposite the entrance. "Tea is in an hour," she says, meaning the early evening meal. "You're free to wander around until then." She leaves without another word, disappearing inside what you suspect is the nunnery itself. [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cowkiller.png" alt="A portrait of the butcher woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She shakes her head, eyes still shut. "Right... thanks." Wrens are singing atop the trees inside the wall. The breeze carries the scent of spring flowers, and everything seems wrapped in haze. |links>[[(link: "Look around.")[(replace: ?links)[(unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Guard")[You look around. [[The guard|Monastery - Guard]] is sitting by herself fiddling with something.] (unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Twins")[[[Two mousy-haired girls|Monastery - Twins]] in long, linen gowns are having a heated argument; you overhear the words "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span>" and "snakes".] There's a sweet milky smell coming from [[the refectory|Monastery - Refectory]].]]]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cowkiller.png" alt="A portrait of the butcher woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She strokes her jaw, but keeps silent. You're beginning to wonder if she's hard of hearing. "I said, do you know any healers—" "No," she says flatly. You'd swear she'd twitched. "Sorry," you squeak. "Just looking for some family." Wrens are singing atop the trees inside the wall. The breeze carries the scent of spring flowers, and everything seems wrapped in haze. |links>[(link: "Lie down.")[(replace: ?links)[(set: $hasNapped to true)You lie down in the cool grass, remembering summers when you'd run around the fields all morning and nap off the big sun, the worst of the day. For the first time since he left, you feel safe. You jump awake; the sky is dark. There's a commanding voice coming from inside [[the refectory|Monastery - Refectory]], and a sweet milky smell.]] [(link: "Look around.")[(replace: ?links)[(unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Guard")[You look around. [[The guard|Monastery - Guard]] is sitting by herself fiddling with something.] (unless: (history:) contains "Monastery - Twins")[[[Two mousy-haired girls|Monastery - Twins]] in long, linen gowns are having a heated argument; you overhear the words "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span>" and "snakes".] There's a sweet milky smell coming from [[the refectory|Monastery - Refectory]].]]]]</div>

"Not at your post?" you ask, sitting down beside the tall guard. She's pushing the green beads spread across her lap through a metal ring. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/bláthnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"We take turns. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ciara</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈciəɾˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Keerah*</span></span>'s on now." She yawns. "How was Dar?" "She was nice, yeah. Let me say for supper." She gives you that half-smirk again. "Good. Always need more hands here." You watch her work. The beads bend the sky, meeting each other in the centre of the ring with a clink-clink. It looks satisfying. "Where'd you get that jewellery?" "One of the priests is after bringing them over from Britain. They're back and forth with new bits every summer. It used to be enough to last us the year, but things've been busy lately. C'mere." She edges up against you. Holding the finished necklet up to your chest, she frowns and adjusts it. "The blue would've suited you better." You blush and are still. "W-what's this for?" "To welcome you to our community. I make them for all the girls." She pauses. "And the little lads, if they want them. Not their fault they were born with cocks." She laughs, her face darkening. You shift uncomfortably. "Thanks, but I... I won't be here very long. I can't accept this." You hold it back out to her. She ignores the gesture, looking wounded. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Religious Appeal")[ "Why wouldn't you stay?" she says suddenly, tersely. |links>[(link: "Tell the truth.")[(replace: ?links)["Someone else fled with me. I'm looking for him." She exhales heavily. "Of course." "Anyway, almost time for tea. See you around." She picks up her stocky body and walks in the direction of the refectory, leaving you holding the necklet. You pocket it. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Necklet")) [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]]] (link: "Lie.")[(replace: ?links)["My mother's waiting across the border." "She fled too?" "No, she lives there. I was raised by foster parents." The lie is hollow; fosterage is for warriors and poets. "Anyway, almost time for tea. See you around." She picks up her stocky body and walks in the direction of the refectory, leaving you holding the necklet. You pocket it. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Necklet")) [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]]]]](else:)[ "It's lovely, though. Thank you." You're not sure what else to say. She rubs a leftover bead absent-mindedly, her head in her lap. As you stand up to leave she murmurs something under her breath. "What?" "You've no faith, have you?" She says it without looking up. It's an accusation. |links>[(link: "\"I have.\"")[(replace: ?links)["I'm baptised." She raises her voice. "So? So you won't lop our heads off in the night!" The butcher woman looks over at her with a blank expression. She wants you to self-flagellate, stand up and declare before the community that you're a shitty sinner and deserve punishment. You opt not to humour the accusation. She sighs, then murmurs a sheepish sorry. "I'll see you at tea," you say. Pocketing the necklet, you walk off in no particular direction, trying to stop yourself shaking. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Necklet"))(set: $guardFight to true) [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]]] (link: "\"I haven't.\"")[(replace: ?links)["No, I don't." She raises her voice. "And I'd bet you're all right with slavery and sacrifice too!" She must think you smear chicken entrails all over yourself every night and leap outside, squealing your people's gods' names. You opt not to humour the accusation. She continues fidgeting with the beads. "I'll see you at tea," you say. Pocketing the necklet, you walk off in no particular direction, trying to stop yourself shaking. (set: $inventory to it + (dataset: "Necklet"))(set: $guardFight to true) [[Get your bearings.|Monastery - Choices]]]]]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(set:$darHistory to false)You thank her. Before you can make for bed, she grabs your arm and says gently, "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, I know you've had a long day, but I wanted to pick up on what we discussed earlier, if you're willing to have a little chat." She leads you to her study, unlocks the door (you're surprised to see it locked), lights the candle, and gestures for you to sit down. The light casts a shadow the same shape as her eyebrows on the bags under her eyes, a weird symmetry. You suddenly feel tired. "Well, I hope for no visitors tonight, but we've done all we can." She sighs. "Do you take a drink at all?" "I'll just have water, thanks." She fetches a pair of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>s and jugs from a shelf mounted to the wall, pouring herself something thick and golden and handing you the water. It tastes a bit stagnant. When you look up she's staring out at the ramparts again. "Have you considered a religious life, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" "N-not really, no. My family are fishermen." "Status is no obstacle, you know," she says. "In fact, we're trying to get more girls like you to take up a vocation. Wouldn't you like to learn how to read?" "I... can read." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ogham</span><span class="annotation-text">The alphabet used to write the early Irish language. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈoː(ə)mˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-m*</span></span> is not reading, my dear. Latin. God's language." She's adopted the same voice she uses with young children, and your face must be betraying your bemusement at hearing someone scarcely a few years older refer to you as "my dear" as if she were <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's aunt and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> because she adds a, "It did me a world of good. I started around your age." "And I'd get to learn the language?" "Well, you wouldn't just be memorising words, that's for sure." It'd certainly give you a leg up over <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>, and you've always liked Latin prosody, its grandeur, the sounds that you'd bend your tongue trying to achieve at Mass. Being able to talk to foreigners would be a nice extra. "Anyway, think about it," she says, leaning back in her chair. You notice she's biting her lower lip somewhat absent-mindedly, as if she's been doing it so long she's no longer aware of it. "Is there anything you want to know about life here at the monastery?" (display: "Monastery - Abbess Questions")</div>

You imagine yourself staying, getting to know everyone, studying Latin, taking your vows. A community on your own terms: away from him, away from the memories of them. Strict, maybe, but a life according to no strictures but God's. It holds a certain appeal. "It's crossed my mind," you say. "But could I?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Certainly. Status is no obstacle, you know. In fact, we're trying to get more girls like you to take up a vocation. Wouldn't you like to learn how to read?" (display: "Monastery - Abbess Chat 2")

You imagine yourself staying, getting to know everyone, studying Latin, taking your vows. Awake at night wondering what happened to him. Awake at night wondering if you'll ever draw water from the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*cailleach*</span><span class="annotation-text">An old woman; a hag. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkal̠ʲəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Call-yuck*</span></span>'s well behind the cottage again, walk in the fields with your little ewe, touch someone... "I haven't," you lie. "Don't think it's for me." <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Oh?" She holds out a sheet of vellum, veined with loose, thin word-scratches. "So learning to read doesn't interest you at all?" (display: "Monastery - Abbess Chat 2")

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"N-not really, no. My family are fishermen." "Status is no obstacle, you know," she says. "In fact, we're trying to get more girls like you to take up a vocation. Wouldn't you like to learn how to read?" (display: "Monastery - Abbess Chat 2")

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 8", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $abbess)) (set: $abbess to (dm: "name", "Dar Lugdach", "bio", "Abbess Desc", "bioAppend", "Abbess Desc Update 2.2", "img", "abbess01.png", "desc", "Acting abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $abbess))}"I... can read." "And what are you *reading* in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ogham</span><span class="annotation-text">The alphabet used to write the early Irish language. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈoː(ə)mˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-m*</span></span>? Names clumsily engraved into rocks? I mean Latin, my dear. God's language." She's adopted the same voice she uses with young children, and your face must be betraying your bemusement at hearing someone scarcely a few years older refer to you as "my dear" as if she were <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's aunt and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> because she adds a, "It did me a world of good. I started around your age." "And I'd get to learn the language?" "Well, you wouldn't just be memorising words, that's for sure." It'd certainly give you a leg up over <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>, and you've always liked Latin prosody, its grandeur, the sounds that you'd bend your tongue trying to achieve at Mass. Being able to talk to foreigners would be a nice extra. "Anyway, think about it," she says, leaning back in her chair. You notice she's biting her lower lip somewhat absent-mindedly, as if she's been doing it so long she's no longer aware of it. "Is there anything you want to know about life here at the monastery?" (display: "Monastery - Abbess Questions")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cowkiller.png" alt="A portrait of the butcher woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. A minute?" She tongues each syllable slowly as if she's struggling to get it out, and the sounds are lacking in colour, unmusical like the skin of a broken <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span>. You nod. She leads you haltingly outside, to a sheltered spot under one of the ash trees, then sits. She suddenly looks ancient. "Your healer. Who is she to you?" "My aunt <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>." Her eyes speak a dawning recognition. "The border. There's a river, and a shack in the shade of a whitethorn." "Thank you, Mái—" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Neasa</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /nʲasˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Nassa*</span></span>. Tell her she's Neasa's thanks." "How do you know each other?" But she's already somewhere else, eyes shut tight. You move to walk away, but before you can get out from under the tree a man's shout [[punctures the silence.|Monastery - Interruption]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"What? Like me how?" "She didn't say." She leans back in her chair. "My family's not got half the cattle hers has, like. I don't get it." "That's half more than mine has," you say. "Maybe she meant that we're both shite singers. You'd want to hear the poor woman at mass; you'd run into the Otherworld just to get away from it." "Funny thing for a good Christian to say," you smirk. She squeals. "*That's* it! Not singers -- sinners! We're both sinners!" "Aren't we all sinners?" "Yeah, but we're, like, extra sinful. Super sinners." "Right... have you ever been east of here, across the border?" you ask. "Not since I arrived, no." "Where did you come from?" "Leinster." "Maybe that's what she meant. That you're both from other *tuatha*." (display: "Monastery - Guard Good Conclusion")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I knew you'd come around!" she beams. "And the others thinking you were a spy for the City." "The City?" She casts you an incredulous look. "Where they have the bonfires. You've never been?" You smirk and say, "And you have? What business does a good Christian woman have with that debauchery?" "You know yourself, anything to get me out of evening mass. That was back in the day, before I had my responsibilities." "Now you're an old biddy?" "Now I'm a 'productive member of the lay community'. Those parties, though..." She leans back in her chair, sighing wistfully. "Ever seen a lad leap three cows?" "I've barely seen three cows, never mind someone leaping them." "Next year, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." She touches your shoulder. "I'm taking you whether you like it or not." "And whether Dar likes it or not?" "Yep," she says, grinning. "So much for making a good Christian out of me." "We'll have a bit of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">craic</span><span class="annotation-text">A versatile word meaning 'fun in good company'. 'What's the craic?' - 'What's up?'</span></span> first, then worry about it. Anyway... back to the post with me." (display: "Monastery - Guard Good Conclusion")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/blathnaid450.png" alt="A portrait of the monastery's guard, a tall young woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Yeah, well, you know what they say about eyes in the Bible." "What's that?" She leans back in her chair. "Er, something about them and the law. I slept that one out." "I've good reasons not to stay, you know." "And we've good reasons to want to keep you," she says a little wistfully. "But look, up to you." (display: "Monastery - Guard Good Conclusion")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She shakes her head. "It could be a provocation. I'm not willing to risk anyone before our abbess has returned to advise us." "A provocation?" "Bait. We send a party out, they strike us when we're fewer. These men are slavers; they play dirty games." "What do they want from you?" you ask, although you already know the answer. "Who, not what," she says gravely. "Oh... but I thought the church protected ye." "We *are* the church, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. At least in this parish, until our sagacious chieftain has seen fit to bless us with more than platitudes and empty promises." She bites her lower lip. "(display: "Monastery - Abbess Crossing")</div>

"It was fine, yes. Without incident. (display: "Monastery - Abbess Crossing")

(display: "Monastery - Abbess Crossing")

(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Dar Origin")["What more would you like to know about it?" she asks.](else:)["Do you know the monastery at Cill Dara?" you ask. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/abbess01.png" alt="A portrait of the acting abbess." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I know it well. It's the first <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> established, and where we met."(set:$darHistory to true)](if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Secular Appeal")[ "I have a friend—" She snorts. "The famous Dáibhí?" "No, not him. Er... <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>, his name is. Son of Cairbre." "You have a lot of male friends." "I've a brother. Anyway, he works guarding the church on Inis Caillí, says he used to live in Cill Dara monastery."](else:)["I have a friend who works guarding the church on Inis Caillí, says he used to live in Cill Dara monastery. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>, his name is. Son of Cairbre."] Her face hardens. A girlish giggle from outside punctuates the silence, someone celebrating the day that's in it. "He must have been called to serve in your parish," she says after some time. "I always found it a bit sad, actually," you say with a boldness that surprises you as the words leave your mouth. "To see a boy so young without his parents." "They were layabouts. Gamblers." Her tone is hard. "It was doing him a service to remove him from their influence." "Was there a deal?" You're prying, but you think he'd want to know. "That I know nothing of. Now, I think it's [[time for bed.|Monastery - Bath]]"</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummer.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Not yet, but I think he might have been looking for someone out here. A healer woman." "Aye, plenty of them around," says <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dáire</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /dˠɑ:rʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Daw-reh*</span></span>. "Is our own on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span> not good enough for him? Sure didn't she save the poor lad's life?" asks the mummer. "She did," you murmur, trying to put the image out of your head. "But this one's our aunt." The mummer looks up from the board. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>, is it? Your father wasn't a fan." "You know her?" "Knew her once. 'Twas long 'go the day." "Probably means a couple of centuries ago, love," says Dáire. "Where can I find her?" The mummer closes his eyes, folds his arms, and looks to the sky. Dáire tuts. "That's him gone." "Peace!" the mummer snaps. "Flowing water. A sprig of—" Before he can continue, a voice from the one of the larger groups bellows, "You're up, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Iarlaithe</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɪərlahʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Eer-lah*</span></span>!" in the fidchell players' direction. "GONE!" wails the mummer. "Gone again." "I swear we've been playing the same fecking game since last Bealtaine," sighs Dáire. "This is IMPORTANT, Dáire. The gods would have the people hear my message." The mummer turns to you. "Forgive me, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a chailín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A form of address meaning 'girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə xalʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A calleen*</span></span>." He bounds through the crowd with a surprisingly springy gait and takes his place in the centre of a ring of spectators, clearing his throat of a hacky cough. You [[follow him|Bealtaine - Mummer Performance]].</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/mummer.png" alt="A portrait of the mummer. He's wearing a strange *léine* stitched together from different fabrics and looking away from you." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Not yet, but I've heard some things. I wanted to ask you, actually — have you ever been to the pub here?" He tuts and shakes his head. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Quare</span><span class="annotation-text">Queer, strange.</span></span> aul' place, that. Strange energy." "How so?" you ask. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dáire</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /dˠɑ:rʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Daw-reh*</span></span> here can tell you." Dáire looks up from the board and mutters darkly, "They say we get visitors this time of year." He pauses and swallows. "Looking for people to take." You almost don't want to ask. "What kind of visitors?" "The kind that made our friend here what he is." "Fair—" "DON'T SAY IT!" the mummer screams. A young couple in the next group over turn their heads in your direction. "Sorry. Do you really think they could... take him?" "I know as much as you do, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a chailín*</span><span class="annotation-text">A form of address meaning 'girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə xalʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *A calleen*</span></span>." (if: (history:) contains "Town - Pub Interior")[ The fur. Were there visitors about that day, and would he have been able to fight them off?] A voice from the one of the larger groups bellows, "You're up, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Iarlaithe</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɪərlahʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Eer-lah*</span></span>!" in the mummer's direction. Dáire tuts. "I swear we've been playing the same fecking game since last Bealtaine." "This is IMPORTANT, Dáire. The gods would have the people hear my message." He bounds through the crowd with a surprisingly springy gait and takes his place in the centre of a ring of spectators, clearing his throat of a hacky cough. You [[follow him|Bealtaine - Mummer Performance]].</div>

You seat yourself at the edge of the crowd. "Across the sea will come ADZE-HEAD!" he begins, drawing one hand across the top of his scalp in a swift gesture, as if to suggest a monk's tonsure, then pulling his eyes towards the firmament like back in the pub. "Crazed in the HEAD, his CLOAK with hole for the HEAD, his STICK bent in the HEAD!" Someone groans; the mummer, now in trance, pays no regard. "He will chant IMPIETY, from a table in the front of his HOUSE. All his people will answer: 'BE IT THUS, BE IT THUS!'" He gets some half-hearted applause, but you sense the crowd wasn't feeling it. (if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Mummer Healer")[You bound up to him, attracting suspicious eyes. "That was, er... some performance. Did you write the poem yourself?" He's still suspended in time, eyes to the sky. "Hey, look, my aunt... where did you say I could find her?" Nothing. You tug at his arm, trying to knock the trance out of him. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Iarlaithe</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɪərlahʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Eer-lah*</span></span>! Iarlaithe!" "Spring and sprig. SPRING AND SPRIG!" he yelps. The commotion attracts a withering gaze from <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dáire</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /dˠɑ:rʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Daw-reh*</span></span>. "Leave him, love. You'll only wear yourself out trying to get anything else out of him." You say your goodbyes and walk off.{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $muireann)) (set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "bioAppend", "Muireann Desc Update 2.1", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $muireann))}](else:)[Realising that it's unlikely you're going to get much more information out of him, you say your goodbyes and walk off.] (display: "Bealtaine - Options")

You head south-east instead of north across the bog this time, slowly, cursing the endless crags and hidden pools of water. The rain holds off, but your legs feel fat and sodden, like twin turf briquettes. At the first reasonably flat, un-mossy rock you decide to break, and then you see it: a large white mare cut against the sky, tossing her head from side to side and uttering an innervating whinny. She seems to be waiting for someone, but you don't see a rider. Then, a man's voice: "Whose nipple do you have to suck to get a decent slave boy these days, anyway?" He heaves a sigh and continues. "For fuck's sake, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sioc</span><span class="annotation-text">Donn Fírinne's mare. Means 'frost'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃʊk/ English phonetic approximation: *Shook*</span></span>, what is it? You're not seeing those bloody <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> again? Give me a sec to get this fucker up..." He crawls up over the cavity in the land where the turf has been cut, wearing long silk gloves and carrying something — something limp and unmoving — at the neck. It's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> Fírinne, looking much the same as your last encounter but without the seaweed in his hair. He catches sight of you and drops the limp body with an indifferent squelch. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Well, good morning, little one," he says. "I hope you're not here to make more work for me, because this'll do me grand for now." "What are you doing?" He smirks. "My job! No slave boys left to help with the manual labour so I'm down here mucking about like a turf cutter's sow. Here, a hand." He climbs back down, and holds one of the corpse's stiff hands out to you, grinning. You've never seen a dead body before, but you find yourself looking down, oddly drawn to it. It's a man, middle-aged, with wild, shaggy blond hair. The face is barely human: maroon and distended like a single bruise has been stretched over it. His lower body is the same shade of bruised red where the blood has pooled, and the other arm is broken. "Is it... safe?" you ask. "Eh, give yourself a wash afterwards and you should be grand. Probably. Slave boys always were." You grasp the dead hand with your live one. Your brain knows to expect the cold, but your body doesn't, and you have to settle yourself before you're ready. "Right, heave!" You pull on it limply. He does most of the work, but together you get it up over the cavity and onto the peat moss. He wriggles off his gloves. "Disgusting. The one's who've fucked themselves up so badly they can't even walk are the worst. Normally I'd just have the talk with them and then we'd be off. 'Hello, you're dead. No, you can't undo it. Yes, you're coming with me. I have mead and enough stories to last you another lifetime, if it's as short as this one.'" "Do you know what happened to him?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Associated with pasturing cattle, bonfires, and cleansing rituals. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> happened to him. Same every year — some <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span> gets ossified and hits his eejit friend too hard and gets the fear and ends up dumping him in the bog. No great loss." He sits on the smooth rock, retrieves the little stick you've seen before, lights it on the gum of his cheek, and takes a puff. Sioc whinnies. "Oh, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">whisht</span><span class="annotation-text">Interjection meaning 'shut up!', 'be quiet!'</span></span>, you. You'll get your rest." He turns towards you. "What are you up to, anyway?" "Heading to the border." "Monastery any use?" "They saw him going in that direction, yeah." "I'd never set you wrong." He takes a drag of the smoke-stick. "You seen these fucking <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> wandering around lately? I'd watch your step if I were you. Otherworld creatures have a thing for naïve young women." (if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Crowd")[The "strange visitors" the mummer's friend mentioned... "What do they look like?" "Well, there's the rub. They're shapeshifters, so whatever they want. Tend to be a bit adverse to the light, though." "Do they drink?" He erupts into discordant laughter, his black pupils glimmering. "What a question! I'm sure they enjoy the odd feed of drink now and again, yeah. Why?" "No reason," you say. ]He snuffs out the smoke-stick on the rock, gets up, and ties the body across Sioc's withers. "Want a lift? This fucker" — he gestures towards the body — "can wait. You'll have to go on foot through the forest, but I can get you there, at least." "That's... nice of you." "I'm full of surprises, I know," he says. "Are you ready now? I've a bath waiting for me." You look up at the great huffing mare. "How do I —" "Lift yourself up." You try it, but you're not tall enough to reach the horse's back and the body's in the way. It's not bound very tightly, and slides towards you as you attempt to to throw yourself on, close enough so you get a good whiff of that scent of death like meat that's been left out in the sun. You wonder if this is what Donn smells on you. Sioc whinnies, unamused. "Here, let me. Stand back." He mounts the mare in one graceful hop and holds out a sinewy hand. He pulls you over effortlessly and lifts you onto the back, just behind the body. You've never ridden a horse before, as rider or passenger, and you're a little nervous. He catches it and says, "She's old, this one. Not that fast. Right, shall we?" You nod. He whispers something to her and she sets off at a canter that turns into a gallop before you can even register that you're moving. The wind whips against your face in a blur of greens and purples. You're bouncing back and forth and so is the body; only the horse and her rider seem in control, like two old friends who finish each other's sentences. Just when you feel you're about to throw up, he pulls on the reins and slows her to a trot. Your eyes clear. The forest is up ahead, a dark mass of ancient trees twisted around one another, a thousand pairs of eyes watching from nests and burrows and other hiding places, ready to run — or strike — at the first stray sound. "You said she was slow," you say once you've recovered. "No, I said she was *not that fast*. You think a god would demean himself riding a slow horse?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Aengus</span><span class="annotation-text">God of beauty and youth, and one of the sons of The Dagda. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈæŋɡəsˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Angus*</span></span> would." He huffs. "Aengus would just so he could have peasants hand him votives and offer to wipe his arse." "You're surprisingly easy to rile up," you say and smirk. "I don't give many people the opportunity, little one. Right..." He dusts off his hands. "Don't get eaten by wolves, now." You're about to ask if he knows the way, but they're gone with a gallop before you can say anything. (unless: (history:) contains "Fergus - Wolves")[You were unaware of the wolves; there are none on the island, naturally.](else:)[You pray what Fergus said about wolf attacks being nonsense is true.] You stand on the dirt path, looking for a sign of safety. Birdsong and a thick, wet smell answer. [[Venture in.|Forest]]</div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 9", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother))}You lie in the bogland cavity for a long time, watching the sky move. Everything is still again, so still you can hear the wet suck of the sphagnum and the sundews enfolding their prey. When the damp has you shivering you rise, hurling yourself roughly over the mercifully small gap. You walk, slowly now, wearing your shame on your mud-streaked <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span>. Your skin tingles as if there were eyes upon you. Towards the forest, a dirt path forms and you hear the lapping of water. You stand on the path, watching for a sign of welcome. Birdsong and a thick, wet smell answer. You follow the smell in under the canopy, looking up and around cautiously. The forest is yew, as mossy as the bog but not quite as damp. The roots of the great trees run along the earth in thin strips like exposed veins, twisting over and under rocks, merging and unmerging. There's not much sunlight, even dappled. You look back at the open land you're saying goodbye to and follow the path until it's swallowed up by the great wild mass and you're only navigating by the sound of the water and the acuity of your pulse. You don't have to walk for long until you come upon the spring, running along an area of thin tree cover. You follow the water until the cover recedes into a clearing. Nestled on the border is a small wooden shack in the shelter of a whitethorn bush.(if: (history:) contains "Bealtaine - Mummer Performance")[ "Spring and sprig," said the mummer. This must be the place.](if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Butcher Morning New")[ This must be the place Cowkiller mentioned.] The shack is woven reeds and daub, not like the stone huts you're familiar with. You approach. There's no door. You peer in: the belching smoke of a roughly smoored fire, benches and tables, and a thousand different fragrances. Every thumb of spare space is covered in dried plants and herbs, beakers, paints. A woman is stooped over one of the benches with her back to the door, rubbing something through her hands. She lowers her head. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>," she says. Your mother's name. She turns to face you. A hollow-looking woman in a tattered <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>, brown hair turning to grey, staring at you as if she sees something beyond. "'Tis long you kept me waiting." [["I couldn't get to you any sooner."|Muireann - Waiting]] [["My name isn't Íde."|Muireann - Name]] [["Are you Muireann?"|Muireann - Identity]]</div>

"I couldn't get away," you say, Mam's voice in your mouth. You draw a long breath, trying to still your heart. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Oh? So what kept you down there? Did <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mac Lir</span><span class="annotation-text">Manannán Mac Lir, a sea god and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠanˠanˠɑ:nˠ mˠɑk l̠ʲɪɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Man-nan-nawn Mac Leer*</span></span> have business with you or was it <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Eochaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /oːxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-ka*</span></span> twisting your arm?" She thinks you're Mam's spirit, fresh from the Otherworld. It rancours, but it's an easy confusion: you do look like her. And "Eochaid": what did Dad say to her? You steel yourself and step closer. "I just... I couldn't find a way out." "Not until you got the help of the shapeshifters, then?" "Shapeshifters?" "Them <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span>. Funny steeds they make for you." She casts you a wounded glance, then turns away. The horses: that's what they were. And you weren't wrong about being watched. You stoop to see her eyes: grey-blue even in the dim light of the shack, like your mother's and brother's. (display: "Muireann - Touch")</div>

"Are you <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>?" you ask. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Who else would I be?" "I don't recognise you," you say. "Sure why would you, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>, and you not having crossed the Dark One's threshold all these years? I barely recognise myself these days." She thinks you're a spirit, fresh from the Otherworld. Hearing your mother's name rancours, but it's an easy confusion: you do look like her. You steel yourself and step closer. "I think you've me mixed up with someone else." "But sure I saw the creatures that brought you here. Travelling the worlds is confusing, believe you me I know, but try to remember." "What creatures?" "Them <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span>. Funny steeds they make for you." She casts you a wounded glance, then turns away. The horses: that's what they were. And you weren't wrong about being watched. You stoop to see her eyes: grey-blue even in the dim light of the shack, like your mother's and brother's. (display: "Muireann - Touch")</div>

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $muireann)) (set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "bioAppend", "Muireann Desc Update 4", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $muireann))}"I'm her... I'm <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>'s daughter. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." She gazes at you as if to get your measure, eyes widening. Then, seeing the truth, starts prodding and pinching your cheeks. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt_smile.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"You are and all! <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*A stór*</span><span class="annotation-text">An affectionate form of address meaning 'my darling' or 'my love'; literally 'my treasure'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə stoːɾ/ English phonetic approximation: *A stoor*</span></span>, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a leanbh*</span><span class="annotation-text">An affectionate form of address for a child; "my child". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ˈl̠ʲanˠəw/ English phonetic approximation: *A lan-nuv*</span></span>... you really are the image of her." She's got a new energy in her all of a sudden, returning to her workbench and rattling with pottery. You sit on the earthen floor. "Will you have a cup of something?" she asks. You glance at the assortment of simples. She chuckles. "I've plenty of better ways to poison you, believe you me. You're safe here." [["I will."|Muireann - Accept Drink]] [["I won't."|Muireann - Refuse Drink]]</div>

{{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $muireann)) (set: $muireann to (dm: "name", "Muireann", "bio", "Muireann Desc", "bioAppend", "Muireann Desc Update 3", "img", "aunt.png", "desc", "Your estranged aunt.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $muireann))}}Aunt Muireann: that confirms it. But then why does she have no idea who you are? Weren't they at the wake if not the funeral, your mainland relatives? You strain, but can only remember the feeling of that day, not the shape of it — the teary daze you walked through for weeks afterward. "What has you back here?" she asks, with an edge to her words. "I—" "Every <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Samhain</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held in the autumn marking the end of the harvest season. Like Bealtaine, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /sˠəunʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Sown*</span></span> I waited, every <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>. Each season the lines on my face longer and deeper. Sure couldn't you just've..." Eyes glistening, she grips your shoulders as if to shake you, but when she peers into your face recoils like she's been burnt. "You'll not make a show of me, whoever you are!" [["I'm Íde's daughter."|Muireann - Aunt Reaction]]

"I will, sure." She grabs a pot hanging above the poorly smoored fire and pours a few drops of its contents onto the embers. Smoke chokes the room; you cough. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bíaidh doberad ar ndee is ar dtoicthe dúinn</span><span class="annotation-text">We will have what our gods and our fate decree.</span></span>," she intones. She places the pot back on the fire, adding a thimbleful of herbs. Eventually you're handed a little clay cup. You take a shy sip. First it's sharp, like a sting, then warm and soothing. You gulp it down. "It's delicious," you say, and mean it. She beams. She fetches her own cup and sits down next to you on the floor. (display: "Muireann - Brother")

You shake your head. "No thanks." "Trust takes time, I know. Mind if I...?" "Go ahead." She grabs a pot hanging above the poorly smoored fire and pours a few drops of its contents onto the embers. Smoke chokes the room; you cough. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bíaidh doberad ar ndee is ar dtoicthe dúinn</span><span class="annotation-text">We will have what our gods and our fate decree.</span></span>," she intones. She places the pot back on the fire, adding a thimbleful of herbs. When it's ready, she fetches her cup and sits down next to you on the floor. (display: "Muireann - Brother")

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt_smile.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"How did you find me?" she asks. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Butcher Morning New")["Your friend <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Neasa</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /nʲasˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Nassa*</span></span>. She said you have her thanks." She sets her jaw. "There's a woman who suffered much. Is she well?" "Hard to say, her being so stoic. What happened to her?" "She got on the wrong side of an inheritance dispute. Cattle — gods forbid you disrespect a man's stock. Value cattle more than us, they do. She came to me having been beaten within an inch of her life. I did what I could, but she'll never speak the same again." She runs a finger along the rim of her cup absent-mindedly.](else:)["Our mummer had a vision of your home. I figured the rest out myself." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Iarlaithe</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɪərlahʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Eer-lah*</span></span>!" she chuckles. "Is that old fart still going? He was a relic when me and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span> were kids." She runs a finger along the rim of her cup absent-mindedly.] "And you. I heard <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>'d had another, all right, but I didn't want to be butting in. You and your poor poor brother... are ye <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Eochaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /oːxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-ka*</span></span>'s the both of ye?" You nod. "'Poor' how?" Her face falls. "Oh, child. Your mammy never told you?" [["Told me...?"|Muireann - Brother 2]]</div>

She gets up and begins to pace back and forth, avoiding your gaze. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Your father was sick, you're aware?" she begins. You remember patting his back to get the phlegm up, running to fetch water, and then when he stopped being able to go out to sea, how he'd lie on the bench by the cottage staring out for hours, until the sky reddened and Mam would tell him to come in or he'd catch his death of cold. They'd laugh then, the two of them. You remember when he stopped being able to get out of bed, stopped being able to laugh at her jokes without bringing on a fit. When you stopped being able to see him without the pale shadow by his bedside. "What's that got to do with anything?" "Consumption," she says, "spreads in confined spaces. Your mammy had a little <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bábóg*</span><span class="annotation-text">A doll or small baby. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bɑ:bo:ɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Baw-bowg*</span></span> of a boy, a wisp of a thing, and I suppose she was afraid in case your father would give it to him. So we agreed it best if she and the infant spend some time with me. This was around when she started messing with that Roman rubbish, and they were looking to build a new church in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>. I wonder if she didn't just want to an excuse to help; <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>, gods rest her, was a cauldron of generosity." "There's no church in Trá Bhán, though?" "I'm getting to that." She rubs her neck. "They brought some collared men over from across the sea, druids of their faith, who claimed the perfect spot was right on a whitethorn grove. Desecration. We told them in no unclear terms what a havoc it would wreak on the entire <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span>. But Íde! Íde sat and defended this to me. She said 'twas just a tree, as if a staff is just a branch, a well a hole in the ground. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. And neither could she, I suspect — them Romans were feeding her *some* nonsense. She halts, glances blankly out the door. "We stopped talking. She moved in with the Romans for a while. And then one <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like , it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> evening she came banging on my door with the boy in her arms, screaming for me to help her. I've never before or since seen cheeks so wet with tears. "'Twas the boy. They were walking back from the church's foundations when a black filly appeared in front of her, like a shadow. It giggled like a child. She fled, but it pursued her, tried to snatch the boy up. "The creatures had, and have, some amount of respect for me; this one stopped at the boundary to my household. I told Íde they wanted to make her mother of a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*síofra*</span><span class="annotation-text">A changeling. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃiːfˠɾˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Sheef-ra*</span></span>, a changeling. The boy needed protecting." [["The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>..."|Muireann - History 2]]</div>

"Bog cotton", she says. "Its roots extend deep under bog pools. You've a hidden resilience, but you'd rather others think you fragile." It's not wrong: that was years hidden away on the island, wanting to be ignored. Wanting to stay a child so they wouldn't see you as a tool, to be used and worn and mended and used again. (display: "Muireann - Concoction")

"Bone breaker," she says. "Sheep raised on it get foot rot, and the flowers are used to dye <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léinte*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of léine, a loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲtʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAYN-teh*</span></span>. You bring colour to others, but you also know how to hurt them." You saw it in his face sometimes, the way he'd balk at the flush of your smile, the easy laughter of the three of you, you and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>. And then when they died, you resolved it'd be easier to hide from him than risk spreading your pain. Made a ghost of yourself. (display: "Muireann - Concoction")

"Sundew," she says. "It ensnares and devours insects. You're adaptive and patient, but you've an aggressive streak." That you've come all the way here, despite the anger that won't leave you sometimes, that would rather you felt anything whatsoever than the grey nothing you've resigned yourself to. The anger that comes out with him. (display: "Muireann - Concoction")

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Understand me, child: you're not condemned to anything. To be is not to will." She hands you a pestle. "In with it and crush everything together." You break the stem's back, cast the plant into the bowl, and grind it and the rest of the ingredients into a paste in confident strokes, your woman's hands well used to the work. When you have a dense, dark liquid, she gestures for you to stop and pours the mixture into your two cups. "Now. This'll be a tad earthy." She grins. "We're to drink at the same time. Keep your eyes closed and tell me what you see." You stare into the liquid. "This is... drinkable?" "I told you, I've better ways to kill you." You knock it back in one swoop. It is earthy, but something else, astringent like summer herbs, teases your throat; you force yourself to [[keep it down.|Muireann - Vision]]</div>

<div class="text-animated-dream"><div class="background-container">In some dizzy corner of your mind, you see the outline of a woman in plain dress, tall and imperious, shining like flames. She's ploughing a field that stretches across an endless horizon, bisected by a river that flows directly from a sprawling, powerful oak. Around her neck hangs a crucifix like the one you found in the old pub. "There's a woman. Tall. Bright like sun through cloud. Ploughing." Muireann takes your hands in hers. You feel her breathing, the labour of her ease. "Goddess and priestess both." You think she's telling you to open your eyes, but there's something comforting about the vision, this woman who yields to no one. You want to stay here with her. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." She squeezes your hand. "Come back to me now." [[Open your eyes.|Muireann - Vision 2]]</div></div>

You jump back, startled. The ground is no longer solid; the entire world wants to swallow you. All you can do is hunch over, pray, wait. From beyond the suck of silence there's a strange rumble, a sound that doesn't belong to the bogland. It gets louder and louder until it's roaring in your ears, and only then do you realise what it is. The thunder of hooves. From out of the fog comes a herd of wild horses, all soil black. Sat atop one is a dark reedy figure. He looks your way with eyes yellow like a cat's, a blank unmoving stare. You legs make their own speed, over twisted earth and bitter pools. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Interruption")[{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $twins))(set: $twins to (dm: "name", "Twins", "bio", "Twins Desc", "bioAppend", "Twins Desc Update 1", "img", "twins.png", "desc", "Orphaned monastery twins.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $twins))(set: $characters to it - (ds: $cowkiller)) (set: $cowkiller to (dm: "name", "Cowkiller", "bio", "Cowkiller Desc", "bioAppend", "Cowkiller Desc Update 3", "img", "cowkiller.png", "desc", "Fierce old woman.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $cowkiller))}The others are gone.] "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>! Donn!" The herd ignores you, galloping briskly on as if they're moving over a different land. You run and stagger and run in the direction of the rumble until you're out of the fog, but they're already receding into the dark woods beyond. You keep running, every fibre in your body burning a path forward. He's left you behind. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Interruption")[They've left you behind.] You run. You don't see the rock, only a thin shadow swallowed by the trees. You tumble head-first into a cavity in the bogland and fall uselessly [[onto the wet earth.|Forest - Bog Trapped 2]]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $blathnaid)) (set: $blathnaid to (dm: "name", "Guard", "bio", "Guard Desc New", "bioAppend", "Guard Desc Update 3", "img", "blathnaid450.png", "desc", "Intimidating monastery guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $blathnaid))}Cowkiller leads the group over the bog. You try to run, but your legs feel fat and damp, like twin turf sods. You curse the endless crags and hidden pools of water. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Canna</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span> halts, panting. "Can we... please... stop... for a sec?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/cowkiller.png" alt="A portrait of the butcher woman." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"No," says Cowkiller flatly. "Where are we... even going?" "The river. Towards the border." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Gwenffrewi</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span> clutches at you, whispering that she's scared. "Don't worry, we'll be grand," you say squeezing her hand, as much to comfort yourself. "Have you any weapon?" Cowkiller asks you. (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger" or "Small Iron Dagger")["I do," you say, removing your dagger from your bag.](else:)[You tell her you don't.] She withdraws a large knife from the folds of her <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> and, looking around cautiously, continues towards the dense growth of trees at the edge of the bog. A fog begins to roll in. You look up, try to find your bearings, but it's like the sky itself has vanished; there's no guiding light. You hold your hand out in front of you and it dissolves, as if you were made of air. "(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Butcher Morning New")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Neasa</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /nʲasˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Nassa*</span></span>?](else:)[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Máire</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɑːɾʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Moira*</span></span>?]" The bog answers your desperation with its silence, utterly still. Your chest tightens. You trundle forward, trying to find a way out, and then to find anything at all. And then the earth [[begins to move.|Forest - Bog Trapped]]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $cu)) (set: $cu to (dm: "name", "Cú Chulainn", "bio", "Cú Desc", "bioAppend", "Cú Desc Update 2", "img", "cuchul.png", "desc", "Legendary eccentric.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $cu))}<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> thrusts his spear at the man's heart in a blur of deadly surety. You look away, waiting for the bolt of the animal, but nothing comes. You open your eyes warily. The spear is suspended between two of the man's gloved fingers as if it were a child's plaything. Cú Chulainn, seeming to recognise him, lowers it, fangs beared. The man hushes the mare, who's uttering an innervating whinny, and regards his adversary, shaking his head. "Back to create more work for me, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sétanta</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's given name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃedana/ English phonetic approximation: *Shay-danta*</span></span>? Every fucking year." Cú Chulainn, still dripping blood, snarls. The man dismounts and approaches the group. You catch the face in the moonlight: a tall, sharp-faced god man wearing leather boots. It's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn Fírinne</span><span class="annotation-text">"Donn of the truth". The ancestor of the Milesians; the god who guides the dead to the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ fʲiːɾʲən̠ʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Done Fear-in-nye*</span></span>, looking much the same as your last encounter but without the seaweed in his hair. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn_newhair.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"And you, missus. What has you running around with these reprobates?" "They were helping—" you begin. "Oh, helping is it? You know very well what the rules are, Sétanta: you can go for as many little strolls as you want, scare the everliving shite out of" — he imitates the Ulstermen's accent — "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*weans*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of "wean", a child. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /weːn/ English phonetic approximation: *wayne*</span></span>, but that's it. No direct interference with the living." He turns to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>, whom he still has to look down at, although the charioteer is significantly taller than his master. "Last we decided, you were to keep an eye on him." Láeg lowers his head. "I know, Dark One, but sure he's never been the easiest to handle..." "Well, I'll tell you one thing: if we can't trust you to keep your hound leashed, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mac Lir</span><span class="annotation-text">Manannán Mac Lir, a sea god and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠanˠanˠɑ:nˠ mˠɑk l̠ʲɪɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Man-nan-nawn Mac Leer*</span></span> won't be indulging you much longer. Meaning no more walks — for either of ye." Cú Chulainn looks the god in the face and snarls, "You'll not make a master a servant." Donn smirks. "Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, but death has a funny way of putting us in our place." Láeg puts his arm around his friend as if to calm him and guides him away. Donn sits on a smooth rock, retrieves the little stick you've seen before, lights it on the gum of his cheek, and takes a puff. The mare nickers. "Oh, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">whisht</span><span class="annotation-text">Interjection meaning 'shut up!', 'be quiet!'</span></span>, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sioc</span><span class="annotation-text">Donn Fírinne's mare. Means 'frost'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃʊk/ English phonetic approximation: *Shook*</span></span>. You'll get your rest." He looks at you. "What are you up to, anyway?" [["Trying not to get myself killed."|Forest - Donn Bodyguards]] [["Babysitting these two."|Forest - Donn Babysitting]] [["Heading to the border."|Forest - Donn Border]]</div>

"They wouldn't dare refuse passage to a young noblewoman travelling with her slave," you say. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> snorts. "Aye, you're sure of that, are you? Shame it's far from a noblewoman you are." "Whether I am or I amn't doesn't matter. I'll talk to them; all you've to do is stand there and growl." He jabs the air with the newly-whetted spear in a violent blur. "I'm not your lapdog, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a bhaothóg*</span><span class="annotation-text">Means 'foolish, giddy girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə wˠiːoːɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *A wee-owg*</span></span>." (display: "Forest - Crossing Options")

"You know well. Just try to make it quick," you say, a pit in your stomach. "Cúa?" <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> looks at his companion. "Fine by me. Let's see how these soft men fight." [["There's a portal due west of here."|Forest - Violence 2]]

"No bloodshed. I just need you to create a distraction." "That we can't promise you," <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> says. You stand up, and state plainly, though without looking at him, "Swear it on your people's gods." He glowers. "You're in no position to be making demands, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a bhaothóg*</span><span class="annotation-text">Means 'foolish, giddy girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə wˠiːoːɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *A wee-owg*</span></span>." (display: "Forest - Crossing Options")

"Plenty of musicians must pass by here, and I've this," you say, holding up the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span>. "Why would we lie about that when we can just do away with them?" <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> says. "Cúa has a point. And we've no instruments ourselves," says <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>. (display: "Forest - Crossing Options")

(unless: (history:) contains "Forest - Morrigan" or (passage:)'s name is "Forest - Morrigan")[[["I'll tell the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mórrígan</span><span class="annotation-text">A triple goddess associated with war. The three sisters Badb, Macha and Nemain appear to foretell warriors' fates. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠoːɾˠ ɾˠiːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Moor ri-an*</span></span> where you are."|Forest - Morrigan]] ]\ [["I'm a servant of the Dark One. We'll keep you here until next Bealtaine."|Forest - Dark One]] (unless: (history:) contains "Forest - Bad Guy" or (passage:)'s name is "Forest - Bad Guy")[["I'll tell everyone the great hero Cú Chulainn refused to help a girl in need."|Forest - Bad Guy]]

"I've met the triple goddess. I've only to tell her where you are and a whole flock of broodlings will descend on you." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> appears next to you in an instant. He edges closer. At first you think he's drawing a breath, but then you realise he's got his nose up your face. He's *sniffing* you. "Catch yourself on," he whispers. "The hag knows well where I am. Let her come." (display: "Forest - Crossing Options")

"(if: (history:) contains "Forest - Morrigan")[Well, I'll tell you what I really am. ]I'm a servant of the Dark One. I can make sure you stay here until next <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>, if you'd prefer that." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>'s grey eyes flare. Lowering his head, he says to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>, "I'd rather not owe that man any favours." "Ach, he *did* help you get the head back, Cúa..." says Láeg. That's a story you'd like to hear, but perhaps not from someone who looks like he'd sooner strangle the subject of the tale. You wonder if you'll get the chance to ask <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn Fírinne</span><span class="annotation-text">"Donn of the truth". The ancestor of the Milesians; the god who guides the dead to the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ fʲiːɾʲən̠ʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Done Fear-in-nye*</span></span> about it. Cú Chulainn does a half-nod. "We swear it on our goddess <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Macha</span><span class="annotation-text">A sovereignty goddess associated with the province of Ulster. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠaxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Mack-a*</span></span>," says Láeg. "(if: (history:) contains "Forest - Distraction")[No bloodshed.](else-if: (history:) contains "Forest - Bodyguard")[He'll play your bodyguard.](else-if: (history:) contains "Forest - Musicians")[We'll give them a show.] Now eat, Cúa." Cú Chulainn grunts, picking at his food. You're satisfied, and feel strangely powerful. "There's a portal due west of here, where Bull Rock rises from the sea," you say. "Go to the shoreline and you'll find the house where the dead dwell. Ask the Dark One if you need transport across. Tell him..." — you realise Donn Fírinne doesn't know your name — "... tell him his namesake's sister sent you." (display: "Forest - Evening")

"Do you want to be known as someone who refused to help a woman?" "I'm afraid it wouldn't be the first time that's happened, love," says <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> shakes his head. "Would this age think men's reputations lies, and women's fantasies the truth? Then they can say what they will about me. I've had fame enough." (display: "Forest - Crossing Options")

Time to trade favours. You strip away the last of the meat from the rib with your teeth, wipe your mouth, and say, "I know a way back. To <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Alltar</span><span class="annotation-text">The world beyond ours; the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈal̪ˠtˠəɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *All-tur*</span></span>, I mean. The Otherworld." "And you want our help in return?" "I need to cross the river tonight." "What kind of help are you after?" asks Láeg. [["We'll say Cú's my bodyguard."|Forest - Bodyguard]] [["Just do whatever you need to do to get me across."|Forest - Violence]] [["I need you to create a distraction."|Forest - Distraction]] (if: $inventory contains "Bodhrán")[[["We'll pretend to be travelling musicians."|Forest - Musicians]]] |links>[(link: "Insist that it be peaceful.")[(replace: ?links)["No bloodshed. I just need you to create a distraction." "That we can't promise you," <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> says. You stand up, and state plainly, though without looking at him, "Swear it on your people's gods." He smirks. "You're in no position to be making demands, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a bhaothóg*</span><span class="annotation-text">Means 'foolish, giddy girl'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə wˠiːoːɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *A wee-owg*</span></span>." |links>[(link: "Tell them you work for Donn.")[(replace: ?links)["I'm a servant of the Dark One. I can make sure you stay here until next <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Associated with pasturing cattle, bonfires, and cleansing rituals. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>, if you'd prefer that." "We swear it on our goddess Macha," says Láeg. "No bloodshed. Now eat, Cúa." Cú Chulainn grunts, picking at his food. You're satisfied, and feel strangely powerful.]]](set: $donnServant to true) ]] (link: "Something something item.")[(replace: ?links)["I'm a servant of the Dark One. I can make sure you stay here until next <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Associated with pasturing cattle, bonfires, and cleansing rituals. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span>, if you'd prefer that."]] (set: $pacifistRun to true)] "There's a portal due west of here, where Bull Rock rises from the sea," you say. "Go to the shoreline and you'll find the house where the dead dwell. Ask the Dark One if you need transport across. Tell him..." — you realise <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> doesn't know your name — "... tell him his namesake's sister sent you." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>'s grey eyes flare. Lowering his head, he says, "I'd rather not owe that man any favours." "Ach, he *did* help you get your head back, Cúa..." says Láeg. That's a story you'd like to hear, but perhaps not from someone who looks like he'd sooner strangle the subject of the tale. You wonder if you'll get the chance to ask Donn about it. "Right, well, there's a green currach there belonging to my family you can take if it suits you better. We won't have much use of it anymore." "Thanks, love," Láeg says. "We'll bring it back to you." (display: "Forest - Evening")</div>

"Anything happening in the Otherworld?" you ask. "Oh, I can't say, love," says <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>, his blue eyes fixed far ahead as if settled on something not really there. "We're not permitted to." "Who does the permitting?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Manannán Mac Lir</span><span class="annotation-text">A sea god and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠanˠanˠɑ:nˠ mˠɑk l̠ʲɪɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Man-nan-nawn Mac Leer*</span></span>. He rules over the parts of the Otherworld that house the dead. There are strict rules for contact with mortals—" "Rules we're cheerfully breaking, Láeg," says <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>. Láeg looks askance at his companion. "Aye, and I've no interest in breaking them further." He turns back to you. "Well, love, I can't tell you what it's like *now*, but I can speak to how I found it the first time. Want to hear a story?" [["If you're telling it."|Forest - Night]] [["We should focus on tonight."|Forest - Plan]]

The two men leave all but a few of their weapons, and the horses, by the fire. You wonder if it's wise; <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> assures you that none of the boys who'd chance upon them would even be able to use them, and the horses don't answer to anyone but their masters. He tells you to watch your step once the river's in sight, for the crunch of a branch underfoot is enough to give you away. Your heart beats loudly and relentlessly. A half-an-hour of nervy silence later you're at the river ford, forms low, peaking over the top of a bush. The moon is hidden behind the clouds and there's nothing else to distract from the darkness, but you can just about make out a wooden guard tower and the shape of a man's back turned towards you. A corncrake buzzes from the growth beyond the river. (if: (history:) contains "Forest - Distraction")[Cú Chulainn and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> move off to the left. You hear a *thwack* and see the guard turn around and you duck even lower, feeling your knees wobble. He descends the ladder and lights a torch in his left hand, unsheathes the sword in his right, looking around cautiously. Then, that awful dry howl pierces the silence: you know it for your ally, and yet it stills you momentarily and you forget where you are. You look over and see Cú Chulainn's face behind the trees. "Go!" he mouths. You pick up your legs and wade into the cold, biting water, lifting up your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> and trying your best to stay upright and fight the current. There's a shout from behind, to your right, and you turn in mute horror. It's another guard — fuck, there's another guard! — and he's coming towards you with a spear drawn and you need to run — why can't you run? You stumble and the water rushes over your limbs and you're just a head looking up, ready to be pulled out and impaled. He's in the river and almost on you with the spearhead held out, the last thing you'll see, when a bright and terrible figure grips him from behind and with one agonisingly long sweep of a sword across the neck cuts his head clean off. He stares at you open-mouthed, yellow hair stained with spurting blood, grey eyes tormented by battle frenzy, and drops the man — the body — into the river. Gobbets of flesh float in the water, dying your *léine* red. You force yourself up, complete the crossing. Láeg has caught up and gives his companion a withering look. "We said no violence, for fuck's sake!" "You swear *nothing* except by my name." The battle frenzy hasn't left his eyes. "I'm sorry, love," says Láeg. "Go now," Cú Chulainn yells. "Go, and keep running. There'll be more of them."](else-if: (history:) contains "Forest - Violence")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> approaches the guard tower and ascends the ladder nimbly. You hear a cry that becomes a yelp, the squelch of iron meeting flesh, then silence, then more silence. You're wondering if he's forgotten the signal when a shadow comes running from your right, close enough that you'd be able to touch him if you held out your hand through the bramble. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> gets there first. His thrusting spear bounces off the guard's round shield with a thud that rings in your ears, and he has to leap out of the way to avoid the spear-thrust that comes in retort. They clash with the two shafts, each trying to knock the other out of the way. It's messy and you can do nothing but crouch down and try to pretend you don't exist. Then you sense something move behind you, and before you can react a bright and terrible figure grips the guard from behind and with one agonisingly long sweep of a sword across the neck cuts his head clean off. He stares at you open-mouthed, yellow hair stained with spurting blood, grey eyes tormented by battle frenzy, and drops the man — the body — on to the grass. Gobbets of blood wet your face. The head, pale and unformed like dough, rolls into the bramble. "You are a poor soldier, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>," he says caustically. The battle frenzy hasn't left his eyes. "And *you* are a poor tactician. Only one indeed." "There was only one. They must be massing." He turns to you. "Go now. Go, and keep running."](else-if: (history:) contains "Forest - Bodyguard")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> moves off to the left. Cú Chulainn nods in your direction and you nervily approach the guard tower with him. "G-good evening," you say first, anxious for it to appear as if you mean no harm. The guard peers down at the two of you. "Border's closed," he says impassively, in a thin, reedy voice you find distracting. Cú Chulainn is staring straight at him as if to get his measure. "Forgive me my impatience, but I've to visit relatives across the river. Urgent clan business." "Oh? What pauper clan is that?" "Pay my appearance no mind. I've been travelling for some time." You withdraw the bronze mirror and watch your shadow to appease him, trying to seem usual. He barely glances at it. "And this lad?" You steady yourself. "He's my bodyguard." He wheezes a mad laugh. "This beardless imp — your *bodyguard*? Gods give me strength. Here <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cairbre</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkaɾʲ.bʲɾʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Car-breh*</span></span>, c'mere and take a look at this lad calling himself a bodyguard!" There's a heat rising off Cú Chulainn, his skin writhing. He's still gazing at the man, who's watching for his friend to emerge upriver, with that sullenness that so terrified you earlier. The air around you sloshes in a soup so thick you have to take long breaths. "Please, let us pass and you'll come to no harm. Don't test him." You say it as much for your sake as his, your heart thudding a round. "Are you messing with—?" he begins, but while he's completing the thought you sense something move behind you, and before you can react a bright and terrible figure grips the approaching guard from behind and with one agonisingly long sweep of a sword across the neck cuts his head clean off. He stares at you panting, yellow hair stained with spurting blood, grey eyes tormented by battle frenzy, and drops the man — the body — on to the grass. Gobbets of blood wet your face. The head, pale and unformed like dough, rolls into the bramble. "Fuck!" yelps the first guard. He tries to scramble out but Cú Chulainn scales the tower in a single leap, kicking away the ladder. There's the squelch of iron meeting flesh, a cry that stills your blood, then silence, then more silence. "Go now," Cú Chulainn yells. "Go, and keep running. There'll be more of them."](else-if: (history:) contains "Forest - Musicians")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> moves off to the left. Cú Chulainn nods in your direction and you nervily approach the guard tower with him. "G-good evening," you say first, anxious for it to appear as if you mean no harm. The guard peers down at the two of you. "Border's closed," he says impassively, in a thin, reedy voice you find distracting. Cú Chulainn is staring straight at him as if to get his measure. "We're just a band of travelling musicians, playing the next town," you say, holding up your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*bodhrán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A handheld frame drum, played with the hands or a tipper. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbˠəuɾˠɑːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bow-rawn*</span></span>. "And <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> just over?" "Yeah, no, we're, er, on our way back." "There's no instrument on this lad." You steady yourself. "He's a fine singer." "Oh? "Right, well, give us a tune so," he says to Cú Chulainn. There's a heat rising off your companion, his skin writhing. He's still gazing at the man with that sullenness that so terrified you earlier. The air around you sloshes in a soup so thick you have to take long breaths. "His voice is gone." "What proof have ye then?" "Cú—" you start, realising you forgot to agree aliases. "—oouuuld you give the man a poem, at least?" "Aye," he mouths. The guard's eyes flit to the skin of his sword hand, rippling dangerously, then downriver. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cairbre</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkaɾʲ.bʲɾʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Car-breh*</span></span>! Cairbre!" You sense something move behind you, and before you can react a bright and terrible figure grips the approaching guard from behind and with one agonisingly long sweep of a sword across the neck cuts his head clean off. He stares at you open-mouthed, yellow hair stained with spurting blood, grey eyes tormented by battle frenzy, and drops the man — the body — on to the grass. Gobbets of blood wet your face. The head, pale and unformed like dough, rolls into the bramble. "Fuck!" yelps the first guard. He tries to scramble out but Cú Chulainn scales the tower in a single leap, kicking away the ladder. There's the squelch of iron meeting flesh, a cry that stills your blood, then silence, then more silence. "Some poem!" yells Láeg, giving his companion a withering look. "Useless charade," answers Cú Chulainn. He turns to you. The battle frenzy hasn't left his eyes. "Go, and keep running. There'll be more of them."] You want to heed him, but your feet refuse to move, like there's a force keeping them in place. Cú Chulainn is stiller than you've known him all night, searching for something in the energy of the forest. A nearing thunder scatters the corncrake into the sky, and this time you know what it is. The clap of hooves again, but fainter, maybe only a single rider. Cú Chulainn readies his spear, racing towards the invisible enemy. (if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger" or "Small Iron Dagger")[You clutch your own knife, hardly ready.] Man and horse meet the warrior [[in the darkness.|Forest - Cú and Donn]]

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Brigid")) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $donn)) (set: $donn to (dm: "name", "Donn Fírinne", "bio", "Donn Desc", "bioAppend", "Donn Desc Update 3", "img", "donn.png", "desc", "Ancestor of the Milesians.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $donn)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $brigid)) (set: $brigid to (dm: "name", "Brigid", "bio", "Brigid Desc", "bioAppend", "Brigid Desc Update 4", "img", "brigid.png", "desc", "Storied abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $brigid))}<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brigid.png" alt="A portrait of the abbess Brigid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text"><span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> kneels next to you. "Now we're on the same level." That smile again. Your heart is stilled. "Are you hungry?" "I – my brother is..." You can't think. She sits, perfectly still, listening to something on the breeze. "He'll be grand another little while, don't worry. Let's eat something." She withdraws a loaf of bread from her bag and tears off a hunk for you. You eat quickly and greedily, head down, a little ashamed. She takes your lead and munches away with just as much vigour until you're a little more at ease. "I've plenty more where that came from," she says. "Thank you. I'm fine for now. Are you... are you Sister Brigid?" "I am," she replies. "And you also carry the name, right?" "How–" She catches your wan face and laughs, a strange, musical sound like a swallow's cry. "It's nothing sinister, my dear. I met him on the way, the one you're looking for, and he was murmuring about a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. It suits you very well." "So he's all right? He's alive?" "He didn't look entirely well, but alive, yes, *Deo gratias*." (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - River Crossing")["Oh." You suddenly remember the monastery. "I was at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cluain Fearta</span><span class="annotation-text">A monastery in Connacht. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkluənʲ fʲærta/ English phonetic approximation: *Cloon fart-a*</span></span> the night before last, and in the morning there was a... an incident. A man came looking for his slaves." Her smile drops. "What happened?" "We got away, myself and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Máire</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɑːɾʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Moira*</span></span> and the twins, but" – your voice falters – "we were attacked crossing the river. I don't know where they went." She rises, looking back the way you came with an inscrutable expression. "I told Sister Dar to seek me out should anything happen. Will you keep me company a little while?" "How will she find you?" you ask. "God knows the way, and she knows God." There's a depth of sincerity in her conviction; she's not just saying it to comfort you, but because she knows it to be true. ](else:)["Where did he go?" you ask. "He was carried away on horseback." She rises, pauses, listens. "I'll find out for you, but I need some time. Will you stay and have a chat with me?" That confirms it: he did meet the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span>. He's never been bad at attaching himself to new company once he's made up his mind to do it. Then he grows a sharp tongue and a rough charm, and whatever aloofness he had before just adds to the mystery. You suspect it must be some of the reason why <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>'s stuck by him all this time. "I will," you reply.] She runs around fetching stones and places them in a circle in the dirt, under the tree but away from the grass, then rubs together a few sticks and leaves and before you can really see what she's doing there's a modest fire going, despite the dampness in the air. Sitting back down next to you, she takes out a little pot, fills it with water from a skin and balances it on the kindling. "Any preferences for tea?" she asks. You weren't aware that there were different types of tea. The word has always meant nettles soaked in water once a month, when Mam was boiling it anyway to treat her back. [["Nettle."|Brigid - Nettle Tea]] [["Anything but nettle."|Brigid - Tea Surprise]]</div>

You ask for nettle a little sheepishly because you're craving something familiar. She digs into her bag again – endless, it must be – and finds a sprig of nettle leaf and two slender bronze cups. They're elegant, clearly the work of someone who knows what they're doing. When the tea is done you take it to your lips and gulp it down, happy to scald your tongue to taste it *right now*. "It's lovely," you say. "I'm glad," she says. "Nothing like a nice cup of tea on a day like this one. Now, let's talk. You must have a lot of questions." (display: "Brigid - Questions")

She digs into her bag again – endless, it must be – and finds a sprig of a ruddy plant you don't recognise and two slender bronze cups. They're elegant, clearly the work of someone who knows what they're doing. When the tea is done you take the cup to your lips, at first with trepidation, then get a sup of the refreshingly astringent brew and gulp it down, happy to scald your tongue to taste it *right now*. "It's lovely," you say. "I'm glad," she says. "Nothing like a nice cup of tea on a day like this one. Now, let's talk. You must have a lot of questions." (display: "Brigid - Questions")

<div id="column-2"></div><div id="center-scrollbar"><div id="back-inventory">|mainmenu>[(link:"<img src='Images/icon_back.png' alt='Back icon' id='back-icon-inventory'></img>")[(load-game: $_autosave_slot)]]</div></div><div id="column-1">(if: $charactersNew's length is 0)[No characters to display.](for: each _item, ...$charactersNew)[(for: each _character, ...$characters)[(if: _item is _character's name)[(set: $img to _character's img)(set: $name to _character's name)(set: $bio to _character's bio)(set: $bioAppend to _character's bioAppend)(print: '<div class="thumbnail-container"><img src="Images/CharacterMenu/' + $img + '" class="char-thumbnail" alt="Settings icon" onclick="displayCharacterBio(\'' + $bio + '\', \'' + $img + '\', \'' + $bioAppend + '\')"><div class="thumbnail-text-container"><h2 class="thumbnail-heading"><strong>' + $name + '</strong></h2></div></div>')]]]</div></div>

(set: $book to "Images/C1/niche400.png") (print: '<img src="' + $book + '">')

<br><br>He didn't wake you this morning. You wonder where he's got to.

"Did you get a peek at how little <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>s are made?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>! As if I'd permit myself such untoward behaviour." (display: "The Guard - Story Conclusion")

"The Other Crowd were out, weren't they? The Good Folk." "Been talking to that mummer? You've The Other Crowd on the brain, so you do." (display: "The Guard - Story Conclusion")

He waves the spear about emphatically. "Watch yourself there, Oisín, fuck's sake." "Sorry. Anyway, sure didn't I follow him all the way in with the sun going down and everything, a silly young lad like me. And then... I saw it. Fangs and fur!" He bangs the spear up and down on the damp grass. "A son of the land cornered him in the forest, ripped his head clean off. Dreadful stuff for a poor young Oisín to witness." "Why do all your fecking stories involve someone losing their head? And what's a 'son of the land'?" He lets out a snide laugh, exposing the hollows of his mouth. With his eyes not visible everything looks curiously detached, teeth scattered here and there in the gums like headstones. "Are you actually serious, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>? Aren't you the brainbox here?" Your cheeks pinken. "It's not like I've *been* there, as you well know." He leans in and says it to your face, clearly enjoying every syllable, "Beasts, Bríd! Terrible beasts. Act alone, go for your throat as you sleep in the woods. Nothing like that here now on poor little <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>, thank the Lord." He's making real those vague dangers the priest only mentioned in ellipses, and it has you feeling nervous. You turn your head towards the shoreline, but before you can say anything there's a clattering from within the church. "Sounds like he's after knocking something over. That it for now?" "How did you end up here, anyway?" How did you survive that long, an <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span> like you, you're thinking. "Convinced them to take me." "Why?" You can tell he's trying his best to look impassive. "Wanted to do something meaningful." "And how'd you manage to get on his good side?" "Ah, he's grand once you play the lamb. I started saying I was sorry a lot for things I barely remembered doing, that I'd stay out of harm's way and try to imitate Christ and that kind of thing. Seemed to work. We've had a good few years to work through our differences, anyway." [["Have you seen my brother?"|The Guard - Brother]]</div>

*He went first, and shook off the consecrated water afterwards like a mangy dog. Later, seeing your fear, he knelt beside you and held your hand. The sky and the sea were the same colour that day, a great wall on the horizon as you looked off and mumbled the strange foreign incantation as best you could... [["Per ipsum, et cum ipso, et in ipso..."|The Guard - Brother 2]]*

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text"><span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>'s still talking when you come back to yourself. "I was *born* Christian, baptised right ourra the womb!" (unless: (history:) contains "The Guard - Religion")[This could be true.] He came here with the church, a little white stick of a creature who'd jump at squawking gulls. You'd see him running after the priest at mass, struggling with the heavy gilded goblets and crosses, singing timidly in processions. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> toughened him up, taught him to barb his tongue and fend for himself. "And Christ was baptised at thirty-one." One of the things Mam used to say to reassure you. "Look, have you seen him or not?" "I haven't, but I *have* seen Ailbhe, and one usually follows the other, no? She's down at the beach." Finally, some decent information. You almost thank him. "When was this?" "Half an hour ago." (unless: (history:) contains "The Guard - Religion")[You hear a clattering from within the church. "Anyway, sounds like he's after knocking something over. That it for now?" You nod. "Right, I'll be off."](else:)[ "Right, I'll be off."] He blows you a kiss. "Send her my love." (display: "The Village")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/fergus.png" alt="A portrait of Fergus, a big bull of a man who looks weary." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">(set: $fergusTopics to $fergusTopics - 1)You take a deep breath and begin. "There's a phrase people use, when they talk about the beasts on the mainland..." "Beasts of burden," he says with a sneer, apropos of nothing. "They call them 'sons of the land'," you continue. "Fierce aul' things altogether, they sounded like. Do you know anything about them?" (unless: $fetchedWater)[There's a sudden clarity in his eyes. He shoves away the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>. "Here, get me some water first." You run dutifully over to the publican and return with a new vessel. He swigs it in one, surprisingly fluid, motion and then slams it back down on the wood with an assertive thud, a spare gesture that's enough to remind you that this man has killed people.(set: $fetchedWater to true)](else:)[He looks at you with a weird tension in his face, as if he's trying to suppress a smile.] "I know them well. They're wolves, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. Picture a big — and I mean big — grey, short-haired dog with perked ears and a long snout. Something... sort of ancient-looking about them." "And why do they call them 'sons of the land'?" He snorts, hiccups, reaches for the water and, gulping down nothing, holds it out to you for a refill. This may take a while. When you return, he downs the refill and thinks for a bit, seeming to have sobered up a bit. "You have a habit of asking funny questions, so you do." "You don't know, then?" "Ah, I can guess as well as anyone." He sighs. "You find them in forests. In little family groups, flanked by a mating pair. I suppose it's a..." — he furrows his brow — "a recognition of how... the forests are the lifeblood of the land, and the wolves are the lifeblood of the forest. Or some poetic shite like that." "And have you—?" "I have, yeah." He says it a little too quickly. "Set up camp one night, got caught alone. A pack of them were out on an evening stroll. I held my breath; fully expected to..." — he brings a massive hand up to his right eye and wipes — "they just walked by. Then I saw what they were doing: stalking a deer. A big red stag. I followed them for a bit; was mad curious. They caught its scent, tracked it and brought it down together, nipping at the neck." "So they've good noses on them? But didn't pick you up?" "Better than dogs', probably. But it just goes to show you, they've no real interest in us. Them stories you hear are nonsense." You make a face. That little toothless liar... "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> been shiteing on again? Kid's a bit of a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">gobdaw</span><span class="annotation-text">A chatterbox or pretentious person.</span></span> sometimes." He blows his nose on his sleeve. "Just ignore him. We should be following the wolves' example, actually. We're stronger together, as families, clans - <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*ní neart go cur le chéile*</span><span class="annotation-text">Irish proverb meaning 'there is no strength without unity'.</span></span>. Hard to convince some, though." He shakes his head. "Anyway, why're you asking me this? You're not leaving the island, are you?" "My brother's gone with the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">currach</span><span class="annotation-text">A small fishing boat with an animal hide. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkʊɾˠəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Curr-ack*</span></span>. There's a boat heading over soon—" "That fucking <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span>." He says it as if he's momentarily forgotten you're still there. "Sorry. Look, I told you already, let him sort it out. Do your own thing." "I'm going, uncle." He smirks. "Your ma never believed me, but I told her you'd be the stubborn one. That lad cares too much about what other people think of him, even if he'd never admit it. Are you worried you're going to run into wolves, or?" "I just want to make sure I'm prepared." That gets a laugh out of him. "They're not exactly going to be out hanging round every shite little <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*crannóg*</span><span class="annotation-text">An artificial island built on a lake, usually encompassing a number of circular dwellings. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkɾˠan̪ˠoːɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Kran-owg*</span></span> you come across. Just avoid the woods and you'll be grand." "That's exactly where he'd end up, though..." Solitary and self-sufficient; it makes sense to you. "Ah, he's a fucking fisherman, Bríd, not a hunter. He won't last long on the mainland if that's where he runs to. You've more faith in him than that, surely?" "Right, yeah..." (if: $fergusTopics > 0)["Now any other stupid questions for me, while the day is young?" [["Everything all right at home?"|Fergus - Home Life]] (display: "Fergus - Return Questions")](else:)[(display: "Fergus - Return Exit")]</div>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Donn Fírinne</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn Fírinne</span><span class="annotation-text">"Donn of the truth". The ancestor of the Milesians; the god who guides the dead to the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ fʲiːɾʲən̠ʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Done Fear-in-nye*</span></span>, Donn of the Truth, is the ancestor of the Milesians, your people, and the god who guides the dead to the Otherworld. Naturally you weren't expecting to meet him so soon, and especially not after being baptised, but once you spied your currach outside that strange, forlorn shack on the west coast you had to take the chance. <br><br>It feels strange to say of a god, but you're not sure if you like him. He's certainly a character, but people who've an opinion on everything exhaust you. <br><br>

{(set: $charactersNew's (2) to "Donn")(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 7", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $donn)) (set: $donn to (dm: "name", "Donn Fírinne", "bio", "Donn Desc", "bioAppend", "Donn Desc Update 1", "img", "donn.png", "desc", "Ancestor of the Milesians.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $donn))}"Your family used to respect their people's gods. What went wrong?" "It's 'Donn' as in brown-haired, not 'Donn' as in... you," you say, hackles up. "Same difference." He rolls his eyes and takes another puff of the smoke-stick. "So why does a death god choose to save a drowning man?" "Well, my house wasn't the only thing sunk to the bottom of the ocean, so let's just say I could relate. And he reminded me of..." He stops himself. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Diarmuid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Usually refers by itself to Diarmuid Ua Duibne, son of Donn, a legendary warrior and member of the *fianna* known for his beauty. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈdʲiəɾˠmˠədʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Djeer-midj*</span></span>?" You've heard the tales often enough: the demigod warrior cursed to be irresistible to women, fostered by the god of love, his true father banished from civil society. His expression is cold. "I'd forgotten that you mortals love nothing more than sitting around gossiping about the private lives of your betters. Yes, he reminded me of Diarmuid. Though no son of mine would ever do anything that stupid." He sighs, then leans back on the bed, arms outspread. "Well, little one, I won't hold your ignorance against you. What's the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">craic</span><span class="annotation-text">A versatile word meaning 'fun in good company'. 'What's the craic?' - 'What's up?'</span></span> out there?" (display: "Donn - Options")

From the inside, the enclosure seems unbefitting of such a great wall. A stone oratory with arched, Romanesque windows not much bigger than the church on the island forms the centre. Dotted about it are several more modest stone buildings, some solitary trees, and thick, tall high crosses with bare reliefs, pockmarked with moss. Children and dogs run about. The only adult save the guard, who seems to be scarcely older than you, is an old woman wearing a bloodstained butcher's apron sprawled against one of the buildings, head raised towards the emerging sun. Everything feels a little thrown together, as if the community is new. The guard leads you to one of the stone buildings and knocks on the door. A taut, serious voice bids you enter. [[Walk through the door.|Monastery - Abbess]]

<div class="text-animated-dream"><div class="background-container">You're hunched in front of a long, girthy stone, the size of a man, atop a hill in a field. You run your hands over the groves, searching, waiting. It begins to croak and wail like the young of a wild animal, a terrible sound, and you feel a great swelling in your breast. You, only you, blessed to reign over this blighted country and fornicate its goddesses! Your laughter rings out across the hollow sky. But it's not you. Of course it's not you! The crosier sweeps into your side, bending and tearing one rib after the other as you wheeze and fall into the earth, and then you're free of them altogether and you bend and tear yourself through the grass, trying to escape. It's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Patrick</span><span class="annotation-text">A British missionary who was taken to Ireland as a slave, escaped, and returned, vowing to convert the island.</span></span> the Apostle the stone is crying out for. Your blood is on his white beard, his mitre and his crosier, your life forfeit to his god. He holds the crosier up and bellows a Latin incantation. You sink your fangs into his ankle, use your womanly wiles, but it's too late — the snakeskin cracks and disintegrates. The horseman has seaweed in his hair. Why does he have seaweed in his hair? [[Wake.|Brother - Waking]]</div></div>

<div class="background-container"><div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I know why you left," she says, eyes twinkling in the darkness. "You were looking for Aunt <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>. For a cure." "How do you know that?" you ask. Couldn't be <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, could it? "The death god mentioned her. I figured the rest out." "They told me they'd take me to her," you murmur. Saying it you realise the lie, realise you knew it as soon as you voiced the request to them. They wanted something else of you. [[Muireann...|Brother - Muireann Memory]]</div></div>

You've never asked and never expected an answer, content to keep the peace, terrified that it might put him on that murky path again. But they're your memories every much as they are his, and you need respite from this ugly burden you've been dragging around for the last two years. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"They were going to see <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>, to get Dad help. We had a row. I gave out to Mam, said I'd take him. She wouldn't let me, and then they left." That's not all of it. "And then?" He claws at his forearm, like he used to do when one of his moods came over him. His form is stable save the odd flicker, and now that he's recognisably human again he's whiter, gaunter than you remember. "Then I... I waited. In the cove, with the other currach. Until I couldn't any longer. I went after them." "It was bucketing down that day, and the gusts... I still don't get why they..." "The weather was fine until I started rowing. There was an offshore wind. Thought I'd catch up. But—" He flickers violently, so that for a second or so he's animal again, then stabilises. You pat his arm, hoping it won't make him worse. "I'm grand," he says, staring at the ground. "I went after them and the storm followed me. The storm *was* me. The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>. I saw it. I did it." He twists in and out of forms as his body shakes – a badger, a horse, a seal, then human-shaped again. "No," you're saying. "No, no you didn't. You couldn't–" "I did, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. If I hadn't fucking followed them..." "But the *geis*, what was it – not to set foot on the mainland? You didn't." "I still haven't," he says, pointing at the simple woollen slippers he's wearing. "But it's like... it can sense my intentions." [["No. I don't believe it."|Brother - Parents' Deaths]]</div>

(unless: (history:) contains "The Village")[The village is the same as it always is, children running about, women running after them, pigs squealing and donkeys braying. Some men are standing around hawking wheat and wool for the upcoming festival, though there aren't many takers. ](unless: (history:) contains "The Guard")[There's (if: (history:) contains "The Pub" or (history:) contains "The Church")[still] no sign of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>, but you're hoping you might at least come across *someone* who knows something. ](unless: (history:) contains "The Pub")[Though it's early in the day, you notice men staggering in and out of [[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">An Mhuicín</span><span class="annotation-text">Inis Caillí's pub. Means 'the little pig'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ənˠ wˠɪcʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *An wick-een*</span></span>|The Pub]]</span>, the local pub. ](unless: (history:) contains "The Church")[ Further downhill, facing the sea, is a [[little stone church|The Church]], oblong-shaped. ](if: (history:) contains "The Guard - Brother" or (passage:)'s name is "The Guard - Brother")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span>'s a habitual liar, but he wouldn't make up seeing <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> at the beach, that you're sure of. You should [[head down.|The Beach]]](else-if: (history:) contains "The Pub" and (history:) contains "The Church")[[[You should try the beach, check if his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">currach</span><span class="annotation-text">A small fishing boat with an animal hide. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkʊɾˠəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Curr-ack*</span></span> is there.|The Beach]]]

<br><br><span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh</span><span class="annotation-text">Ailbhe's aunt and servant to Inis Caillí's chieftain. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈnʲiːˈxal̪ˠiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Nee-Kjalli*</span></span> said she saw him quarrelling with Father Silvanus. You should investigate.

<br><br>Father Silvanus and your brother got into an argument last Saturday. Apparently they discussed religion, and selling your land to the church. Silvanus saw him with Ailbhe by the shore later on.

<br><br>Father Silvanus and your brother got into an argument last Saturday. Apparently they discussed religion, and selling your land to the church. The priest saw him with Ailbhe by the shore later on, and suspects he might have headed to the mainland. <br><br>Ailbhe saw your brother last night; she thinks he very well could've tried sailing to the mainland. You sense she's not telling you the whole story.

<br><br>Ailbhe saw your brother last night; she thinks he very well could've tried sailing to the mainland. You sense she's not telling you the whole story.

<br><br>You've forgotten his name. Fuck! How can you have forgotten his name? Ailbhe said he'd been placed under a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><em>geis</em></span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: <em>Gesh</em></span></span>, cursed not to set foot on the mainland. Is this why?

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Your Brother</strong></h2> <div class="blurred">______</div>'s a couple of years older than you, a fisherman by trade and now the head of your household. He's always been difficult. Taciturn, like yourself — but stubborn too, and too stubborn to admit it. From what Ailbhe tells you he's most himself when he's out at sea with her.<br><br> But he looks out for you too: leaves you fish and porridge, grinds blackweed into a dose when you're so sick you can barely stand. Some days you just wish he'd give you more of himself, more than a grunt on his way out the door.

You've forgotten his name. Fuck! How can you have forgotten his name? Ailbhe said he'd been placed under a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><em>geis</em></span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>, cursed not to set foot on the mainland. Is this why? <br><br>Fechín said he saw a sick-looking lad hanging around <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>'s pub, before they set sail for <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>. Could it have been your brother?

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Donn</strong></h2> You brother <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>'s a couple of years older than you, a fisherman by trade and now the head of your household. He's always been difficult. Taciturn, like yourself — but stubborn too, and too stubborn to admit it. From what Ailbhe tells you he's most himself when he's out at sea with her.<br><br> But he looks out for you too: leaves you fish and porridge, grinds blackweed into a dose when you're so sick you can barely stand. Some days you just wish he'd give you more of himself, more than a grunt on his way out the door.

<br><br>The death god saved your brother, pulled him out of the sea. And told you his name: Donn, like his own. He's alive, somewhere, despite his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><em>geis</em></span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>.

<br><br><span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name.</span></span> saw Donn from the abbey's ramparts, sitting against a tree. He was alone, but talking to himself, apparently. He didn't stop at the abbey.

<br><br>You saw a yellow-eyed, reedy figure in the bogland, atop a black horse. <em>He's left you behind.</em>

<br><br>Aunt <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span> told you the truth of Donn's <span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><em>geis</em></span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>. Mam's efforts to help build a new church on the site of a whitethorn grove in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span> offended the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><em>púcaí</em></span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> so much they wanted her son as recompense. Desperate, Mam and Muireann cursed him never to set foot on the mainland again.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>You</strong></h2> Your name is <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>, like the goddess. You were born a fisherman's daughter on the island of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>, west of the mainland. You live in a little thatched cottage with your brother — or, well, you did until you found him missing. Your parents died a few years ago. <br><br>You work the land and tend the house most days. You're a decent <em>bodhrán</em> player, though not much of a singer. Little you'd admit it, but you've always wanted to travel, see the great cities: Rome, Constantinople, Athens... <br><br>You're maybe a little vain. And you love a good gossip.

<br><br>Your parents told you nothing of <div class="blurred">______</div>'s <span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><em>geis</em></span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>. What else were they keeping from you?

<br><br>Muireann told you the truth, that Mam agreed to her placing the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><em>geis</em></span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span> on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>. You understand why, but you wonder if you'll ever forgive Mam her secrecy.

<br><br>Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh promised to look out for Buí. Her mention of the village strays taking a liking to the ewe didn't much convince you, but she's sure she'll be grand and you want to believe her.

<br><br>Ailbhe promised you she'd look out for Buí. That's one less thing to worry about.

<br><br>You found the mummer performing a ritual in a field. He said something cryptic about how your brother needs defending, but you couldn't get much more out of him.

<br><br>You found the mummer performing a ritual in a field. He said something about how your brother needs defending, and gave you a bronze mirror he claimed can ward off the Good Folk.

<br><br>You ran into the mummer at the Bealtaine festival, playing <span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><em>fidchell</em></span><span class="annotation-text">A board game similar to chess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲɪhəl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fi-hell*</span></span> with his rather less patient friend <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dáire</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /dˠɑ:rʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Daw-reh*</span></span>. They claimed that <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>'s pub gets its share of supernatural visitors this time of year.

<br><br>You ran into the mummer at the Bealtaine festival, playing <span class="definition"><span class="annotation"><em>fidchell</em></span><span class="annotation-text">A board game similar to chess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈfʲɪhəl̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fi-hell*</span></span> with his rather less patient friend <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dáire</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /dˠɑ:rʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Daw-reh*</span></span>. He knew your aunt <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span> a long time ago, but could say nothing about her current whereabouts beyond something vague about "spring and sprig".

*He's left you behind.* You lie there, shiver, shut your eyes. (if: (history:) contains "Donn - Overcoming Death")[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Cupio dissolvi*</span><span class="annotation-text">Latin: "I wish to dissolve".</span></span>.](else:)[Try to dissolve.] [[Time passes.|Forest - Muireann]]

"Or didn't, right?" you say. "Sure a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span> is what got him killed. What was it, eating off a dog's bowl?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/brother_p.png" alt="Your brother" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Dog meat. Some aul' one invited him in, maybe the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mórrígan</span><span class="annotation-text">A triple goddess associated with war. The three sisters Badb, Macha and Nemain appear to foretell warriors' fates. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠoːɾˠ ɾˠiːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Moor ri-an*</span></span>. Couldn't very well refuse." "I didn't think you were bothered with stories like that," you venture. You and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> were the storytellers; he'd feign uninterest, but Mam'd catch him with his ears cocked behind his bed and send him into you with feigned grievances — "Stop moping around and give your sister a bit of company." It wouldn't take long before the two of you had him cooing and laughing. He huffs, his mouth twitching just long enough to resemble a grin, though it's a little tricky to tell from his form. "Sure I couldn't very well avoid them." (display: "Sister - Journey Choices")</div>

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<br><br>You said your goodbyes to Oisín, promising to bring him back something.

<br><br>As the resident church guard, he sees a lot and is a good source of gossip, when he's not outright making stuff up.

<br><br>You said your goodbyes to Oisín. You asked him if he wanted to join you, but he didn't seem all that interested. Guess he's not the gallivanting type.

<br><br>You said your goodbyes to Oisín, promising to bring him back something. Maybe the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Síle na gcíoch</span><span class="annotation-text">A carved folk ornament depicting a woman spreading the lips of her vulva, said to aid in childbirth. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈʃiːlʲə nˠə ɟiːx/ English phonetic approximation: *Sheela na gee-uk*</span></span> will make a mother out of him yet?

<br><br>You said your goodbyes to Oisín, promising to bring him back something. The Otherworld fruit <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> gifted you would put any of his stories to shame.

<br><br>You said your goodbyes to Oisín, promising to bring him back something. Maybe Brigid's cross — he could use the blessing.

<br><br>You said your goodbyes to Oisín. You asked him if he wanted to join you, but he didn't seem all that interested. Guess he's not the gallivanting type.

<br><br>You asked Dar Lugdach about Oisín's family. She maintained that his parents were gamblers, that it was to his benefit to be sent away from them. She refused to tell you if there had been a deal.

<br><br>Ailbhe's a hard woman to get hold of, but <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Oisín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Famously borne by the legendary poet Oisín, son of Fionn Mac Cumhaill and Sadhbh. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɔʃiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Usheen*</span></span> says he saw her down by the beach earlier. Maybe she knows where your brother is.

<br><br>You found Ailbhe at the beach. She convinced you to take the ferry to the mainland to look for your brother. You're curious, but terrified.

<br><br>Turns out Ailbhe lied to you. She knew he had left and said nothing. She knew his plans. And she knew about his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>. Who is this person who lulled you into thinking you were close to her?

<br><br>Ailbhe lied to you about your brother. You had a terse exchange with her after docking at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Trá Bhán</span><span class="annotation-text">The mainland village closest to Inis Caillí. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠɾˠɑː wɑːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Traw wawn*</span></span>. She's gone to sell fish at the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> market.

<br><br>You settled your differences and bid Ailbhe goodbye at the Bealtaine market. You're gonna miss her.

Father Silvanus promised to look out for your brother.

Father Silvanus warned you against leaving the island, hinting of vague dangers on the mainland. Your mind is made up, though.

Father Silvanus warned you against leaving the island, but offered you some rosary beads as protection.

You spoke to Fergus again. He's not convinced you need to be chasing after your brother, but he won't stop you leaving. He requested that you keep an eye on the mummer if you see him.

<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Inis Caillí</span><span class="annotation-text">The name of the island you're from. Means 'island of the hag', after the local goddess. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɪnʲɪʃ ˈkal̠ʲiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Innish Kalli*</span></span>'s druidess is someone who's had dealings with your family before, but they didn't involve you; no wonder Ailbhe had to remind you who she was. She carries a quiet authority you find intimidating. <br><br>

You admitted to the druidess that you're heading to the mainland to seek your brother. She said something that pit your stomach, something about how your parents were strong to raise "a boy like that". You didn't dare ask more.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Sadhbh</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sadhbh</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Famously borne by the wife of the legendary hero Fionn MacCumhaill. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /saɪv/ English phonetic approximation: *Sive*</span></span> is a woman who runs a stall at the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> market, and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>'s mam. Though kind and practical, she seemed very keen to pair you up with her son. With as hard as she is on him, you're not sure you'd fancy her as a mother-in-law. <br><br>

You left Donn Fírinne with the half-promise of bringing his namesake, your brother, back to him. You doubt your brother will go easily.

Donn Fírinne came on horseback to fetch the bodies of the guards <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> slaughtered. It was clearly not the first time this has happened. The death god identified the goddess you saw in your vision — <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> — and agreed to help you find her. He didn't pass any remarks on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span>'s assertion that you're his servant...

Donn Fírinne led you to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span>. You can't say you're not glad to see the back of him and the stank of carrion, but you owe him some gratitude.

She gave you a necklet made of beads to welcome you to the community. You were stupid enough to tell her you're not planning on staying. She looked at you woundedly, but didn't say anything.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Bláthnaid</strong></h2> <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span>, the abbey's guard, is a tall, stocky young woman about the same age as you. Judging by her accent, she comes from noble stock. You didn't get a warm welcome out of her, and you're finding it hard to tell how she feels about you, but she's got a confidence to her you rather like. She seems to share the acting abbess' distrust of men. <br><br>

A man seeking his slaves tried to force his way into the abbey. Bláthnaid and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠaɾˠ l̪ˠuːd̪ˠaxˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Dar Loo-dack*</span></span> had to hold him off. You fear for them.

Bláthnaid survived the attack on the abbey, thank God, but she had to spear the intruder through the heart. You wonder how she's doing.

You fled the abbey with Cowkiller and the twins, but you got separated crossing the bog. You pray they're all right.

You learnt from <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠaɾˠ l̪ˠuːd̪ˠaxˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Dar Loo-dack*</span></span> that Cowkiller and the twins survived the attack on the abbey, thank God.

The twins told you how Cowkiller, real name <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Máire</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɑːɾʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Moira*</span></span>, got her nickname. It involved an inheritance dispute, a prized cow, and a butchering. You won't be crossing her in a hurry.

<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> told you how Cowkiller got her nickname. It involved an inheritance dispute, a prized cow, and a butchering. You won't be crossing her in a hurry.

Cowkiller told you in halting speech where to find your aunt <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>: along the river that marks the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*tuath*</span><span class="annotation-text">The foundational unit of territory in Gaelic society; also used to refer to the people inhabiting that territory. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /t̪ˠuə(h)/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh*</span></span>'s border, in a shack in the shade of a whitethorn. She requested that you tell her she has "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Neasa</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /nʲasˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Nassa*</span></span>'s thanks".

You fled the abbey with Cowkiller and the twins, but you got separated crossing the bog. You pray they're all right.

You learnt from Dar Lugdach that Cowkiller and the twins survived the attack on the abbey, thank God.

Your conversation with Dar Lugdach was interrupted. You should follow up with her later.

Dar Lugdach wasn't pleased that you decided not to stay the night.

Dar Lugdach invited you to stay the night — and the rest of your life, if you would have it — in Cluain Fearta. But it's too soon to think about — you have to find him first.

Dar Lugdach came to Brigid, shaken but unhurt. Cowkiller and the twins are fine, thank God.

Dar Lugdach came to Brigid, shaken but unhurt. There was a raid on the abbey — <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> had to kill a man. You feel sick to think of it.

You visited Cluain Fearta, the women-only abbey run by Brigid, but you were received by the acting abbess. Where has Brigid got to?

Dar Lugdach didn't know where Brigid is either, although she was clear this is a pretty usual thing. The abbess has a tendency to disappear for weeks.

A vision of a holy women ploughing an endless field came to you in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>'s shack. Could it be *the* Brigid?

The vision led you to her, the woman who is priestess and goddess both. She seems to shine like flames.

Brigid gave you a parting gift: a rush cross, the symbol of her followers. You'll treasure that blessing always.

Cú Chulainn and Láeg agreed to help you cross the river border, in return for information about the nearest portal back to the Otherworld. You might have also told them that you're <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn Fírinne</span><span class="annotation-text">"Donn of the truth". The ancestor of the Milesians; the god who guides the dead to the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ fʲiːɾʲən̠ʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Done Fear-in-nye*</span></span>'s servant. Oops.

Cú Chulainn killed two men while helping you cross the border, and naturally <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn Fírinne</span><span class="annotation-text">"Donn of the truth". The ancestor of the Milesians; the god who guides the dead to the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ fʲiːɾʲən̠ʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Done Fear-in-nye*</span></span> showed up. You should've known better than to trust this plan.

Láeg bid you a hearty farewell, thanking you for the help. You're glad someone appreciated your efforts.

<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn Fírinne</span><span class="annotation-text">"Donn of the truth". The ancestor of the Milesians; the god who guides the dead to the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ fʲiːɾʲən̠ʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Done Fear-in-nye*</span></span> told you your brother went in search of a "hag" named <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>. Is he looking for a cure for his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>? And would she even be willing?

The mummer knew Muireann a long time ago, but could say nothing about her current whereabouts beyond something vague about "spring and sprig".

You found Muireann. But she thought you were your mother — her sister — <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>, back from the world beyond.

You explained to Muireann who you really are. She saw the resemblance.

Muireann told you the truth, that Mam agreed to her placing the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span> on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>.

Muireann's brew coaxed a vision out of you — of a holy woman ploughing an endless field. She told you to find her, then find him — she'll call you back to the ordinary world when it's time.

Féilim and his friend were out practicing for the Bealtaine festival. He asked you to play the Horse, but you're not even sure you're going.

You met Féilim at the Bealtaine festival. You were sure he was into Ailbhe, but he's actually seeing someone called <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Úna</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈuːnˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oo-neh*</span></span>, who played the Hawk at the festival.

You were introduced to Fechín's dog Liath. She's adorable.

You met Fechín's mam at the Bealtaine market in Trá Bhán. He didn't seem all that happy she'd asked you to marry him. On a slightly less awkward note, he saw someone matching your brother's description outside the old pub where Trá Bhán meets the bog.

You met Fechín at the Bealtaine festival. You talked about family and the island and why he might marry a selkie.

You said your goodbye-for-nows to Fechín the night after the festival.

The captain gave you a skin for your *bodhrán*. A woman named Sadhbh at the market can help you repair it, he said.

<div id="column-2"></div><div id="center-scrollbar"><div id="back-inventory">|mainmenu>[(link:"<img src='Images/icon_back.png' alt='Back icon' id='back-icon-inventory'></img>")[(load-game: $_autosave_slot)]]</div><div id="column-1">(if: ($inventory.size) is 0)[There's nothing in your bag.](for: each _item, ...$inventory)[(for: each _thing, ...$items)[(if: _item is _thing's name)[(set: $img to _thing's img)(set: $name to _thing's name)(print: '<div class="thumbnail-container"><img src="Images/Inventory/' + $img + '" class="char-thumbnail" alt="Settings icon" onclick="displayItem(\'' + $name + '\', \'' + $img + '\')"><div class="thumbnail-text-container"><h2 class="thumbnail-heading"><strong>' + $name + '</strong></h2></div></div>')]]]</div></div>

You fill your bowl with a little of everything on offer and eat up gladly, relishing the lack of fish, but deny yourself seconds in case your guests perceive you greedy. Those on the island without cattle only get to enjoy cow's milk at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Lúnasa</span><span class="annotation-text">A festival held at the end of summer marking the beginning of the harvest season. It is named for the god Lú. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈl̪ˠuːn̪ˠəsˠə/ English phonetic approximation: *Loo-nasa*"</span></span>, the summer harvest festival, and never in this many forms. It's always been one of your favourites: watery, yes, but with a sweet, delicate flavour that's more refreshing than sheep's milk. The butcher woman is sitting with the nuns, her apron flung carelessly behind her stool. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Twins" and not $hasNapped)[<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Canna</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span> catches you staring and whispers, eyes roving, "That's Cowkiller. They say she can disembowel you with her bare hands." <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Gwenffrewi</span><span class="annotation-text">A foreign, feminine name.</span></span> shushes her sister, leans towards you in her chair, and whispers indignantly, "Don't call her that! It's not allowed. Her name is <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Máire</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɑːɾʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Moira*</span></span>, like Our Lady." "But she is a butcher, right?" you ask. "She used to be. But someone told us that she got the nickname before that. There was a s-squabble between two brothers in her clan over their father's prized cow. She had given them c-calves and good milk for many summers, and each brother wanted her for himself. Neither of them was willing to give in, so Máire" — she leans right up to your face — "crept out in the middle of the n-night and butchered the cow, splitting it clean down the middle. When the brothers found it the next day she told them they had their fair dues." "Woah," you gasp. Butchers are feared for a reason, but this is something else. "Terrifying!" Canna spits in a half-whisper. "Well, after that she had to leave. Dunno how she ended up here, though."{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $cowkiller)) (set: $cowkiller to (dm: "name", "Cowkiller", "bio", "Cowkiller Desc", "bioAppend", "Cowkiller Desc Update 1.1", "img", "cowkiller.png", "desc", "Fierce old woman.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $cowkiller))}](else-if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Guard")[{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $blathnaid)) (set: $blathnaid to (dm: "name", "Guard", "bio", "Guard Desc New", "bioAppend", "", "img", "blathnaid450.png", "desc", "Intimidating monastery guard.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $blathnaid))(set: $guardName to true)}The guard glances at you, but says nothing. You ask her name. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span>," she says bluntly. Little Flower. It doesn't really suit. "I'm <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>.(if: $guardFight)[. And... I'm sorry about earlier." "I don't mind," she says, with a haughtiness that suggests that she very much minds. "As long as you realise it's a privilege to be here." "I do." "Good." She's pacified.](else:)["]"Were you talking to Cowkiller there?" (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Cowkiller")["Not exactly talking, no.](else:)["No.] What's she like?" "Fierce. Scariest woman I've ever met, and I'm including my mam in that." She says it with some pride. "Know how she got the nickname?" "Er... butchering?" Isn't it obvious? "Not just that, no. They say she made her debut into the slaughtering business by cutting a cow straight down the middle." She makes a slicing motion with her hand. "An inheritance dispute, it was: two brothers. Take yer halves, she said. Mad as a bag of cats." "Woah," you gasp. Butchers are feared for a reason, but this is something else. "Don't cross her, I'm telling you. For your own good."{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $cowkiller)) (set: $cowkiller to (dm: "name", "Cowkiller", "bio", "Cowkiller Desc", "bioAppend", "Cowkiller Desc Update 1.2", "img", "cowkiller.png", "desc", "Fierce old woman.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $cowkiller))}] You pass the rest of the early evening sharing stories, playing games with the kids, laughing. As the sun begins to set the group disperses, the children to bed, the adults to drinking and talking. Dar Lugdach approaches you and informs you that a bed has been made up in the dormitory. You doubt you're done with the monastery, but this might be your only chance to experience <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bealtaine</span><span class="annotation-text">A spring festival held to mark the coming of summer. Like Samhain, it is a time of year when the borders between the worlds are especially diffuse. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲal̪ˠt̪ˠənʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Bjal-ti-neh*</span></span> on the mainland. [["Sorry, but I have to be on my way."|Monastery - Bealtaine]] [["Thank you — happy to get some rest here."|Monastery - Abbess Chat]]

"I'll just have water, thanks," you say. She fetches a pair of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>s and jugs from a shelf mounted to the wall, pouring herself something thick and golden and handing you the water. It tastes a bit stagnant. When you look up she's holding your eye. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Cowkiller")[ "I hear you've been asking questions." Your heart catches in your throat. Did the butcher woman report you? "I don't mean anything by them." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Máire</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɑːɾʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Moira*</span></span>, our butcher, has had a difficult life. I would ask you not to trouble her further." "Sorry..."] "I saw (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Secular Appeal")[your young man](else:)[your brother] last night, from the ramparts over that way, huddled alone against a tree. He didn't stop here. Not that we would have admitted him. This is a sanctuary for women and children." Your heart thumps. "But you'd have given him food, and a blanket?" "Yes," she says impassively. "Did you see which way he was going?" "No. He stayed in the one spot. Could be the border. Not a great idea with the times we're living in." She sits down. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Secular Appeal")["What is he to you?" "My brother." "Christian?" You nod. She seems to relax a little, though her mouth remains pursed.](else:)["Is *he* Christian?" You nod. "He... he's somewhat misguided, but I've been trying to get him on the right path. Prayer a-and all," you add. "Our first duty is to God." She says it to herself, face downturned and eyes narrowed as if she's straining to recall something. Then she looks at you. ] "He..." She hesitates. "He was talking to himself. Not like a madman does, ranting and raving and vying for attention. It was sort of... subdued, without gesture." You've never known him to do anything like that. He's aloof, silent, even more so since your parents died. "Have you considered a religious life, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" [["I have."|Monastery - Abbess Nun Accept]] [["I haven't."|Monastery - Abbess Nun Reject]] [["Would they even take me?"|Monastery - Abbess Nun Deflect]]

"Whatever you have. Thanks," you say. She fetches a pair of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">mether</span><span class="annotation-text">A drinking vessel with a number of handles used throughout Ireland. Usually made of wood.</span></span>s and a jug from a shelf mounted to the wall, pouring something thick into each. You take a sip — it's sweet and then sharp. When you look up she's holding your eye.(if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Cowkiller")[ "I hear you've been asking questions." Your heart catches in your throat. Did the butcher woman report you? "I don't mean anything by them." "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Máire</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɑːɾʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Moira*</span></span>, our butcher, has had a difficult life. I would ask you not to trouble her further." "Sorry..."] "I saw (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Secular Appeal")[your young man](else:)[your brother] last night, from the ramparts over that way, huddled alone against a tree. He didn't stop here. Not that we would have admitted him. This is a sanctuary for women and children." Your heart thumps. "But you'd have given him food, and a blanket?" "Yes," she says impassively. "Did you see which way he was going?" "No. He stayed in the one spot. Could be the border. Not a great idea with the times we're living in." She sits down. (if: (history:) contains "Monastery - Secular Appeal")["What is he to you?" "My brother." "Christian?" You nod. She seems to relax a little, though her mouth remains pursed.](else:)["Is *he* Christian?" You nod. "He... he's somewhat misguided, but I've been trying to get him on the right path. Prayer a-and all," you add. "Our first duty is to God." She says it to herself, face downturned and eyes narrowed as if she's straining to recall something. Then she looks at you. ] "He..." She hesitates. "He was talking to himself. Not like a madman does, ranting and raving and vying for attention. It was sort of... subdued, without gesture." You've never known him to do anything like that. He's aloof, silent, even more so since your parents died. "Have you considered a religious life, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" [["I have."|Monastery - Abbess Nun Accept]] [["I haven't."|Monastery - Abbess Nun Reject]] [["Would they even take me?"|Monastery - Abbess Nun Deflect]]

<div class="background-container">Jolted awake. The sleep wasn't restful, and now you feel the hunger come on. "Anything to eat in it?" you ask them. "Nothing to eat," says the tall one. "But food somewhere else." Otherworld creatures. Maybe your aunt's in communion with them. "Do you know a healer woman named <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>? Human," you add, just in case. "A spring, a sprig," says the short one. "Come, come!" "For now." The tall one fetches an apple from the folds of their <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> and holds it out to you. Yellow fading to red: sunset. Grasping it in both hands and eating greedily, juice dripping down your chin. Tart, refreshing: the promise of summer. "Let's go!" You get up and [[follow them out.|Brother - Journey]]</div>

You follow the twins up the hastily assembled ladder. Sister Dar, seeing that Bláthnaid is finally in position, continues, "I would be very careful what you say and do here, outsider." "Do none of you bitches know the law? You're obliged to let me in, for fuck's sake!" "We obey canon law, not the law of the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">brehon</span><span class="annotation-text">A class of lawgiver and judge in ancient and early medieval Ireland.</span></span>s. Now, away with you unless you want an arrow through your head." You're halfway up the ladder, just behind the twins, when you hear a scream curdled in rage and the blunt end of something strike the door. You look back, a bit dizzy from the height: Sister Dar holds her hand out and <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span> fires. Bláthnaid's face crumples and she utters a long sigh, holding her hands out despairingly. "Stick to spears, you dozy bitch!" the intruder jeers. He's almost teared a hole in the door now, and she takes his advice, scrambling down the ladder and stepping in front of her leader, spear out. Sister Dar too has a weapon — a sword — though she's holding the hilt unsteadily, as if it might sooner burn her than protect her. The rest are nowhere to be seen — they must be huddled away in the monastery's many corners, waiting, listening. Cowkiller hurries you on: the twins are already up, on all fours, looking worried but a good deal less terrified than you might have expected, and "if he sees them," she mouths, "that's it". You twist yourself onto the thin wall adjoining the palisade and haul the rope ladder over the stakes. He's trying to force himself through the tiny hole in the door. Bláthnaid glances back at your little group in silent solidarity. Then Cowkiller has the rope out and is holding each twin's head down as they manoeuvre over and flatten out against the outer wall. When it's your turn, you imagine yourself falling, the loop of sky and forest you tumble through until there's a thud, then nothing, then you're being carried up on a bright aura of angels as the dark-haired horseman looks on bitterly. You focus, tell yourself you're fine, take it rung by rung. Foot out: soil licks it. You don't have time to enjoy it; he's in, and there's a wail and the clang of metal on metal. [["Run!"|Monastery - Back to Bog]]

You suddenly understand. You understand and tremble, as if your whole body is crying out for an answer. You step away from her, ask in an almost-whisper: "You. What did you do to him?" <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Nothing more than she asked me to—" You rise, a hot stinging fury in your throat. "He thought you could heal him! He came to this fucking place to find you, and now he's gone!" She shakes her head. "Stupid lad. He's prohibited for good reason. Didn't yer parents tell ye anything?" The fury settles, makes a lump. "No," you wheeze. "Calm, child, calm. Where is he gone?" "With the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span>. You must've seen him?" She taps the cup. "That boy-shaped one. Did you see the colour of the eyes?" "Y-yellow," you answer, hiccuping a sob. All this way and you're not a whit closer to finding him. "Not human, so. But they take forms they know. They met him at some point: probably close to where you saw him." You sit, bowing your head, your thoughts drowning in the cup's cloudy liquid. She knows something and you're going to get it out of her, if you can do nothing else for him. [["Answer the question. What did you do to him?"|Muireann - History]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"It was no simple thing for her to accept. But with your father as sick as he was, the boy needed the protection obeying the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span> would mean anyway. We talked long into the night. The next morning, I put her on a boat, waded out into the water, and held the boy's forehead against mine. *Never must you set a foot on these shores*. Íde's face as they pushed off is etched into my mind — quiet, desperate. "That was the last time I saw either of them. Rumour was that <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Eochaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /oːxə/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-ka*</span></span> was furious. I can't blame him. We made his only son a fisherman who can't sell his own catch." "So this is why the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> are pursuing him," you say in a whisper. "Just that. Your mammy, and the rest of those church-builders, violated their sanctuary: even now, they feel they're owed him as recompense." "And what happened to the church?" "All that's left of it are the foundations. Some <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span> tried building a pub on them, but it was boarded up within the year." (if: $inventory contains "Small Crucifix")["That pub... I was there. I found this." You hold up the small crucifix. "This is hers," she says, rubbing her thumb along the etching. "This animal — it's a seal. She used to call him that, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Rónán*</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɾˠoːnɑːn/ English phonetic approximation: *Row-nawn*</span></span>."](else:)["So that's why they all think the pub's cursed. Down the town." "They're not far wrong."] She looks at you pleadingly. "Daughter of my dear sister... forgive us. We did what we thought best at the time." (display: "Muireann - Options")</div>

You pass some moments in silence, then she turns back to the bench and begins rooting through her simples again. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"He passed through the bog, that we know. We'll ask the question of it. But..." — and as she says it, you see the flash of a dagger springing from her <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lay-neh*</span></span> — "blood seeks blood." Your heart bounds out of you and demands the door, the woods, anywhere fucking else, but you're fixed in place, your eyes frozen on the tip of the blade. She catches the terror on your face. "Listen to me, child. In order to ask anything about him, we need a bond with him. And blood is the most powerful of bonds: the stronger the relation, the better. Just a dropín from your arm, nothing more." She produces a bowl of dehydrated sphagnum, bruise purple, and holds it and the dagger out to you. "Into this. Take your time." You're still frozen on the dagger. "Can't we just use something belonging to him?" She shakes her head. "It has to be living." The dagger seems clean, but it's well-worn, the hilt half-rusted. You let it linger over your right forearm, close your eyes, and then cut once across where the blade is sharpest. The pain comes like a sudden memory. Your open your eyes and watch your blood drench the moss. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span> nods, takes the bowl, and adds a cloudy substance. "Bog water. Just one thing missing now." She holds out another bowl containing plant cuttings you don't recognise. "Choose." "I'm not from bogland. I don't know what these plants are." "So much the better. Don't think: will." You point at... <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/Bogplants.png" alt="Plant cuttings you don't recognise." class="portrait-img-small"></img></div> [[A plant in the form of a delicate white tuft.|Muireann - Bog Cotton]] [[A sprig ending in a vivid, six-pointed yellow flower.|Muireann - Bone Breaker]] [[A strange, many-tentacled leaf shaped like a spoon.|Muireann - Sundew]]</div>

You stand mute(if: $inventory contains "Silver Dagger" or "Small Iron Dagger")[, your hand curling around the dagger in your bag.](else:)[.] His canines, you notice, are fanged. You're dreaming, surely... The other man, older and redder of hair and face than his companion, is tending a fire over which hangs a sizable boar. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/laeg.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn's charioteer Láeg." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Ach, Cúa, we talked about this..." he says. His friend eyes him sullenly and sits, returning his gaze to you. "Sorry about that, love," he continues in a honeyed northern accent. "I don't know why he does this. I'm Láeg, and he—" "I know who you are." The Hound of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Culainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Kullen*</span></span> and his charioteer <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Láeg</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's charioteer and long-suffering friend. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /l̪ˠəiɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Loyg*</span></span> — really? "But, you're dead, the two of ye, right?" A large, glossy raven lands on <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span>'s shoulder, wagging its tail feathers. He shakes it off, screaming, "Shoo, filthy <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mórrígan</span><span class="annotation-text">A triple goddess associated with war. The three sisters Badb, Macha and Nemain appear to foretell warriors' fates. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠoːɾˠ ɾˠiːnˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Moor ri-an*</span></span> broodling!" "Aye," says Láeg. "We are. Usually this time of the year we head out for a bit — Cú likes the walk — but we lost the run of ourselves. Been out here a few days now. Maybe you can give us a hand. Oh, forgive my manners, it's been a while — care to join us?" He scoots over on the log. "I'm a bit lost too, to be honest," you admit — and they're two strange men claiming to be legendary heroes — "but all right." [[Sit.|Forest - Cú and Láeg]]</div>

"There's a portal due west of here, where Bull Rock rises from the sea," you say. "Go to the shoreline and you'll find the house where the dead dwell. Ask the Dark One if you need transport across. Tell him..." — you realise <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span> doesn't know your name — "... tell him his namesake's sister sent you." (display: "Forest - Evening")

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/laeg.png" alt="A portrait of Cú Chulainn's charioteer Láeg." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You rub your left forearm timidly. "Is it that obvious?" "Well, you're either not from herearounds or you're the world's worst navigator." "Anyone can get lost, as you've proven yourself." "Not anyone who grew up here. You'd be in here all the time as a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">wean</span><span class="annotation-text">A child. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /weːn/ English phonetic approximation: *wayne*</span></span>, so you would." You sigh, your legs dangling back and forth on the log. "I'm from the island to the west." "Ah!" His eyes widen. "But no webbed feet?" You let out an exasperated laugh. "How do you even *know* that rumour?" "Your fame extends all the way to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Eamhain Mhacha</span><span class="annotation-text">A great fort and the capital of the Ulstermen.</span></span>." He bundles the last of the leftovers and cutlery into a cloth pouch, watching your face turn sour and clearly enjoying himself, then adds, "Sure I'm only gegging you; I know perfectly well youse don't have webbed feet." "We've a bit of a reputation, I've noticed." "So do we, but don't let it get to you." He peers into the darkness. "There's Cúa now. Didn't take you long, and you after bringing that spear and all." "I don't take chances," Cú Chulainn says. He belts his <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> and sheathes the sword by the fire to it. "Let's go." [[Follow the leader.|Forest - River Crossing]]</div>

"Monastery any use?" "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Brigid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Goddess of poetry, healing, and smithcraft, associated with the coming of spring. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲijidʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Bridget*</span></span> wasn't there, but I found my aunt." "I'd never set you far wrong." He takes a drag of the smoke-stick. "Isn't that right, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sétanta</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's given name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃedana/ English phonetic approximation: *Shay-danta*</span></span>? Didn't I get you that lovely little head of yours back in the end?" Cú Chulainn wrests himself from Láeg's grip in a wild blur and draws his sword on the god, fangs bared. "Address me by my title!" Donn's eyes glimmer. "*'Hound'* is not a title you'll find on any brehon's lips, lad, as you well know. And I told you, all mortals are equals in death. Mac Lir hasn't been teaching you otherwise, I hope?" Láeg carefully withdraws the sword from his companion's hands. "Calm yourself, Cúa," he whispers. "Dark One, your servant here said you could provide us with transport." You turn bright red and avert your eyes, ready for a chewing from Donn. "I'll be back for ye later," he says to the two men. "I've to tend to your mess first." He faces you. "Little one, good luck." [["Wait!"|Forest - Cú and Donn 3]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn_newhair.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">You tug at his robe as he rises. "I'm looking for a goddess. One of the old ones." "The <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Tuatha Dé Danann</span><span class="annotation-text">The tribe of the goddess Danu. The primary gods of the Gaels, who dwell in Alltar, the Otherworld. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈtu.əhə deɪ ˈdɑːnən/ English phonetic approximation: *Too-eh Day Don-nan*</span></span>. Not on the best of terms with them, I'll admit. Especially the women. Neither is this lad," he deadpans, gesturing at Cú Chulainn. "But describe her." "Like..." The words pour out of you. "Like a fire given form. She moves like music." "Ah. That's Brigid, of course. Sure I told you before: even her father couldn't tell you where that one runs off to, especially since she took up with the Roman god. But I might have an idea of a direction, at least. Want a lift? These fuckers" — he gestures towards the bodies of the guards — "can wait. And ye two." "Take as long as you need, Dark One," says Láeg. "I won't waste another six months here," retorts his friend. "Well, good, because you won't have to. Just behave yourself for once in your bloody existence and I'll be back before you can get the lice out of that filthy cloak." He snuffs out the smoke-stick on the rock and begins heaving both bodies, severed head and all, out of the river. "No help for me, Sétanta? Six more months it is." Cú Chulainn glares at one of the bodies. "Relax, I'm kidding. At this point you'll only do more damage." Donn ties the bodies across Sioc's withers. "Ready?" You look up at the great huffing mare. "How do I —" "Lift yourself up." You try it, but you're not tall enough to reach the horse's back and the bodies are in the way. They're not bound very tightly, and slide towards you as you attempt to to throw yourself on, close enough so you get a good whiff of that scent of death like meat that's been left out in the sun. You wonder if this is what Donn smells on you. Sioc whinnies, unamused. "Here, let me. Stand back." He mounts the mare in one graceful hop and holds out a sinewy hand. He pulls you over effortlessly and lifts you onto the back, just behind the body. You've never ridden a horse before, as rider or passenger, and you're a little nervous. He catches it and says, "She's old, this one. Not that fast." "Take care, love," says Láeg. "And thanks for the help." Cú Chulainn half-nods in your direction. Goodbyes said, Donn whispers something to the mare and she sets off at a canter that turns into a gallop before you can even register that you're moving. The wind whips against your face in a blur of greens and purples. You're bouncing back and forth and so are the bodies; only the horse and her rider seem in control, like two old friends who finish each other's sentences. "Somebody ought to have given that lad a swift kick up the hole long before he became capable of slaughtering people with a stray glance," he says as if talking to himself. "Would've saved me a lot of fucking trouble." You try to answer, but you're afraid you'll just throw up. Just when your head is lolling and you feel about to succumb, you pull an image out of the blur. A campfire in a glade. [["Stop! Stop!"|Farmland - Cú Exit]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brigid.png" alt="A portrait of the abbess Brigid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Can I ask you a stupid question?" "No such thing, but go on." "You said earlier that your god isn't a man. Why do we refer to Him with 'He', then?" She cups her chin in her hands and contemplates the question. "Because '*Deus*' and '*Dia*' are both masculine nouns. That's all it means. He became flesh as the man Jesus Christ, but He could've just as easily taken any form." "Why didn't He?" "Because it's harder to get people to listen to you as a woman. Of course, they still put Him to death." She pauses, looking thoughtful. "It's a good question, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. What do you think yourself?" "Just..." your face flushes. You murmur, "Just that the god of mercy should be a woman", turning away. "Think of Her as a woman if it suits you better, then. We can't capture Her essence with our language." "Even Latin?" She chuckles. "Especially Latin. They don't have a monopoly on wisdom, you know." (display: "Brigid - Questions")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brigid.png" alt="A portrait of the abbess Brigid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"I was up in the sky, and looked down and saw the entire island stretched out before me, and four ploughers, men and women, sowing every corner, and even before they had finished it exploded in ripeness, and springs and streams ran from the furrows. Then to the north four men came and undid everything, turned the harvest again and grew a foul crop that blackened the land and the water." You recall your vision earlier. "Doesn't sound... great." "It was a warning I was glad to receive. I went back to my father and raided his pantries again. He got tired of me and sent me off to the King of Leinster to be sold. I gave his sword to a leper on the way... oh, he hated that." She looks pleased with herself. "Anyway, the king was a Christian and understood where I was coming from. He asked my father to grant me my freedom, and for once the stubborn old man listened. But that wasn't the end of it. They wanted to marry me off, but I wasn't having any of it. I did this" — she turns her left cheek towards you. There's a faint scar running along the length of it — "and that was disfigurement enough to deter the young poet who fancied himself my suitor." "So it's not true what they say, about it healing when you took the vows?" "Ha, is that the latest rumour?" "Well, that and that the beam supporting the altar in the church bloomed with flowers when you touched it." "That... may or may not have happened," she laughs. "Anyway, it was a kindly bishop named Mel who performed the sacrament. He had watched over my mother when she was pregnant, and I was very grateful. I already had a school of women following me, and after living with Mel for some time we founded the Abbey at Cill Dara. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Dar Lugdach</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠaɾˠ l̪ˠuːd̪ˠaxˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Dar Loo-dack*</span></span> came there as a young woman and went with me to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Connacht</span><span class="annotation-text">A province of Ireland.</span></span> to establish <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cluain Fearta</span><span class="annotation-text">A monastery in Connacht. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkluənʲ fʲærta/ English phonetic approximation: *Cloon fart-a*</span></span>. And so we struggle on." You're struck by her absolute confidence, that God-given surety you wish you had yourself. It was in her from a young age, undoubtedly. (display: "Brigid - Questions")</div>

<div class="background-container">"What?" You say it and then some piece slots back into place. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>. Donnchadh Mac Eochaidh, the name with which you marked the hull of your family's only remaining currach once it was clear it now belonged to you. Watching you warily. She waited to use it, waited until she could guess you wouldn't react, shift again. "Right," you say. "Something did feel off about '<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Rónán</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈɾˠoːnɑːn/ English phonetic approximation: *Row-nawn*</span></span>'." <div class="background-container"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C4/bv_brid.png" alt="Bríd" class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"You share it with the death god. He put me on to it." (unless: (history:) contains "Brother - Donn Mór")["You met Donn Fírinne?" "*You* met Donn Fírinne, or at least he said you met him." That lanky, bird-looking fucker? He did have a sort of preening divinity to him, like you'd expect of a minor god.](else:)["Donn Fírinne." Self-important fucker he was — you should've known.] "How was my journey, was it?" You brow squirms, but you owe her some answers. (display: "Brother - Journey Recap Choices")</div></div>

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "You", "Your Brother", "Mam and Dad", "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh", "Oisín"))(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Ailbhe"))(set: $sister to (dm: "name", "You", "bio", "Sister Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "protag400.png", "desc", "Inquisitive young woman.")) (set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Your Brother", "bio", "Brother Desc", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 1", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman.")) (set: $parents to (dm: "name", "Mam and Dad", "bio", "Parents Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "parents.png", "desc", "Your parents, Íde and Eochaid.")) (set: $mrsnic to (dm: "name", "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh", "bio", "Mrs. Ní Cheallaigh Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "niche400.png", "desc", "Island matriarch.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $sister, $brother, $parents, $mrsnic))}<div class="title-parent"><div class="title title-animated">ISLAND · AN tOILEÁN</div></div>(live: 5s)[(goto: "Morning")]

{(set: $charactersNew to it + (a: "Ferry Captain")) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $sister)) (set: $captain to (dm: "name", "Ferry Captain", "bio", "Captain Desc", "bioAppend", "", "img", "captain.png", "desc", "Veteran of Inis Caillí's waters.")) (set: $sister to (dm: "name", "You", "bio", "Sister Desc After Leaving", "bioAppend", "", "img", "protag400.png", "desc", "Inquisitive young woman.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $captain) + (ds: $sister))} <div class="title-parent title-animated"><div class="title">CROSSING · AG DUL TRASNA</div></div>(live: 5s)[(goto: "Ferry")]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother) - (ds: $parents))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Your Brother", "bio", "Brother Desc After Bull Rock", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 5", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $parents to (dm: "name", "Mam and Dad", "bio", "Parents Desc", "bioAppend", "Parents Desc Update 1", "img", "parents.png", "desc", "Your parents, Íde and Eochaid."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother) + (ds: $parents))(set: $characters to it - (ds: $ailbhe)) (set: $ailbhe to (dm: "name", "Ailbhe", "bio", "Ailbhe Desc", "bioAppend", "Ailbhe Desc Update 3", "img", "ailbhe.png", "desc", "Childhood friend.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $ailbhe))}<div class="title-parent title-animated"><div class="title">MAINLAND · AN MHÓRTHÍR</div></div>(live: 5s)[(goto: "Mainland - Landing")]

{(set: $characters to it - (ds: $brother))(set: $brother to (dm: "name", "Donn", "bio", "Brother Desc Name", "bioAppend", "Brother Desc Update 13", "img", "brother_h.png", "desc", "Taciturn fisherman."))(set: $characters to it + (ds: $brother)) (set: $characters to it - (ds: $brigid)) (set: $brigid to (dm: "name", "Brigid", "bio", "Brigid Desc", "bioAppend", "Brigid Desc Update 5", "img", "brigid.png", "desc", "Storied abbess of Cluain Fearta.")) (set: $characters to it + (ds: $brigid))}<div class="title-parent title-animated"><div class="title">BEYOND · ALLTARACH</div></div>(live: 5s)[(go-to: "Fairy Mound - Entrance")]

*Her laughter is snowy evenings by the fire, imagining yourselves being carried away on the shoulders of* <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*Fionn*</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Usually refers by itself to Fionn Mac Cumhaill, the legendary leader of the *fianna*, wandering bands of young noblemen. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲʊːn̪ˠ/ or /fʲiːn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Fyunn*</span></span> *MacCumhaill, reaching up to grab the stars just above you. It belongs to you — and him — as much as it does to her. [[Sadness does not suit it.|The Beach 2]]*

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/ailbhe.png" alt="A portrait of Ailbhe smiling faintly, her hair tied in a loose braid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Sure I've enough siblings to keep track of," <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> says. "Saw him last night, same as yourself. Nothing since." You both stare out. There's a line of <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">currach</span><span class="annotation-text">A small fishing boat with an animal hide. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkʊɾˠəx/ English phonetic approximation: *Curr-ack*</span></span>s, little wicker boats covered with tarred cowhide. Your family's is painted a moss green, and the hull is marked with his name in <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">ogham</span><span class="annotation-text">The alphabet used to write the early Irish language. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈoː(ə)mˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Oh-m*</span></span>, like many of the ones belonging to the fishermen who visit from the mainland. It's not here. Your breath quickens. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. Bríd, look at me." You turn around. She's smiling, the creases at her eyes flowing out into little rivulets. She clasps your hands in hers and runs her palms over them. They're smooth, warm. "He does our heads in, doesn't he? But we're gonna find him — we're gonna find him if we keep our wits about us." She sighs rather too quickly. "Have you heard anything?" [["He might've fled to the mainland."|Ailbhe - Mainland]]</div>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Prayer Beads</strong></h2> A set of simple prayer beads that you stole from the priest. A wooden crucifix hangs from a short piece of frayed rope, interspersed with knots every inch or so.

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Síle na gCíoch</strong></h2> A votive offering in the form of a stone ornament that's more vulva than woman. Oisín might get a laugh out of it.

*They were in and out all the time. He must be sick. He must be sick though he's all reckless energy, up half the night and then first out of bed the next morning. They didn't make it any of your concern, so you [[tried to ignore it.|Bull Rock 2]]*

Shapes that might be faces hover blankly in your mind. "What of it?" you ask. "We were out fishing after your parents died, and he told me this. A couple of years after he was born, your parents started to notice how strong he was for his age. He was lifting chairs and sacks and just had this tremendous energy, which I'm sure you were at the receiving end of a few times, heh..." She's holding you all the tighter, willing a calm you're not sure is going to come. "Anyway, it was unusual enough that they went to the druidess for advice ⁠— this was before they'd converted ⁠— and she... she told them that she believed that he'd been placed under a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*geis*</span><span class="annotation-text">An obligation or prohibition enforced by magic. Obeying it is said to grant power. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ɟɛʃ/ English phonetic approximation: *Gesh*</span></span>." The burden of Ireland's warrior sons, inflicted on a fisherman's child? "What *geis*?" "He said it was not to set foot on the mainland." Your heart almost stops again. "Then how did he...? Why can't we remember his name? Is he..." Fuck! Say it! "... dead?" "They say the name thing is one of the effects of violating the curse, but it doesn't have to mean anything beyond that. It's definitely going to make things harder, but you'll find him if he wants to be found." "You remember last time, though..." Your cheeks are smeared with warm tears. "Why should we assume he's alive?" "Because he's a stubborn fucking <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span> and he'll do everything he can to spit in the face of what the gods want for him, or so we hope." That's true. You nod through the tears. "And who...?" The thought is so terrible. "I have no idea. If he does, he's never told me." You cup your face in your hands and sigh. "*How* am I only learning this now?" She looks over at Fechín conspiratorially. He's fiddling with the rigging, trying to make as much noise as is needed to avoid overhearing something. "Honestly, he tried to convince me he didn't much believe in it himself, but sure you know what he's like. Wanted to keep it from you so you wouldn't worry, and I got caught up in it, made me swear not to tell. Sorry." She squeezes your upper arm and looks towards the approaching coast, her eyes wide and wistful in that sad oval face. "There's something else. And it's all right to hate me for this, just so you know. He..." She lets out a slow sigh. "He told me his plans, the other night, before he left. He told me he loves you, but he wants to test the limits of this thing, get away for a while. And that's why I think he's still out there. I'm sorry I lied to you, Brídín." You come loose from her grip and stand up, wanting to feel the full force of the wind and the spray on your face and in your hair. "I... I wasted all that time looking when you knew exactly where he'd gone⁠—" "I wanted to protect you, 'cause I knew if I said anything this would all come tumbling out. He did too, I think. We're both stupid that way." "Yeah." The others are beginning to stretch their limbs. [[Land is in sight.|Mainland Animation]]

<div class="text-animated"><div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/aunt.png" alt="A portrait of Muireann." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">She's gazing at you patiently. "That's her. The woman who'll show you the way." You blink, trying to make sense of it. "But... where?" "That's the hard part. What was she ploughing?" "Just a field. Endless. There was a river on the other side." She takes your hand. "You're on the right path already, then. You've only to cross the border." "And how will this woman help me find him?" you ask, though you almost feel sorry for doubting her. "She's one of the old gods. Put your trust in her and she'll guide you." You don't tell her about the crucifix, or her clothing, plain enough to be unbefitting such stature. Those details belong to you. You look towards the door. The sun is touching the tips of the yews. It's time to go. "I'd best be off. Thank you, Aunt, for guiding me." "Leaving already?" She smiles wryly. "And we only just after meeting." "I've to—" "I'm only messing with you, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*a leanbh*</span><span class="annotation-text">An affectionate form of address for a child; "my child". Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ə ˈl̠ʲanˠəw/ English phonetic approximation: *A lan-nuv*</span></span>. C'mere and give your aunt a hug." You lean into her and she wraps her reedy arms around you, with all the weight she can manage, but she's spent too long pining for her <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Íde</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /i:dʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *Ee-djeh*</span></span>, and it's as if she might pass through you. Still, it's your first hug in a while, and your first from family in many years: you accept her small warmth greedily. She smells faintly savoury, like candle wax and ground herbs. "If the <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*púcaí*</span><span class="annotation-text">Plural form of *púca*, a small, elusive, shape-shifting being. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈpˠuːkiː/ English phonetic approximation: *Poo-key*</span></span> have taken him, there's not long left. Hurry to him and then come see me. Mark my words: *don't* let them keep you too long. You've time enough here yet." You nod. "I'll ring a bell when the time comes, to call you back. Bye for now, my dear niece." "How will I hear a bell from so far away?" "With your ears, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>. Now go on." You pass her and the cottage one last glance and [[step out into the forest.|Forest]]</div></div>

<div class="background-container">*The rushing of waves. Mam's there, fiddling with the currach's cowhide, checking for leaks. Dad head against the stern, in a dull sick sleep. "Mam. Mam!" "Shh." She brings a finger up to her mouth. "Don't waken him." "Who's taking the oars?" you ask. "I am." "To the mainland? You're joking me. Can you not get Fergus, at least?" The wind hisses. She looks away. "I'm not putting anyone else at risk." "Oh, but you'll put your-fucking-self at risk! With two kids." "You're hardly kids anymore, Donn. We'll be all right; God will help us. Mind your sister now." "What's there? There's no fucking healer there any better than the ones we have." Sighing. He coughs and splutters and you swear he opens his eyes, but then he's gone again. She looks at him and then you, as if willing you to see the part of you that's in him. "Donnán. Trust me, please." You grab an oar, roughly, then another. "I'll take him. Get out." "You know you can't." "This shite again? Won't touch the mainland if that's what you're worried about." "It's... look, just give them back to me and I'll see you in a few days." You hold fast to the oars. Don't give her the satisfaction. She rises, stands over him protectively. "Get out, I said." He splutters something that sounds like "son..." "I told you to keep your voice down. Look, we're visiting your aunt Muireann. She'll know what he needs. But she doesn't know you — it has to be me. So please, go on home like a good lad. For him." "Fuck it anyway." You hurl both oars down and start walking. Her eyes on you like she knows. Nothing. Nothing and [[then...|Brother - Muireann 2]]*</div>

<div class="background-container">"<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>? Donn?" The wound on your torso writhes with your body, hot and wet. To be nothing and everything, every form of every creature, some other thing than their son, her brother, human. It takes hold of you and you're eager for its truth, eager to forget. [[To forget...|Sister - Brother Calm]]</div>

<div class="title-parent title-animated"><div class="title">SAMHAIN</div></div>(live: 5s)[(go-to: "Epilogue")]

Oisín is back at his post. (if: (history:)'s last is "The Priest - Contrition" or "The Priest - Help")[He accosts you as you're leaving. "What was that about?" he yells. You say in a half-whisper, "Grand, sure tell the whole fecking village!" ](else:)[He sees you from some distance and waves, grinning. "How'd it go?" he yells. When you're close enough you shush him and say in a half-whisper, "Grand, sure tell the whole fecking village!"] "Tell them what?" (if: (history:) contains "The Priest - Help")[[["I couldn't play the lamb."|Oisín - After Priest Warning]] ]\ (if: (history:) contains "The Priest - Contrition")[[[Hold up the prayer beads.|Oisín - After Priest Prayer Beads]] ]\ [["Nothing."|Oisín - After Priest Keep Mum]]

"I was hoping he'd give me a blessing," you murmur, glancing at the church door. "I got a warning instead." "The father's just looking out for his flock—" You shake your head and say hotly, "I *cannot* just sit here and wait for him to come back." "So what? He's gone to the mainland, so you'll swim over?" (display: "Oisín - After Priest Convo")

His eyes widen. "He give you those, or...?" "What, you think I stole them? Oh ye of little faith." He shrugs. "So what now?" "I'm going after him," you say hotly. "And what, you're going to swim over?" (display: "Oisín - After Priest Convo")

You don't want him to get too involved in this. He's going to notice you're gone eventually, but you'd rather give him a few days before he starts fretting that it might be a forever farewell. Maybe you'll even be back by then. "It's not important," you conclude. "Right." He sighs. "What did <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span> say?" (display: "Oisín - White Lies Convo")

"I'm taking the ferry. With <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Ailbhe</span><span class="annotation-text">A gender-neutral name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈalʲvʲə/ English phonetic approximation: *Al-veh*</span></span>." He drops the spear and begins pacing back and forth like you'd catch him doing on a lazy day. You tuck a stray strand of hair behind your right ear. "Nothing to say?" "I'm not sure if he's worth it, to be honest. And aren't you scared of the water?" "He's my brother, Ois. I need to know what's happened to him. I guess that's hard for you to understand—" He scoffs. "It's hard to understand because he's never been anything other than a gigantic arsehole to me—" "Oh, and I suppose you were a newborn innocent in all of that?" "No, but he enjoys this power he has over people. I've seen how he acts with you." "What power? What are you on about?" you growl, a hot tension spreading over your face. "The way he ignores you. The way he left you to yourself and—" You pull back and up until your face is level with his. You're fuming, teeth bared, fists curled. "Shut up!" you yell, and sink on to the damp grass as if you've startled yourself. He sits down beside you, looking away. "Sorry," you get after a while. "It's grand. I just want you to know that I'm going, whether you like it or not." "Right. Is there anything I can do to increase your chances of coming back alive? I'd really like you to come back alive." "Maybe." "Like?" The boat is waiting impatiently at the jetty, watching the reddening sky, a minor crowd thickening with each passing minute. [["Tell me about the mainland. Anything I should watch out for?"|Oisín - Advice]] [["Let me bring you back something."|Oisín - Delicacies]] [["Come with me."|Oisín - Offer]]

"No sign of him today, but (if: (passage:)'s name is "Oisín - White Lies")[she](else:)[Ailbhe] saw him last night. He's probably just off chasing some stinking fish." "So what now?" He leans himself and the spear against the wall of the church, arms clasped behind his back. You sit down on the grass. "I suppose we wait," you say without looking at him. You're not enjoying this. "That it? He's some <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">craic</span><span class="annotation-text">A versatile word meaning 'fun in good company'. 'What's the craic?' - 'What's up?'</span></span>, that brother of yours." "Well, what can we do? We wait a few days, keep looking around the island, then figure it out after that." He looks down at you with vague suspicion. "I'm surprised Ailbhe wasn't a bit more proactive in this—" "She knows it's probably just something he needs to get out of himself." *She knows him well enough to know it's precisely the opposite...* "Right. Well, he's your brother. I'll be here as always if you need help looking." You thank him. A proper goodbye is the least he deserves, but it'd be too much. Walking away you feel his eyes on you and try not to break. (display: "Island Options")</div>

Breakfast is still on the table when you arrive. Milk again, and plenty of it. You take a seat next to <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bláthnaid</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /bˠl̪ˠɑːnˠɪdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Blah-nidj*</span></span>, grab a bowl, fill it to the brim, and begin slurping with relish. You could grow to like this, you think, until you catch the women staring at you with your mouth half-full and haven't the faintest notion why. Bláthnaid kicks your leg and whispers, "Grace." The milk is running out of your mouth. You swallow quickly, some of it going down the wrong pipe or out the wrong hole, and spluttering recite a quick prayer in half-remembered Latin. The madding crowd turn away from you and towards each other. The act is enough: you've just made it into an opportunity for gossip. Bláthnaid guffaws. "No table manners yet, then," she says playfully. "Sure it wouldn't do you good to stay a while?" You're surprised to see her so chipper. "I'm sure it would, but I've something to take care of first." "Well, your loss," she says with a mouth full of buttered bread. The food is beginning to wake you up. You still don't know where you need to go; you should ask around, make sure you've as much information as possible. [[Chat with Bláthnaid.|Monastery - Guard Morning]] [[Chat with Cowkiller.|Monastery - Butcher Morning]] [[Go find Dar Lugdach.|Monastery - Abbess Morning]]

*"Don't say anything; keep walking," Mam whispers, squeezing your hand. You feel a flush of fear you're not sure you understand, and keep your head down as you pass the male shadow whose eyes seem to follow you [[all the way back home.|Bealtaine - Confrontation 2]]*

You do as you were taught, trying to fill your head with imaginary noises, trying not to collapse. It works so well that you don't notice the voices calling after you or the hand reaching for your shoulder. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>! Bríd! Are you deaf?" Féilim's voice. You turn. It's him, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Fechín</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /fʲɛiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Feh-heen*</span></span>, and Úna. Fechín admonishes his cousin with a "shut up" and, seeing you're unsteady, gently guides you to a sitting position on the grass. You don't want to be touched, you think, and draw back. "Are you hurt?" he asks. "No." You stand. "No, I'm fine. Just tired." Your head hurts. "It's bad luck, you know," says Féilim. "Sleeping outside tonight. My gaff isn't far off if you want to stay there." You're not superstitious, but the thought of a warm fire and dry ground is enough to convince you. They lead you there on leaden feet. It's a good twenty-minute walk inland, but you're too drained to take in the scenery. Once you arrive, you find a spot on the cold stone floor closest to the hearth and wrap your cloak around you. Voices, accompanied by shuffling feet and doors creaking, hiss somewhere very far away... [[Rest for the night.|Day 2 - Bedtime]]

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn_newhair.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Doing your work for you, keeping an eye on these two," you say. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cú Chulainn</span><span class="annotation-text">A legendary hero of Ulster whose adopted name means 'hound of Culainn', given to him as a boy after he killed a guard dog using only a *sliotar*. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /kuːˈxʊlˠɪnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Koo Kullen*</span></span> growls. "Not my work, little one," says Donn. "<span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Mac Lir</span><span class="annotation-text">Manannán Mac Lir, a sea god and one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /mˠanˠanˠɑ:nˠ mˠɑk l̠ʲɪɾˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Man-nan-nawn Mac Leer*</span></span>'s. But let's not dirty up this happy reunion with politics." He puffs out a stream of smoke. (display: "Forest - Cú and Donn 2")</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn_newhair.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Just trying not to get myself killed at this point," you deadpan. "There are worse bodyguards, in fairness," says <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Donn</span><span class="annotation-text">A masculine name. The name of the death god who receives the souls of the dead at *Teach Doinn*, it can also simply mean 'brown-haired'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈd̪ˠʊn̪ˠ/ or /d̪ˠɔn̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Done* or *Down*</span></span>. (if: (history:) contains "Forest - Bodyguard")[ "If his goal was two dead guards, I'd agree with you there. If his goal was actually, y'know, guarding my body, I'm not so sure." "She's got you there, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Sétanta</span><span class="annotation-text">Cú Chulainn's given name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ʃedana/ English phonetic approximation: *Shay-danta*</span></span>." He puffs out a stream of smoke. (display: "Forest - Cú and Donn 2")](else:)[(display: "Forest - Cú and Donn 2")]

"It was just convenient," you say. "Hard to make dead men fear you otherwise." "Oh believe me, I know plenty about making dead men fear me." He smirks. "I'll say this much, your brother wasn't particularly into the idea of running errands for me. I usually go for lads — bodies are heavy — but a poor man is grateful for little. Don't know *whose* nipple you need to suck to find a decent slave boy these days." He rolls his eyes. "My brother has land. Why would either of us want to be your slave?" "Well, the perks..." "We're grand for the perks." (display: "Farmland - Morning 2")

"The Dark One finds his servants", you say, quoting the old proverb. "And he's always looking. Or is that not true?" "Well, I usually go for lads — bodies are heavy — but a poor man is grateful for little. Don't know *whose* nipple you need to suck to find a decent slave boy these days." He rolls his eyes. "I'm not saying I actually *want* to be your slave. My brother has land." "Well, we'd find ways of making it work—" "I'm grand, thanks." (display: "Farmland - Morning 2")

"It just slipped out. I meant nothing by it," you insist. "You sure? I usually go for lads — bodies are heavy — but a poor man is grateful for little. Don't know *whose* nipple you need to suck to find a decent slave boy these days." He rolls his eyes. "I'm sure." (display: "Farmland - Morning 2")

There's a <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*crannóg*</span><span class="annotation-text">An artificial island built on a lake, usually encompassing a number of circular dwellings. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈkɾˠan̪ˠoːɡ/ English phonetic approximation: *Kran-owg*</span></span> further out where the river snakes inland; a village on water, ringed by a wooden palisade glinting threateningly in the half-light of the dawn. Beyond it is nothing but well-worked fields and the odd copse of trees huddled together as if hiding a secret. The fetid, leathery stench of the bodies gets in everything: your clothes, your hair, under your nails. You want to stop again, but you can't, not this close. He's led you on this fine fucking journey to the heartland, a kingdom where even milch cows are fed fat on the bounty of the land and the sea is a vague abstraction that might be seen from a hill on the two days a year when the weather is clear. Your stomach twists again, but it's more than just the smell: you know it like an old neighbour, this terrible, gnawing uncertainty he's left you with. Go on then. Clop clop, one hoof in front of the other, clinging to the mare with the sun on your neck and sweat sticking to your starchy woollen <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span>. The death god oddly silent. Trace the boundary lines of the fields, those stacked stone walls even you can kick down, find with your spare hand where they meet the dull symmetry of the sky. The rain comes and wets the dried blood on your feet, distends the bodies even further. You want to be anywhere else. There's a bend in the path. The mare turns and a great gnarled oak on the summit of a hill comes into view, with a figure nestled under it. Tall and imperious, a woman in a nun's habit, shining like flames. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/brigid.png" alt="A portrait of the abbess Brigid." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"You're looking for someone. I know where he is," she says, smiling serenely. [[Greet her.|Brigid - Introduction]]

<div id="back-credits">|mainmenu>[(link:"<img src='Images/icon_back.png' alt='Back icon' id='back-icon'></img>")[(go-to: "Title Screen")]]</div>*Alltarach* explores themes of mental (ill-)health, grief, and the healing process. It's set in a world that can be violent, hierarchical, and patriarchal. If you're affected by any of the topics below, or just need to talk to someone, you can find a list of country-specific mental health resources at <a href="https://findahelpline.com/">https://findahelpline.com/</a> Click on a topic to reveal more information about its portrayal in the game. Note that there may be minor spoilers. <details><summary>Attempted Suicide and Suicidal Ideation</summary>A character attempts to take his own life by sailing during a vicious storm.</details> <details><summary>Sexual Harassment</summary>The main character is verbally harassed by a group of young men at a festival.</details> <details><summary>References to Attempted Sexual Assault</summary>The main character remembers a strange man following her and her mother back home.</details> <details><summary>Grief</summary>Grief, and how it can foster self-destructive behaviour, is a theme throughout *Alltarach*.</details> <details><summary>Self-Harm</summary>The main character cuts herself for blood to use in a foretelling ritual.</details> <details><summary>References to Drowning</summary>The main character's parents drown at sea. This is referenced in memory and dreams repeatedly.</details> <details><summary>Misogyny</summary>Numerous characters express misogynistic beliefs, e.g. that women are liars or untrustworthy.</details> <details><summary>References to Homophobia</summary>A character describes how he narrowly avoided a homophobic hate crime (neighbours plotting to burn down his house because of his sexuality) in his past.</details> <details><summary>References to Slavery</summary>A character speaks positively of the Iron Age system of slavery in Ireland, and how he misses having slaves.</details> <details><summary>References to Bullying</summary>A character refers to having been bullied by the game's deuteragonist.</details> <details><summary>Beheading</summary>A character kills a guard by beheading him.</details> <details><summary>Poisoning</summary>The main character can look into a magic mirror and see herself dying of poisoning.</details> <details><summary>Hanging</summary>The main character can look into a magic mirror and see herself dying of hanging.</details> <details><summary>Fatal Wounds</summary>The main character can look into a magic mirror and see herself dying of blood loss from fatal wounds.</details> <details><summary>Tuberculosis</summary>There are frequent references to the main character's father's tuberculosis. The main character can look into a magic mirror and see herself dying of tuberculosis.</details> <details><summary>Fire</summary>The festival of Bealtaine is celebrated with large twin bonfires that people dare each other to leap over.</details>

A tall dark man with a birdish face, wearing a purple robe. "Dead?" you ask. <div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C3/donn-brother-vision.png" alt="A portrait of the death god Donn." class="portrait-img-large"></img></div> <div class="body-text">Laughing, laughing at you, he replies, "Nope, not this time, lad. You picked a lousy method. Drowning's faster when you just dash yourself against some rocks. No need to go on a pleasure cruise first." "I didn't—" "Oh, I know you didn't want to. That's the only reason you're still here." Left shoe's gone. Gone? Where? There, over by his ankles. Moving again, crawling forward, stretch out your arm but it's just out of reach. Pain... He catches it under his boot, grinning a wicked bird grin. "You don't look like the shoe-wearing type, I have to say." Picks it up and examines it. "Hardly even worth it with a sole this thin..." He tosses it over to you and watches you with a smirk as you cradle it your arms, then put it on bending over awkwardly, right leg flailing in the air. Moving again and sitting up, sand everywhere. Pain. Boat's there by the shore, unmoored. He must have... No, that means you don't know. The strength leaving you, the spray in your hair, that wave — and then here. Pieces missing. But, off to your right, the fort on the island cutting through the mist. You've arrived. He leans down, stares. Black blank eyes and a golden ornament glinting in your face. Hole in the centre of him. *Move away, leave me alone, fuck off.* "Are you looking for work, lad?" "I'm not," you say flatly. A wide smirk. Cunt nobles not used to backchat. "Not going to ask what kind of work?" Tilling and reaping, the discs on your spine twisting away from each other. Kicked out and left to die at thirty. "No," you say again. "Not interested." "Not for food and lodgings, and women? Wouldn't be much manual labour in it, either. Just the occasional trip." A distraction. You need to keep walking. Up and the scar stings like hot revenge, and you see flashes of the moment when you knew your strength had left you. You fall in a heap. He's still waiting for an answer. "I'd give you time to sort yourself out, of course." You try again, start walking away. Left leg hit on something too; it buckles when you put weight on it. Fucking useless. Following you now. "So what's the plan, then? This, that, and the other? Finding a girl who'll have you?" he asks. Trying to sound detached. You want to say nothing, that it's none of his fucking business, but you need a lead so you can start looking while your body still permits it. "Looking for a healer woman. <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Muireann</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈmˠɪɾʲən̪ˠ/ English phonetic approximation: *Meir* (to rhyme with "weir") *-en*</span></span>." He smirks. "Oh, *that* kind of girl? Believe you me, you're not so banjaxed you need a hag to patch you up. Not yet, anyway." "Do you know her or not?" "Christian, are you?" he asks. "I'm not anything." Shuffling across the sand, head down. A little puddle of red on your <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*léine*</span><span class="annotation-text">A loose-fitting linen tunic. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲe:nʲɛ/ English phonetic approximation: *LAY-neh*</span></span> where the scar has opened up, the shape left behind by a gutted fish. *THUMP THUMP THUMP* from the corners of your eyes. "Don't lie, lad — I can smell it on you. So, a friend of mine runs a monastery at <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Cluain Fearta</span><span class="annotation-text">A monastery in Connacht.</span></span>. Women-only, actually; can't say I blame them. Anyway, she won't let you in, naturally, but she might know where to find your hag, if you really insist on not taking up my offer." You grunt an acknowledgement. "You are a bold little <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">*leaidín*</span><span class="annotation-text">Means 'young lad'. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /lʲædʲiːnʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Lad-een*</span></span>, aren't you?" he says with a mocking tut. "Last chance." He pulled you out. You wonder if you should say something: a thanks, an acknowledgement. No, it was only because he wanted something. Fuck him. Keep walking. "Look." Stopping you, gripping you by the chin, cranking your head to the side. He's so strong you almost don't realise he's trying to show you something, a miserable little shack set against the shore. Bite your lip. You try to kick out but the pain stops you. "Find me there, if you ever change your mind." When he lets go you collapse in a heap onto the sand like an empty sack. His robe is strange in sunlight, folds rippling like disturbed water. Well. Made it, anyway. That's the main thing. [[Get your bearings.|Brother - Walk to Pub]]</div>

<div class="img-wrapper"><img src="Images/C1/oisin.png" alt="A portrait of Oisín, your sometime friend, church guard, and terrible liar." class="portrait-img"></img></div> <div class="body-text">"Ready to admit you're nervous?" you say with a smirk. "Never denied it," he says. "But, while we're on the subject, care to explain what you're heading over for?" (if: $left)["Just visiting friends." "Anyone I need to worry about?" "Not unless you're worried by present company. It's mostly them." "Oh." He's momentarily silent. "Well, that's good." "Mmm."](else:)["I'm accompanying you, ya big <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">eejit</span><span class="annotation-text">An idiot.</span></span>." He screws up his eyes. "Come on, that's not the only reason, is it?" "I'll give you *one* guess." "Still chasing him after all that's happened?" You sigh. "I'm visiting him, Oisín. That's all. And I know other people there now too." "Right so."] He fingers the crucifix again and glances at you out of the corner of his eye. "How have you been, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>?" "What?" "I—" He fumbles for the words. "H-How have you been, seriously? We've barely talked since you got back." "Worried?" "Something like that." You allow yourself to feel a little flattered. "I've been all right, Oisín. Just..." "That's okay, leave it there.(if: $takenPrayerBeads)[ I'm sorry I set you down a path of sin." That gets a laugh out of you. "Don't flatter yourself, altar boy.(if: (history:) contains "Oisín - Delicacies" and ($inventory contains "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament" or "Otherworld Fruit" or "Rush Cross"))[ Oh, speaking of which..." (if: ($inventory contains "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament"))[[[Give him the Síle na gCíoch ornament.|Oisín - Síle na gCíoch]] ]\ (if: ($inventory contains "Otherworld Fruit"))[[[Give him the fruit from the Otherworld.|Oisín - Otherworld Fruit]] ]\ (if: ($inventory contains "Rush Cross"))[[[Give him Brigid's rush cross.|Oisín - Rush Cross]] ]](else:)[" (display: "Epilogue - Options")]](else:)[ Your dear friend Oisín's always there if you need a chat." You smile. "I might take you up on that sometime, if you're lucky.(if: (history:) contains "Oisín - Delicacies" and ($inventory contains "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament" or "Otherworld Fruit" or "Rush Cross"))[ Oh, and by the way..." (if: ($inventory contains "Síle na gCíoch Stone Ornament"))[[[Give him the Síle na gCíoch ornament.|Oisín - Síle na gCíoch]] ]\ (if: ($inventory contains "Otherworld Fruit"))[[[Give him the fruit from the Otherworld.|Oisín - Otherworld Fruit]] ]\ (if: ($inventory contains "Rush Cross"))[[[Give him Brigid's rush cross.|Oisín - Rush Cross]] ]](else:)[" (display: "Epilogue - Options")]]</div>

<h2 class="bio-heading"><strong>Bodhrán</strong></h2> A repaired goatskin bodhrán with a frame black from overuse, the tipper missing.

Back at the cottage, you wait with the healer, who's grounding herbs in preparation. The glimmering, expectant instruments you've never seen before laid out across the table you ate on that morning make the room feel foreign. You offer food and water, as much to busy your hands as out of the common obligation. She politely declines, saying she will need to work shortly, and asks you to lay a cloth on her work surface. You fetch one from your bed, clear the crumbs off the table, and smooth it out as best you can. She tells you you're shaking and sends you away. When they come through the door your eyes fix on the wound. It's a great open gash, crosswise, leaking a syrupy blood that makes the whole room smell like meat. Penetrating trauma. The object has left the body, but some splinters remain. He's set down to be worked on. Sutures, the poultice, bandaging. She asks Ailbhe for more cloth. You can't breathe with all of these people. Ailbhe offers to stay. *No, no, you've done enough. No, please let me breathe.* The sky is even redder when they depart. He's asked the gods to spite him and they have delivered their answer. You do not dress his wounds now, but you did, you're sure of it. He just wakes in the middle of the night. Asks for water. There's a silence afterwards when you think he's gone back to sleep, then he beckons you. "Come here." You're still. "Please." You approach. You're afraid of the red stain, that sealed cavity. With your back turned, you lie down next to him, hands on knees. He reaches out his arms and draws you in. It's the first time you've touched since they left you. His grip is strong, like you remember from when you were children. Warm. "I'm sorry, <span class="definition"><span class="annotation">Bríd</span><span class="annotation-text">A feminine name, related etymologically to the name of the hearth goddess Brigid. Modern Irish pronunciation (IPA): /ˈbʲɾʲiːdʲ/ English phonetic approximation: *Breedj*</span></span>." It's a whisper. His wet face nuzzles your hair. You're about to say something important — something that is forgiveness, relief, anger, grief in one, you're sure — something very important when the wind begins to whistle down the chimney. He's speaking, but your ears only admit the terrible pitch, rising as it is, rising like the swell that conquers the red sky through the window, the swell that tears through everything and rips him away from you again. "<div class="blurred">______</div>!" [[First light.|Bull Rock]]</div></div>

Sadhbh spotted you at the Bealtaine festival, but you managed to get out of talking to her. Thank the gods.