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Paddy the Scot
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Hordeland
Mar 2001
time: 14:33
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3243BC - The Heroes Return
Spread the word around, guess who's back in town.... you spread the word around the boys are back in town...
and the word did spread, the mighty "Thin Lizzy" Regiment of Gallic Swords marched triumphantly into Strafford, our northern most city... and thus to the great chant spread like wild fire... their was to be no mistake, they were making their ways straight to Dino's their favourite hang. Ahh the drink will flow and the blood will spill, if they want to fight you had better let them
As in a hushed whisper you could hear echoing across the valleys "Spread the word around... the boys are back in town again"
and thus as be the way of the Clan, word quickly arrived at Castle Scot, across the valley floor at Sheffield. No sooner had he heard than Paddy and several of his cousins were racing fast to the stables and then off along the northern road to Strafford. Like fire they road, laughing and rejoicing, the wonder, the awe, the pure fantastic magnificence of the Gods, the most famous fighters in all of the lands had come back from certain death.
And in the gathering dusk the Prince and company brought there steeds to a halt in from of Dinos bar and grill. Here they found a great party overflowing the inner bar and across the roof, yet as be the way, the people happily embraced and made room for the Lords of the Land. And thus the company of Thin Lizzy was again brought together with their friends the Princes of Celtica. The party was one for the memories and tales of the bards, the wine did flow, the tales were told, the honour of those lost was defended to the core, the battles with the bowmen were discussed, lifted in praise, lifted in drink, and most of all shared in the manor of the people, in song, followed ever by good drink, fine food and a hearty laugh that roared as strong as the fires in the heath... for they be Celt.
3237BC Council of the Clan
The calling of the Clan Chiefs, Warlords and Elders was not a trivial matter. Yet these were far from trivial times. It took a few weeks for word to arrive to all, and further time for them to journey to the Castle Scot in Sheffield. Yet not one of them could say one harsh word at a summons to travel light and travel now, for upon arrival they were to find that the Three Great Flags of the Alliance were flying not just from the battlements of Justice, no indeed, for here the mighty and ever graceful flags also where flying in the breeze from the battlements of War. Surely a calling befitting such a hurried journey was at hand.
Henrick Bloodbeard, warlord of the Youngblood’s, was mightily impressed to be summons to the Castle for the upcoming council. Henrick had taken over as the Regimental Warlord when his elder brother was cut down in battle with wild boars on a recent hunting trip. He was trying hard to suppress the waves of emotion as he lead his senior troop into the inner square, a place young Henrick have never seen before.
Seventeen years and always off with his father and then older brother running with the Regiment. Seeking, training, learning, being crafted for war by those who had fought the people of the Elephants, being molded into a leader of his people, ready, willing and ever prepared.
And thus they arrived at the court of their Clan, and came across an array of different peoples, peoples Henrick had heard of, and seen some in the distance of his youth. Sergeant Hawthorne pointed over to the Men of Rome, great diplomats who lived here at the castle, known as Ambassadors of our Alliance to the North. Henrick was most impressed with the Roman military men, their staunch and proper bearing, their clean cut, and the agility of men who know the ways of the sword. Truly men that would stand strong in the face of battle.
Yet the surprises of the day were only beginning, as they rounded a corner they came upon a very heavily armed patrol of dark skinned lads, all carrying a wickedly curved blade and wrapped head to toe in soft clothes, all quite different to the near naked Celts that stood laughing along with them at some un-heard joke. There was this hour no time to stop and learn more of these outlanders, even the Sergeant did not have an answer, so carrying out his orders, Henrick and co continued to the Master at Arms quarters and presented themselves.
Throughout the coming days the leaders of the Clan gathered, meals were had, speculation was the way, but subdued. Then they all gathered in the Grand Hall. Here for hours many pieces of business were discussed. Promotions given, Honour's bestowed, troops split from various Regiments and placed with others. All the trappings of Clan business.
Then on the afternoon of the second, Hoskins the Scot rose and called the hall to order. Once quiet had been established he called on the “Esteemed Marcus Maximus”, Cousin of the Emperor of Rome, and distinguished guest to the Hall of the Clan Scot. This great man of Rome then laid forth details of the war that Rome was in with the Dread Zulu, a war our people had known and still worked on. Many an hour was spent going over details, details shared by Celt and Roman alike. Those with a question were encouraged to ask, those with a thought were to stand and give, and thus the War Council really got to its paces. Over the coming days runners were sent to check details, orders were cut, and Regiments found themselves moving from long held camps, masons, smiths and tailors were sent orders and lists of supplies that would be required. Decisions were being made, that was clear.
It was on the fifth day that Henrick again spotted several of the darkened skinned warriors and their fierce swords. While not able to actually speak with them, he did learn that these be the fabled Third Nation of “Arabs” of the Great Alliance, and that these warriors, these “Immortals” were the personal guard of a mighty Prince of their lands who was known as Ambassador to the Clan. Word was the Prince road a mighty white and silver charger, a beast of a horse that could make a grown man quiver in his boots with a glare, Henrick was quite unsure that any horse could have such power, yet those that told of this were not drunk at the time.
And so it was that the council came to a close, and the Clan was dispersed with their orders, and thus Nine Regiments of the Gallic Swords were put to the task of breaking into the Zulu nation, destroying all that they could, smashing as far into the heartlands as possible.
The hope of a slave army to be captured and put straight to work on a vast and fantastic road from the land of the Scots to the land of Rome was discussed at great length. Such a road would allow the vast stores and resources of the iron mining works to be sent through to Rome.
So be the word of the Celt.
 Attachment: belgae.jpg
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25-06-2005 20:28
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