Notes and Quotes

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Quotes to re-read and notes about whatever....


They were even strong enough on many occasions to land and take possession of a harbor and a town, and hold it, often, for a considerable time, against all the efforts of the neighboring powers to dislodge them. In case, however, their enemies became at any time too strong for them, they would retreat to their harbors, which were so defended by the fortresses which guarded them, and by the desperate bravery of the garrisons, that the pursuers generally did not dare to attempt to force their way in; and if, in any case, a town or a port was taken, the indomitable savages would continue their retreat to the fastnesses of the mountains, where it was utterly useless to attempt to follow them.

Quotes

If it pleases me, then it is good and I want more; If it displeases me, then it must be destroyed as soon as possible, but preferably in a way that enhances my reputation so that I can achieve immortality in the songs of bards.

“That you exist in the future? You do. But not in all futures; no one of us, but one, does.

Inanna

And she came. The mists had crept up from the ground to his shoulders on all sides—saving only where Arkady rested within the confines of gold. Her hair trailed like liquid night down her back and joined the mist that rolled in on all sides, like a phantasm of the sea; her raven sat upon her shoulder, watching them all as if it was possessed of the spirit of a hawk. “You called me, young one. You called me very boldly.”

Descriptions

She began to sing. They froze at the sound of her voice; the first note, the fullness of it, almost deprived them of breath. She sang storm; she sang sunrise; she sang open skies and freedom; her voice rose and fell, hardening or gentling.

Shadow

the shadows that now pooled at its feet—its flat, splayed, clawed feet—were. They moved as if they were smoke; they glistened as if liquid, spreading up and down the hall as he watched.

Angaharad Matriarchy

“Women guarantee the bloodline,” he replied. “Men do not bear children. Their wives might carry the children of other men. But a woman’s child is of her bloodline. There is no doubt.”

History/Gods/Ancient Mystery

“You understand. When the gods walked the world, they had children, and the children were born to and of it. Many died. Many of the gods died, Jewel; they were not then what they are now. But the children of the living gods were not mortal, and some had power to rival the gods themselves. Yet when the gods chose to withdraw from this world, their children could not likewise leave—they were of it, and sustained by it.”

“Yes. It is a place where the gods themselves might once have walked. It is wild in the way the whole of the world was once wild, and it is carved into the ancient earth, the ancient stone.

“If there is magic here that is a threat to us,” she told Jewel, without actually looking down from the height of the gutted tree, “it is a magic that I cannot detect. Sadly, in the case of wild or ancient things, there is much that cannot be detected.

Tarin and the Jagged Coast

Tarin and clan Saedry dominate the coastal Angtiria lands. The northern section with the fishing village and other small villages raising goats and (? Other products) are frequently under threat from the Gloom Mist Goblins. There are patrols and spaced about are small fortresses “block houses” that are used to gather and distribute supplies to the soldiers (? Why is this a big deal). East of Tarin before the foothills of Telas Pass are the farmlands of mostly the Clan Saedry families (what coastal crop?). There are two Sept families (?) and some friction among them over the power of Clan and House Queen. Between Telas Pass and the surrounding mountains, there are a handful of Mountain Rangers that are important to defense of the lands. Perhaps there is some sort of special mountain goblin fighting organization. Telas Pass is patrolled and near the summit is an outpost. The outpost is the HQ of the patrol, there are several amenities, taverns inns, stables, barracks like dorms for teamsters. There is also a prison quarry for criminals working off weregild debt. Bandits and creatures, even goblins come down from the mountain and threaten trade. At the base of the pass there there is another small settlement supporting the needs of the trade flowing through here. To the north and west is a non-house Clan that acts as a buffer zone between the trade roads and various goblins and other threats from the western side of the mountains. This clan and their lands are being competed for by Clan Heth of House Umriel and Clan Mabryn of House Tiran. The succession of this minor independent clan is being contested and agents from Heth and Mabryn are lining up behind different claimants.

Geography/Peoples

there was a wild and mountainous region called Cilicia. The great chain of mountains called Taurus approaches here very near to the sea, and the steep conformations of the land, which, in the interior, produce lofty ranges and summits, and dark valleys and ravines, form, along the line of the shore, capes and promontories, bounded by precipitous sides, and with deep bays and harbors between them. The people of Cilicia were accordingly half sailors, half mountaineers. They built swift galleys, and made excursions in great force over the Mediterranean Sea for conquest and plunder.


the presence of the Winter Queen was death—but a death so beautiful, a death so all encompassing it made life seem pointless and insignificant in comparison. But in those flaws, ATerafin, there is power and a brilliance of a type that cannot be found in the eternal. But even at this distance, Jewel could see his smile. It shouldn’t have been possible, but she didn’t doubt her vision; he was exultant in the way that only immortals could be, wild and unfettered.

Once, it had been driven by, possessed by, and almost destroyed by a wild, savage beauty. Such beauty might be found around any corner, through any pass. Had there been death? Oh, yes. But it hardly mattered; death made life so vibrant, so immediate. And the only thing that remained of it lingered on hidden paths, hidden roads. The Winter Queen. He felt her presence, as all sworn to her service must, no matter where they might wander; he heard the attenuated music of distant bells, distant flutes, distant horns. It disturbed him; the Wild Hunt had been called in the lands of the distant South, but the Winter had not yet given way to the Summer. It was the Summer he yearned for; warm beauty instead of cold. The Summer, the Queen, and Mordanant, his brother.


Once, he had had a home in a distant Court and a Lord whom he revered and loved, as one loves those things that are terrible and glorious.

But that was the way of the Lord; where subterfuge was required, it was crafted with care. He could lie, of course; he had, in the past. But his lies were imbued with the force and strength of belief, of believability; they were the truth that his audience desired, and they were glorious lies, larger in all ways than most truths. This lie was no exception.

Here, they finally saw a literally fallen city: the facades of huge buildings, broken at the heights; the bases of statues in the center of open streets, and the rock and rubble that might once have been standing structures; the streets themselves, wider than the streets of the city above, but fronted entirely by buildings, and not the large grounds which characterized so much of Averalaan. Those streets extended for miles.


A man who looked much like any other intimidating official Jewel had ever met looked up from his desk—and if desks had a secret longing to be something dramatic, like a fortress, it was this one.

the Alasakari hadn’t so much come from the shadows as dragged the shadows with them, like a black mist.

Had they not ridden at the head of her grim and ancient host to stand against the very gods themselves? They had experienced all the glory of the world, of the gods, of the wars that rearranged mountains and plains and rivers before one side or the other might at last claim victory. They, like the Kialli, had been born in blood, raised to war, trained to attain the heights of its savage glory, to see the beauty in the death that followed in its wake; it was their truest test. Only the lesser buildings now remained, and of those, only the ones that had relied less heavily on wooden beams and supports. Facades, however, stood in the black day of the city. Glimmers of ancient magic, contained by stone shapes, statues, gargoyles, could be felt or detected, but it was not for these that they had come.

THE RUINS OF THE ANCIENT CITY lay undisturbed in almost unbroken darkness. Sunlight did not trouble its roads, and the moons, with their scant silver light, were likewise invisible; the sky was a thing of curved, uneven rock. Great stone slabs and the bases of statues lined empty streets; crevices, created by the slow shift of the earth beneath those streets, had widened into a darkness so complete that even demon eyes could not easily penetrate it. But in the ruins, there was a silent, funereal majesty that demanded, and held, the attention. Echoes of voices that had perished centuries ago existed in some of the small statues and maker’s works that still adorned deserted buildings—rotting floors in the dry, dark air notwithstanding. House War Book 3

The kin—the Kialli—could fight like this for eternity; if the world died around them, they might not even notice. They would certainly not notice the deaths of tens of thousands of people whose lives, measured in a handful of years, would amount to nothing. This was how beauty was defined in this place. This was what they faced. The wild, inhuman creatures fought, Rath thought, as if this might be their last chance to fight; as if this dance, this death, was all of their desire.

“If it’s safe,” she said, with a shrug, “I’d just as soon get out first.” “And if it’s not?” “I’d just as soon get out first.” Looking, as she did, at the cenotaphs, and the vaulted ceiling above them. At shields that were, in her vision, strangely blurred; at faces that made a hollow mockery of beauty, because they were beautiful, but somehow terrifying as well. But against this boy? Terrick could not raise voice; could not even imagine raising hand. They had fought no wars together, survived no conflicts, tested no loyalties; nor had they felt the keen and biting edge of an oath’s many restrictions, circling different sides of it, seeking the advantage of terrain.

“You must be able to pass unseen while being seen by everyone.

At one point, perhaps two centuries ago, it had been a very fine building. Now, it possessed the squalor of all fallen things, grace turned on its edge, its dingy glory a reminder that all things of value must fade. A raid on a den/brothel to rescue, results in several deaths. One is from a powerful family and regardless of the reasons, where he was, what he was doing, they will see whoever was responsible (or even in the vicinity) killed as a lesson/warning to all others. Ruthless and amoral and wealthy, etc.


Under city – ruined halls and passages of a city/settlement of the Ancients. There is not much there, not like the mega dungeons of other settings. But there are fragments that might be obtained for collectors of Ancient lore. Stones that might e pried loose with their runes. Dangerous like roaming Chernobyl and not know even what radiation is. These fragments can be sold for amounts to certain collectors, mages and sages. There is a decent foreign maker for these as well, as there are more pristine items available in Angritia.

“The Hidden Ways are still of your world, and I have little jurisdiction there.”

His gaze lingered a moment upon the great, standing trees. “I am not their master. Not even the Winter Queen would make such a claim.” “But you—” “I merely drew their attention to your passage; what they gleaned from their attempt to observe you is entirely their own.” Michele West – Riven Shield their Lord stood robed in a harsh light that destroyed the sight of those who dared to gaze upon his glory in an attempt to discern his desire, to extract his commands. Michele West – Riven Shield The way is watched. The enemy is waiting. Use only the old roads. Touch nothing that does not call your name. Take nothing that you cannot control. Offer only that which you can afford to lose; offer nothing that you do not value. Michele West – Sea of sorrows


And on the growing edges: the broken spires of the Isle of Aramarelas, under siege by winged beasts who spoke with majesty in voices of flame. Fire. The towers were burning. The cathedrals were being destroyed. She could hear the terrible silence that presages screaming as the city drew its collective breath. She could see, beneath the feet of a passing god, the refuse that she would think of, at any other time, as bodies. She was dimly aware that there were other creatures around the heart of Night; dimly aware that they might attempt to stand beside, or before, the darkness that came toward the city of Essalieyan. Michele West – Sea of sorrows


“No. There’s always one company ready to ride on a day’s notice, and most towns are within a day’s ride of a company. No town is more than two days’ ride. That’s one advantage of being a small land.” Modesitt

“But the Sacred Hunt is called for a reason, Stephen, even if you do not believe in it. The Hunter God made his covenant with the Hunter-born: that he would help them hunt and feed his people every day of the year; that crops would be bountiful and game plentiful; that the forests and fields would be green and grow well. But in return for this, the Hunter Lords and their huntbrothers must, one day a year, allow the God His Hunt.


And huge at the head of the bay rose the dark bulk of the howe. A cold fire wavered over it, roaring and blazing its terrible blue-tinged white –heatless, cheerless, leaping up into the sleeting night. Freda crossed herself, shuddering. Thus had the grave-fires of the old heathen heroes burned, each night after sunset. The Tump Dhampier and the legend of he who sleeps. Beneath the Tump lies an ancient vampire, who is worshipped as a god by its Dhampier scions. There is a small village with mostly humans and a hidden manor house with the Dhampier line. They are few but strong enough to command respect. Modest tolls are collected to pass through? A combination of alliances, threats and bribes maintain the status quo, in particular with the local elves. The biggest threat is the Circle and the Sun Temple. The Dhampier hide their nature from most, it is not widely known.

The village is rough and dour in demeanor. Strangers mean danger

The Broken Sword, Poul Anderson Many were the presences haunting the hills and glens of that wild land; it was a place of sorcery and the men and beasts who wandered into it rarely returned.


Coldfire Trilogy There were songs on the hillside, glorious songs of sunlight and optimism and energy, the endless music of faith. She could see them arrayed along the gentle slope, warriors whose armor gleamed Coregolden in the light of noon, soldiers whose banners were strung with bits of glass so that as they moved their standards sparkled, and as the wind beat on the richly woven cloth there was the sound of bells, of sparkling water, a thousand glassy chimes that rang out the song of God’s One Faith across the Darklands. Young men, old men, women astride their horses, soldier-priests so young they were nearly children —all helmeted in silver and gold and pennanted in brilliant silks, lining up for battle. The very air about them rang with their faith, their sacrifice, their passion. The very daylight was a song of triumph. She floated through their ranks like a fae-wraith, touching, seeing, hearing all. Shields that flashed like fire in the sunlight. Swords that sang of perseverance and hope. She touched one blade and could hear all the hymns that had gone into its making, the thousand and one voices that had lent it power. Years of chants, years of prayer, years of utter faith ... she moved to where another soldier stood and gazed at the crystal flask in his hand. The liquid within glowed with a heat that she could feel on her face, and its music was a symphony of hope. They were riding into death, she knew. All these brilliant soldiers, all these priceless weapons, were about to ride into a darkness so terrible that it would snuff out all their songs forever. She could feel their place in history taking shape about them, not a beginning of hope but an ending, the extinguishing of a time of untrammeled dreams in exchange for one of cynicism and despair. She wanted to cry out and warn them, but what good would her words do? They knew the odds. They knew that the Evil they had decided to fight might well prove more powerful than all their prayers and charms and spells combined ... and still they gathered. Thousands upon thousands of them, knees clasped tightly about their anxious steeds, hands closing restlessly about their sword-grips and their springbolt butts and their polished pistols. And the Fire. It glistened in a dozen crystal orbs, in a thousand crystal vials. So very beautiful that it hurt her to look upon it, so rich in hope that she cried out to hear its song. Faith. Pure faith. She could drink it in all her life and still hunger for it. She could drown herself in it and never have enough. You’ll die! she cried out to them. Not wanting the music to end. You’ll all die, horribly! The Forest will eat you alive! What good is that to anyone? Go home while you still can! And then it seemed to her that one of the soldier-priests turned to her. Eyes of liquid flame, brilliant as the Holy Fire, fixed upon the space she occupied. His shield and sword were molten gold, and his banner-glass tinkled in the wind. He was too bright to look upon, too beautiful for her to look away. His voice was like the wind. Some things, he whispered, are worth dying for. And then the music became sunlight became peace, blissful peace, and she felt the vision fading. Melting into warmth. The gentle warmth of a mother’s arms. The loving warmth of a father’s eyes. For the first time in many long nights, Jenseny Kierstaad slept.

Things were abroad now that hid from the light of day, maverick human fears that had taken on a life of their own and coursed the night in search of a bodily home. Damien Kilcannon Vryce looked like he was fully capable of handling trouble, for which reason trouble generally gave him a wide berth. His thick-set body was hard with muscle, his hands textured with calluses that spoke of fighting often, and well. His shoulders bore the weight of a sizable sword in a thick leather harness with no sign of strain, despite the fact that the dust stains on his woolen shirt and the mud which caked his riding boots said that he had been traveling long and hard, and ought to be tired. Already the season had hosted nights when no more light than that of a single moon shone down to the needy earth, and the first true night was soon to come; all the creatures that thrived on darkness would be most active in this season, seeking blood or sin or semen or despair or whatever special substance they required to sustain themselves, and seeking it with vigor. The Forest’s canopy stretched out for miles upon miles, a thick tangle of treetops and dead leaves and parasitic vines that smothered the entire region like some vast, rotting blanket. “For you I’ve become the most subtle creature of all: a civilized evil, genteel and seductive. An evil you endure because you need its service—even though that very endurance plucks loose the underpinnings of your morality. An evil that causes you to question the very definitions of your identity, that blurs the line between dark and light until you’re no longer certain which is which, or how the two are divided. That’s what you fear most of all, priest. Waking up one morning and no longer knowing who or what you are.”


Le Mort D’Arthur 1485 For herein may be seen noble chivalry, courtesy, humanity, friendliness, hardiness, love, friendship, cowardice, murder, hate, virtue, and sin. Do after the good and leave the evil, and it shall bring you to good fame and renown.


At every one, a merchants called out his wares… hairpins of ivory, brooches of brass, and badges of the finest pewter; plaque belts both simple and wildly adorned by precious stones and metals; pattens made from a variety of wood; aromatic fruit, both common and alien; charred meats, boiled eggs, and ruddy-looking cheeses; dice allegedly carved from the tusks of creatures so rare they haven’t even appeared in bestiaries yet; hoods of every color managed by dye; brass braziers and tooled chests; leather bottles, costrels, and tankards; weak ale and watery wine to fill them, despite the threat of wandering guildmasters and inspectors who would confiscate such swill. Guards were stationed at several spots along the bridge to keep traffic moving and discourage theft. I suspected they were having trouble with both. When we finally left the Bridge of Heroes, it was a relief, though Alespell proper was no less crowded.


Listen, I'll be happy to discuss all the reasons why we should leave here right now while we are leaving.”


Down a long slope of land, dappled in patches of shadow next to round, ice-covered boulders, the land fell off and down as abruptly as if some enormous hand had gouged out an inverted dome from the earth. A low ridge rose all around the precipice, which was a circle that stretched so wide in the falling snow that Tavi could not see the majority of its curve or the circle’s far side. A dull, greenish light licked up at the edges of the pit from below, and as the Gargant plodded closer, Tavi could see its source. The bottom of the pit, a great bowl gouged into the earth, was covered with a valley of trees—trees the likes of which Tavi had never seen before. They rose up, their trunks twisted and gnarled, stretching many branches each high into the air, like the reaching hands of a drowning man. Covering the trees was the source of the light. Tavi squinted and peered, and it took his eyes a moment to sort out what he was seeing. Covering the trees was some kind of growth that gave off the faint, menacing luminescence. It seemed to cover the trees as might some kind of fungus, but rather than simply existing as a light coating of some other plant, it had grown over them in a thick, gelatinous-looking mass. As the gargant drew closer to the edge of the precipice, Tavi could see that the growth had runnels and areas that looked as though bubbles of air had been trapped beneath it, and for all the world looked like melted wax had been dripped over the surfaces of the trees, but for the desperately reaching branches high up in them, layer upon layer, until the whole resembled some fantastic, bizarre work of art. As far as he could see, in the faint light of the glowing wax, those odd trees writhed and twisted, their branches and trunks hung in festoons and swirls of the waxy growth. At the heart of the scene stood a single, ancient tree, barren trunk lifting high, dead branches mostly worn away by time. Though there was nothing to hold to scale, Tavi thought that the spire of ancient, dead wood had to be huge. “The Wax Forest,” Tavi said, quietly.


A personally powerful lord keeps power hungry and strong vassals in line with his personal power as much as the coalition of vassals (could be sept and elders of clan). However, fate causes his to be severely wounded ( how to explain this in a world of healing magic) and agitators prevent him receiving aid, and so use that to fracture support). Also the lord does not have strong heirs, so when he is incapacitated, nobody with the right strength and politics is able to step in. A coup and another branch of the clan takes power.


“Bandits,” Lyr said succinctly. “Real ones. Karsites let ‘em stay here, both to confuse the issue when their regulars come across raiding, and to discourage their own people from trying to cross over into someplace else. So there’s a kind of buffer zone along here that the Karsite patrols don’t bother with.”

“It’s pretty simple. Whatever is in the terms of the contract is followed by both parties, to the letter. Bonded Companies do not pillage in the countryside of their employer, and pillage only in enemy territory with permission of the employer. That takes care of cutting your own throat in a civil war.” Tarma looked at both of them. “Can you figure out why?” Kero was marginally quicker. “Easy; if you keep everybody on your side from looting, the locals are going to come over to you, and that’s going to make big problems for the opposition if they aren’t doing the same.” “Good. And really, what’s the point of wrecking your own tax base? All right; if a bonded Company or one of its members surrenders, they are permitted to leave the battlefield unmolested and report to a neutral point. They’ll get ransomed by the Guild; that’s why the individual members pay their dues every year. You know about the individual Code, so I won’t go into that.” Tarma leaned against the sand-table. “They won’t switch sides in mid-contract, they won’t follow a mutiny against their employer, they won’t fight a suicide-cause, but they’ll do their damnedest to get their employer out of a bad situation in one piece. Because of the twin Codes, bonded Companies are more reliable and trustworthy than unbonded. That’s why they’re expensive.” Daren examined the table again.



They were deep into the Pelagir Hills—the true Pelagirs. There was a track they were following; dry-paved, it rang under their mares’ hooves, and it led ever deeper into the thickly forested hills and was arrow-flight straight. To either side of them lay the landscape of dreams . . . or maybe nightmare. The grass was the wrong color for fall. It should have been frost-seared and browning; instead it was a lush and juicy green. The air was warm; this was fall, it should have been cool, but it felt like summer, it smelled like summer. There were even flowers. Tarma disliked and distrusted this false, magic-born summer. It just wasn’t right. well, some were normal (or at least they seemed normal), but others were not. Tarma had seen plants whose leaves had snapped shut on unwary insects, flowers whose blooms glowed when the moon rose, and thorny vines whose thorns dripped some unnamable liquid. She didn’t know if they were hazardous, but she wasn’t about to take a chance; not after she saw the bones and skulls of small animals littering the ground beneath a dead tree laden with such vines. The trees didn’t bear thinking about, much. The least odd of them were as twisted and deformed as if they’d grown in a place of constant heavy winds. The others . . . Well, there was the grove they’d passed of lacy things that sang softly to themselves in childlike voices. And the ones that pulled away from them as they passed, or worse, actually reached out to touch them, feeling them like blind and curious old women. And the sapling that had torn up its roots and shuffled away last night when Tarma thought about how nice a fire would feel . . . And by no means least, the ones like they’d spent the night in (though only after Kethry repeatedly assured her nervous partner that it was perfectly harmless). It had been hut-sized and hut-shaped, with only a thatch of green on the “roof”—and hollow. And inside had been odd protrusions that resembled stools, a table, and bed-platforms to a degree that was positively frightening. A lovely little trap it would have made—Tarma slept restlessly that night, dreaming about the “door” growing closed and trapping them inside, like those poor bugs the flowers had trapped.




It might have been a fifty-foot tower at one time, but it had been broken off perhaps twenty feet up as if snapped by a giant’s hand. Beacon towers dotted the shorelines and islands of all of the Great Lakes, and like all such structures they had accumulated more than their due of strange stories. I hadn’t heard any stories about this one—but staring up at the rough grey stones, I got the impression that it might have had something to do with the fact that in order for strange stories to spread, someone has to survive a dark encounter in order to start the tale.


Images came with the thoughts this time—the rush of rain and wind in my face, raw hunger in my belly that I was about to sate, the strength and power of my body and that of the mount beneath me, and the glorious thrill of the chase as the prey fled as it was created to do, testing my strength, speed, endurance, and will while the night called and the storm raged around me. To my surprise, there was no sense of hate in it, no twisting bitterness of despair. There was only a wild and ferocious joy, an adrenaline sense of excitement, of passion, of savage



Damh the Bard: Spirit of Albion Pandemonaeon: Dangerous Beauty (2010

Dead Can Dance: The Serpent’s Egg (1988) Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/johnbeckett/2017/12/top-10-pagan-albums-time.html#RJDtXwUfRcH0vG0w.99

S.J. Tucker: Blessings (2007) Bulgarian State Radio and Television Female Vocal Choir: Le Mystère des Voix Bulgares (1975) Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/johnbeckett/2017/12/top-10-pagan-albums-time.html#RJDtXwUfRcH0vG0w.99

Damh the Bard: The Cauldron Born (2008 Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/johnbeckett/2017/12/top-10-pagan-albums-time.html#RJDtXwUfRcH0vG0w.99

Sharon Knight: Neofolk Romantique (2013)

Faith And The Muse: :Ankoku Butoh: (2009) Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/johnbeckett/2017/12/top-10-pagan-albums-time.html#RJDtXwUfRcH0vG0w.99

Omnia: PaganFolk (2006).

Sharon Knight and T. Thorn Coyle: Songs for the Waning Year (2008 Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/johnbeckett/2017/12/top-10-pagan-albums-time.html#0I61TZxC8ysosThc.99

Enya: The Celts (1986). Loreena McKennitt: The Visit (1991). Loreena McKennitt: The Mask and the Mirror (1994). Wendy Rule: The Wolf Sky (2006). Faun: Eden (2011). Blood Ceremony: Living With the Ancients (2011). Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/johnbeckett/2017/12/top-10-pagan-albums-time.html#0I61TZxC8ysosThc.99




Idea – Small clan which has been driven from its lands and forced into bonds of manrent arrangement with another stronger clan. They’re people are dispersed but retain their loyalty… the sept family resides in a smaller manor. The manor is on more dangerous lands and they are being somewhat taken advantage of by the more powerful clan… which is using/manipulating the situation to its own advantage. Can still use the Fionn prophecy and the giant/goblin infested ruins.

Idea- from modesitt – Herder raiders use a small village for trading, a truce arranged from time to time. Although they are technically part of and should pay tariff to a clan, they have not for some time. This has enabled the raiders. By going to the village to investigate, this has stirred up the raiders. They attack the town. The town elder blames the investigators, By your very presence you have led them to attack us. You let others pay the cost for your agreement.” “What choice did we have? Your prefect never protected us.” “You’ve failed to pay tariffs for years. Why should he risk troopers for you?” “He offers nothing but words.” Kaerylt shrugged. “You had a choice. You made it, and you paid for it.” Clue – the village was not protected against raiders.

Fianna Trilogy “They were gods—or at least Tethra and Balor and Lot were.” The Morrígan is mainly associated with war and fate, especially with foretelling doom and death in battle. In this role she often appears as a crow, the badb.[1] She is also associated with sovereignty, the land and livestock. She is believed to be a manifestation of the earth- and sovereignty-goddess,[2][3] chiefly representing the goddess's role as guardian of the territory and its people.

Four treasures of Irish folklore: Stone of Fál (Lia Fáil) It would cry out beneath the king who took the sovereignty of Ireland. It was supposedly located near the Hill of Tara in County Meath.

Spear (sleg) of Lug No battle was ever sustained against it, or against the man who held it. Sword (claideb/claiomh solais) which belonged to Núadu No one ever escaped from it once it was drawn from its sheath, and no one could resist it. The sword is also described in the Tain legend as 'Nuadu's Cainnel' - a glowing bright torch[citation needed].

Cauldron (coire) of the Dagda No company ever went awa

“The veleda was given three powers: the power of the eubages to see the future; the power of the brithem so she could tell truth from lies; and the vater’s power of sacrifice, that she might give her power to the worthy. ‘She sees, she weighs, and she chooses.’ The Seer, the Judge, and the Prophet. Threefold.

Barge-raft Beltur studied the boat, an oblong about twenty-five yards long and six wide, with a flat deck over the rear twenty yards. The upper deck was not quite two yards above the lower deck, which was in fact the bottom of the hull. There was a small pilothouse at the front of the upper deck, with two long sweeps laid out on each side of the upper deck and a fifth one at the stern.