The Brave IC ~ Redux [R]; Our Will Unbroken, We Will Not Bend.

[Mysteria]

A Roleplay By StormWolf:


I wonder what you felt inside
As they dragged you through foreign streets
The townsfolk spat venom at you
As churchmen took their seats
And did you think of your Motherland
As you stood there center stage
Or did you feel suppression, Dear Sir,
Like an animal in a cage?

I wonder what you felt inside
As they hung you by your throat
Through tear-welled eyes you looked out
As the crowd began to gloat.
And when they cut you down
So that your body slammed the ground
Did you pray to God for strength, Dear Sir,
To fight another round?

I wonder what you felt inside
When you burned with ropes pulled tight
Did you see the glee upon their faces
As they watched you lose the fight?
And when every inch of your body cried out
With the burning, searing pain,
Did it ever cross your mind, Dear Sir,
“Was it all in vain”?

I wonder what you felt inside
When you met the butcher’s blade
Did you see their blank expressions
As they watched your life-force fade?
Or did your soul break free from the pain and the hurt
To a pine covered glen
And will you ever know, Dear Sir,
What a hero you became?

Aye, will you ever know, Dear Sir,
What a hero you became?


Don’t fear them any more!
Charge with me!
We fight for what we love!
We fight for our country!
Scotsmen!
Charge, For Scotland!

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William Wallace, the Guardian of Scotland. The greatest hero and just the hero Scotland needed. The man, so iconic and so immortal in his deeds and his feats, has been killed as a common criminal. Hung, stretched, disemboweled, beheaded, then cut apart and strew across Scotland as an example of what happens when one defies the King. With their leader dead and strewn like leaves to the wind, the armies of William Wallace lost heart and disbanded, fearing for their lives and the lives of their families, no one would blame them or judge them. The worst was soon to start.

With the greatest Scottish rebellion quelled by it's leader's horrific death, the late King Edward's son, King Henry, has taken up the mantle and the crown, redoubling the punishments, planning to rape and murder the fiery spirit of the Scottish people out of their very bodies. Villages were burned, wives and daughters taken by the re-instated Prima Nocta, allowing the local Lord to bed any Scottish woman on her wedding night. Crops were devastated and many men and boys were hung or sent to the butcher. Let King Henry have his power-play while he still can, he is only fueling the rage of the Scots, feeding the fire that Wallace had started. For some, his death made that fire burn greater, revenge being the heart of the flames. The King will have a hard time putting the Scots down when his head is on a pike.

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Alexander Maxwell, the proud Clan Chief of the Maxwell clan looked over the old camp that did once be his home and the home of thousands of soldiers, brave sons of Scotland that would gladly fight, kill, and die for their country and their leader. So many dead, imprisoned, and fled. William Wallace himself and Alex's father among them. The young chief's eye twitched and his lip quivered lightly as silent tears streamed down his face. William Wallace was like a second father to him, a mentor, teacher, a friend and a comrade. Alex was to meet that same fate, but his blood father traded himself for his son. Alex had to watch in helpless horror as his father met the butcher's blade.

The Maxwell Chief stood in that old encampment now, beaten and run-down like the rebellion itself. Alex slammed his fist into one of the trees, paying no mind to the stinging pain of his knuckles splitting and bleeding. Alex had been one of Wallace's Braves, the fearsome warriors that painted their faces in the Wallowing Mask and struck fear into the hearts of the English by ripping their hearts out. Such glorious times, fighting beside Wallace, Alex truly felt alive during those times, giving testament to the powerful stock of Maxwell soldiers.


By the time Alex returned to his Clan's village and castle, Castle Maxwell, the day was waning and dying, slowly succumbing to the oncoming darkness. That too, was like Scotland's future if they cowed and submitted to English tyranny again, darkness devouring the light that was Wallace and his rebellion. No!, Alex thought, I'll be keepin' this light goin' as long as I do damn breathe. That be the truth, by Christ, Alexander thought to himself as he walked through the mud streets of the village surrounding his Clan's main castle. The Maxwell can had a couple others, stolen by ripping the claim from the dead hands of their previous English Lords.

Like the rest of his Clan, Alex wore the orange, blue, and black of his Clan's Tartan around his waist and across his chest. Alex was proud of his Clan, good fighters and brave people, the lot of them. Alexander made his way into the walls of Maxwell Castle, where his most trusted allies and most beloved friends stay as well as ushering the population of the town when there was an attack. By now, the tears had been dried and wiped from Alex's face, though his eyes remained red from his grief at the loss of his fathers. Alex encountered several other fellow Braves from his Clan as well as others. He was willing to forget old Clan feuds until the issue with the English was solved, once and for all.

The young Chief sat at a long wooded table, his head resting on a fist as he stared into a bowl of stew, thinking. Plotting. "How in th'name o'God am I goin' t'do what Wallace did?" he asked himself aloud, possibly his reflection in his stew would come alive and give him answers, or maybe Wallace would come popping out of his stew. Alex sighed, not paying any mind to the people milling about slowly in the drafty castle. He has so much to live up to. His mentor and surrogate father, Sir William Wallace, had died for his country, so that his peoples freedom could live. Alex's father, James Maxwell, sacrificed his life so Alex could live. Alex had so much to live up to, so much to die for. His father's words kept playing back in his head. Maccuswell Reverisco.

"Maccuswell Reverisco..." Alex said into his steaming bowl of stew. "Maxwell Will Grow Strong Again... H'I'll be damned if we bloody don't." Alex slammed the table lightly with his fist, a light spark of triumph and rebellion in his spirit once more. The words of his father's last few seconds of this life renewed Alex's spirit, he knew what he had to do. With that in mind, he began to eat in silence.

[Mysteria]

Nessia had brought with her only the most basic items that would be needed for her journey ahead. She had learned long ago that traveling light was always to ones advantage, it was a lesson that had been taught to her by her father while she was but a very young girl. As it was her mother had died when Nessia was just a babe in the Highlands of Scotland and her father had raised her. When her father had been killed trying to help one of the mighty Maxwell Clan, she had immediately been taken into the Clan Maxwell and had been raised as such ever since. A tear formed in her eye as she made the short trek to Maxwell Castle.

Growing up she had been a quiet young woman, always remaining in the shadows but all the while learning how to defend herself. Her father would have expected nothing less from her. He had always said, "Lassie, all young women of Scotland need be prepared ta fight for themselves, and fer our Scottish way of life."

She recalled vividly to mind one day when she had been practicing in the courtyard castle with her daggers, how Alexander Maxwell himself had happened to be passing by and had insisted upon helping to give her some instruction. Despite her insisiting that he not bother himself with it, he had insisted. When he approached her and took the daggers from her hand, the minute that his hand had brushed upon hers she had felt a sudden blush to her cheeks. Wether or not Alexander had noticed it or not, she didn't know, but she remembered how uncomfortable she had felt at that moment. She had vowed then to try to keep her distance from him, but fate would see otherwise. She had also silently vowed to herself that she would never be in need of any mans help again and from that moment on, gone was the shy young lady, at least to the publics eyes. When she was of age she had left the castle to live on her own. Returning to the castle now gave her butterflies in her stomach.

The thought of being close to Alexander Maxwell again shook her though, quite more than she would admit.

Upon approaching the castle, Nessia dismounted her horse and led it to the castle gates where one of the guards gave her more than one good glance, the thoughts running through his mind more than obvious by the wicked smile that spread upon his lips. Nessia was not amused by his leering.

With a firm voice she demanded, with a fierceness in her deep emerald eyes.

"Open these gates guard, I am Nessia Munro, of the Clan Maxwell, and ye shall let me pass." Upon hearing her words the guard bowed and nodded with the respect that Nessia commanded as he allowed her to gain entrance to the castle.

"Most certainly, please enter M'lady. I dinnae recognize thee, Welcome back to Maxwell Castle." The guard replied, his eyes never looking up to hers.

Nessia entered the castle, waiting to hear the sound of Alexanders voice once more.

Her stomach turned, for it had been some time since she had been this close to Alexander Maxwell. She followed the smell of food until she found Alexander in the dining hall. She stood silently not to disturb him at first before finally speaking. "MiLaird, I have returned to answer the call. It is good to once again be within the walls of Maxwell Castle."

[Mysteria]

Cleopatra Antionette:

It was a normal day in the life of Farmer Reilly. Up at the crack of dawn, took care of the animals, chopped some wood, and now he was working in the fields, taking his time and humming to himself as he went along. The sun was out, but it wasn’t a hot day, just pleasantly warm, the birds were singing, the cows lowing in the pasture, a girl running down the road screaming with a pack of people far behind her throwing rocks, sticks, and… pots?

Sinead was running down the dirt road, kicking up dust as she went. Her skirts were pulled up to the point where Farmer Reilly could almost see her knees! He was shocked by her indecency. It was remedied somewhat when she stopped next to him and gave a quick curtsy.

“G’mornin’ to ye, Farmer Reilly. Yer fields look lovely.” He would have replied to this, but she turned back to look at the people still running down the road and she shouted to them defiantly “Try and catch me now, ya loony curmudgeons! Ah hope the wee folk come an’ swipe yer prize cabbages!” She then ducked quickly, barely avoiding a large rock hurting over her head. Sinead looked up again and said a word that Farmer Reilly was quite sure was not something a lass should know.

He glared at her sternly. “Sinead, recall what the Father Bill told ye concernin’ words o’ the De’il. An’ why’re ye wearin’ travel clothes? ” Her brown dress was plain and made of sturdy material, her white shirt under that made of rough cloth, good for plenty of wear, with a back sack apparently filled with objects. And he had seen her thick leather boots as she had been rushing down the road.

She curtsied again quickly.”Oh, mah pater’s kin didn’ care tae shere his belongin’s wi’ me as Ah’m no’ his chil’ by rights. So…” she started moving sideways away from him, glancing nervously at her approaching family. “Ah, eh, may ha’ sold mah pater’s thing’s tae pay fer a boat ride tae Scotland.”

The man’s jaw dropped. “Sold hi- sold his belongin’s?! Sinead Daughterty!”

Sinead hopped up a bit and groaned. “Aich, they brought cousin Patty!” Without another word she whirled around and started dashing down the road again calling over her shoulder. “G’bye, Farmer Reilly! Ah’ll say a prayer fer ye if’n they ha’ a priest where Ah’m headin’!”

Farmer Reilly called after her desperately as she sprinted away. “Did ye sell yer faither’s ol’ pipe?! The one he promised me?! What abou’ his tobacco?!”

He sighed in frustration as she ignored his shouts and kept going. He went back to hoeing the earth shaking his head, nodding as her relatives stopped running and politely wished him a good day before returning to their screaming pursuit of the wench.

Sinead didn’t stop running until she reached the village. Then she stopped for a moment and panted hard staring at the sky. “Dear Lord, i’ ye’d be so good as te smite mah family fer just a bit, Ah’d be much obliged and promise tah say ten Hail Mary’s!” Thunder rumbled lightly in the distance. “Ooch, ye dri’ a hard bargain. Fine, twenty Hail Mary’s.” The thunder stopped and Sinead nodded before running to the docks. “Much appreciated, Lord!”

The boat was just leaving the dock as she rushed over. It showed no sign of stopping for her. She could hear her Aunt Jenny shouting “Ah’ll ha’ ye hanged fer this, ye ungrateful little trollop!” She didn’t stop running. Her lungs were starting to burn. The thunder rumbled once again, closer this time. The pack following her was slowly coming closer. She was reaching the end of the pier. Sinead closed her eyes as she took the last step and as she leaped with all the strength she had she shouted out to the sky “FIFTY HAIL MARY’S!!”

Her hands hit the wood of the boat. Shouts from the sailors reached her ears and then she felt hands pulling onto the deck. She sat up right away and saw her one-time family crowded onto the pier, hurling various objects at the boat. Sinead blinked. “It worked…”

A huge smile came over her face and she jumped up doing a jig and singing. “Fair thee well, ye load of great, slobberin’ smelly-”

Lighting flashed across the sky and Sinead immediately sat down. “Sorry, Lord. Ah’ll stop pushin’ me luck now.”

[Mysteria]

Siksta Slathalin:

Alistair watched the sun as it slowly dropped behind the Highlands sending it's final rays of golden light streaking through the valley where the Douglasses were resting before setting back on their journey to Castle Maxwell for Rebellion business as they called it. It was just Alistair, his elder brother Samuel, his younger brother Luke and their Cousin the Good Sir James. It wasn't much farther to their destination, they could see Maxwell Castle from the knoll they've been traveling since late morning and since Maxwell territory borders Galloway.

The young Douglas felt the chill wind run past his rough and unshaven face but he never shivered or twitched his mind was consumed by the injustices he witnessed being done to not only Sir William but to Scotland herself. Every day it seemed the English violated a new law or dug up some insane tax. All the sons and daughters of Scotland could do was take it on the chin, but now with the death of Sir William a new fire has been lit and warriors and patriots are coming out of the mists. Sir James even said he sees more passion in the Scot's eyes now then in almost any part of the original rebellion. Alistair would've stayed in his reverie all night if his brother Luke didn't throw a rock at his back. It didn't hurt but it did get the man's attention, he turned and looked at his brother. Luke was the youngest and he looked it his smooth, clean shaven face was clear of any kind of blemish he didn't look 22 at all.
"Come on lad we need ta go, quit yer daydreaming." Luke may have looked young but his voice was as deep as a gorge. Alistair simply nodded and hefted his axe unto his shoulder and walked back to the little fire that was being put out by Samuel.
"How much longer du ye think we'll be Sir James?" Asks the Eldest brother his gravelly voice scratching through the Twig light. Sir James, a middle aged man with thin brown hair tied back in a single braid stuffed his little journal back into the pocket of his dark colored vest then spoke in his clear steady voice.
"Ah wouldn't put it over a half hour afore we're at the gates of Castle Maxwell." With nothing more said the four men saddled up and went back on the road to the Castle.


They could just see the light of the gate when a rustling made them stop and eye the bushes on either side of the dirt road. Hands reached for weapons and muscles tensed up. Soon six Englishmen in cast away soldier armor stepped out their filthy hands clenched around old swords and spears. The leader a bloated man with greasy skin stepped up and held his hand out expectantly.
"Ok ya mongrels give us all your valuable and weapons, or we'll call the rest of our Troop and kill the lot of ye." The Scots simply laugh and dismount their rides drawing their weapon smoothly.
"How aboot ye walk away now while ye still can?" Alistair says smiling dangerously swinging his axe a little. The leader not to be phased simply aimed his sword at the young man's throat.
"One more steps Scotsmen and you'll be whistling through a hole in yer chest." Alistair stops the smile still glowing around his face. He twitches his free arm making to hit the Robber and as the man goes to block the long gleaming metal of Sir's James's long sword is sticking out from between his ribs. The other Robbers take many obvious steps back before scattering back to the bushes. Sir James pulls his blade free and wipes the blood off on the dead man's cloak.
"What a waste of energy dun't even look like he 'as anything worth salvagin'." Samuel growls looking through the man's pockets. Sir James steps closer and looks the Robber over.
"Ah think the only worthwhile thing he 'as is the armor strip it off and the weapon we might be able to use them." With a nod Luke and Samuel take the man's gear then jump back on their horses. Alistair and Sir James follow suit, they soon find themselves standing in front of the impressive gate of the castle the Guards glare at the four Douglas as the dismount and walk to their post.
"Hault state yer name and business Douglas!" Good Sir James being the eldest of the four steps up and stares the Maxwell's down.
"We are the Black Douglas, and we've come to discus the Rebellion with yer Laird Alexander. I recommend ye let us pass, we can't afford anymere delay." The Guards simply look at each other than grunt and move aside to allow the Douglas to pass. Sir James nods to them and steps in followed closely by his young Clansmen.

[Mysteria]

Roan:

Fenella’s place within the Maxwell castle since relocating here was to help in the kitchen, which she hated. It’s almost time to serve the stew for the night, the maiden figured as she hugged her mother’s shaking form. She hadn’t stopped crying since the news of her father and Wallace’s death. She cried for them, for her daughter, for all of Scotland. Fenella shed her own tears but could not dwell on the thought of what was the past. She needed to move on, both of them. The grey-eyed young woman cared deeply for her father and respected William to the highest respect but this war was now in the hands of those who stood for a purpose and with the strong drive to save their country.

Kissing the black hair of her mother’s head she stood slowly from the bed. “I’m bringing back to you dinner. You need to eat.”

One more kiss and the girl was gone, closing their bedroom door softly. With a large inhale her boot-clad feet began to walk down the hall. The green, blue and reds of her family tartan colors decorated her simple dress. The skirt were green, the fitted and sleeved shirt with its drawstring triangle at her bosom dyed a deep blue, and the short tightly tied bodice was a blood red hue. Long strains of dark chestnut brown hung freely below her waist, proof of an unmarried woman. Her mother’s hair was usually bound and covered or veiled.

After taking the servants’ stairs down into the kitchen ‘Ella quickly found her place in the obvious order within the bustling kitchen. Grabbing a thin and very wide platter she busied her hands placing fourteen bowls and empty mugs atop it.

Using a great amount of balance and carefulness she brought out the food, serving empty places and hungry beaten men and women, another girl following behind her filling the empty mugs she placed down. After a near hour long hustle to satisfy everyone she took the chance to rest her feet.

Near the large hearth within the grand hall a plush vacant chair begged to be sat in. Sinking into its softness the girl sighed, her mind wandering to the future. What will happen next? How will the next battle end? Will we defeat the English once and for all? We have to!

Staring into the fire that blazed before Fenelle she let her mind wander, arms crossed under her breast and a concentrated look on her dark features.

[Mysteria]

Ryudo:

Aldan De Home road his horse with a few good men towards Castle Maxwell. He laughed joyfully with the men as they recounted past tails of glory, battle, and of course women. Aldan rode with determination, he had prided himself on defeating anyone and everyone who dared challenge him, and he saw England as his next target. Perhaps it was folly, but Aldan didn’t care for naysayer’s, no matter how often they were right.

Aldan and Alex went way back, therefore when Aldan heard word that Alex was to be brining about a rebellion, the choice became even easier for Aldan. As they rode Aldan removed a flagon from his horse and took a deep swig, the bitter liquid tasted sweet to him, he lifted the flagon as they rode,

“Ambrosia!” He shouted as they marched on, he looked up, “What have ye in store fer us?” He asked, half serious, towards the skies.

When the Castle Maxwell came into view Aldan couldn’t help but smile, their it stood in all its glory, a testament to all that the free people of Scotland stood for. Upon approaching the gates Aldan had to make a decision, whether or not to stop in at the local pub and grab a drink before meeting.

He laughed and figured it wouldn’t hurt anyone, and after a few minutes Aldan was back on course to the castle.

[Mysteria]

Devaki:

It was too quiet, but knowing Rhoswen that wouldn't last long. She never understood how she got into these messes. Out of every bit of her training, hights was a big fear of hers. Now she sat high in a tree, in the middle of the woods.... stuck. What would her brother think of her! James... Rhoswen leaned her elbox on a branch and her chin on her hand. The suttle sound of wood creaking made her eyes go wide and before she knew it she was lying on the ground, flat on her back! She tried to turn over, coughing uncontrollably trying to find her breath. Life was just complicated now that she was on her own. It was not that she was incapable of taking care of herself but she had always had her brother to get her out of trouble. She had working on finding the castle of Sir Alexander Maxwell, and she was not far off. She could not know that her brother was already there waiting to speak with Alexander Maxwell, nor did he have any knowledge of where his sister was.

Rhoswen only desired to fight by her brother's side, and though James did not consider his sister a pest, he had a special mission on his heart, and she could not be apart of it.

Rhoswen rose to her feet and dusted the needles from her cloak. She extended her left arm and looked to the sky. "Cheska!" She started yelling... then waited a few seconds inbetween each yell. Within' a few minutes, a hawks cry could be heard in the distance... getting louder with each yard it grew closer. Cheska was her brother's hawk, that he left behind before he left her. The creature flew into the clearing and landed on Rhoswen's arm. 'Did you find the way?' The bird flung his head up and down and nibbled on the ends of her hair. 'Okay, we'll leave the forrest, then you need to show me the way.

---------------------

The man paced the courtyard of the Maxwell Clan's grounds. He had no idea how to address Alex with his request, especially with the events about to take place; the more he reviewed it over in his mind it intertwined wih Alex's events... and he tried to justify his reasons of asking. The guts however were not there, and so he continued to pace.
His thoughts were broken by the comotion of a familiar female voice yelling at the front gate. A woman was yelling, almost begging for entrance, and as he neared the gate his face frowned with confusion. How can it be? He walked up to where the main guard was yelling to the girl... and his fingers reached his temple. 'Sir... if you please let her in... she is my sister.' The guard looked over at him with just as much confusion, and when James shrugged his shoulders, the guard opened the gate.

Rhoswen walked in looking around, not even taking notice to her brother standing near by. Maybe I should not let her know I'm here... I can commit the task without getting her too involved...
As James snuck away, Rhoswen now needed to find someone she could talk to about lending her services.

[Mysteria]

StormWolf:

Alexander held his head in his hands, his long locks of golden blonde hair a mess in his fists as he stared into his empty stew bowl. He hadn't really tasted the food, but he was sure it was good, it always was. So was the Maxwell Mead, said to be the strongest in the Isle. The young Clan Chief could almost hear the dice rolling in his head as he thought over what to do. He had never lead an army on his lonesome before. He had followed William, and offered his views when asked, but never lead an army. The Maxwell sighed as he finished off his flagon of mead. He was so engrossed in his thoughts, he didn't even notice the dashing young woman until she spoke.

"MiLaird, I have returned to answer the call. It is good to once again be within the walls of Maxwell Castle."

Alex looked up to see the beautiful Nessia, the woman who was but a girl the last time Alex saw her. He offered up a weak smile and stood. He was overjoyed to see her, he always had feelings for Nessia, but she always avoided him, but his stubborn Maxwell blood kept him thinking of her.

"Nessia, it be a heart warmin' sight t' see ye again." he walked over to her and gave her a brief hug. "I do be glad ye plan t' fight. But jus' promise me that ye be careful. Me fathar will nary forgive me if I let anythin' happen t' ye." He put his scarred hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes for a few moments before walking to greet the new arrivals. Bloody Black Douglas'. It be a blessin' an' a curse they be here. Alex had to swallow his inkling to start a fight, the Maxwell and Douglas Clans were never friendly towards each other. They had a feud war at one point, and no one really remembered why, other than the Maxwells wanted some good sport. That was a reputation many Maxwell's had, being totally insane.

"Well, well, well, the Black Douglas. It do be a cold day in Hell fer the lot o' ye to show up in me Lands." The Maxwell Chief laughed and clasped strong hands with the leading Douglas, the eldest looking one. Alexander was a large man, even among Scots, but he did his best to not look down on the others. After he shook the hands of the other Douglas' firmly, he walked to the gate of his Castle, seeing the village outside bustling and buzzing with life as so many different tartans showed up on their lands under the flag of truce.

A woman passed him, bumping into him lightly, the guards had barred her entry until some man from the road said that she was his sister. The man was now gone, but Alexander paid it no mind, he needed all the fighters he could get if this was to work. The two guards, Marcus and Coll, dipped their head to their Chief as he stood by them,

"Coll, Marcus... Dunnae bar any'un from entry unless they be the English. We be trying t' unite the Clans, remember?" Alex slapped Coll upside his bald head, causing his brother, Marcus, who was a broad, hairy, bear of a man, to laugh his booming laugh. He stopped laughing when Alex shot him a half-hearted glare. Coll and Marcus were his closest childhood friends, and they had been beaten up by Alex since they were wee lads.

"Jus' make a bloody good example, alrigh'? Don' make me sick ye mother on ye, an' ye know she be fiercer than a rabid bear when she hear that her wee lit'le boys be misbehavin'." The two brother's faces widened in horror at Alex's threat, making the Chief chuckle and pat them on the shoulder.

[Mysteria]

Cleopatra Antoinette:

It was dark, both from it being night and also because of the storm clouds that hung heavily in the sky, letting their contents pour out onto the earth and sea. The fishermen on the boat were happy about it; the high waves and wind pushed them twice as fast to their destination, though it was difficult to steer the ship. There was one person, however, who was not pleased with the weather. That person lay huddled under a wooden crate that smelled strongly of fish and salt. Her hair was wet and plastered to her face, her clothes damp and cold; her arms were folded across her chest hugging her bag of items to her. Sinead whimpered with every wave they went over, shutting her eyes tight. She would have said a prayer if she hadn’t been so nauseous. All she could do was hope for an end to this side of hell and try not to vomit.


…

Agmund walked next to Helgi sighing as the rain pounded onto his shoulders and dripped down his back soaking him through. Helgi’s mane stuck to his neck like Agmund’s hair stuck to his. He could barely see through the rain and he could hardly walk without staggering. The ground was so damp his boots sunk into the earth every time he took a step, caking his boots and legs with mud. Helgi was having a hard time too, as the mud became thicker with each step taken. The tall Norseman patted his warhorse’s neck trying to peer through the downpour for some place where they could at least dry off enough to sleep somewhat comfortably. "Well, Helgi," he said in his native tongue, "it seems as though Mother was right. Anyone who chooses to go anywhere but south where it’s warm and dry is a fool." Helgi snorted and shook his mane splashing Agmund more. He held his hand up to keep it from hitting his face, but he didn’t succeed very well. He sighed again and kept walking. "Land of warriors and great battles… Land of rain and inhospitality is more like it. You raid a country just once and they forever hold a grudge. I don’t even want to talk about what they do if you sack it constantly." He tried to wipe some water from his eyes in a useless attempt to clear his sight.

He kept walking and leading Helgi for a while, losing track of time. He couldn’t see the sky, let alone any stars to tell what time of night it might be, so he kept walking intending to go on until he found some form of shelter.

He found it after a while longer. In the distance he could see some lights through the darkness. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders against the wind and hurried on with a renewed purpose. He was cold, tired, wet, hungry, and nothing seemed better at the moment than the prospect of getting a bed at an inn. Hells, a place in the stable would be better than this. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that though… although it usually did.

He almost sighed with relief when he saw the sign swinging in the blustery weather. Helgi gave a soft whiny almost pulling ahead of Agmund before he got a good grip on the horse’s bridle again. He patted the beast’s nose and kept walking towards the light and smelled the scent of hot food on the air. He grinned for a moment and then kept walking muttering to himself. "Peace be damned tonight, I’ll break bones for some stew."


…

Not too far away at the harbor, Sinead was vomiting out the previous year’s Christmas dinner. Her face was a sickly pale-green and her hands were shaky. "Ah ha' the sea. Ah ha' the ocean. Ah ha' fish. Always hated fish. No fish." She stood to her feet clumsily staggering and slipping on the rain-slicked wood. She felt disgusting. Her mouth tasted of the bile from earlier and she was freezing. All she could do at this point was look for a place to stay. She’d heard some of the sailors comment on a nearby inn, so she decided to head there. She didn’t have much money at the moment, but she did have her lute with her. She could surely trade entertainment for board. It had worked before. Failing that, she could jump out the window at first light.

She plodded through the mud heading to the door shivering. "Should’a gone tae Wales. France. Someplace warm. Warm-er."

[Mysteria]

Siksta Slathalin:

The Good Sir James shook the Chief's hand firmly.
"Very cold indeed milaird, Lucifer himself had to put on a cloak." The other Douglas weren't as friendly with their old rival as Sir James. The remember the tales their father told them about the Maxwells and their cattle rustling. As the Chief leaves Samuel and Luke disperse to grab some food, Sir James had found some of his comrades from the early part of the wars. Alistair on the other hand didn't feel like eating or socializing with a bunch of old war hounds. He wanted to explore the stronghold of the Clan Maxwell.

Shouldering his axe he makes his way between all the other Scots in the hall to the stairs. As soon as he stepped into the dark staircase a cold blast of stormy air hit him head on.
"Och that feels good, ah knew twas too bloody hot in there." He ascends the old stone steps feeling the cold air flood over him. As he reached the second landing he looked out one of the windows. The valley spanned out in front of him dark and foreboding lightning streaks the clouds showing a land of rough uneven terrain and rocky outcrops. Much like the rest of Scotland but no matter how rocky and uneven Scotland is it's still the most beautiful place in the world and worth dying for if the situation calls for it.

[Mysteria]

Serendipitous Bliss:

“Bloody Hell!” The Irish woman spat, stopping mid-stride to drag her left foot out of the knee-high mud. “Faither! Ah blame ye, damn ye! Couldn’t ye an’ ma’ have given me a brother?!”

Áine tilted her head back and screamed with frustration, hands clenching her wool skirts too high to be considered decent – at least no one was around. Not like she could actually tell in the sheeting rain. The redhead grumbled curses and Gaelic slurs, moving on. Her stomach growled, bringing attention to her hunger and she glared down at her abdomen as she wretched her foot out of the mud again.

“Silence, ye damn thing, I know, al’right?” Áine sighed and placed a hand on her stomach, craving something warm and heavy to fill the empty feeling; she'd been living on stale bread for several days, having very little money on her now.

Her blue eyes closed before she sighed heavily, bowing her head forward to lift up the hood of her cloak before trudging on; she was soaked through, now, clothes completely drenched. It could have been hours, or perhaps just minutes before the lights of Maxwell Castle caught Áine's eyes and she gasped with hope. Walking faster, she came upon the castle, muddied, shivering and red-faced, sooner than she thought she would. The guards eyes her curiously as she stood before them, panting in the cold rain, before they granted her access into the castle, which even she cast them a strange look for doing.

Following the sound of people and the rich smell of mead and food, Áine found herself surrounded by people and a warmth that made her shed her cloak and woven shall. The maiden sighed, shivering again, though much more pleasantly this time, and wrapped her arms around herself after running her hands through her hair that had been plastered to her head by the rain, despite her coverings.

Her stomach growled once more and her face flushed with color; she wanted to find herself a bowl of food - stew, it smelled like - but she figured the correct thing to do would be to introduce herself to the lord of the castle. Glancing about almost too eagerly, she caught someone in passing by their elbow and asked, her accent rather different than the Scots around her, "Pardon, bu' may Ah ask ye who the loard of thi' castle be?"

[Mysteria]

Roan:

Warmed by the fire’s heat Fenella gained her footage, her eyes scanning the many bodies inside the hall as she made her way to a long counter with tankards. Grabbing a full one she placed a hand on the bottom of the pitcher while walking down then length of a table, filling empty mugs. She smiled politely to those that looked or greeted her, but mostly her ears were keen on the conversations. Gossip was her way of learning the dramas of the world. Atleast now since her father’s passing.


Laird Iian Urquhart wasn’t a large man. Tall but slender, known more for his intelligence and swiftness on the battle field then brute strength and prowess. He protected his daughter from the gore and violence in fights and instead informed her of the politics, she was always interested of the meaning of her father’s absence. He showed her in juvenile pictures areas, lands, reinforcements and different formations.

Fenella had in mind the somehow wiggle her way into the heat of things. She could help, she knew she could. But who listen to the daughter of a seaside laid? Everyone who was anyone hailed from the hills and mountains. I have to find a way the dark skinned girl thought to herself determinately as she poured a full mug for Lucas Douglas. She could see the resemblance in the young shaven man’s face, knowing him instantly as a Black Doulgas. The candles suspended above their heads caused her thick black lashes to make a crescent shadow on her cheeks, giving her pale grey eyes more contrast to shine. “’Evenin’, sir. Hope everything to yer linkin’ and your travels wer well.” After the smallest of bows she continued down the table without another word.

A hand suddenly caught her elbow and it took a good bit of grit to control yanking away with a snarl. But the touch was gentle and ‘Ella was suddenly looking down at a bonny lass, around her own years.

"Pardon, bu' may Ah ask ye who the loard of thi' castle be?" From her accents the maiden knew she was Irish.

“Da,” She spoke, saying yes in Bulgarian, “This is Chief Alexander Maxwell's dwelling.” Filling the woman’s mug she suggested the mead, “Drink this. It’ll shake that chill you have.” After straightening her back she raised her arm in the direction ofa large side door, another entrance into the hall.

“Alexander is the large fair haired man there, speaking with the others.” Looking back to the Irish girl the grey-eyed lass smiled sweetly, “I’m Fenella Urquhart. What brings you here?”

[Mysteria]

Siksta Slathalin:

Alistair was walking back down form exploring the tower when he heard a very distinct accent.
"By the Saints he's got Irish here too?" After pulling his way through thbe crowds he sees the red haird Irishlass talkign to a dark skinned girl he didn't reconize.

Luke was so entrapped by the dark beauty he almost dropped his flask when she spoke to him.
"Thank..thank." She letf before he could thank her he followed her with his eyes until the Irish girl stops her.


Alistair overheard the dark girl tell the Irish girl about Alex and saw this chance to get better aquianted with such a bonny lass.
"Excuse me lassie I couldn't help but overhear ya. I'll take ya to him and make sure you get audience with him." He bows to her holding his hand to her.

[Mysteria]

Serendipitous Bliss:

"Thank ye, darlin'. Me Faither sent me to help; his ma' was a Scot, an' he 'erd 'bout Wallace, Loard rest 'im. Me name's Áine, by thi' way," the redhead said, taking a swig of the mead. Her blue eyes followed the line made by Fenella's arm, looking for the "large, fair haired man speaking with the others" she'd mentioned was the Chief of the castle; Alexander Maxwell, she'd said his name was.

A male voice with strong Scottish accent caught her attention, and she turned her head, finding herself gazing up into the Scotsman's eyes. Caught off-guard, blush flooded into Áine's cheeks and she took a small step away from him. As he bowed and offered to give her an audience with Alexander, she arched an eyebrow curiously. having composed herself, before taking his hand and setting down her mug of mead.

"That should be well, though, ye'be...? Shouldn't a man introduce 'imself do a lass b'fore he offers ta' take 'er places?" A smirk played on Áine's lips, speaking to Fenella as if the Scotsman wasn't there.

[Mysteria]

Nessia could tell that Alexander’s attempt at a smile was overshadowed by something weighing heavily upon his mind. Nessia knew it to be the current state of turmoil throughout the lands that had left Alexander in such a sullen mood. His eyes however had brightened upon seeing the auburn haired lass and when he arose to give her a hug Nessia was quite taken by his actions. She possibly lingered for just a moment to long as she enjoyed the warmth of his embrace which was broken all to soon for her likings.

“It does m’heart good to see you again too m’laird.” Nessia said, her smile widening as she spoke. When his eyes met hers her gaze unwavered as she looked into the bluest eyes in Scotland. "I do be glad ye plan t' fight. But jus' promise me that ye be careful. Me fathar will nary forgive me if I let anythin' happen t' ye." With that Nessia’s emerald eyes flashed with her Scottish temper momentarily, her cheeks flushed in an almost anger like state before softening again. Now wasn’t the time to argue with Alexander. Under other circumstances she more than likely would have broken her gaze and whipped off some less than lady like comment. Her years away from the castle had served her well. The thought of any man ever having to protect the fiery red head again thundered through her very being but she remained calm as she replied to the lord of the castle. “Aye, an fight I will m’laird with nary a flutter of hesitation.” Her lips parting in a half smile as she continued. "I promise ye, I shall be careful an that ye will have no cause nor need fer protectin’ me. After all Alex, do ye forget so soon who it be that taught this Scottish lass how ta fight?” She had called him Alex on purpose to see what reaction she would get from him as his soft spot for her had never gone unnoticed but her Scottish stubbornness had kept her from showing her feelings for him. Or at least, she had tried, never quite certain if she had succeeded or not. Even though she had left the castle sometime ago, the Maxwell clan had insisted upon watching over her and had went to great lengths to make sure that her room in Maxwell castle would remain hers for when and if she decided to return.

“I trust m’laird that my old room is still in order?” Nessia asked already knowing full well that his answer would be exactly as she thought. The nod of his head confirmed that it was and with that Nessia said “Then I’ll be off now to settle into it and ta rest. This day has been long.” Nessia’s voice trailed off, suddenly sounding very weary. She watched as Alexander made his way into the courtyard and then began her ascent up the grande staircase, nodding to one she recognized to be of the Douglas clan by his tartan. Tilting her head she acknowledged the clansmen as she passed and made her way into her room. It was exactly as she had left it all those years ago. The Maxwells had done more than right by her.

Opening the doors to the balcony she stepped outside and breathed deeply the air tainted by the approaching storm. Stepping back inside she closed the doors behind her as she sat down on the bed, propping the pillows behind her as she did so. Her mind drifted back to her childhood and within moments Nessia had drifted off into a restless slumber.

[Mysteria]

Devaki:

Rhoswen bumped into a man, in which she had no clue it was the laird of the castle. She swore she heard her brother's voice, but there were many strapping Scottish men. Rhoswen shook her head and strolled in a few more steps looking around. 'I feel so lost...' she mumbled under her breath and stared up at the sky. She remembered how inseparable her and her brother were and though she was a very strong independent lass, she felt safe by her brother's side. But he was gone now.. and Rhoswen had to find her own way in life.

-

James needed time to think... he didn't want to avoid his sister but the task at hand was too great. He needed to have a chat with the laird soon otherwise things would need to be brought into his hands; that could not happen.
He leaned against a wall rubbing his eyes. He couldn't understand why this had to be so stressful, but as long as his sister stayed away from him, and didn't know he was here.

[Mysteria]

Ryudo:

Aldan was finally inside Castle Maxwell, he turned to his companions, and with a quick farewell they departed back to Home. He wouldn't call them again unless he needed them, perhaps after what he presumed Maxwell would ask of those gathered he would need them.

Aldan made his way into the main hall with little difficulty, he and Alexander had been good friends and this was not the first time Aldan had been inside the magnificent castle.

The first thing that Aldan noticed were the collection of beautiful women assemble in the hall, well now, maybe this was a good choice. His eyes then focused on the mead a few people were drinking, now this definitely was a good choice. His eyes finally met those of the master of the Castle, and a large grin appeared on Aldan's face.

"Good Laird they let a beast like this in a castle this fair," he laughed heartily and embraced his old friend, "Alexander, tis truly a blessin' ta see ya, but it's even a better blessin' to see the mead." He leaned close towards his friend, and in a half whisper said, "And of course the beautiful lasses." Aldan laughed again, full of good will,

"So Alexander, what made you wake me from me Castle in the middle of the damned night?"

[Mysteria]

StormWolf:

Alex was looking at nothing in particular, just staring at a crack in the castle's masonry when a familiar voice reached him. His old friend, Aldan. The Maxwell Chief smiled and embraced Aldan, he even laughed, something he hadn't done since before Wallace's death.

"Aldan, ye dog of war. It does me much good t' see ye here. I know I have someone t' trust without a doubt." he clapped his friend on the shoulder roughly, "Eat. Drink... but dunnae drink everythin' we bloody got, alrigh'?" Alex took two full mugs and handed one to Aldan. Alex clanked mugs with him,

"To freedom, me friend." and he drank the strong alcohol heartily, letting it warm his bones and belly.

[Mysteria]

Roan:

Aine? It was a name that fit the redhead well. “Yer welcome, Aine. Have ya need of a room jus’ let me kno’.” With a smile Fenella was about to turn and make her way to the next table when Luke Duglass came walking towards them, hearing his distinctive voice before she saw his form.

"Excuse me lassie I couldn't help but overhear ya. I'll take ya to him and make sure you get audience with him."

An audience? Now, that was something ‘Ella herself was interested in. Maybe then she could show him the maps shes drawn, detailed to the very last hill and swamp between here and English territory. It would be the only way she might find herself within the midst of this for longed battle. She had little talent with her crossbow, only aim and a steady hand. Her spiked club only needed momentum in a swing, and her dagger capable of a nasty wound with a flick of her wrist. She was no warrior, but an unknown asset to the fullest.

“’Tis very kind of you, Sir Luke.” Her grey eyes seemed to smile at him but they would soon move to the newest arrival.

Aldan De Home was a fine example of a man, her father speaking of his love of the drink, women, and war. A brave man and a good friend to Alexander. This night was becoming more and more interesting as the hours were spent Fenella mused. Turning her pale gaze back to Aine she bow slightly, “I’m sure I’ll see you again, Aina.” Looking to Luke now she bowed again, “As well you, sir Luke.” Taking a step back she would turn on her heel and continue her way throughout the hall, serving and listening. Yes, things would fall into place soon. I'll make sure of that.

[Mysteria]

Siksta Slathalin:

((Roan, Alistair was the one talking Luke's the youngest brother.))

Alistair smiled at the red head straightening his back.
"I'm Alisatair Douglas of the Black Douglas a pleasure to meet ye Ms. Aine and thank you for the complement my dark skinned bonny. He kisses her hand lightly. He turns and looks in Alex's direction seeing him engaged he turns back to the lass. Well looks like Laird Maxwell tis engaged at the moment, but ah'm sure he wun't mind come with me." He smiles at her stepping aside and motioning with his hand into the crowd.

Luke Douglas had been following his brother and the lassies chat, well trying to at least the dark skinned girl was quite distracting. As she moved away from Alistair and the Irish woman he stood up and maneuvered himself so he was behind her. He cleared his throat and tapped her shoulder. He wasn't as smooth as Alistair was with the lasses but his deep voice was distinct enough to at least have them look at him.
"Excuse me lass ah just want to thank ye for the drink, we don't get many beauties like you around these parts especially serving drinks. So thank ye kindly." He bows to her a little then steps back looking at her.
Och she's a real beaut. He thinks clearing his throat a little.

[Mysteria]

Cleopatra Antoinette:

Sinead and Agmund bumped into each other at the door to the inn. They were alike in that they were both cold, hungry, wet, tired, and just all around miserable. Other than that, the semblance ended. In fact, other than that they looked very much opposite. Sinead was nearly a foot shorter than Agmund, brunette, and also she looked at him as if to say “If you even THINK about getting in my way, I will decapitate you with my bare hands.”

Agmund was a huge block of a man with blond hair, but his expression when looking at Sinead’s face was one that said “Please don’t kill me, I just want some soup.”

They stared at each other for a bit, trying to size each other up. Sinead did it because she was used to. Agmund did it because he had learned a while ago that women who could have That Look in their eyes such as Sinead did were trouble and one should stay on their good side.

So they sat there for a while just watching each other and sizing each other up. Sinead didn’t make any sudden moves because she didn’t have any weapons she could get to easily. Agmund didn’t make any moves because… well, she seemed somewhat unstable, and you weren’t supposed to fight unpredictable enemies.

Finally, Sinead spoke. “Would ye be interested in a business proposition?”


-- -


Agmund wondered how he managed to get into this position. He was stuck in the inn, surrounded by Scotsmen who were glaring at him like they wanted to rip him to pieces. This was thanks to Sinead who sat at the bar, flirting with all males in sight, and saying things along the line of how he was saying that all the men there looked like women. It wasn’t helping his popularity.

“He sai’ he could take ye a’ an’ no’ break a sweat! Big words, eh?” Sindead took a swig of some mead provided for her. Agmund made a mental note of leaving her by the road as soon as this, err, business was complete. “Why, he even sai’ tha’ if’n ye could best him, he’d go an’ eat mud!” No, Agmund decided. Not leave her by the road. Toss her back into the sea as he rode out of town.

“He did, did he?” They started growling in a threatening manner. Agmund chugged his mead, wishing in his mind that he and Helgi could change places. “Le’s see if he can live up tae tha’.”

As the first wave came at him, he almost wished he was outside in the rain still. Fists came at him, feet kicked at him, chairs were thrown, and his own fists went flying. He kept feeling his knuckles collide with faces even though he was trying to look many places at once. He heard Sinead singing a drinking song. She wasn’t helping manners.

She was having a lovely time singing merrily with some other wenches sitting by the bar. “And so when the dishes, flying out the door, and so went the mice, a-scratchin’ at the floor! But those women went after him, all a-beggin’ for more!”

Agmund broke away from the fighting for a moment and stood next to her snarling. “I vant half, you pay for meat. Horse feed. Und rooms.”

Sinead smacked him over his head. “Fahn, ya grea’ daft rabbit.”

Before he could reply, the nord was dragged back into the fight. Sinead went back to her drink telling the other wenches about… well anything and nothing to keep the sound of chairs breaking over heads. “Oh, Ah knew the momen’ I saw him tha’ he’d be good fer stuff. Like the-”she ducked a flying bottle “-the time Ah wen’ and sold mah great-Aunt Duffy’s broach. The ol’ hag w-” she ducked a flying mug. Sinead turned to the fight intending to say something, but she noticed there was no way of getting through to them. So she had nothing better to do than shrug and start singing again.

Meanwhile, Agmund was weaving and ducking, hitting and punching. It took a while but he managed to knock them all down. It was probably owing to the fact that they had had much more to drink than he did. Which was sad and unfortunate as he wished he was.

As he knocked the last one down he staggered over to the bar and grabbed a pint from Sinead’s hand. “Vench.”

She grabbed another pint and took a swig glaring at him. “Thief. Oh, speakin' o' which…” Sinead hopped off her chair, going over to the men lying prostrate on the floor and started going through their belongings. “Oooh! Well this laddy here’s a right miser! Look a’ all this!” She shook a money bag at Agmund. “Ah tell ye, we make a right good pair!”

Her associate only downed the drink and started on a huge bowl of hot beef stew, making plans to sleep light and head out before dawn. He glanced over at the girl who was currently looting the bodies on the floor. With all they’d drunk and the beatings they’d received, they’d be out long after he left. The mead helped to warm him a bit so he thought a little about whether or not to get rid of the Irish wench…

She jumped on the seat next to him and dumped enough money to pay for their stay at the inn for more than a week. He grunted. “Leaving before sunrise.” She groaned and laid her head against the wood. “Ach, fine.”

Well… maybe she wasn’t too bad. He supposed he could let her tag along a little longer.

[Mysteria]

The sound of thunder crackling outside awoke Nessia from her nap. Walking over to the balcony but not stepping out onto it she stood looking out over the terrain which had now been soaked by the rains. Standing her in spot brought back a flood of memories from her youth. It was in the courtyards below that she had learned to defend herself and it was in this castle that she had grown to become the young woman that she now was.

Even though it had been some time that she had returned to the castle, it still felt like home. She had left many of her possessions behind in this very room as it hadn’t been feasible to take them all with her into the tiny dwelling that she had called home for the past few years. A sense of nostalgia stirred within her as she traced her fingers lightly over the dresser that contained some of the clothing she had once worn while living here in the castle. Removing a green dress the same color of her eyes from the drawer she quickly changed and went below to find something to eat. There was always something to eat at Castle Maxwell.

Nessia made her descent down the stairs and into the rooms lying below as the sound of a voice from the past floated on the air. She walked into the room where met her eyes was the sight of an old acquaintance and friend Aldan De Home. Not only was he an old friend, he was a sight for sore eyes, literally. He was much more handsome than she had remembered. He was one of the few men who had ever caught and held Nessia’s interest other than Alex. The two were like brothers, but yet different in many ways. Nessia had always felt a slight unease around Alex which she attributed to the fact that she liked him so much. Aldan on the other hand had always had a calming effect on her which is why the sudden feeling of butterflies in her stomach upon seeing him again almost startled her.

Nessia stood back observing the two friends as they greeted each other, after having gotten herself a mug of mead. Both were handsome men, both brave and strong willed characters who would make any lass of Scotland proud to have as a husband. Fortunately for Nessia, looking for a husband had never been a part of her plan and wasn’t her reason for returning to Castle Maxwell.

"To freedom, me friend." Alex said and with that Nessia stepped forward with a smile that could have lit up the entire castle, raising her mug and adding “To freedom m’lairds and to good friends we’ve not seen fer far t’long” Her voice was light and filled with merriment as it tinkled though out the room. Her nap seemed to have agreed with her along with the fact that she was now in the company of two of the most handsome and brave men that Scotland had to offer.

[Mysteria]

Siksta Slathalin:

Alistair slipped and slid his way bewtween the other Scots all getting throughly hammered by this time. There was a lot of singing, a lot of loud talking and even a few fists thrown. But that's all to be expected when any Scots gather in one place. He gets close enough to hear Alex and two other people he couldn't identify make a toast. As they finished he shoved his way past two MacGregors who were to drunk to even notice then said to Chief Maxwell.
"Milaird I have a young lass named Aine that would like to have a word with ye." He looks back to find Aine.

Sir James bid his old friends farewell then makes his way to the table to grab a plate of food. There wasn't much to choose from unless you could eat plates. But he managed a decent plate of meat, fruit, some vegatables, and a big tankard of Ale. With his food he moved himself to a window that looked a little more clear than the rest of the hall. As he got closer he saw that it was a small nook in the wall with a padded window bench and a couple of slightly reclined arm chairs. Going to the chair with a small serving table next to it he seats himself and places his tankard on the table. Rolling the little table in front of him he places his plate down and begins to eat.

It only took him a few moments to finish his food and drop the plate off in a Kitchengirl's tub. After this he refilled his tankard and went to look at the window at the bleak turbulent outdoors.
"Och never seen Scotland so restless, the war's really gettin to her." He says quietly to himself watching the rain splatter on the road and drawbridge. The Patiriot has just staring off when he saw someone at the front gate taking up his cup and sword he walks out not seeing any need to alert Alex when he could probably handle anything the Traveler needs. He walks slowly through thhe gray stone hall the stones worn smooth by years of feet, the old taprestreis still hold some of their old luster though time has had it's way with them. He sees the gate and orders one of the Guards to raise it so he can see the Traveler.

[Mysteria]

StormWolf:

While Alexander and his old friend Aldan told joked and storied, Nessia approached them, wearing a humble but beautiful dress the same hue as her eyes. Alex, for the first time in a long time, was without words at the sight of a woman. He had always felt something special for Nessia, remembering a childish promise to himself, that she would be his wife. Childish... but what it so outlandish? Mayhap he had more sense as a child than as a man, seeing as how many Maxwells succumb to the "Maxwell Madness". Alex already had the juvenile markings of it upon his mind, but that didn't change the fact that deep down, in his core of cores, he loved her. He always had, since he was but a boy. Over time, though, that love grew, and she shied away.

Shaking his head to try and wake his brain once more, Alex smiled at beautiful Nessia and clanked mugs with her and drank. Nessia was a strong woman, strong and beautiful. She could fight and do it well, which put him at ease, but it didn't quell his desire to protect her. His father would not have taken her in if not for Alex nearly splitting the table in half with an axe.

"M'lady Nessia, ye do look like an angel in that dress, an that be th' truth." He smiled one of his warm smiles. It would have been quite handsome if it was not slightly warped by a scar that drew his mouth into a permanent sneer most of the time.

"Milaird I have a young lass named Aine that would like to have a word with ye."

Alexander turned, looking at the Douglas, his brow slightly furrowed. He closed his eyes for a moment, those eyes which were blue as ice and held a constant, cold contempt with the beginning of madness. Alex nodded, forcing himself to smile as pleasantly as he could with that scar.

"Aye, Laird Alistair. Bring th' lass forward." He opened his eyes again, that eerie light in them still bright.

[Mysteria]

Roan:

(Sorry ‘bout that, Siksta. )

Fenella was given a small start when she was tapped quickly on the shoulder. Turning quickly, dark tresses swaying, her striking grey eyes settled on the form of Luke. His words were kind, causing the girl to blush slightly, eyes cast towards the ground coyly and momentarily. “Yer welcome an’ thank you.” A small curtsy, “I would like to talk for a while sometime. But as you can see I’m a bit busy at tha moment an’ me moms waitin’ fer me to bring supper. She’s ill after tha death of my father; same day William was captured.”

A frown marred her lips, her eyes looking as if they saw something that wasn’t there. Blinking back to reality she smiled sweetly at Luke.

“Another time, aye? This war is yet come to a head, I’m positive we’ll meet again, sir. Goodnight.” Bowing her dark head respectively she turned and moved on. Finishing her rounds until her tankard was empty she made her way towards the kitchen but not before noticing that the Irish girl Aine had indeed made an acquaintance with Alexander. Walking a distance from the group she eyed the beautiful form of Nessia. Oddly Fenella knew little about this young woman, knowing only that she was enamored with the Laird, and he with her. Yet, as it would seem, they’ve yet to express their feelings for one another.

“Beautiful bairen they’ll have one day,” ‘Ella whispered to herself as she ducked her head down and entered the kitchen to the far side of the hall. Her mother would probably not eat, but she had to try. She’d lost a significant amount of weight in the last few days since her husbands death, her once lovely features aging at a faster rate now, streaks of gray marring her thick ebony hair. Completely miserable.

With a fist she held the green material of her skirt as she ascended the servants’ stairs.

[Mysteria]

Sedalb:

Feet damp and mud covered as far up to the knees, the lonesome man with a large pack strapped to his back entered the village. Woe be unto he who said this town was without spirit for it was the clan Maxwell who dwelled within it, yet the man could sense that a tragedy had certainly passed. Indeed this was the case for many Scots since the capture and murder of William Wallace, sad songs and stories of surrender seemed more common now.

Ian travelled here in hopes of joining with a clan whose spirit is hard to extinguish. It was well known that the Chief of Maxwell worked well and fought hard alongside William, but since Ian heard stories of the capture of both William and the Chief’s son, he could only hope that the loss of a son would not sway the Maxwell clan’s taste for rebellion.

Further down the village was the castle overlooking it. That was his destination. He needed to speak to anyone in charge, he had a service to offer and he wouldn’t offer it to just any clan. Ian wanted to be among the fighters, among those who would do Wallace’s spirit good by keeping his fighting spirit alive. Yet he did not know what was to come when he approached the gate of the castle.

“That’s close enough lad!” the guard exclaimed while blocking the entrance. “State your business.”

“My name is Ian Ross, I’ve come to offer my services to fight as well as maintain any set o’ bagpipes that remain ‘ere in this town.”

The guard smirked, “You you’re a musician?”

“Aye,” Ian replied, “If I could, I’d like to speak to Lord James Maxwell.”

The name struck a cord in the guard’s eyes, Ian could tell something was not right.

“Lord James Maxwell is dead lad.”

“Dead?” Ian yelled, almost slipping on the damp mud, “Has he fallen ill? Or was there a battle I haven’t heard of?”

“Neither, he died in place of his son. Alexander is now our Chief, and for the time being I think now is not a good time to be speaking of his father…”

Ian looked shocked, “Not speak of his father? We should sing bloody songs of him! He sacrificed himself for his son and kin! True Scot if I ever heard one.”

“Aye, ye right.” The guard replied, nodding his head in deep thought of his previous chief.

“So now isn’t the best time, I understand that. Is there any musician I can see to whom I can chat with?”

The guard again looked at Ian with clouded eyes, “Fraid not lad, most of our pipers were captured or killed. I haven’t heard a single drone or tune for weeks.”

This news proved even more shocking to Ian. For a man who walk and lived bagpipes, he couldn’t imagine a day without hearing a tune, let alone weeks. And no tunes to recover from the death of their Clan Chief! Ian knew what he had to do, and without another word to the guard he turned around and marched off to the nearby hills.

It was getting dark, and a slow mist was surrounding the hills that overlooked the village. To Ian, this was the perfect spot to set up. Opening his pack, he brought out his bag, attached the drones, pinched the reed and attached his chanter. He was going to play a tune, it was the only way to calm himself and offer something to the village who just lost their chief. “A tune for the death a fine Scotsman, what shall it be?” he asked himself as he pondered. Mist Covered Mountains seemed like an ideal piece, but something more musical was needed. After a minute or two, Ian came up with the perfect tune.

He decided to play "The Dark Isle" (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-cIij7zWdN0)

The drones echoed through the village below like a wind through trees. This was Ian’s only way of offering his condolences to the village, and to Alex, who just lost a father, if he could hear it.

[Mysteria]

StormWolf:

Alexander had made use of the quick lull in conversation to get himself something to eat and something else to drink. While he was at the table, his stature above most others, he heard it. The music of country and kin. He paused, his hands trenbling, the mug in his hand cracking. Alexander all but ran out the gates to see the lone piper on the hill, playing the music he so dearly missed in his motherland. Silent tears burned his eyes as he let the music flow over him, the song of mourning wracking him with grief he had suppressed, anger he had bottled up, and other emotions he had tried to keep shielded from all others.

The Maxwell Chief, so tall and strong, fell to a knee, just letting the drones of the mysterious piper assuage the madness and give him a piece of calm. Letting some of his grief go along with prayers to the Almighty.

Standing once more, the Chief raised a powerful fist in the air. He wanted to yell Revicero, but that was his father's saying. The Maxwells, no, all the Scots, would never be weak again.

"NON DORMIO!!!" Alex roared in his powerful voice, a voice that bordered humanity and that of a beasts howl. "NON DORMIO!!!" I Never Rest. The Cheif turned to stare inside the hall of his Clan, filled with fellow Scots, patriots who answered his call.

"Sons and Daughters of Scotland..." he began, pointing at the lone piper. "Pray ye' hear that! Lis'n an' let th' music of th' Almighty tell ye' why we fight!" The Chief's powerful voice carried in that hall and into the village and hills, "Know that if we dunnae fight tyranny, that music will die with us! Ye came here, t' me castle an' t' me. Hopin' that th' spirit of Wallace had taken me over." Alex shook his head, "Nay, I be meself, and I want ye t' know, I will nary rest until I have delivered to you the freedom ye' all deserve! ALBA GUH BRA!!!! ARE YE READY FER A WAR!!!!??"

[Mysteria]

Serendipitous Bliss:

"Aye, Laird Alistair. Bring th' lass forward."

Alexander's voice was much more intimidating than Áine had expected. She was stricken with thoughts that made her hesitate, stand back from Maxwell and Douglas even when Alistair turned toward her.

Would they accept a woman's help? Why did faither send me, if Ah'd be no good? What could Ah say to convince them that Ah'm competent? Such questions troubled the Irishwoman, words escaping her. The sound of Scottish bagpipes invaded her thoughts and she felt her eyes prick with tears.

Moments later, Scottish roared even louder around Áine, breaking the Irish girl from her silence and thoughts. With a surprised yelp, the redhead moved a bit closer to the Scotsman who had led her to the chief before the bagpipes had begun playing; to her embarrassment, she'd lost herself much too deeply in her thoughts and Alexander had moved away and then apparently decided to rouse his countrymen. Áine closed her eyes, sighing softly as her hands grasped at the linen of Alistair's shirt.

"Th' bagpipes 're indeed beautiful," she murmured, opening her eyes again, the Irish blues a bit glazed over, unfocused. The Irishwoman drew away from Alistair then and looked up at him, even though he was only a few inches taller than her.

"Ah apologize fer not payin' attention, sir. I think I scared myself a little. Ta think, after all a' this travellin', Ah'd have doubts now," Áine laughed at herself and shook her head, placing a hand over her forehead.

[Mysteria]

Siksta Slathalin:

Good Sir James watched the Piper enter following his steps with his steady eyes. It'd been too long since he last heard the divine tunes of the pipes, he closed his eyes a little and went back in time to the glory days of the rebellion on the dawn of a raid Sir William asked the pipers to play a few tunes and get the fires going in their hearts. With a shake of his head he walks back to the hearth listening to the pipes whine and moan in song.

Alistair watched the area around before Alex walked off and announced the Lone Piper using his thunderous voice and the rousing words he's famous for the young Douglas was about to shout his affirmation when he felt a little tension on his shirt sleeve. Turning his head he sees the bonny Irishwoman he lovely lips moving in beautiful shapes and sounds.
"Oh aye lassie, there's not an instrument on the Lord's green earth that can compare to 'em. He chuckle a little as she admits her fear. And dun't worry about that lass, it 'appens to the best of us." He lifts her chin and smiles looking into her eyes.

[Mysteria]

Sedalb:

The tune weaved its way through the village. For Ian, a tune on the pipes was an excellent way to blow of steam, to clear his head. For the village, it was a way to ignite the flame once again. Halfway through his song Ian spotted a figure standing in the gates of the Maxwell castle. He was quite a distance, so Ian could not make out his face, but he could make out the colourful Maxwell tartan worn with pride as the man yelled out to the village below.

It must have been Alexander Maxwell, the new clan chief.

Upon playing his last note, Ian quickly disassembled his pipes and placed them back into his pack. Lifting the wooden case upon his back, he made his way back to the castle gates to where Alexander stood.

“They may break our bones an’ tear our flesh…” Ian stood in front of the chief, “but it’ll be a cold day in Hell if the English break our spirit.”

The piper had a grin of a madman, it seems the tune affected him as well.

“The name is Ian Ross… and I’m here to pay my respects, as well as fight for our country.” He extended his hand, wondering if the chief will accept it.

[Mysteria]

StormWolf:

Alexander lowered his powerful fist from it's pedestal in the air, letting his thick, powerful arms relax as he looked into the eyes of his kinsmen. Some held fear, others fury, and yet others help the desire for freedom. The mad eyes of the Maxwell Chief looked about the mass of proud Scots in his castle.

The large man turned at a new voice, the voice of the piper. Alexander smiled his usual smile, warped by that scar to the point of always having some kind of scowl, no matter how happy he was. When the Piper, Ian, offered his hand, Alex gladly shook it. The powerful hand of the Maxwell Chief throbbed with the powerful pulse of the Chief's heart.

"Ah, lad, ye have indeed come by th' will of th' Laird. Christ himself sent ye, I swear. Welcome t' Castle Maxwell, and welcome t' me rebellion." He shook Ian's hand powerfully, that muscled and scarred Maxwell arm enveloping the other Scot's in strong shake. "Come, ye have traveled long an' far. Rest. Eat. Drink." The Chief showed the man inside before starting in himself before Coll, one of the guards, spoke.

"Mi'laird, look yonder." the Maxwell turned to see a young lad, no older than ten, bruised and beaten, a workhorse carrying him as fast as it's legs could.

"Fetch th' doctor." Alex said as he walked out the meet the boy on the horse. The Chief hushed the spooked animal, patting it on the nose to make it still. Alexander then pulled the boy from the saddle, his body limp and weak, so small compared to the Maxwell Chief. The brief merriment that lit the Chief's face was now gone, hostility warped to a look of inconsolable anger by that scar. The massive Scot carried the lad through the throngs of people as they parted before him. Alex could feel the boy breathe, but he could also feel the breaks in the lads bones and the welts on his flesh.

A man in sturdy, modest brown robes descended the stairs with a large wooden case. Thinning silver hair covered s shiny head and a lily-white beard masked the old man's face. The doctor followed Alexander into an unoccupied lodging and closed the door behind him.

Alex lay the boy down on the bed with a fatherly gentleness, one that seemed odd coming from such a bestial man. The icy blues of his eyes watched the doctor work at cleaning the lads wounds, not saying a word.

After what felt like an eternity, they boy roused, or awoke, at least. He was still weak and broken, but he was alive. The boy motioned for Alex to come closer with a small, bruised and bloodied hand. The Chief went to the lad's bedside and listened to what the boy whispered into his ear. The words making that already wild fire inside him rage.


Chief Alexander threw the doors of the lodging open hard enough to nearly tear the sturdy oak doors off their hinges. He cared not about how he was looked at as he made his way to his weapon rack. The Chief strapped his Zweihänder onto his back while placing a long-bladed dirk at his boot and a elk-antler push dagger hidden behind his left bracer. A hefty one-handed Nordic war axe went on the belt loop at Alexander's waist. The Maxwell looked at his hands, red and sticky with the boy's lifeblood. He sighed and cradled his head in his right hand, the air about the castle still. Shouldering his targe, Alex made towards the exit, but stopped and turned. Half his face was a deep crimson, the boy's blood a Wallowing Mask that marked half the Chief's scarred face.

"That little lad was beaten t' Death's Door by an English garrison not thirty minutes from th' hills over yonder. Th' boy said there be 'round fifty. I dunnae 'bout the lot of ye, but I am goin' t' give th' lad th' revenge he will never be able t' take." the painted-red half of Alexander's face ran slightly with a single tear, "Th' boy... Skoti of Clan Gunnar, may not live through the week. If he does, he will nay be able t' keep an arm because of what those monsters did t' him. Follow me if ye wish, or stay here an' pray." With that Alexander turned on a booted heel and made his way towards the small field and hills that would soon be blemished by the white and red of English soldiers.

[Mysteria]

Siksta Slathalin:

All the Black Douglas present felt a slight chill come over their hearts at the news. It was not two hours ago they ran off Robber's claiming to be soldiers, the odds of them actually being soldiers were far at best but with this unseen news greatly increased the likelihood of the Robbers being real soldiers. Sir James finished his drink and strapped his sword tighter to his waist and marched into step beside Alex calling back to his kin.
"Come on lads, we Douglas will not stand by while an innocent is hurt! Jamais arriere!" Luke and Samuel roar a response and grabs their weapons following James.

Alistair growled deeply as he watched Alex carry the young lad to the room to be treated. He’d connected the dots like Sir James. A deep anger welled up in him the boy wasn't any older then his favorite cousin Thomas. He agreed fully with the Chief’s challenge but he stopped looking at Aine beside him he frowns a little kissing her hand.
"Ah'm sorry lass but ah must go with mi Clan. Ah'll be back dun't worry." He gives her hand one last kiss and grabs his axe from a weapon's rack then fall in next to his Kinsmen. More Scots that watched the horrific site and grabbed their weapons following the Douglas and Chief Maxwell.

[Mysteria]

Sedalb:

The clan Chief had a sturdy handshake, though with Ian as a seasoned piper with strong hands returned the shake with equal force. He grinned, he knew he came to the right place, the spirit of revolution against the English stood once again as the Maxwell Chief invited him into his own castle.

Ian nodded his head while quickly saying his thanks. He entered through the gates of the Maxwell castle when the cheery mood that had once filled the air was suddenly taken once again. A lone horse rode to the castle gates at full speed, the poor animal was frightened and the Maxwell chief needed to calm it down before noticing the small boy who lay unconscious.

Ian was no doctor, so he stood clear out of the way and let those who knew what they were doing intervene. Many thoughts rushed through Ian’s head as he wondered what could have caused this boy’s injuries, but it was not long before Alex came out revealing the bad news.

There was an English garrison over the hills, the young boy said their numbers to be near fifty soldiers. The clan chief then threw an invitation to anyone who wished to pay the English a visit.

“Fifty men…” Ian whispered to himself, then stepped forward, “Ye have my axes, the news of this lad means th’laird wishes for us to protect ourselves!” He threw his wooden pack off his back and retrieved his weapons inside. His dirk was already strapped to his side, but the addition of three small axes were now strapped to his belt.

For obvious reasons, Ian would leave his bagpipes at the castle. An element of surprise would be needed for this battle, and the bagpipes would not help in this situation.

[Mysteria]

Serendipitous Bliss:

Áine’s fine complexion blanched as her lively blue eyes darkened, following the broken body of the young boy that the Maxwell Chief carried and the silver-haired doctor filed after. The Irishwoman looked dazed as Alistair kissed her hand – twice – and left.

“Fight strong,” she said as he moved away, though her mind was on the boy. He’s so young! He could be my brother – How could that English scum do that to an innocent?!

She stood alone, torn between avenging the boy and helping soothe his pain; it showed on her face, in her eyes. Áine grasped her tough linen skirts in a balled fist and made her way through the crowd to the room where the boy had been taken to rest. A mix of sisterly and motherly emotions encouraged her to help the boy in any way she could.

The doctor directed her to where the drawn water was and minutes later she returned with an overflowing bucket to heat in the chamber’s fireplace. The redhead transferred the water into a pot and hung the iron pot on the fire place’s crane, which let it dangle over the lit fire. Áine added a few more logs to the ones already burning and stood, brushing soot off of her skirts.

“Clean linens,” the doctor said and she nodded, leaving the room. Not knowing her way around the Maxwell castle, she hesitated then darted up what she assumed to be the servant’s stairs, in search of the woman she’d spoken to earlier, the one with the dark skin who’d introduced herself as Fenella. Perhaps she’d still be awake, still be willing to help.

“Fenella?” She called, blushing with awareness as her Irish accent echoed back to her. Well, at least the dark beauty would know who was looking for her…

[Mysteria]

Roan:

Her mother took one look at the bowl of stew and sighed, “I am not hungry child. You eat.”

“Mother, if you are to have any power then you must eat. I will not watch you wither away!” Fenella spoke with force, pushing the bowl further towards her mothers seated place at the small table within their bed chamber. The older woman gave her daughter a sad look then nodded her head, taking a few small spoonfuls of the hearty meal.

“Da, eat. Or I’ll be forced to force feed you!” ‘Ella said now with laughter in her voice happy to see her dear mother eating for the first time since her father’s death. Yet, deep within the young woman’s heart, she knew that her mother would not last another year(if that) without her father’s presence. The love they shared between each other was too strong to be broken and they could not live without one another.

The thought made her eyes begin to water but she quickly rubbed them, not wanting to think on the matter at the moment. All Fenella could do was keep her mother as happy and healthy as she possibly could before her inevitable departure from this world.

When the bowl was empty the gray-eyed girl picked it up from the table. “I’ll be back. Try and get some rest.”

“I will, daughter.” Climbing slowly into bed the older woman laid back, dark brown eyes closing.

The night was young, and there were still other down below that thirsted and hungered for more. After exiting her bedchamber and closing the heavy wooden door behind her she heard her name called out. The voice was unmistakable.

“Aine?”

‘Ella called back, turning the corner of the long hall and sighting the blue-eyed Irish a few paces away.

“Aye, here.” Black brows would knit together as she eyes the disheveled and dirty skirts of the girl. “Is something the matter?” The girl asked, her voice holding concern as she walked closer to Aine. “You look distraught.”

[Mysteria]

Socializing would have to wait.

The sight of the broken and bloodied body of the child shook Nessia to the core. Rage boiled inside of her. She grabbed the Scottish daggers hidden beneath her skirt as the Chief Maxwells words reverberated through the castle. " Follow me if ye wish, or stay here an' pray."

"M'laird, I chose to fight by your side." Nessia said loudly to the leader of the clan.

Staying to pray was no option for Nessia. She would pray on the way to battle. She had sworn her life to both preserving the Scottish way of life and to the Maxwell clan when they had taken her in all so many years ago. Following Alexander out the door her words could be heard clearly over the ruckus that ensued. "Death to the English Swine! For Scotland, we fight!"

Her blood pumped through her body, the excitement of the ensuing battle making her feel more alive than she had in some time.

The English would pay for what they had done to one so innocent as the young lad that they had beaten. Nessia could barely keep up with Alexander, his long strides leaving her slightly behind him but she doubted not that he was more than aware of her presence there just as much as she doubted not that he would have preferred her to stay behind.

As she walked, she prayed for all of their safety, for the battered child and for a Maxwell victory.