How To Pray To Cuiraecen

"Ouch! For the love of the gods, Elena, is that a poultice or just a rag soaked in acid?"

Cuinn's handmaiden clucked and fussed like a plump hen. "Oh, Lady Cuinn, you need to tell Lady Aerona not to hit you so hard when the two of you spar. She's wielding a wooden sword and she hits you hard enough to leave you these nasty cuts!"

"Aye, she does hit hard." Cuinn was fast enough that Aerona rarely landed a strike, but when she did, the woman's blows felt like a four-ox wagon laden with anvils running down a steep hill into her. "But I like it."

And in truth, she did. Cuinn preferred to avoid direct combat, preferred to strike from the shadows and melt back into them, yet the honest, sweaty, savage flurry of sparring with the priestess had proved... exhilarating. In the moment, covered in sweat and smarting from a few dozen bruises and cuts, frantically attempting to read Aerona's footwork to determine where the next falling anvil of a blow was coming from, Cuinn found that a strange... clarity descended on her.

Who knows, perhaps I've finally discovered how to pray to Cuiraecen.

And the clarity gripped her still, even as she stood stripped to the waist while Elena fussed over her. It was like a lens through which the thousand worries and troubles and monstrous decisions plaguing her sprang into focus. The Empire. The Archduke. The geas. And below it all, percolating deep in her soul where her preternatural sense for danger dwelled, where the blood of divinity they'd shared with each other lived... she was worried for Cathal. She was angry enough at him to do her best to attempt to choke the life out of him with her bare hands... but she was worried for him. He was in danger, danger far greater than he'd acknowledged.

She winced as Elena daubed poultice onto her smarting shoulder.

Aerona's words echoed in her head. "The sword of Cuiraecen deals death. The shield of Cuiraecen offers succor and mercy. Both are parts of Him. Both honour his father Haelyn."

And then she knew what they had to do.

SESSION 27 TINY RECAP

Cuinn, Mara, and Aerona catch their breath after the fight with the Hezrou demon. Aerona is deeply shaken by the horror of the encounter. They decide to make it appear as though Mara were seriously wounded in her encounter with the demon so as to try and delay her summons to Stormpoint to serve the Empire. Mara, in seclusion, begins work on the magical artifacts that will break the geas that binds them to the will of the Archduke.

They return to Fulcairn Keep. Sir Varyan speaks with Cuinn and Aerona; Cuinn, somewhat tartly, observes he gives unsolicited counsel freely yet declined an opportunity to officially offer it to her, whereas Aerona confesses she is troubled by the series of disturbing events that have followed her arrival in Wilder's Gorge.

Cuinn enlists Aerona's help to seek out Gwenevier; Cuinn, still moved from her epiphany, begs Gwenevier's forgiveness and asks her help in undertaking a penance of a different nature-- constructing a hospital in an effort to save more lives than they stole from Haelyn's faithful, that the paths of the Haelynites and Cuiraenites might run parallel to each other. Gwenevier exhorts her to do so, but in the name of doing good rather than placating Haelyn, but declines, saying her path will lead away from Wilder's Gorge. Cuinn wishes her well and they part on less strained terms. Back at the Keep, Cuinn states her plans and earmarks funds to construct both a hospital and a school to teach the children of the peasants; she announces they shall be named Temperance Hall and Temperance School respectively.

A visitor arrives in the Keep-- a warrior named Laurentius, seeking the Stone of Unity, which had been stolen from his master during his watch as guard captain. Cuinn, considerably annoyed at Dvorak and Tashairah for the circumstances under which they procured their "gift", grudgingly offers to buy it back from him, and then offers to hire away Laurentius, as he seems dissatisfied with his current employer.

Three more visitors arrive in the Keep: envoys from the Archduke. They mean to ascertain the Fulcairns' readiness for the invasion, but note that Cathal is missing. Cuinn, donning her best facade of neutrality, explains he has been called away. They seem perturbed and state they must report this development to the Archduke, since Cathal was intended to command the invasion. Cuinn replies they will comply with the Archduke's wishes. They state they will return shortly.

An Imperial envoy announces it will be arriving at Wilder's Gorge soon; the Fulcairns assume it is to collect their tribute of soldiers and take Mara into their service.

The Fulcairns, troubled at the massive decision that lays before them, and seeing no clear path to victory, pass the night drinking and playing with the new litter of Cairnhound pups.

The following morning, Cuinn's newly appointed council members, including Nieve and Adair Morgenstane, Aerona's elder siblings, arrive at the Keep.

SESSION 26 RECAP

Aerona is visited by what seems to be the ghost of one of the Sword of Haelyn's paladins haunting the former Temple of Haelyn. She attempts to banish his spirit, but is unsuccessful; she also attempts to reason with him, stating that his order's inflexibility and obstinacy in following their directives was their downfall. She leaves still troubled.

Aerona and Cuinn spar together in the training yard, and Cuinn asks Aerona her interpretation of Cuiraecen as a deity. Aerona replies that to her, Cuiraecen stands for valor, the courage to do what is right, the cleansing fire that removes the rot and decay. Cuinn is deeply moved by her words, and sometime later rides out to the forest, to attempt something she has never done before-- pray.

After a long moment of feeling patently ridiculous, Cuinn yells at the sky wondering aloud if there are even any gods to pray to... then is startled by a voice calling her "Reynhild". To her surprise, it is Lwcan. She explains she is driven to seek the gods' guidance, given the weight of the decision before her-- the same decision that wreaked a terrible price on Cullan Fulcairn and nearly ended the House. He replies that the correct side to choose is one's own side, and when she says it seems folly, given the forces arrayed against them, he asks if he is foolish to stand as one man against Rhuobhe's horde on Wilder's Gorge's northern border. Cuinn is, again, moved, and leaves to ponder both Aerona's and Lwcan's words.

Cuinn returns to Fulcairn Keep shortly before an Imperial squad arrives; they are requesting Mara's aid to apprehend and interrogate a demonologist glimpsed in the auguries of the priests of Haelyn. Cuinn agrees to assist, and Cuinn, Mara and Aerona join the eight soldiers, following the demonologist's trail to a hamlet on the border between Portage and Bayside. The suspect is not difficult to locate; he is foreign, heavily tattooed, and accompanied by cloaked and hooded comrades. They refuse to cooperate with questioning, and appear to be casting a spell; Mara attempts to dispel the magic she suspects they are casting, but ends up dispelling the magic that is holding them in human form; they are not demonologists but a pack of demons. The Fulcairns and the Imperial soldiers desperately attack them, but the demons have a strange power-- upon touching their victims, their tattoos transfer onto them, paralyzing them. The imperial soldiers are slain, and the Fulcairns attack the leader only to free him of his mortal shell into his true demon form.

Aerona calls the power of Cuiraecen to summon lightning from the sky, and between the lightning, Cuinn's arrows, and Mara's magic, the Fulcairns manage to fell the demons, at great cost-- all the Imperial soldiers are slain, and the hamlet is burned to the ground.

SESSION 25 RECAP

Balros, High Priest of the Boeruinese Hidden Temple of Cuiraecen, charges one of his priestesses-- Aerona Morgenstane-- with the duty of traveling to Wilder's Gorge to heed Baroness Cuinn Fulcairn's request for clergy to build the temple of Cuiraecen's presence. Aerona, originally a Wilder, responds with some trepidation, but agrees to return to her homeland. She is given orders to (respectfully) replace the Haelynite temple holdings. A mysterious nobleman in red armour is glimpsed in the temple.

Cathal informs Cuinn and Mara that he has been summoned to Rjurik as per his technically-unfulfilled pact with the Yngvi. Cuinn is furious, accusing him of abandoning his family on the eve of war, and storms out without a further word.

The following morning, Dolan decides to ride after him, after an uncharacteristically emotional goodbye to Mara.

Aerona makes her way to the Keep and presents herself to Cuinn. Cuinn is doubly pleased upon learning she is Nieve and Adair's younger sister, and gives Aerona warm welcome. She and Mara bring Aerona to the temple holdings. Aerona is disturbed by a foreboding presence and a ghostly clinking sound. A tense exchange occurs, where Cuinn explains to Gwenevier that the temple holdings in Wilder's Gorge are being transferred to the church of Cuiraecen, but asserts that she is an honoured guest and would always be welcome in Wilder's Gorge.

Later, Gwenevier visits Aerona and discloses that "bloodshed" transpired in the temple; this confirms Aerona's uneasy feeling.

Aerona asks Cuinn about it and, not wishing to dissemble, Cuinn speaks with candor of the fight with the Sword of Haelyn, but asserts that Mara only studied necromancy to defend the House against necromantic attacks.

Gwenevier leaves Fulcairn Keep to travel the lands preaching the word of Haelyn, and Dreya decides to go with her.

Wolves at the Gate

<Gazing across harsh, frozen plains - two voices sound in old Rjuven>

- Drottningin mín.
<My Queen.>

- Þú munt ekki fjalla mér sem slík, Heimdall. 
<You will not address me as such, Heimdall.>

- Mjög vel. sjáendur Kirken hafa orðið vitni mann á gamla blóði komandi norður. Við hliðina á honum ríða dýrð og dauða. Þeir vita ekki hvaða knapa mun snerta okkur.
<Very well. The seers of Kirken have seen a man of the old blood coming north. Beside him ride both Glory and Death. They do not know which rider will touch us.>

- Það skiptir ekki, Heimdall. Við munum líta bæði í auga, bjóða þeim brauð og vín ... eða mylja. <It matters not, Heimdall. We will look them in the eye, offering them bread and wine... or crush them.>

- Ert þú ekki að hafa áhyggjur að hann muni hjálpa norrænir menn?
<Do you not worry that he will aid the Norsemen?>

- Ef hann er verðugur gamla blóðið, mun ég ekki stoppa hann. Hann mun hafa unnið dubbun riddara hans. Burtséð, stjórnarári Yngvi lýkur. 
<If he is worthy of the old blood, I will not stop him; he will have earned the honor. Regardless, the reign of the Yngvi ends.>

Það er frumburðarrétt minn. 
<It is my Birthright.>

Fresh Snow

It didn't snow much, this far south. Though Wilder's Gorge was at its northern zenith, Taeghas had a beautiful climate, at least if you stayed inland. The seas off the coast were famously storm-wracked, and lent heavily to the fearsome reputation of Taeghan sailors. Sometimes though, as it had this winter, Wilder's Gorge saw snows that rivaled the thigh-deep drifts of Dhoesone. She sat at the triangle-window in the attic of the farmhouse, staring out at heavy white flakes that drifted lazily to rest on the unblemished blanket of white below.

Year after year, like the rising and setting of the sun, a single wagon driven by a single wagoneer and pulled by a pair of sturdy horses would round the bend and crest the hill at the south-east boundary of the homestead, always within minutes of the advent of dusk. Her caretaker was that sort of fellow. Meticulous, driven, devoted. Yes, she had her parents and her siblings, the family who owned and worked the farmland on which she lived. Daffyd and Beddwyn Bersk, her "father and mother", Daglys and Rhws her "brothers", but he was her caretaker, she knew. Her true father had disappeared long ago, and the caretaker's grey, wan face the sole remaining vestige of the life she had left behind. Uncle Wigraf, she had called him for years and years, but she was older now, almost a woman grown, and she had taken to thinking of and calling him caretaker.

She barely remembered that old life now. These farmers were as truly her family as any had ever been, and she loved them dearly. Sometimes, she knew, she scared them. She was different somehow; she suspected it had something to do with her father. She had heard people say he was a mage. It scared her, but she sometimes thought that maybe she was too. She always felt more at ease, more energized when she walked the loam of freshly tilled fields. She could *feel* the land sometimes, as though it was a close friend, sharing its secrets. Though she reveled in the feeling she held it at bay, worrying that it might drive her new family away.

Year after year. Every Eve of the Winter Solstice, Wigraf Morgenstane would come trundling down the rough trail to the Bersk farm, driven by a gruff fellow from Three-Corners. His name was Ollyf Carter and she knew him to be a good soul for all his grumbling. The past three years, Wigraf's first son, Baldyr had accompanied them as well. Year after year she would wait at the window in the attic, searching the clefts of the rolling hills where they met at the road for the bouncing lantern of Wigraf's cart.

Every year he brought gifts, for her and for her family. At first, when she was still a young girl, they had been simple but fine things; strange fruit, dolls in lace dresses, sturdy but well-made clothes. As she had grown, books took the place of dolls. Wigraf would ask her questions about the books she had gotten the year before, hanging on her every word as she described the adventures on which they had taken her, whether they were fictions or histories or poems or natural journals. Wigraf would sit in a chair across from her, in front of the farmhouse's roaring hearth, listen intently, a wide smile splitting his severe features as she rambled on and on. He never censored her. His only interjections were questions about how she had reached her opinions. And the cough. Always the cough. He would listen, and nod. He never lectured, never corrected, never preached. He always seemed utterly content with what she told him, and at the end of the day, just before he trundled off back to Three Corners, he would reach out one of his pale, skeletal hands and produce some sweet seemingly from thin air. They were weak, his hands, but deft. He would embrace her, his body quaking when he coughed, a bundle of dry twigs, but warm, and would tell her he looked forward to hearing what she had learned next year. She loved him dearly. His kindness was selfless, infinite.

The sky had darkened, and a pit of dread had filled her chest when she saw a bobbing mote of light appear from between the hills. The wagon rolled down the old track, its wheels plowing ruts in the new-fallen snow, Ollyf snapping the reins, as sure as the sunset. She practically slid down the smooth ladder to the floor below, then bounded down the stairs to the main floor of the farm house, taking them two at a time.

"Uncle Wigraf is here!" She cried with glee, and Rhws, still young enough to be excited by such things, started at the table where he had been helping mother chop tubers. She slammed open the front door and leapt through the snow to meet the wagon. Ollyf reined up short as she approached, hauling back on the heads of his powerful horses, all silhouettes against the brazen light of the lantern.

The wagon rolled to a stop and a single figure vaulted from the other side of the driver's seat. As he approached, she knew it was not Wigraf, and her heart sunk a bit. Baldyr's broad face, usually warm and honest and friendly, so at odds with the death-mask of his father, came into view as he approached her in the snow. Now, for the first time in the decade she had known him, the boy's face resembled his father's. It was drawn, and pale, but the light of love shone in the depths of his eyes. She knew they were blue, but in the shade of the dark winter evening, they were as black as the grave.

"I'm sorry Mari. I would have come sooner, but," Baldyr's voice cracked, his broad, powerful shoulders slumping, "I'm sorry."

She knew then. She felt she had known the year before, when her caretaker's cough had gained depth, and dampness. There would be no more spinning of tales to her uncle Wigraf. No more sweets from his sleeves. No more heart-filling looks of pure warmth from his gaunt, grey face. She felt the sharp pang of his loss. The final lynchpin that held her past in place and proved what she had been. The perfect, loving soul that had been cursed to a body seeming already long in its grave. Rhws stood still beside her, motionless, his mouth agape. She wanted to cry, to crumple to her knees and scream into the snow, into the night, but instead she stepped close to Baldyr and grasped him tight, his thick body trembling in her arms as his father's once had.

"It's ok Baldyr. I knew."

"How?" Baldyr asked, "He always had that damned cough, but he seemed like he would outlive everyone until just this spring."

"It doesn't matter now Baldyr. He's with Haelyn now, reading him stories."

Baldyr let out a small laugh at that.

"He thought of you, near the end. Told me to come on the solstice. Keep up the tradition."

Mari gently released her grasp, placing her hands on Baldyr's arms.

"He was a good man. As you are. Mother is cooking a stew. Would you join us?"

Baldyr looked at her then, a look of relief and pure gratitude on his ruddy face.

"I would love that. Thanks Mari."

They turned back and trudged through the snow toward the farmhouse, joined by Ollyf. They walked in silence, and though tears fell from her cheeks, invisible in the dark, she knew Uncle Wigraf was finally at rest, and was happy.