The event will start with the premise that the Ard Ri has sent out anyone capable to go as far as they can in about a month to then return with news of what they have seen, this should give a good overview of how at least the local world has fared and if other people with news can be contacted from farther afield, all the better.
Players will all be given news for their characters to bring, whether they heeded the call or have arrived coincidentally, as you might imagine, the world is in a bit of a state at the moment, it’s not everyday that a god tries to eat it.
The Dumnonni team will use this to allow us to change things around a bit in quite a deliberate way without loosing continuity of plot and so on.
The changes will largely be in focus and you may not even notice to begin with.
It’s in March and so may be a wet event but this is Devon, it may be a dry event or both, in either case we urge you all to throw off the winter blues and be a part of the next chapter of the Dumnonni Chronicles.
Once were Swans.
Togidubnus spoke quietly to his bow, a habit of his when he was restless;
“Some say we won to easily, that on the day of reckoning it was all done so well that there was little for the bards to tell of… What does that say about us hey?”
The Bard of Winter arranged his thoughts as he walked as his task was to report the news and he mused;
Cromm is defeated, the greater part of him trapped in a nether world of magical fire, cut off from the rest, a writhing and beaten anger.
The end of the world was averted, postponed into an uncertain future for another eras heros to face and now is a time of aftermath, a time to draw close together, for allies to consolidate their bonds and bards to fix yesterdays present to the word-hoard of the past.
The world is a less certain place though, peopled by worn and scared survivors, proud and envious of the glorious dead, immortalised in tales, old rivalries have already blossomed into blows between those who now have no common foe but one another, will this always be the way between us?
The borders are less sure, lands changed and open for the bold to survey, adventure, creatures from past times rise to once more for their names to be known and their deeds be seen, danger walks the little trod paths between one hearth and the next.
The most revered of the gods have retreated and seem somehow farther away, aloof, hard to touch, they still watch but seem less inclined to hear, they still have the power to aid or ail at a whim but their meddling seems less whole hearted, have they become so discontent with us that their distance is a remonstrance in itself?
There lesser kin are less in the shadows and the small gods of places and the darker parts of the human heart show themselves more frequently to the unwary now.
What of those hero’s left alive, how will they face the burden of being left behind now the celebrations are over, how will they deal with the hollowness of victory, the crushing quiet that follows the storm?
Who shall rebuild and what will their vision be?
Morgold, Shaman to the tribe of the White Otter, spoke to his long dead Great-grandfather.
“We hear of battle in far off lands great Brude, someone has made great war upon Brea and her unnatural hoard, is it ended or will it spill more woe upon our already ravaged homes?
The Norsemen speak of giants, long bound in ice and fire, walking the land once more but they are oft’times more the threat than the horrors contained in their tales.
On a shore not so far away, The Saxon Lord Athelhelm, he who strides the line between life and death, is said to weep and rage, inconsolable from the loss of Shannon, his wife, the Banshee Bride, Madness.
While all around there is talk of the Fir Bholg, always in the mist, always on the move, were the now departed Tuatha De Danan keeping their ancient foes beneath the ground?
Lead by their High King Donn of the Fiery Tongue, The Mad Eye, the True Seeing, also known as Fathach, Master of the Twilight City, lit by starlight, deep in the earth, the Masked ones resurgence can only be ill omen.
We hear that the children of gods walk among us again, but who are they and what do they want of us?
Fomorians gather to the greater amongst them and menace any unwary enough to enter their sacred spaces but for now, without any great leader to follow, they seem settled, at least as a wild hound before a warm hearth.
Who should we fight and who should we court, should we just wait and see what comes to pass?”
The Ard Ri’s messenger spoke;
“Now ice has thawed and the sun begun it’s return, we gather for there is much to do before Beltain.
Those free and firm of flesh, for one moons turning go forth, seek out old friends and enemies, draw together stories of the recent past and return, in this way a path to the future may be sought, for from every ending, a new beginning must arise and if we do not make it, be sure another will, we must shape tomorrow lest it shape us.
Hear your Ard Ri’s council and go.”
Fionuala ceased her plodding through the buffeting wind and rain and took shelter in a stand of birch beside the muddy track, she turned her weary head to preen a feather she no longer possessed and then sighed quietly into the wind;
“In this weather brother, I nearly miss them.”
E Martin Gill
F Denise Gill
1 Marc Nicholson
6 Sarah S
7 Jack SP
9 Matt B
10 Elaine H
11 Kit H
13 Dan O’shea
14 James CM
15 Tom Mycock
16 Colin Northridge
17 Poppy Hindby-Smith
18 Owen Todd
19 Erik Struben
20 Darren McEvoy