MacGeil Family/Cathan/Roleplays

Leaving Home

Cathan's horse was saddled and his pack was full, fastened above the rear of his horse. He tied the reins to a post outside his home while his men milled around outside, eager to finally depart. Cathan opened the door, and stepped quietly inside.

"Mother! I'm to be off!"

A shuffling noise heard from upstairs turned into the heavy slap of footfalls running towards the stairs, as several pairs of feet rushed down to see him off. First to arrive was his sister Aoife, her bright red curls bouncing across her face as she sprinted forward to hug him. As she wrapped her arms around his waist, she asked him

"You'll come home to visit us, won't you?"

Cathan smiled at that, and simply nodded, hugging her tight. She was the second of his three siblings, and it would be many years before she herself would come of age to leave home. Behind Aoife came his brother Murtagh; fourteen years old now, it would not be long before he too journeyed into the larger world seeking glory and honor. Finally came his mother, holding the infant Ailbe.

"Don't do anything too reckless, Cathan. And make sure you come and visit us. When your uncles left home I never saw them again until I left home myself; I want you to come back to me in one piece, alright?" She paused for a moment, "Murtagh, hold Ailbe for me, I need to give Cathan his going-away present." She handed the infant to her second son and pulled a simple necklace from within her shirt. She removed the necklace and hesitated; she seemed lost in memory holding the charm in her hand. Finally, she handed it to Cathan. "I want you to have this, my young warrior. This belonged to your uncle Eoghan, and my father before him, and his father before that. We are the last of our line, so it falls to you. She handed the necklace to Cathan, who turned over the charm with in his fingers. The charm was actually a silver ring, with a single onyx stone overlaid with a silver wolf's head; the inside of the ring was engraved with a name: "O'Faolain". When Cathan put the necklace on, his mother took his face in her hands and kissed his cheeks. "I love you, Cathan; we all do. Stay safe out there."

"I will, mother." And with that, he turned to leave as his siblings continued to cry out their goodbyes. Cathan let the door shut behind him and untied his horse Odrhan; smoothly, he leapt into the saddle and with a swift kick, he was off.

The Battle of Sabadell

"Draw! Loose! Draw! Loose!"

Never in his life had Cathan's voice been so hoarse as after that night in Sabadell. He could hear battle joined somewhere ahead of him and by now could scarcely see what his men were shooting at; they were aiming at the glint of torchlight off the armor of the Asylonian horsemen; often the glint would cease and he knew that one had fallen, but he could not tell how many remained. He only hoped that his own torches did not make his men such an easy target for the enemy archers.

"Draw! Loose! Draw! Loose!"

His men formed part of the rear battle line, last to engage with the enemy. They were spread apart for now to mitigate archer fire, but would converge when ("If", he told himself with no abundance of sincerity) the enemy broke through the ranks of the allied infantry and cavalry. His men were not as well-prepared for that eventuality as he would have liked; they were lightly armored and protected mostly by the large pavise shields they had driven into the ground before them as the sun was setting. Armed with short blades, they would not be much match against the charge of Asylonian horse.

"Draw! Loose! Draw! Loose!"

An arrow struck the earth near his foot, as another caromed off his left pauldron; the first thing he had done when he received his military funding was to commission a proper suit of brigandine from the smiths in Mimer. The second had been to drop a handful of coins in the temple's offeratory box and pray for success. As the infantry began to break in front of him, he said another silent prayer to the Maddening Star to guide his hand. Halfway through Cathan's mouthed prayer, the Bloodmoon Riders of Asylon came charging from the darkness ahead. He quit his prayer and hoped the half he had said would be enough as he opened his mouth to yell again, for what seemed the hundredth time:

"Drop aim! Loose and draw swords!"

The longbowmen fired their final volley into the chests of the charging horses; in an instant the riders were upon them, cutting down men around him but the damage of the final volley had been done. He engaged in melee with the men on the ground, running through a fallen rider before squaring off against another. Three slashes and one bruised rib later, he dispatched the next (and thanked the smiths of Mimer for that set of brigandine that had saved his life). By now, the riders were retreating, but more infantry were closing in. It was his time to retreat as well.

"MacGeil men, fall back!"

Slaughter at Sea

Cathan was sailing home, to Corsanctum; he was glad of a successful campaign and mistrustful of a return to peace when Crusade was on. But with Astrum and Morek signing treaties, he suspected Corsanctum would follow them to peace soon enough. So be it, then; Corsanctum had her own problems now. Beasts to put down and undead to purge.

"My lord! A ship, sailing fast and with the wind!"

Cathan looked towards the horizon when he heard the shout come down from the lookout above. A single ship with large triangular sails was sailing fast from the southwest with the wind at its back. The ship he had chartered, the "Vision of Madness", was sailing east towards home and was traveling mostly by oar since her large square sails were no use tacking against the wind. The small ship was coming up on them quickly.

"The war is over then, Faustus. And not a moment too soon, if what I hear about monsters back home is true," he said to his captain, his tone bittersweet. A great part of him wanted to bring the fires of purification to the heretics, and especially to that cur Glaumring who had threatened his home. But a larger part reminded him of his duty to Faith and Family, his mother's favorite words and the slogan of House MacGeil.

As the ship drew near, Cathan saw that it was not the tower of Corsanctum flying above the ship, but the sword-and-dragon of Swordfell. Below the realm's insignia was the telltale three-star arrangement of the Church of Sanguis Astroism: three red stars on a black field; this ship was a messenger from the Regent. As Cathan's heart both leapt and sank, he wondered what news the vessel would bring. When the small vessel pulled alongside, Faustus (Captain of the MacGeil Longbows, but there is only one captain on a sailing vessel) let down a rope ladder. A man in red and wearing a Fellish cap came aboard with a letter.

"I have a message for Lord Cathan MacGeil, and all the Faithful of Sanguis Astroism."

This caught the attention of the Astrumese crew, but Cathan eyed the man with some suspicion; representative of the Regent or no, Tamirak was still in Fellish hands despite their representative's assurances to the contrary. "Out with it, then. What does the Regent say?"

The messenger took a moment to straighten his robes and took a deep breath of the salty sea air. "Regent Enoch declares that he has found the new Prophet of Sanguis Astroism. The gift of Prophecy has been given by the Stars to Lady Jonsu Himoura, and she has been declared the new Prophet of Sa-"

Cathan heard the name; he knew it from his schooling. Himoura was a convicted heretic and an enemy of the Church; his blood boiled at the mention almost as badly as at that of the name Baal Beldragos, Baal the Betrayer. He would have a new name for her: Jonsu the Usurper, if ever he could apply it. He could feel his body shaking, could not straighten his arm, but he did finish the man's sentence.

"Sanguis Astroism. And what is this new Prophet's prophecy?"

The messenger did not have an answer for him, and this only served to fuel Cathan's rage. Only the Auspicious was bright tonight, but the Maddening was superior and still he felt its pull. There was neither logic nor reason in the elevation of Himoura to the Prophet's seat, there was no prophecy to judge nor wisdom from which to learn; as Cathan's blood boiled and sought reason it failed, finding only frustruation, and more rage. Unfortunately for this messenger and for his ship and her crew it was indeed only the Auspicious that was bright tonight. Maybe the Austere would have saved him. But as the blood rage settled upon Cathan and his vision turned to red there was no saving this messenger from the fall, no saving the small sloop as three barrels hurtled twenty feet to crash through her deck and her hull, and no saving her crew from the arrows from above or the sharks of below.

When the slaughter was ended, Cathan fell to the deck of the "Vision of Madness"; he could not stop the shaking, but his young body could sustain the rage no longer. As darkness claimed him, his final thought was that everything was still... red.

Vision of Madness

Part 1

The "Vision of Madness" put to port in Mimer, ostensibly to offload her cargo. The galleon pitched gently in the slowly rolling water of the harbour as her crew, or what remained of it, dropped anchor and tied her to the mooring. A long wooden ramp was placed against her hull so the soldiery could disembark. Captain Faustus stood astern, observing the activity as the archers began to make their way onto the pier. He had always wanted to be a sailor; as a child growing up in the Holy City he spent his time at the docks looking up at the billowing sails and waving flags and dreaming of sailing away with them. Once, he had snuck aboard and climbed almost all the way up to the crow's nest before he was sent tumbling down the rigging and landed in a barrel of fish; he stank for a week after that.

Now, his childhood dream had come true, when he thought it lost on his conscription into the Quiver of the Stars. Not only was he sailing, but after the red rage claimed his lord and the fighting finally died down on that black day he found himself the ranking officer. The captain of the ship that day had sided with the messenger of the Regent, now a meal for the Cobalt sharks; Cathan's men, naturally, had sided with him, with Faustus leading the slaughter. It was hardly a fight; the sailors were hearty and strong, but no match for well-trained, well-armed and battle-hardened men, and the strength of an archer is not to be underestimated. When it ended, a bare handful of the crew remained and none dared challenge Faustus's authority. He was Captain now, not just of the MacGeil Longbows but of the "Vision of Madness" herself. Idly, he hoped his lord would let him keep the title when he recovered. If he recovered. Now, remembering his duty, Faustus stepped into the hold and made for his lord's quarters.

Meanwhile, Cathan slowly stirred in his slumber. He had not woken, not for a moment on the day they sailed from that spot in the gulf where the words of one man had turned the world on its head. Occassinally he would scream, and his eyes would shoot wide open, but there was no light in them, no consciousness. Often he would shake, quaking as though in terror. But now, and other times, he would lay still, and rock with the motion of the boat; times like that he seemed at peace, and they gave Faustus hope that his lord might survive. He did not have a fever and he did not sweat; he did not cough and he did not snore; he did not bleed and he had no sores. No, his lord's ailment was a mystery, and Faustus had no recourse but to pray.

Part 2

When Faustus entered his lord's quarters, he greeted him as he had each time this past day. "My lord, are you awake yet?" And just as on the other occasions, he received no answer. "We have arrived in Mimer, milord. I hope you will forgive me, but I must carry you ashore; the sea is no place for the ill." As Faustus slipped one arm beneath Cathan's shoulders and the other beneath his knees, the unconscious lord of Mamaroneck gasped and sat bolt upright, arms outstretched and eyes wide open. At first, Faustus thought it was another fit, another nightmare, but then Cathan did something he had not done in a day: he spoke.

"There is no hope."

Faustus could not believe what he heard; his lord must still be delirious. Still, if he could rouse him, he had to try. "Your pardon, my lord?"

"There is no hope, Faustus. What I have seen, what I have seen; like a mist the rage of the Maddening cast itself over my eyes and I knew that I was doom. Not doomed, Faustus, doom itself; I would bring the hubris of man crashing down around him. Oh, what I have seen."

Faustus was at once stricken by what he heard, and overcome with gladness at the young Count's recovery. He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know. "But... no hope, my lord?"

"No, Faustus, there is not -- but not why you think. We shield ourselves with hope, and it blinds us to the evil in this world, the evil in our midst, the evil in ourselves. This is the lesson of the Second Prophecy: there is no hope. Hope inures us against the Light, Faustus, just as it inures us against despair. We hope that things will get better, we hope that good and justice will triumph, we hope for a great many things. All these are false, there is no hope. It is in the Bloodstars that we are saved but despite this we have dared, dared greatly to... hope."

At this Cathan spat, leaving a small red blotch on the wooden planks of the floor. He paid the blood no mind and continued.

"Write this down."

Part 3

"I saw a man, and on his brow were three stars; one above his left eye, one above his right, and one in the center of his forehead. Two were dark, dark as the dank hold on a moonless night, but the last, the one above his left eye, the last was brighter than the sun. The insignia of the Maddening Star, Faustus, mark my words I knew it to be true. He stared at me with eyes as black as space, and smiled with lips that cracked with blood. Before me was this man, and behind me were all the realms of men, with all its castles and temples, with all its schemes and plots and wars and jousts and justice. Everything held dear by every man, woman and child in this world, and the man smiled. That smile, Faustus, held the end of the world; the man opened his mouth and his face split open, rows upon rows of teeth gleamed in the light from the back of his throat. The fires of a million forges flowed forth from that maw and consumed everything -- it all burned, or so I thought. And amid it all I could do nothing but watch as the fire flowed over me -- watch, and hope.

That was a mistake, Faustus, because the man saw me; how could he not, for I was right before him. But he saw my hope, and took it from me. He said: 'Go.' And so I went, to cleanse all that the fire did not; for the fires did not purge everything, but I brought his doom to them all. I wielded his fire for him, found everything that was spared, and I put it to the torch. When I was finished the man stood before me again, and he smiled; I shook and cried with grief at what I had done. 'Good,' he said. 'Again.'

Three hundred and thirty three times I lived that nightmare, over and over. Each time, exactly the same; I can still see the face of the last person I killed, the only one I was permitted to remember. She was a child, no older than six, with hair as black as mine and the fairest skin; I knew her to be my daughter from some not so distant future, though I know not how. And on the three hundred and thirty third time, as I watched her burn and was set free so briefly to grieve, the man smiled at me one last time. 'Good,' he said, as he came close, that smile inches from my face, that sigil burning into my skull. 'Remember. There Is No Hope.'"

Cathan was sweating now, as he recounted it all; he gripped the edge of the bed tightly to dampen his shaking and he focused his eyes to steady his voice. But now that it was done, he could not contain it any longer and so he wept; the heaves of his sorrow echoed throughout the ship, down the empty corridors and into the empty hold and the empty rooms. When he was finally finished, he could barely stand. But stand he did, balanced by the shoulder of his captain; slowly and together, they walked from the ship and onto the shore.

Vision of Unfeeling

Part 1

Faustus had been waiting in the temple courtyard, but the hour had grown late and he had his orders. Gathering up the MacGeil Longbows from the inns and taverns, he quickly sorted them into marching order. Taking one last look at the spires above, he gave the order to move out for the Well; his lord Cathan would catch up with them on horseback quickly enough.

--

The temple spires were a true marvel. They rose high above the temple below and each one had an unobstructed view of the Bloodstars in the western sky. The tallest, known as the Prophet's Tower, was naturally reserved for the Prophet, but Cathan had little difficulty securing one for his own meditation. He had been fearing the reply ever since he sent his letter to Constantine, the apocalyptic priest in Astrum. But his uncle's journals had spoken of a man worth trusting in, wise and beloved by the Stars, so he had written of his vision and pleaded for aid. The response could have filled a tome, and Cathan resolved he would take the old priest's advice.

So here he was, at the top of a spire above the temple district of Mimer, facing west towards the Stars. He sat cross-legged on the stone floor, arms folded in front of him and eyes staring unblinking at the bright light of the Auspicious Star. As he did, he thought of orders, of marching, of battle; he tried to separate the chaos and fury of combat from the clinical mind of the tactician, to be the strategist instead of the soldier. For now, it was working.

"The greater part of the strength of Corsanctum is now in Mimiravair, with more on the way from the Well and Mimer. But the greater part of our strength will be enough; act when the time is right, do not wait for it to pass. They could move first to Eisenik, against a large portion of the enemy force; once that was hunted down and defeated, I will reassess their strength. It will take at least two battles, enough time for more strength to be brought forward. The force could then proceed to Vorstadt against the next-largest group of foes; with the reinforcements from the Well joining them they should triumph, or at least weaken the enemy enough that it might be easily dispatched; again, this should take at least two battles. Stragglers still in Mimer will not arrive in time for this battle, but there are more enemies to fight. The last part of our strength will proceed along the coast to Mamaroneck, and then south to Weinschenk to link up with the main force and destroy the last of the enemy."

It was a good plan, and he wrote it down before him as he thought and stared; it would be disseminated in the morning so that all would know their duty. But now the hour was late, and Cathan's eyes grew tired and strained; against his will, he drifted slowly into sleep beneath the light of the Auspicious Star.

Part 2

Cathan hoped in vain for a dreamless sleep; he should have known better. A woman stood before him, beautiful and clothed in starlight. Upon her brow were three stars, just as appeared on the man in his first vision. And just as upon the man, two were darker than the darkest night, and one was brighter than brightest day. But upon this woman, it was the star in the center that was bright, while the stars above her right and left eyes were blackness. She had the same pitch-black eyes, but she did not smile. Instead, she stared at him with the insurmountable impassiveness of stone and he could see not a single hint of emotion; nor could he see pity. She reached out her outstretched hand through which was impaled a sword and spoke but a single word in a flat tone: 'Go.'

Cathan pulled the sword from her hand and he went forth into the world, slaying all that stood against him with the cold steel blade. There were those he spared, those who could be used; these he bid the same as his lady, 'Go.' And they did, but he did not arm them; for to be armed was by the will of his lady. For three days his rampage continued and he felt nothing; not pain, not fatigue, and not pity. At last, at the end of the third day, he came upon a child, a girl no older than six with black hair and fair skin; without a moment's hesitation he struck off her head, and in so doing he was released from his mission. Feeling flooded into his every extremity; he fell to the ground and his heart broke for what he had done, and to see the Lady of Fortune as cruel as the Prince of Strife.

Once more he was before the woman, and he was free to ask her: 'Why?'

Her reply was expected, as she brought her cold, uncaring face close to his: 'There Is No Hope.'

Vision of Nothing

Part 1

Despite the terrible vision, Cathan pitched his tent away from the camp so as not to be disturbed during his meditation. He had sought to meditate upon the Auspicious but had done so to the exclusion of the other Stars, something the priest Constantine had warned him about. Tonight he would seek balance, as the Auspicious waned and the Maddening waxed; tonight was the perfect night, he felt, to strike a balance between the Stars and free himself from the macabre and tortuous visions. He drew back the flap of his tent and let the Stars' light shine upon him; the dim fire crackled quietly behind him as he sat cross-legged in the entryway, eyes fixed upon the Bloodstars in the distant western sky.

Cathan thought on the visions; he thought on the great rage, of the fires that spread across the world, but this vision and that feeling he pushed from his mind; he thought on the great dispassion, of the cold steel and the men he had used and spent, but this vision and that feeling he pushed from his mind. When the sight of the Stars was burned into his eyes, Cathan closed them and quieted his thoughts. He sought to feel, rather than induce, the influence of the Bloodstars, though he knew not how. And as he sat the hour grew late, and he slowly sank into slumber.

Part 2

There was a being before him, neither male nor female; both its body and its face were featureless, and its eyes were closed. Upon its brow were three stars, one in the center of the forehead and one above either eye. Above the left eye and in the center the stars were black as pitch, but the star above the right eye shone with the gleam of a thousand torches; when he saw the stars, Cathan knew who had visited him tonight. This was the Austere Star, the Spirit of Truth.

"Will even you make me kill?" Cathan asked it, not recognizing the oddity of his own speech. Namely, that he was able to; he was able neither to speak nor to question the Prince of Strife nor the Lady of Fortune, but the Spirit of Truth permitted him, just this once. It must have sensed his knowledge and his hope, because it did respond and in that moment he was bound.

'No,' the Spirit said, as it stretched out its arm. Just as before, there stood arrayed the realms of men and all that was cherished. But he did not go to it this time; he looked, and he stood, and he watched. Plots were hatched and plans were made, succeeding or failing as was there wont. Fields were left fallow and forests were burned as the realms of men went to war for power or for personal gain, and none saw how the world was dying beneath them. Each thought only of how to best the others, by sword or by scheme. And as time went on their ambitions grew: their lust for power could not be sated, their thirst for glory could not be slaked. On and on they went and on and on they slew, as the world burned to the ground around them.

All this Cathan watched with the Spirit, and watched at the Spirit's behest; he was not sent to shout warning, he was not sent to redeem or to halt. He did nothing but watch the death of the world for thirteen years, watched the realms and the works of man crumble to dust. There were none now below who paid heed to the Stars, none below who paid heed to ought. And there at the end he saw a woman running, carrying a girl no older than six, with hair as black as his and the fairest skin, as arrows flew from behind. The earth was barren; there was no more food to be had and the only glory left was to slay those others who lingered on. And as they fell his eyes met the child's, and then she was gone, falling with the world into the abyss. Only then could Cathan utter a single word: "No."

Finally the world was gone, and Cathan had done nothing; but somehow, this last vision was worse than the others, though the end was the same. He wretched, but naught came from his throat. And the Spirit of Truth stood before him one last time to say: 'There Is No Hope.'

Looting of Weinschenk

The marauding had continued day and night, but Cathan and his men had not taken part. He understood the necessity, they all did. Nobody wanted to assault the walls of Unterstrom, the city they had once protected (and a deathtrap besides), but neither did they wish to visit devastation on the people of the wood. Cathan spat, and muttered a quiet curse on the Asylonian invaders, who sat behind the walls of the city while their dogs of war raided across southern Morek. His captain, Faustus, approached:

"The people are proper terrified, milord. Should only be a matter of time before they stop hoisting that damn banner every morning." Faustus was not of noble birth, and he spoke like it; but he was loyal, and a good captain. The men respected him and Cathan had come to rely on him. "Why not just burn the food stores, though? Seems that'd be a better way to starve those western bastards out."

At that, Cathan had to smirk. A good captain, to be sure, but not much of a general. "Faustus, do you want to be the man who throws the torch that ignites the Unterwald? Don't forget, we're in this wood too."

The Battle of Eisenik

Cathan's archers had fired volley after volley into the enemy ranks as they charged. At one point, he had gone so far as to draw his sword when the Asylonian infantry looked about to break the ranks ahead of him, but the Astrumese troops had fought them back while behind them, Cathan's men and the other longbowmen continued to shower the enemy archers with arrows. Eventually, he found, the enemy had had enough. Cathan heard the first arrow impact on the hastily-erected pallisade in front of him, and the next whizzing past his head before he reacted and raised his shield and felt the satisfying thunk of several impacts. It was always good to know that the protection was paying off.

The wind had taken most of the enemy shots and only a few of his men had been hit. The man to his right gurgled in pain and fell to the ground as a red-fletched arrow appeared in his throat, but this gruesome death was one of only a bare few. "Return fire!" he shouted, missing the irony of the command as he took a peek around his shield between enemy volleys. In the nearest ranks of Asylon, he spied out the noble commander; "Faustus," Cathan said to his captain, "Can you hit him?"

The captain spat to his left to gauge the wind. "In this wind, milord? It'd be one damn fine shot; Stars willing though, I can do it." The captain stepped out from behind his shield (driven into the ground so he could still use his bow), nocked an arrow and drew it back. The wind was steady now, and he aimed to the right to compensate; steadying his breath, he loosed the arrow. He hadn't aimed far enough, though; the arrow was about to fly harmlessly past when a gust from the opposite direction caught it, bringing the arrowhead into the side of the Lord of Unterstrom's armor.

Returning Home

Home. Finally.

Since the Asylonian invasion began, each day passed like an eternity as he worried for his family back home in Unterstrom. Nothing looked out of place, but he couldn't shake his disquiet as he neared the manor. He approached the door, dreading what he might find inside; slowly, with trepidation, he opened it. The first thing he saw was the greatest relief he'd felt in all his 19 years.

"Cathan!", the young redhead shrieked, as Aoife nearly tackled her eldest brother with a world-righting hug. Cathan hugged her as all the fear and frustration of the occupation came pouring out in silent tears that ran down his face.

"Aoife! You're alright. What about mother and father?"

"We're here, son." Came the reply; his father Magnus was standing near the stairs with his mother at his side and holding little Ailbe too. Cathan was overjoyed, but there was one more member of his immediate family missing. He didn't want to ask because he knew his brother's penchant for getting into trouble, but he had to know.

"And Murtagh?"

It was Magnus who responded first: "When the Asylonian army marched west, he sneaked out of the city and headed north, through the forest. That boy knows the wood like the back of his hand, and he has some of our men with him; he'll have made it out to Donghaiwei and taken the first boat to the East Continent. Now that the occupation's being lifted, I expect we'll hear from him any day now."

"Thank the Stars, everyone..." And now Cathan's emotions got the best of him as the relief came out in sobs; through everything that had happened, the Asylonian invasion, the betrayal of Wassiley, the attempt on his life, Cathan had begun to doubt he'd ever see his family again. At this, it was his mother who came to his rescue:

"Cathan... We're all fine. Now don't just stand there weeping, it isn't fitting; especially for a Duke! My son the Duke, and Regent! Come, sit and talk with us, your men can drive out the rest of those invaders."