It is early June on Shay Mountain.  The good season is in full swing, evidenced by beautiful wildflowers that sprang forth from every corner and fresh produce flowing from the gardens.  Gentle breezes carry the scents of fresh cut hard woods through the air; thankfully, no fierce storms have appeared this season.  The sounds of life echo throughout the surrounding valleys…it is a good day.

All around the camp, people are abuzz with activity.  They are finishing the preparations for tonight’s celebration.  The Farrells and Shays had recently lost their bren’in, Manan, to illness.  His departure was deeply saddening as he was well loved by all.  His eldest son, Ciniod O’Farrell, was to replace his father this evening.  Your clans’ bren’in is leading a delegation to their camp to pay respects and join in the festivities.  Farrell get-togethers were well known throughout the clans and those that were attending were anxious to begin the half day trek.

Setting out upon the years old, well worn path that wound up the mountain, the familiar landscape you’ve known since childhood begins to envelope you.  Even at the higher elevations, Shay mountain always produced a thick canopy of treetops and luscious undergrowth.  Some areas were so dense that even the most seasoned trackers would second guess attempting to pass through.

The atmosphere in your group is jubilant.  Everyone is excited to see the new bren’in…despite living so close, few travelled to the Farrell’s camp and fewer still had met Ciniod.  They are more excited, however, for the party after the ceremony.  This one promised to be an epic tale for the ages.

Sometime around midday you all pause by a stream and settle in to cook some lunch…

OOC: While you all hail from the same clan, it is quite possible for you to barely know one another.  You’re clan, Dre'aryn (drree-aar-inn), numbers around 50.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:23, Fri 03 Mar 2017.

Fachtna kept a discerning eye out for flora on the trek. The healer kept toward the front of the group. At first, anyway. It didn't take long for him to fall toward the back, checking out the trees and brush, only to notice he was lagging behind and scurry forward with an owlish blink. He didn't head out that often. His skills as a healer were valued back home, and if he was being honest, he had a healthy fear of local wildlife.

Being surrounded by his clan under the warm sun melted those fears away. Once everyone settled down for lunch, he refilled his canteen in the stream, then he sat down on a big root snaking toward the side of the trail. He drank and quietly waited for everyone to get settled. What was visible of his knuckles had tattoos creeping down.

He thought about the bren'in's illness and death. He thought back to the omens he had interpreted, certain now they correlated with the loss. He would need to see if good fortune was on the way too.

Fachtna was known for being a bit of an odd one, so it wasn't all that surprising he was passively listening to and watching the others. Still, he looked a little lonely sitting off in the shade, seeming more caught up in his own daydreams than the excited atmosphere.

Erbin didn't stick with the group most of the time, he would be there the suddenly veer off along a game trail looking for tracks and game. Then he would slip back and join the group somewhere farther along the trail.

Honestly he had been a little surprised that he had been asked to join the clan on the trip to the Farrell's. On most such outings and celebrations he had been left behind.

During the stop for lunch he stuck to the edges of the group, seeing Fachtna sitting off by himself, Erbin wandered over and took a seat on a rock nearby. "Heya Fachtna, why you sitting over here by yerself?"

Fachtna blinked, looked away from the empty air he'd been staring into to smile at Erbin. "I feel a little out of place," he admitted with a shrug. "We all are though, aren't we, in some way or another."

He gave Erbin another funny little smile. There was a knowing glint in his eye, like he and the hunter were both now privy to some private joke. He drank from his canteen and watched the others.

"I'm fine to sit here and enjoy it. I mean, seeing everyone together." He meant it. He couldn't recall the last time Erbin had come on an outing. "Tonight you might have to put those tracking skills of yours to good use. I'm scared I'll spend less time enjoying myself, and more herding drunks out of the brush."

Cador stood at the edge of the gathering, silently. He scanned the crowd for scavengers from other clans. If he could, he'd chat them up to try and share tips and tricks: it might be a while until this many clansfolk were gathered in one place again.

"Gentlemen, how are things going so far?  Are we all ready for tonights' party?  Should be one hell of a bash!"
This message was last edited by the player at 13:44, Tue 07 Mar 2017.

Iain trudged along in the middle of the pack, his thumbs hitched under the straps of heavy looking pack, the seams stretching under the weight contributions from the Clan towards the celebration.

He wore a homespun woolly green shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a patched pair of tan cargo pants made of some kind of canvas like material.

"Can't wait" he replied to Ruairidh with a grin from beneath his bushy beard. "I've downed three full skins of water today, and I've got a clump of Bear Clover set asside for the morning after"
It was commonly known that Iain was perhaps too fond of the drink, and had been counciled against it in the past as it tended to make his boisterous...And physical.

"You hear much about this new Bren'in?" He asked in turn, curious about the focal point if the whole gathering.

"Very little unfortunately.  I don't get up that way much these days, too much crap going on down below and with some of the others."

Looking around briefly he leans forward towards the small group...

"Just between us...I haven't heard much good about him from a few of the other clans.  Some say he's too violent and unpredictable."  He pauses slightly looking at the path ahead.  Turning back once more...

"More than partying to be seen and heard up top there", dropping a sly wink before standing back up straight.

Though Erbin found the whispered comment a little worrisome he decided to not comment on the subject.

OOC: So did we want to press onward to the main event, so to speak?

OOC: I suppose so, unless someone is waiting for something.

Eventually, your small group once more treads the well worn path steadily climbing higher towards the Farrell camp.  As you cross over into their lands, the first of a steady line of homes comes into view.

Soon, much of the forest gives way to rolling hills dotted with fields and small shacks.  As you draw closer to the camp center, people begin to appear, welcoming you and greeting you to their lands.  The air is jubilant and happy and the sounds of laughter and voices can be heard echoing throughout the area.  As you finally reach the camp square you are greeted by a cacophony of laughter, shouting, music and roaring engines.  The games have apparently begun with the most popular being the knife throw and, of course, the gauntlet (1 on 1 combat mounted on ATVs).  The Farrell wine is flowing freely and mason jars of all sizes are offered to you left and right.  The band is playing an electrified fuzzy bluegrass sound (if you're using Losty terminology), something like Hank Williams III played through a phonograph and bullhorn.  Ruairidh indicates that he needs to speak to a few other bren'ins and would be back before the ceremony began.

OOC: Just a note on Farrell wine.  This stuff is old school, rocket fuel moonshine with a secret blend of unknown botanicals.  Not only will it get you drunk as all hell (how much differs) but how it's particular blend of herbs effects you can vary as well.

OOC: So...any actions?  Ponderings?  Spontaneous interpretive dance numbers?

sorry, I'm back!

Fachtna smiled, muttering back his own subdued pleasantries when greeted. There were lots of mason jars being passed around. Now, he told himself he wouldn't overdo it, but it was kind of hard to not overdo it on Farrell wine. At the same time, who was he to turn up his nose at hospitality?

He meandered around the camp, checking out the festivities. He decided to hunker down and listen to the band, keeping his eyes on the crowd. He tried to catch a glimpse of the new bren'in and where Ruairidh had went off to, but quickly got distracted by people watching.
This message was last edited by the player at 14:17, Thu 23 Mar 2017.

Erbin wandered around the festival sampling the food and wine. Enjoyed a dance or two with a couple of young ladies. And listened to any gossip that was floating around.

As the sun began to set off in the distance, the festivities slowly began to end.  The generators were turned off and torches were lit from every corner of the compound.  The encampment soon became like a wave as everyone fell into line marching their way to the center pavilion.  The building itself looked like a massive, three-story barn that had been cut down the middle and separated by a 5' wide plank walkway.  There were no actual doors, only openings where they may have existed at one time, and the upper levels were encircled with windows of all shapes, sizes and styles.  The far back wall had bars built into the wall on either side and in the middle of the room hung a massive, animal-horn chandelier set in line with the main fire pit.

As the room filled to capacity, a hush fell upon the gathered crowd just as the elders entered and took their respective seats behind the throne.  Silea, the head elder, stepped forward and began to recite the bren'in line, the clan history, and other such speeches that the orators cite.  Ciniod was then brought forth and made to recite the various pledges a bren'in must take; to the mountain, the gods, and the clan.  When the ceremony was completely, Ciniod was presented to the gathered clans as the bren'in.  A chorus of "Gid Gid Ya" echoed throughout the building and surrounding hills.  As the mood of the crowd turns once more to merriment, the distant hum of the generators returns as the band once more kicks into another jam.

Ruairidh makes his way through the crowd and, slowly but surely, manages to hunt each of you down in the drunken mob.

"Before any of us are too drunk to know what we're doing, what say we make our way over to Ciniod?  I figure it can't hurt to deliver a personal blessing on him...and it'll give us a chance to see what he's like."

Erbin climbed down from his perch and sat his drink aside, "Sounds like a plan."

Ruairidh and Erbin slowly begin weaving through the crowd of revelers, making their way towards the main pavilion.  Still seated upon his newly claimed throne, the new bren'in appeared to be in good spirits.  His golden-red hair sat almost like a flaming aura against his crown of vines.  In his right hand he clutched the sacred oak staff, the symbol of the bren'ins power.

"Rumor has it the oak was fashioned by the first bren'in from a tree that had already seen several hundred summers upon the mountain before the Farrell's arrival.  They say it still stands to this day."

Chattering with those around you, Ruairidh bides his time, waiting for an opportune moment to present himself.  Stepping forward and showing his respect (bending forward while raising two fingers first to his lips, then forehead, and finally extending them forward towards Ciniod), he proceeded to declare his name and list his family tree several generations.  Before he could finish, Ciniod cut him off...

"Come now, such useless nonsense.  Does anyone really even care about such lineages...?", he posed the question to no one in particular.  You notice a few unhappy glances from the elders as Ciniod spoke.

"My apologies, bren'in, tis simply our way.  I am Ruairidh McEntyre-Farrell, bren'in of the Dre'aryn.  We have traveled here today to pay our respects to the new bren'in of the mountain."

"And who is this we you speak of?"

Erbin stands slightly behind and left of Ruairidh, the new Brenin's disregard for tradition was something he had not expected and caught him a little off guard. Slightly confused he glanced at Ruairidh, not exactly sure whether he should introduce himself or wait for Ruairidh to continue.

In reply to Erbin Shay (msg # 19):

Travis had recently arrived, a small satchel of some baubles and herbs rested on his hip and was held there by a shoulder strap that seemed to be hand made from some kind of animal skin.

His propensity to step lightly had left him unobtrusive and innocuous enough that most did not notice his approach let alone his arrival.

noticing the congregation, and kneeling, he deduced that the introductions for the new Bren'in had begun and so his light steps quickly turned enough to take his path towards those gathered. Upon joining, he would quietly remain on the outer edges of the crowd. he had a great deal of practice observing unseen by much better observers and so, once again, itd be likely his presence would go unnoticed.

Ruairidh turns and signals for Erbin to step forward...

"This is one of my kin, Erbin, a fine a man as any in the land.  I came with others but...well, they seem to have been lost in the festivities."  He chuckled slightly, hoping that Ciniod would find good humor as well.

"Can't even keep them in line for 5 minutes?  Ha!  Remind me not to call on you guys to guard the still!"  Ciniod bursts out in laughter as several other men around the room join in.  Glancing about you notice several men that look from you to Ciniod and back.  Clearly, these were his goons.  Several elders, again, roll there eyes.

Ignoring the slight, Ruairidh turns on the charm and joins in the laughter.  A steady twitch in his right eye tells a different tale; the slight would not soon be forgotten.

"So tell me about yourself then, Erbin, the only other one come to meet their new king."

In reply to Heart of the Mountain (msg # 21):

Travis frowns, this man did not bode well for The Mountain and he had no doubt The Mountain would not receive this new 'Bren'in' well. Travis knew he would have to make preparations to keep the mountains spirit at some semblance of peace.

Though the new kings manners had left Erbin a little confused, he gave the king the customary respect and greeting "Not a lot to tell my king. I am a hunter and tracker for my clan, and aid in raids and it's defense when called upon."