The Night After The Party We Don't Talk About

[alanwrotethis]

Niketas is... too distracted to give the social flare up around him much more than a farewell nod, his focus on Keane and his own thoughts.
"It's a shame, I've seen Mer- M's handiwork up close, I would very much like to speak with her."
He narrows his eyes.
"I know a great deal about Hengist, the story of his siring and his fight in Brython. I know this directly from first hand accounts, the public story and a truer one behind it. I can tell you, in exchange for your boon with Aurelia."
He looks to her.
"By which I mean, I am offering to pay off her boon, not have you transfer it to me. Agreed?"

At Aldrich's mutterings in an unknown language Niketas turns his head.
"I'm sorry, who doesn't understand you? Wait, is that Brythonic?"

[Manacledairman]

[Valentina Audley]

Drat. So much for hoping he wasn't going to bring it up in public.

For a moment her aura dims down to a fearful huddle, though outwardly she remains calm.

"I discovered an interest in the Brythonic era Elder Beaufort and Elder Valeria was kind enough to teach me the tongue in repayment of a boon." She answers politely.

She fervently hopes he's going to hold off any more public questioning, though she fears it's a doomed hope.

[Manacledairman]

[Posh-Tim]

Keane sits and waits for the exchange between Aldritch, Dukes and Valentina to stop before carrying on. He looks calmly interested in the exchange but his aura steadily fills with irritation. He turns back to Dukes;
"Thankyou but no, I will keep the boon she offered. I already have what you offer and a fair bit more besides."
He smiles pleasantly.
"But I think this is enough sharing of such ancient things in such an open forum. Should you wish to know more, perhaps how it relates to more modern events, I am happy to discuss it in private, as our friend the Architect seems to prefer."
He looks at the dwindling number of kindred.
"But, I have dragged on for long enough and still have a story. Let me think and I will compose one."

[Valentina Audley]

Valentina's aura dims even further in miserable panic.

"Of course Elder Beaufort, I am at your disposal. I would also offer you a minor boon as an apology for my earlier, ah, inability to be of more help."

She watches him carefully from lowered eyes, hoping he'll accept her apology.

At Keane's mention of a story, her aura brightens slightly.

[Manacledairman]

[Posh-Tim]

Keane waits until everyone is quiet for a moment and then begins his story.
"This is the story of the Silver Arm. Now I would like to remind everyone that what I now recount is a story in all ways. Yes it bears some relation to the truth but only in a passing fashion. It is a story from mortal men, trying to explain things in the dark."
He settles in a little.
"Now, as with many stories, to tell this one I must tell another first. Now then, what now you know as Ireland was settled 6 times by 6 peoples. The first three of these peoples, were named for the land they settled; The Cesare, The Partholon and The Nemed. Now, whilst there are tales enough of these, they are not yet where we begin. Some tragedy struck, and they were all forced to flee this ancient land. The Christian bastardising of the tale will tell you that it was the great flood. It was not. But at least that gives you an idea of when we are talking about. Each of those that fled would one day return, reshaped by their travels. Some fled North, when they returned they were the Tuatha De Danann, some fled to Greece and when they returned they were called the Fir Bolg which means 'Men of Bags' and it is of these two people I tell my tale."
Keane pauses a moment to let everyone catch up with story and all the details so far.
"So, leaving the four great cities they had built in the North the Tuatha De Danann return to Ireland on clouds of black smoke welding strange powers and magics they had learned in their departure. One thing I can tell you is the clouds of black smoke were the ships they had travelled in, set ablaze that they would not be tempted to return. These clouds covered the sun and sky for three days and three nights and were thought a dark portent by the people of the land. When they arrived they found the For Bolg had already claimed Ireland as their own 37 years before. Thus Nuada, for he was the king of the Tuatha in this tale, met with Eochaid, King of the Fir Bolg in order that they could parley on how the land should be divided. They would have none of it, the Eochaid turned them away and bid they leave his land immediately, which they could not of course as they had burned all their boats. Nuada pleaded with the barbarous king, 'Our peoples were once one,' He said, for in this tale they were all descended from the Nemed, 'Could we not be brothers and sisters once again?!' And Eochaid said no. 'Could we not live side by side then, with the land divided, that both our peoples might prosper?' And Eochaid said no. 'Then you have left me no choice!' Cried Nuada for he was a good and generous and had wished to avoid battle at any cost. But battle there was and it was bloody and viscous. It raged for 4 days and nights. Hundreds were the mortal lives that were lost in the fight waves of power thrown by The Dagda as he swung his mighty club swept 9 men from their feet with every swing. The skies darkened as Morrigan twisted her magics to cover the field in darkness, men falling into shadows, screams cut off as they were swept into oblivion. But the Tuatha and the Fir Bolg fought themselves to a stand still. As the battle waned around them, Nuada called to Eochaid to face him one on one. A duel to decide the outcome of the battle, Nuada was cunning as a hunter you see. He knew that if Eochaid fell, the rest of his barbarous followers would be subdued and Nuada was skilled beyond compare with the arts of the sword. He called and called and eventually Eochaid heard his name and came at a mad charge for Nuada. Their duel was fierce Nuada surely the more skillful, but after 4 days of fighting his arm had grown tired, his feet slow. As sweat and blood trickled into his eyes Eochaid seized his opportunity and, while he could not make it past the sword, he could make it through it. With a mighty swing of his enormous axe he smashed the sword in two and then on into Nuada's arm, cleaving it from its seat to lie upon the ground. Eochaid stood above Nuada and laughed, calling him to cede the island and declare him the victor. But as he did so his attention was from him. From the ground snuck tendrils of shadow and darkness. It took but a moment and, as Eochaid suddenly became aware, tight ropes of night had wrapped themselves about his legs and arms. A pit of the self-same darkness yawned behind him. Slowly, Eochaid fighting with all the strength that remained in him, was dragged into the cavernous well of night, the tendrils fleeing back to their mother Morrigan."
Toward the end Keane got quite animated and with the final sentence he looks around at the group. He coughs nervously a little and follows on;
"Where was I? Oh yes. The Fir Bolg were led in retreat by the chieftain Sreng. Though they had lost that day and ultimately were driven from Ireland. Some say altogether, but they may have ended up in some far corner, allowed to stay by the mercy of the Tuatha De Danann. That's not important however. Nuada, the champion of our tale, was taken from the battle by 50 of The Dagda's strongest men and lain in convalescence. Dian Cecht was one amongst the the Tuatha, their healer and physician. It was he that then forged a silver arm for Nuada that he might stand and fight once again, though he could no longer be their king as he was no longer Unblemished. Shortly thereafter Miach, the third son of Dian Cecht, saw the metal arm upon Nuada and found it an ugly thing. So he sang a spell that grew flesh upon it with the words-" He pauses and looks at Dukes. "Perhaps I will not speak it now, lest it offend our generous host. Nevertheless, Dian Cecht flew into a rage of envy and pride to see his work covered by his own son and slew Miach there on the spot.
So ends the tale of Nuada, The Silver arm. If any of you are still looking for lessons I suppose the one to take from this is that all beings are flawed, that gods are petty as quick to rail for land or avarice as perhaps you or I. Though I would hope the tale served more as entertainment than as lecture."
With that Keane falls silent. His aura is a little drained but filled with a sense of satisfaction.

[Lenore]

There is a knocking at the front door all of a sudden, the sound oddly muffled, muted by a certain veiled-woman’s gloves. Lenore glances left and right, idly wondering if she has the right address. It wouldn’t particularly matter, one way or the other.

[Bitterglass]

A few moments after the knock the door is opened by Durham, muttering furiously. Something to do with having servants fur this sort of thing.

"Ms. Lenore. I believe the other visitors are in the Library, let me guide you. It would be unfortunate if you were obliterated by some of Duke's defences."

"Please follow me."