;;a i n v a r.m a c.c e n n e d d i;;

[``Gab Fraser]

``AINVAR MAHON BAN PADRAIC MAC CENNEDDI

"There is a pattern. From star to tree to insect, each fragment of creation is part of one design, the pattern of being, that extends unbroken from the otherworld to this world. The pattern is constantly in motion, connecting us in life and in death to the Source of All Being."
"But how do you recognize the pattern?"
"Now you give voice to one of the greatest of questions. When you know the answer, you will know yourself to be a druid. You will have learned from experiance to feel the pattern in your bones and your blood. I cannot transfer my own experiance to you, each must find his own. But I can tell you about the pattern.
"People who pray for luck are really seeking to grasp the pattern, Ainvar. There is no such thing as luck, that is only a word for being able to control events. The few who intuitively follow the pattern as it applies to themselves appear to have luck, for they are, without knowning it, drawing on the forces of creation. When they deviate from the pattern they lose contact with those forces, and thus with the power that influences events. Then we say they have become unlucky. When things work out well for you, you will know you are following your pattern as you should."


They christened me Moira/Breey/Windy/Thunder/Bob/Pureginius and I’ve fought through fifteen summers. They say I’m hyper, fun, and clever and I’m not planning to change any time soon. I read carefully and I have found that the magic words are admin edit. Many masks hang upon my castle wall, but I hide behind Nonalie de Morangias, Jennifer MacKenzie, Tamara Hunter {Firekeeper}, Eachann mac Alasdair and I’ve been playing this game of Risk for three years and people say I’m d*** good at it.

[/blockquote] [/blockquote] [/blockquote]

♠ ♠ deep in the h e a r t l a n d ♠ ♠

Nickname(s) >> ain
Age>> thirty-nine
Gender>> male
Date of Birth>>march. twenty first. 3:09 pm. 1476
Kingdom

[/color]>> druids of skye
Social Class>> born to the warrior class. initiated as a druid. council member
Occupation[/color]>> druid. council member
Religion>> druidism
Race>> human
Martial Status>> single
Sexuality[/color]>> heterosexual
Face Claim>> mads mikkelsen
[/blockquote] [/blockquote] [/blockquote]
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♠ ♠ we stand like b r o t h e r s ♠ ♠

FAMILY>>.pending.
Father >> kenneth fionnlagan mackenzie.deceased
Mother>> genevieve meadhbh macdonald mackenzie.deceased
Siblings>> mourrough padraic mackenzie.brother.deceased
Extended Family

[/color]>>;;mourrough aoin mackenzie. paternal grandsire. deceased
;;padraic murtaugh macdonald. maternal grandsire. deceased
;;mahon seaumas mackenzie. paternal maternal great grandsire. deceased
;;ainvar ceallach mackenzie. paternal paternal great grandsire. deceased
;;fergus artair macdonald. maternal uncle - mother's older brother
;;osgar luag macdonald. maternal uncle - married to mother's sister ceana
;;ceana gormal macdonald. maternal aunt - mother's younger sister
;;dearbhail una macdonald. maternal cousin
;;sorcha muireall macdonald. maternal cousin
;;robert james mackenzie. paternal cousin twice removed. deceased
;;mary janet livingston mackenzie. paternal cousin thrice removed
;;brianna joy livingston mackenzie. paternal cousin thrice removed
;;lucas malcolm james livingston mackenzie. paternal cousin thrice removed
;;jennifer olivia alexander livingston mackenzie. paternal cousin thrice removed
;;mary anne robert livingston mackenzie. paternal cousin thrice removed
;;william john livingston mackenzie. paternal cousin thrice removed
;;connor edward david livingston mackenzie. paternal cousin thrice removed
;;alexander dominic mason livingston mackenzie. paternal cousin thrice removed

[/blockquote] [/blockquote] [/blockquote]
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♠ ♠ raggle taggle g y p s y - o ♠ ♠

C O M P A S S I O N A T E T H O U G H T F U L C A L M
I N T E L L I G E N T K I N D L Y

[/color][/b]>>.pending.
Strengths >>[li]
[/li][li]
[/li][li]
[/li][li]
[/li][li]
Flaws>>
[/li][li]
[/li][li]
[/li][li]
[/li][li]
[/li][li]
Likes[/color]>>
[/li][li] cooperation
[/li][li] independence in everyone
[/li][li] sitting back and watching others
[/li][li] listening to the bards play and sing
[/li][li] singing songs
[/li][li] honesty in himself and others
[/li][li] all of nature
[/li][li] eating good food
[/li][li] his family and the memories he has of them
[/li][li] doing a good deed
[/li][li] being in the company of good friends
[/li][li] daatrama, his [some sort of bird of prey]
[/li][li] aoife, his horse
[/li][li] taking time to think things through
[/li][li]
Dislikes[/color]>>
[/li][li] politics
[/li][li] discord and strife
[/li][li] pretentious people
[/li][li] fighting. amongst family and friends or war
[/li][li] lies
[/li][li] selfishness
[/li][li] blood shed
[/li][li] wasting of resources
[/li][li] sulis, the woman
[/li][li] being helpless/ unable to do anything
[/li][li][/li][/ul]
[/blockquote] [/blockquote] [/blockquote]
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♠ ♠ shoulder to s h o u l d e r ♠ ♠

APPEARANCE>>.pending.
Hair >> medium. dark brown. straight
Eyes>> brown
Height>> 5 ft 11.75 in (182 cm).
Weight

[/color]>> 195 pounds
Skin Tone[/color]>> white. tan
Body Type[/color]>> muscular. compact
Distinguishing Marks[/color]>>.pending.
Clothing[/color]>> druid clothing. worn for everyday uses and for ceremonial uses.
[/blockquote] [/blockquote] [/blockquote]
[/size]
♠ ♠ forever ireland's c a l l ♠ ♠

FULL HISTORY>> .pending.
because my history has turned out to be epic when only at the very first third of his life, and can only grow longer, i have begun to/do fear that it will get too long for this post...that is why i have shifted it the post below, so that there's more room...
sorry, pretty eyes...
National Heritage >> scotland
Accent>> scottish brogue
Languages Spoken>> common. scots gaelic. irish gaelic. latin
Other>>.pending.

[/size]
♠ ♠ caledonia, you're calling m e ♠ ♠

Role Playing Sample>>

The two wolves had retreated, but they were still full of curiosity. However, for all that they wanted to further observe the odd creatures, their instincts told them that now was the time to go back to the pack. The Ones would be wondering what was going on, and would expect the two youngsters to return and report.
The Ones were the leaders of the pack, the One female the only pack member allowed to have pups, the One male the only on allowed to breed with the One female. They had not always been the Ones, Firekeeper knew. Since she known this pack, there had been three One males. Firekeeper had actually seen many of the now grown wolves of the pack (including the Ones) when they were but blind pups nudging their way through life. She was older than all of the wolves in the pack, and yet she was not. By wolf standards, she was just a pup. A slow, weak, nose-dead pup with a pathetic excuse for hair.
Firekeeper knew that she was not as great as the normal shaped wolves, and greatly longed to be so. Many of the younger wolves would tease her, and mock her lack of ability. The older would care for her as best as they could, but they viewed her as a pup of the pack, and for the most part treated her accordingly.

But the thing that all the wolves had in common was a love for the pale, fur-less pup they had among them. They affectionately called her 'Little Two-legs', and brought her game when they could. Sometimes they even waited before gorging on their kill to let Firekeeper take the skins, a thing unheard of to the wolves outside the pack - for what wolf waits when they must take?
The name 'Firekeeper' had been given to the young wolf when she learned the art of starting and taming the fires. The wolves had taught her, and she had learned. It had been a great honor, to be the only wolf with the ability to start and keep the flames: and so, in honor of this achievement, the female had been given the name Firekeeper.
The art of fire had not been the only thing that the wolves had taught the budding young wolf - they had given the pup the cold stick called Fang , the leather pouch called Mouth, and the knowledge of how to use them, and how to keep them in condition.
The wolves had also taught Firekeeper how to tan hides, and to make a pelt of sorts from them. It had taken many, many, many hours of trial and error before they had achieved success, many hard, angry, fruitless hours - but the result had been worth it, for now the Little Two-legs had a pelt, and now longer needed to rely on the soft heat of the wolves to survive the cold winters. Well, there was the little issue of the openings chafing on the young wolf's skin, but that was minor to the threat of frost-bite and other winter maladies

The pelt was also something that the younger wolves teased about, for what wolf needs to borrow another animal's skin to stay warm? This of course had been met with attacks on Firekeeper's part, her Fang drawn and her ire arisen. Some times, Firekeeper won, and other times, the younger wolves won.
One of the wolves that Firekeeper had fought had been Blind Seer, a younger male that had been born just after Rip had become One male (Rip was not Blind Seer's father) a few summers past. The male had been mocking her slow movements, and Firekeeper had grown angry, as was her wont. What had resulted was a well-matched battle, of which in the end had been won by the blue-eyed wolf. Blind Seer, while still feeling slightly superior (hah! slightly? He had won, and had felt like a One for a few moments), had also gained an admiration for the Little Two-legs, who had proved stronger than first imagined.
They had formed a friendship, and Blind Seer had occasionally popped up and hunted with his sister.

Just as he had today, when the call had sounded. Their investigations had proved to be fruitful, and now they needed to return to the den.
Firekeeper was running as fast as her two legs could take her, which was not all that fast. What she wanted, longed for, was the four legs and powerful paws that would allow her to stretch out and achieve incredible speeds; she hated how at her fastest she was no match for her kin, and hated how many of the wolves would slow down for her, because she could not keep up. They moderated their speed for her, when they should be running at the speeds they're capable of.
But then, there was much Firekeeper disliked about her form.

Beside her, Blind Seer was pacing, his tail stick straight out behind him. His jaws were open, and the pink of his tongue flashed behind large white teeth. If one were attentive to the nuances of the wolves, they would have known that Blind Seer was grinning. For him, this was all in great fun - the typical youthful wolf attitude.
Firekeeper, however, was not so pleased. Rather, she was confused. What was the strange creature that was shaped some-what like a deer bu pranced and shied as a deer did not? And the creature that sat atop the deer-but-not, why was it here? She did not know the answers, and very very much wished that she did.
By the time they arrived to the clearing where the pack's winter den was, Firekeeper had worked herself up into a tizzy, and was stressed.
The two wolves were greeted by almost all the pack members, including the Ones, and the most lesser wolf that Firekeeper privately called the Whiner. Wolf greeting were not the same as human greetings, and involved quite a lot of rough-housing and flashing of fangs. To an outsider that knew nothing about wolves, this would seem as if they were fighting. But to Firekeeper, it was proof that she belonged with them, and was something she very much enjoyed.
When the greetings were done, Firekeeper's already silvered-arms bore a few more knew scratches that trickled small streams of blood.

Without any preliminaries, the One male asked them, " What did you see?"
By some un-spoken agreement, the two youngsters had agreed that Firekeeper would speak, and so it was she that told what they had seen, with Blind Seer interjecting only when Firekeeper left out a detail. When they had finished, the One female had said, "They have come." And then she had told the wolves something that had never before been told to the young wolf called Firekeeper.
"Firekeeper, when your mother gave you to us, we promised her one thing: that when your pack came to look for you, we would give you back."
The One female paused, then, to make sure Firekeeper had understood.
"I believe this may be time - and no, you may not stay here," she added, when Firekeeper shifted in preparation to argue. "You belong with your kin, and so you shall go. Watch, learn, approach. You are our family, yes, but you belong with those that are as you are."
And then, with a sad look in her eyes, the One female had dismissed the wolf-pup. And the wolf pup had gone. Gone to follow the trail of the odd creature, gone to find that what is as her form was, gone to follow the orders of her One female.
Firekeeper did not really believe what the One female had said. She was a wolf, trapped in this odd form. And that was that.

As Firekeeper ran, she denied all thoughts of what the One female had said. She did not wish to deal with it until she was alone in in her den, without the need to be anywhere. And then, and then....she'd deal with it then.
Firekeeper had been running for a short amount of time when she realized that something was follwing her. She halted, scanned the landscape, and made a noise when she recognized the gray form of a wolf. The wolf had not stopped loping, and as it came closer, Firekeeper saw that it was Blind Seer. "I am curious, still," the wolf offered, and Firekeeper grunted. And they ran.
It was not long that they found the strange cretures. They were seperate, now, and the creature that had sat on top was now moving about. It seemed pretty random and pointless to Firekeeper at first glance, until Blind Seer had said, "See how he-" Blind Seer had gotten whiff of the creature when a gust of wind had blown, and had discerned the true gender "-moves from place to place? It's organized, and calculated. Watch on, Little Two-legs."

Credits
This application was made by The Infamous Peregrine (me) on Swords of Speirling. The lyrics were taken from Celtic Thunder's Heartland, Raggle Taggle Gypsy-o, Ireland's Call and Caledonia. Do not steal.

[/center]

[``Gab Fraser]

;;HISTORY;;

A few hours past noon, in the year of our lord 1478 on the twenty-first of March, a small boy was delivered -- at great pains -- to Genevieve MacKenzie and her husband Kenneth MacKenzie. He had come head first, and as soon as he had hit air, the boy had squalled at the top of his fresh, young lungs and announced his presence to the world.

The boy had been the second of two sons to arrive in a six year period, and and his thus far appearance to the world had shown it that he was a fighter, and was prepared to follow the footsteps of his sire, his grandsires, his great grandsires, and so forth to the beginning of his lineage, warriors all of them. The brother's name had been Mourrough. Mourrough Padraic MacKenzie, after both of his grandsires, men who had served the kingdom of Skye. As the names of his grandsires were taken, the newborn babe was given the names of his paternal great grandsires, Ainvar and Mahon. The boy was to be Ainvar Mahon MacKenzie. It must be noted, however, that Ainvar's mother was born a MacDonald. The clan MacDonald at this time held a great amount of power within the isle; this fact was to be of great importance and influence in Ainvar's later life.

Childhood: the golden years, some call it. And for Ainvar, such a statement was accurate. During his first year of life, Ainvar met his mother's older brother Fergus, a man who was among the ranks of innitiated druids and was known for his ability to see with the Inner Eye, to use the Sight. Young Ainvar had just begun to learn to speak and understood half of what he was being told. When he met Fergus, he experianced a stonger version of what all children are born with and end up losing: he experianced the second sight, one of the senses of the spirit that allows children to be more aware, to see and hear the other presences that most adults are deaf and dumb to. To see with the Sight was to see magic, energy, the forces of creation and to know it for what it is. To brother Mourrough, who was seven and had already begun to close his inner eye, Uncle Fergie just seemed unusually bright. To Ainvar's mother and father, Fergus was simply family, a powerful druid, granted, but as they saw him - human. Ainvar, however, Ainvar knew what his mother's brother was. Magic. Pure, bright, unadultered magic, a swirling collection of forces that which created. He was druid, creation, mystery, peopled with potential, just waiting to be molded into something whole. And he was riveting. He also gave life to a fascination with druididry and the mystical arts that they practice.

On the island of Skye, the druids played a cruicial part in the way of life. The official name of druids was the Order of the Wise, but the Order was broken up into several segments. The bards were the historians of the people, able to travel from village to village recording and retelling the tales of time. The diviners and healers made up another section, bringing truth and health to Skye and her people. And while, for the sake of simplicity, all inhabitants were called Druids and all members of the Order were called druids, in truth the title belonged to the largest division, who studied for as long as twenty winters to earn it. Druids were the thinkers, teachers, interpreters of law, healers of the sick. Keepers of the mysteries. They much shaped the way that children played, and they instructed the children, especially those of the warrior class, in such skills as counting and telling directions by the stars. Ainvar came to be under their tutelage when he reached his fourth year, and while he was an apt pupil, he was not an extraordinary student. His interests did not lay with counting the numbers of cattle the tribe owned or learning to write legibly. He wanted to know how and why things happened. What force pushed tender blades of grass through solid earth; why his skinned knees oozed blood one time, but clear fluid another; what took bites out of the moon.

The druids knew.

And Ainvar wanted to know, too.

The students and the druid-teachers would meet in the groves, smaller, less spiritual than the Sacred Grove. The children would sit atop the dark green of the grass at their teachers' feet in the dappled shade, and the druids of the day would instruct. Mostly the children were boys, but sometimes girls would show up, too. Like Sorcha, a daughter of the tribal cheiftan and Ainvar's maternal cousin. (in the druidic world, Gaelic women who wished to learn were granted the privelage.) The children would listen and practice and learn, and the druids would watch, and occasionally help. But never, never, were any real secrets shared, any small hint of arcane or mystical; those were only for the initiated. And Ainvar wanted to know. He wanted to know so badly that it ruled his thoughts, and drove him away from true friendship. The closest he ever came to a friend was when he would play with his father's best friend's son, Kellen. They would, as was the wont of small children born among such druidic influences, play at the druidic rituals. Most notably had been the sacrificial rituals, which were preformed on some unfavored rat or frog. For the son of a warrior, however, Ainvar was unusually squeamish about these sorts of rituals, and found blood shed irksome. It troubled his belly, and caused the muscles through his whole body to seemingly liquifiy. During these games, Ainvar would always let someone else take the role of Sacrificer, and he always dropped his eyes at the crucial moment when others were watching the knife fall. He had been great at chanting and exhorting, however.

These games stopped when the children began to get older and think of themselves as more "grown-up", with responsibilities and things to do. The children of the warrior class would train, and those of other classes would train for whatever their calling was. This led to the separation of Kellen and Ainvar; for while the former trained to be a warrior as well, Ainvar trained to be a warrior only part of the time, and otherwise spent his time watching the druids. And, ultimately, this would mark a key point in young Ainvar's life, when his family went away to the Otherworld, and left Ainvar by himself.

Ainvar was normally a very healthy child. Every spring, he would get a little sick, but other than that, he was "as healthy as an ox." One of the most notable spring illnesses that Ainvar has suffered from was when he had been twelve years old, just a few days past his birthday. He had gotten lagrippe (though there had been no one to diagnose it, that's what he had gotten), which had caused him to run a high fever, suffer from cramps and aches and pains, and to be somewhat delerious. It also prevented him from helping with the year's shearing of sheep, no great loss to his way of thinking. He had been subjected to eating the most mildest of broths, and hadn't the strength to lift even his arms. Ainvar was laid to rest for many days, and he was able to rise (coincidentally, eh?) just after all of the shearing and sorting of wool had been completed. Unfortunately, as Ainvar rose in health, the well-being of his family members decreased, and they all began to show symptoms like those that Ainvar had displayed: nausea, no appetite, vomiting of what does get consumed, and high fevers. This meant that it was up to Ainvar to run the small family farm while they were down.

What had seemed like a simple case of lagrippe -- a disease that was powerful but usually not deadly -- quickly proved to be something else, something much more fatalistic: a disease that had been pegged as “woolsorter’s disease" by the people of the islands. The simple, milder symptoms had morphed into much stronger issues, and the diseased had progressed to experiancing abdominal pain, vomiting up blood, and passing severe, bloody, watery stools many times a day. Ainvar had not, being only the son of a warrior and not-yet under the wing of the Order of the Wise (it was only a matter of time, to his way of thinking), known much about illnesses and healing, and he did not come to realize just how much in danger his family was until they were well into the up-heaving of blood part. He had then gone to the nearest settlement to find the healer. The settlement, called [] in honor of [], had not been too far from the farm, maybe two or three miles, but still a great distance for one so recently out of the sick-bed. It had taken Ainvar the greater half of the day to arrive, and when he had, it was to a supreme disapointment. Many in the village were down with this mysterious illness as well, and all of the healers were working on them the best they could. And none of them had any time to go out of their way to a small farm to heal three when thirty needed them right there in the village.

Suffice to say, Ainvar had rushed home, desperate to save his family. It was unfortunate, however, that he arrived -- tired, hungry, cold -- and too late. His father and his brother had passed on after he had left, and his mother had died shortly before Ainvar had arrived, so recently deceased that her body was still warm. Upon arrival, Ainvar had rushed to the bodies, refusing to believe that they were gone, those vibrant, essential parts of his life. Not his father, the proud, stoic patriarch who protected and led the family wisely. Not his brother, he whom Ainvar looked up to, he who everyone expected to do well, he who Ainvar wanted to be. And not his mother, the woman that had nurtured and loved and cared for him all his life, who had dressed his scrapes and kissed his bruises, who had sung him soothing lullabyes and told him stories. Three shining and intregal points of Ainvar's existance, gone. Their lights snuffed out in a moment, their lives wiped away, never to laugh and dance and cry again...

It was too much for Ainvar, young as he was. The thought that all he had known and loved was gone was just too much - and like all humans, his brain set up defenses. Nothing had happened. They were just sleeping. They were resting, and as soon as they finished, they'd get up again and life would be normal again. Meanwhile, it was up to him to hold the fort. The home was rank and filthy, the walls retaining the vile scents of the dying and ill, of old blood and sickly-sweet sweat, and of fetid fecal matter. The rooms were dark, the rugs dusty, the eating utensils crusty and molding. The fire pit was fading, only a few lone coals still glowing in the dank black of the room. And it all needed to be taken care of. Mother was resting, and it was only right that he clean up for her. She'd done so much...she was so tired now. It was his job...And outside, the chores needed doing. Animals needed to be fed, eggs collected, wood chopped, cow pies collected, fences mended, etc...And they all got done. And every night, Ainvar would sit in his father's chair and watch over his "sleeping" family.

This was how the druids that came to check on the area found him. They had come as soon as they could, which was a little over five days after Ainvar had made his plea for help. The epidemic had subsided, and while a large amount of people had died, and even larger amount had survived, and no one else was displaying the symptoms of the illness anymore. When they had arrived, it had been late in the afternoon, an a little over an hour left til sundown. The farm had been quiet, and the druids had feared the worst. They had gone into the house to see for themselves what was left of the MacKenzie family, and, for their pains, they were bombarded with the overwhelming scent of the decaying not-so-fresh bodies. And in the corner, huddled up on a large wooden chair in front of a fire-pit, there had been the form of a young boy. Ainvar was sleeping when they came, the strain of looking after the farm all by himself without eating and drinking very little had weakened his already feeble health, and he had had a very high fever. The druids, upon finding this out, tried to take him away and bring him to the village where there was room without death, but...Ainvar fought them when they tried to take him. He scream and wailed and refused to leave his family, struggling and flailing with all his might to stay with the "sleeping" loved ones. In the end, however, his strength waned, and he fell unconcious, and was taken to the village to be healed, while his mother and father and brother were buried up on the knoll that sheltered the farm.

For days after they found him, the druids kept watch over him. He was still feverish from the illness that had downed in, and on top of that, the boy was mildly dehydrated, slightly famished, and quite emanciated. All of those conditions, however, were easily healed in due time. What they were unable to heal, however, was the ravished mind and splintered heart. Ainvar's mind refused to bring down the walls of denial, and the poor druids were stuck with a small child who cried for his family and insisted that he be sent home, for his parents needed him to help tend the homestead.

Naturally, the youngster was not allowed to leave, and by the time word had been sent to and recieved by the boy's uncle, Ain was already simering down, uneasy as this concession was. And when good uncle Fergus did show up, it was to a nephew far different that the youth he remembered, withdrawn and solemn rather and exhuberant and joyous. The child was resigned to the fate that had been layed out for him. He was to leave his family behind him and go to live with his mother's brother. How he hated the thought of leaving the farm without him to help around. He wasn't going to be able to help with the shearing, or the culling, or the birthing.

Instead, he was to live with his uncle the druid. The magic type. The man who Ainvar had seen to be pure magic, though the boy no longer saw the arcane lights he'd seen the last time Fergus had visited. What did he care, anyway. The druids had refused to help his family.

The uncle spent a day in the village of his nephew's birth, paying his respects to his deceased relations and lending a helping hand here and there. And at the beginning of the next day, just before the sun rose, Fergus left for his residence, relucatant little Ainvar in tow.

The boy had had to be woken up, and the first thing Fergus had said to his young charge before they headed out into the rising sun was, "Ye've th' blood of a druid in ye, wee Ainvar, an' I intend fer ye t' get all th' ed'cation ye can. Firs' lesson: ye rise wi' the sun an' ye set with the sun. Ye run yer bloody life according to the sun. An' the moon, and the stars, and seasons." And then, without another word, he headed off into the false dawn, and Ainvar pushed to follow.

While traveling atop a horse is swifted and most likely more efficient in some way, Fergus saw fit to not purchase mounts for himself and the boy. "I walked here, an' I'm walkin' back." And so, for several long, crawling days, Ainvar hiked behind his uncle, and his uncle blathered non-stop. Oh, it wasn't all blather, really, at least, not that Ainvar would understand. Fergus talked of plants and herbs, and their uses. Ainvar would listen half-heartedly, and say nothing. Fergus would try to interact with the boy, and the boy would give the man the cold shoulder. The cold shoulder was, however, no match for the sunny disposition of Ainvar's uncle, and eventually he began to warm up to Fergus.

Throughout the day Fergus (and by default, Ainvar) would stop by a tall weed-like plant and talk of their properties and their uses. Many of the plants that he reached for, Ainvar had an understanding of what they were and what they did, tenuous though it was. He thought livestock-wise, and knew very little of the effects upon humans.

"Ah, Ainvar, and what's this?" The uncle would ask as he bent over and plucked a stem, the leaves and sometimes flowers quivering in the sudden wind. "Tha's St. John's wort," the boy would answer, quickly identifying the the yellow, five-petaled blossoms and the obviously translucent dots that allowed light to trickle through. "Verra fine, Ainvar, and what does it do?" The uncle would praise, then ask. "It poisons our ewes. Kills 'em, too." The boys would answer, typical in his brusque and brash answer. "Indeed it does," the man would answer, and then he would launch into an explanation of how and why it affected animals the way it did, and then he'd follow that up with a lecture on the effects of St. John's wort upon humans, how it's something called an anti-depressant, and how it works well in herbal teas. The man would then stick the plant in a fold of his robe and continue on, switching his attention to whatever else he found. And at the end of the day, when the sun set, Fergus would re-introduce the plant, go over its latin and common names, and all the while make a tea. And afterwards, just before they turned in for the night, the two males would spend a quiet moment just sipping tea and letting the pleasant feelings roll over them.

Eventually, they trekked across the country-side long enough and far enough that they reached the place where Fergus was living, a small, humble cottage on the outskirts of a forest, very close to one of many groves that pocketted the region. They'd settled (or, in the boy's case, stumbled) into the building and taken a small breather, took some time to eat and guzzle, and then they'd headed out into the nearby town.

[ADOPTED BY .....(druid)]
[MANHOOD CEREMONY;; NAME CHANGE]
[TRAINING - EARTH/MAGIC/FIGHTING]
[INITIATED AS A DRUID]
[GORMLAITH arrives;;]
[ROMANCE WITH SULIS;; HOW IT ENDS ^^Gormlaith d....]
[BORDER GAURD -- rough and tumble]
[CONTEST. forced to attend (but not participate); his druid teacher went, and many of his peers are participating...]
[CHOSEN FOR COUNCIL; ceremony, etc.]
[FULL-FLEDGED DRUID soon after ^^]
[DAATRAMA & AOIFE COME]
[CURRENT]

sorry its taken me so long to respond. I've been struggling with finals and thinking about how I wanted to answer this. I would say yes. Everybody needs at least a few fighters. The Druids do have a small force that guards the borders and also serves at the castle. The castle job is very ceremonial and doesn't require much fighting, unless the Queen were to come under attack. The border job is a little more rough and tumble. Warrior would be recruited at some point after they turn 17. Also, I always envisioned there being a small group of Druids who still believe in training to fight. While they are outcasts in society, Mizukey is trying to lessen that divide, which would be a good reason to appoint your character to the council. Is that good enough or do you still need more information? At the end of the year, the names are complied in the capital and the tests begin. Every month for three years an event goes on that the competitors must attend. The tasks vary from parties to tests of knowledge to competitions of strength. Contestants are watched, both during the monthly competitions and outside of them, to see their personality and aptitude for the job as High Druid. Every three months a list of people who are still in the contest is distributed and it grows smaller each time; some people are eliminated and some choose to drop out on their own. At the end of the three year testing period all remaining participants are invited down to the Eolas, the home city of the High Druid, where, among much pomp and ceremony, a new High Druid is announced. In addition to this announcement, 7 other Druids who participated in the contest but didn't quiet make the cut to be High Druid are selected to be on the Druid Council. If everything goes as planned, the new Druid elect and his or her council will return to Eolas in a weeks time with their belongings, at which time they will be apprenticed to the current Head Druid and council for anywhere between 1-3 years. When the time is deemed appropriate, the old Druid steps down and the new Druid takes office peacefully. The first act as new High Druid is traditionally the act of appointing 3 more members to the Druid Council. These may be people that were on the old council or friends. These new elects sit in on the council for one month and, if they are deemed worthy by the others on the council, are allowed to remain. If any member of the council passes on during the reign of the High Druid, the High Druid follows this same procedure in appointing a new member. Mizukey has been a High Druid for _____ years, which would have made Ain a druid for _____ years (on the council)

.pending.

[Peregrine Alexander]

Please have this completed by August 5th, 2009.

Thanks,

Pip.

[``Marian Fitzwalter]

can you move this thread to the archives, or to my board? I don't have the muse for him, but I don't want to lose what I've written...