Heatherfoot was the youngest of her clan, at a mere hundred twenty.  It was merely a coincidence that she was at the Tàrmachadh when it happened -- otherwise she would have been somewhere on the main island, watching the comings and goings of the people.  It was no longer common entertainment among her own kind, but she was young, and there was much that was new to her to be seen, and touched, and occasionally interfered with.

Merely a coincidence, her being home, but it saved her from the initial swarms of misshapen creatures that overran the Eire, killing all things, and all people in their path.  She watched from the gallery, among her people, all using their far-sight to view the massacre of the humans and their cattle.  As the minutes progressed, she began to notice the tension increasing among the Sidhe, and an occasional in-drawn breath when something happened beyond her perceptions.

Heatherfoot concentrated, trying to see the Bearer, sensing her somewhere up around Doire.  Derry, she corrected herself, though the difference between Irish and English didn't matter much at home.  She focused on Rabhcán, and the stone streets gradually became clear.

Feegan cast a web across the mouth of the alley, momentarily blocking that entrance for the mutant army.  He knew from experience that it would last only a few seconds, while the demons became bunched up behind it, possibly suffocating and trampling each other, but having no real effect on the strength of their vast army.

It didn't matter.  What mattered was buying a few seconds for Ùrlann and Rabhcán, where they fought against seventeen others in the open street below, guarded on only one side by the burning hulk of a shattered bus.  Feegan was just using the spider-webs that were his namesakes to keep the enemy air and ground troops from overrunning his wife and her brother.  They could handle perhaps a dozen each at a time, no more.  And eventually, they would tire.

Feegan leaped Ferryquay Street to the opposite wall, narrowly missing an ugly vulturish creature with a poisonous smell.  In passing, he bound its wings and let it drop onto its compatriots, making a satisfying splat.  Two of the mutant creatures died at the vulture's touch, while Feegan adjusted himself on the ancient brick façade.

Ùrlann sunk his spear into the throat of a grey minotaur, then followed up with a spinning leg sweep across the forelegs of a nightmarish flaming centaur, reddish with four long claws on its upper torso.  He hadn't seen such an ugly group since the last marching season!  Ùrlann felt the satisfying crack of the centaur's leg bones as he spun back to his feet and spared a glance back to his sister.

Rabhcán whipped the Shillelagh around as she spun her own dance among the demons, flattening a gnarled face here, shattering an armored kneecap there, setting off a shower of green sparks as it defended her from an overhead assault that had somehow evaded Feegan's nets.  Hours ago she had tried to contact someone, anyone, for help.  Even if her name meant Beacon, today no one could hear her pleas.

Ùrlann sighed as he parried a grotesque stone tentacle.  The Bearer was in fine form today, but Ùrlann was beginning to doubt that even she could win.  Even with the Cumhachd Smarag defending them, they were barely holding their own.  As Feegan had once told him after too many beers, "holding your own" is another term for "masturbation."

Ùrlann turned back to the task, and planted the spear into the next creature in line, some squat stone thing with six tentacles.  The spear head refused to come out, and then they were upon him.

Feegan saw Ùrlann go down under a pile of twisting bodies.  He refreshed the web blocking the alley, then glanced about for a way to help.  The horde was pounding on this building, and there was a commotion down Ferryquay street towards the Foyle river, a flash of orange among the horde of grotesque mutants jockeying for position.  It looked vaguely familiar, he thought, before he was swept off the building by a hurtling blow.

Rabhcán heard the muffled grunts of her brother, saw an airborn mutant grab her husband, and hesitated for only a moment before throwing herself at the nearby pile of mutants, blasting them off of Ùrlann with waves of green energy.  Her dearest Feegan would take care of himself.

Even as she did so, she recognized the echoing sound of bootfalls from the street.  Nothing sounded like that except Craa-Hallooin, the Manx Shaker.  The walls about her vibrated as each foot came down.  She had known it would only be a matter of time until he and the other Orange Brigadiers joined these mutant bastards.  At least now it would be quick.  With Claíomh gone to America, the Laochra were down in power by a fourth, perhaps even a third, and the Orange had always been near their match.  Add a few thousand mutants, and the Laochra would indeed fall.

Feegan fell off the wall toward the maelstrom in the street, belatedly recognizing the lithe form of Speirag as his attacker.  Her swoop had pulled him off the wall completely, and she now held him with those tiny, strong arms he knew from so many years before.

What was it, 1997?  Even thick from the fight, her smell brought back sweet memories.  His Spider to her Sparrowhawk, they had been quite a team before the Orange Brigade had killed his brother.

"Hey, lover." she whispered.  "Fancy a lift, or a little dip?"  She pulled a sharp Immelman and then dived toward the street.  Behind them he saw the wall where he had been, bricks exploding and crumbling under the combined force of the hordes and Craa-Hallooin.  Was Sparrowhawk changing sides, yet again?  And what would his wife think of that?

The tone of the mutant army changed as they parted before the oncoming Orange Brigade.  Both in the volume and the pitch, it was like a boot planted firmly into a giant anthill. Ùrlann dove off the ground and backed onto his sister, wrenching his lance from under the scaly pile.  The mutant mob crowded them, trying to overwhelm their defenses by pure mass, even as the green light from Rabhcán, the Cumhachd Smarag, attempted to hold the fangs and claws at a distance.

Beithíoch Oranje burst through the melee, head and shoulders above even the tallest of the mutant hordes, the Orb of Kilkenny glowing on his chest.  He was unrepentantly evil, even for a Protestant.  His shag and crown of red-orange hair proudly displayed the OTHER reason the murdering brute was called the Orange Beast.  He roared a challenge that shook shingles off the nearby roofs, and startled many of his mutant buddies into momentarily halting their attacks.  Impressive bastard.

Rabhcán looked away to focus on the mutants before her.  They were nearly panicking to get to her before the Orange Brigade commandeered their prey.  Fat Bloody Chance.  She struck down two of the ugly bastards at once with a wide spray of emerald power.  With any luck, she would get a chance to kill Beithíoch himself before she went down herself.  If not, then in time Claíomh would avenge her.

The power of Branagh's wand was flowing, rushing in torrents wherever she focussed it.  She could feel the power burning her, eating her slowly, using her up.  So Be It.  If I must die, let it serve the good of Ireland.  She turned the wand upon Beithíoch, even as the orange giant leaped toward her.

Nothing happened.

Nothing, except that Beithíoch sailed barely over her to land upon the oncoming swarm of infernal creatures, buying her a few seconds of breathing space.

Nothing, except that Craa-Hallooin stumbled into the square, bleeding from a hundred cuts and screaming defiance as his earthquakes shook down the ancient buildings to fall and crush the mutants.

Nothing, except that Speirag landed Feegan on a narrow balcony and spared him a brief kiss before turning to the battle at hand.  Which Rabhcán would make them pay for, later.

Nothing, except that even through the brief pang of jealousy, her heart now understood a stark, brilliant truth.  That though they had lived as enemies, the Green and the Orange would die together as Irishmen.

And the power flowed.

Heatherfoot felt a distant shock, like a green spark in his mind.

A rustling sigh went through the crowd.  He heard the whispers as if they were his own voice "The Shillelagh .. broken"

The Shillelagh of Branagh was broken!  It was one of the End-Signs of prophecy.  He focused, trying to find the Bearer again, among all the fighting and death on the island.  There was nothing.

A gasp of shock went through the crowd, at the moment he felt another spark, this one the color of smoke.

"The Orb."  But...

"The Orb!"  It was monstrous.  This was not in the prophecies at all!

The magistrate moved to calm the crowds "Man the Wards!,  But don't..."  However, his words were too late.  The frightened Sidhe began pumping power into the wards, attempting to increase their defenses as much as possible as quickly as possible.

And Heatherfoot realized, even as the magistrate's words penetrated, that their best defense had been not being noticed.

As He watched the festivities below, Autocrat noticed a slight welling of power on one of the smaller islands offshore, otherwise completely nondescript.

Autocrat raised an eyebrow, then moved a finger in that direction.

His hordes complied.

In the evening, there was a green mist over the empty fields -- a dark mist, not unlike the color of crushed clover.  It filled the brooding hollows, and seeped into the abandoned remains of stone houses older than the American Government.  It filled the barns, where the blood of cattle mixed with The Blood.  It filled the crushed and crumbled streets and buildings of old cities now grown silent.

It seethed.

It searched.

Here and there within the mist something cried in pain or fear.  Something not of The Blood, and therefore of no consequence.  There was no Blood here, at least no one living and un-Tainted.

For years the spiorad mists had heard the cries of The Blood, sometimes answering, often not.  So often, there were boons asked from both sides of a question, mutually exclusive boons, and the mists were silent.

And then came the screaming.

Millions of voices, thousands of them full of The Blood, cried for aid, then protection, then survival, then vengeance.  Never had the geas grown so full, nor so fast.  Nor so futile.  There were no Blood to protect, and no Blood to protect them with.

It was An Deireadh.

The Spiorad searched.  Even though there had been an ending, still there would come a day.

There would come a day.

Author's Note: Many of the Gaelic terms here come from Manx Gaelic rather than proper Irish Gaelic, and I cannot be certain of the exact Irish word forms.  Indeed, the Orange Brigadiers probably shouldn't have Gaelic names at all, but since the story is presented from the point of view of the Laochra, this can be assumed to be their internal choice of terms for their enemies.  (Actually, I've just gotten tired of inventing English superhero names.  DMJ)

Beithíoch ("Beast" in Irish Gaelic) also Beithíoch Oranje ("Orange Beast").  The fighting name of Tam Hunter, leader of the Orange Brigade.  Mutant with the ability to grow to about four meters in height, with concomitant strength.  Bearer of the Orb of Kilkenny, although it is unknown whether that is the source of any of his powers.  To the Irish Catholics, he is also sometimes called Famhair, after the race of invading giants from an old Irish legend.

Claíomh Geal ("Bright Sword" in Irish Gaelic).  A highly skilled warrior, with the apparent ability to focus energy through his lightweight armor and weaponry.  Member of the Laochra Fendeilagh.  Recently went to the United States for family reasons and fund-raising.

Craa-Hallooin ("Earthquake" in Manx Gaelic)  Also known as Craader, or "The Manx Shaker."  Mutant with the power to create destructive vibration within any material, including living bodies.  Member of the Orange Brigade.

Cumhachd Smarag  ("The Green Power," from cumhachd, or "power" in Scots Gaelic from Irish, and smarag, or "emerald" in Scots and Manx Gaelic from Irish).  The power of the Shillelagh of Branagh.

An Deireadh ("The End" in Irish Gaelic).  The prophecy is that Branagh's Wand will be destroyed immediately before An Deireadh, and the Cumhachd Smarag will run freely again.

Feegan ("Spiderweb" in Manx Gaelic).  Presumed mutant with the ability to create webs of "Soft Force."  Member of the Laochra Fendeilagh.

Gaisge ("Valour" in Scots Gaelic from Irish).  Now-deceased member of the Laochra Fendeilagh, brother of Feegan.

Gunnaghyn ("Artillery" in Manx Gaelic).  Power-armored hero, member of the Orange Brigade.  Recently flew to the United States in search of Claíomh Geal, a member of Laochra Fendeilagh.

Laochra Fendeilagh (from Loachra, or "Warriors" in Irish Gaelic, and Fendeilagh, or "Defense" and "Defender" in Manx Gaelic).  A group of heroes dedicated to protecting the Northern Irish Catholics against the ravages of the Protestants.  Recent members have been Claíomh Geal, Feegan, Gaisge, Rabhcán, and Ùrlann.

Orange Brigade.  A group of heroes dedicated to protecting the Northern Irish Protestants against the ravages of the Catholics.  Recent members include Beithíoch, Craa-Hallooin, Gunnaghyn, and Speireag.

Rabhcán ("Beacon" in Irish Gaelic).  Leader of the Laochra Fendeilagh, current Bearer of the Shillelagh of Branagh, wife of Feegan and sister to Ùrlann, both members of the team.  The Shillelagh gives her the ability to perform a wide variety of magic, using a green force which is reputed to be the life force of Ireland itself.

Shillelagh of Branagh.  The Wand of Branagh, an artifact said to pull its power from the very life force of Ireland itself.  Rabhcán is the current Bearer of Branagh's Wand, which has a history going back nearly four hundred years.

Speireag ("Sparrowhawk" in Scottish Gaelic),  also Shirragh (Manx Gaelic version).  Winged mutant, member of Orange Brigade.  Once a partner to Feegan.

Tàrmachadh ("Gathering," also "Source" in Scottish Gaelic).  Home of the Sidhe.

Ùrlann ("Staff of a Spear" in Scots Gaelic from Irish).  Extremely talented warrior, principally using a quarterstaff or spear. Member of the Laochra Fendeilagh.  Brother to the current Bearer, Rabhcán.
 

Home       Gaming Guidelines        PC Roster       NPC Roster