Blood upon the Snow
</header>
Blood upon the snow
--by some bard or other
Upon the wintry shores of Eire
The fomor did strike,
cruel as a barbed knife
with the power of a raging storm.
A thousand times before, had they done this
and perhaps a thousand times more,
but alas for lordless Eire,
A High King there was not.
The Fion did come to Munster fair,
to defend its fields and forests from foul attack,
for this is where the Fomor did land,
and proceed to foment their evil.
Into this fray did come Donnell the Bear,
squire of the Fion in name only,
for he had, in humility, refused the title
from the Lord Druid himself.
With him came Tove Dragonslayer,
mighty Norse warrior, and it is said
that she wielded a power like unto a Valkyrie,
but for her enemies,
she showed none of their mercy,
no pity for the Fomor,
whose hearts were foul and black.
Liban the Firehair did come also,
and her rage upon the despoilers
was like unto a tempest--
fueled by the might of Freygra,
golden sword of Lugh.
With her came her consort, The Forest Knight
he who had powers over sight and Wind.
Fey was he, and fair,
and his arm was strong.
He too, waited for the chance
to spill black fomor blood.
With them came such company of heroes as they kept,
Fenn the fey fairy sprite--
the patternless one,
Alan mac Berth, sailor and warrior,
Blodduedd of Sidhe-kind,
Kethlin the half-breed,
who had betrayed his dark kin
in hopes of redeeming his soul,
and a bard also, to chronicle their tales.
A task was given to them,
dangerous and full of doubt--
to protect the rear of the Fion
from the deprevations of a group of fomor
to the rear of their charge.
In a grove of trees they waited
with such brave hunters as Munster had,
to break the fomor attack
as waves upon the rocks of the shore.
As night fell, a silence gripped
the snow-covered circle of pine,
broken only by the cold moaning
of winter's forlorn breath.
In the distance, a crunching was heard--
a large foot upon the frozen land,
crushing pure white snow
into soiled mud and earth.
They came then, the deformed beasts--
foul and twisted as their black souls,
their bodies writhed and grimaced in agony
at their own unnatural shapes.
All in all a dozen black giants stood
or hobbled, or crawled, or limped
towards the green sanctuary
chosen by the defenders.
Two lords they had with them,
fairer in form, and shorter in stature,
but what they lacked in physical horror,
they made up for tenfold in their souls.
As one, they emptied into their hands
rocks sized like a stout man's chest
and hurled them in a terrible volley
at the island of green in a white plain.
Much to their foul credit,
the stones smote down upon the guardians
tearing lives from the bodies of more than one.
Once more came the volley,
but this one would be answered.
From out of the trees came fire and thunder and arrows,
and more than one fomor was felled to the earth.
With a raging cry, both sides ripped hatred
from their breasts, by way of their throats,
and fleet flew their feet, unto the field of battle.
Donnell the Bear led the charge
with a speed impossible among the mortal men,
and Tove came also, with Liban not far behind.
Freygra was the first to taste blood this night,
for a foolish fomor thought the Firehair easy prey.
The blade tore up through the gut of the thing,
tearing flesh and sinew and bone until this monster
was smote in twain.
The lightning and fire rained down then
upon the heads of the invaders,
and ripped flesh and skin from their hides
but still they came.
But victory was not bought cheaply.
The Forest Knight brought his blade
down upon the leader of this evil band,
but to no avail.
Protected as he was by his minions,
this foul Noble and Priest would not go quietly,
and his thralls smote upon the Knight
with the all the hate of a despoiled race.
Hero was he,
but even he could not withstand this attack.
The Knight fell to the ground,
and as is the way of his kind,
the body faded to the wisps of wind,
to walk this plain of battle nevermore.
Such is the bond of love that they shared,
that Liban Firehair also was smote down,
as the bond could not allow one to live on alone
in sorrow and mourning--
such is the way, of their kind.
Alone now,
the Firehair's soul slipped into darkness
Her body fell to the ground,
the life draining from it.
But it was not the end.
From the sky,
the rage of the Fey Court came,
despaired at the loss of their prince,
the field was covered with the blood of Fomor
and the anguished tears of the Knight's kin.
Victory or no,
the Knight's kin could not abid his passing
and so they quickly set upon a plan to revive him...
But that is another tale...