Today is, of course, St. Patrick’s Day — also, incidentally, the feast day of Joseph of Arimathea.
So, for today’s writing, I was thinking “Irish.” There is, if you’ve forgotten, a Realmgard-Ireland (Carog, one of the three Kingdoms of the Sea).
So, I figured Niamh (pronounced, of course, like “Neeve“) would feature prominent into this one. And, basically, she’s talking about the Realmgard equivalent of the battle of Clontarf, when High King Brian Boru died in the act of triumphing over the Vikings of Dublin.
It’s popularly regarded as the permanent breaking of the Vikings’ power in Ireland, but the actual historical truth is a bit more complicated then that…
Incidentally, I’m using an actual painting of Clontarf for today’s header image:
Battle of Clontarf: Hugh Frazer. Image via Wikimedia Commons. Public Domain.
I don’t know if “Trabled” if proper Irish, but I didn’t want to get too hung up on it. I’m intending for it to mean something like “Whale Beach” and I really just put forms of the Irish words for “beach” and “whale” together. I do apologise to anyone who knows Irish well enough to be aware of my mangling of the language…
And, fittingly, as a Half-Goblin, Niamh is, of course, green.
Niamh leads the others into the museum.
“Come on, guys!” she says. “Hurry up! I want to show you the special exhibit they’re having for Trabled Day!”
The others stare blankly at her.
“You know, Trabled? Like the battle of Trabled?” she asks. “When we drove the Hrimfaxi off the island?
The others stare blankly at her.
“It’s only the most important battle in the history of Carog,” Niamh explains. “King Colm unified the clans of Carog, marched on the Hrimfaxi stronghold of Svartveg, brought the fought to the Vikings. And, then, um died…”
The others stare blankly at her.
“Ugh. Read a book, guys!” Niamh groans.
The group, Niamh, Lena, Addie, Addie, and Kat approach the facade of the museum as Niamh continues to extol the virtues of her Carogian ancestors.
The guard standing at the door steps in to block the room.
“I’m sorry, Miss,” the guard tells Addie, noticing Sebastian riding on her shoulder. “Pets are not allowed.”
“Sebastian is no mere pet,” Addie says. “He is recognised and licensed by the authority of the Guild authority to serve as my adventuring companion.” She points to Kat. “As the Captain will no doubt attest.”
“It’s true,” Kat says. “There’s whole section in the Guild Authority regulations about animal sidekicks.”
“The term is companion,” Addie mutters.
The guard consults his handbook. “As it happens,” he says, looking up from the book. “That is allowed. In you go, Miss.” Just, uh, make sure he doesn’t bite anyone.”
“Sebastian would never,” Addie says indignantly.
Niamh darts off ahead towards the special exhibit of Carogian artifacts, like a kid in a candy store.
Or a nerdy kid in, well, a museum.
“Come on! Come on!” she urges the others.
Once they reach the exhibit hall, Niamh takes on the role of tour guide, eagerly explaining each of the artifacts on display to her companions.
And making the museum’s actual tour guide feel rather inadequate with himself. At least until a lovely Pelayan couple wanders into the exhibit hall.
Niamh points to painting that takes up most of a wall by itself.
“That’s what I was talking about,” she says. “That’s a painting of the battle of Trabled. If you look close enough, you can find all of the important Carogian clan leaders and the Hrimfaxi chieftains.
She moves onto the next thing.
“That’s Princess Catriona’s shawl,” she explains. “From the pattern, you can tell that it was originally woven in Archipelago.”
She falls silent as the group approaches the next artifact on display.
“Oh, wow,” Niamh says in awed reverence. “That’s the arrow that killed King Colm at Trabled. He got hit, but then he used his last ounce of strength to strike down the Hrimfaxi chieftain Torvald Greenson — who, incidentally, got his name for being a renowned golfer and is largely credited with introducing the sport to Carog.”
She frowns.
“Though, of course, they say he used the skulls of his enemies as his golfballs.”
“Ew,” Kat says, staring at the old arrow. “That’s, uh, that’s pretty dark. The arrow, I mean. But so is that golf story, I guess.”
She really hopes that dark stain on the arrowhead is just rust…
So, uh, happy Trabled St. Patrick’s Day, everybody.
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