30 More Days: Favorite Weapon

This is part of a series in which I try to write a post every day on silly video game topics.  For the list of topics, click here.

Was there any doubt?

The Master Sword
“Master using it and you can have this.”

There’s really no other choice for me.  The sword of evil’s bane is by far my favorite weapon in any game.  The Arthurian homages, the powers of the sword to reflect evil (Tennis, anyone?) and the various means of acquiring the sword make it one of the most epic pieces of loot.  It was the Master Sword, after all, that really opened my eyes to just how satisfying getting “phat loot”, as it is called in parlance of our times, really is.  Fire flowers come and go.   A new power is dandy, but it’s just a way to beat the next boss.  The Master Sword is a game changer.

 

30 More Days: Game You Love to Hate

This is part of a series in which I try to write a post every day on silly video game topics.  For the list of topics, click here.

I don’t think I have a single answer here.  There are some TERRIBLE games out there, and games that I thought might have looked good, but sucked, but I keep going back to a genre on this one.  That’s right you little mouth-breathing, moms basement living, anti-social morons, I hate multi-player shooters.

Doom, Halo, Unreal, Gears of War, first-person, third-person, in the immortal words of Chris Tucker, I don’t give a fuck.  They all fucking suck.  I hate the engines, I hate the gore level, I hate the level design, I hate that I get motion sickness playing a lot of them, I hate the endless barrage of weapon upgrades, and more than anything else, I hate, I hate, I hate, I HATE multi-player.

angry
Your typical multi-person gamer.

No, I haven’t played a lot of them.  I’m better than that.  Why would I hob nob with short-attention span, shit talking, ignorant, hate-spewing troglodytes?  Spend any time on your X-Box one of these games and you’ll get a sample platter of the ‘best’ humanity has to offer.  “LOL u gt pwnd fggt!  Hhaha ur ghey!!1”  Maybe even uttered aloud over a built-in chat/VoIP system, too.  And there’s no point to these games, really.  Just an endless slog doing the same thing over and over and over, killing the same enemies just so you can have some shiny achievement or points or new look or something.  Fucking pathetic.  Just another example of the deacy of our society and people’s sick urges to live out their fanta…

What’s that?  What games to do I play?  MMORPGs, why do you ask?

30 More Days: Preferred Universe

This is part of a series in which I try to write a post every day on silly video game topics.  For the list of topics, click here.

And I am now finally caught up, doing three posts in one day.  (There it is again.)  I have not yet read TFG’s answer on this one yet, but knowing her, it’s either WOW or Pokemon, or probably both, from what I’ve heard about Mists of Pandaria.  (Really, it’s called Pandaria?  Is their city called Panda Town?  The Panda Palace?  Grumble.)

That’s not really an aside, is it?  That is the topic, after all.  Azeroth, for all its faults, was a great place to inhabit.  The artwork was really well done, even considering Warcraft’s comic-influenced art style.  Khaz Modan, Ashenvale, Thunder Bluff, some of my favorite locations in any video game.  But, as an actual place, it just doesn’t work, and no, I’m not talking about obviously magical effects.  “Lost” continents being discovered conveniently when the narrative demands it is a big part of what is so goofy about Azeroth and the writing thereof.

I think it’s a fitting tribute then that I suggest that fabled Rhode Island metropolis, Paragon City.  The City of Heroes.

City of Heroes recently was shut down and with it, a universe that I came back to time and time again, a word I revisited more often than any other MMO combined.  Hundreds of lives were created and wiped clean, as I endlessly dreamed of new heroes and villains that would do battle along the streets of Steel Canyon, in the slums of King’s Row, and the ruins of Overbrook.  Heroes such as the Emerald Mask, Jason Black, Post Meridian, Red Jacket and the Crimson Vespa would fight epic battles against the Clockwork King, Dr. Vhazilok and the endless minions of Arachnos.  Villains like Sadim, The Dallas Has-Been, Witch-Killer Wren and Duvant planned and schemed, looking to take down Paragon and Rogue Isles for their own gain.

30 More Days: Favorite Boss/Raid

This is part of a series in which I try to write a post every day on silly video game topics.  For the list of topics, click here.

Please allow me to state for the record:  I hate raids.  I have rarely enjoyed myself on raids in any game, so my answer for this will not be a “favorite raid.”  However, allow me to speak some about raid mechanics and “boss fights” within raids.

My experience with raids in MMOs is thus; Everquest’s Planes of Hate & Fear and some Velious stuff.  Dark Age of Camelot‘s Realm vs. Realm keep raids.  World of Warcraft‘s Molten Core & Wrath of the Lich King.  That’s.  About.  It.  So I am very much a raiding newbie.  My experience with raids from the outset was one of idle frustration and boredom, especially with Everquest.  Haters need not even reply – raiding in Everquest was one of the most inane and poorly designed systems ever.  The mere concept of them, waiting for a spawn, hoping that other groups would respect your raid, having no instancing what so ever has always struck me as one of the most shit-tacular ways of wasting everyone’s time.  Coupled with the punitive penalties for failure, I simply vowed never to spend that much time with them.

DAOC’s PvP based raid system was much more enjoyable when it focused on siege warfare, otherwise it was Zerg v. Zerg, or small group combat which was not “raiding”.  WOW’s Molten Core wasn’t much better than Everquest – trading instances and on-demand raids for insane amounts of trash.  But, WOW did something, and expanded on it well; it added mechanics.  Tricks, strategies, things you had to do – whatever you want to call them – boss fights felt more like, well boss fights.  You had to be adaptive.  You had to, essentially, fail a few times, figure out the trick to beating the boss, and then you had to execute.

That’s what’s always fun about boss fights.  On TFG’s site, I answered Ganondorf/Ganon as my favorite boss fight.  That was a great fight, and a fitting end to one of the best games ever.  Some cinematic action, a curveball in the game mechanics coupled with a new fight mechanic (tennis, anyone?), with some cutscenes and mid-fight break back to traditional gameplay before going all-in with another handicap and a bigger, harder boss.

Ocarina of Time had a pretty good boss fight in Ganon, but the more I think about the idea of adaptability, another game stands out for requiring inventiveness and a lot of trial and error.

That’s right, my vote has changed and is going to Mega Man.

30 More Days: Favorite Playable Race

This is part of a series in which I try to write a post every day on silly video game topics.  For the list of topics, click here.

This was a difficult one for me for several reasons.  Given a choice of various character options, I will inevitably choose everything, because I am, as we say in the MMO-world, an alt-whore.  I just want to try everything.  But there are some patterns of races I gravitate to, and races I shy away from.

I am not big on “furry” races.  Tails and clawed feet, non-humanoid faces, nope.  Which I guess does limit me from some cool choices.  Khajiit from Skyrim come to mind being a viable option for a variety of builds, and a genuinely interesting race.  The idea of a “Dragon-Tiger” is pretty Napoleon Dynamite but I’m honest enough with myself to admit that I am just juvenile enough to try it.  Still, if it has fur, tails, claws, no thanks.

Shorties are another no-go.  Perhaps that makes me a horrible person, but I like to see armor and clothes on my avatar in games, and short races tend to be a bit compressed.  I’ll admit, Gnomes are pretty boss, and I do have an Asura in GW2, but they are far from my favorite.  Hunch-backed characters/races fall in this same categories (WOW’s Orcs, Forsaken & Tauren, I’m looking at YOU.)

So what does that leave me with?  Something with a blend of fun powers (or good stats) that meets my aesthetic criteria.  Wood Elves from Everquest, Half Elves from EQ2, Norn from GW2, Bretons from Skyrim.  My two favorite from WOW were my human paladin (mostly because at the time that was the only option other than Dwarf) and my female orc shaman (for reasons I won’t get into here!)

30 (More) Days of Video Games

I’m getting a late start to this but here goes.  I am going to try to keep up with my dear friend the Token Female Gamer with her added list of “Another 30 Days of Video Games“.  The idea is to promote a good habit of posting something every day (which is something that I am terrible at.)  I’m going to be using a list of topics that TFG created.  So, here goes.

TFG’s list;

31) Favorite Playable Race
32) Favorite Boss Encounter/Raid
33) Preferred Universe to inhabit
34) Favorite skill
35) Favorite scary moment in a game
36) A sequel that was awesome
37) Good or Evil?
38) Favorite dungeon crawl or level
39) Achievements, to get or not to get
40) Favorite quest
41) Favorite pet/mount/companion
42) Favorite personal character name
43) Favorite Mini game
44) Favorite reboot of a classic game
45) Favorite combat strategy
46) Favorite art style
47) Favorite game adaptation
48) Game that made you feel the most heroic
49) Sci-Fi or Fantasy
50) Favorite morally ambiguous game
51) Game you love to hate, don’t get, wonder why anyone would buy
52) Favorite weapon
53) Male or female
54) Finish a game or not? How long to do you give a game before you write it off?
55) Multiplayer or single player
56) Instanced or not instanced
57) Best character progression
58) Favorite secondary character/random character/minor character
59) Picture of your game setup
60) Top ten games from your gaming history that you would recommend to someone else

Game Review: Guild Wars 2

Well we have to start somewhere.

So let’s start with what I’m playing right now, ArenaNet’s new Guild Wars 2, their follow up the successful 2005 release.  Guild Wars was a different beast than the slew of MMOs that were released around the time (namely, City of Heroes, Everquest 2 & World of Warcraft), being more focused on player vs. player combat and with a very strict set of abilities tightly balanced.

Continue reading “Game Review: Guild Wars 2”

How the Truth May Be, chapter three

It’s the music… it’s a blast of air, a dive into a cool lake, all of this is what it feels to be spirited away by a song. You tap a few strings, and it’s magical from the start. A vibration in the string, it causes the air to ripple, and you shiver with it. The movement creates a distortion, the distortion creates more motion, and the rules of the physical world bend to your will. To your voice. To you.

It’s the only religion I need…

chapter three

“Gaedan! Heya chief, how you feelin’?”

The attack by Roisin has changed our village already. Connla now mutters darkly at the intentions of elves, and the greviances against England are forgotten for a while.

“Yeah,” I wave my hand, hoping to stave her off, but Moll, if anything, is persistant. “I’m fine.”

“Did that girl hurt you, chief?” Concern? Perhaps.

I wonder, at this point, did I dream of Roisin? I know now that she exists, haunting the empty space between memory and fantasy like the banshee Fergus claimed her to be. From beyond the veil?, I wonder…

“You don’t look hurt, chief. Let me help you catch something though?” And there is real desire in her eyes.

A choice? Does Moll really lo…

“Looks like the bard-to-be caught himself something already.” Moll gasps, but I knew already who it was. Her. Excitement is hardly the word.

Roisin takes her time approaching us, circling around Moll, who is paralyzed with fear at the moment. I could care less, though. I look at Roisin, drink in every detail, admire how well shaped she is. My crimes are not often greater than that. Roisin grimaces. “Kinda small though. I’d throw it back if I were you, Patrick.”

She turns on me. “Or does this one have her hook into you, I wonder?” she says with a wink.

Moll sputters. “Just what do you think you’re doing here, you almost hurt Gaedan here yesterday and I know you’re just looking to do it again!” Wow. I didn’t know she had it in her.

Pursed lips. I could die right now if I hadn’t just started to live. “Well, if he’ll let me, sure. Do it again and again and again and again until our limbs fall off.” She smiles. “Sound like a plan to you, Patrick?” Oh, how she teases!

“But he’s not Patrick, Patrick is…”

“I know who he is,” Roisin looks me over and picks her nose. “He’s mine.”

“Wha… what… do you mean?”

A rumbling. Not foresight, no, for Moll can feel it too. A tremor? No – it’s above ground, a force, an army? I look to the west, towards the sea, and then inland. It’s on the hill though, that I see them… oh yes, the Siabra. I have foretold your coming, you that want to be the death of me, the ghostly renegades that have defied the Elves.

I squint. They stand on the hill overlooking Connla, letting the town take them in and be afraid. A motley band, not large, 20 men perhaps, but they are desperate people, robbers and cutthroats all. The townsmen scramble – women and children into their meager huts, the menfolk grabbing what weapons they can – mostly rusty falcattas and clubs. Roisin is now missing, which worries me. I wouldn’t think her to back down from a fight. Moll is cringing behind me now, wanting me to be her protector.

Me! A Bard! Protector of only one!

I urge her into the hut nearest us. Some of the older men and boys are inside with bows ready to defend. I take rank with the men, ready to defend our village and our lives.

We bellow out our defiance. The siabra charge.

We leave Dun Ailinne
My companions are somber. Running from Druim Ligen has burned off the excess energy that the prospect of battle can bring. Now they are alert, calm, focused on the grim art of war. We move on speed lent of sound, the only noise we make is by the concerted strings of us Bards. We are upholders of battle, after all. Wise men, prophets, royal advisors, emrys and magicians all are at the heart, living songs, tied inexorably to the eternal battle of our people.

And that is what I am. A living hymn of glory, destined to live and die in battle. And it is my song that will see the day through, make no mistake about it.

It is a responsibility I gladly carry.

And I begin to tell how it may be…
The siabra rush has pulled us off balance. Lugh blind them, they are a canny lot! We recover, however, the loss is dire – Tedwig has fallen, a brave Firbolg lad. I mutter a dirge for him, but carry on with my grim work. I am no Bard yet, I tell myself.

We regroup at the north end of town. The sky is now littered with arrows, neither side wanting to step out from cover after the first rush. The siabra have underestimated us in their first attack, and it has cost them dearly. They still hold the advantage of experience, though.

The arrows stop. The men mutter. Something is coming.

And we see it, all too late. The siabra advance now with interlocked shields, mostly made of wood and lashings, but they hold and deflect our poor arrows. Several of them hold back, looking for targets to expose themselves. The siabra reach our first position, and the din is awful. Arrows seethe into every place we allow – the battle has turned.

My thoughts are frantic. I search for the words I need to turn this battle. I scream, I am a Bard! But nobody hears. Nobody can listen. And in the smoke and confusion, I see my father.

And he is going down.

Confusion clarifys. What was once chaotic has order. The siabra have stopped, their faces blank. A note…

… a song…

My song! I feel the power within surge as the music flows from me, and once again, I enter the veil between worlds.

Come Daurdabla!
Come Coir-cethar-chuir!
Come summer, Come winter!
Mouths of harps and bags and pipes!

And she is here.

Roisin explodes into vision, still in her armor, sword in hand, she’s jumped off one of the huts into the fray, her blade tearing the siabra with vicious precision. Her warcry is lost in my song, as is everything at this moment. The air itself is alive with sense, the tingling vibration of my tenor has made the hairs on the back of neck stand at attention, it’s a power I never dreamt of, and it’s mine to command. With a wave of my hand, I see the ills of my people fade from sight, wounds restored as if they had never been delivered.

Yet, I cannot take my eyes of Roisin. She darts from enemy to enemy, her cuts quick and deliberate, never missing, never lingering. The remaining siabra turn to flee from our deliverer, but those that are not cut down as they turn have their lives extended only slightly as we rally.

And as if it were that simple… the siabra are defeated.

… to be continued …

How the Truth May Be, chapter two

You have heard me before a battle. You have heard me speak of life. Now let me speak of death and the ending thereof. You say I speak in riddles? You say I speak so that you may not understand? No, I tell thee, I speak so that you may understand. For mine is not a tale of easy understanding, after all. Mine is no simple child’s fable about a rat, after all.

The answers are always the same, after all. I tell you this story because I have to. Because I could not imagine not telling it to you.

And like all good stories, it starts with a woman…

chapter two

“Go away Moll.” I think I might have actually meant that.

“You don’t have to be so insulting, chief.” She’s pouting.

“As a matter of fact,” I say, drawing up to my full height, “I do.” She pouted. She showed me her birthmark again. And she wondered why I’ve been sending her away. I walk away.

“You know, about Patrick…” I stop.

There is a moment in time when things stop along with you, I’ve found. Time is only perception, after all. We think of things as “time really flies when you,” but time doesn’t move, it’s just us moving around it. When time stops, I’m not sure if it’s me that’s stopping, or if I’m really just catching up to time.

This time, time caught up to me.

“Gaedan!” I could hear the puffing on Elara’s lips. “Gaedan! Gaedan!”

The puffing got louder.

Gaedan! Gaedan!

An awen. My first, truth be told. Let every man hear!

A faceless mob. A voice in the din. A laugh, a cry, a song. A woman, full as nature itself, offering herself to me. Another cry, this one in lament. Sorrow fading, indifference fading, it’s a song that I can’t deny. I see the mob before me, their arms in the air, cheering me on. I see her at my side, urging me to fall, to jump, to crow like a rooster and sing for the crowds. A laugh and a cry, it all sounds the same when you’re on the stage. I lift my lips, I take a drink of nectar that is borne of no fruit.

And I sing.

“Oh there is no death of me!
There is only wide blue sea!
Send me off, ship me to Western Isle!
For here begins the tale of how truth may be!”

For a moment, all is right. There is nothing, no breeze, no land, just the sea. Then ground reasserts itself to me, and I fall…

And, again, I awake from a dream…
“Oh! Gaedan, you’re awake, chief.” Oh Lugh, why punish me?

“That’s enough Moll, let him be. Why not go tell his parents that he’s awake now, child.” Elara. Bless her.

I open my eyes. The awen hit me hard, but I’m still here, still in one place, in one time. When the foresight hits you, you feel like this. Strange. Alive. Even incapacitated, barely ambulatory, I never felt more alive. Elara is standing over me.

“How are you feeling,” she asks. I nod. Words aren’t comig to me yet, I’m still trying to relearn how to speak. Again. The foresight will do that to you. And it feels great.

“Gaedan,” she begins, cautious around me. As if Bards everyday just started into prophecy, into song, around her. “There was a visitor, an elven woman. She insisted that she see you, but I told her that…”

The door swings open.

And words cease to fail me.

“You!” I cry. I’ve never seen this woman before, but I knew her every detail. The golden hair pinned behind her head, her hair straight and molded, unmoveable, but short, so unlike an elf. She’s wearing armor, too, blood red scale, armor that seems to have been made for her body, so unlike an elf, so full it makes my heart ache.

She smiles, and I am lost. But I know what’s coming. The test. I am the one, after all, that she’s been seeking.

She jumps and nobody sees it. Her arms have now gained five feet of tempered steel, as she leaps towards my resting place, the small hut now resonated with that war cry of hers – a sound, again, I’ve never heard it, but from that moment on, I would never forget the harmony of her challenge.

She comes crashing down into my bed, the sword sheering where my head was, and the world is upside down and then right side up. Down feathers fly everyhere as I lunge for the sword on the wall that I’ve never used. She stands erect, now her face is hidden in shadow, and I think I prefer it that way. Her sword is held out, feathers fly around her, but her eyes are boring into me as I stand ready. She pounces and the fight is on.

We fight, we sing. My blood is pumping now, into every vein, and it’s liquid music and lust and love at once. “Oh Kelley”, I sing, “your rat had better be tough to face us!”

And like that she’s gone, fled before we can be prematurely interrupted, no doubt Elara has run for the guard thinking the woman an assassin of some sort. Oh, let them hear whatever the hell they want to her.

She has come, I think, and I am alive after all!

No doubt, it was attack, they said…
“I tell you, James, she was a banshee, one from across the veil, sent to kill us in our sleep!”

“Thats, ‘take you away in your sleep’, Fergus,” my father said. “And mark my words, she spells trouble from the elves. Even those Shar seem tame close to those creatures.” It’s the midnight council, we’re back in the trees, away from sight and habitation.

“Either way, James, it’s a grave threat to Connla! We must send word up to Howth for protection!” Fergus. At least he’s not Fagan.

“Bah, just be on yer guards and yee’l be fine. Young lad here seems to be rather quick with that blade, aye?” I nod. Old Kennedy this time. I liked that old man. “Aye, and to hear him proclaim today! Aye, lad will be a Bard in a few short years, mark my words.” He took a swig of his whiskey. “Any clue what she be after with ye, lad?” he asks. “Or who she be?”

A name. What was it that hack Merlin once said… a word is given when a word is required. Well, I hadn’t needed much help with this one…

“Roisin.” I wanted to melt then and there.

“Roisin?!” My father exploded. Short temper, but he is a Celt. “Now they take Celtic names!”

I shrug. “So how do you know this… Roisin?” I shrug again.

“I don’t. But something tells me I ought to. Something tells me,” I say, hoping to hide the hope in my voice, “something tells me, she’ll be back.”

And while the old men around the fire spoke of Elvish plots to take their land, I sat, cloak around me, already feeling the stiring of music within take a hold on my soul, and thought… this is the awakening, after all.

This is it, after all.

… to be continued …

How the Truth May Be, chapter one

The gleeman wrapped his cloak tightly around his body. I thought it was a bit overdramatic, myself. Something that a Britton would do. Still, I was only 9 years old. What could I possibly know?

“He who has ears to listen, let him hear!” the Bard proclaimed, ending his tale. A tale of glory, I guess. Of our High King. I didn’t know Ireland had a High King. I don’t think I even really knew what a High King was. Someone really important, I suppose. All I knew is that I was unimpressed. I was, after all, very young. But listening to the Bard, seeing the manufactored looks of intrest on the faces of my people, I think I began realize something that day. Listening to this man, this Merlin, I think I understood why the grownups often talked in hushed voices, why so many of them had looked so sad. It wasn’t until much later that I fully comprehended this thought, but I was, after all, very young.

Perhaps he spoiled me. Perhaps I thought all Bards were as puffed up and arrogent as Merlin Embries. I didn’t even want to be a Bard myself. It was all her doing, after all. After she came into my life, I couldn’t not sing – it was as if I was besotten or perhaps gaesed like the heroes of old, trapped by an elven woman with a Celtic name. Ironic that, since I’m a Celt with an Elvish name. Perhaps we were meant for each other. Perhaps, in the end, I’ll just find that I ask too many questions.

Well, they say wisdom comes to us all. Eventually.

chapter one

“Gaedan! Gaedan!” Nothing happened. “Gaedan, hey, what are you doing, Gaedan?” As I recall, it was a nice day – the Shannon was deep blue and smell of salt was faint.

I looked up. “Fishing, I guess.” She frowned.

“You don’t have any bait, chief.” Say what you want about Moll, she always sees to the heart of things. Whether she means to or not.

“I guess I’m just thinking, then.”

She squatted next to me, hands on her knees. “About what, chief?”

“Things. Life. Nothing in general. Just letting my thoughts wander along with the fish, I suppose. Why?”
She looked at me for a while. I had my suspicions about Moll. I think maybe she knew more than she said. “I was hoping… I could help you catch you something.” Then she fell on me and kissed me.

“Why don’t you change your name?” she asked later.

“Why, you think I should?” I guess there was a little edge in my voice.

“Ya, chief. You could be ‘Patrick’. I think you might be a ‘Patrick’.”

Tell me chief, don’t you want a different name?”
I was 9 again. The golden-eyed Bard held my face in his hand, measuring me for all I was worth, I guess. Try as I might, though, I couldn’t hold his gaze for that long. Not many men could, I’m told. Still… “He has the way of a Bard about him.” Perhaps if he didn’t say that, I might have felt better about the whole thing. But no. Spoiled from the start. “I could, if you like, find fostering for him over in Brittan. My academy always could use a student with his gifts.”

Yeah. Whatever. Go away, Merlin.

“Yes, young Gaedan is rather gifted, Lord Embries.” Fagan. Oh, he was a viper back then as well.

“Gaedan?” Merlin seemed a bit taken aback by that. I’ve heard Merlin had some Celt in him. Maybe he felt a little pecular about Irish names. No doubt Fagan struck the wrong chord in him. Lugh knows he strikes the wrong chord in everyone else. “Tell me boy, don’t you want a different name?” Had I a dagger, I’d have gone for him.

That’s not what he said, of course. But it’s what I heard. And it’s what I’ve heard ever since. Perhaps she didn’t even say it. Maybe she said, “Oh, yes, Patrick is a fine name,” as if she wasn’t talking about someone else while we lay together. Whatever.

I heard what I heard. Let every man with ears hear his own damn thing, it’s what you make of the music that matters, not what the music makes of you.

“… it’s a strong name, or maybe Tedwig, though that’s a Firbolg name, or perhaps … ”

Moll, as you can tell, had a healthy appetite.

It’s the eve of battle.
Tomorrow my warriors and I will defend our lands in this never ending war. We’ll kill them all, or we’ll be killed, and every night it’s like this. Lugh prevent the day when we ever feel this alive again.
And yet we are alive. Look, see, there is Lexinthis, his laugh drowning out the hall, and Kayitlen at his side, holding close to him, sharing with his glee! See how they hold each other, how they live like today is their last. And how all our brave company gathers. I was maybe born for this night, I think. And I smile. There is more sing, after all, and I am not the only Bard that’s lived.

And look! There is Nauc, the unusally boisterous Sylvaan, being taunted by Sonderac, who is teasing him with a torch.

Tomorrow we’ll fight, some of us will die, some of us will live, and we’ll go back to being seperate, the Elves in their lands and us Celts in ours. I’ll probably go back to see my parents in Connla. At times, I envy those that will die tomorrow – they will pass with this night fresh in thier minds.

And since this is the eve of the battle, and since I am a Bard, I am asked to sing…

And sing I did…
As I begin to tune my harp, I wonder, how did I get here? How is it that I was once one of the living dead and now alive, facing death with a smile on my lips?

Ah yes. Her. Well, that is not the story I will tell tonight. Here it begins, however…

“There was, I am told, a family of little means in Connla. It is true, since many families in Connla are of little means. Connla is of little means. This particular family was one of a man named Kelley, and the Kelleys had a problem.

“One day, as they sat to break fast, a rat, one of the largest rats they had ever laid eyes upon entered their house and jumped on their table. The family backed away, as they were in awe of such a large rat, but also scared out of their wits! No sooner had the rat entered and jumped on their table, did it eat all their food and then leave.

“Dinner came and after a hard day of work did Kelley come home and find the rat had just came and left, leaving his family without food for the night. The children’s stomachs grumbled and his wife was near to tears, but all that was cooked and edible was eaten, and the only full belly belonged to the rat.

“‘Lugh help us!’ cried Kelley. ‘We will surely starve to death!’

“The following day, Kelley bought a cat that was known to the people of Connla to be good at catching rats, and took the feline home with him. The cat was of an odd manner, as all cats really are, and it simply sat down by the fire and fell asleep. That night, when dinner was laid out, the rat returned, and finding the newest addition to the family, bristled its back, but made to speak with the cat to see what this curious creature would do.

“‘How goes, friend,’ said the rat in an easy manner. The cat made no reply.

“The rat tried again. ‘I say, how does a curiousity like yourself find itself in this place of all places?’ Still, no answer, but Kelley gave the rat an ominous look as if to warn the rodent of what the cat would do should it not leave.

“Nervous now, the rat backed up from the dozing cat and after a moment of consultation with itself, struck out at the cat, hoping to slay it while it dozed. However, the cat was quick and light of foot, and it dodged the initial attack. The fight was on, and a furious fight it was. However, the cat was beaten by the larger rat, and it slinked off back into Connla to lick his wounds. Woe was the family of Kelley as the rat jumped back on the table and devoured the dinner that had been laid out.

“‘We’re finished now,’ lamented Kelley, ‘That theiving old rat will eat all of our stores and leave us to starve!’

“For three days and nights, the rat returned and claimed the food it felt was owed to him, and yet, there was no sign of the cat. On the fourth morning, however, the cat appeared, and in tow was the largest cat the Kelley family had seen. The first cat resumed its position back by the hearth, but the larger cat settled into a chair back along the shadows. They were fed milk as a token gesture, and the Kelley family prayed mightily that they might be able to stop the rat.

“Breakfast was served, and no sooner did Kelley raise his fork to his mouth did the rat appear, and in seeing the cat back at its place, snickered, and fell in to attack whom it had so easily bested.

“However, when the rat struck, so did the large cat pounce, and the fight was joined yet again, this time with large cat against the rat. The fight lasted all day and into the night, and when the sun set, the large cat finally killed the rat.

“Both cats were given their share of milk for their efforts, they spent the night warm by the hearth, but when morning came, they were gone, never to be seen again.

Let every man with ears to listen, let him hear!” I have sang and will sing no more tonight before this crowd of warriors. “Tomorrow is a day of battle and no more will be said for tonight!”

… to be continued …