Persona Stories

This chapter holds the persona stories of the members of the Clann.To fulfill the requirement of TdB membership, you are required to compose a persona story.A helpful guide for persona story creation can be found in a chapter entitled Persona Development in the Tips and HowTos section.

Aonghus na hOrc Mor

Muircheartach Mac Murchadh, like his father before him, was a sea raider (in our tongue, a "scot").While raiding in Albu, his war band set upon a Cruithinach village (some call the Cruithinach "Picts"). The Cruithinach were warned of their approach and matched the Erinach sword for sword, shield for shield, and spear for spear. It was clear that this was to be a fierce battle and no one would escape wounding. Muircheartach, being a clever man, stepped forward and addressed himself to the Cruithin Chieftain but spoke loud enough for all to hear:

"We Erinach, are unafraid to die, and though our wounds will be many, yours will equal ours in number and redness, for every one of us that will not see the morning sun, there shall be one of you. But our deaths bring no profit, our wives shall be carried off, our hearths grow cold, and our children starve. Instead, Grant us this night hospitality, and in the morning send with us these brave men that stand before us. Together, both of our peoples will take from the richest of your enemies, we will face those whom you dared never face before... The choice is yours, O Chieftain, for we will fight and let our women be carried off, let our hearths grow cold, and let our children starve, if only to prove our bravery."

The Cruthin clann had suffered long at the hands of their enemies and wished not to make another one. He also delighted at the chance to break his enemies of their power and seek revenge for many past injuries. Muircheartach and his men were made welcome. As planned, they set out the next morning.

They raided the lowlands, fighting a people who spoke a strange language and had even stranger customs. From these people they carried off gold, silver, and many rare and wondrous goods. The raids were so prosperous and the mood so jubilant, upon their return, the Cruithin granted wives to the unwed Erinach and a pact of friendship was made. To keep this bond strong, the future sons and daughters of some of these unions were promised to be sent back to Albu when they became of age.

Muircheartach himself was unwed and took a Cruithin wife. This amused the Cruthinach considering his words when they first met him. Muircheatach returned to Eriu with his wife as did his men. They lived well with the wealth they had won, and the tales told of battle feats were long counted at the fire.

Muircheartach's wife bore him three sons. One of these sons was Con Mara, and fierce and fiery of temper was he. He and his brothers were all taught the ways of their father... how to handle both sword, and currach. They listened at length to the battle stories of their father with wide eyes and dreamed of the day they too would get the chance to prove themselves in battle.

When the youngest of them became of age, they were sent with the other young wolves of the clann to Albu to claim their wives from the Cruithin. They were received with honor and entertained for three nights. When time came to arrange the marriages, however, the Cruthin chief found it difficult to uphold the pact. The householders would not agree to part with their daughters. The wolves did not bring bride price, thinking themselves exempt on terms of the pact. The Cruithinach protested that the Erinach were rude and ill mannered for neglecting such a basic tenet of honorable conduct and thus not worthy of their daughters.

The Erinach argued that their fathers did not pay bride price, and that the protection that the Cruithinach received was in fact worth a hundred times any bride price. After all, had not they over come their enemies when once they were subject? Did they not now prosper in light of former days? But in truth, the Cruithin suffered many hardships since the great raids of their fathers. They had suffered from the depredations of yet another invasion of their land, and many of their men folk had been killed or taken as slaves. The Cruithinach were unmoved by this argument and said that the fathers of the Erinach did indeed pay bride price with the blood of their enemies, and that the young Erinach must pay something as well.

The wolves, insulted, frustrated, and not wishing to return home empty handed, decided that if it was blood they wanted it would be blood they would get - but it would be Cruithin. The Erinach, shouting of betrayal, pointed their gleaming blue spears and prepared to fight. The Cruithinach prepared themselves as well. But before the first stroke of battle could fall, Donnacha, poet of the Cruithin, stepped between the two hosts and spoke:
Men of Erin,

Kill not these men
take not your wives by force
for she will cook you poison gruel
in your death she'll have divorce

Go to the south,

Find and slay
the men of Rome
for they are despoilers
of our clann and homes

Men of Albu,

should they return
insult avenged
that long has burned
and in this deed
thier wives they earn
These words fell upon the hosts as does the strains of the harp played at slumber. These words were wise, and none disputed the judgment.

The wolves were entertained for three more nights. Then they were provisioned and sent off.Many young Cruithin had joined the war band as well in want of revenge, wealth and glory. It was said that the wheel of war had turned full circle, and it was now time for them to repeat the deeds of their fathers. Con Mara wished to exceed them.

They sailed south along the coast of Albu, traveling by day. They camped along the shore at night and when the plain of Lir grew to angry and when the horses of Manannan thundered too loudly. At the campfires, the Cruithinach told the Erinach the full measure of the pains they had suffered, of the honorless men that inflicted them, and of their want of vengeance. Con Mara's thirst for battle increased, as did many of the Erinachs at the hearing of the foul deeds, and Roman heads were promised as compensation.

After some nights they reached the south lands. They hid their boats and wandered inland. Many villages of this land had little worth taking, and seemed to fair no better than the Cruithins. Deeper inland they traveled, until finally, they reached a village the likes of which none of them had ever seen before. It splendor put a deep hunger on even the most unwanting of men. They camped some distance from the village under the coverage of forest.
sharpen sword
woad skin
cairn pile high
sacrifice for battle luck
on the morrow we may die

Morrigu hear us sing to you
if not victory, glorious death
for never shall we turn to run
whilst our bodies still hold breath

Blow the horn
rattle pointed spears
clash together iron swords

band upon your shields
The Roman warriors answered the call and made a wall of their shields. Con Mara stood forward and offered challenge but was met in the center only by javelins. Surely these were the honorless dogs of Cruithin legend.
Battle cry
Rain of death
Sword bit foeman shield
ravens feast of Roman flesh
spread upon the field
With the Romans defeated, the town was looted and burned. The war chief granted Con Mara the sole rights to the plunder of a wealthy looking villa on the outskirts of the town as compensation for his unmet challenge.

Con Mara and his brothers took some horses and rode out to the villa. They were met by the owner of the villa who stood unafraid before them and spoke to them through a slave interpreter. He said his name was Albanus, he was a retired man of some importance among his people. He asked Con Mara and his brothers to spare his family, that he would freely give anything he had, including his own life, in exchange for their safety.

Con Mara was compassionate, and told Albanus, that not only would he spare his life and family, he would personally guarantee the protection of his daughter, Drusilla. At that he rode off with her along with a sizable dowry and the slave interpreter, but he made sure to leave his most prized severed head for the bride price.

The war band collected itself, returned north, and the warriors claimed their wives. Thus was Con Mara to have two wives, one Roman one Cruithin. For nine days they were feasted and honored, but in that time, Drusilla, being or rare blood and dressed in her Roman finery, caught the eye of a noble Cruithin householder. The noble plotted to seperate Con Mara from his prize. In a night of drunken revelry, the noble asked Con Mara his account of the raid. Con Mara, full of mead, highlighted his tale with his own feats, forgetting the deeds of the householder's kinsmen. The noble quickly claimed that Con Mara had insulted his house and demanded his Roman woman as honor price on behalf of his house.

An uneasy silence quickly befell the revelry and hands slowly moved to their sword hilts in waiting for Con Mara's reaction. Con Mara calmly cleared his throat and spoke:
"I regret having slighted your house's honor, I am full of mead and my mind is not at its best. But I will pay you even better than you demand, I give you my Cruithin woman, for surely her blood is worth ten times that of any Romans."
Outwitted and under the eyes of his chieftain and clan, the noble accepted the offer and the revelry resumed for the evening.

With their welcome strained and not wishing for more incident, The Erinach returned home. In time Drusilla bore Con Mara a son. He was given the name Ronan ("little seal") for he was to be of the sea as his father and fathers before him. As Ronan grew, he was taught the ways of the sea, how to handle a sword, and also some of the language of his mother's people. It became clear however that Ronan would make only an average sailor, though he was quite good at the fidchell board. When he had seen ten winters it was decided that he would be sent to Albu to be fostered by Donnacha, the poet of the Cruithin.

In Albu, Ronan was taught the Oghams and the Druidic arts. He made a good, but impatient student. He often became bored with the tedious training and Donnacha would ask the same dull question over and over. Ronan in response, hacked the answer in ogham in a javelin pole and hurled it so that it struck the tree besides the poet. Donnacha then said to Ronan:
"You may be called "little seal" but you answer with a unique vigor - and that of a wild boar!"
Thus did Ronan drop his childhood name. When he earned the bronze branch he returned to his clann in Eriu.

I am Aonghus na hOrc Mor, the son of Con Mara, grandson of Muircheartach Mac Murchadh of the Tuatha de Bhriain. I have served my clann as poet when wise Falgon was chieftain. I was made chieftain after him and led my clann in battle and war. When I retired and went to the forest for solitude, still I was council to fierce Monlia when he was chieftain. And now I serve my clann as chieftain as once I did before.

Bragg MacMorrichai

As per the requirements of Clann Law, I am publishing my Persona story for perusal. While it may not have the historical elements of some others, I hope that I have captured my path to becoming a part of this group and it will be acceptable.

My name is Bragg, Bragg MacMorrichai. I have no lineage, no idea what that means, other that it

As a child we were always moving, ahead or behind of whatever the current threat was. I remember fond days. A Grandmother, a Grandfather. I mostly remember running and fighting. As the years went by, I became a warrior, a mercenary. There was always gold to be had, for one cause or another, I became good at getting the gold.

I grew tired of combat...a Lady, one whom I had served, while on the edge of the Pictish lands and Alba, Christianna MacGrainne needed assistance with a merchanting endevour.A great gathering of armies was to occur and as my former comrades in arms the Preachaini and Bastarnae were moving to this gathering, I was confident that the possibility of profit and spoils were high. A mercenary band of which I had many friends provided me a spot to sleep, but as night fell,and my mercantile duties were fullfilled,I found myself wandering into a deep,dark, wonderous area south of the main battle. An area the denizens of this place called "The Bog" A particularly hospitable, rowdy group invited me into thier camp.

Oh, the fun we had.I was pleased to find many of my Preachainni and Bastarnae friends there.We gambled, there was music,food and wonderful drink. At the end of this campaign, I made a vow to journey north and join these fine folk for the Samhain celebration.

I made that journey, and found my home. Comyn and Sabha and thier lovely daughters ,gave me shelter and food. The entire clan provided for me during the Samhain celebration and made me feel one of thier own,

Many campaign seasons followed and my bond with the Tuatha grew. And then one year, I met and fell in love with a lovrly Lady from the Northern Reaches.Her Stead was not far from the land of the Bhriain, so I gathered my meager belongings aand headed North.I was able now to travel to the ritual events of Beltaine, Samhain and Imbolc . My feeling of kinship with the Bhriain grew with each year.

Finally, I could no longer stand being merely a friend of the Clann. I approached Brogan in his tent and said: "This is my home. I want to be a part of this Clann" He agreed this was a good thing, and approached the gathered Tuatha and presented my request to be a full Brother, Warrior, a member of the Clann.

Unfortunately, I had a weregild on my head. As my Lady I were trying to establish a new steading,it took many months for me to craft the bed that would release me from this . The journey was long and winding, but we finally made it and I was able to finish the bed that I was required to make. We have secured our holdings, I am once again a warrior, employed by the Preachanni and my weregild has been fullfilled, I want to come home


Brogan was always too adventurous for his own good. Even as an infant if something was interesting to him he would crawl right over to investigate. This behavior often has gotten him in considerable trouble. On one such occasion he stowed away on a boat full of Jute warriors bound for England. Separated from his tribesmen not long after landing, Brogan was discovered by a Briton warrior and used as slave. He managed to escape a year later when his captors were careless after a victory celebration of some minor battle.

The boy then made his way across the sea to Ireland. He wandered around for a time surviving on what he could find. A Celtic woman on her way back home from trading with a neighboring Clan found him. The Weeks of wondering made him look more like a Bog beast than a boy and the woman almost killed him for he frightened her so much. After he told her his tale of hardship she took pity on him and was taken into fosterage with her clan Tuatha De Brian.

The kind woman was the baker's wife and he was put to work learning to cook and the trade of baking. The Lad was a fast learner and skilled, but when his tasks became boring to him he became mischievous. He was caught baking bread in rude shapes and filled pastries with lard instead of honey. This taxed the patience of the baker and Brogan was sent to the brewer to complete his fosterage.

Under the Brewer he learned how to make beer, wine and Mead. He was ordered to make a batch of ale for one of the clan nobles. This happened to be the Noble who years before insulted Brogan's former foster parents for taking him in. Remembering this, the thought of doing anything for this Nobel was very distasteful. To make the task more agreeable he sampled a bit of aged mead he was saving. He sampled a bit too much of his previous work and ended up fermenting the Nobel's ale with a load of old boots and dirty linens. The angered Brewer sent him to the Leather-smith to be rid of his wild antics.

There he learned the working of leather and again he learned fast and earned much praise for his beautiful work. But again when the tasks became easy he became playful. The leather-smith not having a sense of humor sent him to the carpenter. Upon learning the working of wood, the carpenter sent him to the blacksmith having experienced the trouble Brogan could cause when he became board.

The Blacksmith taught him the secrets of working metal and yet again Brogan excelled in his studies. He could not escape his mischievous behavior and was sent to a Druid who shared with him the knowledge of healing. The now young man was then fostered to a warrior after an insedent involving herbs that have a laxative effect and a Noble's horse.

The warrior taught the Brogan discipline and the use of weaponry. As before Brogan learned quickly. The use of weapons came easily. The lessons of discipline took much longer. A day came when he settled down and was in control over his mischievous side. The others in the clan eventually forgave his youthful indegressions and he was given the choice to stay and marry or to seek his future elsewhere.

As much as Brogan appreciated his foster clan for their kindness and tolerance, he decided to meet destiny amongst the hills and vallys of this land. Befor leaving he made gifts for those he was fostered to in farewell; An oven for the Baker, Bottles of fine Mead and ale for the brewer, Belts and a quiver for the leather smith, baskets of picked herbs for the Druid and a sword for the warrior. He left with an open invitation to return when and if he would.

A year or so later wile wandering the hills he came upon a wounded warrior of Tuatha De Bhriain. Using the skills taught to him by the Druid, he healed him and he was escorted to the village by the warrior and was welcomed to stay. The Chieftain offered to make him a full member of his adopted clan. Brogan was honored by this offer but declined, he wanted to be sure his wandering was over and that the rest of the clan was ready to accept him as one of their own. He gave his apologies and left with a heavy heart. Two more years of wandering finally led him back to Thatha De Bhriain. He knew now he was ready to devote his various talents and skills for the good of his fellow clansmen. Brogan was welcomed and was adopted as a full member of the clan Tuatha De Bhriain.

Cailin Mac Borugh

Cailin was born on an island in a far off sea. Her father was a wealthy copper merchant who traded his wares by a small fleet of boats. Cailin often accompanied her father on his ship voyages between trading posts.

On one of these voyages, her fathers boats were attcked by pirates. Many of her father's ships were overcome and almost all was lost. However, a few barbarian's who were hired by the merchant as guards defended the merchant's own boat, fighting corageously and saving the lives of Cailin and her father.

One of these of "barbarians" was Mainlia. Cailin was captivated by his courage, heroism, fair skin and red hair. She returned with Mainlia to his native land and married him. Cailin's name in her native tounge was too difficult for most people to say, so that is why we simply call her "woman".

Cailin has served the clan as Statchiste.


The extreme past for Colin was a cloudy one. His earliest memory is of his old friend Murrough O'Connor. Murrough had found a clan of folk that treated him as if he were one of their own. Murrough's excitement over his encounter with the Tuatha de Bhriain led him to bring his life friend Colin to join in the clan experience. Colin, always confused on where to hang his kilt, felt that he had finally found a home.

For a while, Colin was quite happy and the Tuatha de Bhriain grew to be a great clan with a great big top hall for all to come and enjoy concerts, feasts, and ceremonies. This went on for a few years, until, ironically, when the big top came down, so did this chapter in Colin's and the clan's history.

Colin's old restless spirit and the call of loyalty to his fried Murrough, caused Colin to leave the Tuatha de Bhriain for foreign experiences amongst a traveling group of former Bhriains.

However, after a time abroad, Colin made his way back to the Tuatha de Bhriain to find the clan still a strong and happy place. The clan welcomed him back and decided it was time to settle in. Colin realized he had found his home after all.

Comyn MacFearghus

Summary: When I was young I traveled to Cymru to live with my relations who were mainly coal and iron miners. However, Fearghus, my father, had made a friendship with a very special man there years before and it was arranged that I should be fostered to him. There I learned the harp and the histories. I came of age in the reign of Domhnaill.

My father's father, Curaidh, spent his days on the sea, trading along the coasts and with the mainland as captain of his own vessel. Our family had relations in Cymru and it was told to me as a child that Curaidh was related somehow to a great king of Cymru, and went with him to unite the clans on the continent. Fearghus was too young to join the expidition, but when Curaidh returned, or rather, when what was left of him returned, for he had lost a leg and several fingers, the story was soon told to Fearghus that his father had personally slain 15 men in a single melee before he was struck down by a warrior men called Skwalos with his white handled weapon. When Curaidh was carried back to our household, everyone rejoiced. It is said that a leg of wood was fashioned for him by a craftsman and that it was made with such fine skill that it could not be told from a real leg. When Curaidh recovered he gathered a crew and put to sea to hunt for the white Skwalos.

Fearghus was born into the prosperous household of Curaidh. Trading with other clans and with the Romans when possible had always been profitable for our family. Before he came of age, Curaidh went away on his great expidition and although Fearghus knew how to handle a boat, he was not destined to be a ship's captain. In his father's absence, he was taught the business of mining by one of his father's brothers, Aillil. Aillil had made a fine living mining lead and trading it to the Romans in Cymru. (When Curaidh could venture the trip). He once confided to my father that he used only Roman slaves to actually dig the lead as he believed it to be cursed. Apparently, all of those that dug in the mines became very ill and eventually went mad. We know today that the mine was actually an entrance to the otherworld and that the madness was due to constant contact with the dead, but Aillil was not schooled in the Druidic arts and had no way to know this. When Curaidh returned, Fearghus began to sail with him to conduct trades in Cymru. It became necessary to paint the sails of the ship blue and to dress in blue clothing to avoid being espied by pirates that began to become more prevalent on the open seas at this time. As Fearghus began to establish himself, he realized he needed a wife to do about the house for him, so he took Suanach who bore him a daughter, Nieve, then two sickly boys, then my older half-brother Connall. Nieve was lucky enough to be married into the house of Bhriain before Suanach died. Fearghus aged and needed another wife, so an arrangement was reached with our Welsh relations who sent Faichad unto him. She bore him 3 daughters and a son, Comyn.

Conall mac Fearghus, was lucky enough to know our father's father and he was taught by him to be well learned in the art of war. Conall often reminded me of this fact and not always through eloquent speech alone. Conall went on many raids, he even went a-scotting in the time of ConMara! He was also taught to tinker metals and sail on the sea though never practiced either with as much persistence as he trained for battle. He was a fine man as ever there was and men sent their sons to him to be fostered from far and wide to be trained with the sling, axe and sword. As our father Fearghus aged, it became apparent that Conall would succeed him as head of the household, after all, Conall was very brave and had many fine heads. One, preserved in a gilded box and covered (usually) with a fine cloth was rumored to be that of a great warrior of Connacht whose deeds were remembered by the Bards and sung at the great assemblies (always with the addendum that Conall had slain him fairly in single combat as the climactic event) I never paid much attention to Conall's boasts unless he happened to be holding me in his soon to become legendary "death grip" and then his words would take on a sort of eerie otherworldly importance. (It was important because I felt I was getting very close to going to that other world). There was bound to be not much left in the household of Fearghus for Comyn! When Faichad died, Fearghus was still living and he promptly took another wife for fear he would not live long enough to enjoy one if he wasted much time. She was the death of him in their wedding bed.

As I, Comyn, had shown no sign of becoming a great warrior and as I had expressed only a little interest in smith-craft and even less in sailing, it seemed there was no place for me near the family mines. Besides, the lead trade had soured ever since Connall's raids and trading was now mainly between the clans along the Shannon. This proved less risky but less profitable as well. There simply wasn't much room for another man in the family trade. Under Connall's direction, I traveled to Cymru to live with my relations who were mainly coal and iron miners. However, Fearghus had made a friendship with a very special man there years before and it was arranged that I should be fostered to him. There I learned the harp and some histories. I came of age in the reign of Domhnaill and having heard no word from any of my family for 2 years, I made the trip back to the homestead only to find it a devastated ruin. I weeped and went in search of the survivors of what seemed to have been a catastophic raid on my clan.
Long was I wand'ring the land far and wide
through valleys and forests far from my home
with my harp for companion and the stars for my guide
till near to the people of Bhriain I roamed
Most of my relatives perished in the great raid as well as Domhnaill our Chieftain. Falgon, who had once been fostered to Connall was named Comhlaire at that time. I have served the Clann as Bard and studied under Echu in the Druid college to serve the Clann as Druid in the reign of Aonghus.


Cymrot is from a far off land to the east, beyond the great river that marks the edge of Gaul. His people lived very much the same as we do.

When Cymrot was a young man his village and tribe were over run by invaders who live close to the birthplace of the sun. These invaders were strange and savage. They raised Cymrot's village and took many of his tribe as slaves, leaving ashes and cinders in their wake. But more than this, they also left hunger, sickness and disease.

As one of the few surviving healthy men, Cymrot went south to the lands of great riches in order to find and bring back the secret of healing to his people. Cymrot sought many healers out but none had heard of the sickness Cymrot's people were suffering from and only sought to relive Cymrot of what little silver he had.

Cymrot learned however that to the west were even greater cities, built by great men. He thought that such a place would also have great healers as well. With no money left, he had only his sword and service to barter with and hired on as a guard for a merchant vessel who traded copper between the lands of the east and west across the great inland sea.

On this vessel, Cymrot met another guard who seemed just as as alien to these parts, but vaguely familiar in mannerism. This guard's name was Mainlia. Cymrot told Mainlia of his quest. Mainlia related to Cymrot stories of his homeland, a green island on the edge of the world where wise men called Druids had a cure for most everything.

Cymrot accompanied Mainlia to this island to learn the healing arts from these wise men. Cymrot was accepted by our clan as he proved to be a great warrior and was always willing to lend a hand when it came to raiding or fending off rival clans and brigands.

Cymrot has served the clan as Druid and has since returned to his native lands.


I was born in a small Saxon village where I lived happily for my earliest childhood years. Then, one day, when I was still a very small child, my village was raided by a group of Celts. My parents, and almost everyone I knew were slaughtered. Myself and several other young children were taken into captivity by the Celts. From this early age, I was used as a slave laborer. Many of the other children did not survive.

As I grew older, I became more trusted by my captors. Some of my fellow slaves did not understand this. They were continually defiant to our captors, and were often punished. I tried to tell them to be patient, and bide our time, but they paid me no heed. Eventually, insubordination cost every one of them their lives, in very unpleasant ways. But I knew how to please my masters by being obedient. They thought that I had learned from the examples of the others. But my hatred of them grew everyday.

By the time I was a young man, I enjoyed some degree of freedom, but I never tried to escape, because I had nowhere to go. I would not even have known how to get back to Saxon territories, and even if I did, I would be a complete stranger. By this point I only knew the Celtic way of life and would feel alien in any other culture. I had not given up all hope, however. I was aware that the particular Tuatha that held me prisoner all these years had many enemies among other Celtic Tuatha’s. I knew that I was living amongst the most slimy, dishonorable group of Celts in all of the world. They brought such disgrace to the Celtic name, that I will not even mention the name of their wretched Tuatha in this story, but anyone who knows our great history will undoubtedly know of whom I speak.

One day, in my early manhood, the opportunity I had been waiting for finally arrived. Trouble had been brewing between my captors and the nearby Tuatha de Bhriain. It was thought that a battle would occur soon. I was sent out as a lackey on a scouting party attempting to find out where the Bhriain forces may be. There were only two men with me, and I was in charge of all of the supplies for the journey.

On the third day of our mission, we spotted a group of Bhriain warriors. We observed them from hidden positions. My masters planned to observe their movements for a couple of days and then report back to the Clan as to where they were likely to be met in battle. But this was my great opportunity. During the first night, I waited until my masters were asleep, and I quietly slaughtered the two of them. I then took the biggest risk of my life, and approached the Bhriain encampment alone and unarmed at night.

I was able to convince the guards on watch not to kill me and to hear my story. In the morning, I took the warriors out to see the bodies I had left in the woods to prove that my story was true. I proposed that I could return to my captors and claim that the Bhriain had discovered our party and that I alone was able to escape. I could then give misleading information to the Clan leaders as to the positions of the Bhriain warriors. This would lead my captors into an ambush as well as leaving the village virtually defenseless when the warriors left.

As a result, the Bhriain’s were able to send two mighty forces out, one to ambush and slaughter the misled warriors, and another to raid the defenseless village to crush my masters once and for all and take their wealth. It was a glorious victory for the Thuatha de Bhriain, and indeed for all decent Celtfolk.

Because of my aid in this victory, I was allowed to come and live as a free man amongst the good people of the Tuatha de Bhriain. Eventually, I formed very good friendships and was taken in as a full member of this wonderful Clan, which I shall always call my home.

Thus, I am Eberwolf, the Saxon, who is one with the Celts of Bhriain.

Elysia Fionn

The Song of Elysia Fionn

T'was a land where the mists lay like blankets of wool
At the feet of cold mountains of stone
T'was a land where the summer rain courted the sun
T'was the home of Elysia Fionn

Born to a woman with hair of spun gold
Born to a black-haired man,
Elysia Fionn knew the sea as her kin,
The Tuatha de Bhriain her clann

At the ocean's extreme she called to the horses
That waved their wild manes in the wind
And though they were naught but salt water and foam
She communed with them time and again

At dusk she would wander the darkening wood
Gleaning the secrets of trees
When the sun showed his face, she laid down her head
And in dreams found her solace and ease

On waking, her fingers found myriad ways
To spell out the magicks she learned
The strings of the harp sang her mystical songs
Her needle and thread flashed and turned

Pentacle, circle, new moon and full,
Knotwork, spiral and triskele
All bloomed together on fine linen snow
In colors of blood, gold and thistle

Her hands were not smooth, nor pampered nor fine
They knew well the work of the field
The axe and the hammer, the sickle and plow
These she used to bring earth's fruitful yield

Her sisters were proper, did as they were told
And stayed home to cook, wash and spin
But Elysia went hunting and fishing instead
Naught that any could say kept her in

When no one was watching, she bound her long hair
Wrapped her womanly curves flat and tight
Then she rode with the warriors thru stream and o'er field
And learned the fine art of the fight

Then, weary and bruised with the day's long toil,
Full streaked with her own red blood
She rode to the sea and stripped bare as a babe
And plunged herself into the flood.

The salt stung her wounds but she laughed at the pain
Her voice charmed the silky black seals
With bottomless eyes they watched from afar
As the sea her white body did heal

Men they did court her and tried her to tame
She kindly but firmly resisted
She loved them and left them alone once again
The more quickly the more they insisted

Her family despaired that she ever would wed
Said she'd end up a crone or a beggar
But up her long sleeves she'd a secret to keep:
Her one true love, Dairchan MacGregor

Dairchan, the friend of her childhood days,
Adventures and games with her shared
And as they grew older, so grew their deep bond
And a love with which nothing compared

One night, when the moon kissed a looking-glass sea
He'd set off to seek his own fate
But first he had held her and vowed to return
And in turn she had promised to wait

As time crawled by like the growing of moss
In a shady, damp crevice of stone,
Elysia was seen less and less in the town
More and more she went wand'ring alone

'Til one day, when she woke in the dark before dawn
And threw a wool wrap 'round her shoulders
Her footsteps went silently where they were drawn -
To the sea, 'mid the beetling boulders

She sat on a great stone, and while the mist cleared
She sang a song into the gale
The sun touched her face and she lifted her eyes
To the black silhouette of a sail

She stood like a statue at water's rough edge
As the vessel made way to the shore
Soon the shouts of the sailors cut through the salt air
As they dropped sail and lifted their oars

His hair whipped like flags 'round his laughing brown eyes
A beard hid the cleft in his chin
He stood on the bow and kept watch on the shore
When he saw her, he started to grin

And, smiling, they stood on the day they were wed
Surrounded by family and friends
Elysia Fionn and her Dairchan MacGregor
Began life where this story ends.


I was born in a small village in Earra Ghaidheal (Argyll) in what is today known as Scotland. My kin were constantly harassed by the Picts when they settled in this area, so they quickly became skilled fighters. My father was a brewer and he made sure that I learned his trade, but as he was not a warrior, I never learned the fighting arts. My mother died in childbirth, leaving me as an only child, but I was very close with her brother and he taught me the basic skills of leatherwork that I have today.

As a child, my father fostered me to the Tuatha de Bhrian, as he had some dealings with them in the past and was impressed by both their skills as craftspeople and by their hospitality. I spent a number of good years with Tuatha de Bhrian, where I honed my skills in leatherwork and found that I had a natural talent for brewing.

Finally, the day came when it was time to return to my homeland, so I bid my friends at Tuatha de Bhrian goodbye and made my way back to Earra Ghaidheal.

Unfortunately, when I got back I found that the Roman's, who called us "The Scotti," had attacked my people and slaughtered them almost to a man. I only escaped their fate because I was not around when the battle took place. As I walked through the remains of my village I came across the bodies of many of my kinsmen, but being good fighters themselves, there were a fair number of Roman dead as well. I stripped the armor and weapons from one of the dead Roman soldiers and after burying my father, decided to set out on my own.

I wandered for about a year, living off the land and by doing small tasks at various villages that I passed through.

Finally, I got tired of this nomadic lifestyle, and I made my way back to the lands of the Tuatha de Bhrian, where I was once again welcomed and shown the hospitality that they are famous for. In addition to constantly expanding my skills as a brewer, I am also now being taught to properly use the armor and weapons that I had been carrying around with me for the past year.
Etymology of the name Faellon

Ollie Phelan sent a message to the Clann:

Hello ,
Im from Dublin .
Im justcurious where the name "Faellon" came from ? (one of your members) My brother studied "sean / midhe and nua gaelige" (old middle and modern irish ) and has an MA in Celtic studies from NUIUniversity Maynooth (Eire) There is possibly a connection between his name and my own.If it comes from "Phelan " / Whelan " or Feeney , then he might be interested to knowits etymology ?

To which Faellon responded:

The name Faellon that I use as my persona name in Tuatha de Bhriain translates to wolf, or little wolf in Gaelic and was the reason that I chose it.

Ollie replied with this:

More specifically"wolverine "or"wolfhead" .
I was thinking youd say "seagull"

"Wolfhead "was a term used across Ireland and Britain to describe a member of the Fianna( "Fian"means wild ). The equivalent in Britain , astold in legend isRobin Hood (+merry men ). He was called "Wolfhead" by his enemies In Francethey developed into the Ribauds and Routiers . Oisin and Fionn mac Cumhaill would have been "wolfhead" also.

The legends of the Fianna / Oisin etc are romanticised and christianised .
The reality was a bit more messy and HIGHLY violent .

The same thing happens in most early cultures (I wouldnt be suprised if the american indians had a form of it ) Male children were not entitled to their heritage before 21 (or thereabouts). So, just like in modern times they became a bit rebellious , left home and formed into loose gangs with other youngersters. Especiallymales of noble birth. They'd basically go rampaginging around fighting / pillaging and looking for trouble. Often nobles or kings would send their children into foster care in a different country to prevent it happening (like Cu Chulainns son , and King Clovis in Clonmacnoise) When there was a threat to the country , or any large dispute , theyd be a ready made army. At21years of age theyd return home to claim their inheritance.

There were several"petty kings" around the 7th and 8 th century called Faelaen.

Falgon Ui Domhnaill

I was born Falcanta, though most know me simply as "Falgon". I am the son of Diarmuid mac Domhnaill of clann Tuatha De Bhrian and his favorite wife, Sabha.

I was fostered to Conall mac Fearghus, a noble of the clan.

During these years, I spent as much time as I could fraternizing with the druids, drinking mead, and eating porridge. I did not think much of fighting or of the champions' portion. I was more interested in the revels, the songs of the bards, druidic ceremonies, and the sagas and history of the filidh.

Reaching the age of 17, I returned to my father, Diarmuid, and received my arms.

On the eastern bank of the Siannon river, a rival clan was raiding our cattle and a fierce bloody battle erupted. There was much devastation and destruction. The Siannon ran red with the blood of our enemies.

Many wounds were sewn, but our chieftain suffered a mortal blow, and had it not been for the battle savagery of Sil, my brother, I would have followed my chieftain to Tir na nOg.

After the battle, an assembly was held to elect a new chieftain. Because I had spent so much time amongst the druids and was always a close council to the former chief, it was believed I had inherited much wisdom. The clann felt that such a pious chieftain would bring the favor of the Gods.

I was chosen chieftain and inaugerated atop the dolem of the clann's past chieftain without challenge.

I realized that my lack of marshall prowess would be dangerous for the clann, therefore, I named Sil as my striker.

I served as chief for 3 years. I had grown weary of the tedium that was the chieftaincy. I decided I once more wanted to be close to the druids. I retired from chief and became File of the clann for 2 years. Then I retired completely from serving the clann, and sought the comfort of a full mead horn. But always I have been there to give council and lend a hand wherever one was needed and shall continue to do so for the rest of my days.


Fiachra was born in a small tuath on one of the islands of the Eoganacht Arann, off the western coast of Eirinn.His father, Donal, was a fisherman, but Fiachra showed little interest in the sea, preferring to spend his days with the poet and historian of the village, learning the tales of the gods and the names of his ancestors back to their coming to Eirinn from what later became the Roman province of Hispania.He also helped the few farmers of the tuath till the rocky soil of the island, and haul seaweed from the shore to fertilize the soil.

One day, the followers of the accursed Padraig arrived on the island to proselytize for their dead god.The people of the tuath were told that if they did not convert to this strange new faith, and forswear their gods, their homes would be burnt, and they would be sent to the mainland to become mug, or slaves.The clansmen knew that the Ri of Connachta had already converted to this new faith, so they did what they priests told them to do.They toppled the standing stones where the tuath had worshipped the gods from time immemorial, and built a “church” on the site.The tuath was made to give a tenth of all its produce and fisheries to the lazy priest who did no work other than to hear the clansmen tell him their “sins” and beg forgiveness of the dead god.

Fiachra bided his time, but he swore that he would never give faith to the false god of the Christians.The priest taught Fiachra from his Latin “books.”Fiachra learned to read and write, but vowed to some day use this knowledge to preserve the ancient lore of the Gael.

A few years later, on the sacred night of Samhain, when the priest told the clansmen to hide in their homes lest the “devil” take their souls, he set fire to the church of the Christians, and it burned to the ground.But he was caught by the accursed priest, who ordered the clansmen to tie him hand and foot and set him adrift in a curragh.After drifting for many days and nights, and nearly dying of thirst, he was luckily rescued by Eberwulf, a Saxon who had joined with the Tuatha de Bhriain some years back, and was on a journey to bring his bride back to Eirinn from Saxony.

The Tuatha de Bhriain, who had also sworn never to abandon their ancient allegiance to the great god Dagda, took Fiachra in as a deor fuidir.Fiachra has spent the years since then recording the stories and legends of the Tuatha de Bhiain, so they will never be forgotten, even when the Christians have destroyed all that is left of the old lore of the Gael.


Momus was born into the house of the clan's tanner and leather worker. While growing up he showed little interest in martial pursuits. He excelled in verbal creativity but lacked interest in the the strucured training and discipline of the poets, prefering more fluid forms of entertainment.

He was fostered to the clan brewer and learned the craft well. His mead was popular amongst the bards and he spent much time in their company.

Momus has served the clan as Brughiean.

Sil Ui Domhnaill

Sil was born into Tuatha de Bhriain as the son of Dairmuid Mac Domhnaill and his wife Banva. He was fostered to Echu the druid.

The life of a druid did not interest Sil and as a result he found his rump under the hazel rod more often than the other accolytes. As he grew older, he planned to run away, though it would bring dishonor upon his name. One day, Sil overheard of a raiding expedition. This was his chance. He stole away from the druid and stole his torc as well. He hid in the rocks by the beach, waiting for the rovers to depart. As the men were pushing out to sea, Sil ran and jumped aboard. The warriors asked him his business and Sil told of his plight. The men were impressed with Sil. They thought it a waste for anyone with a warrior's heart to spend his youth as a druid's accolyte.

Though Sil was young, Crimmal, the captain, remembered the boy deeds of Cuchulainn and regarded Sil as a bringer of luck and fortune. The band harried the coast of Britain, winning many rare and exotic treasures. Sil attended to many warrior tasks. He mended shields, sharpened swords, and hewed javelin poles. The warriors rewared his spirit by teaching him their favorite fighting tricks and how to fight with deadly rage. At fourteen, Sill had killed three men and had a share in the spoils. On returning home, Dairmuid was told of his son's deeds and Sil was received with honor. He remained in fosterage for his last three years with Crimmal the captain. Since his coming to manhood, he has claimed the champions' portion more than once.

Valerian Ni Miach

Brusanta was fostered to the Tuatha de Bhriain by her mother Grainne. Not much is known about her father, Miach. He was at war and she was fostered in his absence. He, like Brusanta's mother and all their clann are believed dead. Their clann was probably overrun by the very clann that Miach had gone off to war against.

With all her people dead, Brusanta, chose to stay with the clann of her foster parents, the Tuatha de Bhriain. Brusanta's foster parents were one of the clann's warriors and his wife. She was taught to weave by the woman as most young girls and was taught how to handle a knife by her foster father. Being the wife of a battle scared warrior, Brusanta's foster mother also taught her the knowledge of herbs and their medicinal value. Brusanta's learning in this area was so keen, she was renamed after a useful herb....Valerian.


Volund's birth name was Buadach, the son of a brewer. He was to be fostered by the smith of the clan, but in the horrible raid upon the clan in which we lost our chieftain Domhnaill, the smith was killed, the forge raided and burnt to the ground.

Buadach was sent to Britain, the land of his mother, to learn the craft from her people. A Saxon slave, impressed with Buadach's skill and the quality of work names him "Volund". The smith, being a rather crude and brutish man, was without a wife and tasked Volund to various kitchen duties as well. Volund became master of both the forge fire and the cooking fire.

Volund has served the clan as both a Brughiean and as Druid.