Prologue - Introduction
Christians of the North: A Tale of Celtic Christianity
Prologue: They Are Barbarians
***
Little antlered one, little belling one, melodious little bleater, sweet the lowing that you make in the glen. Apple tree, little apple tree, violently everyone shakes you. Rowan, little berried one, lovely is your bloom. Bramble, little humped one, you do not grant fair terms: you do not cease tearing me till you are sated with blood! – Irish Gaelic saying.
The night was calm and deep on the city of Wikon [1]. The skies were dark as the eternal void, and the stars glimmered in the dark sky, providing rays of light in a world consumed by darkness. The full moon gazed on the earth cheerfully watching stragglers and poor travelers using her gaze as their guide towards their destination. But for all intents, the land was calm…..and eerily silent. Only the sound of the crashing waves and the occasional growls of hunting wolves could be heard.
“Don’t go outside into the town and the outskirts.” Mothers and fathers would warn their children with avid seriousness present on their faces. “Carman [2] would love to take you away and use your bodies for nefarious purposes, before happily eating you.” Carman, the witch who walked on earth during the dead of night, alongside her evil sons Dub, Dother and Dain. Blighting crops when they saw them, and killing and eating lonesome children when they could. If you believed rumors, there was more than one Carman and that multiple witches, heretics against God and Christ, were running around the isles eating children aided by their incubus comrades.
Heretics like the witches weren’t uncommon here on the isles. They danced in tune with the old faith, denying the God and his divinely powers, and the eternal truth that Jesus had found. They went around gallivanting off, and came back to kill and bath in the blood of innocents. There were too many of them in the rural areas for good, learned and hardworking Christians to be at ease. These heretical bandits and marauders often had illicit rituals, if rumors were to be believed and gazed upon.
Or, in other words, these heretics were Barbarians.
But barbarians and their problems weren’t knew to the peoples of these islands. The King of Kings hadn’t defeated the Shore Barbarians for nothing had he? Centuries ago, the situation was even more bleak, yet he had stood firm and had seen the enemy destroyed, and the Barbarians defeated. However external barbarians were one thing, but internal barbarians were quite a different matter entirely. Even the King of Kings hadn’t been able to deal with them entirely. Expeditions within the countryside took place often to find these heretics for various purposes. Some tried to persuade them to convert, some tried to plead with them to turn to more moderate aspects of their heretical faiths. Others turned towards war as their speech. Too many farms and forests had been destroyed in such battles, much to the distaste of many in the lands near the Abus River [3], which found itself beset with many such events.
And the stories that men brought back about the heretics were always believable enough, though somewhat fantastical……
“I will tell you a story of the time when I killed a heretical chieftain with my own bare arms! I was rewarded several gold for the act!”
“You should have been with us during that battle! It was as if the heavens parted and angels came down goading us to fight against the heretics who fought against His image and message to us!”
“I swung my sword at the barbarians, thrust it into his guts, and vanquished him!”
But, of course as rumors grew, the tales turned towards the realm of fantasy and disbelief.
“C’mere, my boy. Your pap will tell you about the time I killed a heretic from the north in the highlands! He had five legs and four hands! And their eyes! Ooh! Their eyes!” “Father, it is nighttime. Let me sleep.”
And so the people slept. However as they slept, five ships, bearing the masthead of a dragon appeared on the midnight horizon, gleaming with weapons of war, that certainly meant they weren’t coming for small talk.
***
Sigurd Karlsonn was gleaming with his waraxe in hand and moving it from side to side to make sure he was warmed up. He would not like it if he was injured after the fight. His brother and friends wouldn’t let him live it down later on and would harass him about it for moons to come, if he did. The quaint settlement coming into view belonged to the so-called Sovereign of the Isles, though that made little sense, the last time he had seen a map of these fabled isles, the isles were just as divided as their little fiefdoms that the Jarls liked to call ‘Kingdoms’.
But he had heard rumors when he had gone to the land of the Franks. Rumors that the isles were valuable, and that they held a great secret. What secret, well Sigurd could care less. As long as they had gold, that was all that mattered for the Viking.
As the ships came ashore, he jumped out of the longship, and followed his fellow men and warriors to the small town and started to loot the area. The monastery overlooking the quaint town was looted thoroughly. Sigurd laughed as he took the weird cross from the monastery and saw the priests begging him not to take it, saying “Pennon!” [4] over and over again. Sigurd got the distinct feeling they were asking for him to end their suffering. He did just that.
Soon he managed to drag his loot towards his longship and stuffed himself full of all the riches he could find. As the others returned they decided to leave this admittedly rich place, of peoples who spoke a funny language and of a faith that he seemed to find similar to that of the Franks, but different in many aspects as well.
The one hostage that he intended to enslave looked at him miserably on the way home. Burning with curiosity, Sigurd knelt down and did some things with his hand motioning them in a way that the future slave may understand. Sigurd asked the future slave the name of the isle they had just attacked and sacked.
The slave let out a long suffering sigh, and seemed to have understood the motions and answered “Pritaini.” [5]
Sigurd continued with his questions. His second question was to ask the name of the Kingdom that they had attacked just now. It was never too late to wonder about their enemies after all.
“Teyrnas Albion.” [6]
Huh, that was a funny name.
Sigurd turned back to the disappearing shore line and muttered under his breath. “Teyrnas Albion eh? Well I hope I remember that the next time I come here for gold.”
***
[1] - Bradlington
[2] - Mythological Celtic Witch(es)
[3] - Humber River
[4] - End it!
[5] - Britain
[6] - Kingdom of Albion
***
Prologue: They Are Barbarians
***
Little antlered one, little belling one, melodious little bleater, sweet the lowing that you make in the glen. Apple tree, little apple tree, violently everyone shakes you. Rowan, little berried one, lovely is your bloom. Bramble, little humped one, you do not grant fair terms: you do not cease tearing me till you are sated with blood! – Irish Gaelic saying.
The night was calm and deep on the city of Wikon [1]. The skies were dark as the eternal void, and the stars glimmered in the dark sky, providing rays of light in a world consumed by darkness. The full moon gazed on the earth cheerfully watching stragglers and poor travelers using her gaze as their guide towards their destination. But for all intents, the land was calm…..and eerily silent. Only the sound of the crashing waves and the occasional growls of hunting wolves could be heard.
“Don’t go outside into the town and the outskirts.” Mothers and fathers would warn their children with avid seriousness present on their faces. “Carman [2] would love to take you away and use your bodies for nefarious purposes, before happily eating you.” Carman, the witch who walked on earth during the dead of night, alongside her evil sons Dub, Dother and Dain. Blighting crops when they saw them, and killing and eating lonesome children when they could. If you believed rumors, there was more than one Carman and that multiple witches, heretics against God and Christ, were running around the isles eating children aided by their incubus comrades.
Heretics like the witches weren’t uncommon here on the isles. They danced in tune with the old faith, denying the God and his divinely powers, and the eternal truth that Jesus had found. They went around gallivanting off, and came back to kill and bath in the blood of innocents. There were too many of them in the rural areas for good, learned and hardworking Christians to be at ease. These heretical bandits and marauders often had illicit rituals, if rumors were to be believed and gazed upon.
Or, in other words, these heretics were Barbarians.
But barbarians and their problems weren’t knew to the peoples of these islands. The King of Kings hadn’t defeated the Shore Barbarians for nothing had he? Centuries ago, the situation was even more bleak, yet he had stood firm and had seen the enemy destroyed, and the Barbarians defeated. However external barbarians were one thing, but internal barbarians were quite a different matter entirely. Even the King of Kings hadn’t been able to deal with them entirely. Expeditions within the countryside took place often to find these heretics for various purposes. Some tried to persuade them to convert, some tried to plead with them to turn to more moderate aspects of their heretical faiths. Others turned towards war as their speech. Too many farms and forests had been destroyed in such battles, much to the distaste of many in the lands near the Abus River [3], which found itself beset with many such events.
And the stories that men brought back about the heretics were always believable enough, though somewhat fantastical……
“I will tell you a story of the time when I killed a heretical chieftain with my own bare arms! I was rewarded several gold for the act!”
“You should have been with us during that battle! It was as if the heavens parted and angels came down goading us to fight against the heretics who fought against His image and message to us!”
“I swung my sword at the barbarians, thrust it into his guts, and vanquished him!”
But, of course as rumors grew, the tales turned towards the realm of fantasy and disbelief.
“C’mere, my boy. Your pap will tell you about the time I killed a heretic from the north in the highlands! He had five legs and four hands! And their eyes! Ooh! Their eyes!” “Father, it is nighttime. Let me sleep.”
And so the people slept. However as they slept, five ships, bearing the masthead of a dragon appeared on the midnight horizon, gleaming with weapons of war, that certainly meant they weren’t coming for small talk.
***
Sigurd Karlsonn was gleaming with his waraxe in hand and moving it from side to side to make sure he was warmed up. He would not like it if he was injured after the fight. His brother and friends wouldn’t let him live it down later on and would harass him about it for moons to come, if he did. The quaint settlement coming into view belonged to the so-called Sovereign of the Isles, though that made little sense, the last time he had seen a map of these fabled isles, the isles were just as divided as their little fiefdoms that the Jarls liked to call ‘Kingdoms’.
But he had heard rumors when he had gone to the land of the Franks. Rumors that the isles were valuable, and that they held a great secret. What secret, well Sigurd could care less. As long as they had gold, that was all that mattered for the Viking.
As the ships came ashore, he jumped out of the longship, and followed his fellow men and warriors to the small town and started to loot the area. The monastery overlooking the quaint town was looted thoroughly. Sigurd laughed as he took the weird cross from the monastery and saw the priests begging him not to take it, saying “Pennon!” [4] over and over again. Sigurd got the distinct feeling they were asking for him to end their suffering. He did just that.
Soon he managed to drag his loot towards his longship and stuffed himself full of all the riches he could find. As the others returned they decided to leave this admittedly rich place, of peoples who spoke a funny language and of a faith that he seemed to find similar to that of the Franks, but different in many aspects as well.
The one hostage that he intended to enslave looked at him miserably on the way home. Burning with curiosity, Sigurd knelt down and did some things with his hand motioning them in a way that the future slave may understand. Sigurd asked the future slave the name of the isle they had just attacked and sacked.
The slave let out a long suffering sigh, and seemed to have understood the motions and answered “Pritaini.” [5]
Sigurd continued with his questions. His second question was to ask the name of the Kingdom that they had attacked just now. It was never too late to wonder about their enemies after all.
“Teyrnas Albion.” [6]
Huh, that was a funny name.
Sigurd turned back to the disappearing shore line and muttered under his breath. “Teyrnas Albion eh? Well I hope I remember that the next time I come here for gold.”
***
[1] - Bradlington
[2] - Mythological Celtic Witch(es)
[3] - Humber River
[4] - End it!
[5] - Britain
[6] - Kingdom of Albion
***
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