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We are now into the Epilogues of The Human Race.
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He came home by Waterjumping, unsurprisingly, for that was how his Lived-Line tied in. He and his lady came up out of the surf, black and white together, and set foot on the sandy shore near Limerick, a mere small strip of sand and pebbles upon the River Shannon.
Two hundred yards in that direction his parents and little sister could smile in rest... or perhaps they’d been whisked away with the Shroud, and the Lady Traveler was fighting to one day free them.
Or mayhap they were truly and wholly one with the Land.
One day, when his obligations here was done, aye, he’d follow Lady Traveler, for there were plenty of Irish in that cloud, and bastards or angels, they’d not deserved to be caught in it, either.
He set his foot on the shore, and knew something had changed instantly.
“Ye know I’m home,” he said softly, as if greeting an old friend, and paid no mind to the flowers and vines that sprouted about his feet as he moved on. Amaretta followed silently, both awed and amused at the simple show of the Land’s favor upon her man. She could almost feel the Mantle coming down upon them.
His steps were unerring as he came up the hill off the river, turned down the road, and walked towards the ruins there in the distance. Flowers lined his wake, even on the old road, as Amaretta glided as silently as a ghost after him.
“We did it, old girl. We broke that Shroud over our knee and chased it off. All the world knows who the Blood of the Irish are now.” He spread his arms and looked at the midnight sky and stars with the cottony clouds, letting the moonlight shine down upon his face. “Aye, I know ye don’t remember, but it’s been nigh eighty trips around the sun since ye last woke. The world has changed, as ye can tell.
“Dinnae worry, old girl, I’ll tell ye all about it, and the things what come to pass.
“A moment, if ye will. Let me breathe yer air, and feel the moon. It’s been too long since I could enjoy ye like this. The rest o’ the kids will be back soon enough, the Blood of the Irish true, come back to take care of ye.”
The Morningsuns and Mr. Burble were arranging that trip along Sleipner’s Lived-Line, although they’d be returning to Limerick proper, not here.
He felt the shift as the Teleportation Ritual went off, and following the Unicorn Motorcycle’s travels, the entirety of the thousands of the Irish who had managed to muster together over the course of an exhausted day and night and day returned late to the sweet green of the Emerald Isle.
There was a rousing cheer as they materialized in the field set aside for them, hundreds of thousands of Irish come to greet them in whatever manner they could from the countryside, even with none of the cars working anymore.
With the Powered and lightfoot, they’d all be home quick enough to see their own.
His steps took him into that private land, the overgrown clearing, and the gravestones that had already grown over with vines... and flowers, planted there some time ago by his own hand, to give whatever was left of his family something to keep them happy under the moon.
It was a cold and should have been a wet March day, but this day and the last had been warm and mild, as if the whole world was preparing to rebalance what the Shroud had done to the weather.
There were storms of many kinds in the near future, he was sure.
“Mamai, Auld Man, Little Scamp,” he sighed, kneeling down to them. “I did it. I went with the crazy Jesus girl and we did save the world. The Land, She’s awake now, and looking at all the world in wonder and interest, and seeing what’s to be seen.
“She heard and She felt, and She saw, the Land did, and She’s made Her choice.
“Ye watch now. Watch yer fool of a boy, gone off to play noble hero, be a bigger fool yet. Ye always told me that nobles are fools, and kings, why, kings are the greatest of fools.
“I’ll not disappoint ye, Auld Man. I’ma be a great fool, indeed, just you watch.”
He sighed deep, and breathed in the white roses that had bloomed out of season, a soft and delicate tribute in this place of death.
At last he straightened, but he did not turn around or away, but the demeanor of a son come to pay his respects lifted, and something far stronger came down.
From within his vest, he drew out a plaque of plain grey granite, and held it forth as a simple stand of stone Shaped itself up out of the soil to receive it, and he set it thereon, before the graves of his family. Fine words were scrawled across it with impeccable craftmanship.
“I hae nay great Constitution like the folk across the pond. Mayhap the Irish will be able to write such a grand thing someday, but for now, I have only my promises to ye, the Land, and to yer people. I leave them here for ye to see and remind me of if I stray, before those I loved most of yer soil.”
White roses rose from the soil, twined about the stand, and grew up to the stone plaque glowing there, shining in the faint light.
Acknowledgement by the Land.
“I be needing to speak to the people of the Land, born of yer soil,” he said to nobody, and something thrummed in the sky and the earth. He looked up at the stars of the early evening, saw the magical Lights in the distance that at least could hold back the night from the people.
It was a return to the old ways, but the old ways had naught of magic. The old ways would become a different set of new ways soon enough.
“This is Mickal Geoffery McCallister, whom most call The Mick.”
---
Startled heads turned as the quiet, serious voice spoke into every ear upon the Emerald Isle, waking up sleepers, stopping conversations, turning heads trying to find the speaker.
A hush fell as they recognized the voice from many videos and recordings, and some truly artful curses.
---
“I be speaking now to every child born of Ireland and standing upon Her Land now. If they be not born of Her soil, they cannae hear me without being under Oath to me. If they be not in Ireland, they cannae hear me, either.
“The Land bids me to speak to you as Her King. I be Proven in Power, Anointed by the Divine, and Acknowledged by the Land. Me name has passed your lips, and the Land sees I have the Acclaim, and so She has Named me Her King.
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“That does not mean She knows that you are part of my Kingdom.
“Ye are Irish, and to take a knee is no small thing, but I’ll ask it of ye now. If ye be Irish, and ye love the Land upon which ye stand, and ye recognize Her choice as King, then I ask ye to kneel now and be recognized by Her as part of the Kingdom of Ireland.
“Or ye can stand or sit there, and the Land will know ye reject Her and the King She has chosen. Kneel to Her, as I kneel to Her.”
---
And across the Emerald Isle, they felt his pride and his power, power he’d shown many times in blood and will, and they felt him kneel.
When his knee touched the ground, the whole of Ireland seemed to tremble.
Slowly, with cautious glances at one another, a feeling of tension in the air, and somehow, certain knowledge that the Land beneath their feet was watching each and every one of them very closely, knees began to touch down.
“Aye, King Mick, I acknowledge ye and the Land.”
“Right enough, King Mick, Corwin O’Reilly is not a fool.”
“Ha, ye bastard, I’ll kneel to ye, right enough!”
And so it went, as knees old and younger hit the ground, some requiring help, but all feeling something at that moment as they did that.
They felt the Banner of a King.
Atop that quiet grave outside Limerick, the Banner of the Blood of the Irish rose into the air, proud and true, a Flag of magic and light, by whose height could be measured the Loyalty and Duty of a Kingdom, and the power of its people.
He made a good showing immediately, closing in on fifteen hundred feet in the air, showing the vast majority of souls in Ireland and of Ireland had taken a knee to the Land and its King.
Those who had not dropped a knee in pride or disdain at the idea found themselves swallowing, and suddenly they had the impression that they no longer belonged here, in the land of their birth. They had denied the Land, denied Her King, so what use did either have for them?
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“As the King of Ireland, I give ye all this Vow, as I Vowed to the Land Herself. Naught of grand airs and great Conventions, as across the pond. I give me Vow as Ireland’s King, and naught more to it.
“I was long away from Her shores, and as long as the Land says I be Crowned, I shall remain here.
“I will walk this Land from one sea to the other, every shore and every road will know me passing it.
“Wherever something comes to these shores, or is flung upon it, or bursts forth from below, I will be here, and nowhere else, and I will ready to do the duties of a King wherever and whenever ‘tis needed.
“I name now me Queen as Amaretta Blakhamar, sweet poison and death in silk and furs. If other lands and places need to hear the voice and words of the Irish in person, she shall be the one who walks forth to see them, and hear their tales, and speak the will of the Irish. And if they like it not, well, be that as it may.
“I name now me Champion as Sean Highsun, son of Highmoon and Morningsun, The Sun of Ireland.” The Title, no longer just given by mortals, Rang in the air, and they all knew Ireland Herself recognized the Morningsuns. “If Ireland needs to stand upon the stage of the world, if things come to this place to wreak havoc and murder, and they need to be chased to the ends of the Earth or the depths of the sea, the Sun of Ireland will let them know that Ireland might be a small place upon the face of the world, but we are not weak, and we are ready to give back what was given to us, and more!
“Beneath Sean Highsun shall be the Blood of the Irish. If ye wish to serve the Land, and are willing to fight for Her and defend Her people, come. The Blood of the Irish will take those with a willing heart ready to work for the Land and us miserable sots living upon Her.
“If ye wish to serve in a more... lively aspect, then I remand ye to the Queen’s Guard. Me lovely heartstopper shall find a truly fine and honest way ye can serve fair Ireland, she will.
“For now, me Court shall start in Limerick, and there shall flow what things of paper and people must be handled. Me Court will also stand wherever I stand... and me job is to see to the Land and its people, not be tied up in Court.
“Ye can rest assured I dinnae want to run yer lives, as such things are above the Land. But... I’ll not let there be sickness and corruption dwelling within me Kingdom. The Land can tell, as can Her cities, and ye can mark me words that there will be things happening.”
His quiet pause dragged on for over a minute, but nobody thought he was done speaking.
“The gods are here, ye know it as sure as I. The Lands be Awake, and ye kin feel Her, if ye but try. ‘tis a new world, and there will be changes as Ireland changes to meet the faces of magic.
“There will also be fighting.
“Ye know the old tales. Ye’ve seen the monsters. Ye seen what people what ignored the warnings let loose when the atomic fire went Wild. Ye know the shit that rises from the seas, and no, we might hae killed the Shroud, but the undead are still going to rise, and we’re still going to have to burn our dead to dust, and take care they are sent to the Hereafter proper now.
“I offer no paradise for ye, Children of Ireland. I be the first King of Ireland, and I expect me reign to be bloody and horrid, t’ be full o’ bitchin’ and whinin’ and cursin’, and I expect the Land isn’t going to give a shit, nor the things we be complainin’ about caring a whit for the wind and spit o’ the words we spend on them.
“But, if I can hold these shores against what be coming, an’ I can purge the rot the Land can sense already, I think, and I hope, that in a generation or two, when the Land shows me the door and some young hawk rises to take up Her crown after me, I can leave behind a good and strong Land for the Irish.
“Ye’ve bent a knee to me, and now, I invite ye to swear to the Banner of the Kingdom of Ireland, and the Blood of the Irish, and join me Allegiance.
“Ye know the benefits, ye know the power. We Irish have always been a rowdy lot, but the world is bigger than we, and if ye wish to be Irish and stay Irish, well, then, ye need to work with and recognize all the Irish.
“Ye can see the Banners rising. Ye know the power of Duty and Loyalty, and the Allegiance, as the crazy Jesus girl who be no longer here told us. As an Irishman born, and as a King Anointed, if yer heart is in it, I’ll ask now for your Oath to serve this Land of ours and Her King, and I’ll see you true.”
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From many a town square, fountain, or monument to old half-forgotten heroes, a Banner of green light rose into the sky, atop it spinning the Banner of the Blood of the Irish, and the new Irish King. It was not the flag of Ireland they had known, but they knew that Banner, for where the Blood of the Irish fought, that Banner was with them.
And some went down on a knee once more, this time to do more than acknowledge a new King. This time, it was to serve!
------
There was a familiar car parked out front in the drive when The Mick and Amaretta emerged from the cove. Bone Marrow gleamed, ready to take them where they needed to go.
The Mick got into the back seat this time, as a ghostly chauffeur bowed and opened the door, then flickered over to the other side to do so for Amaretta.
There were no words, only a wave of fingers. The Mick nodded slowly. “Someplace we’ve not been. I’ve a Kingdom to cross and crisscross, until the whole land is but a step away.”
The ghostly chauffeur inclined his head. The only car still rolling on the roads of Ireland pulled out smoothly, and The Mick began his Tour of his Kingdom.
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The King’s Own Cudgel
This blood hawthorn Shillelagh is of unknown age, stained dark with the blood and ichor of the living and undead. How many such have died to it is unknown, but King Mick of Ireland is known to have staked at least nine elder vampires with it, and over the course of his reign, is believed to have finally destroyed every single undead creature in Ireland using it.
Furthermore, this Shillelagh is believed to be the Scepter of Office of the King of Ireland, by the Grace of the Land itself. Any Tomb Clansman who Swears their service to the Throne of Ireland upon the Cudgel is visibly removed of their Tomb-Tainted status, and becomes Tome-Tainted instead.
The King’s Own Cudgel is a dark and knobby walking stick, fully Tempered and far harder than adamantine. Over the period of his reign, gold and Naming Karma were poured into it by The Mick, and when his reign ended, he left it across the simple Seat he left behind for his successor.
The Cudgel is a Heavy +IV Enmity/Evil Undead Bane Vivic Blooding Disruption Weapon. It has a natural threat range of 19-20 against undead, utterly ignores their Damage Reduction, does double its base weapon damage of 1-8 against them, and they must make a Fortitude Save at 23 when struck or be Disrupted and destroyed outright.
The Cudgel grants the holder its Enhancement bonus as a Luck Bonus to Saves when on Irish soil. This naturally rises against Evil folk and the Undead.
Against vampires, any critical hit results in an impaling and instant kill against such creatures.
When held in hand, the Cudgel instantly notifies the holder of any undead within 300’, an effect that cannot be prevented within the bounds of Ireland. If the holder stands within the bounds of Ireland and concentrates, he can sense the distance and direction of the nearest undead creature.
The Cudgel can be Summoned to the King’s hand with a mere thought, and cannot be brought beyond the bounds of Ireland without the permission of the Land. Any child born of Ireland or Sworn to its King can identify it on sight, allowing it to be loaned out to use in battle, or as a sign of the King’s Command.
The Blood of the Irish
There are no snakes in Ireland, nor any undead, ‘tis true.
We chased them away in the dark of the day, and all the dragons, too.
Ye’ll find only Hounds in the Emerald Isle, eyes watching from home and den,
And Hawks in the sky, talons a-fly, watching o’er dale and glen.
Our King’s a fool yet knows how to rule, a grim and black-hearted knave,
He took up the throne and made it his own by showing the Dead their graves.
He stands on the shore, athwart afore those who dare to make the Irish their slaves,
And his Queen will stand upon any far land where be Irish there to save.
So come out of the water and into the slaughter that’s fine and waitin’ for ye.
The Hounds will bay and the Hawks will slay as the Blood of the Irish greets thee!