A warning from the temple
A warm gust of wind blew through the temple, rustling the ancient scrolls that lay open for research and tousling Conroy’s hair. Upon the air was the smell of summer and Dal Riata, the lands he had left behind to become a sage of the Ancient Order of Brath. Yet, as he drew breath, something acrid flared his nostrils, the scent of the shadow magic practised in Tor Caith. Conroy knew the warlocks of that citadel of evil had invaded his home lands at one time and he worried for his people’s safety as, though the warlocks had been beaten back, the Morcas creatures that had fallen on the land had infected the very earth. Their fetid scraps at rest until moons and planet aligned causing the remains to spark into life, rise up and curse the lands once more. Quickly he gathered scrolls and tomes and burst in on his mentor Halla, breathlessly trying to explain the problem to her as her wise eyes shined, already fully aware of what he knew. “Travel to your homelands Conroy. As from now we must act each Beltane to aid the people and drive the Morcas scourge from the lands.”
Biding their time
Death meant little and time passed fleetingly, the rise and fall of each season leading to the inevitable day when the planetary bodies aligned over Dal Riata bathing the lands in the mystical light of Beltane. At first nothing was seen above, as below the earth’s surface something stirred. Gathering the soil and rock about it and feeding on the very life within. Growing stronger and ever more tenacious as it spread its sinews deep through the ground, like some twisted root seeking out life and rendering it lifeless. Then, as if each knew the others purpose, the Morcas creatures burst from the cracked earth, rising up once again to draw the very life from the Celtic lands, their livestock and their people.