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You walk into a room containing a few bookshelves,

Some paintings, and a few obscure artifacts.

There is a desk, and seated at the desk is the

red haired woman. You back away quickly as

You realize you have entered her private office.

She looks up at you ... it seems deciding.

She smiles, but the smile doesn't reach to her eyes, the

Rest of her face is cold.

Please, have a seat. Do not back away so quickly.

You sit carefully in the chair before her desk, and she resumes

Her writing for a moment, seeming to ignore your

presence. She shuts the book and places her hands upon it,

Looking at you deep into your eyes.

Well my friend, how have you found my chantry so far?

Is it to your liking? We try to satisfy everyone's

Needs. For this is not another suitable chantry

Near by.

Would you like to hear my tale? I see you are looking

about the room. Most of the bronze figurines you

Are seeing are from the age of druids.

No, my dear child, I was not alive then. I am not

So old as that, there are many far older then I.

I am merely more ambitious then most. <grin>

She sat back in her chair, her body controlled.

My family was descended from the Celtic druids of old.

Of course by 1519 we had become "respectable" members

or British society. Conforming to standard laws concerning

clothing, and hair, among many other things.

I was born in Ireland, but by then,

Briton had owned nearly everything. English lords

ruled our land, slept with our woman,

and took our children as slaves. Some of the slaves

were better off then most, but those who were in favour

with the British government were scorned by their

fellow Irishmen. My family worked on

the manor of an English Lord, Sir James Trigolen.

My father was the blacksmith, for in ancient times,

metal workers were known for their spell weavings.

I must say my child hood was very satisfying, I spent

a good deal of the time playing and running free through

the fields. But as I came of age, I became involved with a group

of "rebels". Druids, not of the ancient blood, but those determined

to bring the old ways back, and rid Ireland of the British.

I was born for the art. I embraced it fully and moved quickly

in the circle, I was soon made head priestess.

My parents knew what I was doing, but were loathe to

stop it.

My life was fine, until I finally attracted the attention of the

lord. Through watching me, he imagined he could make

a good match for me in England with his nephew.

He discussed it with my parents who were eager for the

joining. A chance for me to move up in the world and not

have to work like them.

I begged and pleaded not to go, but they wouldn't hear of it. Maybe

I was a little childish, but I had no desire to go

to England and marry a man I had never met who wasn't even Irish.

Geoffrey Langcaster, my husband, was a tall thin man, who

looked like he had a constant cold. I smirked when I looked at

him, I can control him. I soon learned he was much different then

his appearance gave...he was a cruel man. Angry and

bitter, but at what I could never quite decipher, I only

knew that when he was in a foul temper,

I received the brunt of it.

He had a "family friend" who was referred to as

Uncle Trevor. I admired him greatly,

the man was intelligent, dark and mysterious.

We developed a comradeship. Trevor introduced me

to the Circle of Mages, a group of magic workers

who met beneath the streets. I would runaway

to work my rituals at every chance, but that eventually

raised Geoffrey's suspicions. I can still see his face as he

accused me of fornicating with Trevor. Which I of course denied,

the idea of sleeping with Trevor was ridiculous,

we were friends. Nothing more.

I can also see his face as

I killed him. It was merely in self-defense, of course <evil grin>

but no one would believe a woman. I took off and ran to the

Circle to find they had been routed out by the local priests, the place

blazing. I took off in another direction, and ended up in a wood.

By now it was raining, and I was drenched. I huddled under a tree,

deciding where I should go. For I was damned if I was going

to hang for murdering the pig. I heard a snap behind me and turned

to see Trevor looking at me.

"How did you find me?"

"I followed you", he told me. He told me how he

had watched me murder Geoffrey, and he chuckled at his passing,

and because of my work with in the now expired circle, he was

ready to offer me a Membership into a more exclusive club.

I, of course, accepted.

Now, I knew what he was, and I knew what I was too become,

and I seized it. In fact I relished in it.

There was no regret and no wishing for my lost humanity

for me. I shivered slightly as he took me into his arms,

and smiled when I felt his fangs touch me.

As I was lying close to death, I saw Brigid, the goddess,

standing before me, beckoning me to follow her. I merely nodded

at her and turned towards my new saviour. Trevor gave me

those few drops of vitae, and I became what I have become.

I was ravenous, and I am afraid I was not very courteous in the taking

of my first victim. A worn out man, young, walking back from dropping

his produce off at the market. Ahhh, but I relished in the new

experience, however much he struggled at first.

Trevor taught me the Traditions, and

the art of Thaumaturgy. We traveled around together for some

time, not as lovers but as brother and sister.

We parted ways many many years ago. But

he comes and visits me every so often,

he helped me establish this chantry.

It is grand, isn't it. But please

finish your tour. I believe there are

a few places you have left to visit.

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