Caitlinne
as related by Taal

Sit comfortable, for I'll tell you a tale of Daring and Adventure in the deadly Hibernian Frontier!

It was a bright and sunny winter's afternoon deep in the misty forests of lost Hibernia. Weary from a day's adventuring, brave Avanion was looking for a comfortable spot to bed down for the rest of the day. Ah, yes, it was early for that, you say? Well, look at him now – already sleeping!! Want a dead mouse, Avanion? Ah, that woke you!

As he strolled down that fair hill, imagine his surprise! For there in the valley beneath him in a ferment of religious fervour was the largest gathering of flidh he'd ever set eyes on! They were running to and fro, burning and slaughtering – some innocent poor folk, you see!

Well, our Friar was not going to let some fleas get away with that! Hefting his mighty stick, he flowed down that hill like a spring torrent right in their midst, and a fine red spray of flea blood was spilt wherever he passed! The fleas had never seen anything like this, and as one they fled the field.

Pausing unnecessarily to flourish his staff in a conspicuously flashy style, Avanion surveyed the still-burning ruins of this once proud settlement. One building, taller than the rest, stood aflame in front of him, a carven image of the Holy Grail on its doors.

"Children of God, hey," thought Avanion, scratching his stubble. "And all slain now, looks like!"

Crouching down, he though about praying. But prayer did not come easily to this unconventional servant of God, and he stood again. As he stood, a flash of movement caught his eye. A figure, carrying a staff, running.

"What's this? A flea?"

With a roar, he leapt to his feet in pursuit, kicking burning embers left and right, jumping over the bodies of the fallen, flea and villager alike. Swifter than she, he soon caught his prey and, with a skillful swing of his stick, brought her down. In a fury, she leapt up and turned on him, her stick aiming a deadly blow at his face. With surprising difficulty, he knocked the blow aside and once more tripped her.

"Enough of that, girl!" he yelled. He peered down at her, now on her back staring hatred up at him.

As one they spoke together, "Wait a minute, you're not a flea!"

"My father was the Father here and I an initiate. I helped him in the offices, you know?" Caitlinne grinned at Avanion as they made their slow way back toward Albion's Frontier Keep.

Avanion laughed. "Irish Christians!"

"Many of us were, you know," she said, with some heat, "Before the druids were driven here by the Romans. Now they practically run Hibernia, they do. And we were forced out into the frontier."

"My mother was lost to pagans from Midgard, and now my father. I'll kill them all those bastards, by God I swear it!"

Avanion chuckled and knocked her flimsy stick with his own shaft. "Not with that twig, you won't!"

"Here girl," said Avanion, leaving her in the care of his Training Masters, "You want vengeance, you learn how to fight!"

And with that, he left her, indignant, sat on the floor of the great Defenders Hall glaring up at these men of Albion – sworn enemies of her old lands, now unlikely allies.

"I'm off to Ye Mug," he said.