[ORP] The only good redhead is a dead redhead

[Everybody's more than welcome, don't let me alone !]

Ireland. A complete nightmare for those who have been fighting against the hairy heretics since the very beginnings of the universe. There are forty-four of them in Port Láirge. Nearly half a hundred beings crowned with the wrong colour. Eighteen females, twenty-six males. He counted them while he was wandering the narrow streets of the coastal city. Or through the window of his favourite inns. A whole herd. A perfidious insult to the divine creation. Enough, that is enough !

Or so would say a real fanatic. As for Edern, everything is nothing but a joke, of course. An old joke created with the intention of ridiculing Roman absolutism, as he has been excommunicated and anathematized by a conceited cardinal whereas he has never been baptised... that was the price for supporting a spinozist duke. Anjou and French tricks are far now. Fortunately, there are fewer Aristotelians here than on the continent. How many ? He told the Archdeacon he would take a survey. An opportunity to be seized. The vagrant has landed in the celtic island to follow the tracks of ancient tales and forgotten words, inspired by the minstrels he had met once. One day, he may decide to sail in the wake of western vessels. But high ambitions do not mean he has to stop jestering. Not at all. Fool he was born, Fool he will remain. Above all on the land of the ginger...

However... who knows that ? He has not given anybody his name or a hint about his past. Even the Breton travellers did not realize he was not an Irishman. Today, every passer-by will only see a parchment fixed on a wall and a man having a look at the lines written there. Nobody saw Edern buying the biggest poster he could find at the market, or taking his smartest quill and his darkest ink to grave the following sentences :

Edern is now standing in the street in front of his masterpiece, waiting for the reaction of the first person who would notice this great announcement. It could become very interesting. Because of people's curiosity about crowds, more and more would gather in this place, then hold a debate on it.
A global and bloody revolution would start off. Or Edern would be exposed and killed by a humourless redhead.
Which would also prove that such species is definitely violent and mastered by diabolic forces. Muahahaha...

Anyway, advocating for the extermination of one quarter of the local population is not that suicidal.
It's just a matter of common sense.

Watching impassively, Lorcan wondered what the Nameless Traveller was putting up. A poster to be sure, but what exactly.An invitation to a fare or a wedding announcement perhaps. Containing his curiosity no more he brushes an offensive dark red strand of hair from his forehead and walked up to the man. He smiled warmly and patted the man on the back. He remembered telling the man many pagan stories from old and liked the fellow well enough. Lorcan glanced at the poster and read. When he had finished he slowly turned to the man, hand on the hilt of his knife. Then his face broke into a laugh of great mirth. He laughed so hard that his sides hurt. Pulling the knife free of its sheath, he flipped it to hold it by its blade and held it out with one hand and wiped his eyes from laughing so hard with his free hand.

“Here, Nameless Traveller, my friend. You might need this…for protection.” He chuckled hard. He decided he liked the Nameless Traveller. Brave and fearless.
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The Waterford Shipping Company | Proud memeber of the Rounders | Muster Marine

Eternal grá agus deabhóid do mo Violina.

Porcie almost did not notice the signage in her haste, but something about the stark bleached white of the parchment and the purity of black in the ink used pulled her eye.

She read it, although it was not specifically addressed to her, then raised an eyebrow.

"Interesting. Have you any copies? Say, smaller? The NMA might be interested in this, ehm, cleansing of the Isle." She asked lightly, her tone pleasant --even friendly-- but her eyes danced as she thought of the very very redheaded Amerys and Raella getting wind of this. Presuming it was serious. She was not entirely sure, or at least hoped it was not. The burly bricktop laughing heartily to her left seemed to find it all hilarious.

"What's a titian?* Is that like a titan? Are these giant gingers ye seek?"

On the far outside chance the poster was serious, she was glad her twin boys were at home in Corcaigh.

*I know I am being persnickety.
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Bored again out of her mind Gricel roamed the streets trying to decide whether to go into a tavern or head for a quick swim at the lake. Many things she saw around town would catch her attention but not for long, that was until she spotted some people gathering around a wall with a big poster.
Very curious as it was her nature she approached the poster and read it all as best as she could.
Bursting out a quick laugh she glanced at men standing by the lady next to the poster, and as she slowly let her red hair down from the silver bun cage she usually worn she smirked,"So, is this like a game were you guys chase us redheads and we turn around and kill you? If so...I'm in."

Gricel wasn't really sure if it was a game or not,or who had the audacity to write such things, but the poster itself seemed very serious. Yet the idea of someone hunting down redheads to save earth from evil seemed like a big joke to her, and since she was bored...

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-Taking a sip of the naughty juice...

HEY!!!!
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Wandering up to Lor, Lina picked up her skirts to keep them out of the dust and dirt as she moved to stand beside him. She noted the expression of mirth on his face as well as the lack of his dagger. A small frown pulled at her lips as she leaned lightly against him and whispered softly.

"What is going on, my love?" She looked up, realizing he wouldn't be able to answer for laughing and simply gazed in the same direction everyone else was. Her eyes widened as she read, then widened even further before narrowing.

"Who's the gore bellied flax wench who wrote this?" She nearly shouted, brushing a strand of her own red hair from her face as the once neatly coiled locks slipped the pins she had carefully placed.
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Surprise attack behind his back. Already... Edern turns around and catches sight of the knife. Almost a sword. Thinking about the best way to not get killed, he does not dare to move any part of his body. Why not negotiate with the enemy ?
Then he glances at Lorcan's hair.
A terrible idea occurs to him.
He is one of them.
Oh my God.

The brave and fearless man is about to run away... when he is given the weapon of the redheaded monster. What is he doing ? He is surrendering. Obviously. Edern has a little sigh of relief and puts the knife in one of the pockets of his black tunic. Around seventeen pounds on the market. Maybe twenty if the buyer can be swindled.

My protection... why would I be attacked ?

Actually, he could be attacked for hundreds of reasons.

I mean... I'm just an onlooker, I have nothing to do with this statement...

A woman is coming along. Black hair. She is pure. Is she reliable ? Never forget : traitors to mankind do exist. Moreoever, it is said that some redheads get secretly dyed so as to spy on the normal people. The plot really thickens... no place is safe anymore. Everyone is a potential abomination. Therefore be polite and look relaxed, dear.

I don't have any copy, as I'm not exactly a scribe. But I could make one if you wanted me to. The handwriting seems to be pretty easy to copy out.

Of course it is. What if... ? The traveller discreetly checks the writing case slung over his left shoulder. Still well-closed. Inks and quills are hidden for the moment...

As for your question, I think you are right. I presume redheads are giant devils in Roman theories... priests are often as gullible as children.

Perfect. It is working. The plan is working. All the dwellers are going to slaughter their ginger neighbours and merrily drink their blood singing victorious songs. On top of that, the more puppets there will be, the more he will feel secure. Only individuals are dangerous. One can divide groups and use its members to break it. And this crowd is growing as expected... He nods to Gricel and grins. She has not understood the deadly aim of the game. At least she believes this is a game. Now she is totally bare-headed, she becomes the best target ever. Then comes Violina. As Lorcan's redheaded fiancée, she must be a very powerful witch. Do not make her angry too fast. Be diplomatic and answer her. Act like a black and white inquisitor looking for confessions. You have got plenty of time. Soon the Irish people will riot against her kind.

Probably a bishop or a cardinal, madam. Let's discuss this issue. In your opinion, what is the best way to free the world from the red disease ?

Despite all his efforts to hide it from his interlocutors, something hopeful is shining in his eyes. The reflection of the upcoming fires...

See, the Church might be making a mistake. We would lack wood before having finished the job.

Walking down the street and whistling a tune, Catriona saw ahead a crowd of people and among them Porcina. There seemed to be some excitment surrounding a large poster. Not the sort of excitment that accompanied the announcement of a wedding, but rather disgruntlement.

"Hey Porcie, what's going on," Cat asked in greeting. She looked at the poster, reading its words and her mouth fell open.

"What nonsense is this?" she said to the growing crowd. And then to Porcie, "Perhaps this is one of the rogues we were talking about on the road behind this? No name signed to it, which is a shame, for I'm sure that the Inquisition would be pleased to know who is going about misrepresenting the good work they do."

And rather irked that someone was trying to make the church out to be an irrational and hateful organisation, Cat took the poster down from the wall.

"Fear not," she said to the crowd. "We'll get to the bottom of this and find out who the idiot is trying to stir up trouble."
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Jah, prefers prayers to tears

"I think we should try to smoke out the person who put this up," Cat said. "But notifiying the inquisition of this too would be prudent. Damn shame to see their work maligned like this."

She rolled the poster up and offered it to Aishling. "Would ye know who to send this onto, lass?"
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Lina heard this vaguely, her concentration on the poster she was grimly staring at instead of the person speaking. Concerned, she turned to the speaker after her initial outcry and inquiry. The fact that someone would post something this ridiculous was, in its own way....amusing. Still, considering how many people in this town had hair ranging from the palest and brightest to the most fiery and dark shades of ginger and red...the amusement ended rather quickly. Besides, someone just might be stupid enough to think this was real. Laying her head on Lor's shoulder, she waited patiently for anyone to answer her demanding question. Her spoon was in her pocket as always, all they needed to do was find out who put that poster up...

Lina stiffened, her anger bubbling up and nearly choking her as she realized what he was saying. She straightened, standing slightly apart from Lorcan as she glared at the man. Her fingers were itching to slap him, yet she knew better...his statement made her suspicious that he was the one who had placed that despicable poster up for all to see, but there was no proof. The possibility did exist that he was simply joking with her, but she doubted it...the look on his face was too calculatingly bland.

"Listen boyo...I don't know if those eyes in your head work...but if you haven't directed your attention to the many heads capped in red hair then perhaps you should...you just asked me what I opine the best way to rid the world of my own kind.." She drew in a long, slow breath, wanting to be sure she kept some sort of hold on her temper. "Cardinal, bishop...I don't hold with, but I doubt they would go to so much trouble as to lift a quill and stain their fingers with ink all over a color."

Lina pressed her lips together, noticing suddenly how loud her voice had become...It came naturally to her to be loud, commanding...she was so used to handling the patrons in taverns. Unfortunately, this inherant volume she injected to her voice did cause problems at inopportune times...like now. She straightened her shoulders, eyes blazing as she glared at the man who had so foolishly spoken, then visibly worked to calm herself. Until there was proof of who had made the poster, no one could find out why it was done, and so she would need to use tact instead of brute force...no matter how much she itched to slap that expression from the boyo's face.

Stepping closer to Lorcan again, she drew in a long, shuddering breath to calm her anger as she saw Cat and Aishling react to the poster in their own ways, and was deeply satisfied to see the poster taken down.
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The man had taken the offered knife and pocketed it like he was happy to make a gain at the market or some such. This pricked at Lorcan’s temper slightly but stepped back and watched with amusement as others stepped forward in their different levels of outrage. This must be a joke, he wished to say; but who in their right mind would post this up. It was like a death with from whatever why you look at it.
Just then he heard an Irish angel, or more precise, a hearth witch’s voice and smiled brightly. Violina, his love and future wife.

He shrugged and held her to him for a moment, kissing her nose and replied, “Someone fancies himself the deliverer of the mighty race of Gingers. More likely someone to cowardly to take his own life, so posting this would assure themselves a slow and painful death by our brick headed brethren.” He chuckled as he quoted Porcina.

His hand rested on Violina’s waist for a moment and felt a strange object…NO! Not the spoon! Lorcan’s eyes flashed to Edern and he actually prayed to The Mother for his protection for he would get no mercy if Lina brings forth The Golden Spoon of Enlightenment. Poor, poor fellow.

Feeling enraged now that is darling love was so angry, he pulled out his trusty new bone crushing war hammer from his belt, having taken a liking to Seamus’s one; he had forged one himself. Hefting the heavy weapons easily he puts an arm around Violina and watches, face like a stone mask or wraith. He hoped Aish or Cat would sort this out now, because if they didn’t, there would be a serious lot of blood from the offender, offered to the earth this day in fiery retribution or the mighty red headed race.
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The Waterford Shipping Company | Proud memeber of the Rounders | Muster Marine

Eternal grá agus deabhóid do mo Violina.

Gricel watched the man nod and grin at her, obviously he didn't took her very seriously but that was normal for her, maybe it was her age...
She watched more people gather by the wall, then Aishling came along. Gricels eyes widened, she sure would know if the stuff on the poster was true or not. Then Lady Catriona ripped off the silly paper making Gricel laugh out loud. " So there you go, you're lies and your silly argument ripped off the wall , what you have to say for yourself now? She looked at the man with not intention to hold back her laugh.
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-Taking a sip of the naughty juice...

Seamus wandered up to the group wondering what was going on to bring such a group together. As he approached and sensed the anger in the air, he hoped that the town hadn't run out of whiskey, his only real fear in life. As he drew closer, he noticed Lorcan and Violina and knew they probably knew what was going on.

Hello little Lor. Hello Vi. What's the commotion all about? The town hasn't run out of whiskey has it?!?

His hulk towering over most in the crowd, Seamus noticed the man at the center of everyone's attention. He had seen the man before in the taverns of this town and tried to recall his name... Beaz something or other. He shrugged thinking it didn't really matter and turned his attention back to his friends while still keeping an eye on the strange man.
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Jah, prefers prayers to tears