[ORP] The only good redhead is a dead redhead

Lorcan

Lorcan turned his head while trying to calm his darling and saw a familiar roguish face. Smiling brightly he greats his good friend, Seamus, best smith in all Ireland and most avid Whiskey drinker.

Citation:

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

His heart shuddered and almost stopped outright at Seamus’s most blasphemous words. Then he remembered the six barrels of Irish whiskey he had in his brothers cellar and smile almost reassuringly.

“Nothing that catastrophic, friend. Me thinks the Nameless Traveller has poked the lion a bit to much with a sharp stick as well as a giant bear for good measure. Should be amusing to see the outcome. Brain smashing; Enlightening by Spoon; Death by slow torture or a standard mob stoning. I am open to any outcome with anticipation.” Lorcan said with a smile on his face.
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The Waterford Shipping Company | Proud memeber of the Rounders | Muster Marine

Eternal grá agus deabhóid do mo Violina.

Violina

Lina heard Seamus's voice before she felt Lor's arm around her waist tighten just a little. Smiling she turned to face her friend and moved to kiss his cheek.

"That boyo thinks that redheads are...are..." She drew in a breath to calm herself, not wanting to be too angry in front of her friend...he had seen her enlighten enough people that he knew her very well. "He doesn't like gingers!" She said dramatically, scowling as she stuck her free hand in her pocket for her spoon, barely able to keep herself from grasping the handle and drawing the utensil from her skirts.
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Seamus

Little Lor a écrit:

“Nothing that catastrophic, friend."

Upon hearing his friend deny the worst thing that could happen to the Isle, Seamus breathes a bit easier. Though not knowing why the man would want to poke a lion, he nods trying to understand the ramblings coming from his friend. He thought to himself that once this was done he should check on his stock at 'The Dirt Glass' just to make sure it was still there. It wasn't until Vi spoke that all became clear...

Vi a écrit:

"That boyo thinks that redheads are...are...He doesn't like gingers!"

Seamus just stood there in shock. He had many friends who are redheads, most of which had helped him in one way or another. This lad needed some sense knocked into him. Seamus's hand slowly dropped to the hammer stuck in his belt. It wasn't a fancy 'war hammer' like Lor's just a simple five pound straight pein hammer, but he figured if it worked for iron and steel it would work to fix this lad.

I should knock some sense inta him. I mean, who doesna like redheads?
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Daubigny

Well I'm a redhead.

Maybe someone wants to come to the arena and take my scalp.

I don't mind taking on small groups

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Porcina

Porcie began to laugh so hard the tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. "This mission should have been begun in Scotland. The ratio of reds to not-reds is a bit more favorable." This had to be a joke.
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Edern

Really ? Someone calculated this ratio ? He did know that ethnic statistics were helpful to improve societies... knowledge is power. Head for Scotland, captain. Another future victory against the so-called ginger supremacy is to be won. Nevertheless, things turn out a bit differently here. The crowd is getting unsafe. Three armed men ready to fight, three harpies and two women laughing madly. Devil's elimination could soon become Edern's own lynching...

Redefining priorities would not be irrelevant.

He should first ignore Violina. Nothing is more dangerous than a spoon. Especially a small one. He has not seen hers yet, but has been well-trained regarding its detection. He spent indeed several weeks last autumn as a member of the army of a wild Breton marquise whose favourite weapon was such utensil... she was a redhead and almost killed him whereas she was only drunk. What a coincidence. Ridiculous, shiny and mortal... the spoon has always been redhead's best friend.
He should ask for Lorcan's help. At least someone has understood what is going on. Unfortunately, the local storyteller is too redheaded to speak up for him... too bad.
He should confess everything to Aishling and apologize to Catriona for having hurt their faith, but not their hair.
He should pay a couple of pints to Seamus and Daubigny to prevent them from being tactless with him...
He should kiss Gricel, marry her, lay thousands of children and live happily until their deaths.
He should make hundreds of copies right now in order to please Porcina.
And finally he should shut up and take French leave.

Even if it disappointed these cute Irish ?
To thy audience thou shall cleave.
Just be foolish.
Ahem.

PEOPLE OF IRELAND ! This is a conspiracy led by the ENGLISH COWARDS to weaken you by confusing your minds ! Trust me, I saw the spy who wrote those infamous lines : he also tried to STEAL your BEER !

Terrific. Do not give them the time to use their brains. Keep on speaking.

I know quite well the Grand Inquisitor. He is a good man and will listen to our claims. So we must write to him collectively to make sure that Aristotle's messages won't be forged again.

End of the speech. He gazes at Aishling.

Do you agree, dear Archdeacon ?

Game of chance. Double or nothing...

Gricel_marie

Gricel hear everyone talk, no one seemed to take the posters lies too seriously but at least it would be investigated just in case. Then she watched Edern as he went quiet with a silly look on his face, she wondered if he was plotting something or just letting one out...
Then when he spoke took her by surprise,she almost thought it had been him all along who put the poster there....now a spy he says? A beer staling spy none the less! " Are you serious? this cant be a joke, we cant let that happen..." In her mind this was the worst thing yet... Gricel was already panicking, and getting thirsty at the same time. " Wait , how exactly does that spy you say you saw looks like ?" She was very suspicious of Edern but did not wanted to take a chance on anything he said...confused Gricel looked at the others around surely they would know how to handle this situation and she will just act calm and hope for the best...

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-Taking a sip of the naughty juice...

Catriona_mackenzie

Cat started at the sound of the man's voice as he loudly proclaimed the poster to be the work of English spies and then went on to say they were also stealing beer. "Whit yer talkin' about?" she said to him. "There's plenty beer in the taverns and I've nay heard any tavern owners complaining of their beer being stolen."

Perhaps it was odd that she addressed that point first, rather than the other, but beer was important!

"Now as for the other stuff ... an English conspiracy? Why do ye think that? This poster looked more like the work of one nutter. Unless ye have some proof I see no need to react to this attempt to raise a mob that plays on daft superstition with another attempt to see conspiracies where there are likely none. As for the fella ye saw, how about a description of him? That would be most helpful thing right now."

If he had seen the fellow at all, which she was doubting given his claims that the english were trying to steal their beer. She glanced at Porcie who seemed to be in a fit of laughter and sighed with a smile, shaking her head at the last. Perhaps she would have taken this all a bit more seriously if the poster had been proclaimed in the name of an organisation that the lass was part of, but Cat could see why the lass saw the humour in it all. Especially now some one was trying to say that it was a conspiracy to steal the town's beer.
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Gricel_marie

Gricel calmed down and payed attention to Lady Catriona, she sure seemed to know what she was talking about , Gricel sighed and rested her back against the wall with her arms folded and looked back at Edern... " Just tell us what the spy looked like, if you're so sure you saw one.." Although this was getting a little old, Gricel had nothing better to do at the moment so she decided to stick around a bit more and see where it would go...
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-Taking a sip of the naughty juice...

Porcina

She wiped the moisture from her eyes, making an apologetic face at Cat. Meh, the English can have the beer, sae long as they dinnae touch the whiskey. She found Edern to be curiously informed all of a sudden, which piqued her interest.

Surreptitiously, she looked for inkstains of the blackest black upon his fingers. Aye, please do describe this English person.
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Pagan

Pagan was taking a walk as she noticed a gathering that appeared to be a start of a public lynching or something of the sort. Pagan loved public lynchings, executions and all sorts of spectacles of that nature, and as she spotted a few of her friends in the crowd she had no doubt the bugger had it coming. Pagan joined the crowd and flashed a grin at Cat and Porcie:

"Hello Cat, hello Porcie. What's this I hear about stealing beer? Did he steal yer beer or was it the other way around? Anyway, whatever his crime I say we hang him already!!!"
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Catriona_mackenzie

She smiled at Gricel as she spoke up to add extra pressure to the man and then back to Porcie, although it had to be said that a faint look of alarm crossed Cat's face at the thought of the whiskey being stolen. Dear Jah, anything but the whiskey!

It was then that she heard a distinctive voice greeting them and with a cry of delight Cat turned to see Pagan. "Och there ye are!" Cat exclaimed. "A got yer letter this morning and didn't know whether to write again in case the messenger crossed paths with ye and missed ye. So lovely to see ye, Pagan!"

She grinned like a fool and it would be a moment before she would be able to retell what had happened to the newly arrived lass, unless someone stepped in before her...
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Porcina

Hullo, Pagan, Porcie partially withdrew her attention from scrutinizing the strange man's fingernails in order to smile greetings at their clanmate. This fellow here appeared at about the same time as a poster describing a URAC mandated crusade against the Red Menace. We think it might be either a farce, lunacy, or else a malicious impersonation of the church, perhaps even of the Inquisition itself!

Her eyebrows climbed skyward as she spoke, and when she mentioned the poster she gestured towards Aishling, the last person Porcie recalled holding the notice. Her expression attempted to convey both respect for the possible gravity and amusement at the utter absurdity of the situation. Did I mention that the Red Menace is ginger-haired folk?

Summary delivered, Porcie (who had shamelessly read Pagan's letter over Cat's shoulder) looked around to see if Aria or either of these "wooers" Pagan mentioned were in the vicinity.
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Edern

The Archdeacon does not want to cooperate. Change of plans. What does an English conspirator look like ? At least not like Edern, that is to say a medium slender man, whose dark hair and eyes are half covered by the shadow of a wide hat chosen to be well-matched with his black and white clothing. Not like a discreet traveller occasionally asking odd questions to unknown dwellers. Not like a transient joker just scoffing at certitudes and seriousness...

He is a short fatty, wearing pink trousers and a yellow shirt. Blue eyes, long nose. Bald-headed. An enormous grey moustache. Two beauty spots on the right cheek. Not very wily. I may add that, contrary to Lady Catriona, I think there's no contradiction in being a nutter and an Englishman.

Not too bad, but a bit too short.
Drawing him on the dusty ground could be amusing.
Pagan's arrival gives him Porcina's name, the spectator who has nearly drowned in her own tears. Always get the name of the other players at war. Eleven of them are playing on the chessboard. Roles are being identified. Women are the most inquisitive about the Inquisition. Be wary of the ones who laugh too loud. What was Porcina looking at ? You. She is obviously falling in love with you. Well. Your fingers. Your beautiful fingers. He did not stain them this morning but years of writing do leave marks on their tip. Knocking the curious female in front of everybody would make him a dead man before dawn. And rough solutions are so boring...
Let's try something more excessive.
An incredible move.

No tavern owner was stolen because I arrived just in the nick of time to oppose the thief. We fought, I won though I was robbed of my pounds and my ink. Then he disappeared and I looked for him until I saw the poster against the... Red Menace.

Satisfied sigh. If there were any god for lies and improvisation, Edern's soul would have been saved for ages...

Please don't thank me. He must be far away now, as you waste your time talking nonsense !

Pagan

Pagan really didn't know much about Aristotelian faith or the Inquisition but she was quick-witted and a good improviser, she had heard sermons and masses and priests talking with each other so she figured she knew exactly what to say to push the mob over the line and into a proper lynching frenzy:

"Well I'm appalled!" she proclaimed self-righteously. "Jah loves all His children, both redheads and us normal folk alike! It is not about the color of the hair, it is what's under it that counts! Many of me best friends have ginger hair - and I've never held it against them! And furthermore, as is said in the Book of Virtues: 'Thou shalt giveth painful and gruesome death upon those who bevile and blackball the Holy Inquisition!' So I hope somebody has rope!" Pagan suddenly remembered something and looked worried. "And whiskey! Please tell me we have enough whiskey with us! We can't have a lynching without whiskey. A lynching without whiskey is like a cloudy day - bland and depressing."
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The only good redhead is a dead redhead

Edern

[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 :

Someone a écrit:

To All Aristotelian Faithful

In order to protect Earth from Evil and its underhanded creatures,
To purify ourselves for ever in our hearts and our bodies,
Because the time has come for a new crusade,
And because there are no carrots in Heaven,

All the redheads shall be arrested, tortured and burnt at the stake.
So shall be each infidel trying to help them to survive.

God may work in mysterious ways...
But we can push the Devil away !
It is time to ignite our faith...
Let's hunt some titians !

Written in Rome on XIX April, Tuesday MCDLIX Year of Grace
By the Holy Inquisition of the Universal Roman Aristotelian Church.

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.

Lorcan

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.

Porcina

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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Gricel_marie

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...

Redofarrell

HEY!!!!

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Violina

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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Edern

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.

Catriona_mackenzie

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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Aishling

What a beautiful day! The sun is shining the weather is sweet makes you wanna move your dancin' feet. Aishling, basket in hand, was on her way to the market to buy some supplies for The Auld Rigadoo. The Inn had been very full lately with all of the workers in town for the improvements to the quay. Her Inn sat on the road that passed buy the docks, just like so many other businesses in Port Lairge.
The town was bustling with people she knew and people she didn't know so well. She'd meet a rather odd sort in the tavern. Odd because of his very well.... off in the head kind of talk they'd had. Aishling planned on praying for him when she got the chance to go to the church. Just ahead the Archdeacon of Cashel noticed a small crowd gathering. She recognized the faces and the face of the stranger named Bob.
"Helllooo me lovelies! Now what might be the topic that has you all gathered here? Is there a particularly good deal at the market?" Her eyes were then drawn to the parchment posted. She read only a portion of it and began to laugh. The laughter soon turned to a frown as she saw what was obviously a fake signature of the URAC Inquisition. "This is ridiculous! It's complete and utter nonsense! What is someone trying to do, slander the name of the church? Who posted this?" She looked around and her eyes locked on Bob.
As she was eyeing Bob, Catriona came along and tore down the poster. Aishling let out a whoop. "Woohoo Cat! That'll show 'em that they can't impersonate the Inquisition! Now what shall we do with that? Burn it or send it on to the real Inquisition? Hmm, what to do, what to do..."

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Jah, prefers prayers to tears

Catriona_mackenzie

"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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Violina

Citation:

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.

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...

Citation:

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 ?

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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Lorcan

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.

Citation:

"What is going on, my love?"

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_marie

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

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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Aishling

"I wouldn't know an exact name Catriona but I surely am in contact with someone who would." Aishling spoke a bit louder so any who could would hear." The United Roman Aristotelian Church would never condone an act like this. Never! It goes against all we represent and that is Aristotelian friendship and love." With that she tucked the parchment into her basket. "I'll make sure that the Church knows about this."
She had second thoughts though as she looked back at Bob. Poor man, he was troubled in the mind. What would happen to him if she told the Inquisition and yet she couldn't let him carry on like this either. She knew it had to be him especially after their talk in the tavern.

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Jah, prefers prayers to tears

Lorcan

Lorcan turned his head while trying to calm his darling and saw a familiar roguish face. Smiling brightly he greats his good friend, Seamus, best smith in all Ireland and most avid Whiskey drinker.

Citation:

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

Eternal grá agus deabhóid do mo Violina.

Violina

Seamus

Little Lor a écrit:

“Nothing that catastrophic, friend."

Vi a écrit:

"That boyo thinks that redheads are...are...He doesn't like gingers!"

Daubigny

Well I'm a redhead.

Maybe someone wants to come to the arena and take my scalp.

I don't mind taking on small groups

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Porcina

Edern

Gricel_marie

-Taking a sip of the naughty juice...

Catriona_mackenzie

Gricel_marie

-Taking a sip of the naughty juice...

Porcina

Pagan

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Catriona_mackenzie

Porcina

Edern

Pagan

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Lorcan

Lorcan raises his hammer and shouts.

“Good, pure, redheads of Ireland…I call you all to arms and raise your carrot tops! I call the Red Jihad against the fiendish oppressive crusaders! We must prevail for all the wee gingers in the world!”
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The Waterford Shipping Company | Proud memeber of the Rounders | Muster Marine

Eternal grá agus deabhóid do mo Violina.

Catriona_mackenzie

Cat arched an eyebrow at Lorcan's cry for something about a Red Jihad, whatever that might be, and looked back to Pagan who seemed eager to kill someone. She'd heard the lass had been very thorough in tracking down crime while Constable of the County. Porcie's explanation of what whas going on had been beautifully succinct - naturally.

But what this man had said ... the outlandish description of this english spy, then a story about stopping a robbery, getting robbed himself of ink and coin ... none of it was adding up.

"If ye folk go looking for someone with that description, a think ye'll still be looking next yuletide," Cat said lightly. And then to Edern, "If ye dinnae mind my saying," Cat said slowly, fixing the fella with her eye, "every word that comes out of yer mouth reminds me of a wee bairn making up stories to cover up the truth. Porcie, Would ye not say he just did a fair impression of Mario and Luigi caught with their hands in the biscuit barrel?"

She shook her head at the man. "Ye've left some wide holes in yer tale ... May be ye want to think it through and start again? Perhaps someone here can help ye recall the actual truth. Or maybe we should just give you a headstart..."
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Gricel_marie

Quietly listening to everyone speak,Gricel yawned once or twice until she heard Lorcan's speech, that woke her up, shaking her head slightly she moved away from her spot on the wall " I think Edern here wants some attention...and we seem to be giving him what he craves."
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-Taking a sip of the naughty juice...

Porcina

Cat spoke aloud Porcie's own suspicions, which the lack of visible fresh inkstains on the stranger's hands had not fully dispelled. Feeling vindicated, she pursed her lips and sized up the man's height compared to convenient high places while withdrawing her flask from her waist and handing it to Pagan. It's nice and warm: been in my pocket all day.

Aye, just like my freckly wee boys he sounds, Cat. What form of persuasion, she drawled the word huskily, did ye have in mind for Edern? Porcie nodded at Gricel in thanks for supplying the man's name, privately agreeing with the lass' assessment but enjoying herself too much to simply walk away. Also there was the off chance the chestnut-haired couple meant to rise up and do whatever gee-hodding was.
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Aishling

Things were looking rather bad for Bob which Aishling didn't mind too much. Her silence left him in a bit of a pickle and it showed with every word that came tumbling out of his mouth. She couldn't let the crazy fool get attacked though, not if she was going to practice what she preached.
"Bob, that sure is an interesting description you gave. Thing is I haven't seen an English ship dock in these parts for awhile. Maybe what you saw was someone faking being the Inquisition who was faking being from England just so.... just so he could get YOU killed. Oh my good gracious Almighty! It's a conspirator out to get you Bob! We may have to protect you with our glorious red heads because they... they after all have "skills". Thank Jah for the titian haired people of Eire! They'll save you."
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Jah, prefers prayers to tears

Pagan

Pagan took a long pull out of the flask that drained about the half of the contents before handing it back to Porcie and pondered the problem for a while. In her times as the Constable they had used several methods of getting a confession out of the suspects. Oh, good times! Pagan wondered if it was time for her to return to the Council soon. One of her favorites had been the 'Lie Detector Test'.

"I know!" she said. "Let's do a Lie Detector Test to him. It is very simple. We tie him into a big rock and throw him into the lake. If he drowns, then we know he's innocent and go hunting these English crooks. But if he floats, that means he's a liar and Jah wants to spare his life because He wants us to punish him!"
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Aishling

Hearing Pagan explain her test had Aishling just shaking her head. "What kind of logic is that? Pretty bass ackwards if you ask me and equally as mixed up as the whole "cleanse Ireland of redheads" idea. You didn't actually do that did you?"
Now Aishling was even more concerned for Bob. What to do though was the question. She needed to protect him but she also needed him to stop this foolishness that he'd begun. He was going to get himself killed one way or another and she couldn't let that happen.
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Jah, prefers prayers to tears

Porcina

Porcie cocked her head and looked from Gricel to Aishling, then back to the stranger. "Bob?"
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Aishling

"Bob, aye that's what he asked me to call him when we talked in the tavern. Nice name really, very short, the same backwards as forwards and rather fitting for a fishing town. Perhaps with a name like that he would float? Emm.. no, no of course he wouldn't. No one would float tied down liar or not. Reminds me of a joke I heard once. What do you call someone with no arms and no legs floating on the water? Bob!" Aishling started to laugh but realized maybe it wasn't that funny?
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Jah, prefers prayers to tears

--Alfie_fotherington_smythe

The gentleman eased his way down the road, enjoying the sights and sounds of Port Lairge. This was the final destination for him and his lovely wife on their tour of Ireland. Their friends had thought them mad to honeymoon on the emerald isle, but Alfred Fotherington-Smythe had always had a yearning to see the place given that some ancestor or other had haled from the island. And as it turned out, the place was not completely over run with savages as his friends assumed.

Twirling his cane, he waddled forth, his short plump legs tightly packed into rose-colored breeches and the golden buckles on his shoes bringing out the yellow of his shirt. He'd found Port Lairge to be a delight, a bustling town full of interesting people and lively sounds. Alas, his new bride had taken to her bed this day, having a small sniffle, but had sent him out so he could get some fresh air.

And what a day it was. The sun bounced off his gleaming bald head with a shine and he twirled his dashing gray moustache in satisfaction as he stopped to peer into a shop window.

I say, how spiffing, he murmured, admiring the green hat on display and totally oblivious to the group of people some fifty paces away.

Pagan

Pagan looked from Aishling to Porcie and then back again. Slowly she started to suspect there wasn't gonna be a lynching after all.

"Well, what are we standing here for? Are we gonna hang someone or are we all gonna go to a tavern and get sloshed? I'm good either way, but I don't have time to just stand here all day - that port ain't gonna build itself yanno!"
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Edern

Nameless. Bob. Greta. Et cetera. Names he has caught without even thinking about it. He should have chosen Nobody. Redheads are more dangerous than the cyclop Ulysses had to fool. On top of that, they are surprisingly omniscient. Or his birth same must have silently crossed the sea to stick to his forehead. In any case, pronouncing the word "Edern" gets him genuinely angry. Cynically angry.
Eyes closed. He takes a deep breath.
Listen. I am not Edern anymore...
I am the Fool.
Remember.

Lady Catriona, I guess that you are childless. Bairns make up stories, right, but as they are not corrupted yet by your desperate need for inviolable facts, they do not have anything to hide. They know that these stories are the only truth existing.

She tries to lead them. Leaders use special words, both threatening and merciful. When will she stop speaking ? Too young to really appreciate torture. On the other side, there is Pagan. She likes to talk about the ways he could die. But she is alone. And men are waiting for a sudden move. The crowd is divided. Ridicule them all.

I agree, Archdeacon. This amazing story has been designed in order to kill me... I knew I was a harmless victim. Some people among us - he looks around - are conspiring against me. Thanks God, you're here with the powers the Church gave to gingers.

Well done. To the alcoholic woman, whose brown hair does not prove her innocent at all :

By the way, your methods are outdated. Nowadays, locking someone in a dark cell and feeding him once a month with his own limbs is the fashionable way to get what you want from a prisoner. Believe me...

Please believe me. He would escape by eating rats and digging a tunnel, as usual. He could also save his hide discussing torture for hours with Pagan, creating the Irish Tormentors Guild and maiming lots of innocent widows and orphans. But screams are annoying. His hands could get damaged because of sharp tools.
Sometimes life is hard. Is there another solution ? Maybe a horseback getaway. Look at the corner of the street. Wait a second. What... what the hell ?
A man has just appeared. A man exactly conformed to the description he made to the peaceful people of Ireland.
Liars' God does exist.
So sorry, sir.

THEEERE HE IIIIIIIS !!

The forefinger clearly points at the unfortunate passerby.
Smirk on Edern's face. The wind is turning... run, poor target, run.

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[ORP] The only good redhead is a dead redhead