The King of England will stop at nothing to prevent the fulfilment of a prophecy he receives whilst at war in Scotland. Even if that means committing genocide against the Celtic people.
Armed with the power of the Celtic Deities they have descended...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Photo: @mintygremlin on Instagram
"Oi, straight in front of you," said the reindeer, sniffing his furry nose in the direction of the Knight.
Firmin locked eyes with the reindeer, his face scrumpling with confusion.
"Aye me! Ye look like you've seen a witch... am nae that ugly am I?"
"I'm terribly sorry Sir, I meant no offense... it truly has been the most awful of nights." His chest sank as he resheathed his sword.
"Hohoho," the reindeer chuckled. "With an accent like that, you've got tae be one of those English lads that came stomping past this way the other day?"
Firmin looked down at his full suit of armour and then back up at the reindeer with a single raised eyebrow, "so it was my accent that gave me away eh?"
"Hohoho, I like you. Cannae say I've ever met a Sassanach with a sense of humour! However, I must ask friend... what are ye doing in the middle of the woods with a child?"
Can I trust this Scotsman? Pausing for a moment, Firmin glanced at baby Finn and took a deep, laboured breath. Calm down. It's very unlikely to find someone loyal to the King this far North. "I've been tasked with returning this child to his kin. King's orders." His facade was thinner than a blade's edge, yet he stated his order as confidently as though he'd heard it leave Athelstan's lips directly.
The reindeer's hairy hooves shuffled on the overgrown path underfoot. "Looks like you've got a wee predicament on yer hands then Knight. Say, what is yer name?"
My name is Firmin, Knight Comm..." he spoke his title instinctively, cutting himself off mid sentence. "It's Firmin."
"Nice tae meet ye 'just Firmin'. The names Rupert Macbean, son of Rabbie, but everyone calls me Ru!" His voice was deep, but friendly. The tone reminded Firmin of his old swordplay mentor, causing the persistent tension he had felt since he arrived at Dunalastair to dissipate.
"I'm looking to head South, and quickly. You wouldn't happen to know how far it would be to the nearest town?"" he said, pointing down the path to where the amber sun perched lowly in the morning sky.
"Well... I assume you won't be heading back the way ye came hoho." The reindeer wagged his tufted chin in thought. "Hmm, aye It'd be Scone yer after then, three days walk along the road!" Rupert nodded in the direction he was headed.
"I don't think the little one will make it three days. Would you be willing to give us a ride to Scone Rupert?" Pain dominated the space behind Firmin's eyes, but he tried to soften his features to appear as friendly as possible.
"What's happened to yer face hoho? Ye look like a cow that's just been branded with a hot iron."
"Sir, please take me seriously. If not for me, please, for the child." Firmin felt desperate, using the baby as a tool to bargain. After all, he was heading farther from Finn's family. But he was desperate.
