Note from archivist: This account is probably the most infamous event report ever written and caused such a storm when released that attempts were made to get it banned.
Being in full measure an account of the deeds and accomplishments of the realm of Albion and her peoples at the great Gathering of Nations held in the land of Norsca in the year 1101AF. A true-telling of the heights and depths of the mortal spirit; a celebration of courage and sacrifice and honour, and a condemnation of cowardice and perfidy and treachery dire. A tale then of the Dream of Albion, and the resilience of that dream at the darkest moments of oppression and perilous circumstance.
And dedicated well to the wisdom and grace of Lord Marshall Hugo Charenten and Baron Robert Falcon of Warwick, who have placed their full support and kind attendance to the truth of the account herein.
The Hosting of Nations
Away beyond the realm of summer, deep within the hard lands of the Wolves, there lay a magical valley of gentle winds and clear blue sky, and there before an ancient temple and the surrounding majesty of glacial peaks was held a great gathering of chiefs and warbands and all of the finest warriors and bards and enchanters and villains of all the world and worlds beyond close assembled in their might and power.And there came the peoples of the Lion and the Gryphon and the Unicorn, full-appointed with ready wargear and puissant arts of hearth-splendour and dauntless quest. And there came the peoples of the Tarantula and Viper and Dragon, demons and tyrants rubbing shoulders with worthy warriors and star-struck poets.
And last and best there came the peoples of Hart and Wolf and Bear, bright heroes and cunning lords, fair singers and far-famed warlike bands.
And in a great camp did these nations rest, and there rose feast-halls and council-chambers and entertainments far and myriad, and though enemies were close at hand, the wisest men of the nations caused a great ritual of magic to suffuse the ground beneath that no man struck should suffer loss of blood or loss of life to blade or bludgeon for the duration of that joyful festival.
And between the encampments of the nations there was a market of such diversity and wonder than neither word nor song might do justice to the manifold pleasures and darkling fey wonder conjured whole in fact and fancy. And carved meat in many forms was served to chieftains and kings and ready wound-reavers in the night of the summer moon, and flesh taken from the greatest of beasts of field and forest was spiced and braised and cooked for the pleasure of those close arrayed. And everywhere was music and the rhythm of drums, that a man might not walk hither and hence that he not feel the stirring of passion to speed his step or drive the heart to acts of glorious folly and enduring valour.
And the finest encampment of them all was the territory of Albion and the Harts of ancient Prydein; and though the campaign-dwellings of the Lions might be edged in cloth-o-gold and appointed with fine gemstones and precious filigree, they were the abodes of brigands and beggars in comparison to the pavilions and dream-dominions of gentle Albion and her knights and ladies of ready wit and hand. And though the feasthall of the Wolves was renowned and revered for the heat of its broth and the dark savoury salivation of its cuisine, that fair was judged the mere leavings of lepers and scrapmeat of the slaughterhouse when measured against the glorious creations and bounty of Albion’s cooks and mead-vendors and publicans of bounty and tantalising grace. And though the songs and feast-poetry of the Bears might tempt the spirits of the ancestors and powers of the otherworld themselves to descend to sample the delights and mysteries, when heard in comparison to miracle-verse of the firesides of Albion, those arts were they dry prattling of withered felons and the low cant-cawking of avian throats.
But as glorious and wondrous as these appointments and attributes were in truth, the gathering of nations in the Ice Valley was not to be a peaceful reverie or splendid feast of restful means. No indeed, for many factions brought plans and designs of cunning violence and wished great ill upon their neighbours; assassins and men of scant honour were hired in coin stained with innocent blood, pit-fiends and crawling terrors from the deepest hells were summoned and bound to the bidding of wicked lords and treacherous nobles. Narrow lips sneered maledictions and bestial brows beetled in feral spite; everywhere the droop-jawed dragon ingrates toiled under the direction of their waddling war-leader, and never a shade nor dank crack was seen, were it not filled with the pallid uneven faces of brigand-killers of little worth and nithling measure.
And thus the Lords of Albion surveyed and there made plans to erect a stout palisade and sturdy gatehouse to prevent the entrance of these despoiling wights and carrion-eating villains of swarthy mien and low bitter means. Marshall Hugo commanded that gate captains be chosen for honour and valour and high-arcing duty, men of dauntless arts and ready war-talents, women of dangerous beauty and hard warlike feats. A ready teulu-band of Albion’s children, their blades and their bludgeons thrice-ordained to the service of their comrades and kin. And chief amongst these champions were bright-feral Aisla “cat claw”, her sharp talons the death to the foolish and the foul alike, her blade of tears the architect of many a foeman’s weeping kin, and broad-grinned Pelleas, the Priest of the Raven, the axe-wielding killer of Albion’s ravagers and the scourge of those already dead, and noble-browed Sagramore, the war-deputy of Hugo and plotter of carnal massacres, and long-locked Corax, the battlefield bane of greedy conquerors, and fine-mannered Wattaro, the master of tea-serving and wound-rending, and shaggy-shanked l’Ume, the blood-poet of Dreams, and laughing-girthed Lucien, the admiral of the foeman’s misfortune, and beautiful Piers, the Captain of fashion and distant slaying, and mead-drinking Ebric, the bard of hard slaughter, and sharp-toothed Auriel, the maiden of marrow-quenching, and an unseelie King named Finn Drachu, and these all and many more besides, were the finest of Albion’s soldiers and the brightest of her children, and so pledged to the defence of liberty and love they swore obedience to Hugo’s wish and named the camp and palisade the sanctuary line of honourable death and the limit of their hard mercy.
And there were the Lords of Dukes and Barons and their Ladies assembled, and a bright and burning company of splendour was arrayed and deported nobly upon a list protected by the spears of the sky and the warriors of the four quarters of earthly heaven. And foremost in the Land of Albion was the Grand Duke Cadarn Pendragon and his bride the Warrior-Queen Elspeth Pendragon and it was said that the Duke bowed him demons to his manservant’s and the Queen had dressed her scarlet robes in the blood of her enemies, and together they had overthrown all of the nations of the world in battle and honourable fray, and thus in cause was it fair that their pavilions were the finest in the world, and their feasts the greatest, and the songs of their bards and poets the sweetest of all.
And there stood also the Chancellor and chief killer of men in gentle Albion, the full-noble figure of Martaine Quarrier, and though his dress was subtle and of shaded hue, his teeth were sharp and shining and his gaze was sufficient alone to drive the thoughts of evil from the minds of those who wished it.
And there stood also in pomp and earthly beauty the be-ringed Chamberlain and chief romancer in gentle Albion, the gilt-garbed war-singer Jay Wychwood, and his dress was a considered affront to the vanity of gods and spirits and those ancestors of distant warmer climes who craved the touch of silk and gemstone close to less than mortal skin, and though Lord Jay smiled the gentle welcome of an easy feast-companion, his eyes were sharp and hooded and his lips told well the taste for quick blood-killing.
And there also gathered the company of officers and courtiers and diplomats and wise women and cunning men schooled in the arts of herb-sorcery and poison-divining; and chief amongst these were the Lady Corina, whose quiet diplomacy had slain a host of assassins in seasons past, and Lord Nevyn, whose friendship with the Cymrijian Dragons had never yet tainted his manners with the full scent of bile, and Lady Glycell of demonkind, who had proved herself a mistress of unearthly ritual marvels, and Lord Tig the Seneschal whose warfeats with the knife were full-legend, and Lady Grimmir whose gaze alone had made warriors wish for skirts to hide behind, and Lady Kia of the dreaming pastures, whose sorcery caused birds to sing in droplets of lead and gold, and Lady Arianrhod, those voice could tame the fiercest of beasts, and Lord s'Kalion the leaper, whose knife had slain more than his wisdom had schooled, and Lord Jharik the Alchemist and keeper of the black book of souls, and these councillors and officers and more besides, who were the most famous wits and minds in all of the heartlands and all of the courts in all of the lands subject to the eyes of heaven and the jealous lusts of the demonkind unbound in the uplands of hell.
And there around stood the fair folk and citizens of Albion and her green and pleasant lands; and there were the folk of Cornovii and Warwick, of Eton and of Winchester, of the highlands of the Cymrijian border and the lowlands of Trell, from the cities of Londinium and Clausentum and Brighthelm Stane, from the forest depths of the Greenwood and the Vale of York, from the mysterious uplands of the Spine to the primal landscape of Norhault and the Wellspring at the centre of the world. And the folk of Albion were possessed of manifold worthy traits; their bearing was noble and honest, their eyes and brows as clear and clean as the summer brook on the lonely hillside. Their voices sweet and their spirits burnished with simple generosity of soul unknown to many regions in the wider world. It is no exaggeration to say that when creation was young men and women such as these walked proudly in the gaze of the heavens and the spirits of bird and sky and verdant woods, truly and forever at one and full union with the fairest mysteries of the living dreams which shaped the world we know today.
And into the arms of this glorious race came exiles and kinsmen returned from a far and darkened land; the Household of the Falcon marched in brazen pomp and matchless order to the ring of Lords and Ladies and noblemen and common heroes, and there knelt as one to pledge renewed fealty to the throne of Cadarn and Elspeth, their Lord, Robert Falcon, receiving fair welcome and royal favour and position and nobility returned, for the rulers of Albion recognised their kinsmen but lately estranged, and there by grant of land and faith and service returned, welcomed back to the body of Albion a household but lately delivered from the outer darkness by the wisdom and sacrifice of its Lord.
And high and proud did the Household of the Falcon stand then, and three mighty cheers rang out in golden peals to startle the lowering fiends elsewhere in the valley from their own depredations and petty evil. And above the Falcons flew a banner of dressed silk and golden cord, and to the right of their lord stood a ready warband of battle-knights dressed in hard warlike array of silver, blue and sable, and to the left of their lord stood a ready company of forester-skirmishers of cunning wit and heroic garb of burgundy and emerald and shadowed hue. And between these wings of the falcon power lay protected the wealth of wisdom and beauty encompassed by the eldest and wisest of the household standing close to those maidens and fair ladies of courtly arts and subtle smiling grace. And together the household of the Falcon was a sight of surpassing grandeur and breathless beauty, and in truth, a mortal eye knew pain and discomfort to gaze whole upon a household that knew marvels for its feast-bread and drank glory for its evening wine.
And then Duke Cadarn smiled and the dark powers beyond the camp leapt away in fear, for the Lord of Albion knew then that his name was a thing of power to attract and bind such households to his service and his duty.
Then the peoples of Albion came together to greet their kin returned and great was the celebration and swearing of comradely oaths, and the clashing of swords swung in play and battle training, and loud was the acclaim for the arts of one and all, and true was the flame of kinship that burned then in the camp of Albion. How fortunate a dream for those so blessed, how terrible the curse for those who even then looked with envious eyes and planned the darkest deeds of all in treachery and woeful harm.
