If the enemy is in range, so are you. - Infantry Journal

The Irish

Starting Roster

Prologue

It was a cold night. The wind was picking up, and the dogs had started barking again. Inside, seated in a circle, heated by the blazing hearth in the centre of the Great Hall of Conn Cétchathach, the chieftains of the Fianna fell silent as the King of all Ireland stood. He was a wise man and, all agreed, a strong ruler, and a shrewd negotiator. Crafty as a fox, he had learned hard lessons along the road to become the King he was; though not without making enemies along the way. Enemies who looked to his lands with jealous eyes and greed in their hearts.

His speech was well received. Crossing himself, and nodding towards Father Patrick, he first gave thanks to God, then praised his Curaidh and their heroic deeds, and the men who followed them. All present were honoured, and their value recognised; and as had been expected, inevitably, the speech ended with a call to arms. They were great warriors who deserved great rewards, and the greatest such reward would be new lands for them to rule. So, led by the High King himself, it would be, in the name of God and Conn Cétchathach.

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