I was born in Ireland in the 13th century in eastern Connacht. Somewhere near a mountain with a lake or river at the foot. I recall hilly and watery. You see, I seem to have lost most of my memories prior to arriving in the Knowne World due to an illness or shock. As details come back to me, I'll let you know, too.

I do know my father's face, even if I do not recall his name or clan. A large Black Irish man, beard and hair gone to white. He puts me in mind of an ox: hard-working, mostly even-tempered, but beware waking that temper! Stories of the Good People seem clearer to me than my own family's faces. Was I a nun, historian or scholar? It's more likely a grandmother raised me on tales of the 'old days'... This feels closer to the truth as I have difficulty reading or writing more than my first name and I speak only the smattering of Latin we all do, picked up from listening to the priests at Mass. Again, it could just be the skill, with other recollections, is lost and needs be found.

I don't remember first meeting the archer Markus Pheilsmid, although I am certain we've not known each other since birth. What I do remember is his bringing me to Avacal. I was fleeing the stories of a plague stretching across all the lands of the Continent to the shores of Eire. He has my eternal gratitude for this gift of finding sanctuary in these lands.

Oddly, he has sometimes mentioned 'a husband' and a fatal 'hunting accident', but I think he's just teasing me. A person ought to remember a husband at least as well as a father and I recall no such person. Plus, everyone knows Markus is a good enough archer that such a terrible occurance would never happen by accident. It's a foolishness he's dreamt up to vex me, I am certain.

I was fleeing the plague, that's all.

On Saturday night, Markus and I had finished dinner, the sun had just set, and we made our way to the Grotto. Going down the hill and through the 'very noisy' encampments, we found a break in the trees with a lattice-framed path. After a few twists and turns, we saw an open space, heard voices and... Going to a spot near a bench some friends had claimed at the edge of the clearing, we looked around. There were other small benches surrounding the area, centred on a fire-pit with a couple more paths leading further into the trees. The trees were decorated with colourful lanterns, turning the area into a magical place as it got darker. People were coming and going, sitting and standing, greeting one another and several men of the host household were walking through the growing crowd with frosty pitchers offering, "Blue or green?"

Time went quickly after full dark and the area filled. People dressed for many time-periods and cultures talked, sang, yelled, hugged and laughed: Mongol, Irish, Arab, Italian Ren, cavaliers, barbaric warriors, ladies, wenches, early period, late... more Scadian-types than I could identify. Drums started a short distance from us and women began to belly-dance. At one point, we watched a half-dozen children join in before their guardians for the evening gathered them up for bed. Looking up at the slender trees swaying, we saw Vikings standing on some of the benches, using the trees for support. Just when I thought the scene we were in couldn't get any more rich, a bright flash of light in a smaller, adjoining clearing got our attention. With a whoosh, another spout of flame errupted... a fire-breather!

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of colour and sound that I don't have the words to describe. That night, I first understood what a rich, unique culture we had joined. There will be other parties at other events, but this one will stand out in my mind since it was the first I had been to where all those impressions came together for a few hours of joyful awe.