Broc of Coille

Broc, you are the most selfless, trustworthy, eloquent and above all, the wisest person I have met since the sun started its journey. And stories of great people, require... no, they demand of us skalds to make them live until the memories fade.

— Tíll Ulchabhán, the high among the trickster skalds

A wandering sheepherder-for-hire, who messed up badly during one run with the ginger sheep (see Cymrian fireflies:symbiosis with sheep). When one of them wandered off from the herd, he patted the loner and convinced her to come back. Too drunk to remember, he was dealing with the ginger sheep he brushed his left eye. He lost his left eye and had to round up the herd, scattered by the curses he screamed. A while after the incident he got lost during the drunken stroll and went the wrong way, acidentally crossing paths with Tíll Ulchabhán - the first leader of the trickster skalds.

Background

Broc was a forever-wandering drunk, most notably known for having a knack for tending sheep. Never sticking to one place, living his life day by day. His only love was booze and sheep. In each village he would never stop for more than a single season. By the time spring came back, the strider again entered the path of loneliness. Unbent will, courage to defend the flock on his own from the pack of ravenous wolves. He would enter the Forest of Spring to gather the scattered and frightened lambs. He would fly to the great skies themselves to reach for the Heavenly Fleece. Such was the life of Broc the Brave. While people call him Broc it is just a nickname he was given after one of the brawls in Coille, supposedly a small village in the Central Saveni. He got two black eyes, which made him look similar to a badger, or Broc in the local dialect.

The destined encounter

One day when Broc was out for a walk after a good drink in the seventh moon he came across a young man in his mid-twenties, whom he found famished and displeased on near the crossroads north to Coille. Poor lad had sunken cheeks and eyes screaming of death and dread. Now, Broc was a drunkard but with a heart of gold. He took out what last piece of bread and dried meat he had, took a long gulp from the skin and sat next to the stranger.

"Bog the log, lad! Ya look like ya saw the bloody catfish himself! Oi, lemme give ya a drink to cheer ya up!"

The young man looked into Broc's eyes, piercing right through them. The death was no longer in them, his cheeks no longer sunken. Slim figured, black haired and muscular he asked playfully, "Good man, do you recognize me?"

Broc had no idea whatsoever. "I know a poor soul when I see one, no worries! Sharin' is carin' and ya gotta share! Ya a skold, ain't ya?!" Broc almost shouted with excitement. "And ya look like a jolly fella too!"

"That is one way to put it", said Tíll Ulchabhán with a smile. "Alright, Broc, let us drink to your story."

Broc didn't notice how the stranger new his name without him mentioning it first. But then again, he couldn't care less.

Broc the Traveller

"We're gonna have a lot of laughs together, Broc, so why don't you call me Gàire?"
"A foine name, lad", answered Broc with no hesitation. "But ya know, what I fancy more than a good laugh? A journey in a good company."
"Very well, Broc. Let us start the memorable journey."

With the first encounter done, the two have decided to go all around Saveni, but not without a plan. Oh, no... Broc insisted they visit every city in the region of Galawa, since it was a region once prospering but now sort of lonely. He managed to save some money during the last season, so they ventured from village to village sharing the coin left and right. Here they bought a necklaces with grasain an spais stones, there some skalds mead, heavyheads and rare orange mushrooms. They sold what Broc had of the ginger grease, given to him by the sheer workers.

"Where did you get so much grease? It is not cheap, that's for sure."

"Ah, didn't I tell ya? I'm tendin' to them ginger sheep! They're a beauty in th' summer I tell ya! All of 'em burnin' with them fireflies. Hell of a view!" Broc seemed passionate about his job.

"Yet you stand here in one piece with not as much as a single burn. How is that?" Till looked intrigued and curious.

"Ya just have to have sometin' on ya hands and ya good! I have a secret of my own, but ya look trustworthy so lemme share it with ya! I make meself a mix of clay and sticky juice of some eastern tree. The thing costs hell of a lot, but it's worth it! Ya take some guts like for the sausage and cut pieces for ya fingers. Then ya get a stomach, a big one, for yar hands up to the elbows. Ya pull the hand through, put the guts on the fingers and there ya go! Ya only have to close the gaps with the clay-juice mix and wait until it fits ya hands. And yar good to go. The sheep are ya friends! Just remember not to rub yar eyes. I lost me left and t'was no fun."

The two have visited places Galawa was once famous for. The mines, in which grasain an spais was once foraged, but which now are flooded. Broc would drink his way in to the minds of miners, who had a hard time finding some precious stones to sell. He relieved their burden and proposed them to venture forth. "The house ain't goin' nowhere and ya can always come back. Yar experience is yar sail and they're bloody huge. If ya leave the harbour they can get ya far beyond the horizons.. "

While exiting the village they overheard two ladies talking about how these years rains and floods have once again made meadows be eaten by smelly bogs. The meadow nettles, which were the staple of the village where more and more scarce. In addition bog nettles outgrew them and persistently remained. The crops were once again not enough to prepare enough fabric to sell on the market. Broc couldn't help but enter the conversation. He noted that indeed the bog nettles were terrible for the fabric, but that the Cymrian people prized them for high strength and used them for making very strong nets. The bogs were very rare at that region, which was why most of the threads cam from outside. He suggested that they could twist the threads and sell them for a good price and that every merchant will whif a good deal in it. This turned the whole situation around and the weavers were grateful that the traveller showed them a way to make the village prosperous once again.

What Broc did not know, was that long before they entered the Galawa region, Till molded him with a set of forms of emptiness. Thus, whenever Broc approached the settlement, the loss and emptiness would walk before him, filling people with sadness and feel of loss. But then everything started to change for better. Wherever he appeared, he would be bearing gifts of views, feelings, songs and joyful carelessness of a traveller. Everything a weary soul would need. Thus, by the people of Galawa he was remembered as Broc the Traveller, the one with whom comes joy, happiness and prosperity. Folk would typically describe him as a joyful young man with a pronounced belly wearing a long travellers coat. He would hold a full skin purse in one hand and an owl, the symbol of wisdom, sitting on the other.

As a parting gift, they visited the waterfall, rushing from the Galawa lake. Deep under, under the surface, beneath the whitest limestone they placed eight coins and a necklace, later to be revealed as an ancient legend of Thraganur. But that is yet another tale.

Broc the Seeker

"Say, Gàire, are ya trickster skald?
"Now what could be the reason for you to be are asking this, Broc?" Till was too bothered with tuning the lute to provide more than a glance.
"None t'be honest. I thought to meself, we would go well together. Ya would do tricks and I would give treats. Whad'ya say?" Broc seemed fired up by his new idea.
"I am not sure if the trickster role is not too hard for me to handle but what friend would not bother to try, right?" He plucked the strings in a quick melody, similar to spring, warm rain in sunny sky. "Let's seek for a place that would welcome some trick or treat, Broc."

It happened a day or two before the moon of Lark. The two were travelling the western parts of Saveni in hopes to find a nice place to get some sleep and enjoy themselves in a bit of mischief and adventure. As it happened, they noticed a sheepherders cottage not far from the roads and decided to put Brocs sheep tending qualifications to good use. A knock on the door and a big bearded man answered asking what would they want at this hour.

"A place to rest is all we ask. and in return we may share valuable information on what is bound to happen", said Till.

"Travellers are always welcome. You can join me for the supper and say more of what brings you here."

They entered the cottage and joined the man at the table. Broc pulled out some mead, while Till accompanied with the quiet plucking of his lute. He spoke of a vision, treating of a wolf's moon, that turns love into overwhelming fear.

"A word is spread all over Cymru, that a wolf's eye moon will appear in the next day", sang out Till, "and as was revealed at the Seventh Gathering, one must not approach the ones they love, as their love will transform into overwhelming fear."

The bearded man heared the words but payed them no attention. Discussion with Broc about tending to lambs through harsh winters was more interesting. When the next day came, he got up early as ever, along with the sunrise and went over to tend his wooly beauties. But the closer he got to them, the more frightened they were. He didn't understand it, but decided to go to them anyway. But the second he did that the sheep scattered in pannic in all possible directions.

Incidentally, Broc saw all that happened and offered to find every single one of them. The man had no choice but to trust him. The sheep would be scared of him anyway. And hence, Broc went on a journey to find them all, every 117 of them. The weather was bad and the coulds suggested it will get worse, but he was not going to leave them. He was Broc, the Broc of Coille, a man who valued sheep like people and he would not leave any of them alone. But he was not called the sheep whisperer for naught. Withstanding the lashing rain and the numbing wind, he uncovered 109 of them but 8 were missing. He would not have that!

He found seven of them in a small ravine, near the seasonal creek. The worst possible scenario! A single wooly creature was all alone in the dark, left to the wolves and all dark critters of the night. He would not have that and one would not sleep while his proteges were in a dire situation. He had to find a way to find her fast but where would she find shelter in a situation like that?

"If I were a panicking lamb, where would I hide?! Think, bugger!"

He knew were to find her.

---

He got back when the moon was still above the horizon, still some two hours till dawn. Gàire never asked Broc how he did it and the sheepherder was shocked with the deed to ask. Gàire made sure the man was shocked enough not to ask questions.

The truth of times

People care less for the truth, Broc. The intensity is too much. Too common, too boring, too frightening...

— Tíll Ulchabhán

Human memory is a fleeing thing and not many remember the truth behind the life of Broc of Coille. Words of his deeds were passed in many regions. He was known as Broc the Traveller, Broc the Wise, Broc the Seeker and a half-human Broc, the Whisperer of the Heavenly Sheep. The image of the man behind them has very often changed dramatically, with a single exception. All stories point out, that Broc was typically accompanied by a red-eyed badger, his most faithful friend.

As the legends were weaved with care by the First among Skalds, it becomes less and less probable that the truth will ever be fully discovered. What was passed on to the fellow Trickster Skalds was the tale of a poor man's gifts and how they should be repayed in kind.

Broc the Traveller by Angantyr

Broc the Seeker by Angantyr

Broc the Wise by Angantyr

Broc the Heavenly Sheep Whisperer by Angantyr