King Cearógil of the Eridaoine

King of the Eridaoine Cearógil

The younger son of High King Ceradairn of the reunited Géadine High Kingdom and Beirlea of the House of Eandris. Unlike his brother, Cearógil did not immediately support Érenhel and the Foralin during the War for the Gem. However, he rode to their aid in the last battle and fought to the last alongside them. Both he and Guisgarn would be buried at the site of the battle and become legends in their own right.

Physical Description

General Physical Condition

Cearógil was not the same warrior his brother was, he was not impressive to behold or greatly skilled, but at his end none could deny his courage and his valor.

Mental characteristics

Personal history

Once there was a second son of a great man, brother of a greater man he hid away in the shadow of doubt and fear. For the king's son was of a weak mind then, weak and foolish, searching for pleasantries and elegance in days of steel and blood. For war and strife came, yet he did nothing of it. The Fae of Eregrinel called out aloud for aid and alliance but the king did not answer, for he did not think of his deeds as bearing fertile fruit in war. For the war was theirs, why should the blood of men be shed along with those of the Fae in a squabble of their own making? But this was not so, for in the blood of the king was blood like that of the Fae blood being shed in fields and in the dells and dens of the field of battle. For every one of the Fae who went east did ask, "Where are the riders of men, sworn to us and us to them, they have laid down their arms and see as we die?"
To whatever end the Fae came to, Cearógil the king did nothing and in a gloomier time would have bore witness to the end of his blood's love of the Westerners. To whatever end, to whatever end, the king did ponder that thought often as he sat and did nothing. As the Fae donned armor and gave arms to their children, to whatever end, a thought the king pondered but would never know. For he did not know of sacrifice, nor loss, nor a burden of any manner. For peace would come from only war, victory from sacrifice, a burden eased through suffering. Cearógil did nothing, son of Ceradairn the High King, brother of Guisgarn, he sat and answered nothing. For proud as he was, vain as he was, foolish as he was, he was afraid. Fear took ahold of his heart and seemed to never release him, for fear of death was upon his mind at all times. But does death not come when action is not taken in life? Does death not come faster to those afraid to live? Many did not accept the king's wishes and instead chose to go with King Guisgarn, who rode out and gathered the arms of his nation to bear arms with the Foralin of Eregrinel. To fight and die in the slaughter of war, for friendship and honor, for it was good. For all that was noble and good rode out east, towards the rising sun, while the king lay behind, grape eating and drinking his fill from the wares of his land.
Content and fat had he grown, and with each day he slunk further into ease. Yet one day, the grand door to the king's high hall swung open and two greeted the king and approached him. This man was Engung, a man of the wide fields, a shepherd, and a man of Cearógil's kingdom. At his side was a wide-eyed boy, no more than twelve, soot-covered and mud-clad named Módigan.
In those early times, Módigan's humble nature made him docile, for he was grateful for the shelter provided by the king. Yet below a fire burned, unextinguishable as he yearned for revenge, to join in battle those who opposed the forces who had orphaned him and taken his family from him. The king forbade the boy from taking up arms, believing him to be too eager to die, susceptible to the songs of bards regaling with the notions of a glorious end. But the boy's spirit could not be tamed, and his frustration turned to action, he donned a suit of mail, a helm, and a sword and declared his intent to ride to war regardless of the words of his king. The king witnessed this, seeing the boy before him, so ready to fight and die, prepared for sacrifice and battle. Shame washed over the king, the very embodiment of courage stood before him and he saw like a mirror, its opposite in himself. The king's heart was heavy, and he spoke to Módigan in a trembling voice,
"Who am I?" the king asked, his voice trembling with despair. "If I cannot even inspire someone like you to stay beside me, what sort of a man am I? Am I destined to wither away in the shadows of old age, with no deeds to speak of, or should I face death on the field of battle, even if the odds are against me?"
But the boy did not flinch and answered his king with but these simple words, "Grab your sword my king, for you have been without it for too long." And at once, Módigan the boy knelt and bestowed the king's sword to him and the king paused for a moment seeing the gleam of the blade before him.
"The sword you give me is not mine, it is the blade of my forefathers, greater men than I. Greater and good in deeds, I am their son of lesser ilk, poorer and of ill repute. How wrong can it be, that the great pass and bring goodness, while I linger on, black bile spewing from my fingers as evil things come to pass. You offer a blade to me but I am far from worthy to touch its hilt."
Módigan showed then his quality, for he answered the solemn words of his king with words of fire, of passion. "Yet by this sword will you make yourself worthy of the name given to you." And at once, the king's sadness flowed out of him, a smile crept up and he grasped the blade before him between his fingers. To whatever end now would the king go, to fight, to war for this was the call that now gripped him. For the sun was rising, a new day was dawning for Cearógil and he greeted it well and without fear any longer. The host of the Eridaoine rode out from the gates of Glanduweir, the keep of the king, out east did they ride, chasing their brotherly comrades to the field of destiny.
In a dream it was, that the sky grew dark and terrible. For blood and carnage flew all around in a field in wild lands. For Prince Érenhel cried aloud in the chaos of battle, death all around him, for aid wherever it be and from whomever. And then at once, when all seemed to be lost, did the first horn blasts of the Géadine boom behind. Suddenly then did the kings cry out atop their proud horses. Behind them, all the banners of the nation of men fluttered in the breeze, swords gripped hard in the saddle. The banner of the king was high, it loomed large and fluttered fast but he outpaced it. Before him was the lowliest of the race of Sylren and Thallan, yet their speartips nor their hard nature was on the king's mind, a hundred warriors thundered just behind the king but he outpaced them all. The king rode out there, his gold helm could not hide his fine gold hair, no more finely woven but tangled and matted, as the king knew death to be near. The front of the great host roared on but none overtook the king who rode with a fury. Enflamed he seemed with battlelust, for atop his white steed Mohbrac he stood tall and appeared hard and stern, his heart lit with courage like his mighty forefathers before him. His golden shield lay at his side, glittering and uncovered, the grass around him seemed lit with fire from the steps of Mohbrac, her hooves beat the dirt and frozen them so. The greatness of men was laid forth by the king, so long beholden to cowardice, Cearógil shed the coil of defeat and delusion, false pride withered away from him and he boomed with courage as he rode to his death. For the oaths of men were not forgotten so easily, the deeds of ages past were to be held up, upon the lance of the king did the dreams of his race shine, upon his brow did he see his enemy and know fear was long behind.
He fell upon the Brethari in a madness, his blade whirled atop his horse and he cut down many as the host of the Géadine smashed into the lines of the enemy. For by the valor of their king, did the brave warriors of men ride on and through the enemy to the place where the beleaguered Foralin did rest in a circle. The twin kings rode on to relieve their allies and in doing so, they rode to their deaths. For Guisgarn was the first to fall, many blades and arrows tore into his flesh yet he rode on and continued until his very steed was killed under him. Spying from afar, Cearógil saw his brother ailing and he charged after him. Yesterday's fear sprouted the courage of this day, Cearógil slew many on his way to his dying brother. On he went, brave as he was then, brave as any who had come before him in blood and deed, he caved in skulls with a swing from a mace, cut down any before him with his swinging sword. Oh how the wind whipped and whirled upon the sight of the king's charge, how all the world seemed drawn to him, such a deed of valor, but I will say no more of it for the king fell defending his dying brother and the world was darker for it.
For the king fell there, in the fields of the wild east, where no men dared to tread before. The wailing gulls above did not touch the bodies of the valorous dead upon that field. For the fires of war do so ensnare all, even the valorous and even the fair. Dying then, the oath of their people was made, to die for companions, so selflessly and so sorely needed is the pride of the Géadine. For Cearógil so far away now, did redeem himself upon that field, courage lit a great passionate deed out of him and he proved his mettle there so that none since should doubt his quality. There upon that field were great mounds laid, kingly mounds for the twin kings of men now slain. All around, man and fae lowered their heads upon the kings before them, interred in the earth forever now, until the day the sun and steller moons fall from the heavens during the final day. The blood of the Géadine once more was enshrined in honor, for two of its honorable sons now gave their lives for the oath eternal, the oath given by the greatest of their number.

Mental Trauma

Plagued by inaction and cowardice

Personality Characteristics

Motivation

Protect his people from war and ensure the survival of his kingdom
Ride out and aid the Foralin in their most desperate hour

Social

Family Ties

The younger brother of King Guisgarn
Son of High King Ceradairn and Beirlea Bláth na Faiche
Father of Lóruin Cessari and Fuitach Nifuil
Great-great grandfather of Finnia Yelinbel

Species

Human

Ethnicity

Géadine

Other Ethnicities/Cultures

• Eridaoine

Date of Death

16th of Herrena

Life

8450 B.E 7998 B.E 452 years old

Circumstances of Birth

Second son of High King Ceradairn and his wife Beirlea

Circumstances of Death

Died fighting alongside his brother with the Foralin

Birthplace

Durandell, seat of the Géadine High Kings

Place of Death

the eastern Wildlands

Family

House of Meginil

Parents

High King Ceradairn

Beirlea Bláth na Faiche

Quotes & Catchphrases

"Let old wrongs be forgotten, now has come the hour of the sword, for if I fall, it shall be by it or on it."

Aligned Organization

Géadine High Kingdom

(High King Ceradairn of the Géadine, father of Guisgarn and Cearógil)

(Beirlea, mother of Guisgarn and Cearógil, Beirlea was known as Bláth na Faiche "The Flower of the Fae". She was the only child of Cerethor, the last king of the Fae realm of Sceadine)

(Prince Érenhel Einbrec, son of High King Foriael and leader of the Foralin during the War for the Gem)

(King Guisgarn of the Vendaoine, elder brother of Cearógil and who was also killed during the final battle)