#{Sluagh na Marbh}

[briefbestiary]

They descend from the west, seeking to snatch the souls of the living before even Death can reach them. Do not dare to speak their name, for should their attention land on you, your only remaining salvation would be to sacrifice another's life in your place.

[thewolfisawake]

Don't Threaten Me with a Good Time || @soulsxng

While she wanted to bemoan like Risteard or Mhoirbheinn of 'why me' of the night...Morgan knew it'd be a lie. While she wasn't necessarily thrilled at having to do a long escort quest, she couldn't deny it was a way to indulge in the Sluagh na Marbh in style. It certainly did wonder for her power replenishment and to check into what had or hadn't survived the year's toll.

So imagine her surprise to learn of whom was leading tonight. Looks like it wouldn't be a dull night after all. She was all ready on her stag when she noticed the pair. An enthusiastic wave was given as she brought her mount before them, "Your Majesties, Happy Sluagh na Marbh! King Jaspern, it appears it has been a while since you've graced us with attendance in it so we're glad His Majesty has deigned to ride with us again. And Your Highness, Prince Jawyr, I hope that I can help make your first Hunt a memorable one. Although, you're likely an old hand at this sort of thing, no? Maybe you'll be showing me how it's done."

She tittered as she adjusted her cloak, "Now, I seem to know you but not the other way and really...it's not important. I'm just here to oversee the Hunt's progression. As such, I'm not much of a combatant so please keep this squishy mage safe and I will keep the progression on track, okay?"

[arcxnumvitae]

A Raven Aloft || @lunarxdaydream

What a farce. Mhoirbheinn stood off to the side, head tipped upwards to the night sky, his gaze fixed above. A bird flew off in the distance towards the castle, not an unusual sight around a castle that sat aboveground.

He would not have even agreed to this task had it not been Bal who'd asked it of him. Babysitting nobles from to keep them from accidentally falling on their own blades was the last thing he wished to do at the moment, and it was only because Bal had asked him to help that he'd begrudgingly acquiesced.

He'd nearly managed to go unpicked even.

Hopefully the other Generals would be able to keep the king safe from any danger in his absence. Hearing footsteps approach, Mhoirbheinn held in his sigh. Turning, the Protector swept past his charges, his features schooled and his stride steady.

"As the king has explained, I am here to guide and ensure your safety during the Sluagh na Marbh. You have been outfitted with cloaks and a lantern that will help do the same." The perfunctory instructions left the man as he approached his steed for the night. He'd paid little attention to who his charges for the night were past the annoyance upon seeing his name chosen. A prince or something? It mattered little, so long as the royal heeded his instructions and did not cause any unnecessary trouble. After all, if the man or his companions proved to be a nuisance, well, all sorts of accidents could occur during a Hunt.

Ah, he probably shouldn't joke like that.

[soulsxng]

So this was Ahnia…the fae had been traveling before but always in an official capacity. This occasion was no different so like the many times before, Balmoral observed what he could of the unique and beautiful lands before being sequestered away in some building. His eye searching, looking to take in the place its rulers were fervent to protect. Well, at least one of them, but Balmoral assumed it may have come from somewhere.

He was aware it was a little strange to confer personally for a message. However, it would not be the first nor last time Balmoral was viewed as an eccentric. Still, he had his reasoning and besides, he already made the decision. And, of course, with his Royal Protector beside him, he had nary a fear being in a foreign land.

“King Jaspern, ah believe this is our first formal meeting but ah hope it will be far frae the last,” Balmoral said, recognizing one of the many faces from Creation’s little meeting. He presented an invitation, “And with this ah would like tae establish the opportunity tae open a line.”

Placing it to the appropriate hands, the fae went on to say, “Ah would also like tae offer these festivities on behalf of the Unseelie Court as a small token of gratitude tae Ahnia’s crown prince.”

“Lir’s out with...oh. Sorry, His Majesty, I mean, is out with his grandson right now. But, I was told that they’re already on their way back, so make yourselves comfortable until then!”

That was what the rather chatty royal guard-- Rouri, he’d introduced himself as initially, before similarly rectifying his casualness with a steep, wing-spread bow, and a reintroduction as Rourke, one of the personal royal guards to Ahnia’s ruling family-- had said, before asking them if they would like anything to eat or drink, in the meantime. Among other speaking of other topics, as well. He always had been the cheery, talkative sort.

It didn’t take long, before a tall, dark haired figure entered the room-- none other than Ahnia’s king, Jaspern...though he stayed firmly in the doorway until Rouri came over to greet him, and subsequently stepped out. By the squeal of “Rooree! Mimi’s home now!”, it was likely that the king had been trying to keep his grandson from rushing into the room along with him.

“Sorry for the wait. After you both traveled this far, I doubt sitting around in the castle was what you wanted to be doing with your time, but things took a bit longer than I’d originally intended.” He sighs as he closes the door behind him. Though Rouri had commented earlier about how similar Mhoirbheinn looked to JJ-- and some of the palace workers had initially mistaken the Royal Protector for Ahnia’s crown prince-- Jaspern didn’t seem to even notice the resemblance. Or if he did, he hid it well, as he took the invitation from Balmoral and turned it over in his hands to inspect it.

“Mm, the Sluagh na Marbh is starting soon, isn’t it? Can’t remember the last time that I was in the Unseelie for that sort of thing...I don’t think JJ’s been before, so he’ll appreciate the invite. As for opening a line, we can talk business now, if you want. Otherwise, I’ll have time later as well, if you’d rather take your time to explore Ahnia, or get some rest. I have to say, most have been too wary to approach us first; nobody’s sure what to think about Brinnela’s species being whisked back from the Void, or whatever has been said. While I like having the excuse to get out and stretch my legs by visiting other places myself, this sort of thing is definitely easier when I can actually show you what we have to offer.”

[helicoptersandcrocodilesegwells]

Links between Faerie and the Underworld.

One of the things I find fascinating about Scotland’s fairies is their link between Fairyland and the Underworld. You can see this belief in some selkie stories, where selkies are believed to be the spirits of drowned sailors.

One of Scotland’s most famous storyteller’s, Duncan Williamson, said, “Because it’s sad, as I said, to lose a loved one, lying there mouldering under the sea, thinking about them, never to be found, never to have a Christian burial. You can’t go to their graveside and put flowers round their grave as many people do. But if you were brought up with the idea down through time since childhood, the reason that these people had never been found - they had joined the seal folk and become seal people. And they’ll come back again.”

The mingling of fairies and the dead can be seen as a way to cope with the trauma of losing a loved one, or a way to personify and rationalise death, a forbidding event we’ll all have to face one day.

Nicnevin, a kind of Grand Witch would whip her unseelie horde into a frenzy on the Feile na Marbh (The Night of the Dead, or Hallowe’en) then she and her handmaidens would howl across the sky on supernatural steeds. Fairies also accompanied the midnight horde of witches, and their night-riding resembles the Wild Hunt, or the Sluagh - a band of malignant fairies that rode across the night sky and stole away any mortal foolish enough to be caught outside. This fairy host was regarded as the souls of the dead whose spirits were barred from heaven. And so Christianity arrives at the threshold of Fairy - a fascinating topic that probably merits a blog post of its own!

[svartabergetart]

Sluagh vilda jakt! Som är liknande berättelser som Odens vilda jakt! Men keltisk mythology, är de onda feer eller #fey De Sluagh na marbh ('host of the dead') eller som vi skulle säga i populär kultur. #mörkeralfer #darkelfs Som är det nyaste avsnittet från podden; När man talar om trollen och @oknyttsverige och @suttungsbrew Titta på mina sagor här; https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCaV7-9fIKAP4FaMHlqSucpA https://www.facebook.com/Svartabergetart/ #närmantalaromtrollen #oknytt #fairy #darkfantasyart #darkfantasy #fantasy #fantasyart #illustration #digitalart #järna #conseptart #conseptart #celtic #mythology #folkkore #svartabergetart (på/i Trollgrottan) https://www.instagram.com/p/CmRQ2y9o1Ec/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[vyragosa]

"The foulest and most dreaded of the realm of Faerie, the Sluagh was more feared than even Death itself. Death was easy. The Sluagh, now Death has no choice but to defer to the Sluagh, in an otherworldly race for the immortal souls of the living."

The Sluagh (Irish: [ˈsˠl̪ˠuə], Scottish Gaelic: [ˈs̪l̪ˠuəɣ]; Old Irish: slúag; English: 'host, army, crowd'), or Sluagh na marbh ('host of the dead'), were the hosts of the unforgiven dead in Irish and Scottish folklore. In the words of British folklorist Lewis Spence, "In the Western Isles of Scotland the Sluagh, or fairy host, was regarded as composed of the souls of the dead flying through the air, and the feast of the dead at Hallowe'en was likewise the festival of the fairies." Usually taking a crescent form, similar to a flight of grey birds, they were said to be able to approach and pick up a person from any direction and then transport them far away through the air, from one island to another. Although they would sometimes rescue humans from dangerous rock clefts, they were generally portrayed as dangerous to mortals.

The Scottish Gaelic name Slúagh stems from the Old Irish slúag (≈ slóg) It derives from the Proto-Celtic root *slougo- (cf. Gaul.catu-slougi 'troops of combat', Middle Welshllu 'troop', Old Bret. -lu 'army'), whose original meaning may have been 'those serving the chief', by comparing with Balto-Slavic words that probably emerged from early linguistic contacts with Celtic speakers in Central-Eastern Europe: e.g. Lithuanian slaugà ('service, servitude'), or Old Church Slavonic sluga ('servant').

SPIRAL KNOT / TRISKELION

an ancient motif consisting of a triple spiral exhibiting rotational symmetry or other patterns in triplicate that emanate from a common center. The spiral design can be based on interlocking Archimedean spirals, or represent three bent human legs.

said to represent perpetual motion, the idea of motion and movement, energy, life cycles, progress and competition

this catman is from glasgow, if you even fucking care, get tae fuck

[365filmsbyauroranocte]

There are 2 available!

Lost Souls, Tomás Hijo's Hueste de Ánimas Sculpture.

The ”Hueste de Ánimas” (Host of Souls) is a collaboration between the illustrator Tomás Hijo, the researcher Jesús Callejo and the sculptor Miguel Elisardo Bueno, based on the book “El mundo encantado de Castilla y León” edited by the Ethnographic Museum (Zamora). It is a procession of doomed souls that travel at night along the lonely roads of León (Spain). If you find it and you’re not careful, they’ll take you with them. Other names and manifestations are the Holy Company from Galicia, Güestia from Asturias and Huestantigua from Castilla. They are also related to the Sluagh na marbh (host of the dead) from Ireland and Scotland and The Wild Hunt from Northern Europe.

Our sculpture is manufactured using traditional methods and cutting edge technology: It’s been modeled in clay, molded with silicone and casted in polyurean marble resin. The most delicate pieces that are the objects they carry in their hands are modeled using virtual reality with ultraviolet photopolymeric printing resin. Finally, it is hand-painted in acrylics, finished with Judean bitumen patina and a light touch of pearlescent mica.

This work is extremely faithful to the original illustration, reflecting not only the general shape but also the notches carved by Tomás Hijo’s gouge during the process of creating the print.

Given the complexity of the design, full of chiaroscuro and nooks and crannies, each Host must be treated with exceptional care and attention to achieve this level of detail. It weighs almost 0.45 lb and the impression to the touch is stone-like. The measurements are the same of the original engraving plate of Tomás Hijo.

Available in Arte Feudo’s Etsy Shop.

[randomtimes-com]

The Sluagh: Celtic spirits of the unforgiven dead

The Sluagh: Celtic spirits of the unforgiven dead

Celtic folklore has given us some of the darkest and most frightening stories in history including three-headed monsters, headless horsemen, famine-spreaders, and a variety of creepy spirits. One of the most fascinating are probably the Sluagh na marbh (host of the dead), or “Fairy Host”, spirits of the unforgiven or restless dead who soared the skies at night searching for humans to pick off,…

[fairyringquilt]

Sluagh na marbh ('host of the dead'), were the hosts of the unforgiven dead in Scottish Gaelic folklore. In the words of British folklorist Lewis Spence,

 "In the Western Isles of Scotland the Sluagh, or fairy host, was regarded as composed of the souls of the dead flying through the air, and the feast of the dead at Hallowe'en was likewise the festival of the fairies." 

Usually taking a crescent form, similar to a flight of grey birds, they were said to be able to approach and pick up a person from any direction and then transport them far away through the air, from one island to another. Although they could sometimes rescue humans from dangerous rock clefts, they were generally portrayed as dangerous to mortals.

(via Wikipedia)

[thevagabondexpress]

Okay, so.

~circa Viking pre-Christianity: Odin. Y'know. Sorcerer-trickster-mob boss of the Norse Pantheon.

~circa pre-Christianization for Europe in general: the Wild Hunt. Has lots of different interpretations including . . .

the faerie one from Celtic myth that CC draws on in TDA and beyond

the Sluagh na marbh, another Irish and Scottish myth where the Hunt is a host of malicious unhallowed ghosts

an interpretation where the Hunt is led by one of three women (or all of them together): Frau Holle, Frau Gauden, and Frau Berchta

a Hunt led by a dude named Hackleburg which is an awesome name thank you very much

Frau Gauden is said to be strongest circa the dead of winter (when Christmas happens), as is Frau Berchta.

Frau Berchta is sometimes known to reward well-behaved children and servants with silver coins.

Odin is an old dude with a big white beard.

In Scandinavia, the Wild Hunt is referred to as Odin's Hunt, though sometimes also Herlathing.

Some Welsh versions of the Wild Hunt are led by Arawn, king of Annwyn . . . ambiguously faerie and also strongest around the dead of winter.

The Sluagh is also ambiguously faerie.

***

~circa before the Reformation: a story about St. Nicholas of Myra breaking into some guy's backyard and throwing sacks of gold through his window to stop him from selling his three daughters into debt slavery gets bungled by the Dutch and we get Sinterklaas, who rides a white horse, leaves gifts in children's shoes, and dresses in Bishop's robes.

~circa the 19th Century: Sinterklaas formally returns after a Reformation-enforced haitus, accompanied by happy helpers dressed in blackface :)

This promptly gets picked up by the rest of Europe and somehow syncretized with the Wild Hunt mythology detailed above, culminating in his blackfaced helpers getting replaced (thank God) with elves. Who are pretty much just Scandinavian faeries.

Illustrators in the US then codify this sleigh-riding iteration, using him to promote a pro-Union message during the Civil War.

TL;DR, Santa is Odin and his elves and reindeer are the Wild Hunt and Alastair knows it.

[scotianostra]

On October 26th 1911 the Gaelic poet, Sorley MacLean, was born on the island of Raasay, the same island my own ancestors originated.

Maclean was born at Osgaig on the island into a Gaelic speaking community. He was the second of five sons born to Malcolm and Christina MacLean. His brothers were John Maclean, a schoolteacher and later rector of Oban High School, who was also a piper, Calum Maclean, a noted folklorist and ethnographer; and Alasdair and Norman, who became GP's. His name in Gaelic was Somhairle MacGill-Eain.

At home, he was steeped in Gaelic culture and beul-aithris (the oral tradition), especially old songs. His mother, a Nicolson, had been raised near Portree, although her family was of Lochalsh origin her family had been involved in Highland Land League activism for tenant rights. His father, who owned a small croft and ran a tailoring business,[12]:16 had been raised on Raasay, but his family was originally from North Uist and, before that, Mull. Both sides of the family had been evicted during the Highland Clearances, of which many people in the community still had a clear recollection.

What MacLean learned of the history of the Gaels, especially of the Clearances, had a significant impact on his worldview and politics. Of especial note was MacLean's paternal grandmother, Mary Matheson, whose family had been evicted from the mainland in the 18th century. Until her death in 1923, she lived with the family and taught MacLean many traditional songs from Kintail and Lochalsh. As a child, MacLean enjoyed fishing trips with his aunt Peigi, who taught him other songs.[9] Unlike other members of his family, MacLean could not sing, a fact that he connected with his impetus to write poetry.

Sorley was brought up as a follower of the Free Presbyterian Church of Scotland, now if you think the Wee Free are strict, these guys think that The Wee Free are too lenient, but Sorley says he gave up the religion for socialism at the age of twelve as he refused to accept that a majority of human beings were consigned to eternal damnation. He was educated at Raasay Primary School and Portree Secondary School. In 1929, he left home to attend the University of Edinburgh.

While studying at Edinburgh University he encountered Hugh Macdiarmid who inspired him to write poetry. However, Maclean chose the Gaelic of his childhood rather than Scots.

After fighting in North Africa during World War II he embarked on his life-long career as a school teacher - working in Mull, Edinburgh and Plockton.

Maclean was one of the finest writers of Gaelic in the 20th century. He drew upon its rich oral tradition to create innovative and beautiful poetry about the Scottish landscape and history. He was also an accomplished love poet. However, writing in Gaelic limited his audience so he began to translate his own work into English. In 1977 a bilingual edition of his selected poems appeared - followed by the collected poems in 1989.

His fame as a poet began to spread during the 1970s - helped by the appearance of his work in Gordon Wright's Four Points of a Saltire. Seamus Heaney, who first met Maclean at a poetry reading at the Abbey Theatre Dublin, was one of his greatest admirers and subsequently worked on translations of his work.

One of Maclean's most celebrated poems is Hallaig which concerns the enforced clearance of the inhabitants of the township of Hallaig (Raasay) to Australia. A film, Hallaig, was made in 1984 by Timothy Neat, including a discussion by MacLean of the dominant influences on his poetry, with commentary by Smith and Heaney, and substantial passages from the poem and other work, along with extracts of Gaelic song

In 1990 Maclean received the Queen's Gold Medal for poetry. He died in 1996 at the age of 85.‘.

Tha tìm, am fiadh, an coille Hallaig’

Tha bùird is tàirnean air an uinneig

trom faca mi an Àird Iar

’s tha mo ghaol aig Allt Hallaig

’na craoibh bheithe, ’s bha i riamh

eadar an t-Inbhir ’s Poll a’ Bhainne,

thall ’s a-bhos mu Bhaile Chùirn:

tha i ’na beithe, ’na calltainn,

’na caorann dhìrich sheang ùir.

Ann an Sgreapadal mo chinnidh,

far robh Tarmad ’s Eachann Mòr,

tha ’n nigheanan ’s am mic ’nan coille

a’ gabhail suas ri taobh an lòin.

Uaibreach a-nochd na coilich ghiuthais

a’ gairm air mullach Cnoc an Rà,

dìreach an druim ris a’ ghealaich –

chan iadsan coille mo ghràidh.

Fuirichidh mi ris a’ bheithe

gus an tig i mach an Càrn,

gus am bi am bearradh uile

o Bheinn na Lice fa sgàil.

Mura tig ’s ann theàrnas mi a Hallaig

a dh’ionnsaigh Sàbaid nam marbh,

far a bheil an sluagh a’ tathaich,

gach aon ghinealach a dh’fhalbh.

Tha iad fhathast ann a Hallaig,

Clann Ghill-Eain’s Clann MhicLeòid,

na bh’ ann ri linn Mhic Ghille Chaluim:

chunnacas na mairbh beò.

Na fir ’nan laighe air an lèanaig

aig ceann gach taighe a bh’ ann,

na h-igheanan ’nan coille bheithe,

dìreach an druim, crom an ceann.

Eadar an Leac is na Feàrnaibh

tha ’n rathad mòr fo chòinnich chiùin,

’s na h-igheanan ’nam badan sàmhach

a’ dol a Clachan mar o thus.

Agus a’ tilleadh às a’ Chlachan,

à Suidhisnis ’s à tir nam beò;

a chuile tè òg uallach

gun bhristeadh cridhe an sgeòil.

O Allt na Feàrnaibh gus an fhaoilinn

tha soilleir an dìomhaireachd nam beann

chan eil ach coitheanal nan nighean

a’ cumail na coiseachd gun cheann.

A’ tilleadh a Hallaig anns an fheasgar,

anns a’ chamhanaich bhalbh bheò,

a’ lìonadh nan leathadan casa,

an gàireachdaich ‘nam chluais ’na ceò,

’s am bòidhche ’na sgleò air mo chridhe

mun tig an ciaradh air caoil,

’s nuair theàrnas grian air cùl Dhùn Cana

thig peilear dian à gunna Ghaoil;

’s buailear am fiadh a tha ’na thuaineal

a’ snòtach nan làraichean feòir;

thig reothadh air a shùil sa choille:

chan fhaighear lorg air fhuil rim bheò.

Hallaig

Translator: Sorley MacLean

‘Time, the deer, is in the wood of Hallaig’

The window is nailed and boarded

through which I saw the West

and my love is at the Burn of Hallaig,

a birch tree, and she has always been

between Inver and Milk Hollow,

here and there about Baile-chuirn:

she is a birch, a hazel,

a straight, slender young rowan.

In Screapadal of my people

where Norman and Big Hector were,

their daughters and their sons are a wood

going up beside the stream.

Proud tonight the pine cocks

crowing on the top of Cnoc an Ra,

straight their backs in the moonlight –

they are not the wood I love.

I will wait for the birch wood

until it comes up by the cairn,

until the whole ridge from Beinn na Lice

will be under its shade.

If it does not, I will go down to Hallaig,

to the Sabbath of the dead,

where the people are frequenting,

every single generation gone.

They are still in Hallaig,

MacLeans and MacLeods,

all who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim:

the dead have been seen alive.

The men lying on the green

at the end of every house that was,

the girls a wood of birches,

straight their backs, bent their heads.

Between the Leac and Fearns

the road is under mild moss

and the girls in silent bands

go to Clachan as in the beginning,

and return from Clachan,

from Suisnish and the land of the living;

each one young and light-stepping,

without the heartbreak of the tale.

From the Burn of Fearns to the raised beach

that is clear in the mystery of the hills,

there is only the congregation of the girls

keeping up the endless walk,

coming back to Hallaig in the evening,

in the dumb living twilight,

filling the steep slopes,

their laughter a mist in my ears,

and their beauty a film on my heart

before the dimness comes on the kyles,

and when the sun goes down behind Dun Cana

a vehement bullet will come from the gun of Love;

and will strike the deer that goes dizzily,

sniffing at the grass-grown ruined homes;

his eye will freeze in the wood,

his blood will not be traced while I live.

)

[thewolfisawake]

A Test of Courage and Diligence || @soulsxng

"Norval, I'm not sure if I should be going. You are supposed to be going to keep watch for the Luminary and his protege. While it'd be nice to meet with the emissaries from Vasyri...not in a crowded room, Bal will-"

"If I say it's for you, Bal is definitely gonna be okay with it," Norval tried to reason. After all, he had a soft spot for the young fae and if Somairle was supposed to be learning, what an opportunity, "and besides, anyone's allowed to join. Just think of it as...having someone nudge your way to the front."

Somairle didn't appear convinced, "I'm going to get the phantasmals. Just...don't do anything unnecessary..."

It was shortly after he departed that Norval noticed, "Ah, our guests of the hour have arrived. Welcome, welcome. Luminary and young lord, we're excited to see your interest in our Hunt. I know we've met briefly but I do not believe I've had the honor of meeting young lord Elidei. I'm Norval, Herald of the Unseelie and Voice for King Balmoral. But for tonight, I'm just your company. And here to present your lantern."

The lantern was a taller sort. Its paneling like stained glass with a dim ember within its body. The patterning of the glass seemed to shift ever so slightly each time, like a slowly ticking kaleidoscope. A ring that appeared like it was woven was where the crook was placed as Norval held it.

"Any questions, comments, concerns before I show you where to go?"

[thewolfisawake]

A Match in a Snowstorm || @lunarxdaydream

Risteard was already lecturing some fledglings that likely drew the short straw on their duties for the night. One looked like they were nursing an oncoming headache. The other appeared preoccupied with...other thoughts towards the man. If he noticed, he gave no indication. And if one weren't familiar with his manner, one might have thought him simply conversing. His voice did not raise and words matter of fact.

Noticing their guests, he dismissed them before leading a steed in their direction. His cloak helped him maintain a stately appearance. With reins in one hand and the other to tuck into a bow, "Captain. Commandant. Dispatcher. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to the Sluagh na Marbh."

As he rose, he went on to introduce, "Risteard Gallochbar, His Majesty's advisor and your guide for tonight. Although you are likely more accustomed to this sort of excursion than I. So please forgive if I retread anything familiar."

"I see the cloaks have been fitted properly. While it is seen as an accessory, it is an conduit for maintain the procession. In a way, it sets a boundary that attempts to keep a hunt's marchers from...wandering far afield. Of course, it does not fall onto your shoulder to keep watch for any stragglers," he barely concealed a chuckle, "you would have better odds keeping a match lit in a snowstorm."

[thewolfisawake]

Let's Have a Good Hunt, Shall We? || @arcxnumvitae

The evening was slowly approaching, meaning Sluagh na Marbh would be nearing its start. Upon the evening's participants being outfitted with proper cloak was a presence...made herself more evident.

"Mighty dashing, Your Majesty, Lord Mèinnearach," Solanine quipped, a playful smile upon her features. However there was a quality to it that seemed to extend to retinue. She dropped from her perch with an unnatural grace and silence. Her cloak, like those all the generals had been wearing during opening formalities, flared briefly but only accentuated her ascent to standing. Underneath instead of a dress, this time she was outfitted in grays.

"Allow me to reintroduce myself. I'm Solanine. Bal has asked me to accompany you tonight. Feel free to think of me as one of your guards," She raised herself to reveal a lantern. It looked more like an intricate weaving of willow vines with a faint glow enclosed within, "And here is your lantern. Consider it the real tour guide for this hunt so take care of it, alright? It will start leaving trails for you to see after Bal invokes the permissions."

She placed it onto a small crook and offered it, "And if you are ready dress wise, we still have mounts to choose just before the permissions start."

[thewolfisawake]

Point of clarification, apparently. All hunts are their own night. There is only one hunt on any given night. It is only plural because there is a hunt every night for the month of December. This means EVERY ride is its own. So that guests can have their own attention on them. And it prevents a security risk because no way would all generals be absent from the palace while their king hangs back.

So in theory there are a total of 30 slots but I do not expect to do that many (this is an observation, not a challenge) since I have a limited amount of a rolling table. The Winter Solstice is the only exception where no one is allowed on as an outsider unless there is some express permission given. It is the closest to a 'holy day' for the Unseelie and they do not allow for screw ups on that day.

This also allows for various interactions to occur without certain muses being around.