Battle of Connor
The Scots-Irish forces, led by their chieftain, have just secured a decisive victory over the Anglo-Norman knights at Connor. The battlefield is littered with the remnants of the conflict—smoldering f
Setting
Rolling hills near Connor, County Antrim, with scattered patches of autumn-browned grass and muddied earth from recent rains. The battlefield is flanked by dense woodlands to the east and a small river to the west, its waters running swiftly after the seasonal rains. The remnants of a Norman motte-and-bailey fortification smolder in the distance, its wooden palisades broken and charred.
Characters
Scots-Irish Chieftain
primary
A broad-shouldered man in his late forties, with a weathered face marked by scars of past battles. His thick, russet beard is streaked with grey, and his piercing blue eyes survey the battlefield with a mix of satisfaction and weariness. His muscular frame bears the marks of recent combat—dirt-streaked and splattered with blood—yet he stands tall, exuding authority.
Scots-Irish Warrior
secondary
A burly man in his late 30s with a weathered face, a thick red beard streaked with grey, and a deep scar running from his left temple to his jawline. His muscular frame bears the marks of countless battles, including fresh wounds hastily bandaged with strips of cloth torn from a fallen enemy's tunic.
Anglo-Norman Knight
secondary
A middle-aged nobleman of Norman descent, with a strong but weary build. His face is streaked with dirt and sweat, his dark hair matted under a padded coif. A deep gash runs along his left forearm, and his surcoat is torn where a spear thrust narrowly missed his ribs. His blue eyes burn with a mixture of defiance and exhaustion.
Irish Scout
background
A wiry young man in his late teens, with a lean but muscular build honed by years of running messages across rough terrain. His face is smudged with dirt and sweat, and his short, tousled dark brown hair is damp from exertion. His keen green eyes scan the horizon with urgency.
Dialog
Scots-Irish Chieftain
Tóg go bog é, lads—let the crows feast, but keep your blades ready. These Normans still have teeth.
Scots-Irish Warrior
Aye, and their blood waters this field well enough!
Anglo-Norman Knight
This is not over, Brigante. We shall return with twice the number and thrice the steel.
Scots-Irish Chieftain
Return? Aye—to feed the crows again. Your dead already weigh heavy on this land.
Scots-Irish Warrior
Shall we harry them, Chief? A few more heads might balance the scales.
Scots-Irish Chieftain
Nay. Let them carry their terror back to their stone walls. It’ll spread faster than steel ever could.
Anglo-Norman Knight
God wills it, you’ll choke on those words—and your own bile.