Battle of Faughart
Edward Bruce's forces are being overwhelmed by the disciplined Anglo-Irish troops led by John de Bermingham. Bruce's men fight desperately, but the battle is turning against them as their lines collap
Setting
Rolling hills of Faughart, County Louth, Ireland. The battlefield is marked by uneven terrain with patches of autumn-browned grass and scattered rocks. The nearby ruins of Faughart church stand as a silent witness to the conflict.
Characters
Edward Bruce
primary
A tall, broad-shouldered Scottish nobleman in his late 30s with a weathered face marked by years of campaigning. His reddish-brown beard is streaked with premature gray, and piercing blue eyes burn with fierce determination. A deep scar runs from his left temple to jawline—a souvenir from previous battles.
John de Bermingham
primary
A tall, broad-shouldered Anglo-Irish nobleman in his late 30s with a weathered face marked by years of campaigning. His piercing blue eyes survey the battlefield with tactical precision, framed by close-cropped brown hair streaked with early grey. A prominent scar runs across his left cheekbone - a souvenir from previous conflicts.
Bruce's Standard Bearer
secondary
A rugged, battle-hardened soldier in his early 30s, with a muscular build and a face weathered by years of campaigning. His short, dark beard is matted with sweat and dirt, and a jagged scar runs from his left temple to his jawline, a testament to previous battles fought in service to Edward Bruce.
De Bermingham's Lieutenant
secondary
A battle-hardened soldier in his late 30s, with a muscular build and weathered face marked by old scars. His dark brown hair is cropped short beneath his helmet, and his piercing blue eyes scan the battlefield with practiced vigilance. His hands are calloused from years of wielding weapons.
Wounded Irish Warrior
background
A young man in his mid-20s with a wiry, muscular build, his face streaked with dirt and blood. His dark hair is matted with sweat and grime, and his pale skin shows signs of exhaustion. A deep gash runs across his left thigh, staining his trousers crimson.
Dialog
Edward Bruce
Mac na galla! Hold the line, you dogs! The Bruce will not yield an inch to these Norman curs!
John de Bermingham
The Scots pretender's line wavers. Press the center—let them break upon our steel like waves upon the rocks.
De Bermingham's Lieutenant
Aye, my lord. The spears will hold the flank. They won’t retreat this day.
Edward Bruce
By Christ’s wounds, I'll carve a path through them myself if none of you have the stomach for it!
John de Bermingham
There—see how he rides alone? Cut him down, and the rest will scatter like frightened hares.
Edward Bruce
A king dies standing, not kneeling! Come then, you whoresons—face the Bruce!
De Bermingham's Lieutenant
Archers—loose at his horse. Bring him down before he rallies his men.