6 CHAPTER 5 - HIGHLANDS OF SUGELAN - HIGHLANDERS
We've been at war for generations, the clans that rule the Highlands of Sugelan.
Never-ending death among the families, that is, until those bastards, the Romans came, bringing forth their siege engine and pagan legions.
Angus McLeod, auld chief of Clan McLeod, he untied our highland warriors. Now the sons of Sugelan face raiders to the north, ballista to the front and walking tanks to our south.
Distant heathens plague our lands too, with their shadows and their lighting.
Unholiness pesters our glens with their cannibalistic ways, annoying they are, a plague they've become.
Eventually, the Romans built a wall, a huge fort around the bottom of our mountain ranges, a wall to keep us inside, for they regret the day they set foot apon our lands. Now they try to confine us, for they dare not face us.
Our clansmen are wild men, but simple we are not. Our women produce well-bred engineers, scientists, healers and warriors and our lands and culture condition us with iron will and rock hard form.
Enclosed we were, adaptive we are, we constructed a mass wave of deadly destruction, thunder-cannons and muskets. From our highland warfare, we formed a new line of battle, one to cut through the mass legions of Roman phalanx.
Useless the Roman is in our deep hills and skirmish manoeuvres, and now they face line infantry, able to smash through their testudo with cannonball.
United under one banner, the McLeod banner, thirty clans swear allegiance, clans such as; our cousins, the McGowans, scientist and engineers. McTavish, once a deadly foe, now a trusted brother-in-arms. Farquhar, maroon coat gunners. Donaghey, healers and clergy.
Honour, strength and faith are our virtues, surprise, speed and aggression are our strategies.
The highlands turn boy to man, weather is harsh, culture is tough, the enemy names our country as 'No Mean Lands.' We know it as Gods Country.
Under the Holy Mother, we pray, seek guidance and give worship.
Churches are vast, castles many, tree houses are in abundance. McLeod castle is our capital, high with strong walls, situated on an island within the Great Loch Luss. Its towers tall, its cannons many and far firing.
Beautiful and cold, misty and fresh, the Highlands are paradise.
Surprising I was when a distant shadow entered my castle. A pure breed warrior I may be, but reasonable I am.
I will set out with my clansmen and give ear to the pagan, at least until I'm bored, or deceit smelt.
We are viewed upon as a quick-tempered race that answers with sword, in some ways it is true; however, our people hold our clan name and honour in high respects, for the slightest of insults, results in a duel.
Barbaric perhaps, yes to the outsider, calm and friendly we are likewise, to those with behaviour. Our culture has many unwritten rules, that each of us abides by, the slightest violation of these 'customs,' is answered with the dagger. Simple things such as; not being appreciative, or words spoken with rudeness in thy tone.
I am Argyle McLeod of the Clan McLeod, I am a patient man, but tolerance I lack. I answer with ruthless decimation, and forgiveness is not part of my vocabulary. I will unite the lands as my forefather once did for I have had enough of trespassing and demonic infestation.
