The “Horus Heresy” and its follow up series, “The Siege of Terra”, do a great job of conveying betrayal on a galactic scale. Sons turn against their father, and brother is set against brother. Friendships that we’ve seen blossom over multiple books are torn apart by the blood soaked hand of betrayal. The military fellowship that saw victory across thousands of worlds is shattered into bitter factions. Every good thing that was built has been cast down, as both the body and soul of a galactic empire are cast into hellfire.

The closer the bond, the higher the heights of success, the deeper and more brutally a great act of betrayal may cut. The Spartans at Thermopylae, who faced the infinite armies of Persia, were undone by the betrayal of a fellow Greek. Cuchulainn and Ferdia were raised and trained together. When they meet at the ford, they fight a long and bloody duel that ends with Ferdia’s death. Though Cuchulainn was the hero of the Tain, his victory over Ferdia feels more like a defeat. The great duel between Obi-Wan and Anakin in Star Wars is epic primarily because of Anakin’s great betrayal, summed up by Obi-Wan’s heart-broken reminder that they were “brothers”.

Fellowship is one of the most widely celebrated virtues, especially highlighted in tales of war or strife. Betrayal is the breaker of bonds, the shattering of fellowship and brotherhood, and thus leads to the most devastating tragedies. Similarly, betrayal is the great enemy of life’s greatest theme: love. How many heroes and heroines have been betrayed by a lover? Merlin, Arthur, Tristan, Sigurd, Heracles, Ariadne, and Sampson come to mind. Even more may be named that were betrayed by a close family member.

Betrayal is a great reversal, a swift and thunderous undoing or the rot that eats away at the foundations. Its dramatic and tragic. Betrayal makes us mourn and rage at what was lost, but also at the loss of what might have been. How long might Camelot have endured without betrayal? What feats could Cuchulainn and Ferdia have accomplished if they had worked together? Tragedy may arise from fate or accident, but betrayal always leaves us with a bitter taste because we know that it didn’t need to happen. Betrayal is a choice with full knowledge of the faith being broken. It puts in stark contrast the best and worst of humanity. Little else may be as ground-shaking as a well written betrayal. It’s hard for me to write betrayal because of my own emotional investment in the characters. Killing your darlings is one thing—having one darling kill the other along with all they’ve accomplished together is just brutal. It’s not easy, but I’m in search of top-tier heartbreak. Readers beware!

Though Samhain is a Gaelic word, the other Celtic peoples had their own versions of what must have been a pan-Celtic festival. The Welsh had Nos Galan Gaeaf while the Irish held Samhain. The Welsh also believed that it was a night when spirits were abroad and held their own bonfires. The villagers would all inscribe their name on a stone, placing it within the bonfire. When the fire began to die, everyone would run home as fast as they could—for once the fire died, terrible, disfigured spirits would chase them to devour their souls.

Halloween became popular in the US in the 19th century, when there was a large influx of immigrants from Ireland and Scotland. In the states, the old practice of carving a face from a turnip became our pumpkin carving tradition and need to propitiate the spirits or face their wrath became wrapped up in the phrase “trick or treat”. The transmission of Halloween to the US caused many of the old traditions to become forgotten or softened into less ominous forms. Despite the loss of some the old Halloween meanings or traditions, Americans have our own flavor to the holiday. We have our own harvest traditions like corn mazes, hayrides, and pumpkin patches but far more in what we’ve contributed to Halloween’s spooky side. We have our own ghost stories to tell, and tales of witches, haunted houses, monsters, and murders. The Salem Witch Trials, the Headless Horseman, and Lovecraft have firmly identified New England as the American center for all things spooky and mysterious, a reputation which a thousand subsequent books, movies, and TV shows have solidified.

I’ve come to identify Halloween so much with New England that it seems strange to think that the holiday actually originated among the Celts of the British Isles. The holiday feels so American now, that I’m a little sad to be spending it in Britain. It’s also quite bizarre how the American interpretation of Halloween has influenced how its celebrated in its old homeland. American pumpkins are common here, as are the cheap polyester costumes and plastic decorations for sale in the stores. Once the day arrives, I’ll be interested to see how it is similar or different to our familiar American celebrations. Maybe we’ll carve our names on a stone and give them to our own Nos Calan Gaeaf fire.

The Rime of the Frostmaiden presents a problem straight from the deepest storytelling instincts of the Indo-European peoples, if not humanity at large, but it is perhaps this classic choice that really highlights some our modern issues in understanding the myths and gods of ages past. I think the point is neatly demonstrated by my struggle to create my character for this campaign. My friends and I decided to go with an all-dwarf party for the storytelling potential. I decided that I would create a religious character dedicated to a fertility goddess. The dominance of winter, the failure of crops, the withering of forests, the death of animals both wild and domestic, all these things would be an affront to one aligned with a deity of growth, harvest, and life. I really struggled to find a class that aligned with these principles. The life domain cleric was the closest candidate, and even mentioned fertility goddesses as appropriate deities for the class. My issue is that the life cleric is a healing class. There isn’t anything inherently wrong with a healing class, but healing injuries seems only tangentially related to deities of growth and life. The more nature oriented classes, spells, and abilities exclusively focus on wild nature as an enemy and antithesis to the agricultural world.

What Wizards of the Coast have created with the life cleric is something that is probably more motivated by concerns for game mechanics than it is by a mythological understanding, but it is exactly that sort of thing that really damages the way we’re able to understand mythology. We like to put gods into neat boxes so we can put them all into a list that covers most of the aspects of the world. Poseidon is the god of the sea and that’s all we’ll say about the matter. What we leave out is that Poseidon is also the god of horses, springs, and earthquakes. He’s fathered monsters and heroes, built the walls of Troy, and fought in the Titanomachy. He has evidence ancient worship as a sacral king in Minoan temples, with Demeter and Persephone by his side. He is the god of the sea, but he is not simply the god of the sea. When we pigeonhole a god into a domain we create a poor caricature of real mythology.

Real mythology is complex, layered, and may be confusing to the uninitiated. I grew up going to a Christian church and have continued going to church as an adult. I have read the Bible and attended a lifetime of sermons, discussions, and classes on biblical stories and church history. When I read something with a biblical theme or symbol, I can usually understand the reference without even pausing to think about it. One of my friends from high school wasn’t brought up in the church and had received anything but a passive and cursory education on biblical matters. We took a western literature class together and he had a difficult time because he simply didn’t understand most of the biblical references, symbols, or themes. For me, an ox may bring to mind the gospel of Luke, Christ’s ministry to the poor, the patience and long-suffering attitude of a good Christian, God’s command to be kind to animals and pay laborers their wages. For my friend, an ox was just a dopey farm animal. We modern readers are like my friend from school. We are on the outside of these ancient mythologies. The symbols, themes, and language in these ancient stories is not our own. Our only exposure to much of this material has been through the distant echoes that linger in our civilization, but which only tell a fragmented, bastardized version of the old tales.

When we craft stories (through any medium), we must resist the urge to create something fragmented and reductive. It’s easy for me to create a pantheon with gods and goddesses that are all “god of” one or two things. It’s easy to set these deities at the head of a religion with a formal clergy and stone temples. What’s exceedingly difficult is to create a mythology that even has the appearance of real depth. It’s hard to write about gods in a way that makes them feel foundational, not only to society, but to the very earth. The Rime of the Frostmaiden presents a mythic problem: the seasons won’t turn properly. Yet I feel that there is little chance of a properly mythic solution. The gods of Faerun are flat concepts. They seem divorced from the land and the seasons, with no grip on the real world beyond a papier-mâché religion. I want to write mythology that pays proper homage to the real thing; I want to write myths that feel like they are living things that have bearing on the earth. I’m just a player in this campaign, but I’ve got some ideas.

I was extremely disappointed that my sequels would not be published by the same company that had handled the first book. The publisher and I hadn’t had a conflict-free relationship, but I hated the idea that the series was going to be broken up between publishers. To add salt to the wound, I would now have to query and find a new publisher for the second book in a trilogy. It didn’t seem like the kind of deal that a new company would want to get involved with. The current plan is to finish writing the third and final book of the series, then to buy back my rights to The Wind from Faerie and then market the whole trilogy to a new publishing company. The publication of The Many Antlered Crown would have to be seriously delayed and I felt like I was failing my faithful readers. My publication woes combined with the difficulties of the pandemic and a little writer’s block to make a perfect storm of compounding guilt. Writing had turned from an enjoyable, if sometimes arduous, pastime into something that really only made me feel guilty and depressed. With the joy of writing largely drained away, I almost completely stopped any sort of creative writing. I did some world-building for a D&D game I was running and I wrote a few poems, but that was about the sum of my production for a long time. For a significant part of 2020, I hardly even read.

Eventually, the unsolved mystery of my third book coaxed me back to the page. I scribbled in notebooks, talked to myself on long walks, and even managed to write a few lines. The pull to write has grown stronger and stronger so that now my motivation to write this final book in Kellan’s saga has outshone my guilt and apathy. I still haven’t plunged back into a writing routine as focused and productive as I once had, but writing again feels like a magical process to me and I’m once again excited about the stories that may one day flow out of my pen.

The writing community is plagued by labels of all kinds, but the age labels of “adult, young adult, and children’s book" are particularly difficult. Much ink has been spilt attacking and defending books intended for different age groups. In particular, I’ve noticed that the definition of “adult” is heading in a concerning direction. One would think that the only prerequisite for having an “adult” book would be having characters who are adults, or characters with which adult readers can most readily identify. Now it seems that “adult” is not only reflective of the life stage of the characters, but has become more akin to a movie rating. What now separates “adult" fiction from “young adult” fiction is the amount of cursing, graphic sex, violence, gore, and rape. In our modern world, these elements are appreciated as realism. Mature themes are those which revolve around those dark elements; everything else is thought to be sugar coated and fit for children. In my mind, much of this obsession with dark realism as the basis of adult themes is born out of the desire to appear grown up.

By labeling a very narrow range of books as “adult”, I worry that we are providing a narrow and dangerous definition of what it means to be an adult. It seems that the industry is saying that adults must be cynical, that their world should be devoid of optimism and whimsy, and that they should not only be aware of the horrors of the real world, but take delight in their machinations. In the same way, I worry that our labels are too limiting on young adults and children. Why does every young adult book need a love triangle? Why can children’s books not acknowledge the reality of the world? I know that I’m painting with a broad brush, but it seems as if many writers are intentionally writing books to fit into the formulaic structure that the publishing industry has created.

I want to read books about optimistic, idealistic adults making the world a better place. I want to read books that feature teenagers who wrestle with complex moral and philosophical issues, and I want to read children’s books that confront evil in the world. I realize that age labels were created and are perpetuated by the publishing industry, and that many within the writing community would be more than happy to see them go, but it is tempting to adapt our stories to fit within the construct that the publishers have created. I would like to see people writing books that publishers struggle to put in a neat little box because life does not fit into discrete categories. Life does not wait for us to be mature before showing us evil in the world, nor does age always bring wisdom and maturity. As an adult, I crave wonder and whimsy perhaps even more than when I was a child. A child is as human as an adult, and many of us will even admit that we don’t feel that our personhood has substantially changed since childhood. I acknowledge the usefulness of age categories of marketing purposes, but let’s not let those categories define us or our work.

I have a great love for myths and legends, and have endeavored to create some of my own for my fantasy worlds. Below is an excerpt from an epic poem I began a few months ago and abandoned. I hope to get back to it someday, but have recently been busy with other projects (like actually writing my books). Hopefully I’ll get back to it soon. So far the poem is over a thousand words long, and I plan to make it substantially longer. This poem is entitled, “The Coming of Rænor”, an epic telling of humanities greatest and oldest hero.

Listen now to legend’s birth

in grinding ice and hunger’s dearth.

His people fled from dreadful East

where dark things do on corpses feast.

A great Kingdom forever lowed.

Of blood, they say, a river flowed,

from battles won and lost more oft

‘till land did reek of death’s foul waft.

From home long engulfed in nightmare

a remnant ran, without thought where

their weary legs may at last lie

and if they laid them down to die

at least it were a place apart

from misery and breaking heart. 

Into that remnant he was born,

golden-haired, as if made to scorn

the dark that could not quench the light

though it may seem to pass from sight.

Through the mountains they struggling came

then over frozen seas untamed

that groaned a haunting song of cold

that called to sleep and froze the bold.

On they pressed through untold perils

into Rabdranas, land of feral

things that dwell in endless winter.

Raenor had grown from child tender

to a youth hardened, strong, and fell,

who sang and fought and crafted well.

Yet still he was a stripling lad,

no feats of arms or deeds he had.

Then in a raid both hard and fast,

giants stole the light and then were past

the reach of those who would return

the lost treasure for which they yearned.

None of Drothin’s men would dare climb

where ravens fly in endless line.

Then from despondent host arose

Raenor, swearing to end all foes

who would dare to steal from his King.

Then did Drothin begin to sing

a song of doom and hope entwined

and bid Raenor the last light find.

He began his tread ascending

up the pinnacles unending,

winding up to snowy mountain peaks

to slay the foes, to treasure seek.

Even now, I have refused to flout my personal ideals on social media that’s related to my author persona, and for good reason. The dominant sentiment today seems to be that dissenting opinions should be censored and that we should do everything in our power to ruin those with whom we disagree. People are unfollowed, unfriended, blocked, and reported for contrary opinions. Writers and other creators will have their works boycotted for daring to cross a particular group or ideology, while many others are told to “shut up and do your job.” Shockingly, these censorships happen even within a person’s own political group. A left-leaning writer may have their books boycotted for not being far enough left, or not following the labyrinthine and arbitrary protocol set forth by various people. A right-leaning writer may be called weak or pandering for not being far enough right. Add in the other political axis of authoritarian to libertarian ideals, and it becomes very clear that no one can become political without expecting some kind of backlash.

I have seen many creators take the stance that the backlash is irrelevant. If someone wishes to boycott my work, then I wouldn’t have wanted them to read it in the first place. Some go so far as to say, “If you don’t agree with me on X issue, then please leave.” Essentially, these people are creating an audience of homogenous opinion. I generally dislike this approach, as it has a tendency to create an echo-chamber. If my audience consists only of those who already agree with me, then no one will be challenged by my work, no one will find something unexpected. One of the most surprising and gratifying things about having a published book is being met with readers who I did not expect to by in my audience. I’ve been told by many readers that I was their first foray into fantasy novels. They were introduced to a whole new world of literature, full of works more beautiful and more important than my own, because no one told them that they shouldn’t read my book. If I had announced that my book was for fans of the genre only, many of them would have never picked up the book. In the same way, I would limit the impact of my work by setting limits on its readership.

Even now that I have decided to speak out, I don’t want to lose one reader. I firmly believe that art can and does change people’s hearts, minds, and lives. It is therefore my objective to share good art, not just of my own making, with as many people as possible. Denying someone the experience of good art is denying them the chance for growth and change on a level that can never be achieved by any argument. In that light, I remain staunch in my refusal to become a politically vocal author. I don’t want to use my position to support candidates, bills, or political systems. I only want to share my ideals because concealing them has begun to feel dishonest and cowardly.

Here is one thing that I hold to be true: black lives matter. As a Christian, I think that every person is precious in God’s eyes and should therefore be precious in my own. It’s painful to think such a simple statement of a people’s worth has become a trigger for political fighting. Asserting the basic worth of one race is not an attack on another and should not be misconstrued as such. I also believe that people should receive justice, and that there can be no justice where there is not equality. Any system that denies people equal justice is not just. A campaign for justice may be inconvenient, it may even be dangerous, but it is never unwarranted or untimely. We should all gladly accept the disruption of our daily lives as the smallest price to pray for a just society. We should all endeavor to do what is right with a peaceful heart, keeping in mind that we are all part of a human family. In a war of ideas, victories are won by changing people’s minds, not by insulting them or brutalizing their bodies. In the end, I believe that goodness will win; injustice cannot reign forever. We should never despair of doing what is right.

I don’t say these things because I need you to agree with me, I say them because I believe them to be true and I can’t, in good conscience, remain silent. I will ask this of you: examine what you believe and speak out for what is right.

Maintaining a healthy mental space is absolutely essential to good writing. When I’m stressed or worried, I get distracted and can’t produce anything worthwhile. When I feel at peace, fulfilled, and awake to the beauty around me, I’m capable of producing art. There is definitely a sense in which one create an atmosphere conducive to a positive head space, that is the entire premise of a disciplined writing schedule, but what do we do without our precious routines? What if my schedule has been thrown off by life, and I am forced to write in less than ideal conditions? What if I’ve been self-critical while editing and suddenly find myself in need of creating something of which I’m proud? What if I’m just having a rotten day? How do I force a creative headspace?

Simply put, I don’t think one can force a creative headspace, but I do think we can guide ourselves there. Below, I’ve listed a few steps that help me to enter into the right mindset. Hopefully they will be of use to you.

1. Relax. Lay your troubles aside for a time. You can’t worry yourself into creating something beautiful. Ignore everything else and let your mind be still for one peaceful moment. I like to put some atmospheric music on or go for a walk to help me with this step.

2. Remember who you are and what you love. There’s a reason you’re writing this story, something that you’re passionate about. Hold on to that.

3. Imagine the scene as it first occurs to you and freeze that moment in time. Do not think about what the scene should accomplish, how long it should be, or any other technical distractions. Think about the sensory details. Use the smells and sounds to immerse yourself in the world. Put your feet on the ground.

4. Write the scene as you are experiencing it. Once the board is set, allow the pieces to move, describing the game as it unfolds before you. You are only a scribe recording what is happening around you, what is flowing through you. Describe it as best you can, but don’t let yourself get in the way.

Though it seems like I should be able to alter my sentence structure and word choice to change styles, it’s not so easy in practice. I write sentences the way that I do because my writing is intimately tied to the inner workings of my mind. My narration may not be an exact copy of my internal dialogue, but it’s pretty close. The same goes for my working vocabulary. I have little control over what words pop into my head and demand to be put on the page. I can search for new or half-remembered words in a thesaurus, but my very gravitation towards one word over another must be subjective. Another writer describing the same scene would use different words, in an order that my mind would never produce. So if style is so ingrained in us, how would we change it if we wanted to?

What could I change to make my style more regal, more thoughtful, or more relatable? These are the questions that keep me up nights, and I’ve rounded up at least a few thoughts on the subject. I’ve found that the best way to improve my style is to read authors who have a style I admire. When I read Tolkien, my work becomes more regal. Occasionally, I have written a passage in imitation of Tolkien, or Pratchett, or Rothfuss, in an attempt to understand what makes their styles have a certain quality. I’ve found that studying the works of writers I admire has always improved my own work. Sometimes, the lessons I learn from great writers distracts me from reading their books. Shortly after beginning War and Peace, I had to put the book down and rush to my computer because the way that Tolstoy wrote his characters was inspirational.

Initially, I was hesitant to even pick up a book during a productive writing phase because I didn’t want to compromise the style of my work. I didn’t want each new chapter sounding like it was written by a different author, and I didn’t want to risk plagiarizing someone’s work. Now that I have a few books under my belt, that’s not something I worry about. My style is stubborn; it’s difficult to change it for the better and I need all the help I can get.

Ultimately, I do think it’s important for a writer to develop her own, unique style, but I see that process as practically inevitable. It’s hard for me to imagine someone could write hundreds of thousands of words and still sound imitative. At some point, the writer’s real voice has to break through. But perhaps some books seem derivative not because the writer hasn’t dedicated enough time to developing style, but because the actual story being told is sub-par.

I seriously take issue with someone trying to write “the next Harry Potter”, or “Twilight, but with minor changes so I don’t get sued”. For one, I’m not sure I understand the ultimate goal of these projects. Do people write these imitations because they want the financial success of the original, or because they loved the original so much that they want to revisit the story through their own hands? I’m not sure what the ideology behind these writings are, but I think I know why they fall flat. Someone who is completely imitating J.K. Rowling’s stories cannot bring what Rowling brought to those stories. Rowling put herself into Harry Potter. It was her heart and mind that sculpted every inch of that world, and though I will be the first to say the series is imperfect, an imitation can never capture that which invigorated the original work.

As writers, we must tell our own stories with our own voice. I think it’s healthy to endeavor to be more like those we admire, but we should never hope to be just like them. We each have something to offer the world which it has never before seen: our perspective. Good art lets us see through the artist’s eyes. If I want to learn something from another author, it is only to better convey my own vision. I think that’s why I’m so concerned about style; I want to paint my vision as truly as possible, and that means using the right tools for the job.

Whereas paddles are generally short and pulled through the water using the paddler’s strength alone, oars are long and operate on the principle of levers. Thole pins in the gunwales of the vessel serve as a fulcrum against which the rower can pull the oar. The resulting stroke is much more powerful and energetically favorable than the stroke of a paddle. Paddling is still used for some very small boats, but was replaced by the oar in most historical examples.

The first advanced craft we know of were built in the Egypt’s Old Kingdom, around 2300 BC. Under the rule of pharaoh Pepi I, these early galleys were used for the transport of troops, slaves, and timber during his raids of the Levantine coast. In these early days, there was no distinction to those vessels used for trade versus those used for war. It wasn’t until rams were built into ship bows in the 8th century BC that a difference in design emerged. The first Greek galleys are attested by Homer’s Iliad in the 12th century BC, where he describes ships with a single row of oarsmen. This single row of oarsmen was the only design at the time, usually with anywhere from 30-50 rowers working a single oar each. Around the same time, in 1175 BC, we have record of the first naval battle, waged between the Egyptians and the mysterious Sea Peoples.

The bireme represented the first big invention in seafaring, and was probably invented by the Phoenicians well before the 6th century BC. The bireme was a two-tiered vessel, allowing two rows of rowers to propel the ship. The bireme was used by many Mediterranean cultures and persisted into the time of the Byzantine Empire. The trireme was the next development in rowing technology, which used an outrigger to allow a third bank of rowers to participate in propulsion on each side of the ship. Triremes  were first used by the Greeks, but were later massively utilized by the Romans. The invention of the trireme led to the disappearance of single-tiered vessels, though biremes still remained in use. Triremes employed up to 170 rowers, who all initially manned a single oar. As naval combat became increasingly important to Republican Rome, experienced rowers were in short supply and multiple rowers per oar began to be utilized.

Merchant galleys during Republican Rome were called actuaria, which used both rowers and a square-rigged sail to move. Actuaria had 50 rowers and transported goods, whereas the phaselus was used for passenger transport, and the limbs was a small express carrier. It’s likely that other seafaring peoples in the Mediterranean used similar designs for their merchant vessels during this period.

When Julius Caesar was conquering Gaul, one of the most troublesome Celtic tribes he came into contact with were the Veneti. The Veneti lived along the coasts of Armorica, what is today called Brittany, and they were consulate sailors. We know little about the Veneti ships, except that they were very tall, made of wood, thick hulled, and used sails for populsion. At the time, the Veneti vessels were superior to the standard Roman ships that Caesar brought against them. Ships under sail can be much taller than rowed ships because they don’t need to be close enough to the water to use oars. The much taller ships of the Veneti were difficult for the Romans to board, especially since the Veneti were deft sailors who could avoid the Roman craft. Additionally, the thick hulls of the Veneti ships made them resistant to the ramming hulls of the Romans. The Veneti were finally defeated by Caesar’s legate, Decimus Junius Brutus Albinus, who equipped his men with long billhooks to cut the halyards of the Veneti ships. With their leather sails cut down, the Veneti were dead in the water and the Romans had the victory.

Sails in the ancient Mediterranean were all initially square, a rigging that can provide power when sailing with the wind at the back of the vessel, but which hinders maneuverability in almost any other conditions. They are particularly useless when sailing into the wind. In the 2nd century BC, the spritsail began being used by the Greeks, which is a sort of quadrilateral shape. The spritsail later evolved into the lateen sail, which is more triangular. Both the spritsail and lateen sail offered more maneuverability than square rigging and were capable of sailing into the wind using tacking. Lateen rigging was first used sometime between the 1st and 2nd centuries AD and became the standard rigging from the 6th through the 13th centuries. Ancient sails in Europe were made from leather, wool, or linen. In later centuries, cotton canvas became a common sail material.

In the time of the Roman Empire, the navy was greatly reduced from Republican times. The dominant vessel of the day was the liburnian, which was named for the Illyrian tribe from which it was derived. Liburna were compact biremes with around 25 oar pairs and were used for patrolling the Imperial provinces. They could weather both the open Mediterranean and travel up rivers. In regards to their versatility, autonomy, and speed, the liburna anticipated the Norse longships that took Europe by storm in the early Middle Ages.

In Ireland and Wales, two similar but historically distinct boats were used since the earliest days of human habitation in the islands. The Irish currach is a small boat with a wooden frame over which are stretched tarred animal skins. The Welsh coracle has a similar construction but they tend to be more circular in shape, and are usually only used in rivers. Both the coracle and currach are usually paddled rather than rowed. Aside from a few modern examples, both boats maintain their structure through thin pieces of wood that are woven together rather than fastened. The earlier forms of these boats may have been skin covered baskets, tarred to enhance waterproofing. Although there was once a land bridge between Britain and the continent, Ireland has pretty much always been an island. All people that settled in Ireland had to journey across rough seas to reach it, and the earliest of these probably did so in something similar to the currach. Coracles and currachs remain popular fishing vessels in Ireland and Wales today.

The famous viking longship is not a design that originated during the Viking Age, but was first developed in the 4th century BC by the Norse peoples of Scandinavia. When the Norse began raiding Western Europe during the early Middle Ages, longships had a certain uniformity of features. Longships had a shallow draft that allowed them to travel up rivers, and were light enough to be portaged (carried overland between bodies of water). Longships were fitted with a single row of oars, and later versions were rigged with a square sail made from woven wool. The bow and the stern were identical, allowing the ships to rapidly reverse directions which was helpful for both avoiding sea ice and fleeing a recently raided settlement. The longship was what enabled the hit-and-run tactics used by the vikings and gave them access to even the interior of the continent via rivers. Although all Norse longships held some features in common, there were many versions of the ship that varied according to the shipwright and its intended purpose. For example, the knarr was a merchant vessel built along a longship pattern, though it was wider and deeper in the hull while being shorter in overall length.

Norse longships were clinker built, meaning that the hull consisted of overlapping planks. Clinker construction was only known in Northern Europe at the time, and would have made the longships flexible enough to handle North Sea rollers. Ancient Mediterranean ships were built using a mortise and tenon method that was spread to Northern Europe by the Romans. The mortise and tenon method basically involved the linking of planks side-to-side using interlocking pegs and holes like lego bricks. With the raids of the Vikings, clinker construction became more popular among Northern Europeans like the Anglo-Saxons and remains a popular build for ships that sail around the North Sea. Clinker-built ships don’t fare well on the open Atlantic; their flexibility becomes a weakness when confronted by the more powerful swells of the open ocean. The old mortise and tenon method evolved to meet the demands of the Atlantic, with carvel-built ships becoming the standard in the 14th and 15th centuries.

Maritime navigation in the ancient world would have been devoid of instruments. Land astrolabes were used in classical antiquity, but didn’t work well on the heaving deck of a ship. In those days, Polaris (the North star) wasn’t as close to the celestial north pole as it is today. The ancient peoples of the Mediterranean used the whole of Ursa Minor was used to indicate the northern direction. During the Middle Ages, Polaris itself became more important in celestial navigation. It has been theorized that Norse peoples used certain crystal minerals that polarize light to find the sun in an overcast sky, or once it has dipped below the horizon, but there is no direct evidence for this use. Magnetic compasses first appear in Europe around the 14th century. Most seafarers of the ancient world would stayed within sight of land if at all possible, and traveled during seasons when the winds were favorable and predictable.

The ancient Greeks and Romans used tattooing for the marking of criminals and slaves, while the later Roman Empire used tattoos for identifying soldiers. Neither culture was known to use tattoos decoratively. The Picts, a Celtic people of Northern Britain, were called “the painted people” by the Romans, which some understand to mean that that they bore tattoos. However, the Gaelic and Brythonic neighbors of the Picts have no record of tattooing among them. Since variations of “pict” occur in almost all languages that came in contact with that people, it’s possible that the term is related to a root in the Pictish language. In that case, the Romans may have misinterpreted the name to mean that the picts were “painted”. To further muddle the issue, Julius Caesar remarks that the Celtic Britons colored their bodies with blue “vitrum”. It’s likely that this was a form of war paint, rather than permanent tattooing. The word “vitrum” literally means “glass” in Latin, but may also be interpreted as meaning “woad”, a plant that produces a blue dye. Woad doesn’t work well for tattooing; it’s caustic nature results in more scarring than a tattoo, but it may have been used for paint. Alternatively, Caesar may have been referring to a different blue dye, such as can be made from various copper minerals.

Iron Age jewelry is a massively broad subject informed by hoards of beautiful objects that have been discovered. You owe it to yourself to search for images of these treasures, or see them in person if you’re at all able. Torcs were a favorite adornment of the Celts; a torc is a metal neck ring that opens at the front and probably would have been worn by all high-ranking members of society. Most torcs that have been discovered were made of gold or bronze, although there are examples in silver and iron. Torcs were often made of twisted wire with highly decorated terminals, although there are massive variations in form. Some torcs seem to have been made with nearly permanent use in mind, as they would have been extremely difficult to remove. Bracelets were also very common among the Celts, and were made in styles similar to torcs. Armlets, anklets, and amulets were also worn, but finger rings were more rare among the Celts.

The Romans enjoyed wearing jewelry made from gemstones and glass in addition to metalwork. Amethyst, emerald, and pearl were especially loved by Roman women. The lower classes would have worn jewelry made from iron or bronze, while the upper classes wore more jewelry made of silver and gold. The Romans mass-produced jewelry, using molds to make the process of creation cheaper, and it was therefore more readily available. Women generally wore more jewelry than men, and had their ears pierced for wearing earrings. Roman women also wore necklaces, finger rings, bracelets, and brooches. Men would generally restrain themselves to brooches and finger rings, but both genders would wear multiple pieces of jewelry at once.

The fibula brooch was an extremely common item during the Iron Age in Europe, worn by both genders and members of every social class. In form and function, the brooch resembles a modern safety pin, but they could be extremely ornamented. The first fibulae were worn in the Bronze Age by the Mycenaeans in Greece, and various styles developed around the Mediterranean. During the early Iron Age, the Celts began using fibulae and creating their own designs. In the Celtic La Tene period, the first animal designs appear. With the spread of the Roman Empire, fibulae grew both in number and variations of design. Germanic designs began appearing in the late 1st century AD. Penannular brooches were a type of fibular brooch that consisted of a pin and a torc shape that were first used in the Iron Age, and were commonly made out of cheap metals for utilitarian use. In the post-Roman period, penannular brooches became highly ornamented. The fanciest brooches were made with silver or gold, were inlaid with gemstones, and decorated with intricate patterns.

It’s surprisingly difficult to find details on personal hygiene in the ancient world, outside of the Romans. We know that the Greeks used small bathtubs, while the Romans had a massive bathing culture. Baths were a public service in almost every ancient Roman settlement, even as far from the capital as Britain. Romans would move between cool, warm, and hot baths as a part of the bathing process. They would oil themselves and scrape away the excess with a small spatula called a strigil. There were separate baths for men and women, though the bathing was done in groups. Romans didn’t use soap on their bodies, but Celtic and Germanic peoples did. The soaps used by the Gauls were much milder than Roman soaps, but never replaced the oil and strigil in Roman society even after their discovery. Celtic and Germanic peoples were also recorded as using soap on their hair specifically, both men and women. Combs and hairbrushes would have been used by every European society and varied from practical tools to ornamented status symbols. Using fine-toothed combs would have been an effective method for removing lice, as well as useful for styling the hair. Finger nail clippers hadn’t been invented yet, but knives specifically intended for nail trimming were a common part of Celtic hygiene kits. Razors have been used throughout human history, first made of stone, and later wrought from metal. The popularity of razors varied with the fashions of the day. Shears have been used since the bronze age, while scissors of the modern style were invented by the Romans around 100 AD. The first mirrors were made of obsidian, with polished stone, copper, bronze, and speculum, and iron following. The first glass mirrors were backed with lead or gold in the first century AD, and were extremely delicate and costly. Mirrors made of metal alone remained the most popular option until the late 19th century.

Perfumery is a practice as old as civilization; it began in ancient Mesopotamia, Egypt, India, and possibly China. The Greeks also used perfumes and the Romans later refined the process of creating them. It seems that the process of distillation was first used for the production of perfumes, and was only later used to produce hard alcohols. Given the level of pottery work or glasswork needed to distill, I think it’s unlikely that Celtic or Germanic peoples created what we think of as traditional perfumes. However, the ultra-rich may have been able to procure perfumes through trade with the Mediterranean world.

I’d like to briefly trace the production of a piece of wool clothing from the sheep to the final product to demonstrate the complexity and labor involved in the process. First, the sheep are sheared, which is a process whereby the wool of the sheep is cut and removed. A skillful shearer is careful to preserve the length of the wool hairs, as longer strands produce finer fabrics. The fleece must then be washed to remove dirt, debris, and fecal matter. This may be done in warm water with or without soap. If soap is used to wash the fleece, it may remove the lanolin, a greasy substance that waterproofs the fiber. If the bath used to wash the fleece is too hot, or the wool is agitated too much while washing, the fibers may mesh together to make felt.

Once the fleece has been cleaned, the wool is combed to align the fibers in the same direction. The combed wool is then spun into yarn using a drop spindle. A drop spindle is essentially a stick with a circular weight at one end that aids in the twisting of fibers together. After being twisted once, two strands must be counter-twisted together to form yarn. The spinning wheel didn’t arrive in Europe until the 13th century, so the drop spindle would have been the dominant technology used in the Iron Age. Once the yarn has been formed it must be woven into a textile. From the Bronze Age through the Iron Age, a warp-weighted loom would have been used for weaving. Warp-weighted looms are vertical frames that separate the warp strands of yarn so that the weft strands can be woven in between. They’re called “warp-weighted” because the bottom of the warp strands are were weighted to keep them taught. Once a wool fabric has been created, it may be dyed with various naturally occurring substances such as ochre or woad. The fabric would then have been hand-sewn into a piece of clothing.

The process of producing textiles for clothing was a massive industry in the ancient world. Sheep drove the economies of whole regions, and most members of society would have been involved in fabric production in one way or another. Men and boys were shepherds and sheared the sheep, while women, children, and slaves would spin and weave the wool into cloth.

The fashions of various Iron Age societies differed greatly, although the expansion of the Roman Empire saw a melting of clothing styles. Tunics became the most popular top in Europe, although the exact details differed. The Greeks wore tunics that fastened at the shoulder, while Celtic and Germanic peoples wore pull-over tunics. The Celts were famous for wearing brightly colored and embroidered tunics, but they weren’t the only ones. The Greeks also liked to dye their tunics bright colors while the romans used colored stripes and embroidery as a sign of class. Southern Europeans used short-sleeved tunics, while Northern Europeans wore both short and long-sleeved varieties. The length of the tunic hem also varied. Women and sedentary classes wore their tunics long, down to the ankle, while people who were more active usually went for a mid-thigh to knee length.

Though the tunic was practically mandatory during the Iron Age (apart from some aristocratic use of the toga among Romans), pants were far more optional. The most popular pants in the Iron Age were the braccae, a Celtic invention that was also in vogue with Germanic peoples. Braccae were loose-fitting wool trousers with a drawstring around the waist and leg lengths anywhere from just above the knee to the ankle. Those that wore longer tunics, such as the Romans, didn’t really understand the need for pants until they experienced the winters of Northern Europe.

The Greeks famously disdained using any kind of footwear, with Alexander the Great conquering the known world with barefoot armies. The Romans, however, liked their shoes, as did Northern Europeans. Shoes in the ancient world were all pretty open and sandal-like. The sturdier varieties had leather soles, sometimes hobnailed for traction and durability. Even the “boot” of the day, the Roman caliga, had an open construction though they did have decent ankle-support. As far as I know, closed shoe construction didn’t really come about in Europe until the turn shoe of the Middle Ages.

Cloaks were the winter wear of the day in Europe and had a fairly standard appearance, which differed slightly from what most of us would imagine. Cloaks in the Iron Age were essentially just large rectangular piece of wool cloth that was wrapped around the body. The cloak could have been fastened with a fibular or penannular brooch, which replaced the more archaic cloak pins. These brooches often became highly ornamented while retaining their function, but I’ll leave a detailed discussion of personal adornment for a later time. Next week, I think I’ll dive into jewelry, hygiene, makeup, and tattoos.

Nuts and seeds were historically an important source of food to Europeans. The hazelnut, walnut, chestnut, beechnut, pine seed, and acorn were all eaten supplementally in the Iron Age, but may have been primary sources of nutrition in times of famine. Nuts can be ground into flour and baked, as with grain-based flours, possibly even predating grain flours in Europe. Mushrooms would have also been a commonly eaten forage, including the button, chanterelle, burgundy, chestnut, lion’s mane, penny bun, giant puffball, wood blewit, morel, and truffle, and many more varieties of mushrooms.

Though Northern Europeans enjoyed many types of fruits and nuts during the Iron Age, the flavor additives available to them were more limited. Some modern herbs are native to the Mediterranean and were quickly spread to farming populations in Northern Europe, while others were already endemic to the north. Herbs and spices available in Europe during the Iron Age include sage, mint, thyme, bay laurel, oregano, rosemary, savory, hyssop, parsley, fennel, dill, cumin, caraway, coriander, celery, horseradish, lemon balm, lavender, chervil, cicely, lovage, rue, tarragon, mustard, onions, garlic, chamomile, and meadowsweet. Notice that peppers, which feature so prominently in modern cuisine, are wholly absent from the list. Additionally, many of these herbs are closely related species (many are in the carrot family) and have similar flavors. Barberry and juniper berries would have also been used as flavor additives. Despite the possible availability of all of these herbs and spices in Northern Europe, the functional spice cabinet of the time would have been limited to a few garden plants and what could be found in the wild.

As mentioned in last week’s post, grains would have been the primary source of calories for ancient Europeans. Vegetables, fruits, nuts, seeds, and meat would have all been eaten supplementally. The three most common ways to eat grains in Northern Europe were as breads, in soups, or in alcohol. There are innumerable varieties of breads, but a few basic forms. A dough may be formed from flour, water, and salt. If that mixture is rolled and baked immediately, it produces a flatbread. Flatbreads would have been the first form of breads and remained a popular and quick food through the Iron Age. If that dough is left to sit rather than being immediately baked, yeast from the environment will colonize the dough and cause it to rise. Breads that contain wild yeast (obtained from the environment) form sourdoughs when baked. If domestic yeast is added to the dough, it produces what we think of as a traditional bread. Yeasts would have been domesticated over time by the keeping of wild yeast colonies for making bread (sourdough starter) or beer (barm). Breads often served an accompanying role in a meal, such as being used as a sop to absorb soup before eating.

Soups were an important part of Iron Age cuisine because they were easy to prepare, kept well, and could be created from a variety of ingredients, often whatever was on hand. One of earliest methods to prepare a soup was to heat stones in a fire, then drop them into a leather bag filled with water. The rocks would boil the water in the bag, and then ingredients could be added. This ancient method of cooking is probably the source for the “rock soup” folktale that is present in many cultures. The base of the soup was commonly a hulled grain that would be boiled until soft. Alone, a soup of boiled grain is called a porridge. The addition of vegetables and possibly meat makes it a type of soup known as a pottage. Both porridges and pottages were important staples through the centuries. As iron became more common, cauldrons were used more often as a cooking vessel.

Drinking alcohol is ethanol, a byproduct formed when yeast ferment sugars. Anything with carbohydrates or sugar may be fermented to produce alcohol. In Europe, the traditional types of alcohols were wine, cider, and beer. Fruit skins naturally contain wild yeast and since the fruit contains high amounts of sugar, fermentation is fairly straightforward. The fruit is smashed into a mash and the juice is drawn off. The juice is then allowed to ferment until alcohol is produced. This process is essentially the same for both wine and cider. In beer production, the grain must first be germinated to begin the breakdown of carbohydrates in the endosperm. Essentially, the seed is encouraged to start growing. Germination is halted by the malting process, when the grain is dried at high temperatures. The malt is then mixed with water to create a mash, in which the grain will continue to break down until a sugary liquid called “wort” is produced. The wort is boiled with flavor additives (such as hops or meadowsweet), then the sugary solution is allowed to ferment into beer. The ethanol content in ancient beverages were likely quite low compared to today. Freezing an alcoholic beverage and removing the ice was one ancient method of increasing the alcohol percentage in a beverage, but true distillation wasn’t widespread until long after the Iron Age.

It’s a common misconception that humans were immune to the dangers of contaminated water a few thousand years ago. Throughout recorded history, it has been generally understood that it is unsafe to drink water from a natural body of water. Ancient societies used springs, wells, and cisterns to gain access to clean drinking water, but the primary form of water sanitation was mixing with alcohol. The ethanol in alcoholic beverages kills any microorganisms in water that might otherwise harm humans. Mixed wine with water was a common beverage in ancient Mediterranean societies for this reason. Similarly, a beverage called “small beer” was popular for its low alcohol content and the grain that remained suspended in the solution. Small beer and diluted wine were given to children and consumed by all members of society at any time of the day.

Another staple meal worth mentioning are pies. Pies are basically any filled pastry and were an easy way to make meals portable. Pastry dough is made of flour, some kind of fat, and salt. The dough is then filled with vegetables, meats, fruit, nuts, cheese, or eggs and baked. The resulting creation is some kind of pie, a food form that has been enjoyed since the Neolithic. The earliest known pies were a kind of galette filled with honey, but it wasn’t long before people were filling pastry crust with anything and everything.

As a brief conclusion to this week’s post, I’d like to point out foods that would not have been available in Northern Europe in the Iron Age. Black and white pepper would have been available only to the extremely rich, and other peppers (chili, bell, cayenne, etc.) would have been wholly unavailable. Potatoes, tomatoes, squashes, and bananas were unknown before the colonization of the Americas. Blueberries, pecans, maize, rice, peanuts, vanilla, chocolate, maple syrup, tobacco, and coffee are all New World products as well. Basil is from Southeast Asia, and wouldn’t have been found in Europe. As to fiber crops, there’s a slim chance that cotton fabrics would have been available to the rich of Northern Europe. Cotton was grown in Persia in the greatest antiquity, but was later grown in Egypt as well. That being said, it isn’t really attested even as an imported product until the Middle Ages. Sugar would have been impossible to find in Europe until the 15th century. As the above list of products are so important and ubiquitous in our modern world, it can be easy to anachronistically plant them into a story of the past. Even the great J.R.R. Tolkien included potatoes in Middle Earth, which was supposedly a new mythology for Northern Europe. It’s an easy mistake to make, but half the fun of writing about the past is immersing the reader in a world that is similar and yet alien to our own.

Agriculture first came to northern Europe in the Neolithic, and was a major part of what is often termed the “Neolithic Revolution”, a period of technological innovation that changed people’s lives as thoroughly as the Industrial Revolution. The most important crops to early farmers were grains and legumes. Grains such as wheat, barely, rye, and oats served as the primary source of energy through carbohydrates. In the colder climate of Northern Europe, barely, rye, and oats grew better than wheat, and became the more common cereals. Legumes were an important source of protein for the sedentary farmers, for whom hunting would become a more supplemental activity. Legumes also have the added benefit of fixing nitrogen in the soil, an essential nutrient for plant growth. Crop rotation was understood and implemented from the earliest days of agriculture, ensuring that the soil wasn’t leached of its essential nutrients. The most popular legumes among the earliest farmers were peas, lentils, chickpeas, bitter vetch, and broad beans. Flax and cotton were important plants for fiber production, though cotton wasn’t successfully cultivated in Northern Europe. Flax was used to produce linen and flaxseeds were consumed.

Vegetables were eaten by Northern Europeans prior to the advent of agriculture, and they continued to be consumed after its arrival. Leeks, onions, and garlic were easy to grow and flavorful. Parsnips were native to Northern Europe and carrots would have been quickly imported from the Middle East. Asparagus and beets would have been available early on, though lettuces didn’t appear in Europe until the Iron Age itself. Various species of the Brassica genus were domesticated across Eurasia, which have produced the modern cabbages, cauliflower, broccoli, Brussels sprouts, mustard seed, rapeseed, kale, collard greens, rutabagas, turnips, and kohlrabi. It’s unlikely that the ancient Brassica varieties closely resembled those that we know today, but it is certain that Brassica plants have been cultivated for a long time. Specifically, Brassica oleracea, the ancestor of the cabbage, was a salt-tolerant wild vegetable that grew on the rocky cliffs of damp, coastal areas. The plant’s tolerance of salt, cold, and poor soils made it an important vegetable in Northern Europe.

In addition to the domestication of plants, the Neolithic saw the domestication and proliferation of several animal species. Cattle, sheep, goats, and pigs would have all been available during the Iron Age. Ancient farmers would have relied on straw, bitter vetch, and wild forage to feed their livestock. Milk was collected from cattle, sheep, and goats, and would have been used for the production of various dairy products. Milk was drunk straight or used as a common additive in cooking. Butter, yoghurt, creams, and cheeses were common staples. Custards would have also been prepared. Meat was considered a luxury, and would have been sparse in the diet of the poor. Almost any animal, domestic or wild, would have been butchered for meat. Since meat spoils readily and refrigeration was unavailable, salting, drying, or smoking meat was common.

There were several kinds of poultry available to Northern Europeans, including domestic chickens, geese, and ducks. Eggs would have been an important source of protein and cholesterol, while male birds would have been more ready sources of meat than cattle or pigs. Wild pigeons, ptarmigans, partridges, quail, geese, and ducks would have also been hunted and eaten.

Horses would have been available during the Iron Age, but would have been different from the breeds of which we commonly think. The quarter-horse, thoroughbred, and Arabian breeds would not have been present in Europe during this period. The riding horses of Northern Europe at this time would have been short, stocky, and shaggy. Horses were used for riding, hauling, and plowing. It’s likely that even from the first stages of domestication horses were divided into heavy and light breed-stock, so that the horses meant to plow or pull heavy loads were larger and more subdued than those meant for riding.

Irrigation has been used since the earliest days of agriculture, and would have been used to supplement seasonal rains. Canals were a simple way to divert water from rivers, springs, and lakes, but more advanced technologies like aqueducts, cisterns, and piping were also used. The sickle was the primary way of reaping cereal crops. The scythe is an ancient tool, but was primarily used for mowing and didn’t replace the sickle as the main tool for reaping until the 1600s. Hoes, shovels, pickaxes, adzes, and axes were all common hand tools on the ancient farm. Plows have been drawn by draft animals since the domestication of oxen, but were primarily made of wood so that the runner could be easily lifted. When runners were replaced with wheels in the 3rd century AD, it became common for plows to be made from cast iron. The heavier, more durable, iron plows allowed for the cultivation of heavier soils in Northern Europe, vastly increasing the amount of arable land.

Next week, I’ll cover how Northern Europeans cooked these foods, the spices they used, and some popular meals they prepared. 

In a long running game in which I am a player, I play as Bedwyr, an elven fighter with astounding dexterity. Bedwyr fights with bows and rapiers and has a ridiculously high AC. He’s what I’ve affectionately termed a “dodge-tank”. Thanks to a few skill proficiencies, Bedwyr is also an adept survivalist. One of Bedwyr’s companions is Arged, the dwarf ranger. Arged wears heavy armor, dual wields axes, sometimes uses a crossbow, and has strength as his highest attribute. He is essentially Bardin from the Vermintide games, if any of you are familiar with him. We often joke that Bedwyr is the fighter who should have been a ranger, while Arged is the ranger that should have been a fighter. Despite what should be the mechanical similarities between our characters, Bedwyr’s base mechanics are much stronger in combat than Arged’s. Arged is without a doubt the better survivalist, but Bedwyr can get by in almost every situation. Meanwhile, Bedwyr deals much more damage in combat than Arged and has higher survivability due to his high AC. Despite Arged’s suboptimal mechanics, he’s a great character that my friend enjoys playing because of the story behind him. The details of Arged’s backstory and personality make it inconceivable for him to be anything other than a ranger. My friend is still not happy when Arged’s mechanics underperform, but he still has fun in combat because of the picture painted by his character, the narrative splash he adds to every fight.

When most people are introduced to D&D for the first time, they come up with a character concept that sounds enjoyable to play. The new player wants to be a ninja, or a powerful mage, or a devout priest. They don’t know about the relative strengths and weaknesses of the classes, nor do they know about what mechanics they might have to use to actualize their vision of the character. It is only after pouring over rulebooks and web forums that some of us gravitate toward builds that are mechanically strong. I did this to a degree with my character, Bedwyr. He isn’t completely optimized, but he’s close. Unfortunately, in my drive to make him as combat-effective as possible, I neglected to give him a well-built or consistent personality. As a result, I didn’t enjoy combat as much as I should have, and he was an absolute train-wreck off the battlefield. In his early days, Bedwyr was just the stab-o-matic. He excelled at combat, but he was just a machine completing a function. There was no life to his fighting because there was very little in the way of story supporting him.

I’ve provided these rather long anecdotes from my own table to demonstrate how essential it is to have story-driven characters, even in combat situations. An encounter will have no life if it is only the pitting of one stat block against another. The same concept is true for DMs. The enemies the players face should be just as well developed as the NPCs with which they talk. A villain should have his own motivations, goals, virtues, and vices. Even if the enemy is a monster or animal, it should have a lair or leave signs of its last victims. Almost all creatures should know to avoid combat when it isn’t advantageous. Animals don’t want to be cornered, they will wait until they can attack at a moment that is favorable to them. Most creatures should also attempt to flee if the combat is going poorly. The game doesn’t provide good mechanics for fleeing, either for the enemies or the players, but it should always be an option. For it to be a viable option, the DMs may have to do some home brewing or communicate to their players how they will handle fleeing.

When both players and enemies have fleshed out motivations and traits, then the stage is set for a memorable fight. Now that combat is beginning, we must not lose our focus on story and resort to a contest of stat blocks. Narrative concerns should affect the decisions players and enemies make within a combat, and these need not be made on a character by character basis. I’ve seen many encounters where a player role-plays a combat decision based on their character’s personality, but where they don’t consider the greater narrative context. Yes, a character may be cowardly, but might he not muster some courage to face a weak or outnumbered enemy? Another character may be a master tactician, but won’t she forget her logic when a loved one has been wounded? Characters shouldn’t have fixed responses to every situation, they should be living, thinking people who adapt their responses to the circumstances. In the same vein, the in-game experiences of characters should probably alter their outlook in some way. If a companion was killed by orcs in the last campaign, it makes sense for the party to distrust half-orcs or to mercilessly eradicate nearby orc tribes. Similarly, a villain who has been bested by the party should learn from her experience. If the party wizard repeatedly countered her spells, frustrating her designs, then she might endeavor to first remove him from the equation.

The combat itself can tell a tale. Players shouldn’t become bored, repeating the same actions to whittle down a monster’s sizable pool of hit points. It’s important to encourage one’s players to seek creative solutions in combat, and reward anything that is cool. As a DM, I can make a boring exchange of blows exciting by adding narration, or throwing in extra effects. If a giant has managed to strike a might blow on a character, I might have that character be thrown by the force of the hit, even if there are no mechanics for such a rule. If a player wishes to attack the eyes of a monster, and rolls a good attack, then I may have the creature be blinded for a round. For added narrative tension, turn the combat into a chase scene, or a hostage situation. Make the terrain destructible, or light it on fire. Split the party across the battlefield, or force them to think in three dimensions. DMs should do anything they can to break up the rote exchange of combat and turn it into an exciting series of events, a story that unfolds during play.

Those that run classic dungeons crawls probably come closest to an exploration-centric game. The mechanics of exploring a dungeon room by room, and dealing with the various traps and hazards therein, should be similar to how one might run a wider exploration theme. Any level of exploration is heavily dependent on the preparedness of the DM, but focusing on story can help alleviate that pressure while making exploration more engaging for players.

For all its strengths, the 5e system doesn’t have rigorous mechanics for exploration. Nearly all the typical challenges of exploring a wilderness setting are negated by background and class abilities, often without so much as a roll being required. I think those mechanics do a disservice to both players and DMs by removing much of the classic conflict of man vs. nature, but DMs should still allow players to use those abilities so that they feel that their characters shine in an appropriate way. Rangers and druids should be the masters of survival and travel through the wilderness, and I don’t want to take that away from them, but the narrative of exploration requires conflict. I like to generate conflict during wilderness travel by throwing specific problems at characters that they must solve through quick thinking and skill checks. The ranger might be able to lead the party on a safe path through the wilderness, but that does not keep the paladin’s foot from slipping off the mountain path. The druid can conjure goodberries for the party to eat, but she might stumble and send them tumbling into the river. Accidents happen, especially to those characters less suited to wilderness survival, and the experts can’t be everywhere at once.

It’s also essential to make the players feel that their characters are in real danger, perhaps even more so than in combat. The fear that something terrible might befall a beloved character keeps players interested and contributing to the story being collectively told. Players have a tendency to feel overly-confident for two reasons: they have heavy-hitting characters that can protect the party from enemies, and they have healers that can ensure that damage to a character will never last longer than a day. It is an old player’s adage to never split the party; always split the party should be the mantra of the DM planning wilderness exploration. Split apart, the party should automatically feel a sense of dread. Without a healer present, players are more likely to get twisted ankles, broken legs, snakebites, and many other conditions that might hinder their progress. Likewise, the healers might become vulnerable to predators or be unable to clear athletic checks required to climb a cliff or ford a stream. I never want to keep the party separated for too long, it can quickly become a hassle to keep track of separate groups, but a little bit of fear often helps the story along. Adding in inclement weather, strange landscape formations, or a splash of magic can increase the sense that nature is powerful and to be given respect.

Even with the implementation of thoughtful mechanics, exploration can seem pointless without a clear plot pushing it forward. Players don’t just venture into a dangerous wilderness for no reason, they are likely traveling through it in order to reach something on the other side. I like to foreshadow that final objective well before the players come close to it. Back in town, when the players got a quest to retrieve an artifact from an ancient ruin, the dangers ahead of them should be hinted at by the NPCs. When the party is traveling through the wilderness to reach the ruins, perhaps they find satellite structures in the area. The odd crumbling pillar or overgrown farmstead can highlight the desolate place in which the players find themselves and communicate something about the people who used to dwell in the ruins. What would they have written on their gravestones? What ancient inscription is barely legible on the epitaph worn by centuries of blowing sand? Players should get a glimpse of art, religion, and daily life for the civilization that once flourished here. Once within the major ruin structure, the players should have even more opportunities for this different kind of exploration.

Man-made structures of all kinds are great opportunities for history, investigation, and arcana checks, but here DMs must avoid information dumps. A good roll deserves a reward of information, but try to only provide the bare facts and let the players draw their own conclusions. Telling a tale of discovery and dread realization is far more interesting than finding an old scroll that explains the situation perfectly. These tenets work well with urban exploration too or even exploring someone’s room.

Despite the poor treatment that exploration gets in the mechanics of 5e and at most tables, it should never be treated as a means to an end. Exploration is the hard journey, the perfect time to build suspense, foreshadow future events, and make the players feel like they are traveling through an authentic world with very real dangers. A good exploration segment will also make the climactic battle or discovery much more satisfying than a mere travel montage. Exploration is the opportunity for some players to shine, for others to feel vulnerable, and is important to provide balance to a party dynamic. Good exploration tells a story, and will ultimately contribute to the greater story of a quest and the growing story of the party itself.

The three pillars of D&D, as espoused in the 5th edition, are socialization, exploration, and combat. I wholeheartedly agree with the equal footing on which these three aspects of the game have been placed, but I would clarify that they support the ultimate goal of story. D&D, as with all role-playing games, are story-centric. The mechanics of D&D combat are fun, but would lose all sense of purpose if divorced from story. If one reduced all players and monsters to nameless stat blocks, the fun of combat is reduced to a math problem. D&D is collective storytelling. We tell stories about our PCs, NPCs, and about the world in which they live. Even without an over-arching plot or campaign, story is still essential to the proper function of D&D.

Writing for D&D is very different than writing a novel. It can be used as a kind of cross-training, but ultimately the process is different. When writing a novel, everything is at the service of the plot. If my protagonist enters a village, I will only develop those characters with which he will interact. As the one who controls and predicts the actions of my protagonist, it is fairly simple to know where he will go and what he will do. It’s true that sometimes he might lead me in a different direction than I originally intended, but I can always stop writing to develop this new path onto which he has tread. With D&D, there are multiple characters working together to fulfill designs that did not originate in my mind. When they step off the path, there is no pausing, there is only improvisation.

To curtail the possible chaos introduced by freewill, I talk to my players to find out where they want to go and what they want to do so that I can prepare accordingly. Conversely, my players go to the places that are prepared for them, and take the quests that are offered. Some players occasionally like to make the DM sweat by willfully going away from the intended direction. These are bad players. A better story will always be produced by cooperation between players and DM, and many hard feelings will be avoided. There is no “winning” in D&D or “beating” the DM or players. There is only the crafting of something beautiful and enjoyable for everyone to experience.

The most essential practice that I have found for the nourishing of good story is the writing of good backstories. Traditionally, a player constructs a background for their character, an origin story that tells where they come from and where they’re going. These are essential. Players that don’t build backstories ultimately have less fun and cause the group to have less fun because they are compromising the cooperative story. In the same vein, a DM should help players with the construction of their backstories. Some players will come to the first session with a whole novella of backstory and they only need approval of their ideas. The ones that don’t construct any backstory should be helped in authoring one. I’ve found that they generally do have ideas, they just need to be prodded to form them into something intelligible.

Just as playable characters need a backstory, non-playable characters should be equally fleshed out. This is a classic mistake that DMs make, principally because it seems daunting to give every NPC a thought-out backstory. Every NPCs doesn’t need to have a written history, but their “humanity” is equal to that of the PC. They should have their own desires, beliefs, and fears that exist beyond the service of the PCs. Taking the time to give the NPC a real name is a big part of giving them an identity. When we use placeholder names, we communicate to ourselves and the players that this NPC is just a placeholder. Bad NPCs actively detract from the story by undermining the pillar of socialization. When a PC is socializing with an NPC that I haven’t developed beforehand, I mimic a person I know or a character from some media with which I’m familiar. Mimicking a developed person or character is an easy way to produce depth on demand so that the story can move smoothly forward.

One issue with socialization in D&D is that we should expect NPCs to occasionally deceive the players. Deception is a common part of socialization in the real world, so it should be reflected in our fantasy setting. However, we must remember that D&D is cooperative storytelling and meant to be fun for everyone. Players must have an opportunity to see through the deception, even if their characters are oblivious. The willingness with which good players bite on plot hooks is something to cherish, not to punish. If players think that their agency is being taken away, they will rebel against the DM’s construct and create a hostile atmosphere. Deception in the game is meant to trick the characters, not the players. I like to provide my players with repeated hints as to the truth of a situation, though their characters will likely be operating on far less. Good players will avoid meta-gaming as much as possible, and will joyfully let their characters be deceived until their is an in-world reason for them to see the truth.

Conflict is very much a part of creating a realistic and enjoyable story of socialization. Players should get into arguments with other players and with NPCs. Arguments between player characters should never escalate to violence, stealing, or other treacherous actions. The unity of the adventuring party is tantamount to the basic function of the game, and should not be broken. Some players will claim, “It’s what my character would do.” They should not have built a character who would compromise the unity of the team, and the DM should not have allowed that character to be built.

Arguments with NPCs are less stressful to navigate. Violence is always an option, but it probably shouldn’t be the player’s first response to every situation. Even characters with low intelligence or charisma know better than to murder people over perceived slights. PCs should be relatable, if not normal people. The common “murder-hobo” trope sabotages attempts at solid storytelling. Realistically, no one would root for a barbarian who is dumb as a rock and rips people in half when they shortchange his beer. I’d also like to point out that a negative one in a trait does not make you terrible at it, only below average. Nine times out of ten, a dispute with an NPC should be able to be solved just as we solve them in the real world: with dialogue. If dialogue fails, there are still many options before a group of “heroes” should resort to brutalizing some poor farmer.

One might think it would be easy to disregard hateful reviews, especially if they draw false parallels or otherwise misunderstand the book. Certainly the apple that is blatantly rotten can be easily tossed aside before any damage is done, right? Wrong. Writers and other creatives gravitate toward the rotten apples; we pluck them from a barrel of gleaming specimens and stare into their putrid flesh like one transfixed. We fancy that we can see ourselves in the rotten apples—a vision of self that is fed by our own insecurities and very real shortcomings. Building memorable characters is difficult for me, and is therefore something that I work tirelessly to improve. When someone tells me that my characters are indistinguishable from one another, I’m cut to the quick. All the praise that I’ve received for creating good characters is forgotten in the face of a criticism that is my fear made manifest.

It’s astounding how deadening hateful critiques are to the creative process. The inner critic is always eager for ammunition and will harry my creative impulses until they are pummeled down by a hail of doubts. There is no surer route to writer’s block than to let doubt have the ascendency. I cannot write if every idea is questioned and every sentence is interrogated. Doubt can also ruin good creative discipline. I can be consistently productive, churning out page after page of really good material until doubt comes like a wrench to bind the cogs of my writing mechanism. Why would I sit to write for hours at a time when everything that I do is bad? Why toil at a manuscript, pouring my spirit into its words, if it will be a failure in the end, a poor imitation of someone’s greater work?

In my experience, it takes a while to bounce back from reading a hateful review. This time around, I’m recovering faster thanks to good habits. My recovery process is below, in no particular order. I hope it will be helpful, should you ever need to climb out of a chasm of doubt.

1. Read back through your work. In the midst of your doubt, it all might appear clumsy or broken, but I guarantee that you will find something worthwhile. There will be a scene that is well executed, a line that is beautiful, and that will shine a light on the lies of doubt. You are capable of producing art.

1. Cherish the praise you’ve received. There’s usually many more positive things that people have said about your work than there are negative. Everything someone loves is a victory. If even one person enjoyed your work, then it was all worthwhile. Art is successful if it has reached one person, everything beyond that is just success piled on success.

1. Address your weaknesses, don’t wallow in them. If you are worried that your characters are weak, work to improve them. Nothing is quite as reassuring as taking steps to fix a problem; it’s a way to take back control. If you don’t know how to fix the problem, try something! Eventually you’ll figure out what needs to be done, and that realization often comes after going in the wrong direction.

1. Realize that this is a journey. The more you write, the better your writing will become. What you’re working on now is probably way better than what you were working on last year. If you want to be a better writer keep writing! 

1. Read a book. Even the most fabulously successful authors have issues, some of which are glaring. Books aren’t good because their authors did everything right, books are good because their authors did something right. You can do something right too, and you’re probably already doing it!

1. Realize that there is no accounting for taste, or for trolls. Even your favorite authors get hateful reviews. You aren’t writing to please everyone, and your work isn’t going to be everyone’s cup of tea. Some people will surely love it and others will hate it, and that’s alright. Some people hate the way I dwell on natural descriptions while others think it is the best part of my work. I love writing descriptions I would never destroy something I saw to be beautiful just because someone else didn’t like it.

After Math son of Mathonwy had made peace with the sons of Dôn, Gwydion and Gilfaethwy, he asked them where he might get a maiden for his stool. Gwydion suggested his sister Aranrhod, who was the niece of Math. The king assented to the match and ordered for Aranrhod to be brought to court.

When she arrived, Math asked her if she was indeed a maiden, and she answered, “I know not but that I am, Lord.”

But Math wished to put her claim to the test. He set his wand upon the ground and asked her to step over it. When she did, a fine child with golden hair fell to the ground. Aranrhod ran from the room in shame, dropping something as she fled. Gwydion seized what had fallen and wrapped it in silk without looking at what it was, and later placed it in a chest in his chamber.

Math was pleased with the golden-haired boy who was Aranrhod’s son, and named him Dylan. As soon as he was baptized, Dylan ran to the sea and he received the sea’s nature so that he swam as well as any fish. Thus he was called Dylan Eil Ton, that is, Sea son of Wave, and no wave ever broke beneath him. He later died from a blow given by his uncle Gofannon, which was one of the Three Unhappy Blows.

Gwydion later heard crying coming from the chest where he had hidden what Aranrhod dropped, and soon found that a baby was within. He raised the child as his own, and the child grew quickly in strength and stature. Then one day, Gwydion decided to visit his sister, Aranrhod, at her caer and the boy followed him. Aranrhod made Gwydion welcome and asked who was the fine boy who followed him.

“That is a son of yours,” he answered.

“Alas! What possessed you to put me to shame and then pursue my shame by keeping the child?”

“The greater shame is that I am raising such a fine boy instead of his mother.”

“What is your son’s name?”

“He has none, as yet.”

“Then I will swear on him a destiny, that he will not be named until he is named by me.”

“You are a wicked woman, and I swear that you will give him a name though it may vex you. You are only angry at him because you can no longer be called a maiden.” Then Gwydion left in anger with the boy and went to Caer Dathyl to spend the night.

In the morning, Gwydion arose and took his son down to the seashore, where he began making a ship by magic out of the sea-girdle and dulse. Then from the seaweed and dulse he made leather, and it looked to be leather of the finest quality. Then he fitted a sail to the ship and sailed with his son to Caer Aranrhod, and Gwydion put a guise on them both so that their true identities would not be known. There by the shore they began to stitch shoes out of the fine leather, and coloring them in gold. Thus was Gwydion called one of the Three Gold Shoemakers.

When Aranrhod heard that a shoemaker had come to her caer and of the quality of his craft, she sent for a pair of shoes for herself. Though given the correct dimensions, Gwydion made the shoes far larger than his sisters foot. When she found that the shoes did not fit, she sent again for another pair, but Gwydion made them far too small this time. Finally, Gwydion told her messenger that she would need to come down to the ship if she wanted the shoes to fit properly.

Arianrhod went down to the ship to be measured for the shoes and was watching the shoemaker and his son as they worked. While she watched, a wren alighted on the ship, whereupon the boy threw a stone at it and struck it in the leg.

She exclaimed at the throw and said, “With a deft hand has the fair one hit it!”

“Hah!” Gwydion laughed. “The boy has been given a name from your own lips. Lleu Llaw Gyffes, the Fair One with a Deft Hand, shall be his name forevermore.” Then Gwydion turned all his work back into seaweed and Aranrhod saw the trick that had been played.

“You will fare no better for it,” she said, “for the boy will never bear arms until I equip him with them.”

“These curses spring from your wickedness, but arms he shall have nevertheless.” Then Gwydion and Lleu Llaw Gyffes went to Dinas Dinlleu and there the boy was reared until he could ride every horse and was perfected in feature, growth, and stature. Gwydion saw then that his son was pining for arms, but could not bear them because of his mother’s curse.

On the next day, Gwydion took the lad and went to Caer Aranrhod, again under the guise of an enchanted form. He told the porter that they were bards from Morgannwg, and Aranrhod gave them welcome. That evening, he entertained all her hall with his wonderful storytelling and at length retired to his chamber. Early the next morning, Gwydion arose and worked a great spell so that it appeared a great fleet was sailing on Caer Aranrhod, and there was a great bustling and blaring of trumpets across the land as if an army was descending on them.

Soon the whole caer was in a panic and Aranrhod was knocking on their door and asking to be let in. When they opened the door, she told them of the great clamor and the ships, in numbers so great that she could not see the color of the deep. Gwydion advised that they draw everyone into the caer and make ready to defend it.

“Here you will find arms enough,” she said, and with her maidens brought weapons and armor to the men.

“Lady, you equip the lad, and have your maidens equip me so that we may be ready to meet the foe. I hear the noise of the men coming.”

Aranrhod did as she was bidden and soon told Gwydion that she had equipped the youth.

“The arming of the lad is complete?”

“Yes, I saw to it myself”

“Then help us out of this armor, for now we have no use for it.”

“But there is a great fleet just outside the caer!”

“There is no fleet there, lady. I mustered my enchantments to break the destiny concerning your son, and now he has received arms, no thanks to you.” Then Gwydion’s guise fell away and Aranrhod saw that she had been tricked again.

“You will fare no better for it,” she said, “for the boy will never marry a woman of the race that is now on this earth.”

“You are a wicked and spiteful woman, but a wife shall he have all the same.”

Then Gwydion and Lleu came to Math and made a complaint against Aranrhod and told him of how bitter and cruel she had been. Math was swayed by their tale and said to Gwydion, “Come, let us seek by our magic and enchantment to conjure a woman out of flowers for your son.” Then they took the flowers of the oak, and the flowers of the broom, and the flowers of the meadowsweet, and from them they called forth the fairest and best endowed maiden that mortal ever saw, and they baptized her and named her Blodeuedd, which means Flowers.

Then Lleu and Blodeuedd were married and Math gave Lleu the cantref of Dinoding. Lleu set his court at Mur Castell and ruled fairly so that everyone was content.

One day, while Lleu was visiting Math at his court, a group of hunters were passing by Mur Castell and were chasing a stag into the night. Once they had slain the stag, it was very late and they inquired of Blodeuedd if she might extend them hospitality for the night, and Gronw Bebyr, Lord of Penllyn was their chieftain. Blodeuedd gladly extended the hospitality of the court, but the moment she and Gronw met they fell in love and were full of desire for one another. They slept together that night and then sought how they might stay together.

“You must stay with Lleu until you can learn from him how his death will come about, and ask him under the pretense of loving care for him,” he said. Then Gronw left her and Lleu returned that evening.

That night Lleu and Blodeuedd spent in song and carousal, and that night they went to sleep together, but then Blodeuedd would not respond to anything that Lleu said.

“What’s troubling you, my love?” he asked. “I can tell you aren’t well.”

“I’m troubled by the thought that you might die before me and leave me alone.”

“Don’t be troubled about that, for it isn’t easy to slay me.”

“Tell me how difficult it would be, to ease my mind.”

“One must spend a year making the spear with which to slay me, and work on nothing else. I cannot be slain inside a house, nor outside. Neither may I be slain on horse or on foot. One would need to make a bath for me on a river bank with a vaulted frame over the tub that was well thatched. Then I would have to place one foot on the back of a goat beside the tub, and another foot on the edge of the tub. Whoever would smite me with a spear a year in the making while I was thus positioned would kill me.”

“Thank God that might be easily avoided, and thank you for telling me to ease my mind.”

No sooner had Blodeuedd learned Lleu’s secret than she told it to Gronw so that he could regain making the spear immediately. Once the spear was ready, he sent word to Blodeuedd so that she might bring about the appropriate conditions to kill Lleu.

“Husband,” said she, “I have been thinking about what you told me about the bath tub and the goat, and I don’t understand how that would work.Would you show me if I set the bath for you.”

“Certainly,” he replied.

Then she built the bath by the river Cynfael and bade Gronw to conceal himself behind the mountain Bryn Cyfergyr which was nearby. Lleu then showed Blodeuedd how he might be slain, by placing one foot upon the edge of the tub and one foot on the back of a goat. Then Gronw jumped up from behind the hill and cast the poisoned spear at Lleu and smote him on the side. Then Lleu changed into the form of an eagle, gave a horrible screech, and flew away so that he was seen no more.

Gronw and Blodeuedd set out for court that moment and slept together. Then Gronw subdued Dinoding to his will, so that he ruled over it and Pynlln. When Math and Gwydion heard of these tidings they were sore with grief and Gwydion set off in search of his nephew.

He searched all across the country until at last he came to rest in the house of a swineherd. That swineherd had a sow who would run off once let out of the pen so that no one could find it. Gwydion asked to be shown, and the swineherd assented. The sow took off at a run once the gate was opened and Gwydion followed it up the Nantlleu valley. There the sow stopped and fed under a tree. Gwydion drew closer and saw that the pig was eating maggots and rotten flesh. He looked up and saw Lleu in the form of an eagle, atop the highest branch of the oak. Then Gwydion sang an englyn to draw him near.

Grows an oak between two lakes.

Darkly shadowed sky and glen

If I speak not falsely,

From Lleu’s Flowers this doth come.

Then the eagle let himself down until he was in the middle branches of the tree. Gwydion sang on.

Grows an oak on upland plain,

Nor rain wets it, nor heat melts;

Nine score hardships hath he suffered

In its top, Lleu Llaw Gyffes.

Then the eagle let himself down until he was on the lowest branch of the tree. Gwydion sang on.

Grows an oak upon a steep, 

The sanctuary of a fair lord; 

If I speak not falsely,

Lleu will come into my lap.

The eagle then alighted on Gwydions knee, where upon the enchanter struck him with a wand, so that Lleu was again in his own likeness, though he was pale and thin. Gwydion took Lleu to Caer Dathyl, where he was nursed back to health by mane fine physicians and at the end of a year he was whole once more. Then Lleu told Math that he must have redress for the crime done against him and Math agreed.

Math mustered all of Gwynedd and they went to war with Gronw and his men. Blodeuedd and her handmaidens fled from the court as the armies clashed, but Gwydion pursued them. He drove them into a lake so that the handmaidens drowned, but Blodeuedd he would not kill. Instead, he cursed her to go in the form of a bird, to never show her face in the light of day through fear of all birds, and there would be an enmity between her and all other birds so that they would mob and molest her wherever she may be found, but that she would retain her name forever. Still to this day the owl is called Blodeuedd and all other birds hate the owl because of the curse of Gwydion.

When Gronw was finally cornered, he sued for peace from the armies of Gwynedd, but Lleu would only accept it one one condition: that Gronw would stand where Lleu had stood when he was struck with the spear and that Gronw would take one blow from him. Gronw agreed to the terms, but sought someone among his war band to take the blow on his behalf. All his warriors refused, and are thus counted one of the Three Disloyal War-bands. With no other options, Gronw had to take the blow.

When they were in place, Gronw quailed and asked if Lleu might do him a favor. “Since it was through the wiles of a woman that I mistreated you, lord, let me set a rock between you and me.” Lleu did not refuse him the stone, and it was placed between them. Then Lleu cast his spear through the stone and through Gronw so that was slain in an instant. The stone remains on the bank of the river, and a hole is in it still. Then Lleu subdued the lands of Gronw and later became king of Gwynedd after Math. Thus ends this, the last branch of the Mabinogi.

Once upon a time, Math son of Mathonwy was king over Gwynedd and Pryderi son of Pwll was king over many cantrefs in the south: the seven of Dyfed, the seven of Morgannwg, the four of Ceredigiawn, and the three of Ystrad Tywi. Math could not live unless he rested his feet in the lap of a maiden, save for when a war required him to leave. At that time, the maiden who was with him was Goewin daughter of Pebin of Dôl Bebin in Arfon, and she was the fairest maiden known in those parts.

Math had two nephews on whom he relied: Gwydion and Gilfaethwy, sons of Dôn. It was they who did the circuit of the land in Math’s stead, and the war-band went with them. It happened that Gilfaethwy became enamored with Goewin and was grown sick with lust after her. His brother Gwydion perceived the ailment of his brother and asked after its cause.

“I can’t admit to any that which ails me,” said Gilfeathwy. “You know that whatever words are shared between men, no matter how lowly they may be whispered, will reach his ears as soon as the wind meets them.”

“I know your thought: you love Goewin.”

Gilfeathwy heaved a heavy sigh, the heaviest sigh in the world.

“Sighing won’t give you what you want, but I have a plan to bring it about. There must be war for Math to leave the company of Goewin, so I will foment a war between Gwynedd and Powys. While Math is gone, then you may bed Goewin the fair.”

Then Gwydion went before Math and told him of a fabulous creature that was new in the land: the pig. He spoke of the sweetness of pork and how it was far above that of oxen, until Math desired to have pigs within his own kingdom.

“To whom belong the pigs, and how may they be bought?” asked Math.

“They belong to Pryderi, son of Pwll. They come from Annwn, and were a gift to Pwll from its king, Arawn. I’ll go to Pryderi and ask for the swine.”

“He very well may refuse you, my nephew, but do as you see fit.”

Gwydion dressed as a bard and journeyed down to Pryderi’s court in the company of a dozen other bards. Pryderi welcomed them, and called for Gwydion to tell a story, for he was dressed as the chief of bards. At that time Gwydion was the best storyteller in the world, and he entertained the whole court for that night and won the goodwill of Pryderi.

“Lord, I have not come only to entertain you and your court, but to ask of you those swine that you received as a gift from Arawn,” Gwydion said.

“I would gladly give them to you, but for an oath that I have taken. I swore that I would not give them away or sell them until they had bred double their number in the land.”

“If you exchanged the pigs, then you would not have given or sold them away, and thus your oath may be kept. Give me the pigs now, and tomorrow I will bring you an exchange for them.”

Pryderi agreed to exchange the animals once he had seen that the exchange would be worthwhile, and so Gwydion left to work his arts. He conjured beautiful horses and dogs with his magic, and turned toadstools into fine shields. In the morning, Pryderi gladly exchanged the pigs for the horses, dogs, and shields, which appeared to be so fine. He parted with Gwydion in friendship, not yet knowing he had been swindled, but Gwydion warned his companions that the spell would only last a day. They thus sped away to the north, for they knew Pryderi with his armies would soon march north to take vengeance upon them.

When they returned to Math, they warned him of the approaching armies. The pigs they placed within a sty in the fortress while the men of Gwynedd went out to meet Pryderi and his army, and Math went with them. Gilfeathwy remained behind and forced himself upon Goewin in Math’s chamber, and upon his bed. Though she cried aloud there remained no one to save her from Gilfeathwy’s lust. Meanwhile, the armies of Math and Pryderi clashed fiercely and there was a great loss of life. Pryderi and the southerners were finally pushed back and a peace agreement was reached. Pryderi gave hostages to Math, and began to retreat, but the two armies continued to harry one another with arrows.

Finally Pryderi sent word to Math that he wished to call off the two hosts and fight solely with Gwydion son of Dôn who was responsible for all the bloodshed. Both Math and Gwydion readily agreed to the terms and the two warriors met on the field. The battle between them was fierce and hotly contested, until by ding of his magic and strength, Gwydion overcame and killed Pryderi. Pryderi, son of Pwll, King of Dyfed and many realms in the south, was buried at Main Tryiawg, above Y Felenrhyd.

Then Math had mercy and returned the hostages to the host of southerners who were returning home in sorrow. When they returned to court, Math sought Goewin, and she was distraught.

“Lord, you must find yourself another maiden, for I have been made a woman against my will. While you were gone, your nephew Gilfeathwy raped me in your own bed, and though I fought and screamed, there was no one who could come to my rescue.”

“I will not send you away, but will make you my wife and authority over all my realms I will put into your hands.”

Math perceived what his nephews had done and was filled with a terrible wrath. He summoned them and pronounced his judgement upon them.

“You have dishonored me, and for this alone you should not live. But you are also responsible for the loss of a great many fine warriors, the rape of Goewin, and the death of Pryderi. Like animals you have behaved, and so animals you will become.”

Then Math struck them with his wand so that one became a stag and the other a hind and he banished them for a year. When they returned at the close of a year, the brothers had a fawn between them. Math turned the fawn into a young lad, who he kept and named Hyddwn. Then he struck Gilfeathwy and Gwydion again, turning the one who had been a stag into a sow, and the one who had been a hind into a boar. They were banished for a year and again returned at the year’s end with a piglet between them. The piglet Math transformed into another boy, who he kept and named Hychdwn. Then he transformed his nephews once more, one into a male wolf and the other into a female. At the close of a year, the brothers returned with a wolf pup between them. Math turned the pup into a boy, who he kept and named Bleiddwn.

Math saw that the brothers had been punished severely, as befitted their crimes, and that they had been humiliated be bearing sons by one another. Then he ended their torment and transformed them back into their usual forms. Then, in his mercy, he ordered them bathed and clothed and he extended his friendship to them once more.