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I apologize for taking so long with the this chapter. Been on a Halloween hiatus last month an am now taking a holiday hiatus as Christmas is coming up next month. Plus, I'll be having a brief hiatus for both New Year's 2023 and my birthday in January. I hope you're patient with me with all these hiatuses!

Also, Fionn mac Cumhaill finally makes his debut! I love him as he's tall and handsome, and I even got inspired by the Irish and Manx folklore about him to make him as a big guy.

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Chapter 13

The castle ruins of Ariundle Oakwood is what one expects it to be: chilling and mysterious, filled with moss, vines and a few spider webs after countless years of its undisturbed dormancy. The cool air gives it an equally somewhat uncomfortable feeling to those that venture there.

Dover and his party first wondered to the what was once a lively courtyard of the castle. There was nothing to be found other than an overgrowth of vines and moss everywhere they looked. It appears that the chamber is well hidden from their view.

Grundal groaned in slight frustration for not finding what he and the others are looking for, “Okay, how’re we supposed to find that sword in this run-down craphole when there’s no chamber to be found whatsoever? It’s like tryin’ to find a needle in some dumb haystack!”

“I can assure you we will find the chamber that houses the weapon, Grundal,” Dover replied as he tapped his cane-sword on the floor and walls, “I’m sure that there must be at least a cleverly concealed switch that will open up the path for us.”

Callum and Gwynfair examined the fountain filled with murky water, with the former dipping a stick in it to search for the switch. Nothing, except for a frog that suddenly leaped out of the water and onto Callum’s head, which surprised them both. They were relieved that the frog is harmless while Gwynfair chuckled.

“No sign of the switch here, Dover,” Callum muttered as he gets the frog off him, setting it free, “Whoever built this castle years ago must be smart enough to hide it from anyone.”

“That’s true, Callum,” Dover responded, still tapping his cane-sword anywhere, “Because castles are notable for their secrets and mysteries that are ofter invisible to anyone unaware of their presence.”

“This. Is so. STUPID!” Grundal barked out, completely annoyed, “We’ll never be able to find White Steel in the soddin’ ruins if we can’t find some damn switch! It’s why I hate mysteries an’ those so-called secrets! I’m outta here at this point because I’ve got better things to-”

His sentence was cut off as he inadvertently stepped on a loose stepping stone on the floor as he was about to leave the ruins.

Click!

Part of the floor in front of the dirty fountain rumbled for a bit before opening up. The path to the sword’s chamber is revealed!

“That must be the chamber’s secret entrance!” Gwynfair cried.

“It is?” Grundal replied, clueless about what he’s done. Then he realizes the loose stone he pressed by stepping on it, “Oh, now I understand. No wonder we didn’t find the chamber until just now.”

“Then we haven’t much time to lose,” Dover muttered, “Let’s proceed!”

-

The four entered the secret path towards the subterranean chamber. It was dark, cold, and somewhat foreboding. The walls and stairway felt cold to the touch even to Gwynfair’s dainty foothooves.

Dover and Callum had their lanterns lit up to provide them enough light to traverse the otherwise pitch-black darkness. Grundal quietly cursed annoyance at a handful of rats that get in his way, while Gwynfair felt great discomfort and dread from exploring the dark ambience of the chamber’s path, even with three men protecting her.

Finally, they’re here. A spacious chamber in which the legendary sword–White Steel–rests on a stand holding it up, in its sheath in the middle of the room.

“White Steel, at last,” Dover murmured as he ran up to it.

As soon as he reached the pedestal, he looks around to make sure no potential thief is around to take the weapon. And just when he was about to pull it out, all of a sudden, a large hand grips on its hilt, taking him by surprise.

A giant man knelt in front of Dover. He was larger than any average man, but not as tall as Darius, at nearly 10 feet tall. His green cloak drapes his body, nearly concealing his beautiful blue tunic. His wavy, off-white blonde hair compliments well with his already handsome appearance.

It’s the legendary Irish hunter-warrior, Fionn mac Cumhaill!

“So this is Fionn mac Cumhaill who was told in stories,” Callum muttered.

“He’s huge and very handsome,” Gwynfair murmured in awe.

The imposing man looked at Dover with skepticism, concerned that the latter would abuse White Steel’s power.

“I hope you’re not using this weapon for whatever selfish purpose you had in mind,” he spoke.

Dover felt almost speechless that he had finally encountered the fabled warrior who acts as the blade’s guardian. He didn’t know what to say at first, but gained enough confidence to do so.

“I apologize for the sudden intrusion, Fionn,” he replied, “My name is Murchadh Dover and my only purpose with White Steel is to eliminate Father Darius and his satanic cult.”

Fionn was slightly taken aback when the Scotsman knew his name, then he asked, “So I assume you met Great Saint Llywelyn? I know of him.”

Callum, Gwynfair, and Grundal approached the two men as Dover responded, “It’s not just Llywelyn himself; a traveler named Parry told me about you as well.”

“I guess it’s no secret that people tell tales about me, as my endeavors have been well-kn-”

Fionn paused mid-sentence as he noticed Gwynfair, who’s smaller than he is. He was entranced by her beauty as he turned his attention to her.

“Well, you’re a cute one,” he commented, “I never anyone who’s related to unicorns. What is your name?”

“My name is Gwynfair, pleased to meet you,” Gwynfair responded.

Grundal, finding the humor with the names, chuckled in amusement, “Fionn, Gwyn. Those names actually rhyme, hehehe.”

Not the one to be messed around with, Fionn gave the barbarian a push so strong, it knocked the latter onto the floor.

“Pay no attention to his childish jokes,” he spoke to Gwynfair, “He’s just only trying to make fun out of us just because of our names.”

Gwynfair chuckled, “Well, Grundal is just like that. Especially towards Dover.”

After some introduction and a long discussion about the cult, Fionn fully understood Dover’s mission.

“Dover,” he muttered, “Since you’re on the path of righteousness, you’re more than welcome to attain White Steel. You’re its owner now.”

Dover nodded, then approached the stand and picked the sword up. Then he draws it out of its sheath to see its beautiful, nearly-white blade, even looked at his reflection on it.

“Such a marvelous weapon,” Dover murmured, “And quite potent enough to vanquish evil.”

“The sword isn’t fully blessed yet,” Fionn pointed out, “In order for it to be truly powerful, you’ll have to bring it to each of the three Christian churches to have it blessed.”

Dover thought for a moment, then replied, “What’s the nearest church, then?”

“I’m sure the first one lies within the village of Strontian. That’s where we need to go.”

“Very well, Fionn. Without further ado, let’s make it to Strontian posthaste.”

Fionn used his transport magic to teleport himself and the rest of the party out of ruins to start their quest to Strontian. Since Dover, Callum, and Grundal had their own mount (a horse for each of the former two and a yak for the latter), Fionn uses his magic to summon his own mount: an enormous, white shire horse–larger than the other three men’s mounts–large and strong enough to accommodate a giant man. He props Grynfair on the saddle before mounting on it.

And so, the party went off to their destination.