Oh Shit! You’re Trapped in an Irish Fairy Tale

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Your step-mom will try to kill you, but she will fail. So instead she’ll turn you and your brothers into swans. After a few centuries you’ll become human again, except you’ll be incredibly old. But fear not! It’ll all be okay because you’ll be baptized before you die.

The king will send you and your brothers on a suicidal mission (because you killed his da), but when you do well the king will have his druid cast a spell so you all forget what it is you’re supposed to be doing. Then three shouts from a hilltop will kill you.

The “Salmon Leap” is the cobra-claw secret move of all Irish heroes, well, that and a short spear stab to the belly.

You’ll know such a terrible secret about the king that you’ll start to die. A druid will tell you to go to the woods and tell the secret to a hole in a tree, but later a fucking bard will show up and make a harp from that very tree that tells everyone the king’s terrible secret. (The king’s secret is that he has horse ears.)

You will go hunting deer, but the deer will tell you to cut that shit out because they’re actually your half-sibling from the gap year your dad/mom spent as a deer because they annoyed a druid. This will also apply to wolfhounds and birds.

The fairies will be small, unless they are big. Either way, you’re likely in for a bad time.

Your dinner will get cold because all the heroes have gotten into a pissing match over who’s most worthy to cut the meat. Eventually this will be settled by a gigantic brawl, which was the whole point of the feast anyway.

Brain-balls are the deadliest missile weapon and made from the brains of a mighty warrior you killed mixed with lime and sculpted into a sling bullet.

The king will get hit in the head with a brain-ball, not die, but live in an infirm state with the ball still in his head. He’ll then die when the druids tell him about Jesus’s death and he gets so angry the brain-ball falls out, killing him.

If you’re a woman your eyes will be hyacinth blue, lips scarlet as rowan berries, feet slim, and the light of the moon will glow from your face.

Don’t drink from that cup! It has elf genetic material in it!

Oh shit, you drank from the cup, now your daughter’s an elf and kings will fight over her, and she will probably get turned into a bird or leaf or breeze, and she’ll spend countless days like this until she meets a monk or elf or druid.

If an elf loans you a horse and tells you not to get off a horse, DON’T GET OFF THE HORSE.

Actually, it’s best to avoid horses all together.

You will be rash and ignorant but eating more fish will make you wise.

Swamps are the best place to practice poetry.

Three things make a poet: the Fire of Song, the Light of Knowledge, and the Art of Improv, or Extempore Recitation as the druids call it.

No brave deed will be done that Conan the Bald won’t mock and belittle.

You will know a guy named Dermot of the Love Spot. You will regret this, but your wife won’t.

Refer to your OCD as a geis and everyone will be cool with it.

Strangely beautiful princesses are either elves… or Greeks… or Picts.

The fairies will steal your stuff and/or family just so you’ll stop by for dinner.

The King will disappear for six months to a year. No one will know where he went and they’ll be much speculation. Say hello to all your new wolf, bird, and deer siblings!

All these come from “The High Deeds of Finn and Other Bardic Romances of Ancient Ireland” by TW Rolleston. You can download it from Project Gutenberg: gutenberg.org/ebooks/14749

 

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