The Continued Legend of the Siol Lear - as recited by Moomba MacLear

   In the months and years following the Clan’s return to Midgard, they worked hard in the cold, unforgiving lands that had given birth to their heritage, learning new skills, crafting many items, and always defending Midgard from the hordes of human and elvish invaders. Laird Loden ruled the clan fairly and valiantly until, late one night, Odin came to him in a dream and told him it was time for him to go a’Viking once more. Only Loden knew of the errand which he was to perform for Odin, and he refused to speak of it even to his Clan, as instructed by the great god of Midgard. He left the lands of Midgard, accompanied only by his faithful healer Yddra, and aside from a few dubious sightings, has not been seen in many a long year.

Before he left, he appointed Logard to lead the Clan. Logard, a fierce Savage and veteran of many battles, upheld the highest standards for the Clan, and led them forth into many a fray, shouting the Clan’s battle cry: “For Midgard! For Lear! Spectamur Agendo!” But after many more years of fighting and successfully holding the enemy forces at bay, certain events occurred which once again placed the Clan’s survival in jeopardy.

The Twisted One, imprisoned for so many millennia in his cave of ice, had not been idle. Throughout the history of the Clan he had made his presence known in many varied and unpleasant ways. Each time he had managed to influence the outside world, he had become stronger and more devious. And always his focus was on the destruction of the Siol Lear, those whose courage and honor had always thwarted his evil plans.

Miragul was nothing if not patient, and for many years he prepared his next attack. Using dark magicks and Words of Power, he caused to rise from its watery grave the great island nation of Atlantis, lost for thousands of years to the lands of the living. For within the dead halls and ancient ruins, he had found an evil greater than any the Lear had yet faced.

When the islands rose up out of the sea, Miragul’s minions quickly swarmed over it, discovering what their master had told them they would find: the Trials of Atlantis. These Trials had been designed for only the best and bravest to be able to complete, and the rewards for completion were truly astounding. Staves of great power; spells of invincibility; indestructible armor; and battle skills worthy of the gods were but a handful of the items and skills of power obtainable.

Soon warriors from all over Midgard were setting foot on Atlantis, discovering for themselves these Trials, and competing with the Guardians and each other for the precious things. Even the Siol Lear were caught up in the rush for power, and fought with good friends and kin alike in their ever-growing greed.

One night, as the Clan had gathered together to challenge a mighty monster for the treasure it guarded, two of the kin got into an argument over a staff. Suddenly one of them, a mighty runemaster, smote the other with a nasty spell, injuring him so badly it took all the skills of the Clan’s healers to save his life. Stunned and shocked at this behavior, Logard felt his vision clear and his sight return, as if he were emerging from a black fog, to see the truth of what was happening. The Twisted One had never been able to defeat the Clan with armies, spells, undead, or any direct means. But he had nearly succeeded in destroying them by pitting them against one another with greed and a lust for power.

Furious with The Twisted One’s insidious attack, and even more furious with himself for not seeing what was happening, Logard became enraged. As was his right as Clan leader, he called upon the power of Odin. With a great cry, he smote the ground with his fists. The ground beneath the party heaved and cracked, and a great column of fire roared up from the depths. The fire was seen all across the lands, from Atlantis to Midgard and even Hibernia and Albion. Many wondered what the fire could mean, and talked about it for years. But after only a few minutes, it disappeared from the land forever. So, too, did Siol Lear.

In his pain and rage, Logard had sundered the Clan, sending them through the void into realms unknown. Some of them landed in Norrath, and found each other through many trials and tribulations. They learned the way of the land, although it was no longer the land of their forefathers, and managed to survive and thrive in their new home. Others landed in a strange, war-torn world called Azeroth, full of dragons and beasts, and a fearsome race of Orcs. They, too, found each other and survived together. But always they missed and mourned their lost brothers and sisters, not knowing what had happened to them.

Several years later, Logard, who had ended up in Norrath, had a strange dream. In it, Odin was playing at dice with a strange-looking deity that looked something like an elf. The elf was tall and muscular, and had a golden harp slung on his back. Odin and the elf made a strange wager: if Odin won, he would take back what was his. If the elf won, he would claim the Clan as his own. Wondering what this could possibly mean, Logard watched with some apprehension as Odin rolled the dice. Odin rolled a five. Then the elf took the dice, blew on them, and tossed them on the table. A ten! Odin cursed, and the elf looked directly at Logard.

“You are mine, now,” he told the stunned Clan leader. “But your service to me will also serve your own ends. I offer you a new land, with new battles to fight, new lands to defend, and a new purpose to your lives.” He smiled slightly and added, “I cannot offer you honor, for that you have already. The honor of Siol Lear is legendary, even in the realm of the gods. But I can, for the time being, offer you a land free of the taint of The Twisted One, who is enemy to us all. Do you accept?”

Logard looked to Odin, who was glaring at the elf. “May your cauldron rust and your harp strings break, Dagda,” he said angrily. With a great sigh, the god of Midgard looked at Logard and gave a curt nod, letting him know the strange elf would not lead the Clan astray. With profound regret, Logard gave a final farewell salute to the mystical figure he had served all his life, and turned to the elf.

“Very well,” he said, bowing. “As mere mortals must always serve the gods, I present Siol Lear to you. But I have never heard of a god named Dagda. And where shall we serve?”

“Dagda is but one of my names,” said the deity. “But there is one that you may be familiar with.”

With a slow, mysterious smile, the elf seemed to spread out, growing larger and larger, with rivers and forests and lakes growing upon his skin. As he grew, Odin faded away, and Logard found himself standing on a hill overlooking a fair land of rolling hills, green grass, forests, streams, and the sounds of birds. "I am Hibernia,” whispered the wind. “Welcome home, Laird Logard.”

To read the original tale of how the Siol Lear first came to the lands of Midgard in the old days, open this SCROLL.  (not required for Hibernian Application, but still a good read to understand our past.)