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An Sléa Feirge
- The Spear of Wrath -
Eventually ye have to wrench a relic from the cold grasp of the dead.
Whispers from the Isle
White shields they carry in their hands,
With emblems of pale silver;
With glittering blue swords,
With mighty stout horns.
Three that would go into every conflict,
Three who liked to endure hardships,
Three heroes who never refused combat.
Táin Bó Cúailnge
Longes mac n-Uislenn — An Rúraíocht
The Weight of Wrath
Once thrown it kills.
No weighing of scales, no right nor wrong. Just death.
Only launch An Sléa Feirge when you are certain of your goal, of the consequence, of the history you will write on the land of Inis Fíor.
The men of Ulster knew its weight and the women have felt its wrath.
The Daghda knew. Will the Old Blood remember?
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