It's Not Over Until a Goddess of Poetry and Battle Composes a Poem About it

In the ancient past of Ireland there was not written word. All knowledge was kept and passed on by oral tradition. As such the art of crafting poetry was highly regarded as one of the greatest skills. There was not a Hero who could call themselves such if they could not recite certain stanzas from memory as well as display the mental agility to create their own words right there upon the spot. Though of all of the famous poets and poems of Ireland's past there can be none that compare to the Morrigan.

During the times of the Tuatha Dé Danann Ireland existed in its era of myth where Gods roamed the island, shaping it, naming it and giving the island many of its features which still exist to this day. Yet this was no golden age of peace and prosperity, it was a time of oppression where not even the smoke from the chimney's went passed without some tax being owed to the Fomorians. With the fall of Nuada, first King of the tribe, Bres had been chosen to rule in Ireland and it was by this poor choice that the Tuatha Dé Danann came into servitude. Bres favoured his fathers lineage of Fomorian over that of his mother's, and so even the great heroes of the tuath came into service is tasks ill befitting their ability and status. The champion Oghma was sent to gather firewood for the King's hall everyday, which his brother, the great druid The Dagda, was set to digging the land around Rath Bres so that it arose as a fortress.

Yet not long could this treatment continue, for prophesy told of a warrior, a scholar, an ildanach ' one of many talents' who would cast down the Fomorian warlord Balor of the Bale eye and free Ireland from oppression. The arrival of Lugh as king of Ireland signaled that the prophesy times were coming to pass. The failed rule of Bres led to the Fomorian invasion and battle was inevitable as these two titanic forces clashed upon the plains of Moytura. There is was, for the second time, the Tuatha Dé Danann fought for thier place in Ireland. Yet for all of the heroes made and slain, for all of the great deeds and dire doings, no end to the battle could there be until The Morrigan decreed it.

What deeds could there be had if there were no one to record and remember them? Who would recall the names of the slain in times to come if not for the observation of their passing? Who could stand and gaze into the harming and slaying with a will to see, with a mind to recall every detail, and with a heart that could not be broken?

None other than the Morrigan, for battle is her domain, prophesy her power, and poetry her language. By virtue of her words of recitation were the deeds observed and recorded. By her prophetic performance was the state of Eireann set, its fate observed, and its future foretold. 

One could truly say that, It's Not Over Until a Goddess of Poetry and Battle Composes a Poem About it

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