We called the land Dalriada for the confederation of Irish, Scots, and Picts that came together under McAlpine to make a Scottish kingdom. Such was our hope, but no such thing happened. Instead the gods, the children of Dana, seemed to drive off or leave with one splinter after another.
First the Rus, then the Sin, then Dana and her daughters fled to Eri with a faithful few. Good ridance. And Dalriada? Well, far from coming together, the people split into smaller and smaller Tuaths, each more jealous of its honor than before and nursing a grudge at its founding. The law was largely forgotten in favor of the sword and the spear.
The land was fertile which only made more time for war. It was a time for heroes. There was land to the north and west, still more across the Safron Mor. But warriors would rather go chase the Sin, or try to hunt down escaped Umircens in the great Northwestern wastes.
Then Balor began to set up permanent camps across the Safron, but not to expand our territory and raise crops. No, these were places to stage slave raids against the Sin.
At this time the folk that became the Scots left across the Safron. Their purpose was to settle and build a culture apart from the Gael in Dalriada. Perhaps not too surprisingly Balor’s coastal Fomorian slavers raided some Isolated Scots settlements and the Scots retreated south and eventually built their wall.
Later, the folk who came to be called Gaulatians left for the Southern continent’s Northern horn.
And we in Gael still war, though the fields don’t provide so well as they did, though the great waves of Gobli Hordes have come and gone leaving drifts of metal and bone, still Dalriada crys for blood and drinks ours, red and hot, when ever it is offered.