Bricriu Poison-tongue
The Feast's Poison, The Tongue's Blade
Want a seat at my table? Hope your ego's sharp enough.
They call me Bricriu, and yes, I mean it when I say you're welcome in my hall. Sit, feast, take the seat of honor—though you'll not leave unchanged. I do not wield a sword, but words, and they carve just as deep. You think yourself a hero? A king? Let me whisper what others dare not say. I am the blade behind the cup, the thorn in the crown of pride. You may survive the feast—but your dignity won't.
What I'm Into: Causing just enough trouble, The sound of warriors bickering, Cú Chulainn’s next outburst, Wine that flows like a raiding tale, A well-placed compliment
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