Mag Tuired

Mag Tuired

Location: Outlands / Tir na Og

Mag Tuired [mag TOO-red], the Plain of Pillars, is the realm of Nuada the Silver Handed, Friend of Warriors. It’s starkly beautiful place—a vast, flat expanse that stretches as far as the eye can see. The plain is dotted with countless towering menhirs, each one carved with intricate runes and simply oozing ancient magic. Chant goes they’re made from more than stone though, and that each one represents a past battle won by the Celtic pantheon. These stones are inhabited by the spirits of fallen heroes, and act as the guardians of the realm. During times of peace they stand silent, but when Tir na Og is threatened, they animate, transforming into colossal stone giants whose mighty strides cause the earth to tremble. Whether these sentinels are related to the mysterious Drifting Stones of the Outlands is a question the graybeards have never settled.

The skies above the Plain of Pillars are always dramatic. At night, they blaze with the shimmering colours of auroras, by day they are filled with brooding storm clouds that crackle with magical lightning, shot through with brilliant rays of sunlight. Even the largest of cutters feels small beneath the vast skies here, and that’s exactly Nuada’s intention.

At the centre of the Plain of Pillars lies Nuada’s hall. It’s a grand structure built from enormous stone blocks inlaid with silver runes. Part a fortress and part a palace, inside, the grand hall is draped with banners and cluttered with trophies—spoils of war from countless victories. Praying here is said to grant visions of tactical victories and insight into warfare strategies used by victories warriors of old. The principal chamber contains a throne carved from a single block of stone, reserved for Nuada—or the rightful heir who will follow him. Nuada’s search for such a successor has continued for ages. It seems that he believes that, once a suitable heir is found, he’ll be able to pass into the next stage of his existence.

The atmosphere in Mag Tuired is charged with a sense of anticipation, as if the realm is waiting for a significant event—perhaps a future battle of cosmic importance. The wind whistling through the stones carries messages from beyond the grave, for those who know how to listen, and the ground thrums with a faint heartbeat. Out on the plain, the line between past, present, and future is blurred. Planewalkers might find themselves suddenly thrust into spectral reenactments of ancient battles. If they’re lucky, they may gain wisdom and insight from these ghostly skirmishes. If they’re unlucky, well, it’s best not to think about that.

Canonical Sources: On Hallowed Ground [2e] p74-75

Source: Jon Winter-Holt