The Ancient Celts once held an expanse accross Europe, from Spain to Asia minor. However against the Roman Empire, they fell into decline and the languages were all lost, save those spoken on the isle of Britain, which the Romans never ruled in full, never able to conquer the fierce Scotian tribes of the Northern reaches or the Western Isle nor were they ever able to turn the conquered Britons from their old ways as they had with the Gauls, but they had undoubted left their mark upon both.
Then as the Roman Empire began to decline, their Briton settlements seemed to simply disappear. No one knows what happened to them, perhaps they fled home to Rome, or perhaps they simply lived among the Britons forgetting their old Roman past. But while the threat of endless legions had ended, their dissappearance invited a new threat from the West; the dreaded Saxon.
The Britons had grown used to Roman protection and had little in the way of armies, few fortification and their old tribal ways kept them scattered and weak, so soon the Saxons took the place of the Romans, coming in countless numbers from the east, occupying their villas and bringing their strange tounge to the island. Many fought against the Saxon but they were too few and the Britons were soon scattered. Pushed north or east into the mountains or else they fled by sea to ancient Spain and old Armorica which the Gauls once called home.
Briefly however, there was a glimmer of hope from a Breton child. For the first time since Saxon arrived upon the shore, the Red Pendragon took to the sky and slew the White Dragon of the Saxons. This child would grow to become King Arthur and beneath him, the land from Spain to the Rhine came to his court and dreamt of Knighthood at his table but it would not last. Too soon Arthur was wounded fatally by his traitorous son, his soldiers scattered and his realm was soon divided. Tired and bleeding, he sought refuge beneath the moutain, where Merlin the dreamer, son of the lost north, blessed him with sleep, promising to wake him only in Briton's time of greatest need.
-Tell me again, momma about Gawain and the Green Knight.
-Not tonight, my little Gwil, the sun is setting and we must hurry home.
An old man approached them, his face was tired and weathered from many years of harsh life but his clothes were fine and he looked well off. He bowed his head to the woman and her young boy.
-It is not often you hear Breton this far south, the old man smiled before continuing, I had been getting nostalgic for it. What you tell is a fine story, but our story doesn't end there; The few Breton exiles turned to the newly formed realm of Nuestra for protection that would eventually become what we know today as France, where we were given freedom and protection for our promises of support but greedy eyes watch us still from the background. The French crown, whether in London or Paris, believe that Brittany is by right their own, and we have won much by blood and fierce fighting. A Frenchman tried to claim the Breton throne but was driven off by brave Jeanne la Flamme, fighting for her then young son, with the help of the English. The current Duke was expected to, in gratitude to England, reduce our realm to a mere English province, but instead vowed to the French. However both put harsh terms on him and he was driven into exile by the King and abandoned his own people. Until French eyes once more turned to Brittany, seeking to turn the duchy into a province, then he was called back to lead the armies against the traitor de Guesclin and kept Brittany free. But our story is far from over, do you know why little Gwil?
-Why's that?
-Old King Arthur still sleeps.
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