“There's twenty shillings on the drum
For him that with us freely comes
'Tis volunteers shall win the day
Over the hills and far away.
Come gentlemen that have a mind
To serve a queen that's good and kind
Come ‘list and enter in to pay
And go over the hills and far away” ~ Over The Hills and Far Away; trad. English (dated to the reign of Queen Anne)
(Prologue: viewtopic.php?f=4&t=517993)
She was lovely, the woman in the video, though perhaps not classically so. Her features were sharp, with wide and expressive brown eyes that seemed to focus on the viewer even through time and distance. Her hair was dark, though when the light shone correctly there was a hint of red highlights. Plump lips curled slightly upwards in a natural smile. "I am Maerian, Princess in Caer Lliw. If you are receiving this message, then I am inviting you to come to the coordinates that will be listed at the end." Her voice was high and somewhat strained, and she spoke with a curious lilt that seemed to stress each syllable equally. The only sign of her royal status was an ancient torc so worn by age that its material was hard to discern and a slightly cleaner golden circlet that held her hair in place.
She stood, and the camera took a wider angle. The woman (girl?) named Maerian had a frame to match her face, and the green dress she wore was cut tight to show it off. Her posture would have pleased even the strictest of drill instructors, and she natively held her shoulders in a way that showed both the fullness of her bosom and the strength of her arms. The Princess carried her strength easily and seemingly without much awareness of it; her right arm rested idly on a sword that was incongruously hanging on a belt that at least managed to highlight her slender waist and wide hips. Only a few centimeters of the skin of her body were revealed, between the rise of her bosom and her collarbone. She wore a cloak around her shoulders that seemed to make do the limits of the dress in concealment, but she did wear a tarnished pendant in what could be seen of the valley between her breasts. Perhaps to draw the eye from the scars. "We need..." Her expression momentarily flickered. Her eyes lost their laser focus on the camera and looked to the side. "I need... help. We face an enemy that knows no fear, knows no pain, knows no fatigue. We are at war, and it is a war we are losing."
The scars. Her face was marked with them. A great scar that narrowly missed her right eye went from her forehead along the top of her nose nearly to her ear. Two smaller ones lined her left cheek. Her nose was slightly at an angle, as if it had been broken and poorly set. Around the pendant, at the edges of the skin that was shown, were the beginnings of other scars, thick and brutal, focused largely on her left side. "We need warriors. We need resources. We need... I need... all the things that can be given. We have freed ourselves, but we cannot rebuild alone. We cannot remain free alone."
She lifted her head proudly, causing the torc to slip and revealing that at some point someone had burned the flesh of her throat with the imprint of a great hand. "But I do not ask for charity. What I ask for, I will pay for. In land. In treasure. In industry. In resources. We are a free people, unbowed." The Princess lifted her left hand to fix the collar. "If you are brave and true, if you are generous, if you are simply curious, come to me, and I will welcome you with open arms. " With that, she partly drew the sword with her right. Its metal shone almost with the light of the sun before she resheathed it. "Ac eto, mae'r ddraig yn hedfan. The dragon banner flies."
She vanished, replaced by a gold-framed flag with a golden dragon within it, evidently the dragon banner she'd spoken of. Beneath the banner, words appeared. Senedd, Tywysog a Phobl. Then came the coordinates promised.