Kilkenny Tavern… from Emerald Islands

The Dream Master had described thoughts he’d gathered from prying into the Nameless Enchanter of Thynna’s dreams. There was a female quite important to the wayfarer, and she was a native of this world. Amica concentrated on the thought. Her visage shimmered and garments changed. The Dreamraider stepped from the shadows into the dim light outside Kilkenny Tavern. Passersby saw a tall beautiful overwhelmingly charismatic woman with long red hair down to her hips and a regal air about her. She wore a large golden necklace, torc, many-colored tunic, and thick coat, which was fastened by a brooch. In this guise Amica sauntered to the tavern door and entered. The patrons immediately made notice of the stranger in their midst with a harsh voice and piercing glare. Though she indeed wore garb worn by natives of this area, it was garb that was worn centuries earlier. In fact the Dreamraider projected the image of a legendary ruler who vanished on the field of battle centuries ago.
Breandan O’Gill sat on a roughly hewn barstool and asked the barkeep McKeon “Is there a festival in the village?”
McKeon answered, “Not to my knowledge. Her costume is certainly authentic. Looks like she stepped out of a museum.”
Breandan flowed, “Aye, old boy, and she’s quite a looker. I think I might investigate.”
McKeon scoffed but said nothing. Young O’Gill strutted over to the roughly hewn table where the sultry newcomer sat alone. Breandan had no luck. This night Amica was not in the mood for an amorous encounter. She brushed off young O’Gill and quaffed McKeon’s ale. Breandan sulked away and muttered colorful expletives. After a while the barmaid offered another round and Amica accepted. In the process she tapped the lass’s brain as to legends and lore of the area. The barmaid referred Amica to the village elder Bardan Culhane who sat in the corner telling tales. Amica sauntered over to the old man’s table. Several younger patrons sat mesmerized and took in the old man’s stories. Most of Bardan’s tales were indeed tall and amplified, but the Dreamraider knew many tales had some basis in fact. She was particularly interested in unexplained disappearances and mysteries. Like everyone in the tavern old Culhane had noticed the comely woman when she entered the public house. When Amica approached several youths stood and offered their chairs. Instead the Dreamraider briskly dragged a nearby chair across the floor and sat by the oldster.
Culhane cleared his throat and mumbled, “Are you a historian? A writer…?”
Amica responded, “Um… hardly. Why do you ask?”
Culhane blushed slightly and quietly responded, “I hope you’ll pardon my assumption. It’s just that your clothing is so authentic and looks better preserved than what I’ve seen in Celtic museums. Where are you from?”