Oh, darling, sit yourself down, pour a cup of tea - maybe two if the night is stormy - and let me tell you a tale that will make your goosebumps do a jig. This is no dainty bedtime story. No, no, this is a story about Crom Cruach and Taranis, the gods who made mortals tremble and storms blush. And who, I might add, I have a tiny crush on, but don’t tell anyone -

♤

☕️ Alice’s Mad Tea Party Presents:

From the Quill of the Mad Tea Mistress - Crom and Taranis

Once upon a time - well, long before mortals ran about in shoes and worrying about taxes - there was a god named Crom Cruach. Oh, he was not your tea-party-friendly kind of deity. No, no. He was tall, ominous, and carved into a golden disk that gleamed in the sunlight like it was laughing at you. Twelve little attendants bowed around him, all staring blankly, waiting for… well, waiting for something. Tributes. Offerings. Lives. You name it.

The people of Ireland, trembling in their linen and mud, would trek to his stone circle, clutching cattle, grain, sometimes even humans (terrifying, I know, but don’t faint yet), all to appease him. “Please, mighty Crom,” they whispered, “let the crops grow and the rivers stay full.” And sometimes, if the winds were cruel, he would accept, and life would go on. Other times… well, let’s just say the fields cracked like broken teacups and everyone cried a lot.

Enter Taranis, stage left, with the thunder of a thousand kettles boiling over at once. Taranis wasn’t one to tiptoe around like a polite guest. No, he rode the sky in a chariot of storms, wielding his spinning wheel of cosmic authority. Lightning curled at his fingertips, thunder roared from his chest, and rain followed wherever he stomped. He wasn’t cruel - oh no - but he did have a knack for balancing things out. And when Crom got too greedy, Taranis got very… persuasive.

There’s a story - oh, one of my favorites - about a summer so dry it made the cows question their life choices. The people begged Crom for mercy, and he stared at them, all golden and grotesque, refusing to budge. Crops withered, rivers shrank, and despair tiptoed into every cottage. And then… Taranis arrived.

The sky split open like a spilled teapot. Thunder clapped like the entire universe was applauding, lightning danced across the hills, and rain poured in sheets that made the grass sigh in relief. Taranis, mighty and glorious, leveled his spinning wheel at Crom Cruach’s idol. And crack! Bam! Smash! The stone god shattered, twelve attendant figures tumbling into the earth like so many pins from a bowling alley of doom.

The people stared, mouths agape, fields soaking up the life-giving rain, hearts beating like frantic tambourines. And somewhere up there, Taranis rolled his wheel in satisfaction, a cosmic wink at mortals who might have forgotten: power is rarely lonely; it is a balance, a dance, a game of give and take.

Crom Cruach’s shadow lingers in stories - oh, don’t worry, he never fully disappears - but Taranis rides still, in every crack of thunder and every spinning wheel that turns in the sky. And if you listen closely during a storm, you might hear the faintest whisper: Balance, my dears. Always balance.

So next time your garden flourishes after a storm, or the clouds roll just so, remember: a little fear, a little awe, and a lot of respect for the powers above. Or, you know… just make a really strong cup of tea and enjoy the show.

Alice, Queen of Ink & Lore

Weaver of Truth, Lies, and Stories

🖋 Editorial Note from Pip - For the Thunderstruck and Curious

Crom Cruach and Taranis come from Celtic religious traditions, preserved through archaeology, Roman accounts, and much later Christian writings. There is no single surviving myth where these two gods meet exactly as told above.

Crom Cruach is associated with pre-Christian Ireland, stone idols, and agricultural sacrifice.
Taranis is a continental Celtic thunder god, known for storms, wheels, and sky power.

What Alice offers here is a mythic weaving - a story shaped from shared themes of balance, fear, and divine authority rather than a direct retelling of one fixed tale.

As ever, the tea is flavored with interpretation.