Draíocht

[beadingbritt]

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Since the beginnings of her memory,
she has been aware of the fae and
interacts frequently with many
solitary species, as well as those of
high rank in the Seelie Court, with
whom she has held a mutual respect
for many years. None posed a threat
until the day her mentor passed,
leaving an ancient spellbook in her
possession. Even after years of reading
it repeatedly, she’s made sense of less
than half. Recently, it has spent years
collecting dust as her own life progressed,
forgetting entirely of the tome on the shelf.
That is, until the ignorant bliss she lost
herself too is shattered with the sudden
threat of the Unseelie and the untimely
arrival of a strange young girl.

━━━━ ｔｈａｔ ｗｈｉｃｈ ｉｓ

Ireland.

Land of the mist veiled
coast and home of the Druids.

Land of magic; home of fae.

Though they run rampant,
most remain blissfully ignorant
of their existence. Their presence
has shown in the form of superstition
as well as myth and lore. Even
those well enough learned are
blind to what lies before them.
However, Brighid MhicRiordan has
never been fortunate enough
to be so blind.

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[beadingbritt]

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human
☉ Brighid MhicRiordan [breed mick-REAR-dan] . nineteen . druid
☉ Ruadhan MacRiordan [ROO-awn mick-REAR-dan] . twenty-two . druid
☉ Gwenhwÿfar "Gwen" Edris [GWEN-ih-far EE-driss] . thirteen . hedge witch

fae
Maeglin Isilmiril [MAY-glin ih-SILL-muh-rill] . 525 . unseelie king
Melduriel Telbrineth [mell-DUR-ee-ell TELL-brih-neth] . 508 . unseelie queen
Aradan Talvathar [AIR-uh-din TAHL-vuh-thar] . 530 . seelie king
Iminyë Ealonae [ih-MIN-yuh AY-lawn-eye] . 529 . seelie queen

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Cailleach's Whisper // The Gael // Fate and Destiny (Brave OST) // Skye Boat Song
Dance of the Druids // Skibbereen // Highland Dance
Sleepsong // Black Donald's Dervish // Jamie & Claire theme
╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯

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[beadingbritt]

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druid - Magic workers and scholars. Typically begin training to be a druid as an
apprentice at a young age (about 4) and apprentice for 13 years, at which time
one would be considered a 'full' Druid.

fae - A broad classification that encompasses many members of the "fair folk", including
fairies, pixies, dullahan, brownies, and redcaps, among others. Usually refers to
those often called fairies.

seelie court - The Summer fae nobility. The queen of the court is Iminyë Ealonae,
and the king Aradan Talvathar. Generally, the Seelie are more forgiving and will
only target humans if insulted or provoked, sometimes even acting
benevolently towards humans. Includes members of the fae such as pixies, satyrs,
and gnomes, as well as others.

unseelie court - The Winter fae nobility. The queen is Melduriel Telbrineth,
and the king is Maeglin Isilmiril. The Unseelie need no reason to target humans,
and tend to be more malevolent. Some members (beyond fairies) include red caps,
goblins, pookas, the dullahan, and others.

brownie - A solitary fae (not a member of either court) that is more domestic in nature.
In the night, it often does small chores in the house it chooses to reside in
(such as dusting or sweeping).Those who keep the fairy faith leave a seat by the
fire in the kitchen and leave gifts of porridge and honey as thanks. Take care not to
refer to it as payment, or the brownie will be offended and leave.

╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯

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╭━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╮

prologue - 1242
chapter one - 1241/1242
chapter two - 1236/1242
chapter three - 1243/1243
chapter four - 1243/1244

╰━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━╯

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[beadingbritt]

Ireland, 1242 A.D.


Mist surrounded a cloaked figure that glided effortlessly towards a small cottage on the edge of the town. As the man reached for the door, moonlight illuminated deep gray skin.
A quick wave of his hand unbolted the door from the inside, revealing a room lit only by the dying embers in the hearth and what little moonlight entered through the window. Also brought to the mysterious man’s attention in the dim light was a hand-carved wooden cradle beside a bed that had two sleeping figures in it.

The child watched with mild curiosity as his face came into view, until the light glinted off of red irises. Screwing up his face, the boy let out a wail that had his parents instantly awake.

The father rolled out of the bed and grabbed his sword in one seamless motion, rising to stand in a defensive stance, blade high. “What are you doing here?”
His wife had just lit a candle on the small table beside their bed and went to move to the child, intending to soothe his cries, but froze in her tracks when the cloaked man turned to stare at her and removed his hood.
Were it not for the candle she held in one hand, his hair would have blended effortlessly into the shadows. As it was, the feeble light barely allowed her to make out that the black locks reached nearly midway down his back.

“I’ll not be asking you again,” her husband called out, edging closer.

“Where is the girl,” the gray man asked with a snarl, ignoring the question, turning his attention to the woman standing before him.

“Who? I don’t know what you mean,” she breathed.

A snarl of fury, and suddenly the intruder had a dagger in his hand, approaching her. He drew back his hand to strike, despite the protests of the man who attempted to charge forward a split second too late.
A brief resistance, and then the blade broke through her flesh and buried itself in her chest. A sharp, forceful tug removed the dagger again, though as soon as it had been reclaimed, it went flying through the air to embed itself in the warrior’s throat.

The couple fell to the floor simultaneously.

Reaching down to retrieve his dagger, the gray man curled his lip in disgust as he wiped the blade on the furs strewn on the bed. He hesitated only a moment, calculating, before reaching into the cradle and picking up the baby boy, who instantly ceased his cries.
Putting up the hood and tucking the baby to his chest beneath the cloak, the strange man left the house, leaving the door open behind him, and vanishing into the mist.



“No!” Brighid bolted upright in her bed, black curls plastered to her face with sweat. Bringing her knees to her chest, she wrapped slender arms around them and rested her head on her knees, allowing the sobs to wrack her lithe form.

“Brighid, love, what is it?” Blinking sleep away, the man beside her reached over to the bedside table and lit the candle sitting in a silver holder. The bright hazel of his eyes were barely visible in the flickering light. “Another vision?”

“No,” she snapped. “Not a vision. Will you never cease with that nonsense, Ruadhan? You’re nearly as bad as Murtagh. A dream. Just a terrible dream.”

“Come here,” he invited tenderly, setting a hand on her back.
After a moment’s hesitation, she moved to his side and tucked herself under his arm, resting her head against his chest.
His arms came to wrap around her tightly, and he rested his head on top of hers, red curls against black. “It’s all right, my darling. Nothing will harm you. I’ll not allow it.”

Ruadhan allowed silence to fall in the room once more before asking softly, “Would you care to speak of it? It helped you in the past.”

“It was awful,” she sighed, curling even closer into his side. “Bloody. A man… I think, but not human. His skin was gray, and his eyes red… He was looking for someone, a girl.” Straining to remember details as the vivid dream began to fade as she awoke more, Brighid screwed up her face and pressed her right hand against her forehead.
“There was a family… a married couple not far from our age, with a babe- no more than six months old. He… the man killed the parents and stole away the child.”
Tilting her head back to look up at her husband, she asked with more tremor in her voice than she’d like, “But it was only a dream, wasn’t it? Nothing more?”

“I’m sure all will be well,” Ruadhan reassured her, though uncertainty was still plain on his features. “Just a nightmare. Go back to sleep, my love.”

[ʞ ɔ ǝ ɹ ʍ d ı ʞ s]

Brilliant so far!
[of course]
also
#first

[beadingbritt]

3 days past Samhain, 1241




Murtagh would scold me for ignoring my journal these last few days. “You must keep detailed records, even a passing entry, even if something seems inconsequential,” he said.
I haven’t a clue why he says said it’s so important.
Said. Past tense.
Murtagh died on Samhain, very suddenly. No one will tell me anything beyond that his heart failed, but there were very strange markings on his chest.
How do I know this, Ruadhan asked me when I told him.
Simply- he had no family to take care of him, and so the duty of preparing him for his wake fell to me. The closest thing he had to family, Eibhilín told me.
I’m angry. Angry at losing him, angry that he left me. I know my training with him was finished, but Murtagh would always tell me that I would always have more to learn, and he would always be happy to teach me.
I still have so many questions. None of the other teachers know anything of the book…
That damned book. For years it has tormented Murtagh, driven him to the brink of madness again and again. He said he could read none of it, yet he has had always insisted that I try, saying, “You’ve a gift, Brighid. You must accept it, and it shall come to you. You must learn to understand and use it.”
I don’t want it! If these dreams, the pages of the book I have managed to decipher so far are a gift at the cost of losing those I love, I want nothing to do with it!


━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━



1242


Brighid awoke early after a fitful night of sleep and, in the dim light of the barely rising sun, slipped out of the bed. With years of practice, she was able to easily untangle herself from the embrace of her softly snoring husband without disturbing him.
Quietly, she slipped a forest green gown over her head and laced the bodice with practiced, nimble fingers.

Once dressed, the heavy, leatherbound on her desk near the hearth caught her eye.
With a sigh, she crossed to it, running her fingers over the detailed knotwork engraved in the center.

A moment of focus, and slight gesture of her hand, and she lit the candle using a spell Murtagh had taught her nearly a decade before, setting the silver holder on the desk. Sitting, Brighid hastily pulled her hair over one shoulder, braiding it quickly, and tossing it over her shoulder, out of the way.
A quill and inkpot awaited beside a small stack of parchment, some of it bearing a multitude of scribbles unintelligible to anyone other than her. The cover of the tome made no sound as she opened it, though the now-familiar tingle and rush of energy that ran through her still sent a shiver down her spine.

It was at the desk, poring over the book, that Ruadhan found her hours later. “Did you not sleep, darling?”

“I did,” she muttered distractedly, “though not well.”

“The book will consume you, as it did Murtagh,” Ruadhan cautioned. “It will not bring him back to you, my love.”

“Do you think I don’t know that,” she snarled, pushing her chair back to stand and face him.

The disapproval on his face softened to concern at the desperation on her face. “You’ve nothing to prove, darling. This madness that consumed Murtagh, it’s nothing you need push yourself to madness with. What is it about the book that drives you so?”

“I need answers,” she sighed, deflating. “Why he was obsessed. Surely there must be something important about it, else he wouldn’t have paid it any mind. And why do none of the others know anything of it? What makes the book so important that he would swear me to secrecy even after his death?”

“I wish I could tell you, lass,” Ruadhan sighed, setting a strong hand on each of her shoulders and working the muscle.
After a moment of comfortable, pensive silence, he said, “We should get ready if you still mean to go into town this morning.”
He carefully unbraided the long plait and began to brush the tangled curls out delicately. With the ease of a long-familiar routine, he pulled her hair back at the nape of her neck, tying it with a thin piece of leather before evenly braiding the long tresses and fastening the end with another piece of leather.

He had tied back his own shoulder-length red hair, and his short, neat beard scratched at her skin as he pressed a kiss to her neck, just below her jaw.

Brighid stood and made it to the door before Ruadhan stopped her. “What’ve I forgotten,” she asked, brow furrowed.

Wordlessly, Ruadhan reached into an intricately carved wooden chest beside the door and took two brown cloaks out, extending the smaller of the pair to her.

Sighing, she looked disdainfully at it. “Must I?”

“It’s still too cold in the mornings, lass.” Ruadhan chuckled at the familiar argument.

A huff, and she took the cloak, fastening the gold clasp at her throat. “{u]Now[/u] shall we leave?”

“I’ll grab Fionn and Mabh,” he nodded with an air of satisfaction. “Meet me at the stable.”

Fionn, a strong, lean bay horse, was saddled, the reins in Ruadhan’s right hand. In his left was another set of reins, those on Brighid’s horse.

“Good morning,” she murmured to the horse, affectionately stroking the black mare’s nose, who nuzzled into her touch. Taking the reins from Ruadhan, she accepted his help settling onto the horse and resituated her dress, sitting sidesaddle.

A brief ride had them out of the isolation of their small cottage and into the heart of town, where those who knew them respectfully inclined their heads. The usually lively buzz of town had intensified into an almost palpable fear and anticipation.
Ruadhan glanced at her curiously as she slowed to a stop, nodding to him. Dismounting, she left Mabh at a hitching post and walked to a woman who was visibly upset.

“Gráinne, good morning.” At the older woman’s brief nod of greeting, Brighid asked, “What is it? What has happened?”

“Oh, the most awful thing,” the plump, elderly woman breathed. “You know the Ó Leannains? Aedan and Máire? Padraig Mac Dubh found them in their house this morning- both dead. And their bairn, Declan, nowhere to be found.”

Brighid paled almost imperceptibly. “Gráinne, are ye sure?” At the brisk nod, she quickly pushed through the crowd back to Mabh, racing to the Ó Leannain’s cottage just outside of town.

Thankful he hadn’t dismounted, Ruadhan raced after her without question, recognizing the determination on his wife’s face. “Brighid, what is it,” he called out as he rode to her side, keeping pace with a little effort. Something in the set of her jaw had him extraordinarily glad that he had brought his sword that morning out of sheer habit.

“The Ó Leannains,” she called back tersely. “According to Gráinne, they’re dead- and the bairn gone.”

It took a moment, but realization dawned. “You mean….”

“I don’t know,” she snapped, “but this seems a good time to test that idea of yours and Murtagh’s.”

The small cottage didn’t look much different than their own, and Brighid shuddered as she crossed the threshold.
Just as in her dream, no furniture had been disturbed. Two pools of blood had dried on the floor, precisely where the figures had fallen. Fighting back a gag, Brighid took Ruadhan’s offered hand with her own, both of them pretending for the sake of her pride not to notice the tremble in her fingers.
What truly cemented it, though, was the overturned candle to the side of the rightmost pool of blood where the woman had dropped it.

Tears stinging her eyes, Brighid allowed Ruadhan to lead her out of the house. “I’m sorry, love,” he sighed, taking her in his arms. “Come, we can go to the market tomorrow. For now, home.”
Wordlessly, Brighid nodded and followed him in a daze.
He took the horses and untacked them, instructing her to go into the house and sit down.

She made it to the simple wooden chair beside the fire, sitting down without remembering to remove her cloak.
“He was right,” she mumbled almost incoherently, looking up at Ruadhan sadly. “All those years denying it, dismissing him as a madman, and he was right. What if I could have stopped it if I believed him?”

“No, darling,” Ruadhan shook his head, moving to kneel in front of her and taking her hand between both of his. “Nothing you could have done would have prevented this.”

“Then what is the point of it! If I can do nothing to stop it, why must I see these horrid things?” Dejectedly, Brighid let her head drop. “That child is gone, their parents killed, and I saw it and did nothing.”

“No,” Ruadhan insisted firmly, picking up her chin to bring her gaze to his. “It happened last night as you slept. Even if you had awoken and ridden there, you would not have made it in time. All I can think is that perhaps you are somehow connected to one of them.”

Looking away and closing teary emerald eyes, Brighid sighed before bringing her gaze back to him. “Then I will find him. I will hunt him down, and I will avenge Declan and Máire, and I will bring the child back to its family.”

[casimir]

o-o this is really good.
i really like it.
like. really.
I'll just be sitting here in the corner, now.
waiting for when I need to use my pitch-fork

[beadingbritt]

o-o this is really good.
i really like it.
like. really.
I'll just be sitting here in the corner, now.
waiting for when I need to use my pitch-fork

I wish I could say in certainty that it won't happen often, but that would be a lie, just from the sketchy outline I have in my head...

I do so love being taken hostage by my characters!

[casimir]

-face desk-
none of you will give me a break.