"I am sure the stories that you heard were far from flattering," he answers as he serves his guests first and second servings. "Humans always vilified our kind. And then they took our homes."
He shrugs.
"I am a Far Darrig. That's what humans call us. But what I find far more interesting is what you all are doing here? Surely, you have an interesting tale to tell?"
As they settle, Sister Cobhlaith finds some semblance of peace and falls into a troubled sleep near the fire. Aoife can barely keep her eyes open. The voyage has taken its toll and this respite, albeit far from home, is more than welcome…
Aoife gave a weak nod at his questions and statement. "We came to search for something... but... I am sorry to say I may fall asleep while telling you so I shall leave that to my friends if you don't mind?" Aoife asked.
"A treasure hunt?" the ratty fellow asks, his curiosity piqued.
Blast! All but the bard recall this fellow's kin!
Daire maintains his composure.
"The sword of light is what we seek!", he blurts out, eager to show his knowledge.
"Nuada's Sword!" the creature exclaims, genuinely surprised. "I have not heard of it in ages. I had assumed humans had stolen it! Do you know where to find it?"
"Well, we seek the well to tell us! Of wisdom that is. Might you happen to know which direction is best to take to ask of it?"
"Everyone knows that the well is at the source of the river Boyne," the odd creature offers, "but I wouldn't go there if I were you. It's dangerous."
He looks upon the lot of them. Sister Cobhlaith is fighting for her life. Aoife is both exhausted and too shaken to rest properly. Thorun and Daire spooked. Only Ruadhan seems unphased.
"You would not survive," he continues, shaking his head. "You may rest for as long as you like. You are safe here. And while you are here, I am curious: how did you travel from your world to ours?"
"Mushroom soup." Thorun says while eating. "Gotta say, this tastes better."
Daire looks nervous at talk of danger, and focuses on his soup.
Current Str: 6, Current Con: 2
"I'll let you rest," the Far Darrig concedes seeing that they are all either too tired or reluctant to speak. "Got things to do."
With that, he leaves to allow them some time to eat, sleep, and tend to their wounds. The warm stew and clean water, along with the safety of the creature's lair, allow Sister Cobhlaith a much-needed respite. While she remains week, her fever abates and there is hope that she may have beaten the sickness that coursed through her blood.
She remains blind for now, but she will live.
Aoife slept through pretty much everything. Though she would jolt awake from time to time but her exhaustion always seemed to crash her back into the depths of slumber.
Ruadhan, Thorun, and Daire handle the watch while Aoife and Sister Cobhlaith rest and the day passes uneventfully. At sunset, they wait for a host who doesn't return. Come nightfall, they are fully rested, but still no Far Darrig.
"I need to pray and I need to rest," Sister Cobhlaith speaks up. She is blind and too weak to move, but her assurance has returned. "And so do you all. Could I bother one of you for some hot water and some soap?"
Her assurance is feigned. Has she lost her faith?"
With Aoife's help, she proceeds to clean herself, dabbing away the dried blood around her scratched eyes. Following the sister's expert instructions, Aoife places a fresh and clean bandage on the wound. In the meantime, the others tend to the fire, warm some stew over the pit, and keep watch.
Nobody says much that night. They're exhausted. While they've recovered their sang-froid, their voyage in the Otherworld has proven to be testing. Unrelentless. Terrorizing at times.
Sister Cobhlaith's prayers offer some comfort – a link to their world. To their people. To God.
"The night is almost gone, and the day is near. Therefore let us lay aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armour of light," she beseeches them. Her health has much improved and, at last, her vision is clearing. In the distance, the rising sun seems almost to pierce through the ever-grey sky.
The compass in the nun's hands still points steadily northeast.
Worried about the Sister's mind, Aoife asks if she would tell her some of the stories of faith she knew of while she tended to the Sister's wounds.
With the sun rising, and the terror of the night a memory, Aoife gets up and humbly thanks their host. "I thank you once again, for all that you have done. Before we leave, is it alright to ask your name?"
Oh God. Is the Sister losing faith? A tragedy that would be.
"Sister, please lead us in prayer. We need your guidance, the Lord's guidance."
"I say straight northeast across what is, in the mortal realm, the Sperrins and the peak of Sawel Mountain. We could take an easier march north along the riverbed of the Foyle - if we wish to risk the black birds again."
Daire clearly does not relish the latter prospect.
"And where is our host? I do not recall seeing him leave. Is he out for his own business - or to betray us?", he wonders out loud.
"If he has gone, we should assume some treachery," Sister Cobhlaith warns after a brief and heartless prayer. Perhaps she is simply tired.
They head northeast, leaving behind them the peak of what would be Sawel Mountain in the mortal realm. With the sunlight almost piercing through the grey sky, the gloom of these lands is almost bearable. Almost. The roving bands of undead continue to keep their distance, as do the flights of birds.
The compass points unerringly northeast.
Do you want to stop and propose a detour? Or continue northeast? One way or another, I will wait for your decision before continuing...
Thorun leads, using his exceptional if unnerving movement speed to scout ahead of them and double back constantly.
Daire looks around, somewhat happier it seems.
"Twelve hours to the coast at this pace."
His eyes still seek treachery.
"I really hope something goes right for once." Aoife said with a sigh as they kept walking.
"Yesterday... uha... please never again." Aoife prayed with a shutter running up her spine, though she kept her mind as she looked around.
Ruadhan takes up position at the back of the group letting the others lead, clearly his mind is on something as if his brain is arguing with itself and finally he stops walking and pipes up. "Hold on guys, I know we aren't in the real world, but my house is over that way, less than a day's march. Now I know I haven't said much about my wife, but I can't go too much further without at least finding out if she might be here and I may be able to save her or even just speak with her one last time. I don't want us to hang around in this place longer than needed and I don't expect you to follow me, so, carry on and I will catch you up."
"Well I can't pass up meeting what crazy b&~*& actually puts up with you." Thorun remarks.
Aoife bit her lip when Ruadhán brought up the fact he was will to split himself from them to even have a chance to see his passed wife. "You are not going off on your own." Aoife told him. "Though... I know this sounds cruel, I hope that she isn't there... just so she isn't a part of this... place..." She said honestly. "I hope she is some place better."
Daire turns to Ruadhan.
"Ah we can't have you wandering off alone! But let's keep moving and call in."
Deciding that they should all stand as one, they stop and head south. They march down the southeastern slope of Sawel Mountain into a grim and lifeless valley, and then around Slieve Gallion to the rolling hills on its southern slope.
Ruadhan knows the way. And when they arrive, he recognizes the curve of the horizon, the shape of Slieve Gallion to the north, and even, in the near distance, a small grove elm trees, which here are petrified. This is home or, rather, some nightmarish semblance of home.
There is a single sidhe near the grove but only the dead seem to be around, roving as always.
"Well.. I don't really know what to say other than thank you. Come on then, this way."
It is hard to remove the excitement from his steps and Ruadhan fights down the impulse to run on ahead whilst at the same time a dread grows inside him. God, I have missed her so much, I know she wasn't perfect and she died in a way that is against your teachings, but please have mercy on her and me.Let her not be like those we have met so far, or at least not mindless like them. I could not hurt her, even like that.
Seeing the familiar valley, he realises he is home, it feels odd, wrong, but still home and he rushes forward to where the hearth stone lies in his world, where he placed it those many years ago. Dropping his shield, he drops to his knees in the dirt and stabs his blade into the ground. "AINE, AINE CAN YOU HEAR ME, ARE YOU HERE? I HAVE COME FOR YOU MY LOVE." and then he waits, tears streaming down his cheeks as all his horrific memories of her death come back to him.
Aoife watches the dead and shakes slightly. The thoughts from the night before coming back to her. It isn't often something like that happens... a mark she'd likely always carry unseen.
When Ruadhán throws himself to the ground Aoife can feel nothing but worry and sadness. This man, her friend, obviously loved his wife dearly. For that she hoped the woman wasn't here... even if that meant that Ruadhán couldn't say goodbye... because the pain of seeing what she would be in the place like this... well that could be worse for him in the end.
Upon seeing the house and Ruadhan's reaction, Daire cannot help but think/
This was a bad idea. But we'll see it through now.
"Will you stop screaming like that!" a shrill voice shouts from inside the sidhe. A tiny creature peeks out through the diminutive door. It has a wrinkled visage that is covered with short curly brown hair and wears a brown mantle and hood.
"Humans!" it interrupts itself, surprised. "What do you want?"
Daire looks to Ruadhan to begin speech.
Aoife raised an eyebrow when the creature came out. "A brownie... or maybe a boggart." She said as she looked the creature over. "If I may, are you a brownie or a boggart?" Aoife asked as respectful as she could.
'I believe they maybe a brownie...' Aoife thought as she watched the creature.
Daire gives the creature a friendly nod, and indicates with his head Ruadhan.
Recovering himself a little and wiping his face with the back of his sleeve, Ruadhan stands, grasping his blade and drawing it from the sod. Looking around and seeing the small creature his flicker over the roving undead. [i]Is that Tiernan? It looks similar, but can it really be? Oh god in heaven let her not have changed like that and let him recognise me.[/b]
Walking briskly he apologises to the tiny creature, "My apologies good sir, I will explain and i would ask questions of you if you would help. First though, I must catch this one of the dead and see if I might question it as well before it is gone.", before moving on to the undead that he recognises, albeit warily and with sword drawn.
"Tiernan, is that you? Do you recognise me, Ruadhan? Have you seen Aine in this place? I would speak with her."
The undead simply opens wide its maw and stares hungrily at Ruadhan. It seems to want to leap forward and attack to assuage its hunger, yet for some reason, it holds back. Either it is not entirely mindless or some power is restraining it, Ruadhan thinks as he looks sadly upon what was once old Tiernan.
"It's not likely to answer!" the diminutive creature chimes in, chuckling. Then, it tilts its head curiously. "Why isn't it attacking you? Interesting... What do you want?"
Still standing behind the tiny door of its tiny home, the rude creature seems distrustful but harmless enough.
The creature is deliberately avoiding Aoife's question.
Aoife's eyes narrow at the creature. She would be more annoyed that it didn't answer her question if it wasn't plan to see the answer. "You're a boggart." Aoife declared rather sure of herself.
"You ignore my question and chuckle at another's misfortune." She stated as evidence for her declaration. Then she returned the creature's act in kind by avoiding his question.
Daire looks to the small creature, a smile still on his face. And even his eyes show one.
But not for the same reasons as before.
"Oh, you're rightly caught. I think she's on the coin about you. Now, would you like to cooperate and we'll be on our way? Or delay us?"
There is a sinister undertone to Daire's words, quite at odds with his friendly demeanour.
"I am sorry Tiernan, carry on where you are going I will not harm you. "
Backing away slowly from the undead, Ruadhan speaks to the boggart or brownie. "Sir, it does not attack me because I knew the man it was in the normal world. I look for my wife, shortly after our daughter was born she did something that may have brought her here if hell is in anyway connected to this place. Can you tell me if you have seen one of these in this area that would be female, short in stature, and with hair the colour of bog oak polished to a high shine? This was our home in the normal world and she would likely return here if she could. Do not play me false though, for I will know, like we have noticed that you avoid the the question of what you are, rather tell me you do not know and I will leave you be. Help me and I will help you if I reasonably can."
Thorun glowers from behind Daire, backing up the man's threat.
"Humans! Always assuming the worst and threatening us!" the cowing creature shouts before shutting and locking the door. "Only the Morrigan – the Queen of the Winter Court – can help you! Now go away!"
"The winter court, that doesn't bode well, home of the darker fairies."
Turning and hammering on the door once, he shouts. "Thank you, and where would I find the winter court?"
Listening for an answer he speaks to the others in a quiet voice." We have a job to do here, let us complete that and then I will try for my own business, But now that I am here I cannot let it lie."
Ruadhan guesses the answer to his question as soon as he asks it: the Winter Court must assuredly be where the blackbirds were gathering near what would Derry in the mortal realm.
Daire begins speaking, as if reading from an unseen scroll.
"The Great Queen. The Phantom Queen. The Queen of Phantoms. The triple goddess. Morrigan is tied to war and fate, foretelling doom, death or victory in battle. Among other guises, she often appears as a crow - the badb."
"The Morrigan..." Aoife said with a gasp. Her eyes wide at the fact an actual goddess was real. "There are stories about her... and the winter court? That was the place we where trying to avoid!" Aoife pointed out.
"Now... we have to go there? And meet The Morrigna?!"
Nodding his head as Daire's description reminds him of stories of old, and he makes the sign of the cross as he composes himself.
"Nobody has to go to the Winter Court, let us complete the job we came here to do and then we can decide who if anyone is coming with me to where the ravens were circling, for I feel that is where the court resides."