Blood and Magick: The Awakening- Chapter One!

[Drusilla]

I'm so excited about finally writing this. I've spent the past two weeks with my face planted in moldy-smelling books from the public library, trying to get my dates all lined up and the culture figured out. This is historical fiction/fantasy, and I wanted to get things right. I'm a perfectionist like that... This is also my first attempt at a fan fic in over six years, and I want to get everything just so.

This is a prequel to my Blood and Magick RPGs. Many people keep asking me, what about this, where did that come from, and so forth. I decided that the best way to finally settle everything once and for all is to go to the beginning, where my ideas started. I actually began the planning for this project months ago, but between school, work, and personal turmoil, I'm just now sitting down to do it justice (at least, I hope I am...).

I welcome feedback from everyone, not just those who have been involved. I highly encourage questions, since that is what this whole project is about. If there is anything that comes to mind and isn't answered, by all means ask. I'm sure that I don't have a full list of everything that needs to be answered, and anything that could contribute to this story is more than welcome.

If anyone is interested to see them, the two B&M RPGs that I've created so far are located in the RPG Archives. (Sorry if that counts as shameless advertising... I just want for people to be aware that those two do still exist.) My main character is Sorcha, who at the beginning here is little more than an Irish girl from an unknown village... but she has incredible potential.

So, without further ado... I turn my story over to Sorcha. Enjoy.


Prologue

My name is Sorcha. Tomorrow is the Spring Equinox, Lá Leathach an Earraigh, and I will be five years old. Tomorrow, everyone says that "they" are coming for me.

I do not know who "they" are. No one will speak of it to me, and only whisper enigmatically when I pass. I've never seen the village so anxious, not even when word came back from across the water that my eldest brother had been killed by Romans. I do not know what a "Roman" is, either, but from how I hear people speak of them, they must be terrible monsters. They say my brother died bravely, fighting several at once. In my mind, I see him, surrounded by half a dozen many-armed creatures, each ten feet tall, with bright red skin and many huge, rolling, black eyes, all foaming at the mouth and spewing flames. They must be terrible, indeed, for my brother was a grand warrior, one of the Queen's finest. I miss him dearly, and I wonder if, had I been able to ask him, he would have told me who "they" are.

I think it must be forbidden to speak of "them" directly. From what I have heard, it is highly unusual for "them" to choose a girl, though people say I definitely have "the gift". Some even go so far as to say I am "chosen", though others scoff. They do not think a girl could be so special. I ask my father why I cannot be special just because I am a girl, and he tells me that I am special. I believe him; he is the wisest man I know.

When I ask my father about "them", he tells me that it's none of my concern and that "they" have nothing to do with me. I tell him about some of the things I have heard, and he frowns, telling me not to listen to Gossip. I tell him that I do not know Gossip,but if I am ever introduced to him or her, I will be sure not to listen to a word they say. My father laughs, pats me on the head, and tells me he loves me.

There are other whispers about me, dark, fearful mutterings. A few call me sorceress, pointing at my "unnatural" ruby colored hair and my raven haired parents. These few question my mother's honor, though not in front of my father or brothers. They ignore me, thinking that I do not understand. I tell my father, and such muttering cease. When I ask my mother about my hair, the only red hair I have ever seen, she tells me that her family descended from the Fair Folk, the Tuatha de'Dannan. She says her grandfather had hair the same color as mine, and that his grandmother was sidhe herself. My mother never lies.

My brothers prepare for war, and I ask why I do not train with them. The men of the village only tell me that I am a girl, and girls don't go to war; they stay home and tend to their duties. I point out that our men go to battle under the banner of a queen; they do not answer.

My mother teaches me to cook, clean, and weave. Her heart is not in it though, and it makes me restless. I ask what is wrong, and she smiles sadly, telling me that everything is fine. Then she gets a funny look on her face and tells me to pay attention, because no matter what path my feet take to, I will need to know how to care for myself. She will not tell me what she means, no matter how often I ask.

My name is Sorcha. Tomorrow is the Spring Equinox, Lá Leathach an Earraigh, and I will be five years old. Tomorrow, my life changes forever.



Chapter One

The day dawned darkly. It was supposed to be the first of spring, but it felt as dark as the last solstice had. My mother woke me, and bid me to wash. I can remember her if I really try to. She was a beautiful woman, yet very modest. Her dark curls would fall about her face so gently when she let it. I look so much like her now, other than the hair that marked me as something not of this world. The gentle angles in her face were perfect; her eyes were the dark depths of freshly turned earth, ready for planting. I loved her, and love her still, and had I known that this would be the last day, I would have paid more attention. Memory is a fickle thing, and often fades over the centuries, as mine was never intended to span more than one lifetime. I am perhaps one of God’s most unnatural creatures, though I didn’t think it possible at the time. I was but five years old on that day, after all.

I knew that something was afoot, though my mother told me to hush my many questions. Everyone else was still in bed, as any normal person would be. It would be a long day in the fields for many of the men, and the women had much to prepare for tonight’s feast. Normally, the whole day would be in celebration, but with the troubles that were brewing in the land, the men wanted to be sure that their families would be well situated should they be taken away for war. I had seen the banners with the hare on them, banners of the mighty queen whom my brother had died in service of. The lunar hare, they called it, and said that it had graced the banner of her ancient ancestress long ago, though the people of my village would speak no more than that. There were foreigners that came through our village, being so near the coast as it was. People whispered that these were the men our queen sought to drive out, though everyone was very polite to them. I was always told to go inside when they came near.

My mother washed me, scrubbing my skin nearly raw, and cleaned my hair as well. I could feel that she was upset about something, though would not answer me when I asked. She fell upon my hair, working a wide-toothed comb through it, and I complained that it hurt me. Still, she said nothing, though was gentler in her assault. She began to braid it away from my face, two small braids to go around each side of my head and be joined in the back. She whispered under her breath as she did, as if she was praying over my hair. I found it all very odd, but as she wouldn’t respond to my inquiries, I had fallen silent. She wove some kind of plant into my braids as she worked, though I didn’t recognize it. She left me to sit in the bathwater and returned with new clothes I’d never seen before. They were white, bright and pure linen, and I was sure that they would scratch me. The undergarments, though, were soft and shielded my skin from the harsh fabric of the dress. I felt like a doll, being dressed up for an as yet unknown reason, and I wondered once more what was going on. I had seen other girls turn five, and none of them went through any of this. It made little to no sense to me, yet I followed my mother in silence as she brought me back into the rest of the house.

By now, everyone was awake, and I was surprised. My older brothers, when not practicing their battle skills, often helped my father in the fields, so it wasn’t that unusual for them to be up so early, but my younger brothers... Bran, who was closest in age to me, appeared as confused as I was. He would be seven that summer. Our older brothers had some semblance of understanding in their eyes; Fionn, now eldest, seemed to know exactly just what was going on. He was nearing eighteen years in age, and should he live through battle, he would marry soon.

Outside, the pre-dawn light was growing brighter, and soon the sun would peek over the plains. My father stood from the chair near the fire and, opening the door, lead the way outside. My mother and I followed, with the boys behind in order from eldest to youngest.

I expected the village to be empty at this hour, to see fires being started by the early rising housewives, but it seemed almost everyone was gathered outside of our home. They faced the forest edge, waiting for something, though I had no idea what. Every passing moment was becoming ever stranger with alarming intensity, and I was feeling very uncomfortable. I was the only one who had donned fancy garments, and those who looked away from the trees did so to glance at me. I clung to my mother’s hand and hid my face in her skirts; she gently tugged on my hand so that I could see the forest. My father had come to my other side, knelt down, and was taking my other hand in his. His eyes were calm, kind, and I wanted to throw myself into his arms where I knew I would be safe. I didn’t like what was happening, and my curiosity had deteriorated into fear. I wanted none of this new adventure, and found myself wishing I could go back inside to toil away at the menial household tasks that my mother had been teaching me.

I couldn’t tell you where exactly they came from. I suppose that it was from the forest, but there was no sign of their approach. Just as the first rays of sunlight broke over the horizon, a dozen figures in white robes were suddenly there at the edge of the forest. A few people murmured, but soon fell silent; all watched as the figures approached. They had hoods over their heads, their faces hidden in shadow, yet I could tell that they were varied. Some were men, some women, most old, judging by the way they walked, but three or four had frames that told that they were not yet even full grown. A hypnotizing silence had fallen over the watchers as the mysterious people walked forward, and I felt it was nearly suffocating. I realized that it was not the air itself, but power in the air that overwhelmed me. These were no ordinary people.

The few villagers that stood before us parted, bowing slightly, as the figures made their way to my family. Both of my parents dropped to one knee each, heads bowed. I was bewildered. Who were these unknown persons that my parents would bend knee to them?

The tallest figure, whom I took to be a man, put his hands on my mother’s shoulders and pulled her up to stand before him. She looked up, as did I, and saw the face beneath the hood. He smiled at us.

“Dear sister, you have no need to kneel before me,” he said kindly. He took her into an embrace, and I glanced at my father, who was standing again. I expected some kind of response to this overly familiar touching of my mother, but my father did nothing. Instead, when the man and my mother parted, my father gripped forearms with the man, and they smiled at each other.

I took a second look at this hooded man who seemed to know my parents. I had no recollection of ever having seen him before, yet he seemed familiar. Then it dawned on me; he looked much like my mother, Bran, and myself. He must be her brother, not just by name, but by blood. I had taken his greeting of her as ‘sister’ as just that, a greeting. No, this man looked like us; he must be my uncle.

He pushed his hood back and looked at his people. A few, mostly the older ones, did as well, though the younger people among them remained hidden. I was right, there were both men and women among them. All looked upon me, which I found highly unsettling. Who did they think I was? Was I indeed the cause of all this?

“Here she is...” my uncle said, very softly, looking at me with wonder in his eyes. “You were right, she does have his hair. A mark of power if ever there was one, to be sure.” He knelt in front of me then. “Tell me, Fiery One, do you know who I am?”

I blinked my large, emerald eyes at him. “You are my uncle, my mother’s brother, and one of the wise ones.” I didn’t know where I came up with the term ‘wise ones’, but it seemed to fit, though I had no idea why.

He smiled gently at me. “Yes, dear Sorcha, I am, as are you.”

This caught me off guard for a moment. Me? One of them? Yet, something deep within me seemed to confirm this as truth. I nodded slightly, letting him know that I understood what he meant. I, a druid... It explained much. I had heard tales from the traveling bards on how those touched with the blood of the Fair Ones often became their voices among men. The connection was powerful, personal, and natural. When this truth revealed itself to me, it all began to make sense.

Then the next truth came to light; I was to go away with them. It explained why everyone was awake so early, for not only was it a rare chance to see the hidden wise ones, but because it might be the last time I was home. Tears welled up in my eyes and clouded my vision. I was but five years old today, and now I would leave home, perhaps for good. I did not fuss or cause a scene, but the tears rolled silently down my cheeks. My parents took my hands once again and embraced me simultaneously, and I let them. I was not ashamed, and would not deprive myself of what might be the last chance to be with the two of them and feel safe in their love. Much like my mother had told me the day before, my feet would walk a long path before I found ‘home’ again.

They spoke words to me, and I was reassured, though I cannot remember exactly what was said. I remember their faces and their love, and that is more important to me than any words.

Of my brothers, I remember very little. I know that Bran understood little of what was going on, though I finally did. I remember him asking, protesting, trying to make my parents understand that I couldn’t go. I also remember Fionn and his silent understanding, his wordless reassurances. It was the last time for many, many years that I would see him, and our reunion would be a bittersweet one.

The people of the village continued their silent observation as my family bid me farewell, and my uncle took me by the hand. I kept looking back at everyone, and it pained my heart to see my mother sobbing in my father’s arms. The pain on his face was apparent as well, though he comforted her as well as he could. Bran looked mutinous, ready to run after me if it wasn’t for my mother’s pain. Fionn, brave Fionn... he watched me as I looked back each time, his strength plain to see. He would be a rock for others to stand on for many years to come.

I continued to look back, even once we reached the forest and I knew it was useless. There was nothing to see behind me, only the long, long road ahead, a road that would take me far beyond Erin’s shores, and beyond the gates of this world into the next.

[Houndoom_Lover]

Sweet! ^_^ It's like a moive! Only its based on a RPG...that was based on something else? ^_^ I do enjoy a good first person story!

[Mystic_clown]

It's rare that we get an RPG based fic, and I'm loving it. It's good to see it from Sorcha's perspective, just how you RP as her in the RPGs. The attention to detail helps me paint a very good image of what's going on.

I'm curious as to how her life as a "Wise one" goes. Staring in the RPGs, I know what some of her future holds, but I'm eager to see how she gets there.

[Drusilla]

Just an update, because I know all three of you who actually give a damn are wondering... Yeah, right. Anyway, I've been swamped with overtime at work, and by the time I get a day or two off, all I want to do is sleep and end up doing housework when I'm not abed. That being said, I HAVE NOT given up. I've spent too much time and effort getting my notes together for this... I'm just so exhausted when I'm not at work that any writing I do manage to hack out is shite.

My hours are being cut back a bit (finally... I think...), so that problem should resolve itself. I should be back on the ball within the week... just in time for me to be sucked into Neverwinter Nights 2's first expansion pack, Mask of the Betrayer, so it might be quite awhile before I get anything worth reading together. But who knows, maybe MC will manage to irritate me into posting a few chapters before the end of the month. XP Just kidding, dude...

So, yes, that is where I stand. I'm still taking whatever comments and questions are out there, if anyone cares enough to bother posting them. If not, your loss. Ehehehehe...