For Sasikia ...

It was a stormy and gloomy night and the veil between this world and the next was at it's thinniest.  It was nights like these that things passed between.  When the supernatural might come to visit, and the mortal get lost in worlds not of these familiar lands... or... so the story went around the campfires.

Sasikia was spending some time at a Fairy Fort near Laytown.  It was a sort of halfway community, where the mortals and the Sidhe could meet to do business and enjoy each other's company.  It was also a defensive holding that the Sidhe relied on for shelter and comfort.

Hallow's Eve was one of these occassions that had the defensive earthmound bustling with activity.  She had done as she was bid, delivering some messages, and purchasing some wares for her house, and her time at the moment was her own.  Presuming she spent it responsibly and didn't lose the parcel of purchases she'd made all would be well.

At the moment she was sharing the fire and company of strangers as eerie tales and spooky stories were passed around to pass the time and entertain.  Sasikia had been granted permission to stay over at Ringfort which was only a few leagues travel from home.

While there was a good bit of pranks and tricks going around, treats were in abundance too not the least of which were the s'mores toasting and melting at the fires.  The Sidhe had a sweet tooth, and the occassion was want to highlight there specialty.

Much exhausted and in good cheer she retires for the eve, content for the moment.  The parcel beneath her head as a pillow and her travelling cloak pulled over to stay warm and she snoozes on her travelling bedding.

Perhaps listening to a tale or two, too many, she has a nightmare.  She wakes in a cold sweat.  The blur of Blackbloods, and nightmarish things assailing a city fortress.  It does not end well for the city fortress.  She wakes in a clammy sweat that leaves her shivering on the cold eve.

"YES! YES!  A THOUSAND TIMES!  YES!  How many nights have passed... weeks... months...  squandered away in pointless pursuits and activites!", Saskia sees nothing amiss, but there is a very loooooud voice and insistent voice that feels like howling wind in her ears.

Saskia awoke with a start.  The dream had been so frighteningly real.  Too real.  She could feel the perspiration on her hands and back despite the evening chill.  A slight moan emanated from her burgundy lips even as one of her hands went to rubbing her temples and forehead.  The other hand instinctively went out to steady herself and then to check for her package-turned-pillow.

Plus, the reverberations of the booming voice were still echoing in her ears - not giving her a moment's peace.

"Wh-Who's there?" the young redhead ventured, bleary-eyed and with her voice trembling.  Saskia's wavering tone betrayed the fear she felt as the disorientation of just waking up mingled with the lingering dread from the vivid vision she'd experienced only moments before.

At this point, Saskia felt the best she could hope for that it was only a pixie or brownie play a simple prank,  But on this night - of all nights - with the Veil so very, very thin, anything might have come through and be wreaking havoc upon the land.

"Show yourself..." the frightened scion of Morrigan urged her unknown assailant, half-pleading since the unknown was far more terrible than the knowing.

The blur of a shadow, a vague silhouette perhaps against the Luna's good graces to shine upon the night to keep Nyx from holding full sway during these hours.  Tonight off all nights Saskia thought she appreciated her presence.

"Uvitende tosk...", it was a low grumbling voice thick with an accent that Saskia found hard to place.  One of the numerous Euro dialects she thought.

"The world you know of is in danger and you sleep like the dead without a care in the world.", there was a bitter grief to the man's voice.

The vague silhouette moves, shifting and shimmer in the uncertain light like water off a lake who's water has been disturbed.  He was a big man... a really big man.  Large enough to set you to unease.

"We have the luck or curse... to be bound to one another.  I loathe to admit it, but i need you and know it or not... You and all you hold dear, need me too.", he shambles forward a little more.  It's a thing that looks closer to the dead than the living.  A body that has been hacked up by a dozen lethal looking wounds that she can see and hints of dozens more that she can only guess at.


"I... am Vǫlundr... Vǫlundr Amundrson...", he pauses for a moment marveling at the sound of his voice again.  How long it has been since he's been able to hear his own voice in any form.  For Saskia, she marvels that he can speak at all with a jaw that looks like it was dislocated and lips that has been flayed and scarred by what looks like a skull rending blow to the face by a long bladed injury of some sort.

"I will be heard... one way or another.", Volundr stares at you intensely with his one boogling eye, the other eye socket a void blood mess where the eye had been gouged out by some injury or another.

A sharp, startled intake of air was accompanied by the hand that had been massaging her temples covering her mouth.  Saskia stared wide-eyed at the hulking apparition.  "Vǫlundr..." she breathed with palpable tension and fear.  Yet, the name sounded or rather felt so very familiar, "What are you?"  Her green eyes could not pull themselves away from looking at the massive apparition of stitched flesh sewn hastily together; the pull of morbid fascination held her gaze.  Unwavering and relentless.

"We are linked?" she ventured, feeling the edge of an adrenaline surge coming - the uptick in heart rate and the sheen of perspiration on her fingertips, "How do you mean?  You cannot be an ancestor of mine..."  It was inconceivable to her fifteen year old mind that this ... thing ... was related to her.  And yet, she knew in her heart of hearts that the truth had been spoken.  That something linked them.  Her heart raced as the varied and conflicted emotions roiled inside of her.

She pursed her lips, for the dead ... and the fey ... and seemingly whatever this abomination was, were allowed to crossover on This Night.  The Veil was thin indeed.  Saskia felt the need to stand; even if this creature was bigger than her, perhaps she might be able to outrun it - it seemed rather ungainly.  But more than that, she needed to take a different perspective.

For looks could be deceiving.  And on this of all night's the dead would need to be heard.  Her brow furrowed, "Say your piece, Vǫlundr.  So, that you might have peace.  Why have you come to me, sought me out?  And what must be done to allow you to rest?"  For right now, she still considered him a restless spirit.  Yet, the harsh defiance in her voice was just a brittle facade around the gnawing fear that lay beneath.