Still working on new material for "Plaguewing." Not sure if it should be included in the text, added as appendices, or distributed separately. This is my latest short: A long time ago when the aishee were still a young people there was a farmer named Dhu Ghan O’Caiheall. He was happy to farm but had to travel very far to sell his wares. Now, as all people know an aishay’s wife is as wont to do as she wills as any beast of the nature and so one fall upon his return, he found her large with child. He raised the boy child for many years but in the boy’s sixth decade, scales of brilliant azure appeared on his neck and back. The sages and wise men proclaimed it a blessing of Lugh and rained praises on the lad. He was smart as could be and strong as a bull, with a fierce need for competition and challenge. He became a renowned hunter, taking down his first saber tooth cat before most young aishee had bagged a fox. The boy, called Dhu Ghaill, had many conquests, both among the untamable aishee women and the mighty beasts of the wild forests. He was a hero to the people of his village and the surrounding areas and they planted great oaks and carved grand statues to honor him. They hung his prized mounted beasts in the town hall to be seen by anyone visiting. Other aishee began to seek out Dhu Ghaill to learn his secrets, for it was said he could see in the darkest night and scent a rabbit better than a hound. Old families lavished Dhu Ghaill with gold and gems to teach their sons and daughters the bow. It was one such son that was found in a field of heather that started the darker tales. His body was split open, his entrails draped for yards from his gut. The heart was missing and the mouth was split ear to ear, the throat ripped out. And not thirty feet away was Dhu Ghaill, or so the story went that was told by the shepherd boy. No one believed it at first but looking back there had been several boys that had gone hunting and not returned. There had been those three girls that had disappeared during one of Dhu Ghaill’s hunts. There was the old man murdered near the O’Caiheall farms long ago and no culprit named. The rumors began to fly, mixing and changing, yet the core of truth was there somewhere and the great hunter’s name began to smell of blood. A long time passed without incident and the rumors grew cold and stale. Winters passed. Summers brought flowers and rain to wash away the tales. Years turned to decades and thought there was the occasional bear, wolf, or troll killing nothing seemed peculiar. A decade went by and Dhu Ghaill was becoming a hero again. Seventeen years had passed and a beautiful fall day saw a caravan of firvolgs on their way east for trade. A horse spooked a saber tooth cat and one of the mighty firvolgan warriors cut it down with his mighty axe before falling dead, an arrow in his chest. As two others looked over the body wondering what was happening, they too were shot dead. But that was not the end of it, for Dhu Ghaill was hiding more than anyone knew. He burst out of the forest canopy, a nightmare living. As leaves scattered his eyes burned with a fiery rage. With razor sharp talons on both hands and feet he tore through flesh and wood alike. His huge reptilian wings allowed him to fly and leap like a hawk to pluck victims up and crush their skulls on the ground like so many eggs. His great strength let him topple the carts and wagons and snap the necks of the great Clydesdales. No one was spared his wrath, no mercy was left in his soul. All told, some forty firvolg men, twenty or so women, half-a-dozen children and one babe met their end that day with survivors enough to spread the tale and bring back Dhu Ghaill’s bow. That was the beginning of a dark time. Many a hamlet met a fiery and bloody end. Young girls were cut open, their organs removed, some returned to family members sliced, charred, or gnawed upon. Boys and dogs vanished in the terrible twilight hours. Even sprites and brownies were found cut, ripped, and shredded the next morning on roadways and doorsteps. People grew fearful to go outdoors and watched the skies and woods in terror, not knowing if aishee demon or arrow might take their life, and always dreading discovering the three blue scales that marked Dhu Ghaill’s horrifying work. It was many decades before a group of hunters and warriors finally brought down the horrid monstrosity. But that was not the end for there was Connacht Fawr the Mad, Ennis O’Blaichligh the Blood Drinker, Imir the Stalker, and many others. Whether born of firvolg, svartalf, or aishee none could hold back the rage for long, always turning feral and blood thirsty. So it was, after many years, it became a fatal offense to share one’s bed with a dragon and if ever a child was born with a sign, a hint of dragon’s blood, it was to perish immediately.
Posted on: Sun, 01 Sep 2013 15:41:06 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015