Nice piece, I liked it, I haven't seen Hellboy 2 so I couldnt comment on any similarities. Gaelic folklore is something I've always quite fancied reading up on more and you just jogged my memory...now where those book vouchers I got for crimbo?
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Wow, I'm provoking people to read. I am a Role Model!
Something's wrong with this. 
Disclaimer: The above may be humerous, or at least may be an attempt at humour. Try reading it that way.
Posts are OOC unless noted to be IC, or in an IC thread.
I quite liked it. Stuff like this fires my desire to RP because I really imagine there is a world inside of CoH to interact with.
Unfortunatly it isn't quite true, but still, a good read and a good intro to a new character.
(( The following is a backstory for a new character I came up with after failing miserably to go to sleep after watching Hellboy 2. The connection between the character and Hellboy is tenuous, to say the least. ))
Leannan - Coming of Age
Watching Dinah Ewers walk away from him, hips swaying as she strutted across the plaza in front of Galaxy Girl's statue, Jason Caine's thoughts turned almost automatically to their last meeting. Sleep being now out of the question, he said his farewells to the others there and summoned up an image of the doorway into the university library at Salamanca. The flare of light was little more than a special effect as he made the image a reality.
It was late, or early, and the day after Boxing Day. There should have been no one about, but as Jason entered the building he could feel another life there. Frowning, he wove protective magics about himself, even as he moved forward, his senses half in the 'real' world and half in the next.
Something was moving among the stacks, crossing to the middle of the floor. He moved silently for such a big man, sliding among the tall shelves. Rounding a corner, he found his quarry and relaxed.
"Miss Kirwan, isn't it?" he said. "What on Earth are you doing here at this time?"
She did not so much jump out of her chair as assume a standing position without seeming to move. Jason frowned. She was really very fast, or perhaps it was getting late. "I-I-I w-was..."
"Calm down," Jason said, his voice a soothing purr, "I'm not an ogre." He smiled his best, friendly smile. He knew her from one of his Magical History classes. There was something odd about her he had never quite managed to place. He had checked her family against the Mu database and found nothing, but there was still something not quite right.
Perhaps it was just physical. She had a sort unearthly beauty about her which her overall lack of confidence tried hard to hide. Pale skinned, with grey-blue eyes and porcelain features, hair of white gold that never showed any signs of curling, even in a damp, warm summer. She had a slim body with all the right curves, but the boys around campus seemed to ignore her. Jason had never quite understood why.
Another thing he had never understood was why she was failing his class. She was bright. In every other subject, she was one of the star pupils, but in his class she seemed constantly distracted, on edge. She did not pay attention. And, as now, she never looked him in the eye. He wandered closer, his eyes flicking over the books on the table.
"I, um," she swallowed and went on, "I was trying to catch up on your course. I'm, um..."
"Failing, yes, I know." He looked down. "Blake's Secret History of the British Isles I can understand, but I don't recall asking anyone to read Michelson's Lore of the Daoine Sidhe."
"Oh! Um, that's a personal project," she smiled, making light of it. "I'm just interested in old Fae lore."
"It's an interesting subject. I know others who know a good bit more about it than I. I could introduce you, if it would further your research."
"Oh, no," she replied, bowing her head, "no, I would never trouble you with..."
"Brigid, isn't it?" he said, stopping her. She nodded. "Brigid, you are something of an enigma to me." She frowned, and almost looked up at him, instead turning her gaze away at the last instant. "You are an intelligent woman, an apt pupil. Yet in my class, you are failing. You can't concentrate, don't seem to want to be involved. I do not mind the idiots who come to me seeking easy credits failing, but people with your obvious love of the coursework here I do about."
Sitting on a corner of the table, he pointed at her chair and waited while she slid into it. There was considerably less speed this time, but more grace than could be expected of a typical young woman. "Now," he went on, "stereotypically, I should invite a young woman of your beauty back to my flat where we could discuss your future and you could earn those extra credits, but, to be frank, I would much rather you earned them through something more erudite."
She was looking at him. Not directly, her face was still pointed down, but her eyes were looking up at him. "You think I'm beautiful?" she said. It was not the first reply he thought she would give and he frowned as he nodded. "What colour is m'hair?"
"Blonde. Almost white, really, with a hint of gold. I have a friend with hair somewhat like it."
"Ah," she said. "How would I earn this additional credit, Mr Caine?"
Jason's frown deepened. "Write me a paper on the Daoine Sidhe," he said. "I'll provide you with an introduction to someone who can help. Use him. He's a valuable resource and, sadly, we may lose him soon. Consider it fieldwork."
"He's gonna die?" she asked, frowning.
"'Pass on' might be a more suitable term. If you can find any other suitable sources, then so much the better. You'll find various supernatural beings and other entities gather at the foot of the Galaxy Girl statue in the evening. You may have luck finding sources there." He looked at her carefully, gauging her reaction.
"I'll be sure to check," she said. There was a faint Irish lilt to her voice. He would have to check the genealogy database again, but Kirwan was an Irish name. Other than that, she was giving nothing away.
"Come to my office Monday morning, I'll arrange that introduction," he said before standing and heading off through the stacks.
Brigid opened the door of the little flat she called home and slipped inside. The walls in the building were as thin as those found in any student accommodation. It was around five in the morning, but Brigid was not going to bed. In fact, the sofa-bed which represented the sleeping space for the flatlette had never been unfolded since she bought it.
She crossed the room and knelt before a small shrine which occupied one corner. It was simple, a stump of oak with a single candle burning on it. Bowing her head, she whispered her words to the goddess she was named for. "Wisest of all, bless this y're humble servant. I met him this evening, the one I've been tryin' t'avoid gettin' t'close to. He was nice, but I was right. I don't think he's every seen the glamour." She paused, looking down at her pale, long fingered hands. "He's asked me to interview someone about the Fair Folk. This might be m'chance t'find out where I come from. Unless it's some old codger Mr Caine's got locked up in a library somewhere."
Smiling slightly, she checked the candle to be sure it would last a while. Satisfied, she picked up a book, lay down on the sofa, and started to read.
There was no library, but there was an old man in a room in an old building which Jason said was in London. Brigid had been introduced to a girl named Annette who would be providing her with transport to and from 'The Club' for the week. 'Transport' took the form of Annette opening the door which should have lead out of Jason's office, but instead now opened into an entrance hall an ocean away. Annette, it seemed, had more to her than met the eye, rather like Brigid.
The old man sat in a high-backed, winged chair in front of a roaring fire. The room was hot, but the man looked cold. Jason had stopped at the door and allowed her to go on alone. "He doesn't like me very much," he had said, "I think you might get on better." Somehow, Brigid was not so sure. For one thing, the smell was threatening to make her lose her breakfast.
"Come closer, girl," the old man said, his voice thin, but carrying an air of command to it. Brigid moved further into his line of view. "Caine tells me you are interested in my kind. I'll tell you now, I'll not be explaining the inner workings of the Courts or our current misfortunes to some pretty young spriggan he's found in those cursed woods. Come closer, child, my eyes are not what they were."
Reluctantly, Brigid moved to stand beside the old man's chair. This close, she realised he smelled mostly of earth and plants, like a forest. His skin was pale, and dry like paper. She could see a thin spider-trail of veins under the skin of his face and hand. She guessed he had been handsome once. Now he was little more than a mobile corpse. Less mobile than some, in fact.
Narrowing his eyes, he looked hard at her face. "The glamour you wear cannot hide your form from me, young lady," he said. "What family are you from? Not high born I'll wager. Come closer. Let me see you."
Brigid gaped. "I... I'm not... My family name is Kirwan."
"Closer," he commanded, and she stepped forward without thinking. Old eyes widened, a look of shock spreading over the old man's face. "Kirwan, you say? Well, I say you're a daughter of the Aes Fororda, the Golden Ones. Your line was thought lost in the West, like so many others. You grew up among human children, yes?" She nodded dumbly in reply. "Your parents put you among them to keep you safe, I think. You're a Changeling, child. You always knew you were different, did you not?"
"There's always been the glamour hiding me," she said after a second's pause. "I've always known most people don't see me the way I see m'self in a mirror."
The old man nodded. "Well then, maybe Caine knew what he was doing after all. You listen to me, girl. I tire of this world. I am the last of my line and most of my people have vanished beyond the sea. I'll tell you the history of our people, and you'll write it down so that Caine can put it in the Archive, but I'll tell you more than you can write, and you'll carry on our traditions. Do you hear me?" She nodded again, half convinced the man was mad. "What's your given name?"
"Brigid, sir."
He laughed a dry laugh. "I knew the woman you're named for. Let's hope you're as wise as she. Sit, Brigid the Golden, sit and listen."
"She'll need watching, Caine," the old man said, a glass of clear liquid in his hand while he sat watching the fire. "You say she lives in this Salamanca?"
"She does. She has a small flat there. In one of the student residences." Jason did not look at the old man. His own hand held a similar tumbler of whisky.
"If those creatures realise what she is, they'll be out to get her. She must be kept safe until she realises her full power, and I am not the man to do it any more." The old man lifted his glass and sipped from it, coughing as the liquid burned his throat. "I could not stop them from taking the others, and I must leave it to others to keep this one safe."
"I'll have words with some people I know over there. Zorielle seems interested in expanding her roll of magical students, and Michael will be glad of a fuller class." Jason smiled slightly. "I'll brief the Keeper, ask for Brigid to be placed on her team."
"Is that wise?" The old man's face creased with a frown. "Does this new Keeper not fight crime in some outlandish costume?"
Jason barked a short laugh. "You should meet her. You'd like her. She's a warrior, fights alien soldiers more than crime. And she wears armour. No, we'll hide our Brigid in plain sight. You've not seen it over there, old friend, the place is thick with magicians of all kinds. Even the ones who claim to be scientists are magicians of a sort. No one will notice one more."
The old man smiled weakly. "I leave her in your hands then, Caine, and those of our young Keeper."
"We'll take good care of her, Nuada," Jason replied, draining his glass. "You can count on it."
"There is one thing I must warn you of, child," the old man said as Brigid sat at his feet on Wednesday evening, the day before the new year. It seemed like she had been there forever, but in fact she had spent only three days in his company as he span her tales of times long past.
"The women of your family are known for the taking of human lovers, and you might find yourself considering the same thing." He smiled at the blush that spread rapidly over her cheeks. "However, there is a danger. You are leanan sidhe. If you give your love, and it is rejected, you'll be nought but a slave to the man. If accepted, he'll become yours, and your love will spur him to new heights in whatever field he chooses."
"But at a cost," Brigid said. She knew this story. "They sicken and die all too soon."
The old man nodded sadly. "So, be careful with your affections, Brigid the Golden." Quite suddenly he laughed his dry laugh. "Mind you, there's nothing wrong with just taking a man for the enjoyment of it."
Brigid's cheeks went a deeper shade of crimson. "I'd never..."
"Ha!" He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "You'll be coming into your power soon enough, girl. We used to hold parties that lasted a hundred years before the walls went up. Many a man or maid went sleeping with the fairies then. Or did you not believe Caine's history lessons?"
"I, um, I suppose y're right," she replied. "I just never considered it that way." She paused and frowned. "I bought a sofa that turns into a bed, even though I don't sleep, and a normal sofa would have been cheaper."
Waving a hand, he dismissed her objections. "There, you're mind knows itself even if it doesn't know why. Now, pay attention, there is much for you to learn."
There was a peculiar sense of dread hanging in the air as Brigid entered the old man's on New Year's Day. "I'm here," she said. "Ready for more stories." Her only reply was a soft cough and she moved forward slowly, almost dreading what she might find.
His face was even more sunken than it had been the day before, his skin had taken on a grey pallor. He breathed irregularly, and when he did, the breaths came with a shudder. "Sit, child," he said, his voice barely a whisper. "I've much to say, and little time to say it."
She hurried to sit beside him and he leaned close to whisper in her ear. "Forgive me, child. There is too much to say, and I have used up all my strength. I know of no other way." Then he breathed out; one, long, unbroken gasp that left his lungs empty.
Images raged through Brigid's mind. Battles, feasts, ancient songs. There were images of people in antique clothing going about their daily lives. Others of crowded courts with men and women finely dressed. Drunken reveries in feast halls and in woodland glades. Visions of earthen mounds, the gateways to another world.
She scrambled to her feet, her mind ablaze, and ran to the door, stumbling out into the corridor where she fell into Jason's arms.
The immortal held her upright for a second, and then picked her up. Looking briefly in the direction she had come from, he saw Nuada's body slumped over the arm of his chair. Silently, Jason carried Brigid to his own room and placed her on the bed. He left her there briefly to make arrangements for the old king's funeral, and then returned to stand watch over her as her body twitched and shook on the bed.
The name on her hero ID was Leannan. Jason had arranged it, somehow, through MAGI. It was kind of a joke, and she rather liked the it. Presenting the card to one of the Vigilants on duty, she smiled. It felt good to be without the glamour for the first time in her life.
"I'm Leannan," she said, her voice full of confidence, "I believe I'm expected."
Disclaimer: The above may be humerous, or at least may be an attempt at humour. Try reading it that way.
Posts are OOC unless noted to be IC, or in an IC thread.