Darrell Ó Coileáin was a fairly normal young man with nothing especially outstanding about him. His looks would be considered about average, dark brown eyes, brown hair, well proportioned and masculine face that wasn't good or bad enough to make him stand out His physique was a little above average as years of sports had kept him in good shape. Reasonably good at studying he was told he had a good head on his shoulders. The only thing that stuck out about him at all was the noticeable Irish accent that he just couldn't help coloring his words. Accent aside there was nothing outstanding or remarkable about him until he went to the mall.
He had driven his parent's spare car and had to park all the way in the outermost parking spot. Completing the average image of he was wearing a white t-shirt, blue jeans, and sturdy looking shoes. The mall, he noted, was absolutely packed to the brim with people. The only spot available felt like a mile from the large glass doors. Not wanting to waste time he jogged tot he entrance and was just starting to warm up when he reached the door.
A chill washed over him as the glass doors slid open. For a moment he thought it was the AC hitting him but once he stepped inside it didn't feel particularly cold. Unable to pinpoint the cause for the phenomenon he dismissed it with a shrug and started shopping. He had been recruited onto the practice squad for the Bears, his college baseball team, and felt motivated to get some of his own gear. Going through the sporting goods he tried out a few gloves and settled on mat black Louisville Slugger.
After the boredom of waiting in line, he paid for both items and stuffed the receipt into his pocket. On his way back out of the mall, he stopped in the bathroom, wanting to splash some water on his face. He still felt a tingling tension at the back of his neck, the unpleasant tension of something fundamentally wrong was about to happen. The second the bathroom door swung closed the lights dimmed and he froze in place.
A sudden blue glow snapped to life with an audible hiss and he looked down, seeing strangle lines shifting and morphing into odd unfamiliar shapes under his foot. The lines pulsed up toward him he blinked his eyes, trying to regain his sight as darkness swallowed him. Adrenaline surged through him as he found himself falling, his flailing arms finding nothing to catch himself on he simply tumbled helplessly through the void.
Sharp pain speared through both of his shoulders and his legs snapped straight suddenly as a massive
something caught him by the shoulders and stopped his decent in a violent jerk. A hoarse scream tore out of him as massive talons dug into him, piercing muscle and hooking under bone to ensure he was properly caught. His sense of time distorted as the pain consumed his every thought, his blood slick hands prying weakly at the smooth talons until he was abruptly released. All at once light returned and he crashed face-first into the most peaceful looking field he had ever seen outside of museum art and internet pictures.
Clutching at his shoulders he rolled onto his back and stared up the bright blue sky. Even though the pain he was grateful to see it as it offered a small sense of normality.
"Ah recall askin' ye to be gentle." A charming female voice called out in complaint, growing louder with each word as she approached. A woman with dark red hair and soft green eyes leaned over him, mild concern creasing her brow.
"Don't ye worry none," She urged as she crouched down, tapping him lightly on the forehead with a dainty fingertip. Warmth rolled through his whole body and the pain vanished within moments.
Darrel popped up off the grass and stood, his eyes sweeping the scenery. A large grove of trees surrounded the large picturesque field, but apart from the woman and an impossibly large raven, there were no distinguishing features to hint at his location.
"Where, am I?" He asked, wiping his bloody hands off on the once white shirt before he prodded at his shoulders, finding only smooth skin where once there were ragged holes. The answer came from the raven that was just abruptly
not. The giant shiny black feather bird shrank into the figure of a naked woman with black hair that seemed to absorb sunlight.
"Tír na nÓg," The once-crow's voice was sharp and cold, her expression distinctly put-off.
"I'm in... Irish heaven?" He just couldn't keep up with any of these, too much weird shit hitting him at once.
"Feck, I'm dead aren't I." Then his eyes snapped to the black-haired woman as a bone-chilling thought came to him.
"Oh shite, yer The Morrigan." His grandfather was the only one in the family who held to the old religion, but he had made two very firm points that stuck with him. One was that the Tuatha Dé Danann, the old gods, were mostly alright but to make no deals from their fairy servants. Second, and most importantly, was to not insult The Morrigan.
"Don't you worry, the rough landing was by necessity." The redhead walked toward him and lined herself up with Morrigan.
"I'm Brigid, and I'm sorry we had to meet like this young Ó Coileáin." It was strange to hear his name pronounced perfectly, years of listening to people butcher it felt worth it to have her speak it so smoothly.
"Thank ye, thank ye both!" He hurriedly shot out thanks, just because he didn't want to have either of them angry at him.
"Your fate has been severed, Ó Coileáin. You have been stolen from me. I am greatly displeased." The Morrigan's eyes burned with rage, wisps of dark smoke licked off her nude figure, and he suddenly found it difficult to breathe.
"I know she can be frightenin' but she's angry for ye, not at ye. We did not call ye here, yer not dead, someone has rather literally stolen ye." Brigid supplied and he found he could breath again as her warm aura counteracted the dark wisps of smoke.
"How can I be stolen, I'm standing right here." The weight of the situation was still stifling him but for the moment he felt safe, right up until it sounded as though he would be snatched away again. It was more frightening than death when those two were standing an arm's length away, their presence at once intimidating and deeply comforting.
"I am delaying yer theft, sadly, it cannot be stopped." Seemingly calming her anger after it frightened him Morrigan was no longer
utterly terrifying, but her mere presence was still intimidating.
"This will not go unanswered. I will teach ye how to punish the thieves in my place.""An' I'll teach ye how to keep all yer bits together while doin' it." Brigid said with a bright smile, a smile that teased him for centuries.
Darrell Ó Coileáin woke to the sound of gasps, his steel blue eyes blearily scanning his surroundings. Cloaked figures encircled him as he sat with his back against the skill of a massive deer, it's bleached white bones and antlers jutting dangerously behind him. Underneath him was soft sand that shifted quietly as his legs stretched out, a roaring yawn rolling out of him. Spots of red gradually formed in the sand and the scent of blood drifted up to his nose.
"That was thoughtful of you." He complimented a figure in his imagination, the visage giving off a dark protective presence. Though he wanted to search for the figures name in his muddled memory he had no time.
"What is this? He is no demon, what went wrong?" A voice cried out angrily while Darrel looked up. He was in a large cave with an opening directly overhead, letting in a shaft of light that didn't reach the edge of the sand. Panic swept through the cloaked figures as he stood, dusting sand off jeans that had faded from blue to white. He felt no discrepancy with the change, something about it just made sense. Reaching behind him he picked up the Louisville Slugger he remembered just purchasing and gripped it tightly.
"Demon or not it should still obey us, command it to reveal it's power so we can view it's worth!" The man nearest him shouted this out, spittle flew from his lips in his crazed efforts to control the small group that was quickly losing control of itself.
"Kind of pointless considering what comes next though." He commented to himself as he stepped off the sand, his bare feet scrapped by the cave's rough floor. One of them was shouting out a command like there was an unruly dog nearby, but it was hard to make out through the vicious crack that rang out as his bat smashed the skull of the nearest thief.
"You stole me!" Darrel's voice ripped from his throat viciously, his eyes wide and insane with rage he barely even remembered the reason for. Centuries of daily training, bloodthirsty ancient combat beat into him until it was ingrained in his bones, and every time he thought to give up he heard a voice reminding him,
"They stole you from me!" His bat was pristine when he had lifted it off the sand, but half a dozen pained screams and vicious cracks had turned it into a gory mess. It hadn't mattered what knives they brandished, or the projectiles that hissed toward him, he beat them down one by one without mercy, giving up flesh to crush bone.
The cave system he was brought to was smaller then he expected, little more than one downward tunnel that ended in the larger section where the ceiling had been dug out for sunlight. A series of holes had been dug into the natural tunnel and in each was a bed, a few provisions, and water. It seemed the people he dubbed thieves had their own little den. Searching for useful supplies he snatched up some food and flasks of water, carrying them in his shirt until he reached the last room. By far the largest and with the most provisions.
Finding the only things worth taking he gathered everything on the floor. A dozen dried fruits, four hard bread, two wine-skins, two flasks of water, and a long dark red robe that would cover up the blood on his white clothes. Looking around for something to carry it with he found a rugged leather satchel. He was surprised to find that the satchel didn't just carry some of what he had taken, he stuffed it all in with room to spare. Other than growing heavy there seemed to be no outward change. Out of curiosity, he shoved the bat inside and it miraculously vanished into it.
Darrel found it strange that he didn't question the phenomenon. He simply slung the satchel over his shoulder and trekked out of the cave wearing a dead thieves red robes. A long walk winding through the woods ahead of him he considered how he had reacted to everything so simply. He woke up and instinctively knew the people who surrounded him needed to die and had acted on it. He felt no guilt, none of that gut-wrenching nausea that he heard about when it came to taking a life. Images of a thousand battles flickered through his mind and gradually an image formed. Words repeated over and over again rose to the surface. He had been stolen, he would be given skills to punish and survive.
"I have plenty of time." He convinced himself, smiling at the sight of civilization ahead. Exiting the thick threes grove of trees he was greeted by large Gothic stone walls and a large dirt road that leads to it.
I'm really going to miss music. Heaving a sigh he jogged out onto the road and kept going until he was stopped just outside the gate. A large imposing soldier stood with one hand on his weapon and the other jutting out in the universal stop sign, weary tension clear in his every movement.
"Halt cultist, you're kind aren't welcome here!"This just ain't my day." He sighed, shoulders slumping, the satchel sliding toward the ground.