[M] The Once and Future King

[Tolvo]

1AD, June 1st

There was a rustling of leaves. Branches on the ground broke as a white stag leaped through the Fadewoods. All around the hunter of the mighty creature was green and brown. Above the canopies of the trees blotted out the very skies. What laid beyond them he'd never seen. There was no light in this place, yet he could always see. It lacked air, yet he could breath. The mystical woods of the spirits had many secrets hidden about it. Slumbering nearby Aedan spotted a creature resembling an Elf mixed with a deer. This was not his hunt today.

Instead he tracked the white stag as it fled. This led him into deep woods with an unnatural darkness. Something caught his eyes. A grove with great stone pillars. They looked to be supporting an old roof with carvings on it of the Tuath De. The ancient ones who once ruled in both in the Wild Woods and who mingled with spirits. A grand temple laid beyond the entrance with vines and moss covering it. Much of the structure was fractured and worn with time. Yet time never seemed to pass in the Fade.

[Evening Rain]

Áedán kept close to the ground, his eyes piercing the gloom that permeated this area of the faewilds with ease. As his prey leaped away and pranced through the forests, the hunter gave a quiet curse. Hunting with nothing but a pair of swords was a difficult art to master. It required stealth so precise that one would need to meld with the woods themselves. Fortunately, that was a talent that Áedán possessed. Carefully stalking the tracks, the Fadewalker let the woods themselves screen his passage, mask his footfalls with their own ambient sounds.

He passed a sleeping spirit, and made a quick gesture in the air. A symbol of luck.

The further he went through the shadowed boughs, the more intently Áedán felt the thrill of the hunt. This was his home, his element...

And then something unexpected caught his eye. The woods held many secrets indeed, and Áedán slipped like a shadow from the path of his quarry to stop and stare at the ancient structure before him. Sights like this were rare, even in the most primal parts of the forest. They indicated unsolved mysteries.

The elf drew Dagnír and slashed the air in a curt movement as he glanced warily across the structure. This place might be an illusion, or a trick. The unseelie delighted in playing such games... but if this was really a place of the Tuath De... who knows what treasures might lay within?

Áedán bowed his head in respect of the ancient place, and stepped cautiously into the temple, feeling vines crunch beneath one supple boot. What secrets do you hold?

The elf made his way forward, ever vigilant. Ready to skewer a bogart on the point of his sword, if such a thing became necessary.

[Tolvo]

Aedan approached a fountain in a broken and despondent courtyard. It had been grown over and was more of a wild garden. Flora was everywhere and there was a distinct scent of acorns. Trees had sprouted through much of the stone pathways. Small statues of short figures with pointed hats were cracked and had lost their colors long ago. On the ground was a simple iron sword that looked mundane. It's blade was eternally stained red. The fountain depicted a horned creature biting into a baby, with water spouts to simulate the blood. Now it was dry. Beside it kneeling was a creature made of branches, bark, roots, and leaves. A spriggan, an old looking one at that. Past the fountain were the collapsed remains of an upper courtyard and a large door broken off of its hinges and the opening laid bare leading further inside.

[Evening Rain]

Áedán paced warily around the fountain, keeping a distance from the spriggan. Such creatures were usually friendly, especially to him, but he remained wary - in the event that this was all some trick of the eye.

"Dia dhuit, forest spirit." His voice was serious and confident. "What is this place? What vigil to you keep over these weathered stones, and the growth that lies within?"

The Fadewalker was somewhat troubled by the fountain, with its eerie statues and the stained red sword. Such objects were perhaps cursed. He had no desire to inspect them further.

[Tolvo]

The spriggan turned to reveal a mangled face. Its eyes were lopsided, from its temples grew some sort of fungus. This thing was smaller than Aedan, it wore nothing but its own flesh and life. There was a forlorn feeling to its words. "Fadewalker. You shouldn't be here. It isn't time yet." It clicked with its teeth which resembled halves of acorns, their tips singed with fire. "Oh no you shouldn't. But it's already too late isn't it. He knows you're here." It motioned towards the statue. "Don't speak the Horned One's name here." The creature held up a finger to its raw lips. "Shhhh." There was a dry cackle from the spriggan. "Oh my, he still slumbers. So much time. Oh Fadewalker, what have you wrought on humanity?" It motioned to the large doorway. "He waits."

[Evening Rain]

Áedán held his ground, but the foreboding in the spriggan's words caused the elf to feel a keen sense of trepidation. The Horned One. That could only mean Kernunous. A bloodthirsty god, indeed. Elvish legend told of his merciless hunts, attacking and destroying human settlements and butchering all those in his path. Not the sort of god that Áedán felt a great deal of kinship with, if truth be told.

The elf put his hands carefully on the hilts of his swords and he nodded once to the spriggan in thanks for her cryptic message. He walked across the courtyard calmly, contrasting his mind that raced with adrenaline and a crawling sense of imminent danger.

The elf spent a moment investigating the doorway, understanding the danger of thresholds and looking for the telltale signs of spirit magic. At last satisfied, Áedán slipped through the doorway and into the courtyard. Whatever it was that awaited him, he was ready for it, and so were his blades. Was this fate? The strange series of events suggested that perhaps... perhaps it might be.

[Tolvo]

Through the doorway was a place with high walls. To the left was a great hole in the structure through which a massive skeleton laid. The room was full of remains, of Elves. The room was circular with steps leading from the doorway down towards the center. It was a form of amphitheater, rows upon rows of skeletons were piled throughout the room with rusted weapons and armor among them. Each was stained with blood like the sword outside. This place was one of a massacre of some sort. At the very center was a large stone with a body laying against it. The body looked fresh, and held a massive sword of silver. It was impaled through the heart into the stone. The blade's handle was familiar. Something about it called to Aedan. He could hear it, a low humming that grew stronger the closer he got.

[Evening Rain]

Áedán's breath was taken away momentarily by the carnage laid out before him. Elves had died here. Scores of them, perhaps hundreds. Solemn in aspect, the Fadewalker approached the stone in the centre of the room, with the fallen elf still fresh propped up against it. Was this man responsible for whatever had happened here? Was he connected to the Horned God? His pensive gaze took in the huge skeleton that had crashed through one of the walls here. Likely a fomoire. The ancestors of the giants had once waged war on the elves of old.

This place... it was strange. The air was charged with magic and strange sensory ripples that made it feel as if the Fadewalker were standing on a cusp between worlds. He knew that feeling all too well.

Here, the lines between spirit and mortal were blurred. And Áedán felt that the answer lay with the fallen elf impaled against stone.

As the blade called to him, the Fadewalker stepped forward and inspected the body, glancing over every detail of corpse and weapon, finally letting his fingers brush against the weapon's hilt as he sheathed Arwen.

[Tolvo]

The body looked to be wearing armor of the Tuath De. The craftsmanship was impeccable. While everything else had rusted the armor and silver blade were in pristine condition. A crown sat atop the body's head. It was very familiar, Aedan had seen it depicted in carvings of the rulers of the Tuath De. It held in place long gray hair that dropped down the body's shoulders and back. The face of the body was dirty with ash that seemed ingrained in the flesh. It made his face look strange, with his features hard to make out. He looked like a very old Elf with wrinkles marking his skin. His blade was thick and gripped firmly in hand, knuckles white from the power of the grasp. As Aedan grasped the blade the weapon again called to him. It vibrated, and was held in place by some form of magic.

[Evening Rain]

Áedán felt the weapon's call. The impulse was strong. To seize its hilt and pull it free. The Fadewalker sheathed Dagnir, and walked quietly around the body, marvelling at the craftsmanship of the armour, the ashen-coloured beautiful hair that fell far down the elf's back. The crown, the features... this was no ordinary warrior. He was an ancient king of the Tuath De. Or so it seemed. This crown... would be a relic of great marvel and inspiration for the wild elves. But that was not his purpose for coming here. Áedán could sense it. His destiny lay with the sword. It lay with the body itself.

He gripped his fingers tightly around the greatsword's hilt, tugging slightly to test its resistance...

and it flew from the body, as ash spurted like blood from the wound it had left.