Flights of Fantasy - The Pub Fantasy Smackdowns

Dark Druid - Part 1

This story is my entry for the first round of the Fantasy Smackdown Started in The Pub in Oct 2013.

Round 1 - Urban Fantasy

(based on pictures in the slideshow on the right, full guidelines for the round are posted at the end of the story)

 

Dark Druid

Brendan stood alone in the crowd. Tall, solid, unmoving; a dark cloaked rock standing menhir-like in the tide of London streaming around him as the morning mist swirled around his feet in cloying damp. Humanity: for the most part. Despite the hubbub of the commuter morning, the traffic, the fumes and muted conversation of the early day, the darkness still hung like a smog to those who could see with different eyes.

He reached out and grabbed a businessman with his free hand, fingers making a fist in the lapels of the Italian suit. Snarling epithets at him, the man tried to pull away but was drawn in close, ignored by the crowd who flowed on around them. Runes flashed red in the staff clenched in his other hand, and a word of power was spoken. The man sagged against the druid who supported him for a moment, and the runes increased in intensity. There was a scream of pain, audible only to the dark clad man standing solid in the crowd, as the wraith lifted as mist to the sky and the man jerked upright, a look of surprise and confusion plastered across his face.

"What the hell is going on, who are you?"

Brendan steadied him as he regained his feet and dusted down his lapels, straightening the crumpled fabric. "I think you had a brief turn sir, might be worth calling in sick today."

"Oh, er, yes. Thank you." Looking puzzled for a moment, the pin-striped figure nodded his thanks and moved away into the bustling grey streets, casting one last look back at the solitary figure who was already scanning the crowd.

"One down, several thousand to go."

Anyone watching would have seen the druid move with purpose through the crowd, his features set, eyes intent on things only he could see. An old lady, a child, a workman clad in hard hat and jeans, a young woman dressed to the nines, a couple fighting... all were released. And anyone with the senses of fae would have noted the wraiths rising screaming from the touch of the druid to dissipate like smoke into the ether… and there is always someone watching.

A few hours later, Brendan stepped into a darkened alley away from the crowd, the pallid sun still unwilling or unable to fully penetrate the narrow lane and its deep fogged shadows. Runes glowed red in the neon edged shadows. Signs advertising every form of debauchery known to man and fae alike clustered the darkened portals, and the smell of waste, decay and lust swamped his senses as he paused to check his surroundings. A party rumbled bass beats through the wall, and something skittered away across the cobbles as he leant into the shadows. Tracing the runes with a gloved hand he frowned, unease mantling his mind, his eyes straining to pierce the gloom.

"You seemed to be having fun out there this morning Brendan." The light, childish voice came from above and he glanced up as a diminutive figure fluttered down from her perch on a nearby chimney to stand on the end of his staff of office, smirking as she curtsied.

"I'm just doing my job," he muttered. "Nice to see you Penny, you're looking well."

"Don't you ever get tired of ministering to these petty humans?" she said stepping off her perch to drift to the ground. Her translucent wings folded against her shoulders as she assumed more human proportions, and she looked him in the eye, her head tilted in question.