Lucky

Prologue

The man who called himself Lorcan, at least for the purposes of his current situation, tried the best he could to hide the fear that radiated throughout his entire body as he stalked the length of the open hall. It was a fear that he shouldn't have been feeling, thinking that curiosity, or even excitement, were more likely when considering all he had done to get to where he was.  But alas, it was fear he felt and not for the reasons he would have assumed.

The open hall was truly a massive room to be sure. The walls were made from old, grey brick and stone, stacked so high that Lorcan was forced to crane his neck upwards in order to see the domed roof – also made from the same grey stone and brick. Huge rounded colonnades lined the walls at intervals, and the only light to speak of came from flame-lit torches, nailed along the walls; although these were currently smothered by a dense fog, which only made the surroundings that much harder to see, and that much more ominous to be in. And everything, from the chipped tiled floor, to the walls, to the colonnades, and most likely the ceiling itself, was falling apart piece by piece.

As Lorcan stalked his way down the open hall, he tried to see where it was exactly that he was being led. The room was roughly the size of a football field, in both width and length, and with the fog that hung in the air so thick it was nearly suffocating, Lorcan was at a loss to see what exactly it was that awaited him at the end of the room... or who.

Sure, Lorcan had an idea as to what it might be that awaited him, but even he was still reluctant to believe it. And that was despite all he had seen and done to get to where he was. It was more than any other man, living or dead, had achieved. It was astounding, almost unbelievable. And who would have thought that Lorcan of all people would have been the one to do it.

Lorcan was a tiny man, standing at barely five feet in height, with shoulders so narrow that the dark trench coat he was wearing hung off him like a circus tent. Being in a room of this magnitude too only worked to make him feel even smaller than usual. He pushed the long, greasy black hair from out of his eyes as he again looked to the ceiling and the walls, gaping at the breadth of the space.

Feeling small and insignificant was a rather common feeling for Lorcan by now. That was why he had fallen in love with books rather than brawn. From a young age he was unable to join the bigger boys on the sporting field, discovering that it was his sharp mind that separated him. And it was in these books that Lorcan found his true passion, and one that would very soon make those years of torment and torture all the more worth it.  

He shook with anticipation as he continued to slink forward. There was a growing sense of excitement bubbling within that was so great it almost dowsed the fear. Soon he was going to make them all see. Soon everyone who had ever insulted or made fun would tremble.

But as much as this thought thrilled Lorcan, he still could not dispel the fear in full. It had been with him since he woke up at the entrance of the open hall without memory of how he had gotten there. And by the looks of things, the fear wasn't going to be going away anytime soon. The last thing he remembered was being in the hidden tomb of the ancient warrior and king, Cu Chulainn. The tomb was located in the north of Ireland, among the ruins of the ancient city of Murius. The city was thought to be lost, but since discovered by Lorcan. There he found the Sword for which he had been searching. He had unsheathed the Sword, a blinding light had poured from its blade...  and then he woke up here.

A cold shiver ran down his spine and he shook his head in frustration, determined to keep the fear from taking over. He was where he was because he had chosen to be. He had sought these... them out, and they had rewarded him for it. Or at least they would.

The fog that haunted the room was caused by a creature known as an Am Fear Liath Mor. It currently walked behind Lorcan, hidden in the haze and barely visible even though it was a mere two feet away. Everywhere that this beast went, it brought the thick, grey blanket of mist with it. This perpetual haze did more than blind its enemies too. Rather, it enveloped them in fear, doubt and horror. It was a disease in the way it suffocated without remorse; taking a hold and refusing to let go. There were men who were known to have suffered heart attacks and died on the spot simply from being in the very presence of an Am Fear Liath Mor.