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.

"I am a human now Penny. They are my kind and they need my help."

"You are beyond them Brendan."

"What do you want Penny," he said flatly. "You seldom want to chat about humans or anything else quite frankly, so I'm presuming you're under orders or want something from me."

"He wants to see you."

"I assume you mean Krandor."

She nodded.

"And why should I bother?"

"Because he'll kill you if you don't."

Brendan's expression darkened and the runes on his staff of office flared in the shadows. "Is he feeling brave little faerie?"

"Don't shoot the messenger Bren." Her wings fluttered nervously for a second and she smoothed her tight fitting outfit, plucking at a non-existent speck of dust. "He wants you to come and see him. He has something he wants you to see, he says he has something that can help you fight the Wraith Lord and his minions."

The druid looked at her, noting the tension around her eyes. "What else Penny, you're hiding something?"

Conversation was interrupted, as a nearby door opened with a crash casting a yellow oblong of light into the alley, music pounding into the street. They stepped deeper into the shadows and waited until the man had gone, the door swinging closed behind him and returning the music to its thudding prison.

"It stinks here." She wrinkled her nose in distaste and looked into his eyes once more. "You need to see him Brendan," she whispered.

"So, what is this 'something' he has, some sort of Talisman?"

"It's an old magic, from the time before humans."

"Dark?"

Penny looked around the alley and swallowed, her wings flittering nervously again and nodded.

"And Krandor thinks he can control it?"

"He said if you could control the staff, he could control the - " She stopped herself and gulped. "I can't say any more. You need to come and see him. Please." Her eyes pleaded with him and he reached out a calloused hand to touch her cheek.

"Okay Pen, I'll come. Which way to Under London have I been given permission to use."

"The Collector's house."

"Bloody hell fire and flames." Brendan raised his eyes heavenwards. "Krandor likes to make me suffer, doesn't he?"

~~~

Brendan reached for the ornate iron door knocker and smacked it against the metal plate embedded in the oak door. The iron gargoyle opened its eyes and looked at him darkly, the ring of the knocker held like a weapon in its fist. "Who the hell are you?"

"I the hell am Brendan, druid. Krandor has summoned me by faerie." He pointed to Penny who sat on his shoulder. "Who the hell are you?"

"Her, I know and trust. You're a pain in the backside."

"Your opinion is irrelevant gargoyle, now tell Tam I'm here or I'll stick this somewhere dark and surprising." Runes glowed on the staff and the figure pinned to the door grimaced rustily.

"Alright, alright. No need to go all dark druid on me. Grumpy bastard, aren't you?"

"I believe that's what they call the pot calling the kettle black, now open the bloody door."

"Grumpy, grumpy, grumpy..." muttered the knocker as the door squeaked open.

"How lovely!" Exclaimed a voice from inside. "Come in, come in. It's grand to see you both, it's not often I get company these days. Not since Arthur was installed." The old man danced from foot to foot like a child needing the toilet, his excitement obvious. "Lovely to see you, oh dark druid." He glanced at Brendan's shoulder where the faerie was sitting. "And little Penny too, how delightful. Cup of tea Brandon, or perhaps a wee dram?"

"You have a door knocker called Arthur?" Brendan shook his head. "It's a little early for a whisky for me Tam, I just need to see Krandor."

The Collector shut the door behind them with a muffled "grumpy pillock" from Arthur, and motioned them into a nearby room, following as they edged past piles of oddity stacked floor to ceiling in the hall.

"Well I'm afraid you'll have to wait a few minutes, he's dealing with something. Please take a seat and make yourselves comfortable. I don't think he'll be long, as he's keen to see you. It's been a long time Brendan, we've missed you in the Under halls..."

Brendan sat carefully on an old chaise-longue which groaned under his bulk, and looked around. The Collector's house was an odd hodge-podge of strangely shaped rooms which appeared to interconnect outside the normal planes of space. Objects, trinkets and weapons were strewn around the rooms, and the Collector bustled back to his workbench in the corner of the room, his attention immediately back on the object neatly disassembled on the bench in front of him.

"What on earth is this junk?" whispered Penny, waving an arm at the miscellaneous collection of artefacts. "It changes every time I come here, but it seems such a random collection of bits and bobs."

"I suspect it all has a use somewhere," said Brendan. His gaze fell on what looked like a butter churn on which leant a badly stuffed aardvark. "Well, maybe."

"Everything is of use somewhere, or occasionally somewhen," said the old man who was bent over an intricate piece of glassware. "Take this device for example. When working correctly it can annihilate a room full of people in an instant, but up until recently it was used for heating water as it developed a fault some five centuries ago. I’ve almost fixed it now, but don’t worry I won’t let Arthur have it.

"The stuffed Aardvark there was the personal pet of an ancient Elven king and is rumoured to possess healing properties, although between you and me I think it's just badly stuffed and falling apart. But, just occasionally, my little minions bring in something particularly interesting -"

The sonorous sound of a gong interrupted him and he looked up from the device, turning his pale eyes on Brendan, " - as you are about to find out. Be careful Brendan, the Lord Krandor is in a curious mood of late..."

“I’ll be back later for the whisky Tam, it's been too long since we sat down together and talked of nonsense over a good malt.”

“I look forward to it dear boy, I believe I have a two hundred year old Islay around here somewhere. Guard yourself Brendan, things have changed.”

A door swung open and Brendan lifted himself from the couch to walk into the gloom of the stone stairway beyond. He cast a last glance back at the worried face of the Collector as Penny fluttered in behind him, and they descended into the hidden city below.

End of Part 1