#thesluagh

Ejvandr suppressed a disappointed sigh as the sound of footsteps grew closer. He hoped for a moment they would continue past him, but that hope was dashed when they stopped a few feet from his dinghy. Was there nowhere he could go to simply be alone?

“This is a private dock.”

Dennis gazes forlornly at the tray, dotted with mounds of sticky mess.

“They were supposed to be Christmas tree cookies, not sure how I cocked it up so badly.”

I had to separate this from the rest due to its unique nature within the Unseelie Court. The Sluagh are the Underfolk, the Wyld Hunt, the Host of Unforgiven Death; they are the spirits of the unrestful dead. This took me by surprise when Pa explained it to me as a child because they are said to be worse than the most dangerous fae within the Unseelie Court. Humans have seen them as evil sinner souls who are not allowed into heaven, hell, nor the underworld, making them maddened outcasts of the dead.

The Sluagh are their own court. A current update of their state of mind is that they are mainly ruled by madness. Their royalty has been missing for a very long time and it has only been recently that they have been dealt with. I mean dealt with as in political wise, it used to be kill on sight for these fae due to the Seelie Court seeing them as natural enemies and the Unseelie Court being highly unsure of their ability. They are still considered carefully when being dealt with due to their deadly nature.

Their system of hierarchy is strongly placed upon their power and are often caught in bloodmatches as of late. They take these matches to the extreme and often fight to the death. This was also how they solved their issues, with violence. Though they do this they flock in groups and carry out their destructive ways flying about together. Each one was recruited into the Sluagh for war or the Wyld Hunt.

The Wyld Hunt:

I feel I should explain this more for background purposes. The Wyld Hunt was a cry after February 6th and was said to be all black as the members raced across the sky on their bucks and horses after their strange eyed dogs. It was something of an international get together of the Fae across the European continent of the most adept Fae. It was a form of Olympics for Faeries.

Many tales of the hunt have been focused on the northern parts of Europe and have much been intertwined with Norse mythology as have much of the other members of the Fae Courts. Their leader had many different faces, many of them being gods of the Vikings and their like. However the most notable face claim would be Odin and it is more agreed upon in many northern countries.

As in most countries with the influence it was Odin, other countries had other figures leading this hunt. In Wales, the leader with Gwynn ap Nudd who is a well known face among the Fae. Pa said he hasn’t been seen in a long while so he’s becoming somewhat of a legend with his insanity driving orders. In Southern England, it was believed to be Herne the Hunter or Herlathing

“I don’t wanna,” Robyn whined, turning onto his side and pressing his face to the grass. “The earth loves me!”

Robin was dead.

He knew it just as well as he knew his name was Oberon. Just as well as he knew that the Puck was still alive.

Oberon huffed, donning simple leathers and a cloak the color of autumn leaves. One of these days he should get to carve a new headdress to replace the one he had lost when he had faked his death... The cloak felt naked without it.

He scowled.

Robin’s death had been overdue and there wasn’t any sort of malice behind that thought. That particular incarnation had been with him for quite some time--the longest, he thought, although he wasn’t sure, and had been, by far, the most obstinate of them all. It was a wonder no one hadn’t killed him earlier. It was a greater wonder it hadn’t been Oberon’s hand that finally ended him.

He couldn’t remember having to tug on the leash so much in the past.

But now there was a sense of freshness and wonder in the corner of his mind that belonged to the little trickster. Someone very young then.

He's wheeled into an empty room in a wheelchair. His arms, legs, and neck restrained tightly with leather straps, his mouth covered with a human muzzle.

He looks disheveled, a sheen of sweat, hair mussed, eyes red and crazed.

He wriggles, growls and hisses at the orderly pushing him, "Is this really necessary? You think I'm gonna bite you to death? I can hardly move my neck!"

He is ignored and left alone, waiting.