Iomramhach-The voyage

by Sionnach 'Foxy' Lightfoot

I was born with an unhealthy amount of bad luck, I'm sure of it. How else can I explain why I was flung from one world where the worst that could happen is I'm late for the bus, to a place where death is following my shadow like a little lost lamb? Not to mention the fact that everything which is supposed to be make-believe suddenly walks, talks and treats me like a toddler.

1. The Water Way

Author's Note: I don't, under any circumstances, own the game World of Warcraft, its works, nor any other such related works/games/books. I make no profit from this story.

Also, please, please bear with me when it comes to updating. I'll write when I can and I'll continuously edit and re-write anything which doesn't: fit, seem correct, and is absolute **** or just doesn't seem to work in general. {This chapter took nearly a month and a half to write. I'll update when I can, and I definitely won't let this story die}.

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Chapter One: The water-way

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The harsh, hammering heat of the sun seared into my back. My arms ached in the heat. Not needing to glance down I knew from the sting that I'd been burned. Sure enough, when I looked down, an angry red coloured the already freckled skin.

I'd spent the better part of the day working out in the field. My job had been painting this ridiculously long fence. Liberal amounts of Dulux' darkest weather-resistant paint were splattered all over my clothes. My lower lip jutted out in a pout as I picked at the dried-in splotches on my patchy T-shirt.

'I probably should've worn those overalls I'd seen hanging in the garage, 'I thought as I picked at the holes in the fabric.

They would've provided some coverage, sure. However, when I'd inspected them I'd been much gladder to leave them in their dark and dusty corner. They'd been caked in dirt and the fabric had been stiff with what had smelled like sweat. Oil splatters and other fluids had stained the once dark blue to an unhealthy shade of blackish brown.

I'd shuddered to think at how long ago they'd been worn last, let alone washed. So I'd left them back to where they'd been previously and made do with what I had already.

With a roll of my shoulders I dipped my brush back into the bucket. Hopefully for the last time, I smacked it against the final post of the fence. Back and forth I swept it, taking extra care to dig the rough bristles into the cracks between the planks and under the splintering wood. It felt rather satisfying to see the sad, washed-out pallor be smothered in a coat of gloopy, chocolate coloured paint. I whistled through my teeth as I slipped back into the lulling motion of applying the colour.

With a final swipe, I placed the lid on the bucket, plonked the brush on top and let out a tired breath of relief. Gladly, I sat down for a few seconds, my legs akimbo on the parched ground below me. Reaching up, I removed my cap from my head and ran a dusty, paint-stained hand through my dark hair, which was already falling out of its ponytail.

Closing my eyes, I flopped backwards so I lay spread-eagled on the dry earth. Dust rose up in a cloud, nearly choking me. I coughed and flung a sun-reddened arm over my brow, lying for a few moments more.

'What do I have for tomorrow,' I wondered, closing my eyes and letting the sun scorch its way through my lids. 'There's that Outhouse with the leaky roof that needs fixing, the fence in the Fort Field needs more electric wire put onto it. We'll need to contact Old Mick and see about draining the new part of the bog…'

My thoughts trailed off as I relaxed in the warmth of the afternoon.

There was no sound but the harsh cacophony of crows in the beech trees at the other end of the field. The wind whispered as it swept through the leaves, bringing a momentary relief from the punishing sun.

I could feel the heaviness of sleep begin to creep up on me, slowing my thoughts and stilling my limbs. However a sudden thump behind me startled me awake. I froze, my eyes snapping open, relaxing when I saw, from the corner of my eye, a rabbit bound off somewhere to the left.

'I need to go,' I thought glumly.

My nose wrinkled as it was tickled by the stray hairs from my ponytail fluttering in the breeze. I grunted and sat up, a grimace tugging at my cheeks as I pushed myself to my feet. The miffed feeling was short-lived, however. Pride swelled in my breast as I surveyed the fruits of my hard day's labour.

'With the fence done I can move onto tackling the garden,' I thought to myself as I slogged back towards the yard.

Dust rose from the thirsty ground in the wake of my footsteps. I made my way slowly across the baked earth. The grass which had been lush and green only two weeks before had withered and died under the brutal heat from the sun.

It had come to the point where we were having to feed our cattle with hay because all other vegetation had quailed in the arid conditions.

A heatwave of this kind hadn't been seen for a good long while. My father, along with half of the country, weren't looking forward to the rest of the summer. MET Éireann had promised even more dry spells and a few storms were on their way too.

'I really hope we get a shower of some sort today,' I squinted up at the dirty grey sky, 'It'd do a world of good.'

I reached the gate leading into the yard, quickly stopping by the water trough. I nodded when I noticed it was full of water. Reaching out, I gently pushed down on the buoy which was connected to the pump and grunted in satisfaction as water trickled in from the pipe.

'Good,' I clambered over the gate, 'they haven't broken it again.'

Those bulls would be the death of me, I swear, if they're not humping the life out of the poor heifers then they're charging around like...well, bulls and destroying another part of perfectly innocent fencing.

It was only yesterday when my dad kicked me out of bed at four in the morning because the little feckers had broken out of the Bog Field and gone rampaging down the road to the Williams'.

I had the wonderful job of rounding them all up, getting stuck more than once in a bog hole, fixing the fence, nearly drowning in the French drain and to top it all off, one of the working dogs I had with me, the dopey Collie with the funny ear, decided that it was a great idea to go pheasant hunting all the way out into the undrained part of the bog. Guess who had to go and dig him out of the hole into which he'd fallen? That's right, yours truly.

On the bright side, I had it all done by breakfast.

A small 'parrup' by my ankles brought me back to the present as I set about cleaning the brush off and putting the paint back where it belonged. I squatted down and found the turpentine sitting under a rusted feeding trough and filled one of the many jars with it.

Don't ask me why we keep stuff like this under here. I tried to tidy all of it away in the old house one time where we kept the rest of the equipment, but my dad threw a thousand blue fits and so I just left the stuff back where it was.

"Hello Wixie," I greeted the green-eyed feline, tickling her behind the ears, "what are you up to?"

Her only answer was a sneeze and a bump against my hand. I smiled. She followed me as I hauled myself to my feet to put the bucket of paint into the old house. My father had no qualms whatsoever about paint being stored in here.

I pushed open the rickety door, the smell of dust, onions and mould hitting me, along with another smell I associated with cold, dark places. I stood there, stock still for a few seconds, as my eyes adjusted to the cool gloom of the building.

It was a two storey house, the main room connecting to a southern and northern bedroom via two very narrow corridors. To my direct left was a doorway, now devoid of a door, leading into what would have been a sitting room. It was currently being used to store empty feed bags, old rings of barbed wire and various other junk that my dad had no wish to get rid of. Directly to my right, the narrow, steep stairs were falling apart from woodworm, decay and the weight of an old plough which was unceremoniously plonked onto it.

I stepped forwards, my feet scuffing against the cracked flagstones. I had to duck my head to avoid the onions hanging from the rafters. Beside the staircase, to the left, and covering nearly all of the kitchen wall was a huge fireplace. Stained by soot and still full of ash, both recent and ancient, we'd used it to burn rubbish before the Waste Management Regulations were implemented in 2009.

I remember watching my Nana, my mother's mother, throw all sorts onto the fire. It was especially enjoyable during the wintertime. I'd sit with a cat in my lap and she'd tell me stories in the warm, orange glow of the flames. I smiled sadly at the memory, wrapped up in a blanket of nostalgia for a moment.

The old skillet and pans still hung from the railing, just below the mantelpiece. A worn cusheen chair sat looking woeful in the corner beside a table which was covered in tools thrown on willy-nilly. The paint went under said table and I turned and walked back out of the building before I started to clean the place up.

"Dad really needs to get that sorted," I grumbled to myself as I started up the weathered trail towards the house, Wixie at my heels, her tail in the air. "If he doesn't do anything about it within the year, I'm calling in a skip."

My grumpiness didn't last too long. I cheered up somewhat as I hopped over the stile and into the garden, only to feel annoyance rise up in me again at the sight of how abysmal it actually was. At the moment it looked as though the entire place hadn't been a part of a lived-in house for years. The bottom of the garden, where I was now, was supposed to be filled with small fruit bushes and a few apple trees.

The bushes were covered in dead grass, the trees were barely saplings and there was only one shrub which looked like it had been remotely taken care of but had dried and withered to nothing in the sun. Further on, I'd planted some rose bushes before I'd left for University.

That wasn't the smartest idea, considering the fact that the only one able to look after them properly, i.e. me, had up and left for Maynooth.

I felt very sad as I looked at their dead, shrivelled remains. It wasn't entirely the fault of my parents about everything dying this time. The weather was a key factor in this but they hadn't bothered to water them at all.

I felt like marching in and giving them an earful but I sighed and shook my head. Things were tense enough between all of us already that I didn't need to stir the waters any more with silly accusations.

'Besides,' I looked down, watching Wixie's black fur shimmer in the blinding sun, 'it's not like they'd do anything for me now. Not after what happened in recent months.'

I continued through the garden until I made it up to the back door. I meandered over to the boiler house to put my boots away and retrieved my worn runners. Wixie's needle-like claws dug into my shirt and pricked my skin, causing me to wince as she raced up my back to perch on my shoulder. I chuckled, scratching her under the chin, causing her to purr and nearly fall off because she went all boneless, the pleasure making her go floppy.

The dogs started barking and howling inside the minute they heard the rattle of the doorknob. I pulled it open and was nearly smothered by four huge, furry, four-legged bodies.

"Down, down!" I yelled, nearly knocked over as Boró, our wolfhound, jumped up to lick my face. "Go on!" Scruff, the terrier growled as he pulled at my shoelaces, Muffin and Floss, our Border Collies, chased each other's' tails and whined, "Out, shoo!"

They bolted off, running through the dead garden to the huge lawn out at the front of the house where they went about doing doggie things and play fighting out in the dust.

I stepped over the threshold and into the door. Wixie hopped off my shoulder and disappeared inside the house. The kitchen was dark and stuffy. No wonder, the windows were closed, as were the blinds. I coughed as I stepped in, fumbling around in the half-light to open the windows and let in some air.

My mother was stirring a massive pot of soup over the stove, most likely to be prepared for tomorrow's lunch. She glanced my way when I came in and gave me a tired smile.

"Hi there love," she said, leaving the spoon in the pot and wrapping me in a hug. "Come here and sit down, I'll get you some tea."

I shook my head at her. "No mam, you sit down. I'll put the kettle on." I peeked down the hall into the living room where I could see my younger brother, Aaron and my sister, Clíona, sitting on the couch with their heads buried in their smartphones. I felt angry at first. They probably sat there all day, not lifting a finger to help around the house. It's what they usually did, even more so now that I was trying to get on better terms with my parents. That gave me a thought.

"I think Aaron and Clíona could do with a little work, don't you mammy?"

She chuckled and sat in the wicker chair closest to the window. "Oh Aoibheann," she shook her head, knowing exactly what I was attempting, "you little scamp."

I grinned as I threw the teabags into the pot and put the kettle on the hob.

"Me? A scamp?" I put on the most innocent face I could muster, "I just thought it isn't too healthy to be sitting down doing nothing all day, y'know." Mammy looked down uncomfortably, betraying the fact that they had indeed been doing naff-all for the entire day.

"Now, now," she recovered and gave me a stern look as I started to stir the pot, "why don't you go and clean yourself off and stop stirring things up? I'll call in Clíona and have her do that."

I gasped in mock outrage, clutching my chest, "I'm not fit to stir the soup she says," I said theatrically, placing the back of my hand dramatically over my forehead, "even though I offered, so I did. Me, being out in the fields all day, come in here to help my poor auld mother and she says I'm not fit to do it." It was nice to talk with her like this. She'd been more withdrawn and clipped with me ever since I came back.

I got a tap on the back of the head. I turned around and found my mother struggling to hold back a smile.

"Would you go on," she took the spoon off me, laughter clear in her voice, "go and have your shower and I'll have dinner ready." She motioned for me to get going.

I sighed and kissed her cheek. "Don't be doing all the housework now mammy," I said softly as I walked past her to go out the door, "they'll all get used to you being Nancy." Dad was certainly used to it.

She snorted and stirred once again. It'd just reached the foot of the stairs when I heard a loud;

"Clíona! Soup! Now!"

I snickered as she passed by, the look on her face was ridiculous. She looked as if the whole world was against her for interrupting her playtime on Facebook or Snapchat or Instagram. One of those Social Media websites anyway. I hurried up the stairs before she noticed me or she'd start chewing my ear off.

I found it very amusing reading her blogs on Tumblr. I only really made an account out of pure curiosity when I learned of its notorious reputation for being absolutely nuts. I wasn't disappointed. I mused along for a while until I caught a glimpse of Clíona's blog when she left her phone on in the kitchen one day and I just couldn't resist following her.

She had one of the most angsty, whiny, bratty collection of writings that I'd ever seen in my life. Not even those ridiculous Young Adult vampire-werewolf novels could compare. From the way she portrayed her family: I was an absolute nutjob; my older sister was her idol; she hated our older brother; my younger brother she thought was a little weird but she liked him because he now hated my guts; Dad was actually pretty decent in her eyes and Mam was just the run-of-the-mill submissive housewife.

As I wandered down the hall to my bedroom to pick out my things for a shower I glanced into my older brother's room. Fionn, named for his honey-blond hair, was engrossed in a computer game of sorts. I tapped on his door frame, wanting to say hello.

He turned in his swivel chair before muttering something into his headset and putting it down on the table. I was given the biggest grin as he opened his arms for a hug.

"Evie!" He still hugged as hard as ever, "How are you? When did you get back? Did everything go okay?" He noticed the wobble in my bottom lip, frowning, he asked, "what's wrong?"

I let out a shaky breath and disengaged myself from the hug. He stood there with his arms folded, waiting for my reply. "I got medically discharged," my voice wobbled, "the first week I did my ankle in and missed half of Phase One training. They let me stay for a second chance while I waited for my ankle to heal up but..." I bit my lip, my face darkening in frustration, "I went and screwed it up, same place, same injury, in the first week, again."

"Oh Aoibheann," Fionn gave me a tentative pat on my head, "Jaysus," he let loose a disbelieving laugh, "You need to slow down, you eejit. I'll bet you were going about those exercises all bull-headed, weren't you?" He snorted when I gave him a sheepish look. "You're worse than dad sometimes."

"I am not!" I gasped, "Our dad is the meanest man in Ireland. He's got a tight arse when it comes to money and a ham-fisted approach to just about everything. I'm nothing like that!" I glared when he snickered, giving me the 'oh yes you are,' look. "I'm not," I was adamant.

Fionn leaned down, "you're as bull-headed and stubborn as the old man," he said softly, bopping my forehead with his fist as I glared at him, "that's not a bad thing, just know your limits."

I grumbled under my breath, wandering over to his swivel chair and looking blankly at his computer. I knew he was right though and I hated it. He knew me too well.

"What game is this?" I asked, fiddling with the mouse and poking a few of the keys.

"It's an MMO my friend recommended," Fionn told me, grabbing my keyboard hand before I supposedly made his character swan-dive from a cliff. "Don't touch that, he was in the perfect position, you meddling fecker!"

Woah now, I was only messing. "What the heck is it," I got a glare, "he anyway?" I squinted at the screen, zooming in with the mouse wheel. Jeez, that lad looked odd. Big, blue with odd, glowing eyes and floppy Dobby ears.

"It's a Night Elf," I was told as Fionn pushed the chair back and stood in front of the screen. He folded his arms over his chest, now looking a little impatient. "You caught me in the middle of something y'know."

I craned my neck to have a peek as to what was going on in the screen behind him. I'd noticed when moving his character that a huge, big, colourful cat had been leaping around him and saying stuff in speech bubbles.

"What was it you were doing?" I questioned, spinning around in his chair, "and what's with the jumpy cat?" I cocked my head to the side, "not to mention it looks as if it's got more feathers on it than Rosie Dermot's pet parrot. What's that all about then?" I raised an eyebrow as the cat bounded into view again, "why the feck is it purple?" I heard Fionn let out a breath in a sigh.

"Look Aoibheann," he caught the chair, still spinning, and looked me in the eyes. He's got dad's grey eyes, whereas I got given these big green yokes. He also had, like everyone else in the family, skin that turned lovely and brown in the sun. I got landed with sunburn and freckles.

Heck, all I'd need now was curly red hair and I'd look more traditional than a Céilí dancer. Clíona looked more like Mam and dad, she had Mammy's blonde hair and Dad's brown eyes.

Aaron was the image of our father, big build, even at sixteen. He'd inherited dad's ash-blond golden curls as well. I wondered again if I was adopted. I felt so out of place to the rest of them.

I glanced back at the screen, coming out from my inner musings. The cat was sitting down and waving its paw around in a cute sort of way. I wonder if Wixie would do that.

"Aoibheann," he said again, pulling my attention back to him.

"Am I causing you trouble?" I playfully smirked, crossing my legs in the chair. "Do you want me to leave?" He nodded awkwardly, a dimple showing in his cheek as he crooked a corner of his mouth while scratching the back of his neck.

"Well..." he looked again at the computer. The cat was lying down. "I was kind of in the middle of something." I could tell by the look of him that he just wanted the rest of the afternoon to himself.

"Say no more," I graciously relieved the chair of my presence, giving him a hug and heading out of the door. "We'll talk some other time, eh?"

He nodded, smiling. "Yeah, sure."

"Alright then so," I crossed the threshold and was just about to close the door when he stopped it with his hand. "What?" I asked, noting a change in his expression.

"Welcome home." He said softly, his voice warm, his eyes sincere.

Those two words nearly did me in. I trembled, all the emotion I'd bottled up over the past three days suddenly bursting from where I'd kept them pushed down. My lower lip wobbled, my eyes stung. I started to whimper as the floodgates opened.

"Oh Fionn!" I cried, throwing my arms around him, tears beginning to flow. He seemed surprised at first but gently rubbed my back as I started the waterworks.

"Shhhh," he soothed, "It's okay, it's okay," he backed up until we were sitting on his bed, the game promptly forgotten, and "It's alright. I'm here. Just let it all out." Let it out I did.

Fionn and I, we're really close. Fionn was the one who stuck by me through thick and thin. He's the one who stuck by me when I was being mercilessly bullied in school and nobody believed me. He's the one who let me sleep in his bed because I was afraid of being taken by fairies in the middle of the night, thanks to Nana's fairy stories. I would turn to Fionn when dad came home from the pub in a bad mood. He was the one who used to take the beatings for me, although he couldn't take them all.

It was Fionn who loved me and continued to love me time after time. Even when I made the decision to join the Army, and not the Irish Army, the British Army. Even when my dad blew his top that I was 'betraying my country and the sacrifices made by the Braves of 1916,' though all that pomp with remembering the rebellion was going on last year. Everyone swallowed it, except for Fionn.

Fionn was the one who still treated me like Aoibheann, not some Loyalist defector like the rest of the family did. Even Mammy refused to talk to me the first week of training, not even when I told her about my ankle. When Dad heard about it his attitude was all, 'serves her right.'

So I sat there, on his bed, using his shoulder as a handkerchief. He understood completely how I felt. Dad was still treating me like dog shite, even worse than when I was a little girl, my younger siblings have swallowed all of his Nationalist-Republican propaganda and barely speak to me. Mammy still walks eggshells around me and I even caught her telling her friends, parents to some of the people I knew in school, how embarrassed she was over my choice.

I felt like I'd been kicked in the gut because her grandfather had been a sergeant in the Royal Veterinary Corps during the Second World War. I'd dug up all of the info about him myself and even found out that on both sides of the family, people had served in the First and Second Wars and had been treated worse than I have. I even found a box of medals from my great grandfather which had been hidden away.

So with all that in mind and the fact that I'd been home for the past two days and nobody bothered to welcome me except for Fionn, even though he'd holed up in his bedroom the entire time, well...that kind of spoke volumes without uttering a single word.

It was nearly half an hour before my tears finally ran out. "Sorry," I rasped, wiping my eyes furiously, I'd deposited half the Fort Field on him in dust as well as the river of tears.

"Hey, no problem Evie," he grinned at me as I stood up, walking to the door again, "you sound like a crow by the way."

"Caw caw." I said, half-heartedly, "Look out, I'm the Morrigan!"

He chuckled and shooed me out the door. I felt better after that long cry and the small talk that followed. His attitude to it was basically, 'if it's what you want, go for it and I'll love you all the same.

I didn't realise how much I'd missed Fionn. It was nice seeing him again, as per usual he'd been hiding in his room on his computer but that's just what he does. If he didn't do that he'd be tearing Dad a new one for treating me like I'd gone and murdered his mother and then shat in his breakfast.

I finally managed to pick up my stuff and had a good scrub, in a cold shower, padded back to my room wrapped up in my towels and threw on a change of clothes. I liked to wear camo trousers, you know the dark, well-made multipocket kind of stuff? Mammy hates it because I apparently look androgynous but it's what I like, so there. I feel rather uncomfortable in dresses or 'girly' clothes anyway because the stuff feels so fragile.

That's exactly what I wore now. Long, dark green knee-length shorts which doubled as trousers and had loads of nifty pockets. I threw on a printed T-shirt with a wolf's face on it. My hair, I slicked back into a long plait down my back. Frustration pursed in my lips as I observed the ringlets already beginning to form at my temples as my hair dried.

I glanced at the clock on my wall. Half-past five.

'Dinner in half an hour then,' I thought to myself as I moved to my bookcase under the window and pulled out a book. I settled down on my bed and began engrossing myself in the adventures of Harry, Ron and Hermione as they went about their second year of school in Hogwarts. At least, I tried to enjoy it. I was sadly interrupted. Not halfway through the first chapter and I was jolted out of the world of the book by a loud yell from my dad.

"AOIBHEANN! GET YER ARSE DOWN HERE NOW!"

'Oh crap,' I thought, tucking the book back in its home and padding out to the staircase, 'what the Hell is it now?'

"Yeah, dad?" I tentatively called out, stopping at the top of the stairs. He stood menacingly in the hall, the light from the front door rendering him into nothing more but a hulking silhouette with his arms crossed.

"I need to have a word with you," he growled out, Mam poked her head out of the kitchen but said nothing. "Outside," I didn't move, "Now!" He barked, shocking me.

I quickly obeyed, slipping on my boots by the door and stepping out into the blinding light. I fumbled a little with my shoelaces as I put them on. Seán Kelly was not a man you'd want to keep waiting.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I stepped out onto what remained of the front lawn to meet him. The dogs were lying in the shade of the hedge by the kitchen window. I could see Mammy, Aaron and Clíona peeking out.

"I got a phone call," he spat, his red face turning even darker, "guess who it was from, eh? Them British filth come to ask about whether or not yer coming back."

I said nothing. A sinking feeling in my stomach told me I knew where this was going. I knew exactly what he was going to say, and I was dreading the outcome.

"What about it?" I stuck my chin out, feeling stupidly confident. My pulse started going like a racehorse.

"What about it, she says," he took three steps towards me, looming and seething in anger, "what a fuckin' 'bout it she says! Your candidate support manager or Corporal, or whoever it was told me that you want to fucking go back!" He shoved his face into mine, poking me just under my collarbone.

"What." Poke.

"The fuck." Another poke, harder this time.

"Is that?" I scowled in pain and aggression from the sharp jab.

"I am going back, dad," I smacked his hand away, glaring, my voice shaky as I defended my decision once again.

"Oh no you're fuckin' not," he let out a harsh laugh, "You are staying here," he pointed to the ground, "and helping out your mother and you're going to go back to University and become a teacher."

I clenched my fists. I knew that wouldn't happen.

"No I'm not, dad," I said through my teeth. "I'm going back over to England and I'm going to become a Combat Medic. I'm going to go out and do what matters to me. Not what matters to you, or your friend's slimy auld son," he looked a little shocked when I mentioned that.

"What the fuck are you on about?" His left cheek started twitching. It always did that when he was nervous, or when he felt guilty.

"Oho!" I exclaimed, "Didn't know I knew that, did you?" I shook my head and smiled bitterly, "I know everything dad. I wasn't going to be going to University was I? No, I was going to be married off Paddy O' Rourke and he was going to funnel money to you from my earnings over the years, the ones I'd been saving from when I took a job up, just like what you had Mick's son do to me when I was working in Dublin." He shook his head in an attempt to deny it, his jaw clenched, and face turning purple. "I heard every word, Dad. I'm telling you now, it's not happening."

He looked absolutely furious, and guilty as well. I remembered very well when himself and John had had a few in our living room. It was by pure coincidence that I'd heard them arranging my marriage.

I was absolutely furious, but I didn't confront him immediately. I probably should have done but I was just about to leave for University then next morning. I'd wanted to do Anthropology and work in counter-terrorism.

I found out after half a year that I hated Uni, I hated my course and I really didn't feel like wasting four years of my life on something which would only end up with me working in a job I don't like. So I dropped out after Christmas, much to the surprise of my mother and the annoyance of my father and started to look elsewhere.

It was only after a talk with a very good friend of mine, Siobháin that I found a career which made me excited. She was off to join the Royal Veterinary Corps and she suggested I look into it. Not a couple of weeks later and after a few phone calls I'd driven up to Enniskillen and went through the process of Registration, followed by the wait for Phase One training in England.

My dad, who's a Republican to the core, pretty much felt betrayed by my decision. The main reason I wanted to join was to get out of the country as quickly as possible. I'd also be safe if and when they decided that the time was right for me to go and do my 'teacher training.'

"You listen to me young lady," he grabbed me by the collar of my T-shirt, "I've made a deal with John. Himself and his brother have big money to make. They've done this agreement with a Russian firm and the money's going to come in real quick," He lifted me off the ground, started to shake me, his voice raising in volume.

"You will be a good daughter and you will listen to your father!" Spittle flew onto my face. I wrinkled my nose, disgusted and terrified, "You'll marry John's son as a part of the deal. You'll do whatever he says. You'll be a good wife, just like yer mother and you'll stay in your place as a woman." He shook me at nearly every word, emphasising each demand by nearly tearing my T-shirt.

I was absolutely livid. How dare he? I'd just turned eighteen, an adult, and here he was making ludicrous demands of me. Like I was going to listen to him anymore.

'I'm an adult,' I realised, feeling the imaginary restraints put on me as a child weaken and break off, 'He has no sway over me anymore.' That thought gave me a boost in confidence. Reckless confidence but confidence nonetheless.

I was tired of being pushed around by him, tired of continuously being bullied, shamed, and made to feel unloved by this brute of a man. This time I was going to end it.

"Get your hands off me now you chauvinistic pig," I snarled, my face contorted with rage. "I'd rather get blown up by a landmine than marry that twat. I'd rather drown in the bog before I do anything you've just told me. What century are you living in?!" I forced him to release me.

He yelled in pain as I twisted his wrists, stumbling slightly when I dropped to the ground.

"It's 2017 dad." How did he think he could get me to do that sort of crap? "It's not the Seventies anymore, or the Eighties or even the fecking Nineties. There's no more of that arranged marriage bullshit going on anymore. I'm a free woman. You have no rights over me. I'm not doing it and that's final!"

A vein popped in his forehead. He looked ready to lay into me. I cowered slightly, ducking my head and waiting for the rain of blows but they never came. I looked up from my crouched stance, expecting punishment any moment now but he just stood there for the longest time. Finally he nodded to himself, seeming to come to a conclusion.

"Get out." He said simply, turning to go back into the house.

"What?" I frowned. My head spun in confusion.

"Out!" He bellowed, swinging his arm wide and mentioning down the drive to the road beyond. "I don't want a filthy Loyalist whore like you, not under my roof. I don't know who you are, or what you've done to my daughter but I know for sure that she wouldn't treat me like this!"

"Are you sure of that?" I spat vehemently, "I have a good mind that if she really wanted to, she'd have treated you a lot worse. It's a good thing I'm your daughter then isn't it?"

"Yer no daughter of mine!" He snarled, "You're no longer a part of this family. If I so much as find a hair of yours around here, I'm calling the Guards on ya and have them deal with you. You're not to communicate with anyone. If I so much as find out you've been talking to Fionn, I'll have him out of the house and out of his Masters." With that he slammed the door in my face. I heard the lock click shut. The sound was very final.

I stood in shock for a couple of seconds before a fierce anger replaced it. Furious, I marched up to the door, opened the letterbox and screamed into the hallway. I knew they'd all be listening.

"You don't want a Loyalist do you?" I yelled, tears rolling down my cheeks, "Well I don't want a fecking Republican terrorist like you! If I never had you as a father I'd be more than happy. You can all go to Hell for all I care. I hate you! I'm glad to leave this hypocritical, toxic house. Good riddance to the lot of ye!"

I turned around, hurrying down the driveway, past the jeep to where my beaten-looking Land Rover Defender was parked. I fumbled for the keys, realising that they were up in my room and not in my pocket. I was also without a purse, clothes or any means to look after myself.

'Well done Aoibheann,' I mocked to myself as realisation dawned on me, 'you're in a right mess now, aren't you?'

"Fuck!" I yelled, kicking the tyre, "Brilliant! Awesome! Wonderful, fecking, argggh!" I slammed a hand against the door, breathing heavily, trying to calm myself down. No doubt the goons were still watching from the kitchen.

The front door opened again and I heard a thump. I looked back and saw someone had dumped my rucksack out by the front door. I slogged over and picked it up. It was full. With the zip open I could see it had been filled with my wallet, keys, underwear, and heck, all of the things I'd bring with me to go travelling. My Passport was there along with travel-size wash stuff.

A letter was tucked into the back pocket. I didn't want to read it.

'Looks like this has been coming for a while,' I thought darkly as I went back to my car and started her up. 'He probably wanted to boot me out the door as soon as I got back from England.'

I could feel a wave of hysteria building up in the back if my mind. I really didn't want to have to deal with it now. My best bet was to just get moving and settle down for a few days to just let it all out. I found I hated my dad, I really did. This was the last straw. I didn't care of I never saw him again, but Fionn, poor Fionn.

My chest was seething with anger, sadness and disbelief as I pulled down and out of the drive. I felt like something toxic was nesting in my ribcage, making every breath and heartbeat hurt. Unbidden, tears made their way down my cheeks for the third time that day.

As with a lot of things in this country, it all really boils down to who you know if you want to get by. Unfortunately, my dad is brilliant pals with one of the higher-ups in Fionn's University. What's more, he's owed a favour from the guy and if Fionn so much as toes the line, Bang! No Masters, no money, no jobs either because I can bet my buttons that he'd have all sorts of unsavoury things said about him to prevent him from working anywhere.

'Feck this,' I thought miserably as I turned onto the main road, making a last glance at the house from my rear-view mirror, 'I'll just deal with it, like I always have then. Who needs family anyhow? I certainly don't. Fuck the lot of them!'

I left in a cloud of dust. I had no idea where to go, I just turned on the main road and headed for the Motorway. After an hour's worth of driving and crying I pulled over just outside of Carlow and realised where I was headed. I'd subconsciously been making my way to my grandparents' house in Wicklow, even though I'd thought to myself that I was fine on my own.

I just really needed someone to talk to, who'd understand. I really needed someone in my family, apart from Fionn, who didn't think I was the lowest scum on earth. I decided to phone them up to at least let them know I was coming. If they refused to see me too I have no idea what I was to do. Well, I did, but I didn't want to go near there for now.

I rang the number, tapping my fingers against the steering wheel as I watched people filter in and out of the pub in front of which I'd just parked. When the person on the other end finally picked up I felt alarm bells go off.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was none other than that of my older sister, Gráinne.

"Gráinne, hi," I replied, trying and failing to not sound surprised, "are Nana or Granddad nearby? Could I speak to them please?" My voice was slightly wobbly. I was doing my level best to withhold the shock of the past few hours.

There was silence for a moment before she answered in a clipped tone filled with ice, "Nana and Granddad are dead, Aoibheann. Don't joke around like this, it's sick."

I felt like someone had punched me in the gut and was playing around with my insides. "They-they're dead...?" I hadn't even gone to the funeral. Nobody had told me anything, not even Fionn...

"You weren't at the funeral?" She sounded surprised and confused in the genuine shock and misery in my voice. "Oi, Aoibheann, Evie, answer me. Were you at the funeral?"

I hung up. Tears once more tracked down my face. My head hit back against the headrest. I choked back a wail as I realised I had nobody left to turn to. Gráinne hated my guts and had a long-standing grudge against me because she thought I'd stolen her boyfriend back in Second Year in Secondary School.

As ridiculous as it was, she never forgave me for it even though it was Saoirse FitzHarris who was caught in the act with him. Because she had been one of my 'friends' I should have known about it. Saoirse had been on my blacklist for other reasons.

It cut me deeply that not even poor Fionn could help me either his one, and even if he could I didn't want him in dad's bad books. He can't afford to not do his Master's because dad has a beef with me.

'I wasn't even invited to the funeral,' that thought, that simple, seemingly small thing of which I just couldn't let go. 'Not even Fionn told me.'

That hurt the most. Even though my dad hated me for my decisions, he had no right whatsoever to keep me from honouring and mourning for two people who'd been very dear to my heart. I sat there, becoming more and more depressed as I tried to consider my options. I could get a part-time job while I waited for my Candidate Support Manager to put me through the system again, do as Dad said and go back to England.

I could go for an Apprenticeship and go on from there, something I'd thought of as a fall-back. I could just sit here and cry like a little girl or I could find somewhere to stay for the next few days while I sorted things out.

I nodded, sniffling. That sounded better than sitting here and bawling over nothing. I couldn't let the hysteria and the crying and the wailing run rampant. I needed somewhere to settle for a week or so as well as a means of income and a place to stay.

I sat up straight. A crucial thought had just occurred to me.

'How much money do I have in my bank account?' I asked myself suddenly, my heart rate picking up.

I retrieved my phone from my bag, unlocking it and signing into the free Wi-Fi from the pub. I signed into my bank, tapping my fingers in agitation as I waited for the page to load. When it did load I eagerly checked my balance only to feel dread seep through my veins like poisonous ice.

0.00 euro. I had been wiped clean.

My hand clenched around my phone, fury coursing through my veins. I bared my teeth, my breath coming in and out in harsh, strangled gasps. I desperately dug through my bag to get my purse, nearly tearing it apart as I looked for whatever money I still had left in there. I choked in relief when I saw a wad of cash hidden in one of the secret zips.

'Thank you Fionn,' I thought as I sagged against the chair, my head spinning. 'Someone still loves me, I hope.'

I set off again, heading for Carlow as the day came to a close, the sky darkening with ominous looking clouds that matched my mood. I drove for another fifteen minutes before I came onto the tricky part of the road, full of blind bends and about as wide as one large car.

It started to rain, becoming even darker. Looks like MET Éireann were wrong for once. Today was supposed to be a scorcher, from beginning to end. The first few drops splattered against the windscreen, so I turned the wipers on. Then came a bright flash, followed by a low, vibrating rumble. I was caught in a fecking thunderstorm.

'Brilliant,' I clenched my right hand around the steering wheel, my left hand furiously working the gearstick, 'just what I needed on the worst effing road in the county.'

The road was becoming more slippery by the minute as the rain came down in sheets, not to mention my immediate visibility was dwindling rapidly. I slowed down for the turns, attempting desperately to not skid or slip. I then tried putting my lights on, which did absolutely nothing for me. I couldn't see a blasted thing.

My least favourite part of the road came up; a sharp bend over a ridiculously low humpback bridge which was plonked right over a river prone to flash-flooding. Oh, things were looking so brilliant for me right now. I felt like crying again.

"It's alright," I told myself, easing into the turn, "see? That's not so ba-"

Bright lights, a slam, crunching metal and I was suddenly weightless. My whole world tumbled.

Some gobshite had just hit me and now I was careening off of the bridge and straight into the roaring water below. Water which was very deep and very dark and very, very fast.

I impacted with a dull thud. My airbag had popped the moment I got hit by that truck and I could barely move. The interior of the Defender was rapidly filling up with water. I realised it had tipped as it fell in and the driver's side was currently resting on the riverbed.

The passenger window, already etched in lacy fissures from being hit, started to crack under the pressure. Another crack, then another wended its way across the glass until it fell inwards under the strain and I got a faceful of icy, murky water.

'Not good, not good,' my mind babbled in panic as I fumbled to undo my seatbelt. It released. The interior was almost full to capacity. I had to get out now. With a sob, I drew in as deep a breath as I could and forced my way out of the shattered window. A sharp pain stabbed me in the middle when I hauled myself out into the roaring river. It throbbed in time with my pulse.

'Fuck'- was the only thing I could think of as I slipped into the water. There was glass stuck just under the waistband of my shorts. 'Ow!'

Up and up I swam, struggling against the current which wanted to whisk me away downriver. I struggled, blinded by the water, flailing around and trying to keep my head in the air. Coughing and spluttering as I bobbed along, I followed the current In spite of all my attempts to swim against it.

I floundered, aiming for the riverbank, hoping to pull myself up onto one of the roots hanging down into the water. I didn't see the gaping hole under the tree, nor did I anticipate the water rushing down into its depths. Suddenly realising my mistake, I made a grab for the root, my hand slipping on the moss-covered wood and down, down into the dark I went.

My vision filled with black. The scream of terror which was torn from me was drowned out by the angry roar of the water and my own desperate heartbeat.

My arms and legs flailed about wildly as I plummeted through the darkness. The shadows were so thick they almost had a weight to them. It was like they were pushing my down, faster, and trying to suffocate me.

The roar of water was replaced by the air rushing past me in the wake of my fall, an icy keening which chilled me to the bone. Strands of hair pulled themselves free from my plait in the raging gusts and began to whip around my head like a nest of angry vipers.

I wailed with the wind, sobbing and howling like a banshee, my mind running around itself in circles from terror. As I tumbled, I had only one certain thought in my head.

'I'm going to die.'

"Oh please God," I cried out into the abyss, "Please I don't want to die! Please, let me have a chance to turn my life around. Let me do some good for the world."

I don't know how long it was I fell. It felt like hours when it could have been mere minutes. The only thoughts I had in my mind were of what my demise might entail. Were there sharp rocks at the bottom? Would I die instantly? Would it be a case of prolonged suffering as I lay broken on the bottom of the pit? My tears were ripped from my eyes and flung out into the oily blackness as I continued my plummet. I hated being blinded and flung about, helpless, like a ragdoll.

'What if there's no end to this at all?' I feared, tumbling and spinning, 'What if I'm stuck falling deeper and deeper into the earth for so long, I eventually starve to death?'

Half an hour seemed to have passed and I felt ready to give up completely. I was frozen with cold from the wind, completely blind from the shadows, my mind was numb with terror and I was utterly at the mercy of this sudden abyss.

"Please," I screamed out, pleading, curling into myself as I kept on falling, "Please just let it end quickly. Please, let me out of this dark hole. I don't want to die. I still have…I still…" I thought of my family and the last things I said to them, especially my father.

I howled, crying, shame joining the fear sweeping through me, "I need to say sorry to my dad! I need to tell him I still love him, all of them. God Almighty, if I ever see the light of day again I swear on my soul I'll do everything I can to make things right."

My body curled in on itself even more, wracked with shivers from the chilling gusts slicing through me like knives. I wrapped my arms around my head, cradling it and huddling into myself even more in attempt to find some semblance of comfort. What happened next nearly killed me.

With no warning, no premonition whatsoever, I stopped falling, only to collide with an unseen body of water. Shock woke me up from my misery, as well as the frigid liquid into which I was currently sinking.

My mouth opened to scream again, only to fill up with rancid, choking water. My cry was swallowed by bubbles of my life-giving oxygen rising away from me to the surface. I floated stock still for a few seconds, my brain kicking into gear, before forcing myself to strike towards the surface.

I heaved in a breath as my head broke the skin of the water, gasping and flailing as I worked my limbs in an attempt to not sink. I spat, trying to dislodge my hair in my mouth and over my eyes.

With one hand I slicked it back over my forehead and opened my eyes wide, desperately searching for a break in the shadows, a glimmer of light, anything to help me get out of this God-forsaken hole. I spun myself around and around, anxiety stabbing its way through my chest and clenching around my throat when I continued to find nothing.

Nope, still blind.

"Ah come on!" I exclaimed into the nothing, my voice echoing around me. Was I in a cavern of sorts?

I stiffened up suddenly, hope washing over me when I heard something. Faintly, over the sound of my own splashing, I could hear running water.

That could mean one of two things; there was either a miniscule waterfall somewhere, or stream, or there was water flowing out of the cavern and, hopefully, outside.

'Maybe there's a hole I can crawl through,' I thought.

Moving my head back and forth, I strained my ears, ignoring the sounds I was making and focusing entirely on the area just ahead and to the right of me.

'There!'

I turned my body so I was facing the source of the noise and struck out with a wobbly front crawl, keeping my head above the water. I stopped after a couple of strokes and floated, listening again. Once I heard the trickle again I orientated myself towards it and struck out once more, swimming sluggishly, a slim hope the only thing keeping me going.

I continued like that for nine, maybe ten more pauses and swims, until I eventually felt so exhausted that I wanted nothing more than to let everything go and sink to the depths of this foul-smelling pool. After the twelfth stop, I began once again, only to feel something brush the tip of my boot as I straightened up.

I jolted, images of squirmy, grabby monsters hiding in the water coming to mind. My brain babbled in a panic, reminding me that exhaustion, cold and the fact that I was far slower in the water wouldn't be of any benefit to me if it came down to a fight.

"There's nothing there," I whispered brokenly, relief hitting me, making me want to cry. I gingerly reached down with my right foot.

I touched something again. Biting my lip, I squeezed my eyes shut as I stretched even further, wiggling my toe inside my boot and putting more pressure onto whatever it was that was below me. It was very, very solid to the touch.

'Rocks?' I thought to myself as I half-swam, half-flopped forwards a little more.

My feet grazed the surface of the hard, rough object, gaining enough purchase on the material that I was able to stand with my head just above the water, leaving the rest of my body up to the bottom of my chin submerged. The small flicker of hope within me began to grow a little brighter as I half-walked, half-floated, becoming more and more excited as the depth decreased.

I still had no idea what I was doing or where I was going, but if I could get out of the water at least I wouldn't have to worry about drowning from exhaustion.

My legs wobbled when they lost their aqueous support, nearly buckling underneath me as I shakily skittered forwards from the water's icy, rancid grip. My arms immediately rose up and stretched outwards, blindly fumbling as I shuffled, the scuffing sound from my boots echoing around what appeared to be a cavern.

I could tell from the sound that it must have been enormous, not just from the sound of my footsteps but from the fact that I could still hear the trickling water, only to realise that I still had a long way to go yet.

I craned my neck, my head moving right to left like an animal, honing in on the sound. I was beginning to shiver violently, not only because of the chill from the frigid air but there was a certain feeling of…wrongness. Maybe it was just the smell of the place, or that weird, weighty feeling.

Now that I was out of the water I could better pick out the stale, chilling tang which clung to the back of my throat. It smelled old, musty and, well, bad.

It reminded me of when my friends and I snuck up to Leap Castle, reputedly the most haunted castle in Western Europe. We'd managed to slip in through a crack in the wall and had ended up in the Oubliette. That same smell, accompanied by a heavy, malevolent presence had caused us to giggle and joke about at first.

We'd pantomimed being thrown down into the dungeon and impaled on the spike. The more we'd done it, the heavier the presence became until it was almost suffocating. It was after Robbie Doyle had joked about wanting to see the so-called ghosts that the smell had materialised.

Mould, rot and sulphur. Just like in this pitch-black cavern.

'This place is giving me the creeps,' I shuddered, wanting nothing more than to get out of here.

I fumbled around in the dark, treading carefully, trying to make as little a disturbance as I possibly could. Just when it felt like I was going to be forever damned to wander in the silent depths, I saw the faintest glimmer of light up ahead. My pulse quickened, newfound hope sending fresh energy coursing through me.

I picked up my steps, not caring that my footfalls echoed off the darkness, alerting anything, imaginary or real to my presence. I began to jog, speeding towards the brightness, joy leaping in my breast, as well as relief when I saw the tunnel illuminated by the light.

I was so close, I could see the star-studded sky, and I could almost hear the soft sounds of night-life, smell the freshness in the air. Just as I was about to leap out into freedom I was cruelly grabbed by my right arm and yanked back against something hard, what seemed to be a thick iron band wrapping around my midsection.

"Noooooo!" I screeched, struggling, frenzied, "Let go! Let GO! LET GOOOOOOO!"

A harsh, gravelly voice snapped in my ear, followed by a huge hand clamping over my mouth. We were moved back. Away from the light, into the dark again.

I didn't want to be in the dark. I wanted to get out. I HAD to get out. My breath whistled through my nose as I wriggled and squirmed even more. All that did was cause the person's hold to tighten on me and I was rebuked again with a harsh growl in a foreign tongue.

I couldn't understand a word that was said but the tone of voice sounded angry. Why were they angry? I was the one who should be mad. I'm the one caught here.

"Mmmmmpf."I said.

My hands clamped around the iron bar encircling my middle. The iron bar turned out to be an arm. A ridiculously strong arm. My hands shook with my attempts to move it but it wouldn't budge. I punched the forearm hard in frustration.

"Let me go!" I said, the words coming out all mushed. 'Meh ee mo,' was what I actually uttered.

No response from my captor.

I tried to bite the hand over my mouth. When that failed I attempted to drive my heel backwards into my captor's shins. The only problem was I didn't know where their shins were.

I huffed, wriggling, only to have the arm around my waist tighten even more. I let out a squeal, muffled by the fleshy muzzle and started ramming my elbows behind me in the vain hopes that I'd hit whoever was holding me hostage.

The unknown figure behind me let out a grunt when one of my weaponised elbows managed to connect. I squawked in shock at the sudden pain when I hit something hard and rough enough that I grazed the skin of my funny bone and my lower right arm went numb.

I snarled in frustration as the thing-person-whatever behind me let out a laugh at my squawk. It resonated through my back, making me feel frightened and… odd. I shivered, partly from cold and the weird feeling.

Realising that, after another struggle, there was no way I was going anywhere, I slumped back against the person holding me. Their grip relaxed slightly when I didn't move for a few seconds. An idea sparked in my head. I relaxed even more, going into a near boneless state, as if I was completely exhausted and all the fight had gone out of me.

To my excitement the arm constricting me loosened even more. Thank you, "Skulduggery Pleasant." I'd learned more self-defence from the highly descriptive action sequences in those books than in the one class we had in school.

'A little more,' I let myself flop, becoming a dead weight, 'nearly there…..now!'

I forced myself to move quickly, shoving the arm away from my stomach and ducking under the hand which had muffled me. With whatever energy I could muster, I threw myself forwards and away from my captor, lunging towards the light. I smirked slightly at the surprised yell behind me.

'Yes!' I thought, nearing the entrance of the tunnel, 'I'm nearly there.'

A hulking shadow fell over me just as I was about to step over the threshold of the tunnel and out into the night. I stuttered to a stop, fear stabbing my veins with ice, paralysing me. Before me was a creature of nightmare, a creature more suited to Dante's "Inferno" than the real-life, waking world.

It was at least eight feet tall and built like a brick shithouse. A red-skinned, satanic brick shithouse.

Large, heavy horns curled over a harsh, evil-looking face. The eyes, a bright emerald green, appeared to burn as if on fire. On closer inspection they were fire. Tentacle-looking tendrils protruded from its chin and jaw, decorated with rings. A spiked, heavy tail swayed languidly behind it. It was clothed in what were once rich, decorative metal and cloth robes, now turned dark and decayed with age.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph," I breathed, barely able to get a word out from the terror seizing my body.

I crossed myself, slowly backing away and began to pray. There was no doubt in my mind that the creature in front of me was a demon. It made a surprised sound when it noticed me, stepping forwards, causing me to squeak at the sharp clomping that its hooves made.

The demon frowned as it noticed me. The intent stare morphed into a sadistic grin when it realised my frantic muttering was fevered prayer. I shuddered at the fangs peeking out from the cracked lips in its ruddy face.

'Oh please God,' I spluttered internally, continuing my fevered prayers, 'I don't want to go to Hell. Please, please I'll do anything, please don't send me there! Please, leave me alone, go away, oh please, GO AWAY'

I tripped, falling backwards onto my arse, my voice going up about three octaves. My breath hitched, panic rising up in my breast and brain as the demon laughed, a guttural sound and raised a hand. It continued to move forwards, slowly, as if taking pleasure in seeing me skitter backwards in the dirt in a fear-fuelled mess. I continued to pray, desperation and blind faith kept me hoping that I would be saved, that God would send help for me.

A bright green almost liquid ball of energy began to form in its hand, growing in size and intensity. With a flick of its wrist, it flung the orb at me, missing me by inches. I screamed, flinching.

"Oh Lord," I whimpered, nearly wetting myself in terror, "Where are you when I need you? How many times have I prayed to you, been true to you? Why are you keeping my guardian angel from helping me? What did I do to deserve this?"

The dark, malicious laugh rolled over me as I hunched over myself, my body curled up with my arms above my head, like I was preparing for a bomb to be dropped on me. I shivered, beginning to cry, fully convinced that this creature, this awful thing would at any minute, pick me up by the scruff of the neck and throw me into the depths of Hell.

I heard the clip-clop of its feet move towards me, I felt the power gather up in its hand again. The crackle of its energy had goosebumps prickling all over my skin. I sobbed, waiting for either the death blow, or the journey to damnation.

Neither came. I instead heard a fierce, savage yell behind me, followed by a guttural howl from the thing in front. More yelling and snarling followed as well as the unmistakable sound of metal upon metal. I gingerly raised my head from under my arms. The sight that greeted me filled me with a mixture of pure, unadulterated fear and bewilderment.

The demon fell, dead, to the ground. The creature that killed it stood, wrenching its weapons from the hulking corpse with such force that its heavy corpse lifted from the ground only, to fall back with a hollow thud. It sheathed its blades on its back and stared down at me huddled on the floor.

A powerful, menacing figure was outlined in the moonlight at the entrance to the tunnel. I could have made a guess, but by my reckoning he, far too bulky to be a she, stood a good seven feet tall.

The mesmerising, glowing tattoos etched into his torso and the blindfolded face, barely concealing the lime-coloured fire in its eyes, sent more unease through me when I realised that though this thing had saved my life, it was made of the same as what the demon was.

I stiffened, flinching slightly when he walked forwards, his bare feet barely making a sound on the rough stone floor. He looked at my face, sighing somewhat when he noticed the undiluted terror in my eyes. I cringed, shying away from him when he offered a clawed hand, the gesture meant to be kind, but only made me want to run.

"Please, please don't hurt me," I whispered, quivering, "I promise I won't do anything to you, so please don't, dont do anything to me."

His blank stare was enough to convey that he hadn't the faintest idea what I was saying. He crouched down before me, causing me to jump and gasp at the sudden closeness. I froze, my gaze caught on his concealed eyes. His mouth opened, a rasped, harsh voice coming out, the raised tone at the end of his sentence indicated a question.

I frowned in recognition. I'd heard this voice before. Annoyance then incredulity painted themselves across my face and I raised an accusing finger at him, my fear momentarily forgotten.

"You." I stated, nearly poking him in the chest at his confused glance, "You're the eejit who grabbed me in the tunnel." I let out an angry huff, my hands clenching into fists. "You fecking, what the heck was your problem?"

I was overcome with a sudden wave of aggression. My fists connected with his bare torso, hammering into him. He let out a shocked yelp which turned rapidly into a slew of unintelligible words in that horrid voice of his.

My fists were immediately halted when he grabbed onto my wrists. His face, ominous before, was made even more threatening from the snarl which contorted its features. He spat a line of dialogue at me, shaking me before releasing me with such a force I was nearly flung onto my back.

I sat on my heels as I attempted to steady myself, shocked. Dumbly I watched as the figure fluidly got to his feet and exited the cave without either another glance in my direction or another word.

What had come over me? Scary-looking or not, you don't just start laying into someone like that without good reason. I didn't even have one to begin with seeing as the fact that he held me captive for all of half a minute was insignificant. He immediately saved my life afterwards.

'I need to apologise,' I was disgusted with my behaviour, 'evil-looking or not, I owe him.' A thought then dawned on me. Had my prayers been answered? 'They do say God works in mysterious ways….' I slapped a palm to my face, realisation hitting me harder than a Kilkenny sliotar.

"Hells bells," I choked, aghast, "I just beat up my Guardian Angel!"

I stood shakily, looking around only to notice that he'd disappeared from sight. Panicked, I hobbled towards the entrance to the tunnel, exhaustion and stress from the past few hours finally catching up with me. I caught sight of him, walking along a cobblestone path, illuminated by the moonlight so bright it was like a mystical, silvery daytime.

"Hey," I called out to him, stumbling out into the light, not noticing the soft, springy grass, nor the sweet scent of heather and honeysuckle which wreathed the soft night air, "Hey, 'scuse me. Oi, I need to tell you something," I scowled when I didn't get a reaction. Cupping my hands around my mouth I yelled, "HEY!"

He paused, turning around. I could see him much better in the full light of the moon than when he was silhouetted in the cave. He stood proudly, although there was a little annoyed impatience in his stance. He was clearly trained in some sort of martial arts, judging by the way his muscles were barely contained by his skin. I stopped a good metre and a half away from him. Something didn't feel quite right.

'Is it just the moonlight or is his skin….blue?' I squinted. It had to be the moonlight. Nobody had blue skin unless they had that super-rare genetic condition.

I shook my head. It was probably my brain going loo-la from fatigue. Those tattoos didn't really help matters either. They glimmered in the moonlight, the shimmering indigo seeming to undulate with the movement of his breath. Thankfully, he was wearing a pair of trousers, although they looked as if they'd seen better days.

A ragged looking belt with a weird green symbol sat around his trim waist. His feet, on closer inspection, weren't barefoot, but wrapped in footpads. The same wrapping was around his wrists. Across his back were sheathed a pair of weapons which I'd never before seen in my life.

They glowed an eerie yellow-green colour from the sharp, jagged designs etched into them, giving me the willies just by looking. The pale, cold light of the moon glinted wickedly on the razor edges. They looked so sharp, they seemed to slice the very air around them. Nicks and scratches marred the metal, showing their obviously frequent use. An unintended shudder went through me when I recalled just how easily he wielded them.

I squinted and rubbed my eyes when I looked more closely at his face.

'Oh my,' I mumbled internally, 'He's beautiful.'

That he was, but as aesthetically pleasing as his features were, they were countered by how grotesque some other parts of him seemed. I stood for a while, my brain trying, and failing, to process this information in a way that made some semblance of sense to me.

Lengthy, dark, midnight blue hair crowned his head and was let to flow freely around his shoulders. It was so extensive and voluminous that it reached all the way to the middle of his back. A pair of dark horns curled from his temples, coiling around themselves like those of a ram.

His strong, noble visage was set in a frown. High cheekbones and a fine, narrow nose led down to a pair of full lips, the skin over them cracked and bitten, like he chewed on them a lot. His sharp, firm chin led up from his strong, proud jaw to one of the most unbelievable pairs of ears I'd ever seen.

They had to be half the length of my forearm. Slender and tapering to a point, almost like stretched Dobby ears, they flopped slightly under their own weight, protruding from his lustrous locks. I had the strongest and most ridiculous urge to touch them.

Even more incredulous than his ears and horns, both of which I thought I was imagining, were his covered eyes. A blindfold, fashioned from a dark cloth, wrapped around them, disappearing into his hair at his temples.

It didn't do a marvellous job as he might have wanted because the acid-green glow still managed to permeate the thick layer of material. I nearly giggled when I noticed his eyebrows. Long, feathery and seemingly more like a butterfly's antennae, the furled up from the furious 'v' of his scowl.

A string of annoyed, incoherent rasping interrupted me. It seemed as though I'd been staring. A lot. I didn't need to speak his language to know that he was asking if I was going to get on with whatever I wanted or if I was going to stand there and waste his time even more.

I scowled, a flush of embarrassment making my cheeks burn.

"I just…" I began, realising it was futile when I remembered we couldn't get two words in that we could understand. "Never mind."

I sighed, turning away, only then realising that

(1) I had absolutely no idea where I was,

(2) I had just seen a demon, a fecking demon and I was apparently grand with all that and

(3) I finally remembered the shard of broken glass which was embedded in my abdomen.

"Fuck!" I cried out, spotting the dark patch in the waistband of my trousers.

"Fuck!" I wrenched my T-shirt up, momentarily forgetting my saviour/exhaustion-induced hallucinogenic friend.

"Fuuuuuck!" I felt a sudden rush of dizziness when I saw the tail ends of what appeared to be not one, not two, but three different shards of glass which currently made their homes in my flesh.

I swayed in a sudden rush of dizziness. The exhaustion, the realisation of what was happening-what had happened, finally hit me.

"I've got glass in my belly," I whispered to myself, "and I was attacked by a demon, and saved by my evil Guardian Angel."

I giggled, everything seeming so ludicrous that the only plausible cause for all this trippiness would be me pulling over on a hard shoulder somewhere and OD'ing.

"I got glass in my belly," I giggled again, "and I have an evil guardian angel."

My knees collapsed underneath me, my giggles turned into sobs.

"I need help," I whimpered, hugging myself, rocking back and forth.

I tried to stand up, only to fall down on my side. I tried again, unable to even pull myself up into a sitting position. I'd never felt so alone, so decrepit in my life, not even on the night I'd tried to take my own life.

"I'm sorry daddy," I keened, my body wracked with sobs, "I'm sorry I made you sad. I'm sorry I hurt you. Oh God if I ever get to see you again I promise I'll be a good daughter and do as you say."

My vision began to fade, black spots dancing across my line of sight.

"Nana, Granddad," I started to slip away, "I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye…"

The darkness took me once again, leaving me floundering in its depths, lost.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

So there you have it. This is my attempt at a decently-written Warcraft fanfiction. Do note that constructive criticism is welcome. If you find any holes in the plot, lore or general depictions of characters, don't hesitate to let me know. I can never learn if I can't correct my own mistakes. Please leave a review and tell me what you think!