“Conor, seriously, how can you say you’ve never seen DUNE!?”
He chuckled, “Just lucky I guess. Is it a good film?”
Erica sputtered, “Good fi…” She stopped speaking and put down her guitar on its upright stand, “Ok, this jam session is over. We’re taking a 3 hour break.”
A while later he was seated on the same uncomfortable couch from before, Erica was seated elsewhere (along with Midori that had just “stopped by” to watch the movie with them). Conor couldn’t be certain, but he was fairly sure that the pair of them were stealing glances his way and sharing some kind of “in joke” between them about something.
So far, it had been a splendid film. Plus, now he understood the references to Mua’dib and some of Erica’s sound based magical powers a bit better. However, he was watching a scene involving some kind of strange box that caused pain and … his right hand itched terribly. The Reverend Mother was also displaying some disturbingly Sidhe Lord-like powers that made him wonder if somebody hadn’t run across the Fae before when writing the film or book.
When it was all over, Conor left the girls and started the trip back to his own home. On the DART bus, his hand kept itching and he had already left red marks from the intensity of his scratching.
The rest of the evening was quite boring… dinner… the news… shower… bed. No crisis to thwart, no invasions of monsters, no girls… peace.
In the Nevernever, dreams and reality are… to use a term he’d had overheard once… hinky.
Conor stood looking out over the sea. He could tell that he was back in old Connemara; specifically An Cheathrú Rua or Carraroe as the English speakers called it. He found himself cois fharraige in this dream; down by the seaside. The clothes were the warmer woolens he hadn’t worn in years after moving to Texas (well except maybe for the occasional icy ‘winter’). Galway Bay churned as it always had in his memories. He walked near a tidal pool and glanced at his reflection… and stopped cold.
In a seawater tidal pool was the strange baldheaded lady from Erica’s movie earlier in the evening. That was probably the moment that solidified that this was some kind of strange dream brought on by odd science-fiction movies, fatigue, and leftover curry vindaloo.
In the same movie voice, “Come here!”
Though he didn’t feel any particular compulsion to do it, so he carried on with the scene as he’d remembered. “No!”
When the witch did the finger thing though… Conor could sense at his throat an iron blade. The scent and feel of that banemetal was quite familiar to him.
The reflection was holding the box from the film, “Put your hand in the box.” At that point his right hand started itching again, terribly. When he put his hand in the box, or rather into the tidal pool, he felt a momentary relief.
At that point, the scene from the movie replayed itself in his dreamstate.
When he cried out, as the Paul character did in the film, the pain stopped. When he opened his eyes again the witch was gone, replaced with a reflection of himself. However, something was “off.”
In the reflection, his skin and hair was pure white. Not white like a pasty Irishman, white like new falling snow, chalk, or paint. His ears were slightly pointed, and his hair was long and straight. His reflection was grinning at him, like he knew a secret.
“Who are you?” He asked in Irish (Cé tusa?).
“I am myself.” … a classic and cryptic Fae reply (Mise mé fein).
Conor nodded, oh great, one of those dreams. “You yourself, or me myself?”
“Yes” it laughed, “both.”
Conor stood, his hand came out of the reflecting pool. The white creature that looked up at him stood as well. It was a more powerfully muscled version of Conor, lean but corded muscles beneath milk white skin lined and covered all over with symbols and the old ogham writing. It was very much like Conor’s fae ‘true’ appearance that he’d always known. However, shockingly this creature had a right hand of gleaming silver … a somewhat mechanical appearing hand.
“I know you now. You’re Lord Nuada; the Silverhand, once king of the Tuatha dé Danaan, slain by Balor at the second battle of Maighe Tuireadh.”
It nodded in acknowledgement.
“What is it you want with me O High King?”
It smiled a feral, dangerous smile, "To live again Conor; through the spell of my descendant Éadaoin your mother, and through you yourself."
Conor said nothing for long minutes, “So you’re the one.”
The white creature in the water said nothing, it simply raised one quizzicle eyebrow.
“You’re my Fae nature. The thing I’ll become at the end of my mortal journey.”
“Well Lord Nuada, here’s the thing. My body, my rules. If you want to help sail the boat, I could sure use it in stormy seas, but the tiller is mine. So I suggest you get a cushion for your arse because it’ll be a while before you get to helm this ship.”
The white creature laughed like rolling thunder and Conor bolted upright in his bed.
So a lot of this was born of a desire to continue the Fae scion theme a bit further as well as give myself some focus for Refresh progression.
As for the Dune bits… I mean come on! I raised my Discipline and my right hand changed… is there any better scene for that? Especially with a sonomancer in the party that’s a geek and has a rote named Mua’dib?
Plus, Prince Nuada from Hellboy 2 (the movie) is just one of the most wicked re-imaginings of the Nuada Silverhand legends I’ve ever seen… he’s awesome looking and I totally wanted to steal some of that thunder.