eachdraidh | vii. unseelie locked. voice.

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vii. unseelie locked. voice.

I need extra hands for seasonal work, mages in particular; mages who can work with heat and fire, all the better. Or weather, shit. This cold is slowing down work at my spire; the Ninth, up on the coast, devilish cold even without the Roc's influence. We lost a young man to it yesterday. I need ice melted, walkways made safe, snow shovelled, water heated, just more people.

Coppers for ordinary workers, silvers for mages, as well as all my very tenderest and heartfelt sentiments of good will. Do something drastic and lasting and we'll discuss gold.

[LOG POST.]

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Under your control, I presume?

Very godsdamn welcome. I can deal with halted construction work, but if what we've been building comes apart under the winds or is battered down by hail... There are tin roofs here, iron support struts inside the spire, a lot of scaffolding I can't afford to lose.

Of course. I can manipulate and control metal, hold it down, shape it, move it... Anything you might want. Tin and iron is child's play. I also a rather fine gift from the monarchs that allows me the same control over fire.

You godsend. How soon can you be here? I may be able to offer help with transport.

A few hours to get to the nearest fairy ring. [ A pause. ] I can fly, it shouldn't take long.

[Of course he can fucking fly. Who is this person? The Brucolac's caught between amused and impressed.]

And what name should I expect to hear?

[ The Unseelie's best kept secret. ]

Erik Lehnsherr.

Erik Lehnsherr. My name is the Brucolac. I'll see you in a few hours.

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