"I can't get too close the Count's li'l shindig, so I'm havin' to make me own way to the meet-up site. If it all goes well, the Greeks will bring Vlad out to the Ruadh family cemetery, where the rest will take place anon. The woods here are ancient, a place where Romans feared to tread. They called it Caledonia, and it is a place of power, which lends well to the use of magicks. The dense fog rolls low under pines and aspens. Boris Karloff would feel right at home. My wings ain't what they used to be, either. A couple more bacon buttys and I'll be too fuckin' fat to fly. So much feels wrong here. I have to parlay with The Lady Morgana, which already has me spine a-tingle. Even worse there's rumors, amongst both human and fae, that somethin' ageless stalks the Cairngorms. No one has had the constitution to stay and face it. And one can only hope that it's an it, and not a them. If anything could give nightmares to monsters, it's Am Fear Liath Mor."

______________________________________________________________

Harold finally broke through the clearing that led to the Ruadh family burial grounds. His brow was wet from the exertion of the hike, as well as a permeating sense of dread. He was wary to get too close to the gravestones, as the foggy night scene did its best impression of a horror movie. It was so quiet he could almost hear the moon shine. Twigs snapped somewhere behind the tree line, and Harold clutched the hammer and chisel he had brought with him in the best defensive posture he could assume.

An entire herd of reindeer materialized from the haze, a mass of silken hides and velvet antlers. For a few seconds, the apprehension Harold had felt gave way to a sense of serenity as the furry beasts grazed and ambled around him. He reached out in wonder to stroke one. Amazingly, it leaned into him and nickered with his hesitant pats. A sharp whistle from the trees sent the herd cantering across the glen, and back into the mist.

Morgan le Fey stood aloft a high branch of a pinewood. She stepped off and floated toward him, descending on an invisible escalator. A thick cape fluttered behind her, exposing her bare shoulders and a torso streamlined into a black corset. She touched down silently and strode towards Harold. "Wotcha?" she cooed at him.

"Almighty! You've got me on the edge of a bleedin' infarction, luv."

"Awww, little bird, so tense", she said with fake worry, "I thought you wanted to dance with the devil this night."

"Aye. The mind is willing, but the spirit..."

"Well, you're not wrong to be vexed. Something has been watching you since your arrival in Caledonia. Sniffing you out, making up its mind whether you're friend or foe."

"The Greyman? How can you be sure? No one's ever seen him."

"I'm not sure" she said, fidgeting around the bustline of her corset, "but we can be sure whatever it is out there makes up its mind the way we want it to."

She pulled out two long pieces of boning from the girdle. She whispered to them and they began to glow white with enchantment. She turned back to Harold with a look of actual concern. "Close your eyes fairy, this is going to hurt. But you'll live."

"Everything always does when you're involved, luv." Harold said, shutting his eyes.

Morgan brought the needle-like boning up in a thrusting motion, piercing Harold's chest between the ribs, into his heart. His eyes flew open as he sucked in a harsh breath. She threw the other piece into the air, towards the woods. It flew straight, hesitating for a moment at the tree line, then resumed its homing path into the fog.

"There. You are linked to the entity now. It will not bring you harm." She placed a hand on him. "I must leave you now, to strengthen the glamour." Her irises expanded, filling her sockets with pure silver, and she faded into the darkness.

Harold looked down, wide-eyed, at the lengthy pin sticking from his chest. It pulsed along with his heartbeat, which he could feel in his ears.

"Fookin' witches."

Slowly, he made his way to the graveyard. As he stepped onto the grounds, a loud "thwump" resounded through the clearing. He stood stock still, waiting for a trap to spring. When nothing happened, he took another step into the cemetery. As he did, grass rustled and dirt shuffled loose. Bony, rotten hands peaked through the soil, as the whole Ruadh lineage rose from their graves. Men, women, and children shambled towards him. They gained a lot of ground, encompassing Harold as he stood frozen. He heard a groan behind him and turned, just in time to be grappled to the ground by one of the hulking corpses. He thrashed about, and managed to connect his hammer to the dead man's head. Harold felt the grip loosen and flailed out two more blows, crushing the zombie's skull. The others crushed around him, every one readying to raise a killing blow. An ear-splitting roar cracked from the woods, and a terrible form rushed into the melee.

The Grey Man swung a massive arm, knocking several of the living dead off their feet and into the air. He stood tall and raised his fists into the air. He brought them down with awful force, smashing two more zombies into clouds of decay. The remaining revenants surrounded him, slashing and clawing at exposed flanks. Harold rolled to his feet, careful of the needle protruding from his chest. He attacked with hammer and chisel, striking at as many heads as he could reach. Back-to-back, the giant and fairy fought, iron and steel punched through soft skulls, giant hands fulfilling the proverb of dust to dust. Dozens of the undead piled at their feet. The last one leapt over Harold, attaching itself to the Greyman's back. It sunk its teeth and claws into flesh as the goliath howled and thrashed, trying to shake the parasite. Harold ducked as the Greyman wildly pitched about, steeled himself for an opening, and struck with the chisel. It punched into the corpse and he brought it to the ground. The behemoth turned and contemplated the desiccated thing pinned to the sod. It lashed out in mindless hostility. Leisurely, almost lovingly, he grasped its head in a massive hand and squeezed it still.

Am Fear Liath Mor sat, and began licking its wounds. Harold approached him cautiously and placed a hand on the boning sticking from the monster's hairy chest. He placed his head against the Greyman's. "Well done, son. Well done." He pulled the needle out then did the same to his own. The ape man chuffed and smiled at him, then patted the tiny fairy on the head. Slowly he stood, and ambled back into the forest. Harold couldn't help but laugh in disbelief at the turn of events.

Somewhere down the hill, he heard the voice of a woman. Eros emanated from the fog.

"Come tooth fairy, let us find a decent hiding spot."

"Did ya bait the bloodsucker?"

"There, behind that mausoleum. Then I'll tell you all about it."