"Hey Maud, lets have a bit of a tale."

"Hear, Hear." Agreements rose around the room, as chairs shifted and people turned to an old woman seated by the fire.

The woman started awake, tiny bells sewn into her shawl tinkled with the sudden movement, her face peered at the small group lounging about the room. Long gmarled hands unfolded as she leaned forward, keen eyes spotted the barkeep, and she flashed him a wide grin.

"Bring a drink, my good lad" Maud settled back into her chair and addressed the room in general. "So what'll ye have?"

Folk shifted and muttered happily for a moment. "No more dragons and unicorns." someone shouted. "I'm bloody sick of them"

"No elves either." said a voice near the bar.

A young woman brought her some mulled wine, settling down beside her. "Nothing scary, please"

"Adventures good." Someone else ventured. Wrapping her old hands around the mug she took a small sip, watching everyone as they continued to argue. When she spoke her honeyed voice brought their instant attention back around. "I have a tale that hasn't been heard in many a long years. So sit yourselves down and let me tell you."

"In the old days it was common knowledge that the people of the sea, known as Skelkies, would sometimes find love with those upon the land. After losing so many of their sons and daughters to the sea people, the folk who lived and worked the shore soon took refuge in their homes when the moon rose full and round upon the water, none venturing forth when the sweet voices called from the waves. They would lock their doors and huddle close to their fire. The tale I tell ye is indeed an old strange one. It still pains my heart to tell of it. A tale of a man and his love for his beautiful daughter." A hush descended around the room ...

Bran was a blacksmith who knew his trade well, often paid handsomely for his services and beautiful crafting. He was a rich man who would support his only daughter as properly as any nobleman, often lavishing her with many fine gifts. Having lost his lovely wife when the child was young, his daughter Erin was his greatest treasure. At the age of sixteen summers, she was considered the fairest maid for miles around. Her flesh was like new cream, her eyes the colour of summer meadows, and her hair was like that of the ravens wing.

Erin could often be found sitting at her loom by their tiny window singing as she worked, her voice was the sweetest of birdsong. Folk would find reason to pass by the little house and stop to listen for a moments respite, listening quietly to her sweet melodies. At such times, even Bran would put up his hammer and sit listening.

As Erin approached her marriage age, many young men vied for her hand - farmer, merchant and nobleman alike. All swore their love to her; often a suitor could be spied hanging about the small house waiting for her to notice, offering gifts or words of praise. Bran would watch as Erin smiled at each, knowing in her care that she wished to break no mans heart. However, with the smiles and laughter Bran grew jealous, although his love for Erin was that of a devout father, in his mind he reckoned the bold young men to be nothing more then so many hounds in pursuit of a lovely doe. As the season rolled into summer, Bran's jealousy grew deeper and deeper. He gruffly denied those who approached him for his daughters hand; he had even begun chasing them from his fence, threatening to lay about him with his ever present hammer.

It was not long after the first incident that the townspeople began to talk of his reluctance to let his daughter go into marriage. A few folk came to him with words of reassurance and comfort. Bran would stand and listen patiently, for they were his friends and customers, deserving of his respect. Yet still he continued to deny Erin her suitors. "I do it out of love" he would tell her. Erin would cry at night, thinking her father punished her for a reason only he knew. Often she would pleade for him to explain, but he would not. Soon she ceased singing all together, her heart had grown heavy

Unable to bear his daughters sorrow, Bran began to think. He only wanted to be happy again, but he could not bear to lose Erin, the thought of his daughter giving her love to another was like the sun leaving a garden forever in darkness. Slowly a plan formed in his mind. The next day found him with the local mason, he hired the man and his two sons, they were to build him a house on the rocky cliffs of the coast, a good days journey. There he would take her and set up his trade anew, thinking the peace and quiet would do her good.

The day came early in autumn when the mason reported his task complete. Bran set Erin to packing up their home. Erin, being a dutiful child did not question, she could only look about her with tears heavy in her heart. When the cart was loaded high and his furnace laid low on its own cart, Bran set off for the coast with Erin at his side. Townsfolk gathered to watch them on their way for it was no small thing for a town to lose its blacksmith, and many were sorely confused and upset. As for the younger folk ... men threw flowers and trinkets into the front seat and onto Erin's lap, in a vain hope that she would chose one of them at the very last. Instead she smiled bravely and called out kind words. Once away from town she began to sob, and turned to her father for what comfort he could offer. By night fall they had come to the small house that stood boldly before the sea and sky. It looked dark and defiant on the vast isolated cliff where it stood alone.

As autumn gave way to winter, Bran and Erin settled into a comfortable routine. Bran worked constantly at his covered forge, and Erin tended the house and her loom. Neither said much to the other, until one night, Erin finally found the courage to ask her father for the reason of their departure. Whenever she had tried to broach the subject before, Bran would demiss her attempts. This time however he did not stop her questions. Instead with a deep sigh, he told her the truth behind his actions. He spoke to her of his binding love and the hateful jealousy, as he talked understanding crept into her eyes only to be replaced by a look of dismay as Bran continued his flood of truth. It was then he told her that she would never marry until he had drawn his final breath; until then, she would remain at his side. With a cry of dispair Erin fled from the house out into the night, fearing that she might run off into the night, he rose to follow her.

Sometime later he discovered her huddled among the rocks, weeping miserably. A sea wind had risen, blowing fierce and cold, foretelling the harsh winter to come. With a heavy heart, Bran turned back to the house knowing that the weather would soon drive his grieving daughter back to him. Not long after, as he sat before his hearth, Erin came through the door wet and bedraggled; she would not meet his eyes, going straight to her bed looking sad and lost. So it went through-out the winter and into the spring; Erin would not speak and her eyes remained downcast in his presence. Her reaction to his words of love broke his heart, but looking at his daughter, he refused to reconsider his words, knowing he would still lose in the end. Her silent company was better then none.

One evening as he sat upon his doorstep he heard the most astonishing sound. He heard singing so forlorn it caught in his throat. The voice he recognized well, even though it had been a long time since it had been raised in song. Unknowingly he rose to follow the haunting sound, there he found Erin down on the sand, at the sight of her his heart clenched like a cold fist curling in his chest. She stood at the waters edge with the sea lapping at her ankles and the wind making a banner of her midnight hair, singing out across the sea to the setting sun. As it sank slowly beneath the waves, it bathed her in glorious fire turning the water before her into a dazzling array of red and gold sparks. The sight disturbed Bran greatly, he could not bare to look at her and the wordless song she sang. He turned his back to the waters and slowy made his way home with the wind carrying the longing of her voice to him.

As each evening went by and Erin continued to sing to the setting sun, an uneasiness grew with Bran. He would grow anxious if he could not see her during the day; he would put up his tools to find her sitting at her weaving or at times on the rocks with a dreaming smile upon her lips. Later at night, once she retired to her bed, Bran would open her door to reassure himself that Erin was indeed asleep within. It was at those times that Erin's haunting music would play inside his head, making his nights sleepless.

One night as Bran lay atop his covers unable to sleep, the songs drifted to him on a light wind. The full moon sent shafts of silver through the open window as Bran crept to Erin's door expecting to see her curled in sleep, but when he opened the door moonlight shone full on her empty bed. As the sound of music entered his shocked mind he turned and raced out the door. Reaching the cliff edge he came to an abrupt stop. Down on the beach stood Erin, slowly walking into the sea until her naked form was lost from sight. With a cry of anguish Bran hurried down to the sand crying out her name. There on the sand lay her sleeping shift, crumpled and forgotten. Bran raced up and down the sand watching for her to surface, when she did not, he lay down on the wet sand holding the abandoned shift to his chest, he cried out his grief. Eventually he wept himself to sleep.

When he awoke at dawn he found that where he had once clenched Erin's sleeping gown, he held nothing but sand. Confused, Bran rose and made his way back to the house. It was as he had left it with doors wide open, he crossed the room, choking on a fresh surge of grief. Looking once more into her room, he gasped in shock; there lay his daughter curled in sleep. More confused then ever he stumbled to his own bed. The next day he watched Erin closely. When he asked her for an explaination, she suggested that perhaps he had been dreaming the whole time. Looking at her innocent face, Bran could do naught but believe her ... even so, he watched her closely.

That night did not repeat itself until a few weeks later when Bran had finally begun to relax. Once again it happened as before, the music came first, rising and falling with the sound of waves beneath many voices. When Bran heard it, he immediately rose to check on Erin, once again with a sense of despair he found her bed empty. Not daring to hesitate he ran from the house towards the sea, again he was too late, when he arrived her head slipped beneath the moon gleaming waters.

This time he did not weep, insteadhe decided to wait, he vowed he would not sleep. Bran watched the sea for hours, holding the nightdress she had left behind. At dawn he woke to find his hands empty yet again. With a mighty oath he raced as quickly as he could up the cliff. Again, Erin lay there her black hair curled around her, completely dry and deep asleep. The only evidence of the beach below was the sand his own feet had tracked in. Filled with dread and bewilderment, Bran made his way to his own bed.

For Bran, the nights became impossible. He would toss and turn unconfortably in his bed, certain that his daughter disappeared night after night, yet finding her always in her bed, he began to question his sanity. For weeks the night was quiet; the music did not return until the next full moon. On that night he did not sleep, instead he sat listening at Erin's wall. As he started to doze off, he heard her door open and her soft steps in the outer room. Bran waited but a heartbeat before following. The bright silver moonlight made her easy to follow and a light breeze had come up to blow her song back to him. She made her way quickly down to the beach to stand before the sea, she began to sing, her arms flung wide to the moon touched water.The wind had picked up, forcing Bran to pick his way down the cliff carefully, as she sang it seemed to pick up strength caring the power of her voice, bouncing the music from the rocks behind her and rushing out to sea. Her song did not falter as she drew the shift over her head and stepped into the waiting water.

Bran grew frantic as he raced down across the rocks calling her name. As his feet hit the sand she was out of sight, yelling in fury Bran splashed around in the water searching for her. Unable to find her he headed back to shore and sat down beside her discarded gown. Seeing it he knew a flash of rage, taking it he ripped it to shreds and threw the pieces into the water with a curse. His heart pounding, he struggled to find a calm in a realm of strangeness. He fully expected her to return, he would wait. For hours he walked up and down the now quiet shore watching the moonlight dance across the waves, he waited through the cold pre-dawn hours and still she did not return. Finally, as the morning sun came over the cliff, Bran gave up and returned to his house with a vain hope that he would indeed find her in her own bed as usual. Alas, when he reached her room it stood empty.

A wave of utter despair rose up and washed over Bran as he realized that his beloved daughter would not return. Unable to do anything other then weep, he returned to the rocky bluff. There he remained the entire day, the sun slid across the sky, as it finally set, the silence of the shore tore his heart anew.

That night as he sat in front of a dead hearth, he could hear Erin's song rising on the wind, Thinking she had returned, he raced out into the howling wind crying her name. When he came to the cliffs edge he found no one, his daughters song thrown back at him by the cruel restless sea. Choking on grief to much to bear, Bran made his way down to the water where the waves echoed her music softly ... his heart broken, he waded out into the water following his daughter to his death.

Silence sat bound the dim tavern room, someone sighed.

"What happened to Erin?" a young voice whispered

"Well now, tis believed that when Bran tore her dress to pieces and threw it in the sea, Erin was then forever bound to stay beneath the waves until a great enough love could call her back. Sadly, that same love followed her into the waters"

"Someone should have told him about the sea people" someone said quietly.

"Midlanders don't believe anyone" another voice answered, setting off a round of comments.

"Have you ever seen a Skelkie?" the question came out of the shadows.

The embers of the dying fire cast a soft glow over the old womans face, revealing a faded beauty of years long past. "Oh yes... but thats another tale for telling, and one worth more then a wee drink. Perhaps another time. Now leave an old woman some peace to sleep and go home with gods blessings upon ye" Maud folded herself into her layers of shawls and appeared to drift instantly into to sleep, leaving the townsfolk to disperse with quiet conversation.

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