Caber recoiled in shock and rage, the witch-fire causing his hair to stand on end. His honey sweet voice turned into the rolling cry of a goat for a fraction of a moment, though he willed himself not to flee or attack. Millennia of being among (and attuned) to the mythical told him this was no major threat to himself. But the poor girl began to claw her eyes out, finger nails digging into skin and retina as she screeched. 

It was a travesty. Such a beauty wasted! Oh, she was not the loveliest woman he had seen, but every beautiful woman was to be cherished, for they were a ripe crop from a farm of weeds. She a fine singer to boot. But alas, all he could do was watch as her body was ripped asunder, and the ogham script was cut into being. It was just as well, as most of the other bar patrons had fled into the night, and those that hadn't were finding an exit through the back. 

As the woman's body slumped, the life having been torn out of her, Caber hopped up on the bar stood in a crouch and leaned down to view the script. He breathed the ancient language as he read it aloud. "[i]dair eadhadh beith tinne[/i]" he said, and he felt a fittingly cold chill down his spine. "Debt" was the translation, and he had a distinct feeling on why and from whom. The overall slant and depth of the cuts indicated it was from fae magic of the Winter Court. An ill omen, if ever there was one. Even early humans knew to tread lightly around them, for they regarded all mortals with disdain; as playthings to be used and discards, just as this beauty here. 

He knew his brethren overseas would hold grudges, but it had been three centuries since he had made off with the hidden jewels of the northern Sidhe. Did they expect him to pay off the debt? Did they wish for him to be bound by word or blood? A sudden realization hit him like an iron pole. What if the Asgardians had contacted the Winter Court!? He fell back dramatically. "No, no, NO, [h3]NO!"[/h3] 

Caber stumbled back into the wall as if struck, clawing at his own face in abject annoyance, and a ferocious fear only a cornered and rabid animal could exert. A serving wench that had hid behind the bar counter poked her head out slowly, and she bore witness to the once handsome figure shimmering into a satyr-like being and letting out a scream of the old world, before his very corporeal form became immaterial and flew out of the open window like a popped balloon. 

Caber needed to meet with another wizard or fae contact. If the Winter Court was looking for him, they would bind him to their will for as long as they saw fit he owed them, or would force him to marry that swine of a fae Siabha!