The Fae and You
The Fae and You is a book found within the office while the Spiritual Travelers were exploring The Prison Beneath Thera Relovut on Nurend 15, 308.
It is a helpful educational text describing types of fae, their tricks, and what interacting with them can lead to. Some of the illustrations and writing style suggests it may have been intended for a younger audience. The Fae are generally shown in a neutral, almost animalistic, light. Similar to how a nature book might suggest that bothering a bear will lead to losing your arms, or that spiders are fine if you just leave them be. With that in mind there is still a bit of negativity, a bit of a suggestion that the fae are inherently dangerous and should be avoided.
Some of the fae that are described might be recognized by the Spiritual Travelers, and the artwork/descriptions involved are noticeably different. It's unclear why there would be such misinformation, unless it was all just made up... or maybe someone has something to gain from antifae propaganda?
Contents
The Spirits that they worshipped, the Smrtohnya, were also sometimes referred to as simply "The Ten", a pantheon of ten different spirits that oversaw the day-to-day lives of all living beings. The first of the Elven Ancestors (a race that was as-of-yet unaffected by Fae magics) saw the Smrtohnya in this land and began carving, drawing, and doing anything else they could to convey what they saw to their brethren. -Around this portion of the introduction is a drawing of a series of half circles surrounding a minuscule 10-point star with lines of different lengths extending from each point. At the end of each line is a symbol related to each different Smrtohnya and a name attributed to them.- According to this book's introduction, the ancient city had to be abandoned after a pact was made with some of the creatures that were encountered in this strange land. The creature, a Fae which is missing any description in the introduction or even throughout the book, promised longer lives, knowledge of the cosmos, and for their culture to never die. The ancesters of the elves accepted this deal, exchanging their names and knowledge of who they were so that they might never be forgotten, live forever, amongst other tantalizing benefits.
This was, obviously enough, a trick! The mysterious fae took what it wanted, and the prize that it provided was a twisted version of what was offered. The City, whose name was forgotten despite what was promised, vanished into nothingness as the Elven Ancestors began to change, who they were becoming lost and forgotten as well. As their minds were being dragged into this Spirit World they were saved by something rather unexpected. Another Fae, similarly mysterious though afforded at least this sensible description: The Shadow of an unseen, short-statured though masculine figure. This...shadow-man apparently offered the newly created Elves an opportunity for salvation: "Do not make pacts with other Fae, owe allegiance only to me, and you will be spared the fate of your lost brethren." The Elves accepted this offer, of course, and were able to flee their home to rebuild further south on the Frozen Shores. The Endless Tundra still has some Fae presence to this day, and the city somewhere in its center is a popular place for pilgrimages...though most avoid it, and whether or not it is even truly there is a matter of debate.
"We stood on the bridge, our hoods raised over our heads and the pages torn from that old library book still clutched in Va'andrik's hands. He raised his arms up in some wild swooping motion as if he was about to bow, and his fingers bent into an odd shape resembling horns before he shouted into the sky. Boats passed by below, completely unaffected by the shouting, and in an ancient language he told me to fetch the blood. My hands shook, elbows wanting to give out, the massive brass vase was heavy enough when it was empty, but now that it was filled with some animal blood of...dubious origin, well, I could barely lift the thing. Combined with the anxiety I felt in this moment, was it all worth it to see him? Would we even recognize that it was him in the form the book described? What if we didn't like what he was or he didn't like us? It had been so long since he passed on, since the accident put him in the infirmary for so many months. I'd never seen someone die before that, and the look of pain and bliss on his face as he finally moved along that Unwalked Path was something I'll never forget. Does he remember the pain? A gust of wind tried to pull my hood off my head, Va'andrik kept shouting the unusual words into the sky and sometimes downwards towards the bridge. He leaned over at one point, his fingers still bent in that devilish way, and his shouting grew more intense. I heard my cue to pour the blood, finally, some respite. It covered the side of the bridge, it dripped into the water, the initial splash something surreal and grotesque that slowly began to stain the water. Each subsequent drip a reminder of what I had just done, but then I heard something promising: the familiar squeak of a bat. A torrent of the little winged rats poured from beneath the bridge almost mirroring the blood we had just cascaded over the side. Part of me was frightened of the number of them, must have been at least 600 or so in total, and they just kept coming, but part of me was further impressed and hopeful that I would get to see him to some degree. As the bats fluttered about we looked at all their bellies with the smallest sliver of anticipation that at least one of them MUST have His face, and Va'andrik shouted His name into the sky. The shouting this time was mixed with a cracking voice, tears, choked back in such a way that made me pitty my dear friend even more. Suddenly the shouting stopped. It had been replaced with a thud as his knees buckled and he collapsed. A cry of anguish escaped his lips that was worse than any I had heard, and the sorrow that fled his throat poured into me leading to my own anguished tears to finally leak from my until-recently dry eyes. His death hadn't hit either of us until that moment, not really, ever since he died all we had was the mission, and now that we still can't see him his absense was unavoidable. Our friend is dead...never to be seen again. If this ritual had done anything it had given release to the pent up agony we held within, perhaps that's all the bats are meant to do: A reminder of those we should cherish, and a reminder of the nihilism that we should all hold dear as elven folk.
Introduction
The book also has an introduction which covers the Elves strenuous relationship with the Fae over the millennia. The legend, which may or may not be true, starts as some legends do with a grain of truth. The Elves originally lived much farther to the north than they currently do. North of the Frozen Shores and the capital of Harandil is the Endless Tundra. At the "center" of this supposedly endless landscape is the ancient city that the Elves built thousands and thousands of years before any other sapient races roamed Taranel. According to the legend, this city was not just a bustling and utopia-esque center of early Elven culture, it was also a border between worlds. Within this city the ancestors of modern day elves lived, built homes, raised families, and the location happened to also be situated on top of a rather thin bit of space between Taranel and the "Land of Death"/"Land of Spirits" (Smrtkraji). They believed that this realm they were connected to was not only a special, vibrant place filled with resources that they happily used, but it was also the home of the Spirits that they worshiped. (Harandil Pantheon)The Spirits that they worshipped, the Smrtohnya, were also sometimes referred to as simply "The Ten", a pantheon of ten different spirits that oversaw the day-to-day lives of all living beings. The first of the Elven Ancestors (a race that was as-of-yet unaffected by Fae magics) saw the Smrtohnya in this land and began carving, drawing, and doing anything else they could to convey what they saw to their brethren. -Around this portion of the introduction is a drawing of a series of half circles surrounding a minuscule 10-point star with lines of different lengths extending from each point. At the end of each line is a symbol related to each different Smrtohnya and a name attributed to them.- According to this book's introduction, the ancient city had to be abandoned after a pact was made with some of the creatures that were encountered in this strange land. The creature, a Fae which is missing any description in the introduction or even throughout the book, promised longer lives, knowledge of the cosmos, and for their culture to never die. The ancesters of the elves accepted this deal, exchanging their names and knowledge of who they were so that they might never be forgotten, live forever, amongst other tantalizing benefits.
This was, obviously enough, a trick! The mysterious fae took what it wanted, and the prize that it provided was a twisted version of what was offered. The City, whose name was forgotten despite what was promised, vanished into nothingness as the Elven Ancestors began to change, who they were becoming lost and forgotten as well. As their minds were being dragged into this Spirit World they were saved by something rather unexpected. Another Fae, similarly mysterious though afforded at least this sensible description: The Shadow of an unseen, short-statured though masculine figure. This...shadow-man apparently offered the newly created Elves an opportunity for salvation: "Do not make pacts with other Fae, owe allegiance only to me, and you will be spared the fate of your lost brethren." The Elves accepted this offer, of course, and were able to flee their home to rebuild further south on the Frozen Shores. The Endless Tundra still has some Fae presence to this day, and the city somewhere in its center is a popular place for pilgrimages...though most avoid it, and whether or not it is even truly there is a matter of debate.
Butterfly-folk (motýľ-ľud)
The Endless Tundra is a funny thing, and records of what lied on the other side of the Forgotten City are incredibly conflicting in terms of landscape, but one thing is certain: Most that have explored this vast expanse have claimed to have seen fae resembling butterflies and moths phasing in and out of existence. They seem unaffected by the cold, though their insect-like appearance suggests they should be dead, and they never seem to pay any attention to most elves. They're almost like a projection of some other place in the world. The book warns of doing deals with these creatures, and suggest that, should you be unfortunate enough to catch the attention of one, to leave the area immediately. With any luck it'll phase back to where it should be, or it'll ignore you. Some references to eyewitnesses that claim they've gotten incredibly close to the creatures describe them as the following: "It was the weirdest thing. It just stared at me for several seconds, and I felt absolutely enthralled, like it had me under some sort of spell. I couldn't look away! I couldn't run, and as I watched it it came a bit closer. It extended a hand and asked if I needed any help and wondered what my name was! Of course I didn't tell it my name, I'm not a fool, and I didn't accept its help neither. Just ran as soon as I could get my legs working again. It had big eyes, big, round, black, insect eyes. Took up most of its face, and at first I thought it was kinda cute. The figure was almost feminine, like it was trying to trick me into thinking it was human or something, but I knew better. The wings on it were so gorgeous too, hypnotic, and as I was marveling at it, as it asked me if I needed help, I saw that its mouth was just filled with rows of sharp teeth. I swear I saw it unhinge its jaw and show them all off to me as I fled...truly terrifying stuff.Coyotes (lžiz'ub)
It is a bit unclear if Coyotes are fae or spirits...or if there really is a difference between the two, but Coyotes can be found throughout the Endless Tundra. Some of them are ordinary coyotes, just dog-like critters running through the snow and grass, but some of them are Coyotes or "lžiz'ub". These Coyotes are capable of complex thoughts and tend to either tell lies (they love to tell lies) or provide great truths. Is it foolish to ignore a Coyote because odds are it'll be telling a lie? Or is it better to listen every time because there just might be a time that it tells some great truth about the universe? The author of this book strongly suggests ignoring the Coyotes regardless of any potential truth as that truth might come at a cost. What will you owe this Coyote after it tells you anything? Are its lies worth as much as its honesty? "Listening to a Coyote may just have you enter into a pact with it, and entering pacts with Fae is never a good idea."Hags (S'ará'žena)
Few have really encountered a Hag out in the Endless Tundra, but many have seen odd fences, tiny cottages or well-tended gardens with nobody around. Sometimes, very rarely, those wandering the Tundra will happen upon these things along with an old woman either rocking in a chair on the porch of this cottage, or tending to the garden, or just staring out her window at those that pass by. "It was in the twilight hours, the sun was just set behind the horizon, the gentle glow that remained of the now absent sun covered the tundra in a dim light that was accented by the white snow all around me. As I made my way back to camp I discovered a strange bit of fence. It was built around a small garden, but there was no home or even any tents to account for its existence. Several thorn-covered bushes lined this garden, and I could see the stark contrast of red berries on the deep green leaves all made further gorgeous by the snowy grass that lined the dirt they grew from. Nobody was around, and I had a long journey back to my tent and fire. A few berries would help hold me over until I could skin this caribou so I plucked a few, nicking my exposed wrists on the thorns that aptly defended their fruit. A tiny bit of blood dripped to the snow staining it and reminding me briefly of the poetry we studied back in the day. I continued my journey with a handful of bright red berries, and the first one I tried was sweet, sweeter than any deserts my mother had ever made. Another berry and I experienced that same sweetness accompanied by some welcome tartness that spread through my mouth and was quickly washed down by some cold water until another berry filled my mouth. This next one was just as delicious, though kinda...meaty? There was some amount of iron, something metallic, almost like the blood that would spatter into an open mouth while butchering some particularly tough animal. It was unusual, but still delicious, and I continued to pop berry after berry as I continued the trek back to my campsite. By the last berry I knew, to some degree, that these berries were filled with blood. The scarlet poured from my mouth and ran down my shirt into the snow. I had made it back to my camp and it would seem I had a visitor. An old woman sat at my fire, and I noticed it was lit as she poked at the logs absentmindedly. Why did this seem so fine? Why did I not care that she was here? I began to question these things as she looked up at me with a smile that I will remember until the day I pass on or am claimed by some silent figure in the night for my transgressions. Her fingers were like roots, branching off in random directions, long and thin, covered in dirt, and the soft glow of her green eyes provided more warmth to me than any fire I had ever had the pleasure of starting. She offered me more berries, some tea and a conversation. In exchange all I had to do was give her "some more of the blood I had already offered". Maybe I was delerious, something was in the berries that was altering my mind, but I accepted. I needed more, and I needed answers. We talked for hours, sharing the knowledge that we each had, and by the end of it she had taken a jar full of my precious blood. In exchange she provided me some saplings that I might start my own garden, and I took them all.Bats (Pa’Ašné)
The memories of those lost to time, loved ones we wish to see just one last time, and more heartbreak are all things any elf might experience at any time. The memories we have for a person are still with us and we can treasure them without any problem, but the memories that those people had for us and this world are carried away from their spirit by the River Misery, washing the soul clean so that it can be recycled, used again in a fresh form with fresh meaning. But where do those memories go? Do they just disappear forever? Those that are part of the Cult of Rot believe they can be reclaimed, our past lives can be brought back into who we are today, but if they can be reclaimed they must be somewhere... right? Caves, open sky at night, beneath the canopy, lots of areas throughout the Tundra have a chance of Bats or "Pa’Ašné", False Memories. Most outsiders, and even some elves, will tell you that these are truly the memories of the departed. They've come back of their own volition to provide some needed information, to speak one last time and gain closure, or they were just bored in the Spirit World. However, as the name might suggest, there are those that believe the Bats are False Memories, Pa’Ašné, and should be avoided at all costs. Those that think this will tell you they are dangerous fae hoping to lure unsuspecting and ignorant folks into the grasp of a twisted deal. Yet, even with this knowledge in mind, there are still necromancers out there that will perform rituals to "allow the memories to live". They hope to conjure more bats into this realm so that we don't have to be away from our loved ones, or even our past selves. In either case, be they true or false, the existence of these Bats poses a question: "What energy keeps these memories in this form?" Spiritualists, ritualists of all paths (even the one that is Unwalked) will all say the same thing regarding the Circle: it is imperfect. The damage could be from intentional harm caused by ancient and unknown spirits or necromancers, it could be natural and caused by some mundane force, or it could be the lamentations of some god hoping to just see the faces of its long lost loved ones once more... whatever is causing it it is certain that there is less and less of a spirit returning each time it is recycled. If these Bats are truly the memories of the departed, or even if they are bandits stealing the memories from the River Misery, does the act of giving the memory form somehow diminish the spirit as it cycles back?"We stood on the bridge, our hoods raised over our heads and the pages torn from that old library book still clutched in Va'andrik's hands. He raised his arms up in some wild swooping motion as if he was about to bow, and his fingers bent into an odd shape resembling horns before he shouted into the sky. Boats passed by below, completely unaffected by the shouting, and in an ancient language he told me to fetch the blood. My hands shook, elbows wanting to give out, the massive brass vase was heavy enough when it was empty, but now that it was filled with some animal blood of...dubious origin, well, I could barely lift the thing. Combined with the anxiety I felt in this moment, was it all worth it to see him? Would we even recognize that it was him in the form the book described? What if we didn't like what he was or he didn't like us? It had been so long since he passed on, since the accident put him in the infirmary for so many months. I'd never seen someone die before that, and the look of pain and bliss on his face as he finally moved along that Unwalked Path was something I'll never forget. Does he remember the pain? A gust of wind tried to pull my hood off my head, Va'andrik kept shouting the unusual words into the sky and sometimes downwards towards the bridge. He leaned over at one point, his fingers still bent in that devilish way, and his shouting grew more intense. I heard my cue to pour the blood, finally, some respite. It covered the side of the bridge, it dripped into the water, the initial splash something surreal and grotesque that slowly began to stain the water. Each subsequent drip a reminder of what I had just done, but then I heard something promising: the familiar squeak of a bat. A torrent of the little winged rats poured from beneath the bridge almost mirroring the blood we had just cascaded over the side. Part of me was frightened of the number of them, must have been at least 600 or so in total, and they just kept coming, but part of me was further impressed and hopeful that I would get to see him to some degree. As the bats fluttered about we looked at all their bellies with the smallest sliver of anticipation that at least one of them MUST have His face, and Va'andrik shouted His name into the sky. The shouting this time was mixed with a cracking voice, tears, choked back in such a way that made me pitty my dear friend even more. Suddenly the shouting stopped. It had been replaced with a thud as his knees buckled and he collapsed. A cry of anguish escaped his lips that was worse than any I had heard, and the sorrow that fled his throat poured into me leading to my own anguished tears to finally leak from my until-recently dry eyes. His death hadn't hit either of us until that moment, not really, ever since he died all we had was the mission, and now that we still can't see him his absense was unavoidable. Our friend is dead...never to be seen again. If this ritual had done anything it had given release to the pent up agony we held within, perhaps that's all the bats are meant to do: A reminder of those we should cherish, and a reminder of the nihilism that we should all hold dear as elven folk.
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