#silvamune

[the-fae-folk]

Silver in Truth

“Why do you wander here?” She asked him as they sat in an old overgrown park tucked away where it had lain forgotten for years. Vines covered the fences, grass and wildflowers ran wild, and the trees dug their roots ever deeper. The air was sweeter here than in the rest of the mortal city, sweeter and wilder. A hint of Faerie lingered in the air, but only a pale ghost, like a reflection in a still pool. The two fae, one old and one young, shared a bagel between them as they spoke. “I’m  looking for someone who can tell me the way to the First City. Or at least set me on the right path.” said Ardri quietly. Though he felt better than he had since coming to this strange world, he knew that he had not the skills to wander safely through this world, and not the time to learn those skills. The old Faerie woman nodded as if she had expected nothing else. In her eyes was reflected something strange, and Ardri wondered what her true form was beneath the human glamour she wore so carefully. Perhaps something with too many eyes, or something that didn’t mind the human’s poisonous air so much as he did. “You’re looking for the Crown of Faerie.” It was not a question. She already knew his purpose before he’d had the chance to speak of it. “The way there is not a straight line but a twisted path filled with suffering and temptation. Our First City has been lost a long time. This mortal universe has only existed for a mere thirteen billion years or so, a very brief time, and the City was lost and forgotten long before that. You cannot do this alone, no one can.” Ardri hung his head. The prophet of Silvamune had said as much and he’d refused to listen, but now even here he was told that it was impossible. But the old faerie woman reached out and pushed his chin up, forcing his eyes to meet hers once more. “It is impossible alone. But not with help. Take this.” She handed to him a single coin of silver, it sparkled in his hand and tingled with magic. “It’s a coin given in true charity, with no reward expected or accepted, only the desire to help others and humility. It was given by a child. A child who had not yet learned to feel greed or pride, to act contemptuous of his fellow man, to turn away from those in need. It will ring with a sound only you can hear to guide you to those who will aid your journey.” And she took him to the edge of the old park, where the rosebushes had twisted and snarled from years of neglect, to form a tunnel of thorns. This he followed until the fresh air that reached him told him that he’d crossed the boundary into Faerie once more.

[the-fae-folk]

Storied Rumors

Crackling fire, a ring of stones, a group of travelers. They wait by the flickering flames, shrinking away from the shadows. Whispers fill the night, they speak of stories, of rumors. “I heard he was a great warrior,” said a goblin with tufted ears and too many teeth to be comfortable. “He sent his great stone eagle to ravage them with its claws and drive them away.” “No no no,” said the Saytr. “I heard it was a stone owl, not an eagle. And he was a great wizard, casting spells of light and banishing the gloom the Oracle held over Silvamune.” Others pitched into the argument, each having heard a different version of events, a different color of tale. Some painted him as an old Faerie, others as a young one. Was he an artist? A craftsman? A loremaster? Just one of those who sat by the fire said nothing. The Faerie was dressed in dark robes and held a humanoid figure, a smile played upon his lips and his eyes could not be seen. Flashes of gold and silver could be seen at his feet and arms. Most of the others gave him a friendly nod and then turned their attention elsewhere. It was only when the arguing had grown to frantic heights that he rose from his place. All fell silent as they turned to gaze at him. “Shall I tell you the tale I heard?” he asked, that same smile playing at the corner of his mouth. They nodded in silence and he began to weave his tale. “The story began with a very old Faerie who liked to sit upon a distant hill by the lonely tree and watch the most beautiful sunsets to be found in any world.” He told them of the young Faerie boy and the two mothers, of the Stone Crow, of the Oracle of Silvamune who took the form of a disembodied echo of someone who once was. Then he told them of the one who came, he who was shrouded in Dark Fire, of the army of abominations and the fearful visions that had appeared. Around them the air grew cold as he spoke, a chill that seemed more than just the wind, but seemed to pierce the heart with fear. Yet his story turned hopeful, telling of a journey across the Flowered Oceans, of Riona and Brin, of the strange border between Earth and Faerie. He told them of the human world with its poisoned air and steel towers, and he told them of wishes and silver and magic in the night. It was as if his words had spellbound them, each listened with wide eyes. When he had finished they begged him to tell them how he had learned of such a thing, had he met the great one they waited for? The boy who might save them? He would only say that a human named Alban was wandering the Deep Woods of Faerie and gathering the Folk to his cause, calling them onward to a destiny unknown.

[the-fae-folk]

The Captain

Sometimes the waves have a mind of their own. Selkies and sirens, merfolk and undines splashed among the lilies of the viridian freshwater sea. They had asked Ardri where he wished to go, but without knowing where to begin searching for the First Crown, he did not know what to tell them. Three nights after the fall of Silvamune the moon found him adrift on an endless sea beneath the stars. A selkie maid, one whom he recognized as she who told him of the celebrations at Silvamune, came to the side of the boat. In her seal voice she told him of one who knew of everything on the surface of the Flowered Ocean, who could surely tell him if there had ever been any sign of the crown. Having few options, Ardri bade the selkie maid take him to this person so that he might speak with them. So away she pulled his boat. Away from the others who were being drawn to safety far from the ruins of their own home. It was a day and a night more before a great ship came into sight. Two persons gazed out towards him as he drew near. One a captain, her coat carefully kept with silver buttons and lapels upon her shoulders, the other not even a sailor but a young man who was clearly the captain’s lover. Both were humanoid, but the man’s skin was brown like those who dwelt in the the furthest deserts, and his hair was green like the forest and was growing with leaves and budding flowers. The Captain had a pair of small horns that poked from her red hair and her eyes were a sharp and inhuman black. They welcomed him aboard, saying that the Selkies had sent word of his coming. The Captain went by the name of Riona and the man by the name of Brin. Days before they had seen the oily black smoke rising high into the sky and had known that something was amiss. He told them the tale, of the fate of Silvamune and the haunting words of the Prophet. Riona thought for a time before she broke the silence. At last she stood. “There is one who might be able to set you upon the path. But she will not be easy to reach.” “Can you take me to her?” asked Ardri. The Captain looked at Brin and he looked at her, their eyes meeting and a smile playing about their lips. “Aye, I can,” she told him. “I’ll not back from danger when it comes knocking. If one such as you has heart enough then I’ll bear you to where you need to go.”

[the-fae-folk]

A Festival?

“Are you going to the festival?” Ardri looked up in shock. A selkie maid stood before him, her sealskin dangling from her hand, a smile on her face. “What festival?” Ardri asked, confused. “I have heard of none.” The selkie laughed. “The Festival at Silvamune. They hold a great festival every year for some human that they once revered. Everyone from all around is invited. Its not too far from here. Just a few miles down these shores and then you’ll find a path that leads inland to the old hills. You should come.” She blew Ardri a kiss, then laughed as he blushed and she threw on her coat and leaped into the waves. Up again she sprang in seal form, playing and jumping in the water before swimming away.

[the-fae-folk]

The Prophet of Silvamune

He came there to the hills of Silvamune as the night was falling. Above the crescent moon shone its sliver of light down the share among the lanterns. Hundreds of lanterns, made from paper and wood and lit by fireflies and fire sprites, colored with magic and little screens of glass. They hung from every tree, sat atop every standing stone. The glades and hills were bright with the flickering lights as dancers moved here and there, laughing and joking. They welcomed him and drew him into their circles, and he was at home there for he was one of them. Moving to music that circled endless through his heart and soul, moving to patterns he knew without knowing, taking part in a song older than himself yet newer than the newest born bear cub. Night was long, and there were many times where he stepped away from the dancing to drink and eat, only to be gathered back in when the music swelled and the lights twinkled entrancingly. Energy filled his tired limbs, and even the Stone Crow sang along to the songs with its harsh voice. When dawn came at last he found that he had danced with all the others to the top of the highest of the hills. The Stone Crow had fallen asleep on a table somewhere amidst all the food and drink, and no one had the heart to wake him yet. Others returned to their homes or camps, to the waters and the wilds and the woods so they could rest and return to celebrate again at the newest nightfall. But Ardri stayed. On that hill at the center of Silvamune was built a great house of black adamant, its curved walls held by arches and pillars, built into and upon the hill. Come A voice from inside called him, and he came, stepping into the dark. Upon the dark ceiling were tiny shining gems that glittered light stars in the sky, and a single shaft of light from a hole in the ceiling fell upon a grave of white stone in the middle of the room. “Who is there?” he called, for he could see no one. I am here. Still he could see none, but the voice was the same as the one who had called him. “Who are you?” he asked of it. I am the Prophet. Long have I dwelt here in Silvamune, waiting for you. “For me?” Yes. You wish to help this world, do you not? That was your most fervent wish. I heard it, echoing across the wind. And Ardri was astonished that his heart’s desire was known to this voice, this whisper in the dark. But when it spoke again, his blood ran cold. Your journey is doomed to fail, your wish will be forgotten. It is inevitable. “What do you mean? Why?” he asked the voice. I have seen the fate of this world. It is dying. While its people remain untouched by mortal death, the world itself can succumb to decay and despair. There are lands which have fallen to dust, realms where time is broken or no more, places where only dark spirits wander mindless among ruins. Though scattered and isolated, such things spread further outward, consuming this world slowly. “Can such things not be stopped?” Perhaps they could. But there is more. Long ago there were those who were consumed by hate and despair, faerie folk who became nothing more than monsters. Wraiths, demons, amalgamate beings and other horrors. They were sealed away in prisons meant to last eternity. But no prison will truly last forever. One by one they are being released, the gates which hold them shattered and cast down. Ardri shivered, for such things were told of in all the oldest stories, tales of dark things fit only for nightmares. Faerie was a dangerous and often frightening place, but the ancient things locked away in their prisons were the worst. “What will they do?” he asked. They will bring upon this world the fate which it deserves. Suffering equal to their own, revenge for all that was done to them. All faerie folk shall become like them and Faerie will slowly die. After that, I imagine they will not stop but merely move on to other realms. Destroying endlessly. “You speak as if there is no other fate, as if all that remains is despair. Is there no way to stop them? To help them?” And the voice was silent for a long time. At last, when he almost feared it would never answer again, it spoke. It might be, that there is hope. Yet it is a frail hope. If but the First Crown could be found again, then anything might be possible. “Where can it be found?” I do not know. No one does. It is lost. Perhaps forever. “I will seek and find it then,” Ardri told the voice. “If it is our only hope.” You cannot. It is impossible. You will fail. Ardri stood tall and glared round at the dark room and the old tombstone. “We cannot abandon hope, not without trying. Who are you to say it is impossible? Who are you to say that we cannot try? Who are you?” His demands grew stern and for a brief moment he seemed almost like someone else, someone regal and powerful, and the voice again was quiet for a long time before answering. I am a whisper, an echo, a memory. I am what is left. That is all. “Then be silent.”

And the voice spoke no more.

[the-fae-folk]

Last of Silvamune

A field was chosen for the place to meet the coming army. Some Fae had already fled, but others chose to stand with Ardri, for it was he who had foreseen such events and prepared, they believed themselves to be safer with him. The sun was high when they met there. A figure of humanoid form wreathed in dark fire that danced across his flesh, burning and healing in the same moment. To gaze upon him was like looking upon a void. No darkness, no shadows. Not even empty space. Just...nothingness. Ardri stood opposed to him, still garbed in the simple rags and leafy vines of his forest home, yet standing firm and tall, immovable and stern. “It has been a long time since we have met any who would stand against us. How brave. How foolish.” The voice was calm and quiet, at odds with his frightening appearance. A voice that wound its way into your mind and teased it with complacency, with promises of friendships and reason, until you let down your guard...then it was too late. Yet Ardri stood firm. “Why have you come? Would you bring devastation where none have yet challenged you? To claim to defeat defiance when it is your own actions that bring it about?“ And the figure of dark fire laughed, a horrible sound that was like discordant sounds mocking what ought to have been a sweet melody. “You know why we have come, little elfling prince. You dare to seek the First Crown. Not that you could ever find it. After all, it has abandoned Faerie. We have merely come to teach you what comes of those who hold impossible dreams.” They attacked then. Creatures of indescribable horror. Great beasts with a thousand heads and a thousand reaching rotting arms, monstrous amalgamations born of Fae who were once individual but were devoured one by one and became a tortured furious giant of too many screaming minds, twisted shapes and beings who had long ago left physical bodies behind and become furious shades of who they once were. Silvamune burned that day. The great hills perished in dark fire blacker than the blackest of nights. Through the smoke Ardri led those few who stayed with him to the shore where Selkies had brought boats for them to escape. As he boarded the final boat with the Stone Crow carefully tucked into his arm so it couldn’t be lost, Ardri turned to look behind at the highest hill where the prophet had dwelt near the ancient grave in a house of captured starlight. The building had crumbled, and the grave was no more.

[the-fae-folk]

Dark News

When the night came again they found him there, sitting alone in the door of the empty shrine. No whisper of the Prophet was to be heard, it was gone forever. Silenced.

The celebrations continued, though Ardri did not partake in them any longer. Too troubled was his heart over the words the strange Prophet had spoken. Words of doom and failure, but also of hope. He knew the monsters of whom were spoken. The imprisoned, the locked away. Chains shattered, bonds broken. If he took it as his duty to fight towards that last dying glimmer of hope, then it was certain that they would come for him. He would be the first to fall, as would any who took his place. To his side he called the Stone Crow, told him to speak to the dancing Faeries who had come to revel in the celebrations. To ask their aid. To watch and to prepare for coming trouble. Many were willing to help with no bargain at all, feeling generous after the dancing and the wine. It was three days of watching the celebration before news returned to him. He had been speaking to the wisest of the Fae who were there, seeking out stories and songs of the First Crown. But none knew its whereabouts, only stories. Then the Stone Crow sent word to him through messengers. A figure wreathed in Dark Fire approached from the distance. At his back was an army of monstrous things, nightmares, abominations.