Story of the Lady

Long ago, before the first quests to the far reaches, before countries, before kings, the first lands were ruled by all that was truly wild. Beauty grew within the spaces between. Between shadow and light. Between godhood and ant. It was within these places that the first Fae roamed untethered and without a single worry within their heads. They were as wild as the magic that carried them from season to season, playing tricks and causing mischief to their heart’s content.

Just the same as many other children might, the Fae had a mother to whom they would always return. As she walked, the earth bloomed beneath her feet, with a flick of her eyes red trees sprung forth like daisies. Her children basked in the light of her blessings, and with her grace, their beds were always warm and their bellies were never left wanting.

For their mother was powerful in the way of the mortal gods, but to them, she was doubly kind and giving, and her love for them was exquisitely unshakable. When the mortal gods stepped back from their creations the Fae mother stepped toward hers, her beauty and light became a bulwark against the changing tides.

They lived this way for centuries, trusting the wilds their mother created to shield them, feed them, and bring them home to roost. But, as many stories go, this was not to last forever.

As time passed the mortal gods became covetous of the bounty of land and life the Fae children were gifted. They had left their own followers to squaller, scattered across the world in unwelcome conditions. So when these followers turned their backs to them with scorn, the mortal gods sought to lay blame at the mother’s feet, and offer her bounties to their people.

Desperate to survive the crumbling lands, their followers took this offer as a blessing from the heavens. The people scoured their towns for supplies, pulling together every last resource they could muster to aid them. They ripped planks from the floors of their homes and beams from their roofs to erect ships strong enough to make the journey. What little food they had was gathered and stored aboard. Livestock was either butchered or abandoned.

Men, Women, and Children boarded their boats by the hundreds and took sail across the unforgiving seas. The journey was grueling, taking weeks to complete, and not all were to survive their voyage. Some were lost to sickness, others to the sea itself.

Were it by luck or blessing the followers of the mortal gods eventually docked their ships to the rocky western shores. Their majority was intact and so they buried their dead and raised settlements to begin their lives anew.

In the early days, the Fae did not concern themselves with the comings and goings of these mortal folk. Certainly, they were, at times, overcome with a mischievous curiosity as their nature required, but their mother’s grace was vast and perfectly worth sharing.

What were a few hundred mortals to the grand scheme of the wilds?

That may very well have remained the case were it not for a more powerful curiosity that lived within these newcomers. For a being of eternal life, growing up is fluid and maturity is subjective. When there is no finish line brought on by age, one might choose to flutter from day to day, month to month, year to year, with little concern for discovery or conquering. For this is what the early Fae were accustomed to, and perhaps it was this lack of insight that prevented them from seeing what truly had arrived at their shores.

It was not long before the people became discontent with the small village they’d carved out for themselves. Overcome with the beauty of the mother’s lands they were driven to seek out the wonders they’d never experienced, to stretch their reach from shore to shore. This sort of ambition was truly foreign to the first Fae, and they could not help but to watch as though they were seeing newborns stumble about unaware of their surroundings.

The Fae have always been a playful bunch, reveling in pranks and tricks from small to large, and in these people, they believed they’d found a new opportunity. They used their magic to twist and shape their forms to that of giant shadow beasts that could tower over any village. With glee they strung wooden chimes from high in the red trees with silvery rope said to be as undetectable as it was unbreakable.

When the people made their way into the depths of the redwood for the first time the Fae remained in wait, barely able to contain their laughter. At first, they allowed them to pass unbothered. But, when the time was right and the mortals were nearly lost the Fae popped out from their hiding spots with a mighty roar, wood chimes clacking together loudly above. They gave them such a fright that the only thing for the people to do was to run screaming back to their homes.

This was much to the delight of the Fae who laughed and laughed at a prank so well executed. They were certain to tell their mother all about it when they next saw her. Little did they know, the people of the village had not found humor in what they’d seen. Instead, they returned to their homes speaking of a great monster that lived deep within the woods and was certain to kill them all. Their leaders gathered up their strongest fighters and with weapons and torches, they rushed back toward the danger their people had reported.

Well, when these strong fighters arrived, the Fae again were met with opportunity. A second chance at a well-done prank! They gathered together their magics and their largest, scariest voices, and once more jumped from the darkness with a shout, banging together the wood chimes and creating a terrible racket. But what they did not expect was that these people did not run. Instead, they lunged forward weapons in hand and struck out at the mighty beast.

The Fae were taken aback, never had they received such a reaction before, and because of this, they found themselves sorely unprepared to react to it. It was not until the first was cut down that they realized what was befalling them. By then, it was far too late.

Twenty-five Fae were cut down in the depths of the redwood beneath a moonless sky, skewered by those who mistook them for monsters.

When their lifeless bodies returned to their natural forms, the followers of the mortal gods realized what they had done. The people returned to their village that night with shoulders heavy and burdened, they did not know what response the mother might have for them, but they knew that they feared it. Fear is a tricky thing, it can drive people to run, hide, beg for forgiveness, or at its most terrible can spur a person to great violence.

They did not wait for the Fae mother to find her children for they feared the wrath of a woman who had suffered such a loss. Instead, they hid their bodies and formed a plan. Less than a week from that bloody night the people took up arms and headed back to the redwood. In the midnight hours, they stalked into the nests closest to the village and ambushed the Fae where they slept. Mercilessly they cut down any they found. For if one were to survive, they thought, the more certain they were that they would not.

What they did not consider was the strength of the bond between the mother and her children. As each Fae died, their souls cried out for her. Undetectable to the ear, yet, their pain pierced the veil and struck her like an arrow through the heart. Thousands of miles from the slayings, the mother fell to her knees wailing in agony. Her grief shook the very skies that night.

Though the Fae never fretted over time and age, they had not all walked the wilds for the same number of days. They did not all carry the same experience or growth. The first Fae lost to the sharp edge of fear were the mother’s youngest, her most cheerful, playful, childlike. So when her knees buckled and her screams rang out it was her eldest children that rallied around her. Her pain rattled through them and they clung to her tightly promising justice for the loss of their kin.

Many gathered beneath her banner but five took up the mantle to lead the march. These were the very first of her children, and it was for their leadership and strength that they were called Archfey. They mounted mighty steeds borne of magic that were shielded by a natural armor, and began a sleepless journey across the continent.

The battles that ensued were like none any had seen before. The Fae and the mortals clashed across the redwood for weeks, then months. None anticipated the vigor with which the mortals fought for their lives, just as they underestimated the strength and anger of the Fae. Neither side stopped to count their dead for they had no time against an unrelenting enemy.

Bodies littered the redwood as a cold shaking reminder of the violence that continued, nights grew long, then longer still, until the moons ran red with the blood of the fallen. Then, on the longest night of the year, the unthinkable happened. A human pierced the heart of the mother’s oldest, an Archfey leading the charge against the mortals, with a sword made of cold iron. As the last of his breath left him, the earth quaked and split as no corner of the world was safe from the Fae mother’s cries.

At once she appeared at the center of this battle, her height godly, her skin cracked like bark from a tree as red spilled from her chest. The trees of the redwood bowed in her presence as the Fae called for her, but her eyes were white as she looked upon the violence her children had suffered. Her tears came down like hail as she turned her gaze to the mortals with anger and sadness. Enough, she spoke, and her voice boomed like thunder.

She had seen the price that fear and hatred paid and no longer would she ask for it. With all her might, the mother tore the sky and bent reality to her will. She sought to steal back the redwoods from the people of the mortal gods. With all her anguish and fury driving her, she brought the Feywild into existence. This was a land where her children would no longer worry that a dagger would find their throats in the night. A place where the mortal gods and their followers need not find them.

The magic of the Feywild was just as wild as the whims of her children. The redwood bent and twisted creating a maze for all who intruded, time became inconsistent and messy. This new realm was as vast and beautiful as it was unwelcoming to outsiders.

With all she had seen, it was said that the Fae mother could no longer bear the waking world. Perhaps greater though was her fear of what might befall her children in her absence. To protect them she reached deep within to rend her own power from her chest. The final gift she could give.

To the smallest, the Fae mother gave cleverness and might, so they would never be overwhelmed. To the kindest, she gave illusion and charm, so they would never be trapped. And to each of her first children, she gave the strength of a season, for their domains were to shield all the rest in her stead.

When her work was done, she gathered the souls of her lost sons and daughters and left the Feywild to the Archfey to divide and rule as they saw fit. Then as they took up their mantles once more and set out to create a new life, she quietly faded from their sight.

With the last of her strength, the Fae mother brought her fallen children home to their final roost. It is there she remains in slumber, at their sides, lest they call out for her once more.

Fin.