Difference between revisions of "Akkaryia"

Latest revision as of 00:46, 4 August 2020

Your people name us Satyr, the obscene ones. This was a prank, one of the few times that the Eladrin bested us at jokes. We carry it proudly, as to be offended would make the joke funnier for them and it will not be said that we are more humorless than the Nipplefolk. If you would show us respect you may call us Aegagrus, if you can even fit that many vowels in your mortal mouth at once.

I came through the Fey to this dead place. Not of my own will. What I did there does not matter to you mortals, you cannot comprehend the graceful joy of the Lenaia, the subtlety and delicate complexity of it all. Perhaps neither can I, or I would not be in the Grey Lands with you snuffling trufflers. All that matters is that my doom is here, that I endure the thrumming ache of existence among you. I will find a way back, I have to believe that or an ocean of wine will not keep the Faceless from consuming me.

Should you find yourself in the Feywild, you might be unlucky enough to wander into a deep mire and stumble upon a splendid city of wrought wood with streets paved in supple grass. All through the grand colonnade you will find statuary of revelry and joy beyond measure. All up the steps of the Great-house you will see equally beautiful works of art depicting Fey folk caught frozen in terror. At the top of the steps you will find the most regal Leonine ever known, blade drawn, captured in a ferocious charge that is awe inspiring and tragic. This lost figure is Kaiber Skothic. The news of his death brought fair Tatiana to tears and ushered in a Fey Winter that lasted for nine years before the Summer Queen would return to her throne. With such profound grief, you can imagine the faerie rage that the Lady would stoke for the fool of an Aegagri who permitted the Black Rider to pilot her Gorgon Chariot into the city. Imagine a Satyr so blind drunk that the Eyes of Medusa would not work on her. Surely the path to forgiveness for that one is long and paved in razored glass. Probably have to crawl on your belly. While it rains lemon juice.

What was that? Oh I apologize, I must have gotten lost in thought. I should move on.

My first home here was Hupperdook. They light the sky on fire with sulpher and ash but the colors they make are so beautiful they push away the crushing black for a while. I stayed in Hupperdook for a time. There was a winter, but it was not the work of the Winter Court. The people treated it as just a normal thing that happened at regular interval. They were not concerned at all and sure enough, the season passed without effort. Rather terrifying if you ask me, these mortals who do not fear Winter.

I made my way sneaking about, stealing coin for drink. The wine is weak here, it does not sustain. I had to learn to eat food with my dinner. Even muddy and flavorless food was still necessary and I hated it. It robbed me of drinking money.

I learned to hide my legs in long skirts. There were people here who meant harm to faerie folk. They would grind up our bodies for potions and make charms of our bones. I met a faerie-kin of mortal blood, a Gnome by the name of Frithil. He taught me how to distrust, what to look for. Witchy or Wizardly garb, a civilized face with squinty eyes of one who spent most of their life by candlelight, these were the marks of an Alchemist. This was the face of Civilization, of the enemy of the Fae. To them we were all meat, and faerie meat was a delicate cut to them.

Frithil and his wife Jona took me in. I used my charms to help her bear a daughter, but it might have been better if I left her barren. The child breached and she took her mother's life before her first breath. I managed to draw life into the babe before winter took the whole house and I pledged myself to raising Frithil's daughter. He named her Jona after her mother and I nursed her and cared for her in our way. She grew up strong and close to the Fae on my milk and Frithil was grateful. Although she did struggle with walking, at least in a straight line.

Watching little Jona mature was wonderful but also a painful reminder of your fugitive state. In the Fey you had known Gnomes and watched them raise their young in a relaxed pace, untethered by the movement of the stars. Jona grew at a terrifying speed, it was almost as if you could see her maturing between blinks. The breakneck growth was exacerbated by Jona's insatiable curiosity and fearlessness. As her nurse you were perpetually running, chasing after her, trying to keep her out of trouble and usually failing. You loved her more than anything in your interminably long life and when she left home for her apprenticeship the emptiness of Frithil's house was too much for you. You knew you had to leave Hupperdook or be consumed by this grief. Perhaps you gave too much of yourself to her, perhaps it was some cursed charm of the Summer Court. No matter the source, you had to get away from it. You set your mind for someplace far from men and far from fairie whispers. You made for the Sea.