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[h2]ROISIN MAGNOLIA[/h2]
[b][sup]The LITTLE GOD of the LITTLE THINGS | The FEIGHDFULC MATHAIR | LADY of the FADE | The KHODEXBORNDOTTR
LADYPRINCE of the FAE-FINTE | The FAERIE QUEEN | The GREAT VEILED ONE | MISTRESS of the PLACE BETWIXT ALL PLACES
HIGH QUEEN of the FAIRIES[/sup][/b][/centre][hr]
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[h3][b]The WAR of the TREES[/b][/h3][/centre]

Though Allianthé had told her that terrible beasts stalked the southern ranges of Galbar, Roisin Magnolia was to become quite acquainted with those things of terror and fury far sooner than she ever expected – and not at all in the Galbarian south. She entered upon the Veil where, before her coming, all was a mere fog and mist. It was both unmade and unshaped, unknown to the eyes of men or gods. There, in that smoke of first creation, the Little god of the Little Things beheld as her kingdom came into being. Aye, her mere gaze was creation. 

Trees irrupted as far as the eye could see – apple trees and pear and all manner of fruiting trees, hazelnuts, great oaks, noble pines, silvered birches, beeches, rowans, hollies, bashful chestnuts, royal sycamores, weeping willows, and much else. Ivies tendrilled up tree trunks and grapes and lianas and other vines yet. And where there was dew, it was of sweetest honey, richest milk, never-intoxicating mead and wine, and ever-pure and cooled water. Plains of colourful flowers sprung where there were no trees. There were rose bushes and rose trees, lilies, daffodils, daisies, buttercups, orchids, and anemones; even in the endless wildwoods the trees shuffled over to make space for beflowered glades and groves. There the trees and flowers greeted one another and danced in the breeze. The wind here was sweet on the nose, refreshing in a manner that no earthly wind could ever be. A single breath would bring health, youth, and longevity even to the most ailing and ancient of mortal husks. Rivers burst forth and lakes, mountains arose and rolling hills. With the rise of such hills and mounts, verdant canyons and valleys shaped themselves into the landscape and many rivers were made to flow through them and mighty waterfalls to thunder. They thundered, those waterfalls, even from the skies, where great green islands decorated the heavens.

Where the Veil met the physical world in the far east, an ocean flooded the earth and waterfalled into the mists of the material realm. In the farthest west, where the Veil met the Astral plane, the Afterworld, and the many realms of the immaterial, another ocean flooded the land and waterfalled into the mists of those immaterial planes. In that sea were islands of magick and marvels, and the coasts were made into mountainous bays and sandy beaches and cliffs and mangrove marshes also. Grottos opened their maws onto the waters and out of them subterranean rivers flowed. Gazing carefully at the mists where the impossible waterfalls of that eastern ocean, marking the final boundary between the material world and the Veil, descended at last, one might have spied birds flying, men fighting, cities bustling, tigers prowling. Strange were the occurrences where worlds meshed and melded. Who could truly tell where one ended and the other began?

Like the Little goddess of the Little Things, the Veil was in all ways a thing of breath-taking beauty. “But surely it shan’t just be called the Veil,” Roisin Magnolia mused to herself as she drifted on the winds and was the singular star of the Veil’s skies, “surely it shall be called many other, more wonderful, things! Surely it shall be called the Land of Youth and the Land of the Young- why, the Land of the Ever-Young! The Land of the Truly Living! And yes, it may be called the Otherland or even the Otherworld. Perhaps those who think it below the waters will name it the Land Beneath the Wave – and why, that is not untrue, for is it not? And those who see it to fade before their eyes will call it simply the Fade- and that too is not untrue, for does it just not fade from the gaze of mortals near enough as soon as they think they spy it? And surely, they will know it also as the Plain of Delight, the Plain of Joy, the Plain of Happiness- aye, the very Plain of Bliss! The Isle of Fruits they’ll call it, the Many-Coloured Place! Oh, what a handsome place it is!- the Fair Land.” She was made breathless by her passionate eruption, which had burst forth from here in a fit of chromatic dust. That dust drifted away into birds of glamorous colours, butterflies and other vibrant insects, vivid fishes, frogs, salamanders, toads, and innumerable small mammals. All were in their way familiar, and yet they were things of glamour and magick unlike anything known to Galbar.

She settled herself atop a great redwood cypress that overshadowed all trees about it, to further take in the majesty of this her kingdom in the immaterial. She did so exactly as she had admired her Throne of Stone, which enthroned her upon her kingdom in the material world. But she had no sooner set to doing this when most unpleasant sounds cracked and wracked the air all around and the ground down below and the seas and lakes and rivers too. Strange growls, roars, hisses, shouts, barks- sounds most frightful indeed! They foretold little but anger and hostility, spoke of endless hunger and endless thirsting – all of which was foreign (nay, impossible!) in this land of wondrousness, bliss, and eternal satiation. The first wave of the creatures rose about her, spitting their venoms and declaring their furies and killing intent with notes most hideous and unmelodious, removed from all harmony. Tails swiped at her and claws, but the goddess flowed from their enmity in a fluorescence of magic, to emerge above the creatures. Yet still they came for her, spiralling from the forests, dashing across the heavens, leaping across the mountains. From every crevice and canyon, from every deep-sea hole, from beneath the earth she had shaped they dug, from the skies they descended. The Veil entire was darkened by the coming of those terrible things. They knew aught of song, only the cacophony of war cries, the whooping of battle delirium, the cackle of cruelty. Interspersed amongst it were words spat in sprays of spittle – words of death, of harvesting, of consumption, of killing; words of hatred and greed and lust- oh horrid words, words of frightfulness and darkness all! Not a song among them, not a fair utterance! And the world darkened against Roisin Magnolia as the beasts of the outer rims of existence coalesced against her.

But if with darkness they came to snuff her out, little did they realise – or perhaps in their greed and haste had forgotten – that she was the self-radiance of herself, the lodestar of all. In that most tenebrous darkness gathered about her, she was a universal flame. 

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[i]If you do speak, speak well her name;
She is the universal flame![/i][/centre]
The Wand of Making and Unmaking leapt upon her fingers and her fingers danced upon her hand. “Songless I’m not- song from me’s begot! Tunes here won’t fall, sing did I when small. Trees with me sing; I heave war and swing!” Her magicks were as thunder, lightning was her art. Words of power she crafted that struck swift as a dart- beasts from her were blasted, their pith split apart! The fell stallions of the monsters baying her name were sundered before her- though most fleet of foot they were, not near as fleet as Roisin Magnolia’s deathcraft. Strange armadas that hewed the very air, most unnatural ships each made of ten thousand agonised screams, were shattered with a sweep of the Godwand.

Most dark were the eyes of the Little god of the Little Things on that aerial battlefield, most blackened her face, most tearful was she. Her tears watered the earth below and, for her weeping, all trees and all flowers and all hills and mountains and canyons and rivers wept! Oh it was a day of great shedding of tears! But for all her grief still she went forth, with regretful thoughts of life-loving Allianthé she advanced, her wand unstayed and her stout heart unstilled. She met an immense scaled beast whose heads were not less than one hundred in number. She pierced it with dark arts and it went up in smoke and screams- she slew it with a word of flaying, slaying, decaying. There rose immediately a fierce host of beasts, a battalion the hundred-heads had commanded with its hundred tongues. With them came a flying salamander with a black forked tongue and a hundred claws. From below emerged a speckled serpent whose head was crested; its form all ridged. In the folds of its flesh and ripples of its skin a hundred souls screeched in torture. Against all of them at once did Roisin Magnolia turn, and she fashioned for them a most harrowing of hexes and most dire of draughts. No sooner had its emerald dusts and grey spray greeted them before they all rose up like so many vapours and were as mists on a fresh morning breeze. She took them with a dread draught of unflying, deep sighing, quick-dying. 

And still the monstrosities rushed forth en masse without a care or a worry at those she had felled before. They rushed to claim the Khodexborndotter and her Khodexborn wand. Roisin Magnolia heard their squeals, heard their hungering for the Khodex in her. Not without bravery, she could not deny, they charged forth. No poets were they nor dancers nor singers, but perhaps there was something of the warrior to them- though no honour or nobility that she could tell. They slashed at her, they clawed, great jaws and great teeth reached for her hair, her feet, tore at what they could of her arms. Viciously she swept her wand, now a word of evisceration and now decimation, now one of fading and now of obliteration. And as she did, she reclaimed what of her they had stolen so that her arms were healed, feet mended, and whatever hairs had been torn from her were restored. In waves they fought her and in waves she repulsed them; their darkness struck her from all sides and every direction, and she remained the singular orb of morning, the undying star at the darkest hour of night.

But for all that, a certain energy moved now within the beast host, a certain electric verve. Aye, a gleam shone in their eyes, a glint shone on their grinning teeth. “Your hours are numbered, thing of the worldtome, victory hails us- she bears witness to our triumph!” A lord spoke out from amongst that fell horde, and his words held in them what all that dread host knew in their minds and could in their hearts boast. Roisin Magnolia surveyed them with undaunted eyes but a face most grim; aye hope was here faltering though her eyes did not dim. She raised her wand. The beasts scoffed. “You can have at us as you will, spawn of the all-book, but no measure of ghoulish crafts and eerie arts will avail you. We are the gushing waves of the eternal sea: you are but a lonely and uprooted tree.” It appeared that even such beasts could muster something akin to a war-poet. The goddess raised her wand, and it flashed fury. “I have raised this my wand, this my battle staff- ‘tis raised e’en as you mock on this battle plain and laugh. You say deliverance is taken from me, friendless and alone against an endless enemy. Hear this most triumphant god’s laughing decree; yon green sea of barken hosts rise up and war for me!” And so, she swept her Gramarye-font, her eyes shimmering with glamorous might and something of divine command that brought the wildwoods to rustle in the wind and roots to murmur in the land. The beast horde gave pause and let their gazes wander to the earth. There the trees rustled as though buffeted by great winds and storms, creaked as though tossed by tempests, groaned as though flayed by the elements. 

Shattering the sacred pause, beasts threw themselves at the hated Khodexborndottr, hurled themselves that the war may still at last and they may have their prize. But the glamorous arts and magical crafts of the Little god of the Little Things waxed mighty and terrible still; far was the death knell they sought and trumpet call of their greatest victory. With glyphs of grim gore and curses of contemptuous culling she drew whatever life they knew and cast it like rain from their unbreathing forms. She weaved words of draining, waning, raining. Much hope did the beasts place in that desperate assault, with great zest and vigorous earnest they charged- but all was for naught; they could not succeed. Their dark faith came up against the shadowless truth of Roisin Magnolia’s dire visage of deathly beauty and was found deeply wanting. In the wildwoods below matters of weird and eerie glamours were taking hold ever the more strongly, matters that caused bark to ripple to life, trunks to stir, branches to swing and flare. 

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[i]Shrug off sleep ye trunks and stir
Rise to fight and die for her![/i][/centre]
Of the trees that awoke for that most wretched bloodletting on the sacrosanct earth of the Fair Land, the Alder was the first to rise, most eager to march into the fray, foremost of all the trees to strike. By strength and determination did it hold the fore, and beneath its protective magicks were the still-waking trees hidden from the eyes of their foes. Oh, fleet Alder! - battle-witch of the trees! Advancing spear and foremost shield of the tree-kerns! How your battalions harvest the enemy! How your white wood turns to crimson beneath enemy blows!

Slow was Rowan when it awoke, slow too Willow, they dithered delighting in the sight of one another and their hosts were all left behind by those who woke after them. Shame and infamy on tardy Willow and Rowan in the hour they were called!

Blackthorn, having readied its thorns and sharpened its spikes, leapt with much eagerness and zest, like so many packs of wolves, into the chaos. It proved itself the wildwood's great dark crone of war and wounds, and wherever it leapt into the fray shambling dark shadows of most unholy magick were quick to follow. A strong battle-chieftain and death-bringer was Blackthorn and was to all foes a most bitter fruit.

The Thorny Plum was no less willing, for its fury carried it to such battle-madness that it hungered for bloodshed and was soon amassed in unyielding ranks at the fore of the battle with the Alders. On that battle line its cry was that of hope and perseverance in the face of adversity, its song the promise of spring, its fighting a fighting most strong against the encroachment of darkness unto the Plain of Bliss!

There they were joined also by the swift-marching companies of Blackberry brambles and their Medlar comrades; wherever Blackberry struck, its foes were blinded and where Medlar breathed, rot took hold of its victims. They twisted their forms at the fore and went about dispensing much strife on that beast horde that had thought itself unequalled on the Veil’s bloodletting fields. 

Oh then, and only then, did the dithering Willows and Rowans stride forth. Though their tardiness was an eternal blot, did they yet make a good account for themselves on the plain of that great bloodletting. The Willows took positions on the hills and, swaying eerily on the breeze, cast forth mighty dreams and illusions that wracked the enemy hordes till they wept bileblood tears; Rowan meanwhile stood guard and manifested glamorous protections and shields about the dreamweaving illusionist of the tree-kerns.

Dogwood awoke with gusto, summoned its warriors and lacerated the beasts. Most noble of that battle’s princes, gallant Dogwood! - gladly and with fervour did it contest the field. There on those killing plains it was the veritable ox of war, bull of battle, lord of the fray! Forever had it been and forevermore would Dogwood remain a proud chief amongst the tribe of the trees.

Then the thorny Rose bush assembled and advanced on that most wrathful of foes, and it carried against the venom of the enemy a blood-drawing venom all its own. It was with battle-eagerness and blood that the Rose bud brightened into such crimsons.

Not to be outdone, the Raspberry determined to take strong action too- no defensive enclosures or palisades did it seek! No care did it have for its own life! It placed its flesh on the quick-shifting battle lines!

Then came the marching bands of Privet and Honeysuckle, the Wild Rose and weaving Woodbine, striding Bramble, and the beauteous Ivy- king of all creepers at the full majesty of its prime! And for all its tenderness did it fiercely go into the fray, oh most majestic Ivy! Aye, as one great host the Privets and the Wild Roses and the Woodbines, and the Brambles, and the Ivies formed a shield most impenetrable and in their very flesh, in their fair buds and eager vines, recorded the great tapestry of that raging war, recorded every sacrifice and noble deed. With them was the sea of terror and surge of fury that is Gorse; aye record it well, for among them was the terror of the slaying fields, giant Gorse.

Cherry came forth in great noise and commotion, its fruiting and unfruiting hosts with it, blaring the trumpet of alarm, directing the trees in the fray, and calling on the slumbering to waken. It mocked and disparaged the enemy with such barbed darts of poesy laced in poisonous magicks. Its abuses were as stones hurled from great pillars, and before the great host of the chanting Cherries foes were brought to shame, to ignominy, and at last too to death.

Poplar, in the very midst of that heavy fighting, warded off the death-strikes of the enemy and endured many a blow. Can they be counted, those Poplar branches felled on that fell day? Can the long-enduring forms be counted that were given over in most noble sacrifice and battle-glory?

And though Birch has a most noble pedigree amongst the trees, ever high-minded and great-intentioned, was it slow to answer the battle call. With great pomp and deliberation did it ready for battle and don its armour- but let it not be thought that it was cowardice or any spinelessness that moved it to such! – nay, it was out of greatness that the Birch battalions lingered, bedecking themselves for that day of days! They wrought madness on the bloodletting fields thereafter, their silvered hands leaving birchen crowns on the heads of all who fell before them.

Most resolute and unswerving were Goldenrod and Almond! They held their lines and did not falter or take so much as one retreating step. Goldenrod, that quick gasher, was the very wound weed of the war in the Veil- and Almond, though foreign to the shores where the battle took it, did not waver for fighting by foreign waves on foreign land.

Then the Fir and Spruce battalions rushed into the struggle, firm of strike most stern on the enemy, unstinting in their charge- they were at the forefront of that day of gore and were the very striding lords of war.

And even in the eyes of the lords of the monstrous horde was Ash esteemed most highly. Alongside the courtly, royal Pine, who had taken its rightful place at the centre of the field and was branch-wrought death on its foes, it directed the roads and routes, ushered the tree-kerns now forth into the fray and now back to rest and recuperate. They covered such retreats with defiance and valour, no being with wings or claws passed them on that day. Long would the lords and kings of outer beasts remember Ash, the lieutenant of the Pines, and its exalted deeds on the bloodletting fields. Aye, they turned aside not a foot or a breadth, but in the heart of the whirling battle-storm stood they.

Yew, who even in wakefulness saw the far-off dreams and visions of great triumph, saw in the shattered foes it swept aside the nascent becoming of those dreams. Most bravely did the far-seer of the trees fight for that vision, most bravely urge its brethren on towards victory.

Hearing it, the Buckthorn – bane of terrible magicks, protector of the weak – came forth with its hosts and cast a spell of harmony about the far-seeing Yew and marched with it even into the deathly heart of the flailing maelstrom.

The venerable Oak was the champion and lord of honour, wisdom, might. It lumbered into the bloodletting and was spattered with much bloodbile; its thick bark was unscathed as it shambled and dashed back and forth along the line of battle, unafraid before the gaze of enemy champions and kings.

As in their wealth and splendour Linden and Aspen were ever out-competing one another, so too on the bloodletting fields did they set out to outshine the other. Aspen veered not a foot, and Linden too did not at all flinch in the toss and heave of the fighting. They slashed the enemy centre, harried the wings, encircled the rear; wherever they met the fury of the enemy-beasts they cut them down. In their fevered rivalry and ambition, they were to be mother and father to many a star-eyed hero.

And Hazel, whose hosts had been dashing in pursuit of a worthy weapon, cried out for Roisin Magnolia to bless them that they may honour her in the fray. Though dark was the face of Roisin Magnolia on that most dreadful day, did she yet spare the Hazels' heartfelt crisis a smile and a flick of her wand. Aye, Hazel was on that day deemed worthy - most worthy! - of bearing the arms of the sovereign on the Throne of Stone. Then it dashed with its battle-bands into the tumult. Nine times did the Hazel battle-bands strike, and they marked wherever they trod as a place of untiring war. 

By sea and on every estuary, Beech waxed frightful mighty and excelled in every fighting craft. Resisting the blows of its foes, it dashed deftly into the very heart of the fray and there stood beside Alder and was draped in glory. Thus did Beech flourish on the fighting fields.

Meanwhile Holly, which had on awakening seemed draped in illness and cast over by death, sprouted leaves anew and became verdant and green as it revelled in the knell of battle-cries. In that mad tumult was it most courageous, it put forth spiked wintry leaves that, like spears, drew bileblood from every monstrous maw and claw; it manifested terror and dealt it from its hand.

Hawthorn, already famous amongst its tree-kin, did not laze in the comforts of reputation. Most fiercely it delivered pain and festering wounds, most terribly was it the frightful hag of the plain. In its branches a hundred crows cawed at once, chiding and deriding the beasts Hawthorn struck low even as their caws put the fear of coming death into their souls.

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[i]Salute the champion of the tree-kerns, Teak,
The earth and sky all tremble should it speak![/i][/centre]
Most skilfully dispensing pestilence from its branches, Whitethorn pressed on even as about it the Vines of battle continued their most bold and unyielding assault. They wove about the foe, did the Vines, and whatever advance the enemy might have thought to make was hampered and brought to failure and destruction by the tendrilous bindings of those Ivies and Lianas and Woodbines. And yet, for all their steadfastness, in that moment Bryony let out a shriek of despair and broke ranks with the other vines. Its hosts burst in broken flurries; many were charred unrecognisably while others made their ailing escape. In their wake Fern too broke and went weeping and flayed from the field! But Bracken, witnessing that shameful display, swelled with fury and went raiding and hounding the enemy where they thought to break through the battle lines. Broom joined it at that most desperate vanguard and was there ploughed into the very earth, trampled into the mud, battered into the rising soil that the enemy may not pass. The churned-up ground, where they wallowed in their wounds, bore eternal witness to that death-battalion’s final stand. Gorse, most luckless Gorse, dashed forth in their support and leapt wildly into that death-affray! There they were gathered, all of them beside one another, and fought on though there seemed but little hope! And though hopeless the stand, Elder stood with them and suffered great sweeping cuts and, at the last, stood burning slowly in all-consuming flames that singed any who came near.

While they laboured there in that place of death-awaiting, Heather the well-famed victor was brought by enchantments and great magicks into the fore. Deft and ever-triumphant Heather, of its host such heathers as the Azaleas and the Rosetrees, was made a mighty standard-bearer at that breach in the battle line. The Gorse witnessed its coming and the Bracken too, and even the churned-up Broom, and all of them knew that the Luck-Bringer had descended among them so that the battle may be turned. Bewitching their foes with shattering glamours, the Heathers called on the line to rally and brooked no cries of pain or any who would dally. And so, the breach was transformed from an ailing attempt at warding off the enemy assault into a full-fledged and full-throated charge and pursuit. Such was the might and fortune-turning of the beauteous Heather and its host.

That was the great turning of the battle entire, for then the mighty Oak – voice like thunder, swift of shout – was among them also. The heavens trembled before it and the earth even as it rushed forth into the fore and led a blazing vanguard. What walls and what battle ranks thought to withstand the host of the Oaks? All worlds trembled at their approach and the very hearts of their foes; thus was Oak, Champion of the Trees, Enemy of the Beasts of the Outer Rim, Striking-Branch of Roisin Magnolia, Great Chief of the Wildwoods, Stout Gatekeeper Against the Foe- many are its titles and names! By its names know it!

In the wake of the Oak hosts came Woad and Borage, brave and inveterate fighters all, and they pushed forth and urged all to strike with them. Fierce were they in the fray, hot on the heels of the Oaken vanguard. Their name was eternalised in the record of that day. With them came the Mistletoe-headed Elm, and the convocation of its hosts cast terror and sickness wherever it strode so that foes fell about them or elsewise fled. And though there was yet courage and heart in their foes, those dread Elms rebuffed all onslaughts – Mistletoe magicks ever-safeguarding their heads – and repulsed with savage stabbings and stern strikes any who thought to breach once more the hole that was now fortified.

In hot pursuit of the enemy, Black Cherry sprung across the field with Pear in lockstep. They wreaked havoc and worked all manner of oppression on the retreating foe. And even as they swiftly advanced, they paused and – to the fright of their still-fleeing enemies – called forth more of their kin for the final push, for the great retreat of the outer beasts from the bliss-kingdom of Roisin Magnolia. Let none say that at force Pear could never excel!

The most blessed Thorn Apple, with all its Apple kind, heeded the call and made an awe-striking advance, made more remarkable by its constancy and unruffled great laugh. With it, in terrifying array indeed, came the surging, sweet-scented Clover crying havoc and much terrible magicks. Though bashful and full of shame, so too was the Chestnut on that day counted among the ranks of the strong fighting trees. And let no mention of that great battle fail to mention the lumbering Sycamore, the venerable Cedar, the colossal Cypress (of whose formidable host were the champions of the tree-kerns; mighty were the Giant Redwood and the Great Sequoia of the Cedar war party). The hardy Camphor immortalised its name in the combat while the Hornbeam hurled horror and discord on its foes. The Nettle Honeyberry twisted terribly on the field – in a manner trees had never been known to twist! – and summoned swift pain on those who withstood it! The holy Woodenbegar cast seeds of fury as it strode into the fighting mass, while the Maidenhair commanded utter calm and sallied forth with those trees and shrubs that had broken earlier in the fray, promising them redemption and renewed fame.

What tree was not there on that day of heroes marking the infamous rout of the folk of the outer rims of existence! The Olive, ancient and stout, wise and as a light against the darkness, was there. It struck them on rock, on hill, on plain; it conducted the hosts of the Olive trees to unceasing war- most peaceful are the Olive trees, that is true, but greater than their peace is their unerring and unflagging justice! With them marched the holy Gourd, shade for every sea-battered castaway and healing for the battle-weary and war-broken. The graceful Date Palm, like a spear with its bedecked head in the heavens, went into the commotion of battle and did not cease from thrashing and bludgeoning the enemy line. And let the Fig not be forgotten, with its host of sacred Figs and Banyans, as well as the Sidr and the Pomegranate - all holy trees, all blessed! And yet their holiness did not stand between them and descending into the raging battle that they may be counted amongst the brave tree-kerns of that apocalyptic confrontation. Amongst those sacred trees marched the flower glades of the Lily and Laburnum in sacred chorus, the Tulsi too and the Agrimony, while on the rivers and the lakes hymned the Sacred Lotus. They chanted a magick of steadiness, readiness, headiness. The Hollyhock intonated vigorously, the Sweet Alison, the Anemone, the Hibiscus. The Tulip also and the Marigold, sister of the Daisies, who also sang their magick and cast their glamours. Aye the Buttercups sang too and the Orchids, and the Narcissus and all its Daffodil kin – though not the Daffotale, for it was not of those who answered the call. Numberless elsewise were the flowers of that great sacred march and chant!

No name was forgotten from the record of the trees that marched when Roisin Magnolia called forth the Wildwoods to arms. The hulking Maple answered and was to be found at the vanguard beside the unflagging Teak and steady Walnut, Hickory firm on their flanks as it hewed beasts asunder in the hallowed name of the Little god of the Little Things. The Acacia marched against Roisin Magnolia’s enemies too, calling forth its Blue Wattles and Thorny Acacias and Winter Thorns and that queen of all Acacias, the Gum Acacia. Not the largest of the trees were they, but most deft, their thorns sharp and their strikes sure. Cavaliers of Roisin Magnolia, they whooped and galloped across the bloodletting fields withstanding the enemy wherever he stood and sealing the breach with great shattering charges wherever a breach emerged. The Sages and the Mints and the Deadnettles all formed the great aromatic entourage of the Acacias- all those Rosemarys and Basils and Marjorams and Thymes and Lavenders and Catnips. They charged with the charging of those gallopers and cast mighty magicks and glamours of victory and heroic advances and immortalisation in the halls of the happy and great.

It was a long fight and an unceasing one too. The battle raged for thirty days, the sun of the Veil rising and setting even as the tug and tumult ground ever on. The Laurel awoke to join that fight of fights, the Saunderswood, the whipping Bamboo. The aromatic Argan and Sandalwood left off their repose and chose to be severe on the foes of Roisin Magnolia. Amongst them glided and writhed the adroit Tamarisk, and for all its age it was the very youth of the battlefield! And the many Ebonies – their visages as dark and furious as those of their goddess, though perhaps not nearly as sad – arrived to pierce the armies of darkness with equally dark darts. Beauteous Mahagony came bearing the arms of agony, and Margosa was no less adept and meticulous in doling out most bitterly torturous deaths to those unfortunate enough to fall in its grasp. What a host was the host of Roisin Magnolia before the advance of the outer beings and their outer gods! What Wenge and Juniper and Engan and Tuliptree and Satisal and Zelkova did not in that millstone of war drink heartily of the bileblood until it was satiated? What Persimmon tree-kern, what Plum and Peach and Apricot and Lychee and Black Mulberry did not add to its arts of magick and glamorous crafts dark hatreds and bitter cruelties? Had Mango known the pleasure of slaughter before? Had Coconut thought its hardness a formidable weapon in the magicks it moulded? What had that sweet Banana or that life-loving Cineraria known of the arts of hurting, despoiling, decimating? Was it in that fighting that the Bael tree’s fruit became a friend to rot and the Malacca’s forget sweetness?

Perhaps only the very queen of the trees, who was but the vicegerent of Roisin Magnolia amongst them, did not. The Magnolia tree, with its flowers of whitest purity, stood as the lodestar of good fortune in that fray, cleaving through the foe and never suffering taint or bileblood upon its sacrosanct form. Most noble was the Magnolia on the killing fields; it was a spell of healing and rest on all who cast their eyes towards it. In its every movement was a love for life, a love for its tree-kin, a nobility unequalled, a dignity in the face of the indignity of such horrid bloodletting. It was an eternal monument to perseverance against the darkness and taint that even in the midst of that terrible battle marked the Wildwoods forever. The Magnolia and its never-tainted hosts were witness to all that, and in their hearts they pledged an oath in glamour, an oath of endurance, eternal joy, good fortune, and purity. The flowers of endurance became yellow, those of joy pink, those of good fortune purple, and those of purity remained white as the snow.

[centre][img]https://i.imgur.com/8qzXGpa.jpeg[/img]
[i]If in battle things impure
Have crept, Magnolia will cure![/i][/centre]
When that Great Bloodletting at the Veil - that Battle of the Wildwoods, War of the Trees, Siege of the Fade, and the thousand other names it already had - grew still and the dusk of fighting was upon them, quiet descended across all the regions and ranges of the Veil. Launching her gaze across the hills where the primroses and all the flowers now rested off from their exertions, Roisin Magnolia watched and heard the wrens sing of the final flight of the enemy and their rout at the Gates of the Furthest Fade. They would come again, she knew, though perhaps nevermore in such great numbers, and nevermore would the Fade - in whose folds ten million outer gods reposed to arise once more for the final battle and the end of the world - be truly pure. But aye, until then nevermore would they grow so near to their coveted victory and the satiation of their terrible hunger.

Descending from the heavens where she had doled out dark and frightful magicks, descending low into a canyon and rising again even unto the Holt of Taramanca, the Little god of the Little Things gathered the Wildwoods to her and Glades of the Flowers. They came before her in a chorus of triumphal songs and poesy. They came to her with Glamours of the victory dance and records of their glories. Resplendent and most tearful was Roisin Magnolia on the Holt of Taramanca, and her loyal braves and kerns march on by her, saluting her even as they supped of her tears. Her tears were a flood and on the tongue sweeter than all the dews of the Veil. They flowed down the Holt of Taramanca and encircled it like a moat, and from there flowed on towards the sea. It was known ever after as the Sweet River Rois. Marching before the goddess and taking from her tears a reward for their part in the battle, the tree-kerns whispered glamours into the Holt of Tarmanca so that slowly a throne emerged for their High Queen, and about it a hall suiting her splendour, then about that a palace with four wings and even about that walls like mountains. For aeons thereafter the High Queen remained on her high throne at the Holt of Taramanca, and her name was upon those tree-kerns like a glamour of intense weeping and sadness. Aye, in that land of eternal and unceasing bliss were the tears of Roisin Magnolia such a spell of deadly heartbreak. 

But even in their misery, which so gripped the trees and the flowers that they were paralysed with grief and could only wail in the wind and sigh in the sun, their supping on the tears of Roisin Magnolia meant they soon sired the Fair Folk. As shadows were the battles of the ancients to that newborn and joyous race! With light hearts did they receive the tales of that great struggle at the dawn of all things! With laughter did they consider the legends of the millions of dark souls waiting on the battle of the end of the world! They were the happiest folk in existence in the happiest place of all, and their songs of eternal ecstasy and never-ceasing dance filled the Veil. For unknown aeons the High Queen on her High Throne at the Highholt of Taramanca wept and smiled and listened.

[list][*][hider=Summary]Roisin goes into the Veil and as she casts her gaze over that place between the dimensions it comes into existence as her heart desires. But there were outer gods and beasts here! A mighty battle commences and Roisin seems at the cusp of defeat when she casts mighty magicks that cause the very trees and flowers to rise forth and battle the endless armies of the outer beasts and their outer gods. The battle is looooong. Eventually the trees are victorious, ten million outer god/beast souls are eternally part of the Fade, and Roisin descends to a holt (i.e. a hill) called Taramanca where she weeps. The trees walk by saluting her and supping from her tears as a reward for their part in the battle. Her tears become a cool river around the hill and off to the sea. A palace is built for her on Taramanca and her sadness is so great that all the trees and flowers become paralysed with grief. Having supped on Roisin's tears, the Faeries are eventually born from them. For endless aeons Roisin sits on throne in her palace on Taramanca hill and weeps, smiles, and listens.[/hider]

[*][hider=Of Might & Glamour]Roisin’s opening Might: 5 Might

–3 Might (enhanced to 6 Might by Glamour) to Create the Transcendental Species “the Feighd [sup](pronounced: Fade; Fay; Feed)[/sup]; the Feighdfulc; Fairies; the Little Folk; Faeries; the Wee Folk; the Fae; the Fair Folk; the Fey; the Siardha Folk; the Fade; the Fay; the Good Folk”
[indent][hider=The Feighd | The Feighdfulc]
[b]RACE NAME:[/b]
[indent]the Feighd [sup](pronounced: Fade; Fay; Feed)[/sup] | the Feighdfulc | Fairies | the Little Folk | Faeries | the Wee Folk | the Fae | the Fair Folk | the Fey | the Siardha Folk | the Fade | the Fay | the Good Folk[/indent]

[b]RACE APPEARANCE[/b]
[INDENT][hider=Appearance][img]https://i.ibb.co/2dgJbxt/Collage.png[/img][/hider][/INDENT]

[b]RACE DESCRIPTION:[/b]
[indent][hider=Description]Feighd exhibit an astounding level of diversity. Some take on the appearance of children from any sapient race. Others appear barely distinct from monsters. Others yet take on plant- or water-like features. As a rule, they are all generally humanoid and very small in size: Lesser Feighd can be up to 3 inches tall while Greater Feighd can reach 7 inches. While faeries can shapeshift into larger forms or possess natural phenomena – such as trees and plants in the case of dryads – their true forms will always be in the aforementioned range.
Lesser Feighd childlike in appearance while Greater Feighd appear as adults. Some may have tails, wings, or more than two arms or none (if, for instance, wings replace their arms). Whether they have wings or not, all Feighd can fly though not all may choose to do so. Though capable of synchronising their lip movements to make it appear that they are speaking from their mouths, the speech of Feighd is strange and does not emanate from their throats. Instead, it reverberates through the very ether and may be perceived mentally, audially, or both.

While Feighd may appear to be either male or female, they do not reproduce or procreate physically, and so these appearances are purely aesthetic. The more powerful a Feighd is the closer to adulthood it appears and the bigger it is physically. Being creatures of pure magic, the Feighd have no fixed lifespan. So long as they have a source of magic, they are unlikely to die. They are born when a Greater Feighd of substantial power wills a Lesser Feighd into being. When a Feighd dies it simply explodes into magical dust. Feighd feed on magical energy alone, meaning that they can cannibalise one another unless socialised against it. Other things that produce magic - like a particularly pure spring or a well-cared-for forest or astralis lumen or even forces such as lightning or fire - are also a food source for them. [/hider][/indent]

[b]RACE BEHAVIOUR:[/b] 
[indent][hider=Behaviour]Feighd enjoy dancing and will do so both alone and in groups. While some Feighd are communal in nature and others solitary, they generally organise into loose or centralised clans, courts, princedoms, and kingdoms. They will usually obey the most powerful individual amongst them. The ultimate authority in the Feighd world, greater than the greatest princes or queens, is the Faerie High Queen Roisin Magnolia.

While their progenitor is in all ways kind, that is not universally true of Feighd, who were irremediably marked by the bileblood that corrupted their tree ancestors during the War of the Trees. They can be broadly separated into Malign Feighd, in whom the bileblood's effects are predominant, and Benign Feighd, in whom the bileblood's effects are present but subordinate to their ultimately kinder natures. 

[indent][b]Malign Feighd[/b] can be quite predisposed towards mischief and mayhem, and they can exhibit extreme sadism and cruelty. Malign Feighd may nevertheless at times carry out arbitrary acts of kindness or reward those who please them – just as they may well punish those who help them. They are characterised by this sort of arbitrariness alongside ungratefulness and uncaringness. They tend towards planting forests and helping rivers and lakes to develop. They do not do this out of any kindness per se, but in the same way other races may build cities and grand structures: to live, as a mark of their civilisation, and to establish kingdoms and domains. The rivers and forests nurtured and shaped by Malign Feighd will often harbour malevolent forces – the spirits are more likely to be unfriendly, dangerous creatures are more present, so too diseases, noxious fumes, and so on. Malign Feighd often display exceptional martial prowess. They are attuned with the spirits permeating all things and are capable of harnessing Glamours that allow them to manipulate them into doing their bidding. It is often possible to guess the malevolent predisposition of a Feighd by the extent of its bestial features when in its true form.

While [b]Benign Feighd[/b] have the same capacity for cruelty as their Malign kin, Benign Feighd tend not to pursue chaos and mayhem quite as earnestly. They are more likely to repay kindness with kindness and carry out random acts of generosity for no apparent reason. Moreover, the forests and rivers and other places of nature they nurture are more likely to be in all ways more benevolent. Benign Feighd are quick to benefit those whom they see as their friends. However, they will also punish those who displease them - though perhaps in humorous ways that are not gratuitously cruel or sadistic. While Benign Feighd also have great Glamorous power over the spirits permeating all things, they are frequently not as martially capable as their Malign kin. It is often possible to guess the benign disposition of a Feighd by the extent of its adherence to the form of the sapient species it takes after - e.g. one whose true form is perfectly goblinlike, or humanlike etc. without any bestial features, is likely entirely benign.[/indent][/hider][/indent]

[b]FEIGHD GLAMOUR[/b]
[indent][hider=Glamour]
Through Glamour, Feighd can deceive the senses, create illusions, vanish, fly, shapeshift, move objects and fixtures, inflict disease, death, and curses, grant good health, healing, and other blessings, cast hexes and charms with the wave of a wand, as well as numerous other powers. Feighd have tremendous healing powers, having an intimate knowledge of herbs and being adept at using them to heal or undo the malign actions of others of their kind. They can use such magic to take away physical disability or to cripple and maim if they choose. Those who incur their ire may sometimes be lamed, paralysed, or rendered dumb. Less Benign Feighd may deploy their Glamour to make people believe that they are in grand homes or halls, that they have been offered delicate and delicious food, or that they have been given Feighd gold. What they will have really experienced is, respectively, a cave, some dung, or some dried leaves. 

Even as their forms are highly changeable, their magical nature means they can also be quite insubstantial. By letting themselves become almost gaseous or melding into pure spirit, Feighd can float through the air with ease. They can go beyond this entirely and by means of Glamour become nigh impossible to see. Those who are busy with much more important things are unlikely to see a Feighd in its true form, and if they do will probably just catch sight of something out of the corner of their eye before losing it again. Most animals are much more alert and perceptive than sapient mortals and so are not as easily fooled by the Feighd. Dogs, cats, and horses will often become agitated by the presence of invisible Wee Folk. While Feighd are adept shapeshifters, the eagle-eyed observer may realise their truth by subtle hints and oddities that addle the Feighd form, for their Glamour is so potent that it can hardly be prevented from randomly doing fantastical, wondrous things. Such oddities may include, for instance, a spark of intelligence in the eyes of an animal that betrays it is truly of the Feighd. Feighd masquerading as other sapients may have exaggerated features or abnormalities, such as pointy ears, a long nose, club feet, or other such things not to be found in the given race. Through the Veil, Greater Feighd can use Glamour to hear the words that people are speaking even when they are distant and so avoid deceptively or invisibly wandering in the first place. Further assisting Greater Feighd is their ability to use Glamour as a means of transport from the Veil into the material world and back – Lesser Feighd can only travel to and from the material realm via locations of great magic, such as Feighd mounds. Bold mortals are able to tag along with a Feighd travelling by repeating the same spell. They may however end up in an unusual or unexpected place. As other races can sometimes eavesdrop on Feighd spells and so use them without permission, Feighd often seek to hide their magicks from them. When Feighd use spoken spells, they will be heard to utter fantastical magical phrases, such as “Horse and hattock”, “Abracadabra”, “Hocus pocus”, “Double double, toil and trouble!”, amongst other innumerable phrases. While Lesser Feighd say their spells, very little is needed for Greater Feighd to wield their magical power. Intention alone (perhaps combined with some spell recited in the head) is sufficient to achieve their purpose. A mortal affected by unspoken such magic may not be entirely sure whether magic is being used or whether it is simply coincidence - indeed, Feighd can sometimes be quite subtle with their curses and blessings.

Feighd cast magic in many ways. This includes songs, chants, spells, poetry, herbs, potions, and dances. Various items can be employed too – magical bows are frequently used to fire fae-shots that hold curses or blessings. They can also use wands and enchanted items to channel their powers. Uniquely, as they are beings of pure magic and Glamour, Feighd are in fact able to cast magick without wands and similar items that are otherwise necessary. An example of this is the Feighd ability to change things simply by blowing upon them. In some cases, the sheer presence of a faery, radiating an aura of Glamour, is enough to work magic, quite frequently subjecting those they have met or spoken with to inadvertent curses or blessings. Even though fairies are mostly deliberate when it comes to hexing and blessing, it is possible for them in this and other ways to cast magic unwittingly or unintentionally on mortals. Extremely powerful Greater Feighd may even be able to cast magicks from vast distances or even into the material realm without leaving the Veil.

Feighd can be Astral beings and can, by various means, be bound as a familiar. While it is possible to learn Glamour and All-magick without a Feighd familiar, such will be extremely difficult until knowledge of All-magick has become sufficiently widespread amongst other races.

Mortals can see through Feighd Glamour if they apply a special ointment to their eyes. This ointment, salve, or oil is made only by Feighd and with it mortal eyesight can penetrate Feighd Glamour and see things as they really are. It can also penetrate many spells and illusions, including those that cause invisibility. Such concoctions are necessary in cases where Feighd and mortals intermarry; the resultant hybrids are unable to naturally see Glamour and require the ointment to be applied to their eyes. The effects of the ointment can be undone by violent blinding, depriving the victim of their sight completely, or more mercifully by a Feighd breathing on the eye to return it to its original state. While they are powerful beings, a person with prudence can ward off Feighd and their trickery through various charms and wards. These have no power in and of themselves, but Feighd are obligated to respect their warding nature due to Roisin Magnolia’s decree. Minerals, plants, and animal matter that ward off Feighd include:
[list][*]Iron in any shape, whether a knife, a horseshoe, a pin or needle, pairs of tongs, or the bolt of a door.
[*]Amber beads sewn into a child’s clothes prevent Feighd abduction.
[*]Salt drives off Feighd.
[*]Adder stone, a naturally holed stone that can be worn around the neck to protect an individual can be hung to safeguard home or a stable. When not in use, the stones should be protected or may otherwise be stolen by Feighd.
[*]Buildings and large public fixtures such as wells can be protected by circling them with stones painted white.
[*]Sprigs of rowan repel Feighd.
[*]Vervain and dill can dispel evil influences, as can milkwort and mugwort. Other handy herbs are mistletoe, nightshade, yarrow, groundsel, rue, and the sap of Ash trees. Burnt bindweed is good for protection, as are four-leaf clovers. 
[*]Sugar water, especially if served from a silver spoon or cup (or at least, from a receptacle containing silver) can help ensure that a mother and her newborn baby are safe from unwelcome Feighd attention. 
[*]Even tea can drive Feighd away.
[*]An elder branch can guard against Feighd, and Elder springs can also be carried to ward them off or even strike them.
[*]Drawing blood from oneself, someone else, or any animal can drive off Feighd.
[*]A black cockerel is a good ward against the Feighd.
[*]Red threads tied around the throat, wrist, or into one’s hair.
[*]Holy items, such as artefacts created by gods, can act as a ward against Feighd.
[*]Some Feighd, particularly the sort with bad intentions, are unable to cross flowing water.
[*]This is not an exhaustive list, feel free to come up with your own! Ask me if unsure!
[/list][/hider][/indent][/hider][/indent]
Roisin’s closing Might: 2 Might[/hider][/list]