|| Once, long ago, the Faeries lived together in a grand kingdom high above the Earth. Joined forevermore by the magic in their blood, Faeries lived and thrived on the energies of the world itself; able to manipulate its bounty at will. They lived in solitude and tranquility in their floating kingdom, too high to be reached by the people of the Earth and Sea. There, in that floating kingdom, the Faerie King sat upon his throne of fire and directed the fate of Faeries everywhere, creating laws and punishments for all within its bounds; until the once loyal subjects began to question ‘why?’ Why obey simply because of tradition? Why toil in silence above the Earth? Why not leave the kingdom and seek fortunes elsewhere? The Faerie King was angered at the deliberate disobedience of his subjects and showed it by roaring into the heavens with rage. The voice he used resembled that of the Earth itself, groaning and growling and causing the heavens to shake and the kingdom to shatter. Thousands of floating island shards split and scattered all over the Earth, some to become lonely villages, others to become abandoned wastelands. Faeries everywhere were forced to choose between clinging to the shattered kingdom or falling to the Earth; many chose to simply fall. Those that did used their Faerie blood to assume the shapes of those around them, hiding their magical lineage in other guises. High above, on the largest of the floating islands, the Faerie King sits and he waits; waits for the day that his kingdom will once again become whole. He sits upon his throne of fire and he plans, taking many wives to bear many heirs to lead his new kingdom to glory. But having so many made him petty in his affections, son after son fell in battle with rival Faerie forces and forces of the Earth. Forevermore would the earth-walkers and sky-searchers be at odds, but when it came down to his last son he tried desperately to keep him alive and well. Silently he sent the young man away, to be hidden somewhere safe, secure; a place where he would never be found.
I am that young man, the last son of Cosrah-Lahn, Sylvek-Talani of the Cosrah brood. From birth I was destined for greatness, for glory among the stars of our flying kingdom. But fate is a fickle thing, and such a destiny would never be realized. No, my story is one of shame instead…
Now I’m forced to hide that shame, to assume the form of a human earth-walker and be hidden there beneath the ground. We cannot hide our wings, however, and have found we need to conceal them when in the presence of humans. I’m to be escorted to an underground fortress the ground-diggers tunneled long ago, locked away to never be found so that no creature can discover my disgrace… ||
The sun shone crimson against the western horizon, warning that dusk would settle in soon as three figures picked their way along a worn trail. They rode upon sleek yakrams, (a tall, cloven-hooved animal with ornate horns but a dexterous, nimble gait) their silence allowing the birdsong of the plains to wash over the three travelers as they picked their away along the trail. A figure ahead caused them to halt and hang back, one of the broader two moving to snatch the third’s reigns and halt his movement as well. They fell silent and remained that way a long time, debating on a course of action.
The third figure eventually scoffed and ripped off the deep hood over his face. His youthful features were clear in the evening light, his bright green eyes resembling glistening emeralds amidst fair skin and long hair a pale shade of blonde. “Why are we stopped?” The young green-eyed man protested, the dark cloak about his shoulders disguising his physique. “I thought we were in some sort of hurry.” He spat dryly.
The man holding his yakram’s reins turned to regard him with furrowed brows beneath the folds of his deep hood. “We cannot take risks, Your Majesty. You should put your hood back up.”
“Risks.” The young man scoffed again. “What risks?! Who in bloody hellfire even knows who we are? Or where we are? Or where we’re going?!”
“Young Master, please lower your voice.” The other man stated gently from beneath his hood. “And do as Jenan requests, please. Put up your hood.”
“Who exactly am I hiding from, hm?” The young man retorted. “Because I was under the impression I was being exiled, not protected. The earth-walkers could care less who I am!”
The other two men exchanged a glance, then the one with his grip on the prince’s reins spoke when he turned back, “No one must see us, Your Majesty. No one must suspect what we do or where we go.”
“And how could they if they don’t know what I look like, hm? I mean, honestly, what~” The young, blonde-haired man paused and changed direction suddenly, “Say, what’s that?” The two men followed his gaze and kicked their steeds to reach the rise of a small hill. It gave the three of them ample view of the scene below, the passing of a young woman on a horse and the arrival of other more threatening figures.
Things weren’t going well for the woman…
The two taller men exchanged a glance, but the younger, green-eyed youth furrowed his brows in concern before suddenly drawing his slender, shamshir-like blade. “That woman is in trouble!”
“It’s not our concern.” The leaner of the taller men remarked with a shrug. “We shouldn’t get involved.”
“Like hell!” The young man responded before kicking his yakram and charging forward. The distance between he and the scuffle traveled swiftly on the dexterous hooves of his nimble steed. At first the other two thought not to follow, exchanged a knowing glance but then pursued after their charge, each unsheathing their own weapon.
In an instant the nearest thug had the top of his ear neatly cleaved completely off, the young man’s motion from atop his mount fluid and sure. His right arm extended his blue-steel blade and was placed warningly at the nearest thug’s throat. “Ah-ah-ah, you’re lucky half an ear was all I took. On your knees, swine, drop your weapons! And release that young lady, now. Before I decide to relieve you of other more…precious body parts.” The fair-skinned young man’s sword and eyes dipped a moment to indicate the fullness of his threat.
He was swiftly backed by his two body-guards who came to a halt and glared with an intense energy from beneath their hoods. One held a loaded crossbow, the taller a pike-like halberd; and both looked more than ready for trouble.