Falk
Beneath ancient trees clothed in the many colors of fall, a dark figure paused. Removing a almost feline head from his hand, glowing eyes flashed as he whispered upon the wind. The pool before him rippled before showing the Realm of the Fae. He let his chuckle rustle the leaves high above him in his ancient hall. The great trees forming columns along the flag stoned path to his dais. Pools behind the trees flickered and sparked with light from various lesser and greater Fae. The mist that tangled above the pools and among the roots of the great trees emitted from the half-moon falls behind his thone of bones. Along the cliff that formed the falls, two high walls followed the pools and trees down to the entrance. It was far too dark to make out the design on them. Th Fae King saw no need to lighten his halls as of the current moment. His throne was made of ancient bones of great creatures, and covered with the hides of those he had killed in the prolonged years of his reign.
Eyes that were shrouded in darkness studied the pool before him, casting his fell voice upon the wind. "See to My borders." His voice was a dark, velvet purr, as several Fae blinked gleaming eyes before disappearing. Gesturing with two fingers, the pool changed to show the meeting place of the Fae Rulers. The grounds where peace would be born, or more war. He looked bemused at the standing stones of England. How long had it been since they first were place in their ancient resting place? How long had they been channeling the ancient magics, powered by the mortals that once worshiped there? Powering the gate for the Fae, entering the Fae world at their own whim. The peace talks would begin shortly, but he predicted the ever caring of Spring would arrive first, followed by Winter or Summer. Tegvan- or 'Falk' as the Fair Folk referred to him- had already decided to arrive last. Alone. His hunters and hounds would gather and prepare themselves in case, but there was little need. A predatory smile flickered across his 'fae' features. None dared to attack him, the fact was arrogant but true. His great hall held the proof in the shadows and still pools. In the bones and hides he sat upon. In the falls that thundered behind him. Oh, this little peace talk would amuse him to no end.
Aisling
At the base of the stairs up to his throne sat a mortal girl. Her age having been stopped well over a century ago. Her hands moved along a small lap-harp compelling notes from the thin silver strings. A musical instrument she had learned over the years, it had been a stout friend to her. It was sung from a great tree and carved with breathe taking detail, nothing less would do for "She who was born of ashes". The notes sharped in anger, they had forbidden her name, her very lovely name because name had power. Her fair face bared a blank expression of sorrow as she sat upon the cool stone. Wearing a thick Victorian styled dress with a thick cloak of grey. The deep and light blue of the dress making her seem all the more vivid. Thick red curls hung down her back to her waist, secured away from her face with a grey ribbon. Her gloved hands stroked the harp again as she played. Why the Fall King kept a mortal pet was something many wondered, Aisling herself wondered as well. Did he wish for someone to slip into the Mortal Realm for books? Was she to be turned into a Fae herself? Or perhaps used as token in the grand game the Dark King was playing. It was a folly that brought her here; folly and youth. A love that had brought a child, a forbidden act in the Victorian Era as the world now called it. Then it had been the Reign of Queen Victoria. Striking a string in anger, she let the haunting notes fill the hall. Let the Fae be displeased, she was more so!
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