Name:
Wynne Cricket
Age:
Unclear. Cricket appeared following the sprouting of an oak sapling one summer. The oak had produced at least one round of acorns, so likely around 20-50 years. After that it gets fuzzy.
Gender:
No.
Race:
Aessyr
Rank:
Copper
Appearance:
The 'Cricket' moniker is perhaps a bit more apt than the fairy would like to admit. At just shy of five inches tall, Cricket is a bit on the larger side for a fairy, and doubly so for a cricket. Their skin is a reddish-brown color near that of the bark of a tree, with leaf-like vein markings covering most of their body. A pair of bright, golden eyes peer out from underneath the shaggy green mess of a mullet which tops their head, falling down to the base of their neck, just barely brushing their shoulders. A set of translucent, insect-like wings extend from their back - fully functional too, should one believe hard enough.
With most of their kind content to flit about in forests far removed from the human settlements, fairies that DO frequent the settlements find themselves woefully underserved by the tailors of the realm. As such, most Aessyr find themselves at least dabbling in the world of plant-based fashion. Cricket's most recent work is a simple sleeveless tunic made from an autumnal leaf, tied off with a sash fashioned from a fern's frond. Their tights are actually cloth, stitched together from an old companion's hand-me-down gloves. For accessories, Cricket sports a cross-body bag made from woven leaves and fibers, and as many shiny bobbles and rings as they can fit onto their body. They wear several tiny metal clasps and ringlets as ear rings, with many others braided into their hair. Around their neck they wear a fine fiber adorned with shards and bits of shiny, reflective chitin.
Personality:
There exists in common consciousness this notion of faefolk as being these mischievous, tricksy creatures, selfishly having fun at the expense of anyone unfortunate enough to find themselves in their company.
This is a completely reasonable and accurate take. If one were to believe otherwise, one need look no further than our very own Cricket to see a sterling example of all the worse traits their people are known for on full display. Cricket is this immature, selfish, stubborn hooligan, reckless to a fault. They love few things more than a good game - preferably one in which they win. The more the odds are stacked in Cricket's favor, the better.
But something Cricket does love more than games? Gold. Cold hard cash. Shiny bits and baubles. Valuables. Like a fairy tale dragon atop it's grand hoard, Cricket craves wealth. A product of a fairy spending too much time in mankind's society? Perhaps. They've taken to sin like a duck to water. Gambling, bartering, thieving, swindling. The only line Cricket will not cross is lying. The fae are many things - a concerning number of them very very bad indeed - but liars they are not. That being said...it's surprising just how malleable the truth can be, really. Their insatiable greed doesn't just stop at wealth - they're starved for stories. Being incapable of lying stifles certain elements of storytelling, so the rush of hearing a good story is damn near intoxicating.
Now while Cricket is objectively a bad person, they're not exactly a bad guy. Fairies are just a little bit extra in all aspects. For better or for worse, Cricket is an excellent hypeman, ready to encourage any bad decision their companions may be considering with all the energy their little heart can muster. They are gregarious to a fault - quite frankly, it's unclear if Cricket even has a concept of what a 'stranger' is. And their loyalty, once earned, is damn near unshakable. Sisterhood is forever, no matter how far your travel or how you wear your pants or what gender or species you are. Fairies protect their own, no matter what.
Brief Backstory: Once upon a time there was a beautiful, lush forest, alive with the sounds of the creatures that called it home. The creatures of that forest lived in harmony, taking of its bounty until it was time to become that bounty in turn. And of these creatures of the forest, none were more jubilant than the faefolk, the children who frolicked amongst the ferns in endless games with endless laughter. They were the very joy of the forest made manifest, the magic of nature itself given flesh.
The forest kept ignorant of the world beyond the trees. The fairies dared not tread beyond the thickets, into the realm of man. For man was ugly. And angry. And hungry. All things foreign and unknown in the realm of fairies. But even knowing the danger, there were those amongst the fairies who found themselves unable to resist the whispers of curiosity which drove them closer and closer to the edge of the thickets.
In a fairy tale, perhaps there would be a lesson to be had. A chance encounter that resolved peacefully. A gruesome end to install some fear in children to correct their behavior.
In reality, there was no lesson to be had. Those curious fairies would fall to bolt and blade and trap and net. Those taken with violence were ground to dust. The others were bound in chains and bottles. The fairy would one day be dubbed Cricket was amongst the latter. Those that remained hidden would eventually see the mighty trees which made up their homes felled for lumber or set alight to prepare the land for agriculture. It's hard to say who the lucky ones were.
Our fairy was smuggled into the town of Cirvess and sold to a mage of no small renown. An exceedingly cautious man, the mage would harvest the fairy's innate magic, extracting just enough dust to put the fairy on the brink of death before letting them rest. It's hard to say how long the fairy endured their fate - the mage never spoke to the fairy in any real capacity. Time lost meaning. There was only extraction and recovery. Pain and rest.
That is, until one fateful night, when the wards over the lab's window were severed and a window quietly slid open. A handful of thieves had come to rob the mage, to make away with his greatest treasures. An easier task said than done. The mage's artifacts were sealed away, his research material locked up tight. There wasn't much that the thieves could take...but one of the burglars had noticed the weak creature in the bottle. The fairy was swiped, as was anything of any value that wasn't nailed down or buried in wards.
The thieves, once returned to their hideout, freed the fairy, unwilling to involve themselves in the slave trade. The fairy, both deeply overjoyed at their freedom and completely oblivious of the location or name of their home forest, decided to stick with the thieves. In the blink of an eye, four years passed. The fairy had grown close with the thieves. They had taught them the tricks of the trade, so that they might be useful on jobs. They had taught the fairy all sorts of new human games and filled their head with all kinds of stories. They had even given them a name. A new name. Cricket. On account of the fairy's constant, annoying chirping. There's power in name, shared with those closest to one's heart. All was well. For a time.
Until it wasn't.
All it took was one botched job for everything to go sideways. One of Cricket's companions fell to a trap the fairy had missed. Another downed by guards during their escape. The third - the lad that swiped them from the mage's lab to begin with - was betrayed by the forth, cashing in on a reward set regarding the group's capture. The third gave his life so that Cricket might flee. It should come as no surprise that it was the very same mage from whom the group rescued Cricket who set the bounty. Cricket would later learn that the traitor met a traitor's end when she attempted to collect her reward - immolation.
As for Cricket, well, the fairy headed east. Staying in Cirvess was not an option. One of her companions dreamt of one day going legit, of moving to the capital and joining the adventurer's guild. He wanted to see the world, explore ancient ruins and find long lost treasure and artifacts. It was a good dream. He wouldn't want it to go to waste so...Cricket did as he taught them.
Cricket stole the dream.
Equipment:
Beetle Bopper: A makeshift spear made of sharpened chitin. Highly reflective, surprisingly durable. It's not going to pierce armour or hide, but the fleshy bits and eyes are fair game.
Chitin Thieves' Tools: A set of surprisingly durable miniature tools made from chitin. Main tools include a pick and a hammer. In lieu of tradition lockpick equipment, Cricket's tools serve a similar function for setting and aligning tumblers.
Skills:
Where Cricket lacks in combat prowess, they excel in utility. Their lightweight, diminutive size and innate capability of flight make them perfect for sneaking into places they probably shouldn't. A deft hand at lockpicking means easily making a entrance for their more physically gifted companions or freeing precious treasure from oppressive chests while their lack of presence gives them an upperhand in disarming traps without setting them off.
Cricket makes for a good scout, especially when factoring in their proficiency for illusionary magic. They're not capable of much more than simple glamours, but there's much that can be done by turning mostly invisible for a time.
Maybe not quite so important to some, but when it comes to actually turning recovered artifacts and 'treasure' into actual useable currency, Cricket's got connections. Now whether one should trust those connections - debatable.
Savo,
fellsing,
Forsythe,
Achronum,
PatientBean,
mickilennial,
Morose,
VitaVitaAR,
Rune_Alchemist,
Coda
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