Faerie Magic

Although the elves are old, they sometimes exaggerate their priority. True, they have lived out countless millennia in their peaceful homes and communities, living close to nature and the spiritual realms; true also that they are older than man, older than the Aldar, older than even the dwarves, whom they watched grow from cave-dwelling savages to masters of the finest material arts the world has ever known; but they are not the eldest, not by far.

Before the elves were there were other races, some more and some less like the races that walk the earth today: the Darukini, the plodding amphibious people who thought of the spirits of the earth and the water as their parents and spoke to them in their dreams the way other races speak to their parents when they are awake; the Farsun, who soared in the air like the eagles and made vast, sprawling cities on mountaintops, terrifying their foes with their piercing battle cries; and the Okono, the giants with many limbs or many heads or sometimes both who roamed the wilderness, speaking to trees and animals in a lost tongue. And there have been innumerable other beings besides. But before all of these now lost and forgotten races there were the Intohuk, the spirit-kind. The spirit-kind go by many names in many places: they are the spirits of rivers, mountains, and trees; the elementals of the earth, water, air, and fire; dryads, salamanders, nymphs and naiads, among innumerable other names. And it was these, the true elders of the Earth's Dawn, that taught the other races the secrets of the universe, both material and spiritual. And it is to these spirits which you speak, John Doe.

That you possess a rare and remarkable gift none of your kinsfolk ever question. Even as a child you seemed to be encapsulated by a spere of harmony and enchantment. It seemed as if all of nature bent to do your will with hardly a thought on your own part. When you walked, the sun would emerge from behind the clouds; in High Sun, a gentle breeze would protect you from the summer's heat; in Frozen Lake, it seemed as if a warm wind followed you everywhere you went. Adults watched in fascination as brown bears let you play with their cubs as if you were one of their litter. Snakes moved from the paths to let you pass unmolested, and even hungry trolls would let you dance and sing for them and seek their dinner elsewhere.

Oftentimes, you seemed to possess a special knowledge of other people's sorrows, and always seemed to know exactly the right thing to say to comfort them. Sometimes you could be seen playing in a field by yourself, accompanied by invisible friends who would lift you up and tumble you through the air to your squeals of amusement. It wasn't long before your parents recognized the nature of your special gift and identified it: you had the Mark of the Faerie.

In the minds of ordinary men, elves and faeries are often mixed. In comparison to the short, brutish lives of commen men, the lives of both elves and faeries are filled with magic, the hourglass of time stands still, and beauty fills the cup of life to the brim of contentment. Yet faerie-folk are as far beyond their elven kin as elves are beyond humans. It was the faerie-folk that taught the elves how to live with intelligence and simplicity, how to weave fine garments and cast fine spells, and how to know and understand the designs and distractions of the gods. And though the faerie-folk drift further into reclusion with each passing century, every once in a while one of them still befriends an elven child and takes them under wing to teach them these secrets of the ages.

The kind of magic you specialize in cannot be taught, since it is a bond of friendship with the spirits of the world. It is a gift which must be earned through simple kindness and a nature overabundant with goodwill and humor. It is inspired by an inborn feeling of kinship with the world which all spirits sense and cherish. This simple joy and contentment in living encourages the spirits of nature and of the supernatural to feel a protective patronage toward the one who possesses it. Those with the Mark of the Faerie need rarely fear want or oppression: the Intohuk take pains to ensure that such a one is always well provided for and protected.

This aid is not always obvious, even to one who bears the mark. It sometimes takes the form of divine intervention, in which incredible good fortune just seems to follow the Marked wherever he or she goes. But sometimes the spirit-folk take a more direct approach, appearing in person to set things right. Those blessed with the Mark, people like yourself, see spirits everywhere, and converse with them in much the same way that others converse with their friends, their parents, their siblings, and their children...and sometimes, their lovers. Many and wonderful are the tales of the Faerie Mages.

One instance of good luck in your own life was having the good fortune to be the granddaughter of Waedwyr the Wise. Although not a Faerie Mage himself, Waedwyr was nevertheless a man of stature in the spirit world. He had done many a favor for unlucky spirits over the centuries of his adventuring and earned himself many powerful friends...and enemies. He taught you how to channel your power, how to deal with nature spirits, who could be tricky, and how to negotiate with elementals, who could be stubborn. He showed you the many mysteries that nature has to offer, and the right way to honor them. And he taught you a little common magic as well, enough to get by, when invoking the spirits would be rude or troublesome.

In addition to these gifts, he gave you everything in his sanctum. Many of these things are still a complete mystery to you and are best left undisturbed; but some of these things will be a great boon to you on your eagerly anticipated adventures. Among the greatest of these gifts is Woodwick, your walking staff. Though little more than a long, slender walking stick, it is made from a twig broken from Sleitrigg, the World Tree in the land of the Faeries, and is well-neigh unbreakable. It vibrates in the presence of evil, allowing the user to detect the intentions of others, and glows in the dark with the light of a firefly, enabling you to see in the dark. You briefly consider taking Spiderfang, the dagger forged by the dark dwarves in Pits Deeps, but it sends a cold chill down your spine just to look at it. You do not plan on causing harm to anyone, in any case, and can see no reason for bringing it. You do, however, take the Pearldragon necklace, every bead of which contains a drop of healing elixir which will cure any illness, neutralize any poison, and heal any wound.

Donning the necklace, you take a look at yourself in the mirror, more to remind yourself who you are, and why you are going on this adventure than for any other reason. Among your own people, your beauty is unsurpassed, though much of it stems from your incorrigible smile and your sparkling, joyful eyes. You are slender, even for an elf; but then, you have never had to exert yourself. Your hair is long, and straight, and shimmers like spun gold, and your skin is pure and free of blemish, the color of honeyed milk. You are wearing a low-cut gossamer gown of fine gold lace that leaves your arms bare. It has long slits up the side to your hips, exposing your thighs, but leaving your legs free for running and playing. Though it is light, you never seem to feel cold; and besides, you have your cloak as well, which turns to gold the moment you put it on, to match your dress.

Taking your bags, which are already packed and ready to go, you pick up your walking staff and turn to take one last look at your room and all of the wonderful things that it holds. Who knows when you will return, or if you ever will. All you know is that your heart yearns for adventure and it will not be denied. There is too much sorrow, too much darkness in the world; you can sense it. And it will take someone like you to brighten it.

You turn and leave the room, shutting the door lightly behind you.