Many people, upon learning or even suspecting of the existence of the fae-folk, worry themselves with worrying about how a fae-folk would be born, as if the answer to that is the answer to all of humanity. Many people are foolish and should not worry themselves with things as inconsequential as this. Many had questioned how even a fae-folk was born, as the creatures contain no characteristics of gender or sex. It was an inquiry asked of many and many more. But, be that as it may, the truth is that a faerie is hatched from an egg, from a cluster of eggs, left by a Changeling deep inside the forest. A faerie never knows its mother, but it knows of being borne, and it remembers the moment it erupts from inside the supple shell of a faerie egg.
Not one dweller in the whole of Crepegrum could say they knew the age of the fae-folk. The creatures were thousands of years old, but never aged a day, making them most mysterious to any-body who stumbled across their path. Indigo Glass was the faerie of lust, though she hadn’t a sense of it herself, the creature could make any-body lust for the caster of her spell. Though, there was a fine line between lust and love, and Indigo could not cross it, for even fae-folk have their limits. She was a creature of only three inches tall, and she was quick and steady, invisible to sometimes even the trained eye. All of Crepegrum knew of the fae-folk: except for the Ordinaries, as they were stupid and untrained.
Acren was a magical place; t’was large, and lush, and filled with the lighted wings of all the pleasant fae-folk. A traveler who stumbled across the forest of Acren would certainly become lost in its ethereality, and would not, perhaps, be able to find their way out again. There had been many a time where a lone traveler had become spellbound by the forest and never returned home, and even so, they were sure to become a Changeling. Many Changelings were infants, stolen from their homes in the dark of the night, replaced with nothing more than a baby faerie, and this to the Ordinaries was nothing to be suspicious of – nothing, even, to be noticed.
The home of Indigo was concealed well behind a spot of trees deep inside Acren, very easily overlooked, which was just the way she preferred it to be. All through the land, far and wide, there were creatures of adventure and novelty, and Indigo knew of most of them. Out of the rippled surface of the Sea of Quarenria, a Siren would poke out her head toward the most inquisitive of men, and they were never to be heard from again. Indigo had heard it happen, many a time and time again. A Siren was a creature of splendour, and she never left empty-handed.
That evening there was the crunching in Acren of leaves beneath the foot of a humanoid creature. The faerie September, bringer of fortune both good and bad, remained hidden away in her wooden fae-home and made not a peep. The voice of a magick-doer rang through the forest land, booming and nearly starting Indigo right out of her treetop. “I am Onyx, creator of The Binding, the one true Mage. I bring forward an inquiry to the Faerie of Lust, a creature I very much regret indebting myself to, but alas, the magick of mine own hands is powerless before the face of a woman so formidable and shrewd! For I long so badly for the soul of mine neighbour Apple, and yet I find myself immobilised by her alluring glow.”
The one called Onyx had surged without a care to the entrance of the home of Indigo. They were rather quick and agile: a Mage of Black Magick, a genderless humanoid of paleness and Rage. Indigo did not quiver even atop the most malleable of branches; but she fluttered her wings of purple and found herself at the height of the face of Onyx Traptow. “I am Indigo, the Faery of Lust, I bid you good evening. One could presuppose themselves that Onyx wishes for the one called Apple to be charmed by their spirit.” It was not oft that Indigo was approached with a lustful desire, and it was even less oft that she would grant such an idea. “Let it be known that I am not a granter of love, and I am incapable of granting you the love of the one called Apple.”
A faerie is magickal, yes, but also quite cunning. She will not bother herself with tasks that do not appeal to her, and she certainly is not the type of creature who bothers herself with the sentiments of others.
The faerie September was small and blue, her wings glittered and delicate, as were all the wings of faeries. The head of September peered cautiously from the window of her wooden home, and then poked itself back inside not two moments later.
Onyx Traptow had not a wand, but a pentacle, which found itself now in the large, droopy sweater of the mage. “So I have heard.” Onyx was tall and thin, a character of mystery to many inside the walls of Crepegrum. Indigo worried not about others, and she worried not about making friends, for she was a lone being. “I need only lust, for I am a skilled mage, and I believe a quenching spot of lust will more than suffice.” Onyx was a necromancer; Indigo had seen this during the Night of the Moon, which occurred every year on the 700th Day. She feared not; after all, a faerie is far elder than a Mage, elder than even a Vampyre, and much more skilled.
“You come to me with such an air of bumptiousness, my friend. I beseech you: for what reason should I comply with your request? I know not the face of the one called Apple, and so I remain unbiased.”
Onyx very much despised the feebleness which took over them in the presence of Apple Tate. She was a married woman of zero pragmatism, stranger and more cunning, and she had grown immune to the hexes of the mage. This was rather galling to Onyx, who got off on their power and strength, and Apple Tate was the only one in all of Uspax whose own skill rivaled their own. They spoke, now, with a hint of displeasure, their pentacle hanging forward out of its pocket. “I am a Necromancer and a Mage, far more powerful than a feeble faerie, and I need not much of a charm. I would not have come at all if I had any choice, for I wish not to rely on the meagre magick of an unpracticed faerie.”
Indigo was most disgruntled by the response of the humanoid, for it was such a human thing to presume one’s race is superior. Perhaps, this was why the girl remained in her treetop, unbothered and away from such foolish banter. A faerie was always female; despite its lack of characteristics that would say this, it also contained no characteristics that would say otherwise. “You say you are superior, and yet you are the one who has found themselves appealing for my help. Let us be sure to understand it is this way, and not the other way round. Alas, my friend, if I agree to cater to your request, I much make a request of my own, and it is that you will not find yourself back in my forest, searching for aid if your plan goes awry.”
The mage stood tall, their head brushing the branch on which Indigo stood. “It will not.”
“Very well.” The faery Indigo raised her purple hands, and shot a spiral of light around the one called Onyx Traptow. It was not a sensationless charm: one would feel warmth radiating from the most inner of their core. “There you have it. The one called Apple will fall victim to the sin of lust for thirty days, and no more. The rest is your doing, mage. Let it be noted I have agreed to help you only out of kindness, and not because you are owed anything. Not be off, and do not bother me again.”
September Steel was a faerie of blueness and stealth, and the only friend of Indigo. A faerie is not a friendly or vivacious creature, and needed not many confidantes. When the back of Onyx was turned and the mage trudged back through the forest fern, September fluttered out of her home in the wooden cabin, and alighted on the edge of the tree branch Indigo was perched on. “I have been attempting to ignore these feelings in my spirit, but I have grown jaded and afeared of the upcoming battle. These things always end in such bloodshed and ruin. I fear Crepegrum will never be the same afterward.”
The fae-folk were worried not about falling injured during the Night of the Moon, for a faerie can be killed only with iron, and this was difficult to find. No, the fae-folk had grown to expect the demolition which always followed the Night of the Moon, and they had grown to anticipate the many lives that were always lost. These were not only Magick lives, although this was common, but sometimes, drawn to Uspax by the noise and the revolution, a Werewolf, or a Siren or a Vampyre would find themselves summoned to the battle. A Vampyre can be killed with magick, but they are very hard to catch, and possess skin so hard and thick that they are capable of deflecting even the most perilous of blows. Oft, a Vampyre-folk, upon reaching the site of battle, would find themselves tired and thirsty from the journey and would tempt themselves with the blood of a Magick-folk. This, upon many other things, created a spiral of destruction which would leave nothing but darkness and defeat in its weak. But the Night of the Moon was compulsory for all except the High Elves of Azuria, who could wave their hands and leave the entire nation under their spell.
There were many Elves in the faction of Azuria, but most were destined to fight, as the Elves of the Azure Tower said it to be.
Indigo was elder than September by many years, and she was much more calm and not so quick to be fearful. “Alas, my girl, that is the way it always must be.” The nymph Scola Farric was thousands of years eld and observed the fae-folk in their habitats. “Be that as it may, my friend, I can assure you I will steadily fight by your side, and with luck and the yearning for victory, the fae-folk will emerge unscathed and, in their own way, victorious.” For the way of the High Elves was the way of Crepegrum, and the way of Crepegrum could ne’er be changed.
September Steel had hair of blue which swept over her shoulders; her wings sparkled with each motion she made. “T’is a very fearsome nation, and I can no longer deny my trepidations. As long as I am armed for battle by the side of my sister and friend, Indigo Glass, I need not be afraid: for united, we two fae-folk can do anything.” It was a sentiment Indigo agreed with wholeheartedly – and she’d never admit it to the girl, but she found herself quite aquiver by the presence of the faery. T’was a mawkishness which was likely unreciprocated, but this did not matter, for Indigo was satisfied regardless.
The Night of The Moon was very quickly nearing. The whole of the nation was quaking with anticipation of the battle, and Indigo Glass could no longer sit still and unbothered on the perch on her tree.
