 | The son of humble, and low-born Fae Farmers, Aiden Crofter Applegrove lived a pleasant but simple life farming on his family's small and humble ancestral plot. Aidan lived an uneventful life in the quiet and bucolic village of Garrán úll. Located in Tailte An Earraigh (The Spring Lands), Aidan and his widowed Mother; Anya Applegrove, made their living growing crops and selling them to various merchants nearby, in the more cosmopolitan settlement of Kingsbridge. Aidan and his mother lived alone; the family farm had been her father before her's, and he before his, and so on. Aidan had never known his father. Before his Grand'da's passing; whilst in his nightly cups, the old man would regale Aidan with boring, bawdy, or bitter tales, including the embarrassing story of his inauspicious birth. His mother, once a comely young Faerie Dairy Maiden of proud, but low birth, had caught the eye of a dashing Fae Lord. Anya Applegrove's mother had left the family for a charming Human farmer who never missed a chance to tithe his Faerie lover with bowls of cream and offerings of fragrant flowers. Anya found herself her father's caretaker, as well as cheap and ineffective farm labor, as her mother had left before producing the family any sons. Seeing a better life for herself than former generations of Applegroves, or at least a chance at upward mobility and indoor plumbing, Anya Applegrove up and moved to Kingsbridge; scandalizing the stodgy matrons of the Springlands countryside, to become a Kept Woman; the secret mistress of an unnamed Seelie Lord. A year later Aiden was born, the Lord was gone, and his Mother was forced to return to the family farm, poorer in pocket but richer in wisdom. For a time there were mysterious deliveries in the form of an unmarked package of gold, roughly in the season of Aidan's birth, but they stopped before Aidan reached his teens. Then his Grand'da passed back to the earth as all Fae eventually do; becoming a strong and gnarled Appletree, and Aidan and his mother found themselves forced to run the farm alone. Faced with the all too occupied with the realistic, daily tasks of running a farm, and not starving, to worry overmuch about tracking down absent, absentee fathers. One morning; much like any other, Aiden awoke before dawn, setting about the day's business on his family's small farm. Quietly he slipped out the door of the small, rough thatched cottage, careful not to wake his Mother as he went. His daily duties included cleaning out the Pixie traps, milking the Crodh Sith; white (Faerie Cows) with long eyelashes, and silky red ears, mucking the Faerie cowshit out of the stables, and tending the Orchards. Then everything went to shit. Aiden gently lifted the closure of the barn door; their one remaining cow was getting on in years, and rather grumpy, only to have the long piece of wood that barred the barn doors shatter at his very touch. |
| The next frantic and deeply confusing half hour continued in much the same way, Aiden desperately trying to do his work, whilst displaying unfortunate, and totally unexpected feats of strength and dexterity. Trying to puzzle out the mystery of the wood that he had just shattered; had they been cursed by someone they had offended in the nearby village?, Aiden leaned against one of the small shed's exposed, interior support beams. There was a great CRACK as it shattered, then he was flipping, head-over-heels, spinning and dashing to dodge quite a bit of roof. Aidan goggled, his mouth hanging open. Slightly musclebound, and usually the slowest boy in the village at sport and games of graceful athleticism, he had executed a series perfectly yet unnecessary executed flips and rolls. Via muscle memory he hadn't had when he'd gone to bed the night before. Oh he was strong yes, but not terribly graceful; as the sore shin he had banged on his blocky, home-made bedframe could attest. Now surrounded by wreckage, and broken farming implements he could ill afford to replace, Aidan was nearly in tears. Bó álainn; their faithful cow, would not be milked. At least not by he. No fool she, she kept her distance, and a jaundiced, distrustful eye on the increasingly frightened lad. His empty stomach seeming to roil and rise, Aidan stumbled out of the wreckage of the barn and ran back up the path to the cottage. A few miles away, in the Village of Garrán úll, bells began to peal somberly. 13 rings sounded, the Oberon; Leader, Health And Breath of the land, who had been ailing for what felt like all of Aidan's life, had finally died. Publicly they would all mourn their Liege, though it was rare these days to visit the pub, and not to hear the odd whispers about the old King not just damned well getting on with it. His health was tied to the land, and so long as he ailed the crops grew sicker and the harvests smaller. Some of the smaller Fae, already dissatisfied with the Oberon's rule as the lowest caste of Fae, had begun organizing. Proposing to dissolve the Monarchy; by guillotine if necessary, and untie the fates of many from a selfish, grasping old man who refused to die and heal the land. Of course nobody was stupid enough to publicly voice these thoughts, and the drunken angry whispers were soon hushed by more cautious friends. Carefully Aidan walked back as quickly as he felt was strictly safe. He didn't trust his legs at the moment, they'd gone all acrobatty. Back to the cottage he speed walked, a little embarrassed to find himself calling out for his mother. She met him at the door. |  |
 | "Erhm..." Anya looked her son over. She looked at the wreckage of their home and livelihood. Worse than Pixies this was. She sniffed. Anya held the typical prejudices of her ethnic caste toward the Wee Fae. Thankfully Aiden had been too preoccupied or to socially inept to pick those up for himself. Anya looked him over again, hoping to see something, a royal aura, a flock of sparkling rainbow doves bearing a banner with her son's name... She'd really been hoping to hear, or see some vision or any other joyous signifier that her son was coming into some sort of legacy. Nothing. He was but a shaggy haired, lanky boy who was beautiful to her, but few other people. He was tall and broad and good at formwork, but not much else. She supposed the blood was divine enough, though. "Well... the thing is, as one of the Oberon's" here she coughed "many" COUGH! "children, known, or unknown, you share a link to the land and some of the blood of the Tuatha Dé." This meant many things. Slowly the perils of their position dawned on Anya Applegrove. Aiden was part High Fae, and might share some of the Ancestral Powers of the line of the Oberon, dating back to the First Oberon and his three-fold pact with the Morrighan and The Celestial Dragon. |
"Er, I'm going to go try to scry someone who once said to call on him if we ever had need. He was a Knight of the Oberon, but not so's you'd know it. Gnoll, big furry head and all, all dressed up in finery. Oh the things I saw in Kingsbridge and Claíomh An Tsolais! Anyway, despite having that dog's 'ead, he was one of the few friends of my dear Finny that wasn't a complete rotter or bounder. Language that would make yer ears fall clean off!" Aiden was still standing under the Appletree Tree, slightly cleaner, staring at her open mouthed. Perhaps he was wondering exactly what his mother did see, and do in those large cities, or perhaps he was just struck dumb by the fact that he finally had a father. A dead father. A dead, secret, rich Father, from whom he could currently collect NOTHING. "This is just terrible Mum!" blurted Aiden, "Terrible! I can't use his name to pick up girls at the Pub, and now that he's dead he'll never teach me to hit a ball with a stick, or any of that other manly stuff!" A gust of wind sprung up, prompting a groaning sound from the gnarled old Appletree. A small crabapple fell off of his Gran'da; the tree he had inadvertently punched, while dancing about the yard, throwing punches. The tree's groan seemed to query 'What was exactly was I boy, chopped liver?' "Keep your mouth polite ta yer elders when yar talk Son, or you'll draw Pixies!" She spoke without thinking, then immediately regretted it. Oh, of course this was a lot for her poor dear lad to take in. "Did'ja have any questions here, me darling boy?" |  |
 | Being teased by the other boys for not having a father, the sideways glances and sniffs of judgement the village Matrons always gave his mother, the absolutely shite education he had received in the village's One-Room schoolhouse. It was true, Fae understood all languages, and you could find a range of different regional dialects all across the Faelands. Aiden was literate in none of them. He could birth a Faerie Calf though, and you could bounce a coin off his haybales. Not feeling terribly charitable towards the villagers, but still feeling as if he might make one final farewell to the village, Aiden headed to Garrán úll's only Pub; The Red Rooster. There he hoped to see one or two of the villagers he considered friends, Tom or Phil, or his heart's secret desire; Mandolin The Fair. A beautiful Fae Maiden with long flaxen locks, she was the daughter of the village Publican, and totally unaware of Aidan's existence. Sad, since there were maybe 60 Fae in the village. |  |
| Off he would go, one last time to the Pub, to see what fun, favors or fortune would find him. One of the resident shiftless souses informed Aiden that Tom was off fishing. Phil was in the bar, but he was unconscious on a bench in the back, and looked like he wouldn't make for a very meaningful, or memorable goodbye to Garrán úll. At least not a pleasant one. Making his way toward the bar a thrill ran through him. His luck was changing, it was Mandolin! |  |
| The small Tavern's wooden floors and tables gleamed with grease in the candlelight, and the Pub had an ever-present smell of old fried food and beer. The small windows that let in light opened outwards, but provided very little breeze. Straw and sawdust lay in a loose layer over the floor and in piles in the corners for the convenience of either the queasy patron, or the overworked Pub staff. Candlelight chandeliers and sconces gleamed merrily, giving off a faint fishy odour of whale oil. Above, on the second floor was a set of three; very small rooms, other than those that were taken by the Merryweather family, that were available for rent. It was now early afternoon on a weekday, and aside from from gossipy old souse Ciaran Corn-Field, some strange traveler, and the unconscious Phil, the Tavern was fairly empty. The traveler was a small, evil-looking, grizzled old man, wearing a Red-Cap. Probably, he was a Red-Cap. Looking up from the bar she was half-heartedly scrubbing at with a dirty rag, lovely, golden-haired, Mandolin Merryweather found herself face-to-face with Aiden Applegrove. A shabby lad, he and his family; now consisting solely of his disgraced and unmarried mother managed a real dump of an Apple Orchard on the furthest outskirts of the village. "Guh!" She managed to blurt at him. Had that hayseed Aiden always looked so handsome? He was smiling and it looked like all of his teeth had finally stopped their squabbling and aligned in something approaching a proper dental formation. Aiden's own golden locks shone in the greasy candlelight, and the misfortune that was his face seemed to have cleared of its acne overnight. His skin was clear, lightly tanned, dewy. Mandolin ran a hand through her long, wild, white-gold locks and heaved her considerable bosom in Aiden's direction. "A--Applegrove?" She called in greeting, though it sounded more like a question. |  |
| A few days later, as promised; Ser Barnabus Sharp-Tooth, favored son of the Sharp-Tooth Clan, Ranger of the Former King's Guard arrived. Having been both well educated, and previously acquainted with Anya Applegrove, he grasped the problems of their position immediately. With him he had two excitedly chittering, little furry Fae-things that Barnabus explained would help with the farm work, so long as they were tithed with custard. Well, that sorted some of Mum's problems at least. Off he and Aidan would go, to the Isle of Hildaland; a small island in the sea Uiscí na cinn fuar, that served as a Summer Home of the Finfolk. On this fabled Isle was a small Monastery; The Brotherhood Of The Worshippers Of The Celestial Dragon. These Monks would aid Ser Barnabus in keeping and training Aiden. The Finfolk were Unseelie, and unlikely to be standoffish, if not unfriendly to non aligned Fae, but they respected the Monks, and the Monastery. There Aidan would stay, toiling at children's tasks and rising in the ranks until The Throne Of Thorns was claimed, and a new Oberon was crowned. After that point, he would be of little Political danger to anyone, and might try to pledge his service and become a Knight with Ser Sharp-Tooth's sponsorship, or he might return to his humble farm, provided his fair Mandolin had waited. Aidan knew he would be leaving soon, and this was the chance he might have in a long time to ask his Mother for more information about his Birth Father, or any expectations he might have with whichever sibling claimed the throne. It would be a good time to inquire about any Fairy Godparents who might have so far; not noticed, that the Applegroves were desperately poor. Also it was his last chance finish any remaining business he might have in Garrán úll, before the entire Quest Log was archived. |  |
| Glittering distantly on the horizon like a golden swarm of Will-o'-the-wisps, were the enticing lights of Kingsbridge, a bustling hub of commerce and magic-managed convenience. You could get anything, be anyone in Kingsbridge. If you could make it there, you could make it anywhere. Though Aiden had visited infrequently, delivering crates of their Farm's hard cider to Kindsbridge's Pubs, the sights never failed to fill him with a sense of wonderment and amazement. "So my Lad, we'll reach Kingsbridge by midday 'Morrow. We'll interact with as few people as possible, and make our way to the docks. I've got a small ship waiting there for us. If the Cold One's are kind, we'll reach the Island in a few day's time." |  |
 | At the Monastery, they were greeted by one of the initiates, a young man who's pointed ears protruded into his Monk' tonsure. He met them warmly, bowing to Ser Barnabus, showing them to their rooms. Bath's were offered and drawn, and pages brought them plates from the scullery. After a good night of sleep on a firm but sturdy mattress, Aiden was ready to start his training. Or so he thought. His daily routine at the Monastery changed little from day to day. He woke each day whispering a prayer to the unseen Goddess Aurora. Aurora, who using her rosy tipped fingers as a comb; dipped carefully and skillfully through the skeins and whorls of darkness, sorting out the threads, and exposing first a shy and gentle whisper of light in the East that would grow; as Helios drove his flaming chariot across the sky, bathing the lands in its brightness and warmth. When Nyx woke from her slumber, driving the sun from the sky, it was to bed every night as it set. Breakfast was a sparse meal, consisting mostly of porridge, and occasionally eggs they'd gathered from their small flock. Sometimes the monks would managed to barter for some dried fruit, or pick the fresh variety from the fruit trees surrounding the gardens. Lunch was nearly always lentils, with seasonal vegetables. Sometimes Sir Barnabus would get tired of lentils and go fishing. |  |
