Something is wrong with a Spheres. She doesn’t know where or what, but something is wrong. The shrine where she stands was built where the leylines from various parts of the Fae races converged. Most of them maintained a connection to the respective Spheres continuously, except the Mermaids obviously. Their airheaded builders putting the temple in the wrong place,but at least it was regularly connected enough to do its job. But something still felt wrong.
There were some that were only occasionally showing up, but from different lines, as if they were moving, perhaps one or more had been stolen. The Web of spheres and leylines must be maintained, or the Egg of Ostara will hatch. With no parent, the bleached bones of the last of its race outside of the Khol Dracus valley curled around it, who knows how it will react.
She must leave the tower for the first time in centuries and track down these spheres. They need to be restored to their rightful places, or if the place is no more, a new home and caretakers must be found. She can keep them all at the tower they need to be spread out, there are already too many here.
They were mysterious and beautiful creations, many a lifetime had been spent searching and eventually she’d found one. Having heard the tales when a child she had first thought them just stories. It wasn’t til her teen years that an old journal had surfaced among a crazy old relatives possessions. This contained research notes in several different hands, clearly it had been written by many over a long period of time.
There were descriptions of egg-like objects of many designs but their purpose and origin were unknown. Apparently they held great power, but to what end and how? This one had turned up in a woodland, a logger clearing a swathe of ancient forest, that really should have been protected, found it secreted within a hollow tree he had felled. Apparently it had been found with a symbol made of gold, resembling two letter Fs back to back, this he had sold to a local gold dealer and was likely melted down by now, such a waste! He had shown a little more sense when it came to the Egg though. He took it to an antique dealer in the city, where he’d received a fair price for it he believed. The antique dealer was laughing all the way to the bank though, believing he had just acquired one of the famous jewelled eggs of Russia.
This was when it came to my attention, when the dealer listed it for auction. All those people that had spent decades searching for these things had lacked something that made the job much easier : Twenty-first century Internet with AI search algorithms.
I’d spent a lot of time and money setting this up using some possibly privacy invasive techniques along the way. When the antique dealer in the back end of nowhere pressed Submit on the Web page, my search algorithm picked it up. Which proceeded to run the photo through comparison photos of all the known Russian eggs and found no match ran a trace of the dealers IP address, using hacked access to the service providers customer list then promptly emailed me with the dealers home address and a photo of the item in question.
Now I had it in my hands and the dealer wasn’t going to be selling anything ever again. I say my hands, but currently it was sat on the ornate table in front of me while I watch mezmorized as candle and firlight reflect off it.
Little does she know, far away in a place she doesn’t even know exists, someone has noticed..
The Centaur patrols the pool below the waterfall, enjoying the cool water on her legs when everywhere else in the forest is warm.
She sees movement in the trees and becomes alert, she relaxes its just a faun come to drink. She doesn’t mind her watch shifts in the summer, she gets to stay cool in the water, it’s the best position to guard the cave behind the waterfall that contains her races sacred Sphere.
Generations of her kin have watched over it, not knowing its true purpose or function, just its importance to continued freedom of the Faire races.
More movement on the shore, something darker, not an animal. She nocks an arrow and wades slowly in the water, trying to remain silent as she moves into cover that will let her see better that area. It’s a human dressed in black, very curiously dressed for entering the forest, but suggests they are not trying to conceal their presence.
She calls out from her cover out of his sight. “Who goes there? What’s your business in this part of the forest?”
There is no response and the Human is even looking in a different direction, as if they had not heard. Curious now she comes up onto the shore and partially out of cover, her bow raised and aimed in no uncertain terms at the man..in a flat cap, this is most odd.
She calls again louder this time and the stranger responds this time. “I hope you’re not going to be loosing that that thing at me” he says. “That depends, what are you doing here in this part of the forest? Are you lost?”
He looks rather confused and asks “Am I not still in the park?” she eases the pressure on the string but doesn’t lower it just yet, “Where do you *think* you are? she asks a little concern in her tone now, this guy is clearly not all there. “Avebury?” he replies, clearly coming to the realisation that he wasn’t. Clearly he’s accidentally done something in the stone circle and transported himself to the Faire Lands.
She lowers her bow and gestures along a path, “Follow that path you’ll come to a cirlce of stones and there should be a glowing archway, walk through there and you’ll be back where you belong…then you will wake up from this weird dream you’ve been having about Centaurs. OK?” The man looks embarrassed and heads off along the way she had indicated.
She goes back to the waterfall and checks on the sphere behind it, satisifed she assumes her sentry position once again.
The Centaurs of Fantasy Faire 2021 gathered last night in The Wandering Woods for a a parade. They first all posed for a huge group photo. Then they rode out through the woods and across into Featherfall, out of the dark and into the light and back. The photos don’t do the atmosphere of camoradry justice. I’m new to the “taur” community so it was amazing to watch as they all chatted and socialised. They have a community known as the Ancient Order of Centaurs that meets regularly, I think I may well go along in the future and investigate.
The young Mer goes about her weekly chore, she knows it’s important but she still finds it tedious going up to the temple to collect the artifacts and bring them down to the pedestal that marks the leyline. If the location is so vital, why didn’t they build the massive temple directly over the leyine? So now because of some architectural miscalculation from a distant ancestor she has to bring the Sphere and symbol of the Gods out and place them on the pedestal and watch it as..nothing..happens. After the prescribed amount of time she carries them back to the temple where they are secured once again, til next time she has to do her duty.
It was hard work sorting through the layers of mythogy and history layered on the site of the ruined Chapel. So many peoples had held this spot sacred and look at it now, crumbling stones. This being the latest addition to the place, attempts by modern religion to stamp out worship of the Old Gods.
I was here though for something that was far older,long forgotten and should not have been. No doubt below the earth there would be remnants of other buildings or worship structures, likely circular.
The significance of of circles had become distorted over time, commonly accepted as reference to the planet or the cycle of life, death and re-birth, it formed the basis for many variants of nature based religions. They were of course wrong. Old tales and legends talk of circles, but it’s a mistranslation. The correct term is Sphere. They did not refer to theoretical concepts, they were physical objects and I’d found one.
Looking at it now I can understand why there were misunderstandings. Demons had called it the “Zygot”, meaning egg. Which makes much more sense when it’s seen closed.
This particular relic and its accompanying symbol of the Gods was entrusted to my race, Demons. Legends told that each race had been entrusted with one, I’m sure somewhere they might be a Dryad or other fae sat in a comfy chair in the warm, unlike me in a draughty ruin. Regretfully my people had neglected their duty of protecting it. Or had they?
As I sat on the bed in the ramshackle shelter I’d built inside the ruins to provide some shelter, I thought how better? People can’t destroy or steal something if they don’t even know it exists, let alone where it might be found.
So some rather smart soul in the last couple of centuries had buried it, but not just anywhere. The legends also told that these relics needed to be near leylines to serve their purpose and this site was at a junction where two lines crossed. They must have had some human help obviously, the ground would have been freshly consecrated back then and no Demon could have got near the place, let alone bury something in the crypt.
Perhaps maybe that’s exactly where it belongs, or thereabouts. The Human Relations Department may have to try and officialy obtain the land, since the place is long abandoned, but that’s fortunately not my job.
Skin: HEL female + Fallen Gods Inc. FF2021 Ragnarok/Jail n Bail Exclusive
Wandering through the greenery she passes almost unnoticed except by the wildlife. Her dappled skin perfect for remaining hidden from unwanted intruders.
There’s been a lot more of those in recent times, the humans massacring vast swathes of the precious forests. So many dryads have had to flee their homes to the cries only they can hear of their beloved trees before they are promptly silenced forever.
Little do the humans know that despite these great losses the Faire Folk will survive as they always have, more and more retreating to the Faire Lands each year to rejuvinate them. But would they care if they did know?
One of the keys to keeping the magic of the Faire Folk alive is the Spheres. These artifacts created long ago are sources of great power and different ones were distributed among the different fae races, both light and dark. Apart but connected at a spiritual level with simple instinct to survive.
As far as she knows each race of Faire Folk keeps their Sphere safe and secret place below or next to the symbol of the Gods, as close to a leyline as possible. This is the tradition they were taught and have followed it for generations. She has no way of knowing if they did or not, or if they remembered the importance of the relics, but she prayed they did.
Today she did something that she knew she shouldn’t, but did it anyway. She took the relics from their hiding place and sat with them on the table in front of her, the glowing letters of the symbol of the Gods and the moving tree inside the Sphere calmed and reassured her. She certainly needed that today with the news of another woodland lost.
I was walking through the Wandering Woods region of Fantasy Faire, having a browse of the stores, when I came to the statue. I’d seen it before of course having done a marathon run through the Faire previously. However today I just had the urge to pose for a snap with it..just because. This is a massive masterpiece of creation, but trying to get all of it *and* an avatar at ground level is almost impossible. Almost. You can just see little ol me at the bottom of the photo below and get a grasp of the scale of this thing!
Hunting huge reptiles is a tricky business. Some of them are slow and easily escaped from, others will outpace you in seconds. They also have rather tough hides that are definitely more like armour than skin. So you need a strategy, you need somewhere you can get close enough that you can almost look into their eyes,since that’s where you’ve gotta get your arrow. Then somewhere you can retreat to immediately so that any others in the area can’t chase you. So this particular foray is extremely risky, I’m likely to be exposed for longer than I’d like and the entrance to the Scrimshaw Warrens caves behind me is futher then I’d like as well.
A year has passed since the spectacular explosion among the stars that was the self destruction of our sister planet, Cassiopeia (a Faire Folk story I wrote last year) by its remaining inhabitants. We mourn their loss but they had let the memories of our origins be forgotten. They had stopped performing the rituals that kept the subterranean beasts of our twin planets where they belonged, underground.
They had become shallow lip service festivals instead of a nescesity for survival. These rituals reinforced the spells of magical confinement enforced on the reptilian beasts that would consume us all.
The responsibility for this fell to the descendants of the original spell casters, that were marked by brightly coloured patches on their skin. It was a pale remnant of ancestors whose bodies were covered in such and could weave great magic. Strangely this didn’t always follow in families, sometimes an unrelated child may be born with the marks, the dormant powers floating around in the population gene pool to surface randomly. Some saw it as blessing others as a curse, but regardless, all knew the child would have to seek us out and be trained for the sake of our races survival.
Most of the time we wore long hooded robes and kept to ourselves, some among the population resented the power we could wield, even if it was much diminished from our ancestors. But twice a year at the Solsices we emerge and perform the required ritual to reinforce the magical barriers that keep us all safe.