Did you know pixies were people? Well not human people, but people like... elves... or something. I didn't now I feel bad about pulling off their wings and watching them squirm during my formative years at the university. Oh the days of youth! Recently during my research into the blight I managed to come into possession of a roster of a group of blight warriors outside the Amini continent. Which is odd, before today I thought that the blight was a incident exclusive to Amini, now it appears our entire world is being attacked at the same time, from an unknown foe. This is worrying, and if there is hope to be put in anyone, it is not on the heroes I have been scrying on if anything that fool party of oxheaded Goliath, stinky Druid, Stupid Theif, Incompetent dragonborne and dumb dumb elf may end up destroying us all. I hope that we may find some aid in the other countries of Tarnzania...
Brasky was a court bard for the fairy
kingdom of Kin-Dalmur,a glorious hidden capital deep in the fey,
nestled beneath a great waterfall and at peace with it's
surroundings, he spent his days adventuring through the fey with his
troupe affectionally nicknamed Brasky's Bold, and his nights
recounting his adventures to the court in a highly exaggerated epic
ballads spanning hours at a time. While the some members of the Fey
revel in their aloofness from the mundane world the Pixies and
fairies of Kin-Dalmur were fascinated by it. The simplest mundane
objects flabbergasted the Kin-dians and they would often display the
grandeur of their glass and crystal cities to humans and dwarves, in
exchange for simple things such as wagon wheels and beef jerky. By
natural the pixies were incredibly generous and would often encourage
their new mundane friends to stay and make their homes in the
glorious city, and ultimately this would be their undoing.
Brasky returned to Kin-Dalmur on the
cusp of evening, his high pitched laughter echoing through out the
streets of his home. He and his weary group had spent the day
galavanting through the Hidmark Glen, putting many kobolds to the
sword in defense of the the grainlands. It had been an exhausting
day, but Brasky was excited to preform, he had received word during
his hunt that the queengaurd had found a small band of humans and
dwarves wandering around one of the the fey portals, they were broken
and bleeding, near starving, rambling with mad tales of the blight..
It would be a genuine pleasure to bring smiles to faces of people so
in need of it.
“Auques” Brasky squeaked, “ Take
my mount to the stables, I need to make myself presentable before I
meet our guests.” And with that Brasky opened his gossamer wings
and fluttered to his rooms.
Brasky splashed the cold water that
flowed magically clean and fresh from a basin onto his face, exhuming
the dirt and kobold blood of a hard day from his delicate features.
As he gently dabbed his face dry with a towel he hummed a few bars of
tonights epic under his breath as he stood in front of his mirror,
concentrating on his chain armor, transforming it from blood soaked
boiled leather and chain mail to silken cloth embroidered with the
sigils of the kingdom, and the medal of office that showed his place
as court bard. Staring into his mirror Brasky stopped to appreciate
the splendor that was Brasky, standing a full nine inches tall, his
blond hair laid disheveled on top of his head, his face and arms
marked with the bright blue tattoos of a high bard. His lean frame
was well strung with muscles, but he still retained his pixie
sensibilities, thin and wiry, and humming with power. His wings
stretched out behind him, thin translucent butterfly wings that
shimmered like moonbeams. As he put on his feathered cap, Brasky
noticed the unnatural stillness that permeated his rooms, usually the
entire city was alive with sound, the constant buzz of city life and
exotic fey animals kept a constant tempo, a heart beat that Brasky
had grown so accustomed to that he had forgotten it existed at all.
Rushing to the balcony that over looked the palace gardens, and part
of the sprawling outdoor market, Brasky was greeted with a still
market, fruits were left in their stands, and meat burned on open
unattended pits.
Cautiously Brasky backed away from the
balcony, and set his gilt inlayed lute in its stand, fluttering just
above the floor to eliminate any noise, he reached for his sword
strewn across his bed, His echoing longsword, usually used to magnify
his voice across concert halls it still had a keen blade and when
used properly it carried with it the force of thunder and the cries
of the hundred thousand bards before him. He gripped the handle of
the blade tentatively holding it with both hands in front of him,
his small fingers flexing nervously, Truth be told he had never swung
this blade before, revering it's antique status over its potential
deadly nature, opting instead to cast his thundering voice through
the sword, using the ancient blade as a powerful implement, and
whatever fey beasts he couldn't fell through that method, his trusty
wand, summoned from the ether at his whim took care of. Blasting foes
left and right.
“Fey-fire!” whispered Brasky, his
wand appeared, floating at hand level. Reaching out with one hand
caused the weight of the sword to dip and wave as he pocketed his
wand. “I may be no queen guard, but you may square a fight my
friend” Cautiously floating down the abandoned halls, Brasky's mind
began to wander to what had befallen his city, never in all his years
had he ever seen the market abandoned mid day like that, and never
had the halls rung so heavily with the silence of the tomb.
Suddenly a sound, a soft sliding moist
sound reached Brasky's ears, a slithering across the glass and ivory
floors. Ducking and weaving between the pillars leading into the main
audience chamber Brasky attempted to find the source of the
disturbance, but without leaving the vaulted shadows. Closer and
closer he ventured to the barely open door to the Queen's audience
chamber.
Peeking inside the door, Brasky
betrayed his hidden position by retching and dropping his longsword
onto the floor with an echoing boom. Inside the door was a sight that
no one in the fey had ever seen before. Sitting cross legged in a
circle on the floor, was a handful of mundane world denizens, or what
had originally been these fey world interlopers. What remained now
was a display of blackened flesh molding into disgusting array. The
interlopers sat with their mouths wide open to the sky, and out of
their mouths pulsed thick tendrils of black gore, melding together
into a tree of decay centered around the throne of Kin-Dalmur, the
tree itself was a mass of ensnared flesh, and brasky could see the
faces of his kingdom. His queen, his Brasky's Bold companions, all
ensnared in a pose of perpetual agony. Every few seconds one of the
faces would open their blank eyes in a sudden rush of pain, their
mouth opening in a silent scream, as their lips parted a dark embryo
would slide out, sprouting wings and flying away before it hit the
ground, flying out the high windows to spread it's sickness through
out the fey.
Pulling his wand out of his pocket
Brasky levitated his sword back to his hand and began a mad dash to
the portal to the mundane world. He had to escape whatever had befell
his countrymen. He had to warn the mundies, or maybe they had some
weapon that could undo the damage that had been done in his kingdom.
As he flew away he was quickly trailed by the flapping embryonic
monstrosities. Spitting bile at them that scored the stone work and
dissolved the glass. As he flew full force through portal to the
mundane world a lucky beast managed a shot, tagging his wing, and
slamming Brasky in the ground. His unconscious body skidded through
the portal, outside their grasping mandibles and dark magics.
Waking up was a work of degrees for
Brasky, small glimpses and fever dreams plagued him at every turn.
Blurry faces stared down at him, and fed him foul tasting broth that
he was far too weak to refuse. It was a long time before Brasky was
able to sit up and fully take in his enviroment. He was in the back
of a horse drawn cart, a smiling monk sitting next to him with a jug
of water and a damp wash clothe.
“where... where am I human?” Brasky
muttered, holding his head in one hand.
“Well my tiny winged friend, you are
on the way to Aguirre, under the magnificent protection of our Lord
King Westiel Martin the eleventh in line to bear his sacred name. We
found you outside one of the portals to the fey, we had been hunting
down a group of blight horde. Their trail ended at the portal, we
assume they made it into the fey, but it we couldn't go farther, your
condition was already critical, and the portal was choked with blight
tendrils. We could've hacked our way through, given enough time, but
it seemed that they already had gotten their sickness into your
realm, and there was nothing we could do. It was more prudent to help
you how we could, and move on to where we could do more good.”
“Thank you for your kindness mi'lord, but where is the rest of my kingdom? We were easy 40,000 strong last I heard. Surely I was not the only one you have found?”
The monk preformed admirably at keeping
his smile from faltering, but there was a saddness to his eyes that
he could not mask. “Alas friend, we found only you. If there were
any survivors they left no tracks, and if they had left the same way
you had, would they have left one of their own in such a manner?”
The monk placed his hand on Brasky's shoulder steadying him. “ Rest
now friend, there will be time for grief, and time to check for other
portals, but the time now is for rest and dreams. It is completely
possible your countrymen escaped through some other means, if they
did, we have the finest trackers in the land. They will be found.”
Brasky laid down and closed his eyes,
determined not to let his frustration and fears show to his new
acquaintance.
As the weeks passed by Brasky regained
his the majority of his former strength, only the hole in his wing
where the blight monstrosity had boiled the thin transparent membrane
with it's acidic projectile. While Brasky could fly for short bursts
we definitely wouldn't be breaking any sound barriers any time soon.
Udric, the smiling monk had provided him with salves and balms he
swore helped his people come back from mild blight sickness, but he
was no expert in Fey anatomy. The balms stung Brasky's nostrils, and
left an odor of berries, that he found oddly effeminate at times.
Brasky soon endeared himself with the
other members of the troupe, there were few things that a soldier
loved more than a rousing tale, and Brasky had many of those. It
wasn't long before the news of his “exploits” made their way to
other caravans and when they made camp there was always a huge
audience around the fires waiting to hear the next nights tales.
Unfortunately the only fly in the ointment (not the berry balm, the
metaphorical ointment) was that the delicate way that the Fairies
would pronounce his name, like soft lilting breezes brushing through
high grass, was completely lost on the thick tongued humans. Their
mouths more accustomed to sounds like the barking of a gnoll. Udric
suggested that he take on a more easily pronounced name, William the
name of one of the knight kings of Eula's bygone age was the most
popular by consensus of the troops. Adopting that as his mundie name,
Brasky conscripted himself into the army, and was sworn to uphold his
duty to this land as he would the Fey. Granted Brasky knows that
should he find a way to return to the Fey, he may have to abandon his
new vows for his old.
