aideens fairies

Enormous tentacles lashed at the sea, throwing walls of water upwards, sharp crests of foam cutting through the black sky. The wind carried dense roars across the cliffside, echoing back against the rockface, where spears of dark slate kept plummeting into the cold water below. The air was damp with saltwater and soiled with an old, fishy mildew. It was putrid and doused all their senses, burning away at their nostrils and blinding them with colourless rancidity.

And against the sharp intensity of the cracking lightning in the moonless night, the dark shapes screaming to no avail, was a backdrop, a storm, an enemy, and an end. With scorched skin, all bruised that same greyish-purple, He took the elements and shaped them to His aid. Every atom vibrated in a call to their new desecrator, responding to His proclamations, thickening the atmosphere as they expanded with His power. The air was heavy with His energy. And this was an energy that had been charging deep below the water for a millennia. A tomb, watery and forgotten, had been broken open at last, and He came out gagging on hot, aching rage.

Again and again, huge limbs sliced the sea in every attempt to get closer to them. Linda could no longer hear the lashes on the water’s surface below because of the shrieking gales that were circling her, which had only increased with every lingering second. It was difficult to work out how long they had all been trying to control the situation. It could have been minutes, but, thinking about it, it felt more like years. She felt a sort of timelessness consume her suddenly.

How long had she been doing this?

Something hit her leg, and looking down, she caught a glimpse of a battered tree branch unhooking itself from her before it flew off into nothingness. Her legs were dirty and bloodstained in places, and there was a dark, inky gash down her left thigh. It looked as if she had tried to bandage it at some point: there were tattered pieces of fabric stuck in the swelling blood. But it didn’t look in great shape. It was only then that she realised how much it ached.

“Linda!” Suddenly, she was shoved, and she felt her ankles roll beneath her skidding feet. Then she was on the floor, having awkwardly landed on her arm. She was tangled in dense fabric and trying to move out of it, and a face was revealed beneath a fold. Avalon looked almost unrecognisable beneath the layers of dark blood that had dried in broad pools over one side of his face. His eyes were weirdly distant, but he stood staring right into her soul for several seconds before Linda made any significant move again. She tried to get up but was again caught in the lengths of Avalon’s cloak. Eventually, when she was on her feet, she tried to help him up but was shocked to see only bloodied stumps where his legs were supposed to be. He then let go of her hands, and his body started to convulse on the wet grass.

The next thing she knew, Linda was standing somewhere else, somewhere where she was able to take in the full landscape of the scene. There were Druids, all in their wild cloaks, all torn and gruesome. Some of them were clearly dead, in small heaps of anonymous fabric and disembodied limbs. There were several animated bodies in what looked like spirits, undead souls perhaps. Their translucent figures shone dimly on the dark cliffside in pale whites and burst into a briefly blinding flame when they were struck by an incoming attack from Him. She could see His mouth now, gaping and round and deep, void-like, and his heaving throat pierced by rows and rows of teeth. His body swelled up and down with every agitated breath, His flesh wet and rolling over each feral muscle that He struck.

And then there were her friends. Anne and Concorde were drawing pillars of runes from the ground, but they shone faint and broken. Concorde’s leg looked badly misshapen, and a large patch of the skin on her side looked as if it had been burned away completely, the flesh beneath steaming red and moist. Parts of Anne’s hair were slick with blood, chaotic as it flew about in the wind in clumps. Lisa didn’t look much better and was trying to do a similar thing through her streaming cries. But this was not a scene for magic anymore. Starshine was lying beside her, unmoving and somewhat colourless, and so was Chess. It seemed that Lisa had been trying to heal as best she could, but was very quickly overwhelmed. Linda could see Azariah trying to calm Tin-Can as he whinnied shrilly over the wind — he was missing a hind leg entirely — whilst they fired weak attempts of lightning behind them. She couldn’t see Alex at all. Nor could she see Meteor. They were both probably long gone.

This was not a scene for magic anymore.

It was a scene of carnage, and of death.

Linda passed through all of this. The cliff edge came into view. It was more the brief fear of being forced off by a hit than the actual adrenaline that made her jump. She plummeted down, the very core of her body shocked by the cold, and the broken surface of the water consumed her unconscious body.

---

“There we go, Linda, you’re okay, you’re alright.” She was buried in someone's chest now, slowly rocking back and forth. Warm hands were around her, and she felt her insides start to thaw. She slowly became more aware. “You're alright, Linda, I promise. You’re with me, okay?”

I took a breath. My throat was raw, and I felt the cool air hit the dry walls of my windpipe. I opened my eyes, which seemed to be considerably wet. I brought my own arms around the figure and felt it tightly. 

This was real. Oh, thank God. This was real.

And then suddenly I was crying, warm tears sliding down my stinging cheeks, hugging tighter. The figure squeezed back. “You’re alright, Linda, good job. You’re with us, okay? I promise.” The voice was low, hardly above a whisper. But it was warm, and it thawed the bitter rock of cold that had been sitting unmoved in my chest. Through the melting haze, I recognised the voice belonging to Anne. I wanted to remain there, curled up against her and her guarded warmth. But I sat up eventually, opening my vision to nothing more than a dark form in a dark tent.

As my eyes adjusted, I noticed that the others were still asleep. I told myself that they were alive. They weren’t gone. They weren’t dead. I cleared my eyes with one hand, using the other to pat the damp ground to find my glasses. “Here,” Anne offered, handing me them, neatly folded. Then she turned behind her briefly, cursing softly as she knocked something over as she fumbled around by our bags. Turning back to me, she said, “Have some of this tea. It’s probably not hot anymore, but you’re shaking all over.” And I took the flask from her cautiously, unscrewed the lid, and took a sip. It was barely even lukewarm, but feeling it wet my tongue was more than satisfactory.

I held it with both hands, something to anchor to. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be.”

“No, I am — night terrors. Probably the cold. ‘Should have thought ahead,” I laughed dryly. I could only think of the cold.

My sight had adjusted fully now, and I saw her frown slightly. “Are you sure?” She looked like she was going to say something more, but then she closed her mouth again, looking down for a second. Then, after a moment, she continued. “You couldn’t seem to wake up from it.”

I blinked hard, coming back. “I don't think I could. It felt like a vision. Intense.” I thought for a moment, still trying to catch my breath. I could feel the air run right through my body, biting the inside of my lungs over and over. It made it hard to concentrate.

“Let’s go outside for a minute,” she said. “It might help you settle.” Without an answer, she moved to find our shoes, handing me my pair of heavy hiking boots. I pulled them on, grateful for the fleece surrounding my freezing feet, and followed her out the tent flap.

My eyes had to take several moments to adjust as the low morning sun reflected on the bright snow, throwing light up into my vision. The sky seemed to be almost bleeding. Having lived and breathed these mornings for years, I appreciated them enough, but right now, seeing such passionate golds thrown across the horizon, I felt this overwhelming thankfulness. It was not only beautiful, it was warm.

A few feet away, I saw Anne kicking the snow as she trailed around in circles between the trees, also squinting at the brightness of it all. “Of course it had to snow,” she muttered, complainingly, before walking back over to me.

“There’s a lot of downhills today, too,” I added, still trying to ground myself in reality.

Skirting the forest were smaller, thinner trees, and the auburn clusters of their leaves were frosted over, the sun catching them as they moved. Behind these curtains was unbroken snow, where tiny spears of narrow grass shot through. Beyond that was a cliff.

I cleared a nearby stump of a thick layer of snow (spotting the crisp footprints of a small bird) close to the frosted grave of our campfire before sitting on the edge of it. There were jays in the trees, and I tried to see if I could find the sources of their song, but with no success. I took my hair down and started combing through it with my fingers. There were the beginnings of webbed knots close to my neck where I had been sweating, the strands cool and still slightly damp. 

“Did you wanna talk about it?” Anne had cleared a space at the base of the nearest tree and had sat herself down there. She looked slightly dishevelled, but comfortably so: her sockets slightly dark with sleep and smudged makeup, and her hair falling loose out of a ponytail.

“What?”

“Your vision.”

“Oh,” I replied dimly. I ran a hand through the roots of my hair. “I don't know, really. I mean, I know it sounds stupid, and we’ve all said this over and over before, but I don't want to worry you about it.” I started rebraiding the lengths again.

“I'd rather we worry about it together, Linda,” she responded. “I really would.”

I exhaled through my nose, my breath generating a small cloud in front of my face. “I don't know. It was violent and gory, but that’s happened before. It’s typical, really… for visions, I mean. But still, not pleasant to watch—” I swallowed involuntarily, frames of mutilated bodies sliding in quick succession across my mind. “Yeah, not pleasant to watch.”

Anne shook her head, staying silent to allow me to continue.

“It was, uh… it was you guys, this time. The only time, actually, that I've seen it be you that the stuff happens to on that sort of level. And Garnok, He was there, but that's pretty normal, as well, really.” I reached the end of the braid, and I stared down at my fingers working, trying to secure it with a band. They were trembling a little, I realised, and once or twice the end of the braid nearly slipped out between my fingers.

Anne moved uncomfortably on the hard floor and nodded, understanding. I could feel that her eyes had left me now, and there was a thoughtful pause before she said, “You mentioned that it felt super vivid, right? Though I suppose it must have been. I couldn’t wake you up; you were completely rigid.”

My hands felt weighted in my lap, heavy against the tingling cold in my legs. “Yeah,” I said at first, crossing one leg over the other with one hand in between to keep it warm. “It felt like I was locked into it, somehow.” The ocean water still felt heavy in my chest, and I hadn’t quite resurfaced just yet. “It’s been a while since I’ve had one that strong.” I looked over at her again before flicking my eyes across the trees. “A long while.”

Suddenly, I saw a jay land on the snow out in the clearing, and, realising it wouldn’t be able to retrieve any insects, it flew off again. The air hung still.

“How long has it been since you’ve had a vision? It feels like ages since you last told me about one,” Anne said thoughtfully.

“And that wasn’t even a big one. Or a terrible one, really,” I added, thinking back and sliding my fingers over the bumps in the braid nonchalantly. “About three months ago, I’d say.” It had been a brief flicker of a vision when I was falling asleep on some autumn evening; I would have missed it had it happened during the day. I remember seeing a valley, drenched in pouring rain. A thunderclap. And that was all.

“‘Seems odd to have one that powerful right out of the blue,” Anne pondered, starting on her own hair now, untying it and running her fingers through the lengths. The sun had fully broken over the cliff edge now and stencilled orange shapes that moved across Anne’s face.

I nodded. “Yeah.” I couldn’t muster even an attempt at an explanation. I stood up, still a little too agitated to continue sitting still. I paced around mindlessly and picked a deep red leaf out of the glassy snow. It had the span of my hand, and it was damp with morning dew. I pressed it carefully between my hands and pocketed it.

“You could share it with us, you know, like you did before,” Anne said suddenly, though keeping her voice down. “It might help with all of us having seen it.”

But I was already shaking my head. “No,” I said definitively. “I don’t wanna do that. That wouldn’t be fair.” I returned to the stump again and tried to adjust myself so that I was comfortable again. “Maybe I’ll try and write it down — I’ve got my journal in my bag.”

Anne watched me for a moment as she pulled a lock of her hair behind her ear. She was clearly trying to calculate if this was a better alternative.

“Trust me,” I continued, desperate to try and convince her now. No one wants to see their own death. “I’ll try and find time to put it down in words, and then—” I paused. “I don’t know. Maybe we can look at it. Together. All of us, if you want. When we’re back.”

It took a few seconds before she nodded. “Alright,” she said. “And I’m right here if you need any help doing so. You don’t have to relive it alone if you don’t want to. I’d be happy to help.”

I broke a smile, which I think was the first time I had since waking up. “Thanks, Anne.”

“Of course,” she said, and she stood up, brushing bits of snow off her. “And I mean it, Linda. Don’t struggle.”

I nodded, understanding. “Breakfast?”

PANDORIANS AND THEIR CULTURE PT. 1

–

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

The biggest perk of being pandorian is to change your appearance on a whim. New-born pandorians are but small clouds of blue mist, similar to the shadow seekers roaming the islands (see: WILDLIFE). Once they reach a certain “age”, and I’m saying that with big quotations, they start to think about their physical form. Many of them choose the aidenean form, derived from the local religion. Others refuse to bind themselves to one form and choose what fits best for their next family gathering. There is also a small group of pandorians who do not support changing your original form and prefer living as a cloud. Unfortunately, I cannot ask them more questions about their life choices as I am physically unable to understand what they are saying. Clouds do not have a voice range compatible with my ears, you see.

(For more information about the aidenean form, see the section RELIGION.)

Pandorians, naturally, have no gender. I say naturally, because once they choose a form, their body adapts to the properties of the species. They are created by Pandoria itself, thus they do not have a concept of blood-relation. That does not mean they don't form familial bonds, just that pandorians do not have parents. There is a concept of siblings, in a way, when several pandorians are born in close succession.

RELIGION

Pandorians and Jorvegians share a common deity. Both versions of the myth live in synergy with each other; one about the disappearance from Pandoria and one about the arrival on Jorvik. Makes you think what other events mirror each other as well…

The myth of Aideen is as such:

–

Before the realms were connected, pandorians saw reflections of a different land, green and full of light – with unknown beasts and colors that did not exist. Aideen, a being unsatisfied with Her own existence, observed them and weeped. The pandorians were never meant to transform, you see. They were born from mist, always still, never changing. But when Aideen saw the beasts, She longed to be something more. She started to change; into a dove, a butterfly, a horse, a human. She merged different beasts, experimented, formed intricate designs that amazed other pandorians.

But, after a while, the reflections started to dim. Aideen searched for the source of their disappearance and found visions of a dying land. No longer She saw the beautiful beasts, but stone and ocean depths. Distraught by losing what gave Her the gift of transformation, She stepped into the dimming light. Now stuck in one form, She sacrificed herself to revive the unknown land . The two realms have connected at last.

–

There are many interpretations of this myth. During my travels, I’ve seen several versions of it. In one of them, Aideen has been punished because of her undying thirst of knowledge. In another, there was no Aideen – a collective of pandorians has made the choice themselves. So on and so forth. There are, however, three major groups who dictate their culture.

Pandorians who choose to be formless believe that the gift of transformation is no gift at all, but a curse. When you change yourself, the connection between you and Pandoria gets weaker. With each transformation, you lose a part of yourself with it – one day you might find that there is no You anymore. Of course there are also those who just prefer their original, cloud-like appearance.

People who do not have a set form believe that Aideen paved a path for them. They should, just like her, have the freedom to choose what they are. I found that this worldview often correlates with the drifters (see: SPACE). I have seen many drifters who turn into a flock of birds for travelling purposes. Or fish, for that matter. Many pandorians do not see a difference between water and air, oddly enough. Most likely because of the flying manta rays.

And, lastly, we have the horse-people. They are a group of religious pandorians whose form is a manifestation of their faith. They believe that Aideen sacrificed Herself so Pandoria and Earth could live as one. They seek connection with Jorvik and aim for direct communication between the realms. Usually, they are the ones depicted on tablets or texts.

The aidenean form is a reflection of their relationship to Aideen. They want to show kinship with their predecessor and keep Her memory alive. Thus, I translated their name accordingly:

AIDEEN –> aodh + en

AIDENEAN –> aodh + nighean

(See that, Avalon? My druid training is paying off!)

In my experience, pandorians choose this form the most. They are the majority on the Islands, architecture and fashion is often made with them in mind. Of course, religion is a very fluid concept. I cannot write down all the different variations and traditions. Many pandorians aren’t religious at all, simply chose one form over another because of preference.

FASHION

I cannot, with a sane mind, pinpoint the exact time frame of my findings. When I lose my mind I will update the notes accordingly. For now, I shall try my best.

I must point out that the majority of clothing described here comes from the aideneans, as they are the biggest clothing fans of the group. Thus, the clothing I will be describing are fit for their horse-like stature. There are, of course, pandorians who change form and enjoy clothing, but that depends solely on what form they choose to be. Each Pandorian chooses their own body, so there is little need to keep stagnant in their choices. Pandoria is chaos, and chaos does not concern itself with rules. Formless pandorians don’t even bother with clothes, as they would be rather pointless for beings made out of magic and water.

Even aideneans didn't originally wear clothes. The humid environment didn't require them to keep warm nor did they have the shared societal pressure to even consider it. They did, however, wrap their calves in fabric to avoid injury. They didn’t wear much, but their decorations were on another level. Mane and tail were decorated with plants and minerals weaved into the braids. I’ve asked my dear friend Ceit, obsessed with traditional clothing, what materials were often used in braiding; purplegrass, crying Aideen leaves and common pandoric crystals (see: VEGETATION). Mushrooms were avoided due to the smell. I completely understand that sentiment, I couldn’t get the smell out for weeks after one dreadful expedition.

If you ever need clarification whether you’re looking at a shapeahifted pandorian or a wild animal, look out for the hair decoration!

Gradually, they were introduced to our style of clothing through humans, witches and other Jorvegian beings. They adapted it to fit their needs; they often chose loose fabrics allowing free movement, light enough to wear in the hot environment. They are very fond of detail, frighteningly so. I can’t draw it all even if I tried.

Nowadays, instead of cloth, they wear something akin to leg wraps. Fitting! I've been looking around the islands and they are very popular. I've seen some younger folks walking around with painted skulls on. The teenager experience is a common phenomenon no matter what dimension you are in. Cloth wraps are still used as traditional wear during religious events and celebrations.

TIME

Explaining time to a pandorian is like explaining carbonated water to a fish; illogical, unneeded and it hurts their head. And believe me, I’ve tried explaining many times. Pandorians exist outside of time, but what does that even mean? They move and talk just like humans do, but once you enter their dimension… you wish you hadn’t. Your vision starts to swirl and legs begin to move in a zig-zag patten even though you’ve never asked them to do that. As a person used to being drunk on two bottles of mead, I find that experience quite familiar. Once you get used to it, it’s bearable. My many years spent in this dimension have somewhat adapted me to the environment, although it comes at a cost (see:  PANDORIC SICKESS).

Pandoria works on simple logic – if it can happen, it will. Which means, not simple at all. Although every being lives linearly, one might find themselves looking at a tree that has not been there before. Your friend is twice as tall as you, yet you are stuck as a teenager for another eternity. So on and so forth. My visits to Pandoria have been particularly confusing. As a being used to the frames of time, I’ve felt as though I spent two weeks walking around, yet when I came back my tea was still piping hot!

I’ve asked a fellow traveller, a witch searching for supplies in the pandoric wilderness, of what she thinks about this anecdote. She said “My only concern is to come back home before my ten year old kids leave for university”.

SPACE

Pandoria is ever changing, but it follows a general structure that the locals have named and written down. The maps are a crude representation of Pandoria; in reality it warps and bends and twists and pulls as each non-existing second passes. No living thing is able to capture that on paper.

The Islands –> space for all living beings. Much like planets in space, they drift in the infinite expanse of shining lights (I haven’t been able to deduce what the lights are. Are they stars? Other islands? The chaotic energy of Pandoria?)

The Infinite Down –> once you fall, there is no hope for you. You will fall for eternity or until your lungs give out. The difficult environment influenced several species to develop flight, such as flying manta rays, formless pandorians and shadow seekers.

The Space Between –> once you cross the portal to Pandoria, you need to pass through a foggy, deserted place. That is the Space Between. It acts as a gateway between time and space; a moment of complete stillness.

Navigating Pandoria is nigh impossible. Each island is moving around like a big, everlasting kaleidoscope. Every time you enter a portal, you end up in a different location. When you want to go back to the previous island, you might discover that there is an empty space left instead. No matter if you are human or pandorian, you are forever lost. That is why pandorians choose one of two ways in life; some stay in one place their whole life and others travel from island to island, never to return home. (I was relieved when I’ve learned that there is a free shelter system in Pandoria. I’m so happy I don’t have to abandon hot showers!) I call them the settlers and the drifters. Pandorians have their own names for them; the direct translation would be “the one who stays” and “the one who travels”.

It’s difficult to live in a place so chaotic, even for equally chaotic beings, but at least they get to choose their fate. Throughout my journey I’ve travelled to many cities and met many amazing people, but I am unable to return to them again. I feel kinship with the drifters, missing home even though you are doing what you love. When I finally came back to Valedale, I hugged my brother as hard as I could.

There is only one known way of going back to a specific location; the Keystones. They lead to one singular island. A rather unremarkable island on its own, but it has collected quite the collection of pandorian and human activity. No one knows why the Keystones were built. Fripp is being weirdly silent about it…

The “kaleidoscope” nature of this place has made communication nigh-impossible. Thus, the difference between the Islands’ scientific development is striking. You can travel from an Island straight out of a sci-fi book to a rural village. Drifters try to bring different inventions across the land, but there are infinitely more Islands than there are people. Traveling through Pandoria is like a game of roulette – you never know what you’re going to get!

PANDORIC SICKNESS

While exploring this realm is very fascinating, with each visit my health has been slowly declining. As of writing this, I am unable to return there ever again. Beings from Earth are not accustomed to an existence outside of time. Their bodies and minds deteriorate each time they think about the absurdity of breathing backwards. The pandoric sickness, as I have dubbed it, starts in the mind and travels through the nervous system until your entire body is completely covered in pink.

I've made a simple and effective list to make your trip suck a bit less:

First and foremost, it attacks your eyesight – eyes are windows to your soul and Pandoria wants to swallow it for breakfast. When you are overwhelmed, cover your eyes and pray for the best.

Direct contact with pandoric energy worsens the effects; just avoid touching anything you don’t know the exact properties of, otherwise your limbs will be next in line for amputation.

Avoid cuts and bruises, the sickness clings to open skin. Many people in contact with pandoric energy discover that their old scars have suddenly started to glow pink. You don’t want that to happen, trust me.

Remember to cover your nose when you venture into the wilderness. You can easily take care of a scratch on your hand, but you can’t sneeze out microscopic particles from your lungs.

Don’t eat unknown plants. Just don’t.

THE GARNOK CONUNDRUM

Garnok reigns terror on Jorvik and He reigns terror in Pandoria. Ever since the Dark Riders have started to raise Him from the dead, Pandoria got the short end of the stick. Islands upon islands have been sinking into the depths of the Infinite Down. What we know on Jorvik as pandoric cracks are massive tears in Pandoria’s surface. I’ve met many pandorians who fled to Jorvik in fear of being next. The soul crushing fact about that is; you can find your way out of Pandoria, but it’s impossible to return to your home island when you go back.

It’s been happening more and more in recent years. I hope the new generation of Soul Riders will succeed where we could not.

PANDORIA AND MAGIC

Have you ever wondered how magic works on Jorvik? Pandoria is the key. You see, many believe that magic appeared after Aideen’s arrival on the island. Whether that is truth or myth, there is no doubt that the magic we have today has roots in Pandoria.

When pandoric magic seeped into the earth, it started to adapt to the new environment. Nature and pandoric energy worked together to become something else. Nowadays, we can distinguish three separate sources of magic:

Jorvik’s native magic, used by the Witches, is Jorvik’s source of energy. It’s also the most capricious form of magic, as it requires you to study it for years before you can safely use it. It is, however, the most potent out of all of them. You can find sources of its energy in any plant or being on Jorvik. Therefore, it does not require a conduit, such as wands, like druid magic does. All knowledge about it is found in the Witches’ tomes, which are passed down from generation to generation. It’s nearly impossible to find one of those without repercussions. Thus, our understanding of this kind of magic is very limited.

Druid magic is sourced from pandoric energy found on Jorvik. In the early days, we’ve found that the leftover energy from pandoric activity is possibly harmful to the environment. Because of that, druids have developed a magic system that harvests it and stores it inside conduits, such as runestones, tablets, staffs and wands. It’s not pure pandoric energy, but a safer and more tame variant, thus it is relatively safe to use. It’s weaker than Jorvik’s native magic, but with a good rune combination you can achieve wonders. There are certain people who can use it without any tool, as their whole being is a natural conduit – those blessed with Aideen’s light. Horse whisperers and the Soul Riders are a prime example.

Pandoric magic is chaotic in nature. Not many people can wield it, only pandorians themselves and the most powerful of Witches, called the Vala, can harness its energy. You can counter it with a natural antithesis of chaos – a massive clock. I’ve learned that very recently.