#faekindred

Challenge #04911-M162: Faekindred Delivery System

For six weeks melodious harp music wafts into a villager’s bedroom every night. In the seventh, the villager enters the woods, finding a satyr playing beside a brook, who gives a most unusual reason for the song… -- Deathshead419

It was beautiful music, Grisel couldn't deny it. Even as they lay awake when they should be sleeping because the music was keeping them from their dreams. And it was Summer, so shutting the window to block the sound was not an option.

They were the only farm that close to the forest, so nobody else in Frigmoor could hear it.

Moonlight seranades were perfect if you didn't have to get up and feed the animals at the arse-crack of dawn. Grisel had just about had enough of the tune. Always changing the rhythm, the melody. There was no chorus, just an unending chain of refrains.

Challenge #04046-K028: A Portentous Offer

My name is Vizmo, and I am a god-king of cats. Gentle Wraithvine, I offer you a gift for your furry friend, Lilbit here. That they remain youthful and healthy for as long as you live, and breathe their last when you, yours. In this manner, even in your darkest, saddest, moments, you'll never be alone. -- The New Guy

[AN: Y'all really don't like the idea of the cat passing on, do you?]

Live long enough, they say, and you will see everything. Before this moment, Wraithvine hadn't known that animals had gods or kings. Now there was one of both. Allegedly.

Ze squinted. Ha! Not a god or a king. One of the Faekindred disguised as an otherwise common cat. Ze remembered hir grandren doing similar tricks, back before Elvenkind restrained their powers.

It was a decision of a moment, but Wraithvine let Vizmo keep their ruse.

Challenge #04947-M198: A Most Useful Weed

An alchemist has been brewing a potion for three months, and after taking meticulous care, it’s finally ready for the final step: the addition of a locally grown, fresh-picked herb.

Unfortunately, a combination of overzealous weeding by locals and imperfect weather means that the usual crop is not available.

The alchemist now has forty-eight hours to find the missing ingredient, and is becoming increasingly unhinged. -- Tergon

Months of steeping, fermenting, careful additions of each ingredient according to the instructions. The potion was almost done. The last, and easiest step - adding one dozen fresh leaves of ground ivy. A common weed that was everywhere in Lefthsyde.

Messalyn Chuffey had no concerns over that part. The rest of it had been a heart-stopping anxiety free-for-all, but ground ivy? The exemplary piece of piss.

Until the day came to get some. There had been a stand of it nine paces from Messalyn's front door, but someone had come by with their goats, and all that was left was stubble.

Challenge #04853-M104: No Need to Fret

Let me tell you of a bard I once heard sing. The voice had a strength and depth that no magic in the world could recreate. I felt the desire to steal them away and keep them for myself, but I knew the world needed them more. And so I became their patron.

https://peakd.com/flashfiction/@internutter/challenge-04840-m091-fey-touched -- Anon Guest

Legends tell of a Bard who can charm savage beasts with the sound of hir voice. One who can make music to forge peace using the weapons of soldiers and archers. And one who, for reasons known only to that Bard, sought out a Faerie ring.

Hir name was Haness, and in the times when Faekindred in the mortal realm kept some Humans captive, ze was not merely a Bard.

Haness had made a deal with a Faerie, and thus was also a Warlock. The first known to do so. Haness was fortunate that ze had won the favour of a Seelie Fae. That would be... me. You may know me as Betel, and for a time, Haness was my dear, beloved pet.

Challenge #04806-M057: Talking to Faeries

Ragvald was once a great warrior, known for his berserker trances brought on by imbibing the sacred mushroom. But now he struggles to discern what is real and what are visions the mushrooms bring. -- Deathshead419

In the frozen Northlands, the Berserkr gained heavy respect in battle. Mostly due to their ability to literally tear apart the enemy. Or anyone who got in their way, for that matter. When they're foaming at the mouth and have run out of enemies, they have sacred companions whose job it is to pull them away from their allies or, at worst, way them down until sanity revisits them.

They usually die young.

Ragvald had grown so old that he could not run, which was always an impediment among the Berserkr. Worse, he was lost between the worlds.

Challenge #04622-L238: A Tangled Thread Woven

Young Scruff finds a new family, a new caretaker, a new parental. Wraithvine learns why the child was so alone. The large city where they were found learns why their kind was so needed, when Wraithvine returns, to find the forest nearly overrunning the place.

https://peakd.com/fiction/@internutter/challenge-04605-l221-murder-by-the-seaside -- Anon Guest

They say that no two Wudzgaad are made the same. They say that those particular Faekindred could communicate through the leyflow. They said that Faekindred are just born odd. Honestly, they say all kinds of things. Some of them are even provably true.

When Ebonquill recovered their full health, they spent a lot of time on the edge of the forests, apparently swaying and humming.

Scruff, already fascinated by the Wudzgaad, followed to watch from a respectful distance. In this case, well out of lunging range. The instincts honed on the streets of Trader Crossing were difficult to ignore. It was going to take a long time for Scruff to trust any stranger. What he was doing in Ebonquill's wake was listening to things that other people could not hear.

Challenge #04351-K333: Help From Nowhere

She was alone in the ramshackle hut having a difficult birth, the last survivor of a caravan. Fortunately for her, the family of Brauniin heard her cries, and came to this woman in her hour of need. -- Anon Guest

The house barely had a roof left, more weeds and leaf litter than true thatch, nevertheless, it counted as a house. The Hidden Ones lingered there. A house wants its Faekindred. Brauniin or Nisse, some waited for the ruin to be a home again. Homes were where they did their best work.

There was no door. There were no windows. There was barely a hearth remaining in the ruin. Yet a stranger came to it in the midst of a wild storm. She used the door, more to keep her upright as she staggered to the vain shelter that the remains of the roof could provide. She was laboring, exhausted, and travelworn. Inches from her own demise.

If nobody acted, she could die. And yet... both Brauniin and Nisse prided themselves on remaining hidden. They had to make a choice.

Challenge #04318-K300: Gifts For the Faekindred

While the wizard, the kobold, and the dragon that was disguised as a gnome slept, the small beings crept from the bushes nearby. Tiny needles flashed like swords, only to begin sewing up tears in clothing, in blankets, in pillows, anything that was damaged. Then, a gentle pet to the cat, they scurried away as dawn rose. Following to do this again, for the kindness of strangers. -- Anon Guest

They come creeping in the night to do good deeds, without thanks or merit granted. They assist hard workers, good souls, and those who try their best. They're small, and live to remain unobserved. Those who recognise their passing leave little gifts.

Fresh milk. Honey. Handicrafts of skill and beauty. Spices if they're available. Sometimes, if there's nothing else, verbal thanks. It's always a good idea to be grateful if you think the Brauniin have helped you. Ingratitude is often repaid with misfortune.

They prefer settled places, but sometimes, on rare occasions, they follow wanderers. Like these three. Four if you count the cat.