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Story idea that has been floating in my head for a few weeks.
In Scottish culture, we have faery rings. What would Lilia, Malleus, Sebek, Silver and Jade think of this?
Including Jade due to his love of mushrooms.
Dear @sweet-archangel ,
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a prestigious academy for the magically inclined, overrun with adolescent boys harboring enough emotional baggage to sink a galleon, must be in want of a good scandal.
Yet, one finds that at Night Raven College, the scandals rarely involve the usual trifles—cheating on examinations, or clandestine rendezvous behind the botanical gardens.
No, at this esteemed institution, the scandals are of a far more ancient, peculiar, and decidedly fungal nature.
It has come to this writer's attention that a most curious botanical anomaly has sprouted upon the fringes of the Night Raven College campus, just beyond the wrought-iron gates of Diasomnia's imposing dormitory.
A circle of mushrooms, perfectly formed, glowing with an ethereal, faintly iridescent light in the twilight hours.
The common student might dismiss it as a mere byproduct of the overblots that seem to plague this school with the regularity of a clocktower's chime.
But your faithful narrator knows better.
The common folk of Scotland—a land far removed from the shores of the Twisted Wonderland, yet so strangely parallel in its magical inclinations—have a name for such a phenomenon.
They call it a Faery Ring.
To understand the profound gravity of this little circle of toadstools, one must first be educated on the lore of the Scottish Highlands.
It will not do, dear Reader, to simply state that the fae are dangerous.
One must understand how they are dangerous, and why a simple ring of Marasmius oreades—the Scotch bonnet mushroom, as it is colloquially known—might send shivers down the spine of even the most hardened highland farmer.
In the misty, rain-swept moors of Scotland, the veil between the mortal realm and the Seelie and Unseelie courts is gossamer-thin. The Scottish fae are not the glittering, winged creatures of children's talebooks. They are the Sith—the Fair Folk—who possess a chilling indifference to human morality.
And their dance floors? They are the faery rings.
These rings are formed, so the lore dictates, by the dancing feet of the fae. Sometimes they are rings of darkened grass, sometimes of mushrooms. To step inside an active faery ring is to court a fate worse than a failing grade in Professor Crewel's alchemy class.
The primary peril of the Scottish faery ring is time dilation.
A mortal who steps within the circle might witness the fae dancing—a mesmerizing, hypnotic spectacle. They might dance along for what feels like a mere hour, only to step out and discover that a hundred years have passed in the mortal realm.
Their loved ones are dust, their villages are ruins, and they have withered away into nothingness.
Other, more malicious tales speak of mortals being whisked away entirely to Elphame, the faerie homeland, forced to serve the Faerie Queen until they are rescued—or until they simply forget they were ever human.
There are charms, of course.
Turning one's coat inside out, wearing iron, or throwing a sprig of rue into the ring might offer protection.
But the safest, most universally agreed-upon rule in the Scottish Highlands is simple: Do not step in the ring.
Now, imagine, dear Reader, transplanting this deeply ingrained, culturally significant piece of folklore into a school populated by actual fae.
Not the Scottish kind, mind you, but the denizens of the Briar Valley. How does one reconcile human folklore about the fae with the fae themselves?
To find the answer, this author has observed the reactions of five specific individuals:
The ancient general, the crown prince, the zealous guard, the drowsy knight, and the mushroom-obsessed merman.
Their perspectives offer a fascinating, multi-faceted view into the collision of human myth and fae reality. And it is with the last of these—our resident mycological enthusiast—that we shall begin, for his reaction was, in this author's humble estimation, the most illuminating of them all.
I have elected to serve as my own test subject this evening.
This may require some explanation.
When one studies the natural world—as I have done since I was old enough to distinguish a chanterelle from a death cap—one quickly learns that the observer cannot be fully separated from the observed. The very act of observation changes the outcome.
This is not merely a principle of quantum mechanics; it is a principle of life.
A mushroom does not grow the same way in a laboratory as it does in the wild.
A fish does not behave the same way in an aquarium as it does in the open ocean.
And a merman does not perceive a faery ring the same way a fae does.
This is what makes me the ideal test subject. I am not fae. I am not human.
I am something else entirely—something that exists in the space between categories. Where the fae see heritage and the humans see superstition, I see opportunity.
Where they see a mirror reflecting their own identities, I see a lens through which to study them both.
I discovered the ring at approximately 6:47 in the evening, just as the last bruised vestiges of sunset were bleeding into the western sky.
The location: thirty-seven paces beyond the northern gate of Diasomnia, nestled in a depression in the lawn where rainwater collects.
An ideal microclimate for fungal fruiting. The soil would be consistently moist, rich in organic matter from the decaying grass, and sheltered from the wind by the ancient oak that stands sentinel nearby.
Marasmius oreades. Scotch bonnets.
A choice edible.
I crouched beside the ring and counted forty-seven individual fruiting bodies, arranged in a near-perfect arc with a diameter of approximately 1.2 meters. The caps were pale buff, slightly umbonate, with distinct radiating gills. The stipes were tough, fibrous—a characteristic that makes this particular species remarkably resilient to desiccation, and equally remarkable when rehydrated for culinary purposes.
The mycelial network beneath them would extend far beyond the visible ring, a vast, invisible web of white threads feeding on the organic matter in the soil, secreting enzymes, breaking down complexity into simplicity. Consuming. Growing. Spreading.
There is an honesty in this that I find deeply comforting.
Fungi do not lie. They do not posture. They do not construct elaborate social hierarchies to mask their insecurities.
A mushroom is exactly what it appears to be: an organism pursuing survival with ruthless, unapologetic efficiency.
If it is toxic, it is toxic.
If it is delicious, it is delicious.
There is no deception in the kingdom of Fungi. Only adaptation.
I contrast this with the subject at hand: the Scottish faery ring. Here, we have humans encountering a perfectly natural biological phenomenon and responding not with curiosity, but with terror.
They looked at this ring—the same ring I am looking at now—and instead of seeing a magnificent specimen of Marasmius oreades, they saw a portal. A trap. A dance floor for creatures that exist at the edges of their imagination.
Fascinating.
I did not touch the mushrooms.
Not because I fear a Scottish curse—I am merfolk, and their lore was written for humans—but because I respect the organism too much to disturb it prematurely. I merely traced the air above the caps with a gloved finger, feeling the faint moisture that clings to the gills like breath on a cold window.
I wonder what the fae of this campus will make of it.
I wonder if they will see the mushrooms, or if they will see themselves.
I wonder if Sebek will shout. (He will shout. He always shouts.)
I wonder if Silver will fall asleep standing up. (He will. He always does.)
I wonder if Lilia will say something that sounds innocent but contains seventeen layers of meaning. (He will. He always does.)
And I wonder, most of all, what Malleus Draconia—the most powerful being on this campus—will think when confronted with a human myth that reduces his entire species to a ring of toadstools.
I shall return to observe.
But for now, I will retreat to a distance.
A good test subject knows when to remove himself from the experiment. If I remain, my presence will alter the behavior of the other subjects. They will perform for me, or they will guard against me. Either way, the data will be corrupted.
Besides, I have a pot of butter melting in the Diasomnia kitchen, and I believe three or four of these specimens would make a marvelous preliminary tasting.
End of recovered document.
This author must pause here, dear Reader, to note a few things about this remarkable document.
First, the clinical detachment with which Mr. Leech approaches the subject is positively chilling.
Where you or I might see a fairy tale, he sees a test subject—and he appoints himself to the role.
Second, note the casual admission of intending to harvest and consume the mushrooms for a personal snack, slipped in at the end as though it were a mere afterthought rather than an act of potential botanical vandalism.
Third, and most importantly, observe his prediction about the behavior of the four fae. Every single one proved accurate.
One is left with the distinct impression that Jade Leech understands the denizens of Night Raven College far better than they understand themselves—and that he finds this endlessly entertaining.
But we shall return to Mr. Leech and his experiments anon. For now, let us turn to the reactions of those he so accurately predicted.
The twilight over Night Raven College was painted in strokes of bruised purple and ash grey. The faery ring glowed softly in its depression beyond the northern gate, undisturbed since Jade Leech's quiet departure some twenty minutes prior. The only evidence of his visit was a single boot print in the soft earth at the ring's periphery—and the absence of precisely four mushroom caps from the northern arc of the circle.
It was Sebek Zigvolt who found it.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!"
His voice shattered the tranquil evening like a boulder through a stained-glass window. He stood like a monolith of righteous indignation, tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in the militaristic garb of Diasomnia. His green hair, styled into those rather dramatic, horn-like tufts at the sides of his head, seemed to bristle with electric energy. His eyes, a vivid, piercing green, were wide with a mixture of fury and—dare this author say it?—a hint of apprehension as he stared at the mushroom ring.
He had been on his evening perimeter patrol—a ritual he performed with the fervor of a man who believes the entire world is an assassination attempt in waiting—when the faint iridescent glow had caught his eye. He had approached with his hand on his lance, expecting a magical trap, a rogue spell, perhaps even an RSA infiltrator.
He had not expected mushrooms.
"Do not think I do not see you!" he bellowed at the ring, pointing a trembling, gauntleted finger at the toadstools. "I have read of your kind! In my extensive studies of human inferiority—er, human culture—I have come across texts regarding the 'Faery Rings' of the Scottish Highlands! You are traps! Portals woven by malicious spirits to ensnare the unwary!"
The mushrooms, predictably, did not respond.
"SEBEK. You're shouting at fungi again."
Silver emerged from the gloom of the nearby oak tree. Where Sebek was a tempest, Silver was a still pond. His long, silvery-white hair caught the faint moonlight, and his pale amber eyes were half-lidded, heavy with the eternal drowsiness that plagued him. He leaned lazily on his silver-handled sword, looking for all the world like a beautiful, exhausted painting come to life.
"I am not shouting at them, Silver! I am issuing a warning!" Sebek spun on his heel, his heavy boots shaking the ground. "This is a Scottish Faery Ring! A portal to the realm of tricksters! One step inside, and you could lose a hundred years of your life!"
Silver yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "If I step inside and lose a hundred years... would I finally be well-rested?"
"This is no time for your morbid humor!" Sebek's face flushed a deep crimson. "As the son of a human, you should be doubly cautious! The Scottish fae supposedly target those with human blood!"
Silver merely looked at Sebek, his expression unchanging. "Sebek. We are the fae. Well, you are. Lilia and Malleus are. I'm just... tired. I don't think a circle of mushrooms is going to open a gateway to Scotland."
"You underestimate the insidious nature of human folklore!" Sebek insisted, his voice dropping to a harsh, conspiratorial whisper. "Belief has power. If enough humans believe a ring is a portal, could it not become one? We must err on the side of caution!"
"I am NOT afraid! I am VIGILANT! There is a difference!"
"The difference is that vigilant people don't sweat."
Sebek opened his mouth, closed it, and then opened it again—a rare moment of sputtering silence that this author wishes she had witnessed in person.
A soft sigh drifted from the branches above.
"Sebek... you're shouting again... it's bad for the grass..."
Silver blinked. "I didn't say that."
"Neither did I," Sebek said, his hand instinctively going to his lance.
Lilia Vanrouge dropped from the branches of the oak tree, landing with the silent agility of a cat. He was petite, almost childlike in stature, with bright pink hair that framed a face possessing an eternal, unsettling youthfulness. His eyes, a vivid magenta, sparkled with a terrifying, knowing amusement as he surveyed the scene.
"Lord Lilia!" Sebek snapped to attention, slamming his heels together in a salute so rigid it looked painful. "I was just securing the perimeter against this potential Scottish threat!"
"Threat?" Lilia laughed, a sound like wind chimes in a graveyard. He floated—there was no other word for it—toward the edge of the faery ring. He walked right up to the edge and peered in. "Oh, my. How quaint. And it appears someone has already been snacking."
He pointed to the four missing caps on the northern arc. A clean cut. Precise. Professional.
Sebek's eyes narrowed. "Sabotage. Someone has violated the perimeter of the ring. This could have destabilized the portal!"
"There is no portal, Sebek," Lilia said gently, though his eyes lingered on the missing caps with a knowing glint that suggested he knew exactly who had taken them. "The Scottish fae do not live in patches of Marasmius oreades on a school campus."
"You... you know of them?" Silver asked, actually sounding mildly awake for a change.
"My dear boy, I have been alive for centuries," Lilia stated, spreading his arms wide as if to embrace the night sky. "Long before this school was built, long before the Briar Valley was established in its current form, I walked the earth. I have walked the moors of Scotland. I have smelled the heather and the peat. And I have indeed seen the rings."
Sebek let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a solid minute. "Then, Lord Lilia, you agree it is a threat?"
"No, Sebek. I agree it is a curiosity," Lilia corrected gently. "The true threat to this campus is usually far more humanoid in nature. But... I wonder..."
Lilia's gaze drifted upward, past the canopy of the trees, toward the highest tower of Diasomnia.
Part IV: The Test Subject's Second Account (I Have Intercepted the Correspondence)
The following is a formal memorandum, intercepted by this author's network of carefully placed informants, from Jade Leech to Azul Ashengrotto. It was sent via the Mostro Lounge's internal pneumatic tube system at approximately 8:15 PM on the evening in question. The header has been reproduced verbatim.
Dear Azul,
I hope this memorandum finds you well and that the new shipment of deep-sea kelp has been properly catalogued.
I write to you from behind the ancient oak tree situated approximately forty meters north of the Diasomnia gate, where I am currently conducting field research that may have significant implications for our autumn menu.
You are, of course, familiar with the Marasmius oreades species—the Scotch bonnet mushroom. Excellent keeping qualities, pleasant nutty flavor, pairs beautifully with butter and thyme. I have located a thriving specimen ring on the northern lawn, and I have procured a preliminary sample of four caps for taste-testing. (The results are promising. I shall bring you a prepared dish tomorrow.)
However, the true value of this find lies not in the mushroom itself, but in its context.
As you are no doubt aware—given your voracious appetite for knowledge that rivals your appetite for lucrative contracts—the human culture of Scotland has extensive folklore surrounding faery rings. Humans believe these rings are portals to the faerie realm, created by the dancing of fairies, and that to step inside is to risk abduction or temporal displacement.
Now, Azul, I ask you to consider the marketing potential.
We are situated on a campus that is literally populated by fae. We have a dormitory full of them. Our headmaster is a ancient sorcerer with a fondness for dramatic entrances. The student body is already primed to believe in the magical properties of anything even tangentially related to the supernatural.
Imagine, if you will, a new appetizer on the Mostro Lounge autumn menu:
"The Enchanted Scottish Bonnet"
Pan-seared Marasmius oreades, foraged from the legendary Faery Ring of Diasomnia, served on a bed of wilted greens with a thyme-butter glaze.
Accompanied by a complimentary scroll detailing the Scottish folklore of the Sith, the Seelie Court, and the dangers of time displacement.
We could charge 8,000 Madol per plate. Minimum.
The beauty of this venture, Azul, is that we would not be lying. The mushrooms are from a faery ring. They are situated on the grounds of a fae dormitory. The folklore is real. We would simply be allowing our customers to draw their own conclusions. A shrewd businessman never fabricates; he merely curates the narrative.
I have already begun a secondary line of research that I believe will make this proposal even more compelling. I am currently observing the reactions of the Diasomnia fae to the ring itself, treating them as—shall we say—informal test subjects. The objective is to document their behavioral responses to a human myth about their own kind. The data may prove useful in crafting our marketing materials.
Preliminary Observations: (I shall regard them as experiments)
Subject A (Sebek Zigvolt): Responded with immediate, vocal aggression toward the inanimate mushrooms. Appeared genuinely distressed by the implication that fae would "dance in the dirt." This suggests a deep-seated insecurity regarding the perceived dignity of fae culture—a vulnerability that could theoretically be exploited in a negotiation, though I would not recommend doing so unless absolutely necessary, as the resulting noise would be intolerable.
Subject B (Silver): Responded with lethargy and existential humor. Made a joke about losing a hundred years of his life to the ring and finally getting some rest. This is consistent with his established behavioral profile. Not directly useful for marketing, but I include it for thoroughness.
Subject C (Lilia Vanrouge): Responded with fond nostalgia. Appeared to recognize the ring's cultural significance and expressed amusement rather than offense. Noted the missing mushroom caps within seconds of arrival. I believe he suspects my involvement but has chosen not to acknowledge it. This is consistent with his known tendency to observe without interfering—unless interfering would be more entertaining.
Subject D (Malleus Draconia): Pending arrival. This is the observation I am most anticipating. The Crown Prince's reaction will be the most telling. If he responds with anger, the Scottish lore can be framed as a "dangerous slander" in our marketing—a touch of forbidden fruit. If he responds with amusement, it can be framed as "endorsed by fae royalty."
Either way, we win.
I shall forward a complete report once Subject D has been observed.
In the meantime, I recommend we begin designing the menu layout. I have already drafted a few taglines:
"One bite, and you'll lose track of time."
"A taste of the otherworld—no iron required."
"The Fair Folk's favorite appetizer.
(Disclaimer: Mostro Lounge is not responsible for any temporal displacement, abduction by the Unseelie Court, or involuntary shoe-making that may occur post-consumption.)"
That last one is a joke, Azul. Mostly.
I remain, as ever, your faithful business partner.
Jade Leech
P.S. — The mushrooms really are quite good. I sautéed my sample in the butter I had warming in the kitchen. Sebek did not notice me enter or leave the building. His perimeter security has a notable blind spot near the east service corridor. I mention this not as a criticism, but as an observation that may prove useful at a later date.
This author must confess, dear Reader, that reading Mr. Leech's business correspondence is rather like watching a spider spin a web across a garden path.
Every thread is placed with precision.
Every angle is calculated.
And the poor, unsuspecting flies— in this case, the future patrons of the Mostro Lounge—will walk right into it, pausing only to comment on how lovely the silk looks in the moonlight.
One notes, with particular delight, the way Jade positions himself as both the experimenter and the experiment.
He observes the fae observing the ring, but he is also the only non-fae in the equation—a merman studying fae reactions to human myths about fae. The layers of removal are almost dizzying.
He is a predator observing prey observing a mirror observing a myth.
And the taglines. Dear me. The taglines alone deserve their own essay.
But we must press on, for the Crown Prince has arrived, and the evening is far from over.
Part V: An Educational Interlude — The Fae of Briar Valley vs. The Sith of Scotland
Before we proceed to witness the arrival of the Crown Prince, it is imperative that we pause for a moment of scholarly reflection. To truly appreciate the impending collision of perspectives, one must understand the vast chasm that separates the fae of Twisted Wonderland from the fae of Scottish lore.
When a Scottish peasant spoke of the Sith (pronounced 'shee'), they spoke of beings who were fundamentally alien to human empathy.
The Scottish fae were divided primarily into two courts: the Seelie (the Blessed or the Court of Light) and the Unseelie (the Unblessed or the Court of Dark).
Do not let the term "Blessed" fool you.
The Seelie court, while less inclined to outright malice, were still dangerous. They would demand hospitality, punish those who offended them, and generally wreak havoc if their convoluted rules of etiquette were broken.
The Unseelie court, on the other hand, was comprised of spirits who took pleasure in harm. They rode the storms at night, kidnapped travelers, and blighted crops.
The physical descriptions of the Scottish fae vary wildly. Sometimes they are described as towering, beautiful, and terrible.
Other times, they are diminutive, dark-skinned, and oddly proportioned.
They could be the size of a human, or the size of a thimble. The only constant was their otherness. They wore green, they hated iron, and they possessed a magic that was inherently tied to the natural world—tied to the wild, untamed landscapes of the Highlands.
Now, let us turn our gaze to the Briar Valley.
The Briar Valley fae are an entirely different evolutionary and magical branch. They are humanoid, exceptionally long-lived, and possess a highly structured, monarchical society. They do not ride through the night blighting crops; they build grand, gothic castles out of thorns and stone. They have a codified military, a clear line of succession, and a deeply ingrained sense of duty and history.
Malleus Draconia is the pinnacle of this evolution. He is not a mischievous spirit of the moor; he is a Dragon Fae.
His magic is not the subtle, trickster magic of a Scottish fairy; it is catastrophic, elemental, and ancient. He controls the weather, commands dragons, and possesses enough raw magical power to reduce the entire Night Raven College campus to a smoldering crater if he so chose (though he usually limits his tantrums to withering the local flora).
When Sebek reacts with outrage to the Scottish lore, it is because the lore reduces the majestic, terrifying power of the Briar Valley fae to the level of common tricksters who dance in the dirt for amusement. To Sebek, a faery ring is not a fascinating piece of folklore; it is a gross insult to his heritage.
To Lilia, however, the Scottish lore is a nostalgic reminder of a time when magic was wild, unstructured, and deeply feared by humans. He finds it charming because he recognizes the human attempt to rationalize the unknown.
And what of Jade? Jade—as we have seen from his own hand—sees the biological reality beneath the myth, but also the commercial potential within the fear. He is neither offended nor nostalgic. He is opportunistic. And in his opportunism, he reveals something rather profound about the position of non-fae in a fae-dominated world: when you cannot participate in the myth, you commodify it.
But what of the Crown Prince? What does Malleus Draconia, a being of immense, structured power, think of a human myth that attributes reality-warping powers to a ring of mushrooms?
Part VI: The Crown Prince and the Circle of Toadstools
The temperature of the air dropped by several degrees. It was not the natural chill of an autumn night, but a sudden, oppressive weight of magical pressure that made the very grass bow in submission.
Sebek immediately fell to one knee, his head bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the dirt. Silver's lethargy vanished in an instant; he straightened his posture, his hand resting firmly on the pommel of his sword, his eyes sharp and alert. Lilia simply turned, his hands clasped behind his back, looking like a proud grandparent.
Malleus Draconia stepped out of the shadows.
He was tall—towering over even Sebek—with a lean, muscular build that was accentuated by the structured, military-inspired coat of the Diasomnia dormitory. His skin was pale, almost luminescent in the moonlight, and his features were strikingly handsome, possessing an ethereal, statuesque quality that was profoundly inhuman. His hair, a deep, dark green that bordered on black, was styled in a manner that framed his face perfectly, with two long sections cascading down the sides of his head, bound by intricate, jeweled clasps.
But it was his eyes that commanded attention. They were a piercing, vivid green, glowing with an inner, magical light that seemed to see straight through the veil of the mortal world. Atop his head, nestled in his hair, were two elegantly curved, obsidian-black horns—the unmistakable mark of a Dragon Fae.
"Child of Man," Malleus spoke, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that seemed to vibrate in the chest of anyone listening. He was looking at Lilia, but his gaze quickly drifted downward to the object of their congregation. "What is this?"
He did not sound angry. He did not sound threatened. He sounded... intrigued.
Lilia stepped forward, gesturing to the ring with a flourish. "A botanical anomaly, Malleus. The humans call it a Faery Ring. Specifically, it aligns with the lore of a distant human land known as Scotland."
Malleus walked toward the ring. Sebek made a choked, strangled sound of protest but did not dare raise his head.
The Dragon Fae stopped at the very edge of the circle. He did not crouch. He simply looked down, his glowing green eyes studying the pale mushrooms with the intense scrutiny of a scholar examining a rare artifact. He noted the missing caps on the northern arc.
"Scotland," Malleus repeated the word slowly, letting it roll off his tongue as if tasting a new flavor of tea. "I have read of this place. A land of mists and stones. They have a peculiar relationship with the magical arts."
"Indeed they do." a voice supplied from the shadows behind the oak tree.
All heads turned. Jade Leech stepped out from behind the trunk, his posture impeccable, his smile serene. He had been there the entire time, watching. Observing. Taking notes—mental, if not literal.
"Jade," Lilia said, his tone carrying a note of amused warning. "Were you eavesdropping?"
"Observing," Jade corrected smoothly, bowing to Malleus. "I apologize for my unannounced presence. I discovered the ring earlier this evening and found the subsequent reactions of your retainers to be... educational."
"Educational," Malleus echoed, one eyebrow raised slightly.
"Yes, their lore dictates that these rings are created by the dancing of their local fae. They believe that to step inside is to risk being transported to the faerie realm, or losing one's place in time."
Malleus was silent for a long moment. The only sound was the rustling of the leaves in the breeze and the distant hooting of an owl.
Then, Malleus Draconia, Crown Prince of the Briar Valley, Heir to the Throne of Thorns, wielder of magic that could shatter mountains... laughed.
It was a soft sound at first, a low chuckle that quickly escalated into a rich, genuine, echoing laugh that seemed to chase away the oppressive magical pressure he had brought with him.
"Dancing," he said, shaking his head slowly, a genuine smile gracing his usually stoic features. "They believe we dance in the mud to create doorways."
"It is a slander against your name, my Lord!" Sebek burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. He remained on his knee, but his voice was fervent. "The very idea that you, the greatest mage of this era, would partake in such... such undignified frolicking! It is an insult! I demand we uproot these mushrooms immediately and burn them!"
"Sebek," Malleus said softly, and the single word was enough to silence the half-fae completely. "Rise."
Sebek scrambled to his feet, his eyes shining with unshed tears of righteous indignation. Malleus did not look at him. He was still staring at the ring.
"Do not destroy them," Malleus commanded. "I find them... quaint."
"Quaint, my Lord?" Silver echoed, cautiously relaxing his stance.
"Yes. Quaint," Malleus replied. He extended a hand, and a single, glowing wisp of green magic floated from his fingertips, drifting down to hover just above the center of the mushroom ring. The iridescent glow of the mushrooms seemed to react, pulsing gently in time with Malleus's magic.
"Consider the imagination required, Silver. Humans, with their tragically short lifespans and their fragile grasp on magic, looked upon a simple biological phenomenon—a ring of fungi—and instead of dismissing it, they wove a tapestry of myth around it."
He turned, looking at his retinue. "They looked at this, and they saw us. They felt our presence in the world, even if they could not understand it. They attributed the unexplainable to the fae.
They created the Seelie and Unseelie courts in their minds, assigning us motives and powers that are entirely fictional, yet... strangely respectful in their fear."
Jade's eyes gleamed with a newfound appreciation. "So, you view it as a form of flattery?"
"In a way," Malleus mused. "They fear the passing of time. It is their greatest weakness. So, they created a myth where the fae steal time from them within a circle of mushrooms. It is a projection of their own existential dread. They fear that in the blink of an eye, their lives will be over, and the world will move on without them. The faery ring is merely their poetic way of explaining that fear."
"But, my Lord," Sebek ventured, his voice small but persistent, "does it not bother you that they think we are... mischievous tricksters who kidnap farmers?"
Malleus looked at Sebek, his head tilting slightly. "Sebek. Have I not, on numerous occasions, wandered the streets of this town at night, much to the terror of the local populace? Have I not accidentally caused clocks to stop and streetlamps to shatter merely by walking past?"
Sebek blinked. "Well... yes, my Lord. But that is a testament to your immense power!"
"Which they do not understand," Malleus pointed out calmly. "To them, I am a ghost. A phantom. A trick of the light. Is it so different from the Scottish farmer believing a ring of mushrooms is a portal to another world? We are the unknowable 'other' to them, Sebek. We always have been. The Scottish lore simply gives that 'otherness' a name and a shape."
Lilia clapped his hands together, his magenta eyes sparkling with pride. "Beautifully said, Malleus! You have grown remarkably insightful. I remember a time when you would have simply blasted the ring with lightning to see what happened."
"I am not a child anymore, Lilia," Malleus said, though there was no bite to his words. He turned back to the ring. "Though, I confess, I am curious about the mechanics of their myth."
Malleus stepped forward.
"MY LORD, NO!" Sebek shrieked, lunging forward, but Silver caught him by the arm, holding him back.
"Let him," Silver said softly, though his hand was tight on Sebek's sleeve. "If anyone can step in a Scottish faery ring and not get spirited away to the highlands, it's him."
Malleus placed his foot squarely inside the circle of mushrooms.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. The wind died down. The owl stopped hooting. The world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, Malleus laughed again. "Fascinating. The soil here is incredibly rich. The mycelium network depletes the nutrients in the center, forcing the fungi to fruit at the edges. There is no temporal distortion. There is no portal. Just very healthy dirt."
Jade bowed his head. "As I surmised."
Malleus looked at Jade with a knowing expression. "You surmised it because you are a creature of the sea, Jade. You are not bound by human myth, nor by fae pride. You see things as they are."
A flicker of something—surprise, perhaps, or the faintest echo of being truly seen—crossed Jade's face before his smile smoothed it away. "You are too kind. I simply appreciate a well-organized mycelium network."
Malleus stood in the center of the ring, looking like a dark king surveying a tiny, insignificant kingdom. "It is a pity, in a way."
"A pity?" Jade asked.
"Yes. I think I would have enjoyed meeting the Queen of Elphame," Malleus said, his voice carrying a hint of genuine wistfulness. "To think there is a human mythos where a faerie queen holds such power over the mortal realm. It sounds rather... romantic."
"Romantic?!" Sebek looked as though he were going to have an aneurysm. "My Lord, she kidnaps people! She forces them to make shoes out of water! It is barbaric!"
"Is it?" Malleus raised an eyebrow. "We Briar Valley fae have our own peculiar traditions that humans might find barbaric. Perspective is everything, Sebek."
Lilia floated over to stand next to Jade. "Well," he whispered, just loud enough for Jade to hear. "That was considerably less destructive than I anticipated."
"Malleus is a scholar at heart," Jade whispered back, his smile returning in full force. "Though, I must admit, I am slightly disappointed there is no portal. I had half a mind to source some Scottish heather and haggis for the Mostro Lounge if there was."
Lilia covered his mouth to stifle a giggle. "You are terrible, Jade."
Part VII: The Test Subject's Final Log (A Private Reflection)
The following was not intercepted, stolen, or discovered in a library book.
It was given to this author directly, sealed in an envelope marked "For the Lady Who Watches," and delivered by a small, well-dressed first-year student who appeared to be in a mild state of hypnotic trance.
This author suspects she owes Mr. Leech a favor of considerable magnitude.
The handwriting matches the field notes reproduced in Part II, but the tone is... different. Less calculated. More contemplative. One might even call it honest, were one inclined to apply such a dangerous word to anything produced by a Leech.
Final Observation Log — Late Evening of the 14th Classification: For Her Eyes Only
I said at the beginning of this evening that I would serve as my own test subject. I believe I owe you—and myself—an honest accounting of the results.
The experiment, as I framed it, had two variables:
The faery ring (a constant) and the observers (the fae of Diasomnia). I positioned myself as the control—a non-fae, non-human observer who could document the reactions of the others without the bias of cultural investment.
I lied.
Not about the methodology. The observations were accurate. Sebek did shout. Silver did yawn. Lilia did know more than he let on. Malleus did step into the ring and find nothing but dirt. All of this was recorded faithfully.
But I lied about being a control. A true control is inert. A true control does not want. And I wanted something from this evening.
I wanted to know where I fit.
Let me explain. The Scottish faery ring is, at its core, a story about the relationship between humans and the fae. The humans fear the fae, revere them, and create elaborate myths to explain their interactions with them. The fae, in the Scottish tradition, are powerful, capricious, and fundamentally other. The entire folklore ecosystem exists because of the dynamic between these two groups.
I belong to neither.
When Sebek looked at the ring, he saw an insult to his people. When Lilia looked at it, he saw a nostalgic memory. When Silver looked at it, he saw a metaphor for his own exhaustion. When Malleus looked at it, he saw a mirror reflecting the human condition.
When I looked at it, I saw Marasmius oreades.
And then I saw an opportunity to sell it.
I am not troubled by this. I have long since made peace with the fact that my mind works differently from those around me. Where others find meaning, I find mechanism. Where others find emotion, I find strategy. It is what makes me effective—at the Mostro Lounge, in the fields of negotiation, in the art of the perfectly executed surprise attack.
But there was a moment this evening that I did not anticipate. When Malleus stepped into the ring and declared the soil "incredibly rich," he looked at me and said something that has been replaying in my mind for the past hour.
"You are a creature of the sea, Jade. You are not bound by human myth, nor by fae pride. You see things as they are."
It was not a compliment, exactly. It was an observation. Malleus has a gift for observations that cut deeper than any blade. He looked at me—really looked—and saw not a test subject, not a businessman, not a vice manager, not a twin.
He saw what I am: something that exists in the space between categories. Something that watches. Something that is always, inevitably, on the outside of the ring looking in.
The Scottish farmers feared the faery ring because they believed it would take them away from their world. The fae of Diasomnia reacted to the ring because it reflected their world back at them through a distorted, human lens.
I reacted to the ring by trying to eat it and sell it.
Make of that what you will.
I shall end this log here. The four missing mushroom caps were, as I mentioned, delicious. I shall return to the ring tomorrow to check on the remaining specimens. If the mycelium network is as healthy as Malleus suggested, the fruiting bodies may have regenerated by morning. Fungi are remarkably resilient that way.
Perhaps there is a lesson in that, too. But I shall leave the poetry to others. It is not my domain.
Part VIII: A Comparative Analysis of Perspectives — The Aftermath
Dear Reader, having now witnessed the evening's events through every available lens—the external observations of this author, the personal notes of our resident mycologist, his business correspondence, his private reflections, and the lived experience of the four fae—it is time to draw our conclusions.
1. Jade Leech: The Pragmatic Opportunist (Who Became the Test Subject) Jade's perspective is the most layered of the five, and it is only by examining all four of his documents that the full picture emerges. In his field notes, he is the scientist—clinical, detached, fascinated by the biology. In his business memorandum, he is the merchant—calculating, strategic, eager to exploit the myth for profit.
In his private reflection, he is something else entirely: an outsider who realized, in the space of a single evening, that his habit of commodifying the world around him might be a defense mechanism against the uncomfortable truth that he does not belong to any of the categories he so expertly manipulates. Jade teaches us that the most careful observers are often the ones most desperately avoiding being observed.
2. Sebek Zigvolt: The Zealot Defending the Faith Sebek's reaction is rooted in deep-seated insecurities about his own heritage. As a half-fae, he feels an overwhelming need to prove his loyalty and worthiness to the Briar Valley. The Scottish lore offends him because it strips the fae of their grandeur. In Sebek's mind, the fae are supreme, majestic, and powerful. The idea that they are reduced to dancing in dirt rings to kidnap human farmers is an unbearable insult.
Furthermore, his immediate assumption that the ring is a "security threat" highlights his perpetual state of high alert. Sebek teaches us that folklore is often filtered through the lens of the listener's own traumas and desires.
3. Silver: The Grounded Human Soul Silver, despite being raised by fae and living in a world of magic, approaches the faery ring with the stoic practicality of a human soldier. His famous quip—"If I step inside and lose a hundred years, would I finally be well-rested?"—is a brilliant piece of existential humor that highlights the fundamental disconnect between fae and human lifespans. Silver, having slept through much of his own life, understands the human fear of lost time better than any of the full-blooded fae.
He doesn't fear the ring because, to a man who feels he has already missed out on so much, losing a hundred years doesn't seem like a tragedy; it seems like a nap. Silver's perspective grounds the fantastical elements of the story in a very human, very relatable sense of fatigue and acceptance.
4. Lilia Vanrouge: The Ancient Observer Lilia is the bridge between the myth and the reality. Because he has actually walked the earth during the eras when these myths were born, he possesses a unique perspective. He does not dismiss the Scottish lore as "stupid human tricks." Instead, he views it with a sense of anthropological nostalgia.
He understands why the humans created the lore. He remembers a time when the Briar Valley fae were equally wild and terrifying to human populations.
Lilia finds the faery ring "charming" because it represents a bygone era of magical history—an era he lived through. He is amused by Sebek's outrage because Lilia knows that the "dignity" of the modern fae is a relatively recent invention. His perspective offers a vital lesson in historical context: we cannot judge the myths of the past by the social mores of the present.
5. Malleus Draconia: The Philosopher King Malleus's reaction elevates the entire discourse from a simple argument about a mushroom ring to a profound meditation on the human condition. Malleus is the most powerful being on campus, yet he does not feel threatened by the lore. He does not feel insulted.
He feels... empathy.
Malleus recognizes that the faery ring is not actually about the fae; it is about the humans. It is about their fear of mortality, their desperate need to explain the unexplainable, and their innate desire to believe that there is something more to the world than what they can see. By stepping into the ring and proving it is just "healthy dirt," Malleus does not shatter the myth; he respects it for what it is—a beautiful, tragic testament to human imagination. And in a single, offhand comment to Jade, he demonstrates an understanding of the merman's position that Jade himself had not yet articulated. Malleus teaches us that true power lies not in destroying the illusions of others, but in understanding why those illusions were created in the first place.
And so, dear Reader, the faery ring remains. It has not been blasted by lightning, it has not been uprooted by an angry half-fae, and it has not—despite Mr. Leech's best efforts—been harvested for the Mostro Lounge (though this author suspects the remaining specimens are being monitored with a vigilance that would make Sebek's perimeter patrols look lackadaisical).
It sits there, just beyond the gates of Diasomnia, a silent, glowing testament to the power of a good story.
In the days since the Crown Prince stepped into the ring, a rather amusing rumor has spread among the first-year students. They believe that the ring is now "blessed" by Malleus Draconia, and that stepping inside it will grant you good luck on your exams.
This author has already witnessed three Heartslavyul students and one Savanaclaw beastman carefully tiptoeing into the circle, holding their breath, and then scurrying away looking vaguely disappointed when nothing happened.
If only they knew the truth. If only they knew that the "blessing" of Malleus Draconia was simply a casual observation about soil quality.
But that, dear Reader, is the nature of rumor. It is the Scottish faery ring all over again. A mundane reality, wrapped in a layer of desperate, hopeful human projection.
One must also note, for the record, that Mr. Leech's proposed "Enchanted Scottish Bonnet" has not yet appeared on the Mostro Lounge menu.
Whether this is due to Azul Ashengrotto's ethical reservations (unlikely), Floyd Leech's complaint that mushrooms are "not groovy" (possible), or simply because Jade has not yet finished his feasibility study (most probable), this author cannot say.
But she will be watching the menu boards with great interest.
One must wonder what the future holds for this little patch of Marasmius oreades.
Will it spread?
Will it become a permanent fixture of the NRC landscape?
Will Jade's mycelium network eventually consume the entire northern lawn, transforming Diasomnia's grounds into a fungal kingdom that rivals the Briar Valley itself in its quiet, relentless expansion?
Only time will tell.
And unlike the unfortunate Scottish farmers of legend, we have plenty of it.
Until next time, dear Reader, I remain, as ever, your faithful correspondent, watching from the shadows, ensuring that the truth—however muddy, however fungal, however steeped in centuries of fae drama it may be—comes to light.
Geralt has noticed some...
Things...
About his traveling companion, Jaskier.
Troublesome things.
Like how he's almost certainly of faeblood.
It's just little things he does or says or is that make Geralt's imaginary radar go off.
He never uses iron utensils, He is truthful to a fault, He's mischievous and lustful, He never breaks a promise, not in an honorable way, but almost in a way as if fate is forcing his body to complete whatever he promised, no matter what.
He's also gorgeous. Even in times when the road should've worn him down. Where there should be dust or grime, Jaskier somehow still shines like a freshly polished jewel. And don't even get Geralt started on the impossibility of Jaskier's freakishly vibrant blue eyes. That is NOT human!
There are always wildflowers when Jaskier walks in the woods, even sometimes when they are out of season. Trees seem to bend toward him, always making a cover for the rain to keep him dry. When he went swimming, Geralt swears the water looks cleaner afterward.
One time Geralt got tired of human-safe food, and decided to cook their dinner that night differently. He cooked one serving all the way, safe for humans, and one only a little, still nice and raw, unsafe for humans. And yet Geralt came back from feeding Roach to find Jaskier happily chowing down on the raw one. Geralt went to warn him, but stopped. Could Jaskier really not tell the difference? Surely the texture and taste was different... And then Jaskier was done. Geralt waited a few days, just sure Jaskier would fall ill, as humans usually did when eating food Geralt has learned is unsafe for them, but Jaskier didn't fall ill. In fact, he seemed healthier than ever.
Which could only mean he isn't human.
When Geralt talks to Jaskier and hints about knowing however, Jaskier doesn't seem to realize. Which means he must not even know.
Geralt paces around camp. How is he to break the news to Jaskier that Jaskier has fae in his blood? Perhaps his mother cheated, perhaps one of his parents were a changeling, perhaps a grandparent wasn't what they said they were, perhaps he, himself, is a changeling...
Jaskier returns from a bathroom break and cocks an eyebrow at his witcher pacing around camp like a restless animal.
"Geralt? Darling, what are y-"
"Jaskier, you're fae."
Geralt blurts.
Fuck.
That is not how he wanted to break the news to poor Jaskier. Jaskier is standing there, face paling, eyes wide, breath coming in short rasps. It's difficult news to deliver, and Geralt did it insensitively. Jaskier seems to be panicking. Geralt will help him, will comfort him. Fae or not, that's his Jaskier.
Jaskier is freaking the FUCK out. Geralt found out he's fae! Fuckfuckfuck! He thought he was so good at hiding it! Sure, there were a few slipups here and there, as there is with any big secret, but he really thought Geralt was none the wiser! He should've known the monsterhunter would recognize a monster when he saw one.
Now Jaskier must decide if he'll die by Geralt's hand, or try to outrun the witcher, as surely no man wants to be companions with a member of the trickster faefolk.
"Go ahead. Insult me."
His eyebrows go up. "I don't take commands from mortals," he says with his customary cruel smile.
"So you're going to say something nice? I don't think so. Faeries can't lie."
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