Faen Customs and Culture
By Myeira Aslanti
Ome Chaer, 1st ed. 997 A.A.
Note: later editions have been amended and script added as additional scholars met with and observed various Fae communities during our glorious peace.
Table of Contents
Foreword…………………………………………………………………………………………...3
Introduction………………………………………………………………………………………..4
Majik……………………………………………………………………………………………….5
Fae……………………………………………………………………………………………...….6
Elves……………………………………………………………………………………….8
Centaurs…………………………………………………………………………………..11
Fairies...…………………………………………………………………………………...14
Pixies………………………………………………………………………………..…….18
Gnomes…………………………………………………………………………………...21
Dwarves…………………………………………………………………………………..24
Dryads, Naiads, Nymphs………………………………………………………………….27
Satyrs…………………………………………………………………………………..…29
Fallen Fae…………………………………………………………………………………31
Communication
Speaking
Writing
Ceremonies
Birth
Death
Celebrations of life
Elder Rules
Humans
Interactions
Perceptions
Fae Wars
Pax Humanae
Anecdotes and experiences
Elvin village, Astoriad Mountains
Fairy flock, Kotemor Mountain Range
Centaur herd, southern swamps
Nymph grove, northwest of Durevin
Conclusion
Afterword
Foreword
It is with great pleasure that I write the foreword to Faen Customs and Culture. I first met Myeria when she was nine, and I was visiting the known libraries of the Aslanti family in Ome Chaer. I had no idea what she would pen and the experiences she would leave for scholars to come. This compendium is an enlightening collection of information in a space wherein there still exists a dearth of accurate, corroborated knowledge.
The human tendency to rebuff the Fea, whether out of fear or envy, is one we must begin to overcome. The best way to address such challenges, scale such emotional mountains, is to learn about something. As Myeira notes in this seminal work, one of the greatest differences between humans and Fae is the misunderstanding of the unknown. Humans fear what they do not understand. Fae embrace what they do not understand, either as a way to learn more about themselves and their world or as a simple black space in their worldview, as a cloud over the sun. While I don’t foresee humans growing docile to the absence of knowledge, indeed, I am arguing against it as you read this, I do think it prudent, admirable even, to appropriate the Fae nature of exploring into the space whose contours we do not yet know intimately.
Thus, it is with great pleasure that I consumed this work. I learned an immeasurable amount about the way Fae consider the world, their relationship with time, and how they build relationships with one another and with humans. Often, theirs is not the way of humans and for that it can feel uncomfortable trying to engage with a Fae neighbor. It is also rewarding.
As you read, I encourage you to experience Myeria’s work with an open mind. Scale the sides of the Astoriad with her, march deep into the recesses of the Kotemor mountains. Sit with her as she enjoys the company of elves, fairies, centaurs, and the rest. If you are someone who fears the Fae, I sincerely hope that this book will assuage you of your worries. If you are someone who envies the Fae, I hope that you might find some peace within yourself after this reading. For a witch who has long studied majik, I have much enjoyed the way Myeira describes the majik of the Fae and their abject altruism in gifting humans such knowledge. Be well and another applause for this magnificent work.
-Woden Thorn Effectua, Witch
Ome Chaer, 996 A.A.
Introduction
The problem of Fae literature came to my attention as a child, when I was first beginning my studies as a scholar under my uncle. Those of you who are learned in the academic circles, particularly of Ome Chaer are familiar with the Aslanti name, though for all our tomes, encyclopedias, and educational texts about various wildlife, human histories, and fungi categories, we have never penned a work strictly about the Fae.
Indeed, once I began to research the Fae, all I could find of primary sources were the results of human soldiers and villagers who had fought with Fae during the time of the Disorder. This, for obvious reasons, leaves a specific taste in one’s mouth when learning about the Fae. Granted, there were the errant story here and there about the select Fae community or neighbor who lived in harmony with their human neighbors, but the vast majority of human works considering Fae note their danger, their difference, and, if I may say, often leave a sense of envy for the Faen majik and immortality.
This was not enough for me as a young girl, and as the Aslantis are required to choose their disciple at age 11, I chose to study the Fae. This, obviously, proved challenging for the above reasons. After two years of study in Ome Chaer’s libraries and fruitless searches for Faen texts, I venture to Durevin at 13 years old to venture into their libraries. Though Durevin is the seat of Peace, the center of the Pax Humanae, their libraries too held few additional texts. The Citadel was, obviously, not an option for knowledge searches. In Durevin, I was granted permission to see the original treaty of the Pax Humanae, and I grew ever more fascinated by the intrinsic differences between Fae and Humans. The Faen writing on the document was like nothing I had ever seen. The letters, if they can be called that, curled around the page, working with the meaning of the words they placed onto the paper. It was and remains challenging for me to empliy adequate adjectives to describe the Faen script. Suffice it to say, this encounter solidified my next step.
I prepared my proposal, packed my bags, and prepared for adventure.
Many of you have likely heard about the wild scholar woman who wended her way across the continent, living with Fae, losing her mind ever so slightly at every new engagement and every moment spent away from human company. That would be me. I assure you, I remain in control of my faculties, and, indeed, grateful at the opportunity to build relationships with our Icarian neighbors. I spent significant time with elves, centaurs, fairies, and nymphs. I have spent scant time with pixies, gnomes, and dwarves, though I did reside with some dwarvish clans in the Astoriad. I never came across a satyr; the going assumption even amongst the Fea is that their kind went exting during the wars, as they trusted the good of human hearts too often. It is a sore subject, and I will address it later.
I also came across references of “Fallen Fae,” which is a term that I had not discovered in any of my reading from human sources. This is the closest translation to our language that I could find, but the general meaning of the First Language, the language of the Fae, is that these individuals broke some law, an elder rule, and broke something within themselves so irrevocably that they became another being entirely. Few, few Fae would discuss this consequence with me, so my research on Fallen Fae is scant at best. Perhaps another scholar will follow in my footsteps and search for a better description, a better understanding of these creatures.
As for this work, it contends with my direct experience with the Fae and all the research I have been able to curate over the last fifty years. Perhaps after its publication, I will take to the road one last time and find my way back to the Fae for one last visit. One can only live in a stone room for so long, no matter how gloriously the breeze caresses the gauzy curtains.
Read on for knowledge, but I implore you, search out the Fae yourself. Build your own relationships. They are incredible beings, their outlooks respectable, their willingness to be a part of their surroundings beautiful. I wish for perpetual peace between our kinds. I really do. I hope you enjoy these writings, and I hope you learn something you did not know previously. I hope that my words inspire trust and hope, no longer distrust and an unwillingness to share one’s own life.
~.~
Anecdotes and experiences
Elvin village, Astoriad Mountains
After nearly six months of overland travel from Durevin, I arrived in the foothills of the Astoriad. For readers who have not visited the far east, when I say the “foothills” of the Astoriad, I mean the small mountains that adorn their front doorstep. The Astoriad themselves are vast, nearly defying description. They soar towards the sky as if the earth itself is reaching back to the heavens from whence it fell. The tops disappear into the clouds (when there are clouds), and the sides bristle with the millions of evergreens that dot their banks. I could see the peaks from span and span away, and for their size, never seemed to grow any closer, until I arrived.
I tell you this because it is imperative you understand the vastness of this space, the living area within which the Fae made their home. These mountains grow wide and tall, and inside, they are nearly entirely hollow.
But I digress. I should offer my intentions with this story first. I spent just about seven years with the Fae in the Astoriad, the Fae of the eastern Mountains. It is important to me that I note some of the most significant elements of my experiences in such a way that allows you, who have perhaps never encountered Fae, to learn of their existence alongside me, not at my feet. As such, I will do my utmost to chronicle this visit chronologically, as many of my earlier chapters consider the more categorical analysis of my time with the Fae. This is not the space for lists or instructions, guidelines or collections. The chapters within each of my separate experiences aim to convey a story instead of a summary. This is storytelling, that you might understand through my life, the nature of the elves here with whom I spent the vast majority of my time.
Let us begin with my first impression and my first engagement.
The first time I met an Elf of the Astoriad, I was low on water nad low on food. I had set out from Durevin with a small sill, water skins to spare, and plenty of dried food. A few days before I made it to the foothills of the peaks, my still had unexpectedly broken, leaving me slightly desperate to arrive at my destination more quickly.
Gasping, red, and quite inelegant, I bedded down in a small cave for the night as the air turned damp and clouds broke over the long spurs as if punctured by the impossible peaks.
I was not alone.
A young woman peered out from me as soon as I’d sat down. She had remained utterly silent as I’d bustled in, exhausted and absorbed by my own plight. When I relaxed, she stepped forward, and I have never had such a fright in my life. I’d grown accustomed to being alone, and a new presence not only startled me, but it threw my hackles up in a way I’d never yet experienced in my young life.
“What are you doing here, human?” I’ll never forget those words. They were not hostile, but neither were they welcoming. The woman wore dark grey mesh, as if wool had some sort of sibling. It did not seem to hold the water that was now flicking off the sides of the cave.
“I’m here to meet the Fae of the Astoriad.” I explained, trying to remain calm. I’d like to study your culture and bring it back to my people.”
I had not, it must be admitted, thought much about my pitch when I arrived in the mountains. I’d focused entirely on the actual getting there. If my comments had seemed irreverent or inappropriate, the woman did not react.
“We do not see humans often.” She said quietly. “I am Aema, of Cast Erinaie, Elvinblood.”
“I’m Myeira Aslanti.” I scrambled to my feet. “I’m originally from Ome Chaer.” The woman made me feel ungainly, awkward even. I was no great beauty, but several months of hard travel had grown my muscles lean and hard; I’d been proud of my appearance. This woman, by virtue of her bright white hair, fine skin, and nearly androgenous features made me somehow feel childish.
This would not be the last time I experienced such physical shame at comparison. I put it out of my mind.
“Suppose you have any water?” I informed her of my predicament.
She handed me her own skin. I hadn’t noticed that it hung around her waist. I hadn’t noticed much about her until I studied her. This too, would not be the last time I experienced this particular phenomenon. The Astoriad elves seemed to pride themselves on the unexpected in the plain. As I observed her, I noticed a dagger hilt at her waist as well, its partner in her loose, scaled boots. Her hair cascaded over her shoulder in a low tail, as white as the stars at midnight. Her eyes were a startling gold, nearly orange, and they considered me carefully. She did not trust me.
“Why are you out here?” I suddenly asked, a dread snaking into my heart. “I am here to check a trough.” Aema explained. “When it rains, it rains hard, and the sky is kind enough to fill our buckets and supply us with water. We don’t even have to ask for it.”
I would learn later that Fae could ask the water to divulge itself should they need it, but they preferred not to ask the world for favors when solutions could be found without such need. It is an outlook on majik that the humans do not share. It is likely why we were not gifted with such a heritage.
“I was going to rest here until the rain subsided and check it again, however,” Aema considered me once more, “I think we had better move back towards the—” Aema said a word that I could not understand, though I seemed to grasp the meaning slightly. The ever so brief impression evaporated, I asked what that meant.
Aema sighed and pulled up her hood. “It is not a word that will translate into your tongue.” She explained. “You would call it a soul. But Fae do not believe in such things. The center, the midst, the essence.” She turned these words over on her tongue as though they might satisfy her. Ultimately they did not. “Ach.” She spit. “None of these are right. Come.”
Surprised into silence, I slid my own cloak over my pack and my head, envious of the lightness in Aema’s clothes, and followed her into the storm.
Soaked through and shivering, we arrived at the mouth of another tunnel several hours later. I had plenty of water at this point, thank Anaia, and I was ready now for warmth and food. I remember wishing we had waited until the next morning to venture forth, but I cannot tell you now if that was a fear of meeting more Fae and making a good impression or a general dislike of the elements at that moment. Probably both.
I followed Aema down the tunnel, my eyes barely adjusting to the darkness. Aema, for her part, did not seem to have any issue navigating the blackness, and several times she had to take my arm and guide me forward. I thought she was just familiar with the space. As it turns out, Fae can see in the dark.
When we entered into another tunnel, I gasped. The vaguely indigo light seemed to come from nowhere, and I couldn’t see any lights. I made to ask Aema, but she shook her head and pointed at the walls. I looked more closely and gasped again. Some sort of lichen papered the walls, its bioluminescence shading the figures, script that marked the interior of the tunnel. I couldn’t read any of the words, but I could almost feel them. That was a curious communication sensation to which I’d grow more accustomed; at the time I remember my hair standing up on end, wondering how I could feel the echoes of these words I couldn’t read.
I spent so much time ogling at the tunnel that I nearly dropped to my knees when Aema pulled me out into the full foyer of the mountain. Perhaps I did drop to my knees; it would have been warranted.
This is why it is important for you to understand the vastness of these mountains from the outside. One cannot understand an interior without fully appreciating its shell. These mountains touched the face of the moon; their insides held life, teeming life, as the peaks soared up, empty but for staircases and branching tunnels. In the very center, the dimmest light of a distant moon cast a circlet on the floor. I noticed that every body, despite their attention on this newcomer, did not step in the center of light.
I hear Aema sigh, before a hand vicelike, ripped at my shoulder. Before I could say a word, the hand no longer held me, and Aema stood in front of me, protective as a tall elf bore down on me with a vicious snarl. His hair seemed darker than the tunnel through which we had just walked, his eyes the fiercest red. He appeared to me as some demon, summoned from the place after death.
“You bring a human here.” He hissed.
“She has come to learn from us.” Aema said smoothly, not bothering to hold her voice down.
“They all come to learn from us.” The large elf said. Though his size doubled, perhaps tripled Aema’s, I could tell she was more comfortable with her body. He did not dare try to move around her.
“We are at peace.” The elf woman said sharply, the first sharp word I’d heard her speak.
Vexed at this change, the red-eyed elf switched from the common tongue into the First Language, and I could only grasp the gist of their conversation. I could tell, at the very least, that the large elf’s anger emanated from a deep well of pain, pain humans had caused. I knew my history well enough to know how many Fae had been lost in the wars before the Pax Humanae. I knew many more humans had died, but humans do not consider life and death the way the Fae do. Death is expected for humans. For Fae, if they do not die of another’s ill will or an accident of the land, they do not die at all. It is all the more painful for them, their births all rarer for it.
As the two elves argued, I couldn’t help but crane my head around and wonder at the space once more. It seemed as though a thousand Fae had descended upon us in the few moments that I’d been under verbal assault. Fairies and pixies hovered around us, some alit on the various balconies and bridges that crisscrossed the slanted interior of the mountain. Dwarves and gnomes slunk between the legs of ever encroaching elves who seemed unwilling to take sides in the dispute.
Finally, a resounding hush fell throughout the magnificent space and both arguing elves took a step back, their heads bowed.
Four figures materialized out of the crowd, a dwarf, an elf, a gnome, and a fairy. I wondered idly why there was no pixie elder, for that was clearly what these four individuals were. While they did not look any older than either Aema or the large elf, who I could tell was much younger somehow, the way they held themselves, the way they moved, the way they considered the situation, spoke of their age.
“Aema, Vincet.” The elf spoke, “What is the meaning of this?”
Aema spoke first. I wondered at the time if it was her seniority, but upon further reflection after living here for so long, I discovered it was simply because she had been addressed first. Rare were conflicts such as this among Fae; they did not have a hierarchy like humans to sort out their differences. I was about to find this out.
Aema explained that she had found me in a cave near the rain barrel. She explained that I wished to study their community, to take my findings back to the humans.
When Aema finished, the whole of the hall turned to Vincet, who seemed to have calmed somewhat. “She is a danger. She will take more of us simply to destroy us. Humans do not change. This will be the same result as the first time we treated with the humans.” I was flattered he maintained the common tongue, as did the elders, that I might have understood their conversation. I knew this was purposeful. They gave me legitimacy this way.
The elder dwarf sniffed. “Human, let this be your first lesson. We will debate your presence, as it has put us at odds. We do not occupy a government like your folk do. We do not compete for resources like the humans. And so, we give everyone a chance to speak, should they wish to.” And with that, the dwarf turned in a slow circle, short arms cast open as if to invite a hug.
No one spoke.
“Would you like to explain what you are doing here?” The elder fairy asked. Her long hair grew in as white as Aema’s, though her eyes were an inexplicable pink, like a sunset after tempest.
I nodded and took a breath. I explained that we had no books about the Fae. That I was from a scholar family, and even I could not find a compendium about the Fae. I couldn’t find anything that would assuage the human distrust in Fae, despite our relaxed peace. I explained how this was my goal, how I wanted to make the Fae a little less unknown to my compatriots, that we might expand the peace between our two peoples. I was not overly sophisticated in my rhetoric, but I was honest, and I was genuine. It was and remains my goal to bring the Fae and humans closer together.
Silence greeted my soliloquy.
Without warning, the Elvin elder raised his voice and asked a question in the First Language. Hands raised across the space. The elder barked another question, and other hands raised, fewer this time.
Ringing silence echoed once more. “You stay, human.” The elder said softly. “I hope you find what you are looking for.”
And with that, the Fae began to disperse. I was surprised that the large elvish man didn’t threaten me or say something unkind. He simply shook his head and turned away, as if that conflict were entirely complete.
Aema watched me, nearly smiling. “You humans hold grudges when you feel as though you have lost something.” She explained Vincet’s behavior. “We cannot hold grudges; we live too long and conflict is not our way. Vincet might not interact with you voluntarily, but he will neither try to hurt you nor will he try to sway the perspectives of others. He said his part and was overruled.”
I tried to place this custom in my own pantheon of experiences with human males. It did not compute.
“I will see you around the mountain Myeria Aslanti.” Aema said softly as she melted away into the dispersing crowd.
And suddenly, I was alone once more.
I watched Fae skirt around the circle of dim light, wondering what to do next.
A man approached me quietly as I gazed upward, trying to figure out why ther was no rain in the cirle of light.
“The peak is so tall that the water evaporates before it hits the earth.” The man explained gently. He touched his hands to his mouth and offered his palm to me. This was a Durevinian custom; I was surprised.
“My name is Ambrosian of Cast Frael, Elvinblood.” He introduced himself. “I was Ambassador to Durevin during the early attempts at the Pax Humanae.” He smiled. “I would like to invite you to stay with my family.”
Unspeakably grateful, I nodded and followed the man through more tunnels.
“I’ve seen the Pax Humanae.” I told Ambrosian quietly. “It is a magnificent document.”
Ambrosian smiled again. His was the gentlest, the most expressive of the Fae faces I’d yet seen. “By the time I decided that Elesian was right, I’d killed thousands of humans. More than I care to count, though I did count. And every time I killed another, it killed some part of me.” Ambrosian’s kind face fell for a moment, and his features betrayed a deep well of pain and shame. “You have to understand, Fae do not engage in conflict like humans do. Killing another sentient thing, particularly one with an upper consciousness, is anathema to us. We ask beings to give their lives for us, should we need to sustain ourselves. That is part of life. But to kill simply for power?” Ambrosian shivered. “I hope you will take this back to your people. This was not a lesson I could impart during such a time of diplomacy.”
I did not know what to say. It felt like Ambrosian was telling me some deep, dark secret, and I had no words adequate to thank him. He seemed to understand.
As we traversed the final bit of tunnel to his home—this one boasted a gentle orange light—Ambrosian turned to me. “You will now meet my partner, Laela, my son Orgosi, and his partner. She will not be pleased to see you.”
With that, Ambrosian turned and opened a simple door into the side of the mountain. Only belatedly would I realize that he had not offered the name of his son’s woman. I would call her daughter in law, but Fae do not recognize the same traditions that humans do when it comes to combining families, as you will have learned from reading this book already.
Laela and Orgosi stood at the far wall, as if they knew we were coming. Faint yellow light illuminated the whole space, sparce, but for carefully carved furniture.
“Welcome to our home.” Laela came forward first and offered the Durevinian hand gesture.
I returned it. Orgosi trailed her, smiling, but did not offer the human symbol. “You had quite an entrance.” His common tongue lilted slightly. Where I couldn’t tell any difference in his parents’ grasp of the language, I could tell he was young and had not spoken it often.
“You do me a great honor, inviting me in and offering me sanctuary.” I spoke truly, and I hope they heard that.
A silhouette appeared at the far side of the room, ever so briefly, before disappearing through another door.
Orgosi stifled a sigh. “That is Morgana.” He introduced her. I wondered why he did so and his father did not. “She fears any human encounter.”
“Why?” I asked before I could stop myself. The Fae were known for their ability to kill humans. That much had been well established. While many Fae had also perished in the Fae wars, due to the sheer numbers of humans more than any skill of our fighters, there was little reason for the Fae to fear us, as far as I had learned.
“She has been gifted a personal prophecy.” Orgosi explained in his soft accent. “Along her travels to arrive in the Eastern Mountains, she made it to the Cast, the Grove.” Orgosi’s eyes, a strange violet, bore into me, pleading with me to understand. “Your kind call them the Sakjeden. She asked for her future—”
Ambrosian made a soft sound in the back of his throat that sounded slightly like derision. Of the behaviors I witnessed throughout my time with Fae, his was by far the most human. I wondered if it was because of his time spent as an Ambassador, if he had normalized himself for human perception and never lost the habits.
Orgosi ignored his father. “The Grove informed Morgana that her child would die with a human.”
My stomach dropped. “I truly mean you no harm.” I could hear my voice rasp.
Orgosi smiled at me gently. “I can tell that. So can my father. Most humans don’t actively wish the Fae harm, even as the Fae don’t think about the humans. And her prophecy did not say that our child would die at the hands of a human. It said that our child will die with a human.” Orgosi’s smile lingered sadly. “I am hoping this means that our child will die alongside a human friend. Morgana is not so optimistic.”
“Did she have someone a human hurt once?” I asked.
“She lost her parents in the Fae wars.” Orgosi explained. “I lost my sister, my parents lost their daughter. And still my father worked to build peace with those who killed her. Conflict is a choice. I am still hopeful you will become friends.”
The word friends sounded nice in his brogue.
“Murder is rust on the Fae soul.” Ambrosian cut in. “It is only right that if you reach out, we should grasp hands.”
Overcome with gratitude, I nodded. “You have an incredible poetry about your oratory.” I managed to squeak out. “I owe you my story in return.”
“Perhaps over a meal.” Laela cut in, with a look at her husband and son. “You have come a long way. I will show you to your room.”
I would stay here for seven years in this home with these people. I’ll not spoil my ups and downs learning about these magnificent beings. I hope you’ll read on. Suffice it to say, the family of Ambrosian, Cast Frael Elvinblood kept a room for me, always. I wonder if it remains, nestled in the depths of Icaria’s tallest mountain. I hope it does.
~.~
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