A Nightmare Childling's Coming of Age
I wish I had had the energy to write this last night (by which I meant Sunday night as I spent most of Monday night writing this, though I realize I'm posting it on Tuesday morning). I certainly had the inclination (until the whole work situation unfolded, which was after I'd put myself to bed), but when one's brain has been left in the dreaming, one must first go recover it before trying to use it. Thinking over such long distances can cause considerable complications. I don't think I've quite recovered it all yet. Real World Land demanded my attention before my search was complete, but I'm at least able to hold my head up and type coherently. So, I'll give this whole gushing thing a go and hope to hell I don't forget anything that I marked in my missing brain as worth mention. I probably will, but there's no harm in hoping.
(As a warning, this is immensely long. Those who know me know I am only rarely concise. This is not one of those rare moments.)
Not every story has a beginning, middle, and ending. At least not in their proper order. This is certainly one of those sorts: beginning at an ending, ending at a beginning, and made mostly of middles. Even before the story begins, Eibhlin was at the end of her childhood. She knew it; it was everyone else who needed the convincing. Well, that's not entirely true. After all, if there is one thing every story has, it's a few lies. That one about being ready to grow up? That was one Eibhlin had told herself, one she'd convinced quite a few people of before it was true. Someone once said to her that the lies which are believed today become tomorrow's truths. Or something like that. It's all part of the story.
There are some parts she still won't own up to. No one needs to know about the dark fae in the woods that tempted her with little treasures, that told her the barest of secrets, that promised her knowledge no one else would offer, that inpsired in her what may have been love. Well, no one 'cept Iosag, that is, but he knew the man long before she did and wasn't going to talk about it. Especially not with her. She'd likely never find out who that man was or why Iosag hated him so fiercely, but she hated him now too. And she knew why.
You see, when our story began on the night of the Storytelling Contest in Maon, Eibhlin's life was that of a child. Sure, she thought she was grown up, but she was wrong. Wouldn't be an interesting story if she was right all along and had nothing to learn, now would it?
When the humans came to the village that night, she was fascinated by them: a child with candy that was sickeningly sweet and chewy and a mother lost in grief at the thought of the fae taking her child. Might the changeling have had a brother once? Or, even more curiously, a mother? Mary, that night, in her humility, was beautiful and kind and warm and... and... other motherly things. Indefinable for a creature like Eibhlin, but that was the appeal. She asked so humbly for help, without any accusation. The naive little sluagh couldn't help but feel compassion, wondering if her mother had suffered the same sorrow when she'd left the human world for darker dreams.
And when the stranger in the woods promised her secrets, tempted her with little tidbits, she took the bait. He knew about the treasure that was so important to the village; he knew about Iosag who had talked too long with the nobles that night, in part about Adhamh who was her friend, her first advocate on the grump council, the one who'd invited her on an adventure into the Dreaming before the trod was sealed; and he knew the way human belief worked, how they could shape the world by putting faith in lies. When he asked for a show of faith, some proof that she could get into the monastery before answering her questions further, she complied. Gordan was quick--an amusing twist, no doubt--to figure out where the abbot's shiny trinket had gone, but what he failed to see was where her greed was truly placed. He told her a tale about a blue jay who loved shiny things that he might collect them, keep them, a blue jay who found himself trapped for trying to take what wasn't his. What the ghille dhu didn't see was that it wasn't the tangible that was so precious, but the information it could provide. And this, she hoped, would get her a good deal.
Of course, it didn't. As was mentioned earlier, she had a lot to learn. Even though she gave him the trinket, he wanted more. He gave her a name to call him--the Dubh--and told her what a liar the newly knighted satyr was. Not a war hero at all. Indeed, he'd never fought in any war, and certainly hadn't lost the full function of his legs to such a battle. No, that was the Dubh's doing. Or at least that was the implication. But that wasn't enough. Eibhlin wanted more, and he knew it, so he proposed a new trade. See, he'd asked her to get the book earlier, and she kept dodging that. It was important to Maon, and it was pretty clear the Dubh wasn't keen on the village, skirting about the edges without ever passing through the ward which announced ill-will. But now he only wanted Iosag, and what good was he really. Nobility now, sure, but the rest of the nobility, those who had knighted him, abandoned the village at the first sign of trouble, closing off the exit behind them. What good were they?
Still, she didn't make a rash decision. Not at all. She asked a few people what they thought Iosag contributed to the village, and got a broad variety of answers. None of which were satisfying. None of which could justify what she wanted to do. Cept, ya see, Adhamh had asked her if she could see like Meig could, find the future in the cards. So, maybe she lied a little when she said she could, but she got her first lesson right quick with a deck she'd, ehm, found on one of the visitors at last year's gather. The Knight of Wands, the Star, the Wheel; a knight, truth and trouble, and who knows how'd they'd balance. Of course, she didn't get the truth she'd wanted about the Dubh, the book, the satyr. No, what truth she got was less interesting and far more relevant.
Eventually, she lead Iosag off into the woods to meet her dark friend, with some coaxing, with a promise of secrets, but not before having a talk with the abbot. By the end of the story, he's the only human she's gonna think is sane, so it's kind of important that he did something else none of the others did: showed compassion, forgiveness, and that thing humans have the audacity to call humanity. But that's not important now. What matters now is how she sacrificed Sir Iosag the Liar to the Dubh for a revelation. Cept, that epiphany wasn't a pretty one. It came when the Dubh changed his tactics, using Iosag now to get the book, telling Eibhlin how useful she was, and heading back off into the woods without giving her one little shred in exchange. She'd found something out alright: she was just a pawn, and such a willing one at that. She was wrong.
Sir Iosag didn't care. She'd not only ignored a direct order from a noble, but she'd betrayed him, betrayed the village. Sure, she'd known that the Dubh didn't have Maon's best interest at heart; that's why he wouldn't enter the village. But she'd thought that no matter what his intentions were, she could use his information to everyone's (or at least her own benefit). Of course, she was wrong. So very, very wrong.
Now, see, little Eibhlin had already caused a bit of mischief, telling a few people that Sir Iosag didn't deserve his title, that he wasn't the war hero everyone thought him to be. Adhamh, Ealair, Winda, maybe a few others; when you start spreading rumors, it's sometimes difficult to keep track of who you've told what. Winda even traded her pretty star-catcher in exchange for further explanation. It was the last conversation she was going to have with the elemental. A couple hours after she'd evoked Iosag's ire, men raided the village. Human men. For no reason, asking nothing, but wanting to take everything. Strike one for humanity. Still, it proved a useful distraction, allowing her to leave the village unnoticed.
She didn't want to be there to watch everyone fighting; when people are fighting, they aren't talking, and when people aren't talking, there's nothing for her to learn. Nor did she want to seek out the Dubh; hell, she was a little worried about finding him while she walked, but if he had no use for her, he hd no reason to make himself known. She'd go to the monastery, see what all the fuss was about. It wasn't hard to find the book. At all. Radiating glamour as bright as day right there in the front. From there, it was all just a matter of being small and dark and dextrous. She didn't think she'd take the book. Not at first. But once she was there, a million reasons why she ought to flooded into her shadowy head. Well, maybe not a million, but a few. She'd be able to save Iosag the trouble, perhaps redeeming herself in his eyes; she'd heard talk of bad men coming to steal it from the cross-bearers, but they couldn't if they didn't know where to find it; no one could steal if, in fact, if no one knew where it was. She'd figure out where it belonged, where it was safe; and so far as she could tell, it was safest where no one knew about it. Of course, it's worth note here that those who would come to represent the Winter Court had made her job easier, grabbing the fake that was stashed in here with the real one. But she didn't know that. One of the few things she didn't know.
Circling around to the back of the village, Eibhlin hid the book near her home where she lived with the shadows. All wrapped in wind and stars, she hid it in a dark place and hoped no one would notice the huge chunk of glamour where it shouldn't have been. Of course, someone did find it. But by then, Meig, Robbie, and Gordan all knew she had it. Meig had done this augury, see, that had identified a Liar, a Concealer, and a Spy in the village; it was pretty obvious who was who. Hard to hide the truth when everyone's trying to find it. So, when Robbie went off to test his magnet, the sluagh childling when with him. Sure, maybe it was because she was developing a little crush on the knocker, but it was also a prudent decision. After all, it had been suggested that his trod-tracking magnet might be attracted not to Aracadia itself, but merely large concentrations of glamour. Like the book. Robbie distracted the others while she, in a panic, moved it, returning it, in the end, to the hands of Gordan. The moral here, kids, is that stealing things can make ya into a hero if you angle it right. Damned thing might've been stolen by the vikings or eaten by redcaps or handed over to the Dubh had she not intervened. Yeah, let's justify it like that!
Soon as that was all righted, she continued, nonchalantly as she could, her conversation she'd initiated with Ealair about the Winter Court. Remember back in the beginning where it was mentioned that Eibhlin liked humans, that they were sad and compassionate and pretty? Yeah, well, she'd gotten a quick hard lesson in how inaccurate she was about that. See, back when she'd first returned from the monastery, she found three things: women shouting over the horrors of the fae and what they do to babies; a monk dead after having killed some fae, including the beautiful Winda who'd given the sluagh such a wonderful gift; and more vikings set to attack the village. Strikes two, three, and four, all at once. Of course, when Griogair, who never really liked Eibhlin anyway, started demanding justice on the behalf of Mary, insisting that Adhamh die for eating the baby, for being what he is, that sealed it. There might be a few good humans, but most of 'em seemed spoiled. Even the abbot, when she'd asked him about Mary earlier, didn't even know her name, hardly knew of her missing child; and really, if humans can't take care of their own, they certainly didn't need us doing it for them either. Sure, the Winter Court wasn't keen on changelings, but Ealair was one, and Adhamh, who would later announce his loyalty to the colder court, treated her like a friend. It couldn't be all bad. Right?
The problem was Eibhlin cared for these people. They were her family. Meig and Gordan helped teach her right from wrong. Robbie always listened to her, even when he was busy with more important work. Even Sorcha had supported her request to be seen as a wilder. She had a place here. Maybe. If Sir Iosag would listen to her, hear her apology. It would be their shared secret, that they knew the depths of each other's foolishness. He did, on one condition: that she fight well when the final battle came. She did what she could, small thing that she was, so drained of glamour from all her trickery. Between her, Levana, and Goraidh, the trebuchet was fired thrice, letting loose enough flesh-rending squirrels to cripple the invading forces.
In the end, she'd learned a lot, like the cost of her curiosity, how to earn real respect, what it took to make good decisions, and what horrible creatures humans could be. Of course, she didn't so much mind Adhamh's final punishment because she got to poke at his bloody stump and make him scream. Sure, he might have been doing it solely for her benefit, but it was a nice feeling. His blood tasted weird though. Better than baby blood and whiskey, though. The announcement wasn't made, not before all the fae save Gordan who was bound to that land had left the island. She was ready to grow up, but it would have to wait until they'd found a new home, made a new beginning. Watching her friend and that fascinating tinker walk off with their friends to the cold places, she wondered if she'd ever find herself there. For now, the Autumn Court would do. Besides, Robbie and Meig needed someone to pester them. And the village would need changelings like her and Iosag to help keep their magic working until the new trod was found. Maybe you can't call them a village anymore since they left their home and lost a few of their own, but they had their hearth and Ros with it. They had possibility spread out before them, and friends to face it with. That was enough. For now, anyway. It's a beginning. It's where this story was meant to end.
Of course, that's only a fraction of the story, only a brief (as verbose little me could make it) synopsis of the major events in Eibhlin's growing up. Which, in the end, never officially happened. It was set to happen. Everyone on the council agreed. It just kept getting pushed aside for more important things. Now, I wonder, can I throw a temper tantrum about not growing up if she's still a kid? Or, uhm, does that kind of set me back a bit?
I've no doubt that not every LARP will be this amazing, but I'm so utterly glad this one, my first one, was. The GMs put together such an amazing well-woven story, with excellent players in a magical setting. I'm glad to have been a part of it. And thankful. So very, very thankful.
I would like to extend specific thanks to the players of Adhamh, Iosag, Gordan (that story was brilliant and made my day), Robbie, Meig, and Ealair (greatly for picking on my quietude and encouraging snarkiness) for making my story come alive. And to Michelle (OMG honey numminess!), Eric (best brother in the whole wide world), and all the people around the fire Saturday night for making me laugh so hard. And, most importantly, to the awesome GMs who wrote and ran something downright magical. And, of course, to Ninja, for walking all the way back out to the monastery with me so I could thief the book. Yay thiefing!
(As a warning, this is immensely long. Those who know me know I am only rarely concise. This is not one of those rare moments.)
Not every story has a beginning, middle, and ending. At least not in their proper order. This is certainly one of those sorts: beginning at an ending, ending at a beginning, and made mostly of middles. Even before the story begins, Eibhlin was at the end of her childhood. She knew it; it was everyone else who needed the convincing. Well, that's not entirely true. After all, if there is one thing every story has, it's a few lies. That one about being ready to grow up? That was one Eibhlin had told herself, one she'd convinced quite a few people of before it was true. Someone once said to her that the lies which are believed today become tomorrow's truths. Or something like that. It's all part of the story.
There are some parts she still won't own up to. No one needs to know about the dark fae in the woods that tempted her with little treasures, that told her the barest of secrets, that promised her knowledge no one else would offer, that inpsired in her what may have been love. Well, no one 'cept Iosag, that is, but he knew the man long before she did and wasn't going to talk about it. Especially not with her. She'd likely never find out who that man was or why Iosag hated him so fiercely, but she hated him now too. And she knew why.
You see, when our story began on the night of the Storytelling Contest in Maon, Eibhlin's life was that of a child. Sure, she thought she was grown up, but she was wrong. Wouldn't be an interesting story if she was right all along and had nothing to learn, now would it?
When the humans came to the village that night, she was fascinated by them: a child with candy that was sickeningly sweet and chewy and a mother lost in grief at the thought of the fae taking her child. Might the changeling have had a brother once? Or, even more curiously, a mother? Mary, that night, in her humility, was beautiful and kind and warm and... and... other motherly things. Indefinable for a creature like Eibhlin, but that was the appeal. She asked so humbly for help, without any accusation. The naive little sluagh couldn't help but feel compassion, wondering if her mother had suffered the same sorrow when she'd left the human world for darker dreams.
And when the stranger in the woods promised her secrets, tempted her with little tidbits, she took the bait. He knew about the treasure that was so important to the village; he knew about Iosag who had talked too long with the nobles that night, in part about Adhamh who was her friend, her first advocate on the grump council, the one who'd invited her on an adventure into the Dreaming before the trod was sealed; and he knew the way human belief worked, how they could shape the world by putting faith in lies. When he asked for a show of faith, some proof that she could get into the monastery before answering her questions further, she complied. Gordan was quick--an amusing twist, no doubt--to figure out where the abbot's shiny trinket had gone, but what he failed to see was where her greed was truly placed. He told her a tale about a blue jay who loved shiny things that he might collect them, keep them, a blue jay who found himself trapped for trying to take what wasn't his. What the ghille dhu didn't see was that it wasn't the tangible that was so precious, but the information it could provide. And this, she hoped, would get her a good deal.
Of course, it didn't. As was mentioned earlier, she had a lot to learn. Even though she gave him the trinket, he wanted more. He gave her a name to call him--the Dubh--and told her what a liar the newly knighted satyr was. Not a war hero at all. Indeed, he'd never fought in any war, and certainly hadn't lost the full function of his legs to such a battle. No, that was the Dubh's doing. Or at least that was the implication. But that wasn't enough. Eibhlin wanted more, and he knew it, so he proposed a new trade. See, he'd asked her to get the book earlier, and she kept dodging that. It was important to Maon, and it was pretty clear the Dubh wasn't keen on the village, skirting about the edges without ever passing through the ward which announced ill-will. But now he only wanted Iosag, and what good was he really. Nobility now, sure, but the rest of the nobility, those who had knighted him, abandoned the village at the first sign of trouble, closing off the exit behind them. What good were they?
Still, she didn't make a rash decision. Not at all. She asked a few people what they thought Iosag contributed to the village, and got a broad variety of answers. None of which were satisfying. None of which could justify what she wanted to do. Cept, ya see, Adhamh had asked her if she could see like Meig could, find the future in the cards. So, maybe she lied a little when she said she could, but she got her first lesson right quick with a deck she'd, ehm, found on one of the visitors at last year's gather. The Knight of Wands, the Star, the Wheel; a knight, truth and trouble, and who knows how'd they'd balance. Of course, she didn't get the truth she'd wanted about the Dubh, the book, the satyr. No, what truth she got was less interesting and far more relevant.
Eventually, she lead Iosag off into the woods to meet her dark friend, with some coaxing, with a promise of secrets, but not before having a talk with the abbot. By the end of the story, he's the only human she's gonna think is sane, so it's kind of important that he did something else none of the others did: showed compassion, forgiveness, and that thing humans have the audacity to call humanity. But that's not important now. What matters now is how she sacrificed Sir Iosag the Liar to the Dubh for a revelation. Cept, that epiphany wasn't a pretty one. It came when the Dubh changed his tactics, using Iosag now to get the book, telling Eibhlin how useful she was, and heading back off into the woods without giving her one little shred in exchange. She'd found something out alright: she was just a pawn, and such a willing one at that. She was wrong.
Sir Iosag didn't care. She'd not only ignored a direct order from a noble, but she'd betrayed him, betrayed the village. Sure, she'd known that the Dubh didn't have Maon's best interest at heart; that's why he wouldn't enter the village. But she'd thought that no matter what his intentions were, she could use his information to everyone's (or at least her own benefit). Of course, she was wrong. So very, very wrong.
Now, see, little Eibhlin had already caused a bit of mischief, telling a few people that Sir Iosag didn't deserve his title, that he wasn't the war hero everyone thought him to be. Adhamh, Ealair, Winda, maybe a few others; when you start spreading rumors, it's sometimes difficult to keep track of who you've told what. Winda even traded her pretty star-catcher in exchange for further explanation. It was the last conversation she was going to have with the elemental. A couple hours after she'd evoked Iosag's ire, men raided the village. Human men. For no reason, asking nothing, but wanting to take everything. Strike one for humanity. Still, it proved a useful distraction, allowing her to leave the village unnoticed.
She didn't want to be there to watch everyone fighting; when people are fighting, they aren't talking, and when people aren't talking, there's nothing for her to learn. Nor did she want to seek out the Dubh; hell, she was a little worried about finding him while she walked, but if he had no use for her, he hd no reason to make himself known. She'd go to the monastery, see what all the fuss was about. It wasn't hard to find the book. At all. Radiating glamour as bright as day right there in the front. From there, it was all just a matter of being small and dark and dextrous. She didn't think she'd take the book. Not at first. But once she was there, a million reasons why she ought to flooded into her shadowy head. Well, maybe not a million, but a few. She'd be able to save Iosag the trouble, perhaps redeeming herself in his eyes; she'd heard talk of bad men coming to steal it from the cross-bearers, but they couldn't if they didn't know where to find it; no one could steal if, in fact, if no one knew where it was. She'd figure out where it belonged, where it was safe; and so far as she could tell, it was safest where no one knew about it. Of course, it's worth note here that those who would come to represent the Winter Court had made her job easier, grabbing the fake that was stashed in here with the real one. But she didn't know that. One of the few things she didn't know.
Circling around to the back of the village, Eibhlin hid the book near her home where she lived with the shadows. All wrapped in wind and stars, she hid it in a dark place and hoped no one would notice the huge chunk of glamour where it shouldn't have been. Of course, someone did find it. But by then, Meig, Robbie, and Gordan all knew she had it. Meig had done this augury, see, that had identified a Liar, a Concealer, and a Spy in the village; it was pretty obvious who was who. Hard to hide the truth when everyone's trying to find it. So, when Robbie went off to test his magnet, the sluagh childling when with him. Sure, maybe it was because she was developing a little crush on the knocker, but it was also a prudent decision. After all, it had been suggested that his trod-tracking magnet might be attracted not to Aracadia itself, but merely large concentrations of glamour. Like the book. Robbie distracted the others while she, in a panic, moved it, returning it, in the end, to the hands of Gordan. The moral here, kids, is that stealing things can make ya into a hero if you angle it right. Damned thing might've been stolen by the vikings or eaten by redcaps or handed over to the Dubh had she not intervened. Yeah, let's justify it like that!
Soon as that was all righted, she continued, nonchalantly as she could, her conversation she'd initiated with Ealair about the Winter Court. Remember back in the beginning where it was mentioned that Eibhlin liked humans, that they were sad and compassionate and pretty? Yeah, well, she'd gotten a quick hard lesson in how inaccurate she was about that. See, back when she'd first returned from the monastery, she found three things: women shouting over the horrors of the fae and what they do to babies; a monk dead after having killed some fae, including the beautiful Winda who'd given the sluagh such a wonderful gift; and more vikings set to attack the village. Strikes two, three, and four, all at once. Of course, when Griogair, who never really liked Eibhlin anyway, started demanding justice on the behalf of Mary, insisting that Adhamh die for eating the baby, for being what he is, that sealed it. There might be a few good humans, but most of 'em seemed spoiled. Even the abbot, when she'd asked him about Mary earlier, didn't even know her name, hardly knew of her missing child; and really, if humans can't take care of their own, they certainly didn't need us doing it for them either. Sure, the Winter Court wasn't keen on changelings, but Ealair was one, and Adhamh, who would later announce his loyalty to the colder court, treated her like a friend. It couldn't be all bad. Right?
The problem was Eibhlin cared for these people. They were her family. Meig and Gordan helped teach her right from wrong. Robbie always listened to her, even when he was busy with more important work. Even Sorcha had supported her request to be seen as a wilder. She had a place here. Maybe. If Sir Iosag would listen to her, hear her apology. It would be their shared secret, that they knew the depths of each other's foolishness. He did, on one condition: that she fight well when the final battle came. She did what she could, small thing that she was, so drained of glamour from all her trickery. Between her, Levana, and Goraidh, the trebuchet was fired thrice, letting loose enough flesh-rending squirrels to cripple the invading forces.
In the end, she'd learned a lot, like the cost of her curiosity, how to earn real respect, what it took to make good decisions, and what horrible creatures humans could be. Of course, she didn't so much mind Adhamh's final punishment because she got to poke at his bloody stump and make him scream. Sure, he might have been doing it solely for her benefit, but it was a nice feeling. His blood tasted weird though. Better than baby blood and whiskey, though. The announcement wasn't made, not before all the fae save Gordan who was bound to that land had left the island. She was ready to grow up, but it would have to wait until they'd found a new home, made a new beginning. Watching her friend and that fascinating tinker walk off with their friends to the cold places, she wondered if she'd ever find herself there. For now, the Autumn Court would do. Besides, Robbie and Meig needed someone to pester them. And the village would need changelings like her and Iosag to help keep their magic working until the new trod was found. Maybe you can't call them a village anymore since they left their home and lost a few of their own, but they had their hearth and Ros with it. They had possibility spread out before them, and friends to face it with. That was enough. For now, anyway. It's a beginning. It's where this story was meant to end.
Of course, that's only a fraction of the story, only a brief (as verbose little me could make it) synopsis of the major events in Eibhlin's growing up. Which, in the end, never officially happened. It was set to happen. Everyone on the council agreed. It just kept getting pushed aside for more important things. Now, I wonder, can I throw a temper tantrum about not growing up if she's still a kid? Or, uhm, does that kind of set me back a bit?
I've no doubt that not every LARP will be this amazing, but I'm so utterly glad this one, my first one, was. The GMs put together such an amazing well-woven story, with excellent players in a magical setting. I'm glad to have been a part of it. And thankful. So very, very thankful.
I would like to extend specific thanks to the players of Adhamh, Iosag, Gordan (that story was brilliant and made my day), Robbie, Meig, and Ealair (greatly for picking on my quietude and encouraging snarkiness) for making my story come alive. And to Michelle (OMG honey numminess!), Eric (best brother in the whole wide world), and all the people around the fire Saturday night for making me laugh so hard. And, most importantly, to the awesome GMs who wrote and ran something downright magical. And, of course, to Ninja, for walking all the way back out to the monastery with me so I could thief the book. Yay thiefing!