A Year is Relative

[attr="class","feypost"]
Haelrin was an extremely busy God, and that was just the way he liked things. Whilst other Gods would lounge about and accept their offerings with little ambition for upward momentum, Haelrin was scheming. He still had a ways to go before he achieved the levels of power known to the deities, to his mother and his many aunts, but he was far closer than the others. He had a domain - the Feywild - while they shared in their Mothers', and a few mortals who had decided to pledge themselves. Haelrin on the other hand, wasn't bland enough to leave such a decision up to mortals untested.

That was why today he was entertaining in court. A new mortal had arrived that morning, and by the afternoon one of his loyal scouting fairies had brought the man in to a King's welcome. The mortal was celebrated, a feast and festival in his honour. It was the dream of so many mortals to be treated in this way, and he had certainly been enjoying himself. What he hadn't done was the thing Haelrin most desired -- the man hadn't yet dined.

It was becoming much more difficult to convince mortals to partake in the food of the fey. Most were happy to enjoy their day within his realm before returning home for supper, others would bring along rations, the majority had heard of what the food here would do to them. They wanted a taste of adventure, not a lifetime of it. This made Haelrin's job more complex, and he cursed whatever mortal spread such awful truths about his secrets.

Difficulty was not impossibility, however, and Haelrin was nothing if not charming -- even without his usual magic touch. As all of his fey bards, jesters, diplomats, and concubines failed to do their job, Haelrin finally took it upon himself to hurry the process. He entered the court with dramatic flair, a harmony of horns drawing all attention, and a shower of dancing lights sparkling around the curtains he emerged from. He was flawless, as always. Skin, hair, fur, jewels, all so immaculately godlike. The man, as his jaw loosened and his eyes glittered, had not expected this acquaintance. He would be made to feel 'chosen' for it -- though the truth was that Haelrin always met with mortals.

Marlevour Lynaris, He greeted with a smile, his mouth unmoving as his voice echoed through the man's thick skull. His reconnaissance fairies had gathered the name of this elven man, along with several other details. He was unmarried, no children, and his job was as a tailor for those who paid just enough, but never more than so. He was husky for an elf, a love of food not quite hidden under a tight belt and a chin held in just the right way. How the man had refused the delicacies of the Feywild all day was somewhat impressive with that in Haelrin's mind, it showed a willpower that would be delightful to crush. I am the King of all the Feywild, and--

"And God of it, too. Wow," The elven man approached a step or two, but then noticed how the fairies were all stooped to bow, and moved to do it himself. Haelrin was quick to motion the man to stand however, and he did, all the while looking at the bowed figures surrounding them. He was obviously thinking the experience surreal.

You are my guest, Marlevour, an honoured one at that. Please. Just as quickly as Haelrin had arrived, he turned back to the curtains, which parted for him as if a divine wind encircled his being. They remained parted until Marlevour, still more than a little starstruck and shellshocked, followed after him.

"You're honoured? I'm honoured," Marlevour chatted, having to move at almost double his pace to keep stride with the towering satyr-like God, "This is... This has been a pretty amazing day. The welcome has been incredible, more than anyone ever said it would be. The music, the women, the men... And now I get to meet a God? I'm... Mother Fayana forgive me--" Haelrin held in his wince, he hated the mention of other Gods, even his mother, "--This is a dream come true!"

Our Mother need not forgive you here, Marlevour, Haelrin chided playfully, his hand reaching down to run over the man's head in a fashion that was both nurturing and arousing, the God could feel the man's spirit thrumming excitedly in response, This world is of my own, and it is my call that sets it's rhythm strumming... I have much appreciation for a mortal whom can keep the pace. The elf's skin flushed hot at this, his chest puffed in pride, and he redoubled his efforts to literally keep pace with Haelrin's walk.

After the two arrived at a comfortable sitting room hazed with pink smoke, Haelrin permitted the mortal to tell him lies about his 'exciting' and 'wonderous' life back on the material plane, not yet questioning the man's desire to attend the Feywild when he had such a place back home. The reasons mortals came to him were always and only of two options: The first was that they were tricked by fairies, somewhat unwilling victims to their new and more glorious fate; the other was that they desired more than what their material life could give them. Marlevour was quite obviously one of the latter, which Haelrin knew meant his soul was nearly as good as secured.

As the mortal ran out of lies to tell, Haelrin prepared to begin the casual questioning that would charm Marlevour into adoration for his realm, but before he could complete his first question -- an interruption.

"The deepest of apologies, your highness," Came a voice from beyond the pink haze, which soon made itself out to be one of his palace guards. The fairy took to one knee and bowed, supplicant before his progenitor, and two others soon followed suit, forming a triangle of fairies who had broken one of his chief rules. Never interrupt my time with a mortal.

This is not the time, Haelrin chides gently, still keeping himself kind and charming for Marlevour's sake, I am quite consumed at the moment.

"I am afraid, your highness, that it is a problem in the... Archives." The words were chosen carefully, as so many names had been given to the room referred to as 'the archives'. The Playroom. The Prisons. The Graveyard. Archives had always made mortals feel more relaxed than Playroom, and so it was the term used when it required mention. It often did not, and less so when it came to a problem. If Haelrin's mouth were more than an illusion, it would have surely set itself into a hard line at the situation, but instead it remained a kindly smile.

Why did you not say so? His voice was ever tempered with honey, and he stood gently, placing one hand on Marlevour's knee to aid him in rising. The gesture was small, but it reminded the elf that Haelrin thought of him as a dear friend -- a chilling, and altogether pleasing thought to think of a God. Forgive me, Marlevour. May a guard return you to the festival, where I shall collect you in short time? It was a question in the way it was sounded, but to any mortal with half a brain it was certainly a statement of fact. Marlevour nodded, muttered a stunted 'sure' as he still coped with the touch Haelrin had given him, and remained there as Haelrin departed. One of the three guards remained, bowing to Marlevour and offering himself as his guard.



The Playroom's condition had been much improved since the incident. The shelves had all been righted, breakages mended, shrapnel disappeared. Haelrin still knew that something had gone terribly wrong, however. He could feel it coming off of his fairies in waves, and even moreso he could see how empty his shelves had become. Many boxes, gone. He did not have to ask what happened, his Surveillance fairies were already conjuring up the images. Through divination they showed him a box flying from the shelf, breaking open, and the fairy released from it. Whoever the fairy was then shoved the shelves, leading to the disaster the God had been left to deal with.

How many? He asked, his tone not unlike the sound of piano wire just before it snapped. The surveillance fairies looked to the guard fairies, expecting them to answer, and the guards did the same. As it was, no answer was sounded -- a mistake on all fronts. How many? This time, his voice boomed in their minds at such a volume and intensity that they dropped to their knees, clutching their skulls in pain. Blood spewed from their nostrils, their ears, their eyes. They whimpered in pain, but one of the guards finally spoke up: "W-we are not yet sure, your Holiness, p-please--"

A surveillance fairy jumped in, desperately hoping to be spared if he supplied what Haelrin demanded: "Three hundred eighty-six dead, a requirement based upon their resistance. Eight hundred and ninety nine recaptured, and sedated until their stores can be mended, and locks appended to them--"

And the instigator? Haelrin hissed, pacing angrily in front of the many different angles the diviners provided him of the fairy who was the cause of this nonsense.

"H-he was a scout, your--your temperate Holiness," The diviner stuttered, and Haelrin's arm shot out in a flash. He did not grasp the scout, and still the scout seized as though his throat had been enclosed in a massive claw. He lifted off the ground, and flew towards Haelrin, stopping just before the God's perturbed face.

Haelrin stared the man in the eyes, letting the illusion of mortality fall from his gaze and pierce the failure's very soul. I do not care for his identity. I desire the status of his capture. The diviner did not answer, he couldn't, but Haelrin could read it in the man's mind.

He flew too quickly. We were unable to apprehend him-- He was too far gone before we noti-- Haelrin required no more. His eyes sharpened in a squint and when they did, the fairy in his mystical grip began to shake uncontrollably. Dust dribbled from his nose, poured from his mouth, his wings melted to nothing, and a moment later -- so did the rest of him. Just a pile of fairy dust. With a breath, Haelrin blew it away, dissipating it into nothingness.

When he turned to the two remaining guards and the other surveillance fairies, they all flinched despite their best efforts. Just the remnants of the magic he had used chilled their cores, twisted their stomach into knots, and made their knees wobble in fear. What was his crime? Haelrin's tone left no remorse to even the wildest of imaginings, The instigator.

"He..." A brave fairy managed, her eyes locked with her feet, but the next words wouldn't come out. With a steady breath she shook her head and then waved her hands over the images surrounding the group of them. The divined footage shifted from that day, to nearly a year ago.

Haelrin watched his throne room as he dealt with a mortal, as another came to it's rescue, as one of the mothers' beasts came to snatch them both away. He remembered it now, within the context of mortals. He had lost one so willing to devote herself, and another that he could have stolen from Khades herself. All because of that fairy.

With the unthinking rage comparable to Diassei herself, Haelrin growled in anger, the sound reverberating through the minds of any fairy within his realm. He swiped his hands through the clouds of images, shattering them like glass and crushing them within his fingers. When the smoke dissipated, he was left standing several feet taller than before, and holding within his hands the minute images of those very mortals, who he squeezed with great pleasure.

Tehodis Kitai, He chided to his right hand, where the girl hardly struggled against his grip, then turned to the left where a boy fought haplessly for freedom, Endless Laeretti... With another growl, he clenched his fists, and both of them turned to fairy dust, which caught the wind around him and blew about the room. Yes... I remember now.

As if the image of him towering at fifteen feet was a mere illusion, Haelrin was suddenly the size of a tall mortal. He was nearly seven feet now; his hair did not traipse the ground like a veil, now cautiously braided and plaited to perfection at his nape; and a cape billowed about his form as it settled upon him with an amethyst flourish. "I am going to the material," He spoke, his false mouth moving perfectly with the words as if it were truly there, "Prepare my circle."

Perhaps stupid, or perhaps brave, a guard clamoured forth: "But sir, my lord, your Holiness-- It has not yet been a year from their departure. Your own laws state that--"

Haelrin's pointed glance was enough to cause the fairy to shudder, freeze, and step back. "My laws have been broken, have they not?"

"Yes, your highness, of course, your holiness, and--"

"And I shall take advantage of their condition before I mend them. Now do as I say: Prepare my circle."

"Yes, my God."