It wasn’t so very long ago, even by mortal years, when men offered up their sons and daughters for sacrifice on Beltane night. The world, as a consequence, grew strong, for blood holds powerful magic, especially when freely spilled and freely given.
My people grew strong as well.
The Tylwyth Teg our Welsh cousins called us -- the Fair Folk. Not that they believed us fair. Cold and cruel we were to them. They only named us so from fear, exchanging flattery for our goodwill. In the Old Days, when magic ran like wild heather across the land, it was easy to forget men held the power and that our fate was bound in theirs.
But cliff by cliff and moor by moor, our land was lost to men who knew us not. Who feared us not. Who eschewed the Old Laws that ensured the balance between fae and mortal worlds alike. The new kings whose fathers’ fathers had been born far to our east insisted their law take rule. Civilized Law, they named it, as if naming a thing made it so. As if naming a thing made it right.
And one among them, a leader, did hold forth and rail against us. We were “responsible for all the wars in the world,” he said, and claimed we had murdered his savior. Though he came from an island of criminals, far away to the east, he was celebrated by the humans. They accorded unto him great power, wealth, and respect.
Aye, we learned to hate and fear him, this one they called 'Mel Gibson'.
Opening: Anon......Continuation: swcc