• characters

    Sionn Aen – Character

    Sionn Aen was born as the youngest of five children of the fae king Manr’sun Aen. Despite being youngest, he possesses the power of foreseeing which maybe eliminates him completely from the throne queue as its seen as a curse meddling with one’s mind but also makes him extremely useful in times of danger or during the war.

    Sionn is a nature and storm fae, which allows him to extent control rain, storm, and snow. He also has a moderate influence on green parts of the land. He can enter human minds in sleep and talk to them, though he can’t read their minds. His whispers can, on the other hand, force humans to do what he pleases.

    Like all fae, he is not muscular and feminine, yet the fae power doesn’t lay in muscles but in magic they possess and their skill in using their spears made of sunlight or night darkness. Sionn is especially skilled in moon spear fight yer strangely he is also fond of a wooden staff, which is considered low weapon among fae kind.

    He very often acts as the life of others, especially humans, is making him sick with repulsion. Yet he can be a really good companion if he thinks that his interlocutor is worth it, even if he is a human, a species considered as lowest by the fae.

    His favorite virtue: Intelligence.

    The principal aspect of his personality: Pride.

    Favorite qualities in a woman: Sharp mind and natural way of being.

    Favorite qualities in a man: Trustworthy and faithful.

    What the appreciates the most in his friends: Being able to feel and understand. Not judge.

    His main flaw: Stubbornness and arrogance.

    His favorite occupation: A mage.

    His idea of happiness: Standing in front of vast moonlit meadow and breathing in the scent of the night air. Also, good human servant, they are rare.

    His idea of misery: The pain of losing the magic. The fairy who’s magic was taken feels real, excruciating pain, and eventually dies.

    If not himself, who would he be?: He doesn’t want to be anyone else.

    Where would he like to live?: He thinks fae land is way too beautiful to choose only one place. In one word, his land.

    His favorite flower and color: Black, hellebore, blue rose.

    His favorite bird: the mockingbird.

    His favorite prose authors: Avar’gath Sierry, the once greatest fae mage, who wrote, to his own misery and under a curse, a series of obscene stories. They amuse Sionn.

    His favorite poets: Alkavan Munnis. His poetry is like a stab in the heart with a hot-iron dagger.

    His favorite heroes in fiction: Minuet, the divine familiar.

    His favorite heroines in fiction: Amanutta, the courtesan of million skills. Yes, from the book of Sierry.

    His favorite painters and composers: Nature.

    Sionn has completely black eyes, the mark of foreseeing (his best friend, Kahlani Delari, has white eyes, the mark of a powerful mage, who’s magic bloomed more than five times). Now there is no other male fae with black eyes. He wears black robes because this color was associated with him at his birth when Moynas of Life were giving him colors and abilities. He also wears green partially, which shows his association with nature. He sometimes can evoke an anthropomorphic storm cloud which do whatever he orders.

    Sionn is considered a powerful mage, yet not most powerful in the realm. That title belongs to Delari and other court mages, yet he wouldn’t be easy prey if any of them attacked him. He has a healthy dose of irony and sarcasm and loves jokes and mind games. Being partially a loner and partially a soul of the court life, he can be rather unpredictable and chaotic. He has many flaws coming from the darker side of his nature, which expresses violence, word-stinging, and high self-esteem.

    His spouse is a raven fae, Nymre Kolle, who belongs to Beacons. They spread information and news from around the world, to bring them to the palace. They all are bird female fae, who have, as only fairies, wings.

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    Fairy Queen

    Sometimes… it hurts. Hurts like a burning coal on the open wound.

    How my dreams always drift in the same way, towards the same entity… The mere thought that I could dream about her, hurts… But she always appears, shrouded in fluttering gowns, glistening, marvelous…

    And ruthless. I sense that mark on her… that… scar, which harms my senses and my soul.

    When she comes in red, she is like a breath of summer, like a night dance among the woods, like a gossamer of memories.

    And she leads me through the mists, towards trees, towards the blooming flowers, which if touched with one finger, most delicately, would disappear in flurry of petals, carried by the wind.

    Sometimes she comes to me, dressed in blue. And then clouds fall down from the sky and the rich azure stings with sun rays like it was torn from the hands of gods.

    And then we travel behind the rainbow, towards the sun and beyond, towards the fallen stars and endless vastness, among colors touched by forbidden magic…

    I want her to come to me once more… dressed in green. Her voice like a dew in a cold morning, droplets of rain slowly patting on the windowpane, the patter of tears on the glass.

    I would want to go with her to the lands that have never seen the human being, and the thick emeralds lay upon the feet, laughing pearly.

    But sometimes… sometimes she comes dressed in black. And then…

    … I am afraid to open my eyes, to not see how my dreams are dispelled mercilessly in the last ray of the dying star…

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    The buildings blink, sharply-lit faces illuminated with striking warm lights. The darkness, full of smoke; dirty streets, gaping holes of the empty houses, the huge bureaus, made of steel and stone, tired silhouettes of the late workers, the blue gleam in huge rooms – tiny enclaves of peace in the hungry night.

    This is my city.

    I woke up here, long ago, to be a shadow that devours the blood that beats in its veins.

    I breathe with the traffic, laughing in the hazy midnight glory.

    Everything changed when the S T O R M came. Only me and her, standing against the downpour. Uproaring, it rages above our heads.

    The city still inhales the waste, oblivious against the world’s flounce. I touch her arm when she appears, and we drift into nothingness, together.

    We want to believe that this is not the end. That we are not the end…

    but, now…

    … b e o n e w i t h m e…

    While the night melts around us.