I was once one of the Fair Ones.
We are ancient and eternal. Tree and leaf, changing with the seasons. We were one with the wild, and with growing things. The sunlight dancing through the leaves could captivate me for weeks, as I stood still and tall as a silver birch and watched the sun fade to starlight.
I was tall, and fair, and beautiful to behold. I carried a satchel that produced the sweetest wine, the most succulent meats and cheeses, and would dine with beautiful women on the verdant grass of this land. I tempted these fair young maidens to my silver bower, where we made love in the dappled moonlight. My children, forest-fair and fey, are still with you now. Who knows what bloodlines we started, what quicksilver beauty has resulted from my nights of passion long ago?
That was then.
This is now.
I remain a High Elf, but with the change in perception of a place comes a change in our appearance. Today, my clothes remain green, but are of a cut I dislike; I cannot remove them any more than I can remove my own skin. These days I will bed anyone who will have me. I live on a diet of Buckfast and curry, and yet dream of the days when I will return to the cool dark of the woods. Perhaps the world has changed too much – I’ve changed too much. Our forests are gone or diminished, and along with them, our story. Today my satchel only produces the worst food Glasgow has to offer – and I cannot sup on other bread, for I was bound to this city long ago.
Then the killings started. Someone is hunting the faerie folk.
I am Aonghas. I am a guardian of Glasgow.