[These writings are loosely gathered in a jacket of leather. The name Dincécht Bookbinder is embossed upon the brown cover alongside the outlines of an Oiolaire flower and the title »Of Fey-Folk around the Hill«.
This book may be found twice in Bree, for the original stands in the shelf in the town's library, while a copy lingers within the town hall.]
Of Fey-Folk Around the Hill
»For all the hillside was haunted
By the faery folk come again
And down in the heart-light enchanted
They danced on the mounds of the slain«
No easy feat it is to determine when the stories about fairies dwelling in the Breelands have been first accounted. In my seeking for the beginning of the rope that weaves such tales, I have not yet found it, nor do I see an end to it. The belief of beings that surpass the powers of Man travels swiftly through the air and has been accounted of already in times before the princes of Cardolan claimed the town of Bree. From time to time I have stumbled over evidence that the myth had in fact contact with the people of Staddle and Archet and that their importance shifted its shape more than once; However, without loosing its relevance to said people.
These beings appear to be a distinctive race, alike to Man, but yet different in a sense of otherwordly. I, myself had the opportunity one day to come across a fairy woman on my wandering through Chetwood, accompanied by Gimlân, an old friend of mine. Old he was indeed, older than many can remember and he was a grown man when my father was not yet born.
As I beheld the fairy woman and Gimlân told me that she had been here long before him, I wondered about her appearance. Whereas she was young and beautiful, Gimlân was gnarled and withered. So I inquired of this and he answered:
»She is of the hidden folk who are unfading ...
While we are the Engwar, who are perishable and fade away.«
If his wisdom proves true, then so does the myth that the fey-folk is immortal and does not die as we do.
But I digress, for I do no intend to lay open the gap between the Faeries and Men!
Rather, would I like to elaborate the nature of the particular being that seems to dwell alone or along its kinsfolk in our fair forest of Chetwood; And I shall start by its name:
I often have heard it being called Mound-Fey, which has a peculiar meaning in itself. The mound spoken of here, is supposedly no other than one of the graves that we find in the barrow-downs, where the princes of Cardolan lie buried. The word fey, as few people of Breeland who are not learned know, is also equatable to moribund.
But if we take Gimlân's description of the being's immortality as true, how can it be moribund? It may be a guardian, holding watch over those who are asleep in their grave. Such as every guardian, I found evidence that also this one demands its due payment.
The local woodsmen and farmers quethe of the Fey's ability to mandate over the growth of crops and the milk that the cattle yields. Therefor, the lumberjacks of Combe lay down small figurines, while the farmers around the hill make offerings at certain mounds. The best known location of such an mystical elevation is the Yellow Tree.
Not only does this old tree stand upon a small hill, but also is it surrounded by four markings. Faded through time, they are hard to make out anymore and the eye is drawn more to the distinctive rocks, roughly hewn into oval shape. It requires a keen sense to notice the blurred markings, that surprisingly form a perfect square. Still do I wonder about its meaning, for so long it has remained an enigma to me and it might stay so, exceeding my boldest dream when I have died.
Other names for the being has been fairy (the Halflings call it so), sprite, or simply spirit.
The most interesting description however make the men of Dunland, whom I traveled to, for their knowledge about the spirit-world, that they call Annun, is much greater than that of a man of Bree could ever be.
During my time among the Stag-Clan, I came to know that they would not yield every story they knew to me. Some of the people even appeared fearsome when I spoke lightly of the Otherworld - Annun. It is to them a mystical and riddled place, where they do not belong they say and where they also cannot tread. Both fortune and ill fate can come from its gates, that are said to wander with the cycle of the day and are closest to our world at dawn and dusk.
Narrating a poem about the Mound-Fey that supposedly lives in Chetwood, by a lumberjack, dated back to TA 2861:
Through forest deep in Moon's shine
I saw recently the little elvish tine;
Her flute I heard ring,
Her voice I heard sing.
Upon flaming red hair she bore
Golden hart antlers and flew heretofore
Swiftly therein; like a wild swan
Came she through the air and was gone.
Smiling bowing up so high
Smiling while passing by
Regarded as my new love abloom,
Or shall it signify my doom?
I was baffled to see the Dunlendings' reaction. They very well appeared to recognize the mentioning of the bearing of hart antlers. Their name for the being, Crugwyllion is in its meaning quite close to that of the Mound-Fey.
Crug describes in their tongue a barrow, a heap, while the gwyllion of Dunlendish legend are spirits or fairies of some sort, which usually take the form of pan-wielding women. The gwyllion can be unpleasant, and they enjoy making travelers lose their way, but they aren’t the nastiest of bogies as long as you’re polite to them.
Can the Mound-Fey in the end be the very same creature as the Crugwyllion?
If that was the case, then I was led on my thoughts to Annun. Its gates were in fact journeying according to the myth. Was the being able to enter its world at dusk in Breeland, only to step into the lands of the tribes of Dunland at dawn?
The Dunlendings described this to me as part of the strange ability known to them as víth-váth, which means spell mist. The Faeries are supposed to be able to summon an impenetrable fog, for they had learned of arts that are far beyond the imaginations of men. In such shrouds they are said to travel unseen and gone from our notice, which I find personally as quite a shame, for if all what the Dunlendings had told me was true, the chance to see this fairy woman was as slim and fleeting as the moment in which spring breaks through the grasp of the winter to the very first time.
Nevertheless, I will not cease my search.
To you, reader, I give a last advice:
Would you walk the forest of Chetwood or the paths of old Cardolan, the lands of the tribes of the Dunlendings, so be watchful for your feet, that they may not carry you through the hoax of a Faery into the Otherworld. Be polite, should you meet one of them and nothing ill will come to find you. Beware of their ire however and once you have risen it, do it alike to the lumberjacks that offer still small gifts to the Folk.
