20 September 2013

Merlin 3:24 "The Fairy Dost"

Merlin 3:24 "The Fairy Dost"
~ @mjbanks 

In the nine worlds, one Alfheim, or the home of elves, yet as this name lends itself to the Elven foresters it bears the name in old ways to others. It is the nesting grounds of the Valkyries, first children of the gods, and keener to Midgard and closer to it than any bethinks, merely one outcome of man and spake of this too much. There the Valkyries have origin and serve the Aesir king Odin and Valhalla, and Folkvangr, the field of the ghosts, perhaps of innocent children and priests slain. Much is beyond the runes from this vantage, tho there is rumor of Freyja wandering and vanishing into the forest mists of Asgard to a Vanir preserve, plotting to overthrow her king.

Of course, there are the light elves, whose skin in moonlight shares its color and candor, tall and swift born as protectorates of their home and conservators of land by skill of combat and aged ears to hear for hunting in fields. They are also ahead of man, but in much that way that men are ahead of themselves. They have chosen not to speak to their Valkyrie cousins for many ages and many reasons of resentment and envy, and finitely there are sprites and wights of the Fay, who live in the mountain forests and the valleys below them.

Sefa lays on a stone in a vale of bright flora and extremely tall trees, wings soaking the sunlight reflective of the stars of dawn, the flowers begin to open and wave and fly from stems into the air again of a new day, her arms stretched overhead folded at wrist, her crystalline eyes open to the golden morning. A stretch of equipoise and lengthy blinks to reconvene awake, with her hands behind her as she hangs her head backwards to enjoy the waking sunlight.

Up she moves and singing sooths the breeze and forward in style of spinning on her hands like cartwheels once and standing backs into a pole, a noise snaps from a wild reed, a string of a trap alerts a mighty ground spider in a hole that leaps to outright snare her. The spider tall as she and deadly silk as tall as three stretches forward by the utmost of gangly spider legs rising over her head, but with a smile, she takes her sword and spinning cuts two legs and draping net the web over wretched insect mouth and eyes. She twirls about the other way and pokes it in its mind, fallen is the buggy thing whose net now serves its own demise, and again the fairy travels thru the jungle with the giant trees. Spreading her wings she goes to fro, and flutters her wings of shiny surface thru the top of the meadow growth, occasionally turning as she flies with backside under toes, and glides again to rest her feet only to drink butterscotch from strong handsome flowers.

Keeps she low for soon to know is she of dragonflies, they have eyes like spiders and wings that are almost like hers so that a fairy can think to see another, but has black and sharp edges, they are as big as she and on their back would be from head to feet, and fly better for turning. They wander the great wide open looking for flowers and one attacks her, but with her power meets it in the air holds its wings and sits on its stomach until it crashes on its back where she punches it stoutly on the nose and moves on her way.

In this moment of her jumping into the sky a frog that regularly eats dragonflies, shoots its tongue to stick and pull her into its mouth thinking that she is just another bug. Her wings twist and her body spins like an arrow, she opens them to catch the wind, an upright spinning air ballet her sword slices thru the tongue of the toad that lets out an extra-long croak of ouch. The distrustful frog tries to harm her again, to leap and bite with an open mouth, and thus she ends it much the same way, as had the spider. She cuts a piece of the tree next to her and takes a drink of dew-sap.

Then comes by her a mighty dog pup, whimpering and lost, who eats the frog at her request. The canine sad and awfully mad it cannot find its family, and in that anger howls into the air to hear if other dogs call to it in return, but alas they do not. Sefa, sorrowing for the animal, hops onto its back and whistles the way fairies dote and hears she in the distance other beastly wolfs and takes it to its kin. In the distance, she sees the dogs and smiles happy to have helped, but before reaching them, a pattering of heavy feet in pointed shoes comes charging from afar.

If one has not seen a dwarf run it is quite a sight, they are very strong with bursting muscled arms, and doth this one comes running swinging hammer ax and net to cast and bean cap all in tow. The black-bearded dwarf gives quickly chase, to capture a fairy in the field in hopes to crush her into gold. Sefa, with the magic of the earth and the power of the sun, pushes her feet into the ground and raises her wings stretching high above her head. She glows and with strong lift begins quicker flight, to strike the running dwarf she begins to glow ever bright, for dwarves are strong, but live so deep under the ground in cities far from sound where the only light is often of many candles and torches and the dinner fires of their festivals. Brighter and brighter still she flies toward his heart, around her the wind burns and overflows into the passing air, the burning shine of her magic the dwarf hopes to squint while running nearly blinded of all sight and as he almost stops, she strikes him with full force with all her strength without remorse, a fireball of smite. The impact blasts a blue-fire wake, lifting him from his feet and resting him heavily and swiftly some thirty human paces over somewhere in a field near the forest.

Kylesa, flying high in the sky passes by over the dwarf defied and circles-back to visit, for her sooth is all encroaching unto the poaching of plunder from those who walk aground asunder winds of change, and in coming to the fore her landing on the soil. The dwarf now waking to a battle in the making and only sees the massive bird a grey called blue not knowing what to say without seeing her upon it. For as the days are long and in many children’s songs of every race the great birds of heron like to peck, claw, and eat the dwarves they discover. Hammer axe swinging overhead he brings his weapon mightily at the spreading wings and downward swings, but misses at the mark, the steel swung arcs to pound the meadow with a thud. Skyward lifts the bird and talons kick him in his face to claw a brutal tear and standing there is Kylesa with heavy arrow laden bound with anger drawn and pointed close between his eyes to much surprise and wry command.