Hundreds and hundreds of years ago, there lived a fairy who resided in the treacherous swamplands of Farrah. His name was Fjorn, and he was smarter than the average fairy. Indeed; he was even smarter than the average human.
Like most young fairies, before his mother sent him to bed each night, she told Fjorn the religious tales about the fairy goddesses which had been passed down orally from fairy-to-fairy for as long as the species remembered.
“The world was born when the middle fairy goddess made the eldest goddess cry. A round tear fell from her eye, and when she caught it, it became Yharos, and she placed Yharos where it lay in the sky to this day. Within this precious world, these goddesses would create fairies who were destined for greatness. You are one of them.” His mother would tell him as she put him to sleep within their hut. “For we Arrozans have special blood and magic within us.”
Throughout his childhood, Fjorn’s tribe would be raided and seized by other tribes. Fjorn and his family would willingly become members of the tribe to ensure their survival or would otherwise escape and run away when possible.
Similarly, Fjorn’s own tribes would attack others and take their people captive. Once they surrendered and swore loyalty, their enemies would become members of their tribe. Those who didn’t surrender were killed.
It was a never-ending bloody cycle of suffering and savagery which the fairies delighted in.
Eventually, his father had been made leader of their current tribe because he had survived the longest and had proved his worth in battle. Their tribe had taken his last name of Arroza as fairy tribes tended to do.
Among fairies, whose magical prowess was already among the most powerful on Yharos, Arrozans were gifted with magic--supposedly a gift from the goddesses--which outdid all others.
Magic came in all different colors, shapes, and substances depending on who was using it, but Arrozan magic was particularly distinct. It was so black that it was nearly opaque; it was so volatile that Fjorn’s father, Jaron, had killed ally and enemy alike during battles when he was only intending to kill enemies.
When Jaron had become leader, he took his young son by the shoulders and exclaimed, “You! You will be the most powerful Arrozan who has ever lived! You will strike forth from these treacherous swamplands into the unsuspecting, weak and cowardly world and make it bow to you!”
All the while, his mother continued to tell him of the fairy goddesses and their desired future for all fairies. “The goddesses gifted us with the most powerful magic on all of Yharos with the intention that we should one day rule all. You see, Fjorn… When the eldest fairy goddess cried and created this world, she promised that there would be no more tears, no more weakness… Not even from herself. That is what she desires. The strongest world possible where there are no tears and no weaknesses. Only the Arrozan fairies can make such a world. That is why you will marry your sister. We must keep our blood pure and powerful or else we will become as weak as those we are meant to rule.”
Fjorn’s little sister, Anjaika, was a precocious young woman. She was outgoing and strong, but with little brains. Fjorn had little interest in her romantically, but nothing else mattered to him other than the destiny his mother was promising him, and so he had no issues with marrying her.
Until he ran into a wise old soothsayer who the Arrozan tribe had abducted from a rival tribe. The old soothsayer looked into his cruel black eyes and told him of his destined greatness--and how it did not include his sister and instead included a different woman.
“I see, in your eyes, the mark of a leader. I see one who is destined to rule all of Yharos—one who will bring about a world of chaos and terror where only the strong survive.” The soothsayer said.
Fjorn beamed even though he already knew this was his destiny.
“But…” The soothsayer continued.
Fjorn echoed testily, “But…?”
“But you will not succeed without the old, human woman.” The soothsayer continued. “Can you see her?”
Fjorn, who was holding a bloody sword in a twitching hand, looked into the old fairy’s blue eyes. He was captivated by them and could not look away.
Space and time seemed to open up in his mind and eyes.
All of Yharos rolled out before him in speedy lines that he could barely comprehend. His bodiless eyes sped through stars and unending, green plains. They sped through sparkling oceans and rocky mountains until they found a human convent. The old woman was in the convent, he knew, but his eyes would not take him inside.
I must see her! Let me see her!
But he came back to reality with a sharp breath before his eyes let him see.
After regaining his composure, he retorted to the old woman, “This woman would be neither fairy nor Arrozan, and she would be old. I am repulsed by loving such a woman.”
“If you do not meet this woman and love her, you will never rule all of Yharos. I have seen it.” The old woman warned sharply.
“Fairies do not love old women. We worship them. That is the only reason I will let you live, old croon.” Fjorn murmured half-heartedly.
Shortly after his meeting with the old soothsayer, Fjorn’s father was killed in a battle. Their village had been raided; dozens died, dozens taken captive, and only a few escaped.
Fjorn and his family were among those who escaped.
Fjorn refused to cry when it happened. Instead, he married his sister and took up his father’s mantle. His dreams were big. His destiny was bigger.
He began formulating a plan. A plan to unite strong fairies and then march upon an unsuspecting Maribel--the closest kingdom to the fairy lands of Maaris.
While he plotted and schemed, Fjorn often had dreams that kept him up at night--obsessive dreams involving the old woman who the soothsayer had told him about. Night and day, his thoughts led him back to her. It was a pulsing, intrusive thought that made his head hurt. The image of the convent relentlessly flashed in his mind, but he could not see inside where the woman supposedly resided.
I must have her!
He thought to himself.
I know it is taboo, but I must have her!
Anjaika would wake up beside him and ask, “What’s keeping you up, Fjorn?”
“It’s nothing. Go back to sleep.” Fjorn pensively.
His desire to see the woman made him work harder at his plan to unite the fairies so they could march on Maribel. This plan required charisma—charisma which he had in abundance.
Every time he captured an enemy tribe, he would give a speech. A speech that made them feel
invincible
… A speech that made them irrevocably loyal to Fjorn.
“Strength is the way of fairies, and strength is how we will invade and capture all other kingdoms. We fairies have tried hundreds of times before to breach Maribel walls, and we have always failed. It is because those who tried were
weak
. And they were weak because they were spoiled and coddled like our enemies in Maribel, who have only known prosperity and bountiful, peaceful lands…” Fjorn paused and took a breath—looking upon the newly captured tribe members with purpose. “The fairy goddesses made us strong by making this treacherous and barren land our birthplace. We have only known toil and hardship, and even the weakest fairy is twice as strong as the strongest human because of it. We all know why the goddesses have blessed us with this strength; it is because they wish for us to create their desired world where only the strong survive. I see before me the strongest people on Yharos! The people who will create the world we all desire! Maribel will only be the beginning!”
The new tribe members would look up at him like lost children who were slowly discovering their purpose.
They were completely mesmerized by their promised destinies.
And as time passed, Fjorn had gathered what he deemed was a big enough army to take Maribel if he thought through his attack plan well enough. He was now sixteen-years-old, and he set out to conquer Maribel with two-thousand fairies in tow.
“Fjorn, this plan requires sacrificing hundreds of fairies…” Anjaika said when he related the plan to her.
“It must be done.” Was all Fjorn said in response. “This is my destiny. We must offer them up on the border of Maribel while we go around and attack this town behind the border. The humans will think we are a poorly organized band of savages like usual, and they will never expect the surprise attack we intend to launch.”
The now pregnant Anjaika had nothing to say in response to this. She merely rolled over under their blankets and turned her face away from him.
Fjorn’s plan ended up working remarkably well.
He had seized the town on the border like he had intended, and only had to sacrifice a few hundred loyal, but foolish, fairies to do so.
He had absorbed many new human recruits into his army, and, combined with his powerful magic, he was a force to be reckoned with. Before he knew it, he had achieved his dream far faster than he imagined. He sat on the Maribel throne with his pregnant wife by his side at age seventeen.
He couldn’t be happier.
I have what was promised to me.
__
Five years passed, and many thought Fjorn had become complacent upon the throne. His army of fairies and humans alike wanted him to march upon enemy territory like he had promised and create the world of the strong. However, Fjorn had become possessed with the old woman that the soothsayer had told him about.
I need her in order to create the world of the strong.
He could tell no one of her. If he did, they would surely repulse him and reject him as their king.
Old women are not objects of infatuation like young women are. They are to be adhered to and respected like the fairy goddesses
. Fjorn tried to convince himself as he rubbed his temples.
That didn’t stop his head from envisioning what she might look like, however. Nor did it stop his non-stop pacing in the castle halls or his throbbing headaches. It was hot inside his head. So hot that he felt the need to leave the castle one day and go exploring in the pine woods behind it.
He walked until he was dizzy with hunger and his magic had to fill his body with energy because he had not eaten for so long. The magic in his body reached out and told him where to go to find what he desired. He headed deeper into the woods until he found a creature with yellow skin, black, twisted horns, and four uncanny, black eyes hiding within an oncoming snowstorm.
“I know what you search for.” The creature’s voice was strong; it echoed.
Fjorn was silent and waited for the creature to tell him what he was searching for.
“You want the woman. You will have her, fear not. It is not just that you must love her. You must own her. Let me tell you how this is so.” The creature said.
Fjorn was enraptured. Especially when the creature placed a picture of what the woman looked like in Fjorn’s head.
She wasn’t pretty by conventional means, but it didn’t matter.
He could tell she was strong.
__
Fjorn let the humans keep their convents and religion when he had first overthrown their king. His reasons were simple; he wanted to respect the humans who were strong who had come under his rule. The fairy goddesses had respect for all those who were strong, after all, and tolerance of foreign gods and goddesses was always preached within the oral tales. He also wanted to keep them happy and under control by letting them keep a piece of their culture. But that changed as time went on and he could think of nothing else but the old woman.
Fairies and humans alike were stunned when a fifty-year-old Fjorn threw aside this moral guideline his religion had laid out. He began burning all convents across Maribel in search of something which he refused to tell anyone else about.
I must have her. I must have her
. He thought to himself as he watched countless convents go up in black flames.