Previous entries in this series

• From the Notebooks of Jaspera von Kupferthal, Part 1
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 2
• Field Notes from an Expedition to Brugh na Ciorcal, Part 3

Blossombud 28th

Cinni was not fooled.

It was the first thing she told me when we woke up today.

If I promised to join her companions and play the little sister for a few months. She promised not to reveal me. She even promised to finish my research notes.

Not that I can make them any more.

With all the mind modification magic I used on myself, I am in no position to refuse or return home on my own.

I agreed.

This is my last entry.

I considered turning this into a diary, but decided against it.

I can barely interpret my own drawings anymore.

Blossombud 28th

(Subsequent entries attributed to Cinnibara von Kupferthal)

My mom has, somehow, turned herself into an incredibly adorable wyrmling.

And I’m thinking about getting some little ones of my own.

Strange how fate sets up these little opportunities

I gently convinced her to take a vacation from her endless research expeditions and tag along with me and my cohorts for a few months.

I think she would benefit from having the childhood she never had and a mother figure who would not eat her.

I may even convince her to call me “mommy.”

(I am only half joking.)

I promised to continue her notes, and I think I understand the crayon scribbles she was using as notes.

I am, admittedly, an archaeologist, so this sort of sociological observation is not my specialty—but I believe I can manage.

Garnette, the Eochaid daughters, and I spent the day helping to the best of our abilities with the preparations for tomorrow’s Beltane celebrations.

The girls and Garnette spent the day weaving the traditional floral crowns.

I used my prestigious stature to help hang strings of lanterns and flower chains between the brughs. Everything smells like fresh blossoms and cut greenery.

A Beltane pole was erected in the center of the green, and long tables were erected around it.

I could smell the preparations for the feast; it would be the traditional vegan fare most Fey communities serve at this time of year.

No meatfruit or meat, however. That made me sad. I can eat vegetables, but I would rather have meat.

All in all, it is a fairly typical Beltane celebration for the highlands—though somewhat more industrious in preparation than most.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

Beltane

That was… an eventful day and night.

The folk of Brugh na Ciorcal really know how to host a celebration.

Garnette had an absolute blast playing games with the other children.

My companions—Gunaakt the warrior, Akhealis the witch, Grunk the thief, and Primrose the druid—seemed to enjoy themselves.

However, as I was also recording the events for prosperity on behalf of my mother, I cannot help but notice certain disparities between the fey Beltane celebrations I have attended elsewhere in the region and those held here.

Some of those differences are worryingly off script.

It started off typical enough.

The druids led the entire village in a procession to the altar site, with its effigies of the Young Lord and Lady and the sacred bonfires.

The invocation of names from the days of the old fey empires was spoken aloud, and protocols announced.

Then the first deviation from the script. The druids sacrificed a lamb to the Lord and Lady. There was no shock, no horror—only solemn reverence as the beast’s neck was slit. Only Garnette, my companions, and I showed any adverse reaction to the scene. Garnette practically started crying for the little lamb, and my companions did their best to hide their disgust and horror.

It was the sort of thing I would expect to be depicted on the walls in human temples or tombs that my crew typically delves into.

Not in the middle of a fey enclave.

(I may need to revisit my mother’s conclusions. She may have underestimated how far this enclave has drifted.)

After the sacrifice, the townsfolk made the traditional cleansing passage between the bonfires, and the fun and games started.

Musical instruments were broken out, ale started to flow, and the children and Garnette wandered into the fields to play.

The second deviation was that the headman, Sir Labhruinn, held a tournament of sword, bow, and lance.

How very Arthurian of him.

It was a miserable affair; nobody had any real skill. If Gunaakt were not restricted to a bench by his injuries, he would have taken home the “knighthood” that was the prize.

The feast was okay, no meat, just bread, roasted vegetables, and soup. It was a relief to see the Fey had not become carnivores after witnessing the sacrifice, but I would have liked a meat dish.

Giorsail approached me privately and asked whether I would take her and Luthais with me when I return to the city, saying Garnette had told them I could introduce them to our mother.

Mother’s notes are a little hard to read in the last few entries, but I do remember seeing something about the two having trist.

Given what I know of the headman, it would be for the best if they get out of town before he learns about the two of them.

Once Gunaakt can walk again, we will leave—and they will be coming with us.

Greenleaf 4th

Well, that came apart faster than anticipated.

Why could it wait one more day?

Sir Labhruinn finally bent to his wife and mother’s demands and confronted Luthais about his relationship with Giorsail.

It escalated into a shoving match, then a fistfight.

Luthais lost control and let loose one of the verses of power.

The bolt of fire missed just barely, but the damage was done.

There was no deliberation.

Luthais and Giorsail were banished from the village.

It is ironic that Sir Labhruinn, a man so wrapped up in the myth of chivalry, would banish his own son for choosing Merlin’s path over Lancelot’s path.

We also decided to leave since we might be overstaying our welcome.

We strapped Gunaakt to my back so he would not slow us down, and said our farewells to the townsfolk.

I had to carry Garnette out of the village by the scruff of the neck, flailing and wailing all the while. She did not want to leave.

I am not sure she understood why she had to.

But I’m glad to leave the fey village that was too mortal for my tastes.

Much later that year, I found myself reflecting on Brugh na Ciorcal.

As much as I hate to say it, Brugh na Ciorcal is not an isolated case. I began noticing similar deviations in other fey enclaves, nothing as extreme as in Brugh na Ciorcal, but noticeable nonetheless.

It is worrying, but I am not sure what to make of it.

That will be a task left to my mother.

—Cinnibara von Kupferthal

NMR 499

Looking back on my time as Garnette, I can say it was some of the happiest days of my life.

I did not have a childhood. My mother was an unthinking, feral dragon with a notorious reputation. I might have followed the same path had I not been taken in during my eighth year—perhaps too late, in truth. Being so old, my infancy dragged on for a little bit longer than most, as Ozimaev the sorceress worked the feralness out of me. By the time I was able to talk, she already considered me an apprentice or a familiar rather than a daughter.

It was study, study, study after that.

The two years I spent with Cinni as her little sister, Garnette, healed some old wounds I was unaware I had. I was able to wander about, wide-eyed and curious, as if I’d never done so before. With the construct in my mind gently guiding me away from my adult knowledge, I experienced the world anew. For the first time, I was able to play the silly games of young children alongside them, not as an adult but as an actual participant, and it was wonderful.

I think it also healed my relationship with Cinni. She settled down for a spell in a kobold possibilium mine not too far away from Sliberberg to raise my first batch of grandchildren.

I visit regularly to play with them.

Maybe Garnette should pay them a visit, too.