“Is that your real name?” I hear this question often. The legitimacy of my name is not determined by whether it was the one given to me by my family, nor is it determined by the governing bodies obsessed with keeping record of such things. Fairmeadow allows us to choose who we are, so I choose to be known as what this place is to me.
Rank: First Flag
Age: 24, Height: 6’4”, Weight: 230 lbs
[Written in Orcish.] Lost contact with unit on 15 Mid-summer 102 P.C. Unsure of current bearings, presumably somewhere in central Cascadia. Extenuating circumstances have forced an extended stay with civilian dissidents.
(She/Her. Soleian Elf.)
Life offers us each a cup. Once, I feared taking more than a sip, carefully rationing my portion. Now, I grasp the chalice in both my hands, upend it and drink deeply. From my own, I fill the cups of those I love to overflowing, and together we will drain them to their last drop, wipe our mouths and ask for another.
(They/Them. Hob, House-Fae.)
Ancient stones, elder trees, churning waters: these are the sorts of wild places mortalkind expects to find the Fae… Most have forgotten the House-Fae, who are drawn to the warmth of a healthy home, but often mortals who do remember superstitiously drive us out. It is an insult we gladly repay in kind. Now, imagine our surprise when finally, instead of being met with suspicion… we were met with gifts.
I’ve not much to say of myself. Sanctuary said he wanted to build a homestead off the map. I said he needed a proper farmer. Starry-eyed boy believed he could do anything, and somehow, I found myself believing him. Not much more to it than that.
(She/Her. Selenic Elf.)
I know a place where hot water bubbles up from the ground - and it stinks like an abandoned bird’s nest - but it is the best place to soak your feet after the 6 mile hike to get there. In the summer, we have 18 hours of daylight, and the wild berries soak it up to create a sweetness that makes your whole mouth ache. Not to brag, but I’m the only one of this bunch who grew up in Cascadia, and I literally can’t imagine why you’d want to live anywhere else.
Living here suits me well enough, but it’s my brother who deserves the peace. It’s not so different from how we lived before. Same work, new family. It should be nice while it lasts.
[A few stray blots of ink mark the page here, as though a quill was set to paper, and after a moment’s hesitation, was taken away before scribing a word.]
Let’s see… I could have wandered from camp to refugee camp for years, or I could follow this purple guy into the wilderness and help him build a house, learn to live off the land, become independent? Oh, and the food's great too? It wasn’t even a contest. Yeah, I think I'll hang around.
Scruffy polycerate could charm the scales off a dragon, but heavens above if he ain’t the worst bookkeeper I ever met. I know you’re gonna read this, Sanctuary - this place needs me more’n I need it. Don’t get me wrong, I’d sooner eat my own beard than move back to the ol’ home caverns, since…eh, recently, they’re feelin’ less like a cavern and more like a bunker. Can’t live life with doom hangin’ over your head like a cracked stalactite.
In hindsight, maybe it was a good thing my university burned when war came to its doors. I mean, if I’m better served living a life outside of established institutions like Sanctuary says, it was kind of the push out the door I needed. Shame about all the books, though…
[Penned in Sanctuary’s hand.] Dahlia has survived countless trials in her life, including those that we put her through ourselves, by leading her and her late herd out here. We seek to hear the voice of the voiceless, and while we are unsure if she has forgiven us, she has graciously allowed us to care for her in her retirement.
[Penned in Clarity’s hand.] I told them not to name the damned thing, but here we are. It just showed up in our cellar one day with a dead rodent in its jaws, so I suppose it's earning its keep.