I was always curious about the motives of Farella Lunseer not helping the cities in the Histories... it seemed to me a more personal dislike than simply a "let's have the cities die so nature rules again" thing. So here's my own little spin-fic, from Farella's POV. I actually submitted this for the bardics, but I'm not sure it will come out, so I thought I'd post this here.

And yes, I am Rowena-fixated. Sue me.



Through the Scrying Pool

1. Omen

The Mother Tree is lovely in summer: lush and green, with a grace that speaks of Nature at her most beautiful. Indeed tonight is a sacred time, for it is the Summer Solstice and the Full Moon, both upon the same day, and my sisters and I are to perform the ritual which invokes her blessings upon us, in this eldest of the forests where once Ellindel trod. Upon this night, our sister covens of the Lakewood and the Night will perform this ceremony also, calling upon our respective Great Spirits; for the Solstice is a time of great power.

I gaze upon the members of my coven circle-- young priestesses, all of them, yet all well-trained and able. I feel the touch of history upon me: the Coven has come through so many years, and I must now carry Moon's duty, though I feel myself growing weary of the burden. Soon I shall pass the mantle to another-- who?

Once one came to seek my tutelage, and something in me told me that here was she whom I would have as my successor. A young woman, quiet and rather stubborn when roused, unflinching in the tasks set her... we did not get on well at first, she and I. Yet in the end, when I had taught her what I could of Nature, I found that she was dear to me as the little sister I never had. Would that she had stayed to join the Moondance Coven! But no-- she was always one to follow her own path, and that led her to gentle Gloriana and Mother Night's soft embrace, where she is now High Priestess in her own right, and so we are sisters indeed in the reckoning of the Covens.

I smile to myself softly at the memories, and then start as my acolyte calls me. Dusk approaches, and Mother Moon is unveiling herself within Night's embrace. I link hands with the others in the sacred circle, and speak the ritual words:

"Mother Moon, now comes the time of your power," I say, my voice soft and hushed. The forest is still, and my words echo around the glade. "Now is the summer solstice, and we seek your guidance. Speak to us, Mother, for we stand in your light."

A sudden surge of power grips me, and I gasp, feeling myself lifted from the ground as a presence unbelievably vast fills me, before collapsing in a heap. I tremble on the brink of annihilation, my senses overwhelmed until I cry out, half in ecstasy and half in terror. I see, as if from a great distance, my coven members gathering around me-- and then the presence eases, becomes gentle, almost tender. Shaking, I stand, and feel my lips move.

"Now is a time of destiny," my voice says, though there is a strange indefinable quality about it that I myself never had. "You stand upon the very brink of a great change."

I draw a deep and shuddering breath, and speak again, this time of my own volition. "Mother Moon," I whisper-- for it is her presence which fills me-- "I do not understand."

"Nature knows best," says the voice. "Those who dwell behind walls of stone do not know her ways. There are times when the avalanche should not be woken, when the stillness of the forest should not be disturbed. Many are the planes, and deep are their mysteries. It is not well that they should be plundered by those who hunger for power. Be wary, my dear-beloved coven, and wise." And the presence was gone, as suddenly as it came, leaving me shaking and weak. I am too old for such things.

"I think-- " my voice is hoarse, and I begin again. "I think we should count the ritual completed for now." I all but collapse onto the soft grass, but I make myself stand once more and walk towards my scrying pool.

I must speak to her, to the High Priestess of the Night. Such a thing is too important to not be shared. I dip my hand into the clear water, and call her name.

"Rowena."

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2. Counsel

I gaze into the pool, and see her pale visage. She has not changed since last I saw her: still thoughtful and pensive, still as beautiful as the star-strewn sky itself. She looks troubled and exhausted, with her ritual symbol of office, the shining Crown of Gloriana, still upon her brow.

"Farella," she greets me softly. "You will never believe me when I tell you what has just happened."

I did not become a priestess without the ability to draw conclusions, and quickly. "Mother Night spoke to you at the Solstice ritual?"

She looks truly surprised. I see the shock flash across her face. "Has Mother Moon--"

"Yes," I answer. "She spoke of mysteries best left untouched."

"As did Mother Night," whispers Rowena. "Farella, I do not know what the Great Spirits wish us to do."

"Could it be--" something stirs in my mind. "Rowena, were you not in the Emperor's council when the latest proclamation was made? He wishes to take power from the higher planes of existence."

"I know," she says wearily. "I opposed, do you not remember?" Then she looks up, startled. "Surely you do not mean--"

"What else?" I say. "At this time? All the Basin is alight with the news. It is not a good thing, Rowena. These power-hungry men can only bring sorrow."

She shudders, straightens. "Then my path lies clearly before me, does it not? I must go once more to Celest, and somehow persuade the Emperor to stop this foolish and arrogant mission." She laughs, a wry and self-deprecating sound. "I wish I had your grey hairs-- then he might actually listen. I'm too young for this, Farella."

Not likely, not though we were to go together. "I'm too old for this," I say, in the exchange we have made a hundred times before. "And, from what I know of Ladantine, he would not listen to us. The cities have little respect for we who serve the forests."

"I know," she says, and sighs, but there is a look in her that I recognize: the stubborn girl who would never give in. "But if it is what Mother Night wishes, then so be it." She smiles wryly at me, before stepping away from her pool, her image fading and blurring into nothingness.

"Foolish girl," I whisper, knowing that she cannot hear me. "Brave, brave, foolish girl."

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3. Twilight

It is a full half-year before I hear from Rowena again. This time she looks less exhausted-- but no less upset. Her face is alight with helpless fury and a deep desperation, and she says to me all the things that she could never say to one of her own coven.

"They will not listen!" she cries, her dark hair spilling down to the surface of her pool, so that it seems to reach out towards me. "Ladantine was utterly patronizing-- we expected that, of course-- but I thought that at least some of those in Celest would take heed. But no! Not a one! By Mother Night, are they all witless fools?"

"Rowena," I say urgently, "-What happened-?"

"He's continuing his accursed Project!" snaps Rowena. "It will be done scant days from now, and Mother Night only knows what will happen." She takes a deep breath. "Farella, have I failed her at the last? This task she set for me..." she closes her eyes.

I wish to comfort her, to tell her that things will be well, but such words are not for the High Priestesses of Moon and Night. "I do not know," I say. "I have not yet spoken to the Lakewood Coven-- as far as I know, they received no warning, so things may not be quite that dire."

"And you believe this?" she asks me dryly. I say nothing. The truth is that I feel a great foreboding upon my mind. It is the dark moon now-- the phase of the moon which brings madness to her enemies-- and I wonder if it is not having an effect on all of us. At times sheer, unthinking terror uncoils in me, for what reason I do not know.

"What will you do?" I ask her. "Did you not speak to the people of Celest, if the Emperor is too arrogant to head the wisdom of the Spirits?"

"No use," she says. "These city-dwellers in their crystal spires-- I do not understand them. I cannot feel them around me. It is as if they are not of Nature at all. Celest has gone far from its roots, Farella, far from when the three covens first helped the Aquamancers cleanse the waters of the Sea..." she trails off into silence, reaches a hand out to me as if for comfort, but seems to suddenly remember that we were not face-to-face at all, but speaking through a scrying pool. "I wish you were here," she says simply.

"As do I," I say.

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4. Darkness

Scant days later she calls me again, this time with true panic in her voice. "Farella," she says, "There is a dark cloud over Magnagora. I fear the worst. Tell Serenwilde to raise its defenses, and quickly-- though you are farthest from Magnagora, I don't know how swiftly this thing will spread."

"What is this cloud?" I ask. "There was an aetherwave broadcast, which succeeded in saying absolutely nothing--"

"Something unnatural," she replies. I have never seen her so shaken. "Things go into it, and emerge transformed, like beings out of nightmare. It taints everything it touches. Everything living, and the land itself. Mad, diseased forms, a mutation of what we thought we knew... I never dreamed of this, Farella. I wish I were mad, that all this is but a hallucination of my diseased mind..."

My heart squeezes painfully with fear. "Gloriana?" I ask.

"I'm raising the defenses. Brennan's melding the forest with his druids. If the dead things come this way, root and thorn will be against them, and the cone of power that the Night Coven raises will shield us-- for a time." She hesitates, then says, "Nintoba and the centaurs are going to Serenwilde."

"What?" I am truly astounded. Since Ellindel's days the centaurs have dwelt in Gloriana, for Mother Night is the spirit they venerate most-- she is shrouded in mystery, and the centaurs, being seers, respect that. "Rowena, if they're leaving-- it may be well to follow."

"Nintoba said the same," replies Rowena.

"And yet you will not leave? The centaurs know more of the future, perhaps, than any other beings, though what they know is sometimes vague. Rowena, Gloriana will not be safe from this thing. Come to Serenwilde with the Night Coven! When all this is passed, will there not be time aplenty to return?"

She does not answer my question. "There is an unspoken code of honour among the mariners of Celest," she says softly. "During a storm, or an accident, or in case of danger, any sailor may leave the ship and go back to shore to wait in safety. But the captain always, always stays with the ship, until the last-- survival or death."

I want to debate with her, to tell her that I could not care less what happened to the ship so long as the captain lived on; but that would be unfair of me. Would I not give my own life many times over for Serenwilde the beautiful and the light of Mother Moon?

My own life, yes; but not hers.

I open my mouth to say something, but she raises her hand and stops me. "Farella," she says, in a voice filled with strength and despair in equal measure, "-I will never let Gloriana die.-"

She steps back, and her form becomes blurry and her voice indistinct; but I hear her final words to me, or I dream that I do: a final concession, perhaps?

"Be well, sister-in-nature."

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5. Despair

She does not have the strength to speak to me again-- all her power is gone forth into raising Gloriana's defences. Yet I watch her from afar, through my scrying pool. She stands beneath the Ravenwood, proud as a queen, with the Crown of Gloriana shining upon her dark hair. Her coven gathers around her, though I cannot hear what it is they say.

I can see the cloud, though, that writhing darkness upon the horizon. It has grown of late, so that the smudge of shadow may be seen even from the tallest trees of Serenwilde. It fills me with fear.

Even as I watch, the coven links hands. They start their dance, and the druids start their ceremony, calling down Great Raven to ward the forest. Around me I feel the trees stir, as if the White Hart himself is watching and aiding his brother spirit. There is a moment of perfect stillness, and then it begins.

It comes not in the shape of undead monstrosities or poisonous worms, but in the dark cloud itself. It falls upon Gloriana in a great wave, heavy and unstoppable, blanketing the forest in its dark shadow. I see the High Druid cry out and stagger, and the forest -changes-. Thorns lengthen, and trees shudder as they twist into grotesque forms. I see Rowena cry out as her Summer King falls, and lightning splits the Ravenwood.

She reaches out her hands to the sky, and even watching from afar I know that her coven is channeling power into her, such a surge of power born of desperation that has never been raised and will likely never be again. For a brief moment she is incandescent, impossibly bright, like the stars in Night's mantle, and a wild hope rises in me, that perhaps she will be enough to save the forest-- for if ever there was a woman who could do such a deed alone, it would be her.

Then the shadow takes her.

It wraps around her, and her eyes widen. I see her in that last moment when she is still the Rowena I know, when she still knows the horror of the fate that is to be hers. I know it too, and I scream, though she cannot hear me. I see her change.

She does not turn into an ugly corpse-like being like the others, but she changes nonetheless. She is beautiful as ever, but there is a hardness to her beauty, a cruelty to her smile. For she does smile, looking upon the sight before her. She laughs, and opens her arms wide to embrace the shadow surrounding her, like one embracing a lover.

The light glimmers around the Crown on her head one last time, and then all is dark.

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6. Battle

I am weary, so weary, though I have not fought physically in the battle the Serenwilde is now embroiled in. Never in my darkest dreams did I imagine this. The undead, these tainted corpses, I could have endured. But not this twisted thing that is and is not Rowena.

Once together we defended the Fae, tending to them, speaking with them, living in harmony with these spirits of nature. I still remember the first time I took her with me to Faethorn, when she was but a girl and I was still young, and she was caught sneaking honeycakes from Faethorn's kitchens. I remember Maeve's laughter-- she took it for a compliment to her kingdom's cooking-- and Rowena's mischievous grin.

Has she changed so much? For now she goes to Faethorn once more, but not in friendship. Rather she binds the Fae in shadow, enslaves them to her will, and offers them to the darkness which consumes her. Through my scrying pool I see the Fae scream, and the wiccans of my own Moondance coven falter in their attack, seeing the woman who was once their friend.

"Do not pause!" I cry through the coven aether, sensing the minds of my young priestesses, healing and strengthening them from afar. "She is shadow, and tainted, a dark danger to the Fae. Remember your vows, and drive her back in Moon's name!" One raises a hand-- young Eilaeth, barely out of novicehood-- and Rowena laughs contemptuously. She seizes the girl and pulls her forward into something that one might almost mistake for an embrace, and I see Eilaeth scream and struggle.

"Rowena!" My voice is hoarse, yet I know she can hear me. "Rowena, please..." She looks up, smiling with dark amusement, though she does not release Eilaeth. "Will you not listen to me?"

"Farella Lunseer," she says, her voice soft and mocking. "Great Priestess of the Moon. I am, as always, your obedient servant. What would you have me do?"

"Do not harm the girl," I whisper. "She has no part in this quarrel."

"Harm?" Rowena laughs. "You see that I do not look to be harming her. Why, look at us. She could be my child, almost, if I had ever had one. How sweet she looks-- " Suddenly, Rowena pulls the girl close and presses a kiss upon her neck. I see Eilaeth pale, and drop lifeless to the ground. From somewhere far away, I hear screaming, and only slowly realize that it is my own voice.

Rowena reaches out and binds a nearby sprite in strands of clinging shadow. The sprite screams, beating her filmy wings helplessly against the bindings. "D'or glom!" she cries in her shrill little voice, holding her hands out beseechingly towards this woman who was once her protector. I find myself echoing the words, shouting myself hoarse in hopes that she may hear: "Have mercy!"

For a moment Rowena Nightshade is still, and even now I can still hope that she can overcome this taint that has suffused her. Even after so much... Then she waves a hand, and the sprite cries out as her life-force is slowly and agonizingly drained from her. "F'ai glomdoring," Rowena says, and I know the words are meant for me as well.

She has no mercy.

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7. Choices

One alone has survived the Taint (for it is the Taint now and not merely taint), a young furrikin by the name of Lolly Pringle. He is in ill shape, but I am a skilled healer, and such wounds are nothing to me. I but wish I could heal my own heart as easily.

Much of the news Lolly brings me is known to me already. After all, it was I who organized the army to fight the tainted undead on the Prime Material Plane, and my scrying pool is a great help. Of late I have not had the heart to use it-- many things are too painful for me to wish to see them. The kidnapping of Gib Gladheart, the vanishing of Ackleberry Forest, Rowena's terrible and unimaginable cruelty... especially that last.

One thing is news to me, though-- the Undead Emperor seeks the Horn of Urlach. Well, that at least he shall not have, this man who wrought the nightmare which now holds us. I shall oppose him and his in all things. May his downfall be swift and his end bitter! I send word to the Queen of Faethorn, asking that the ships be destroyed and the sailors slain. The furrikin protests, and I know that he speaks true. Always I have abhorred waste of life. Yet this rage in me is beyond all reason.

I tell Lolly that he can come to Serenwilde-- perhaps we too shall leave this world behind, like the Lake Coven has. The news of Ackleberry's departure is hard for him: it would be, for that forest is dear to those of his kind. He pleads with me to stay strong, to ally myself with Celest, but that I will never do as long as I live, and none of the Moondance coven shall ever serve a city.

Lolly Pringle will not come with me. He wishes to go to Celest to warn those there, even knowing that there is great danger. He is brave and loyal-- what virtues has he that Rowena had not, that he came through the Taint untouched? I do not know. I remove my torc, fasten it around his neck in token of blessing, and wish him well in his quest.

My acolyte approaches me when Lolly is gone, her eyes wide with shock, for she knows the full meaning of what I have done, when Lolly Pringle does not. "My lady," she says wonderingly. "You gave him your torc, the symbol of your office."

"Yes," I manage to say. "For Torc and Crown and Sceptre were wrought together, in token of our three sister covens. The Lakewood Coven is no more, and the Night Coven has fallen. What is the torc to me now?" And I sit down beside my scrying pool and weep.

The image of ships shimmers unbidden in the pool-- the ships of Celest, in all their glory. Soon they will lie beneath the waves, and Celest will lie in ashes: Nintoba has foreseen that much. I can save them with a word, a gesture, and I almost give in. I imagine myself calling my messenger back, pleading with the Faerie Queen to spare the mariners, organising my Moondancers to open a great planar gate that will allow the citizens to escape...

No. It was the cities that made this Taint, the boundless pride of Ladantine and his Empire. They did this to the forests and the planes. They wrought this torment that Rowena is now entrapped in, if indeed her soul survives-- I know the fate that awaits her, and my heart aches for the girl I knew, the woman I loved so dearly, my sister-in-nature. For aeons she will wander the dark eaves of corrupted Gloriana, her gentle spirit twisted into unbearable cruelty, without even the promise of death's release. And these cities with their arrogance and their so-called civilization... -they- did this to her.

Mother Moon, forgive me. I will not help them.



Edit: Details edited to be truer to canon. Thanks, Viravain!

Amazing. Absolutely, utterly fantastic. I couldn't stop reading.

Very nice.

Extremely absorbing. It feels like I'm reading part of the histories on the website.

Yeah, I bet you could get that history association to publish it as a historical document IG.

Just...brilliant. Really. Captivating and alluring....I (in my sleep-deprived state of mind) am kinda lacking the words to express myself clearly, except...


...I want to know more.

That really was incredible.

Wow. I want to say this section or that section is my favourite, but it flows so nicely I can't do that. Beautiful writing.

Yeah, you really should publish this IG.

Wow. I didn't expect so many people to comment.

I was a bit unsure about this, since it feels like I'm messing around with the histories, but now I feel a lot more certain about it (it's one of those writing things: one day you write it and go "This is great! Wonderful" and you take a nap and wake up and say "WTF is this?" )

So anyway, thanks for the comments.

If you don't mind one more comment...

Beautiful. Really beautiful.

I wish I could write more like this.

Awesome work.

(Now help Serenwilde take over Culture by making stories into plays. Chop chop. )

Very well written, and absolutely feels true to the histories.

This is really really well done. If you don't win Bardic, then something is seriously wrong. And yes, you should definitely get it published IG. Sometimes, scholarly works are deemed to be classed as canon by the divine, and I hope this makes that class.

I think that's prestige submissions.

Wow, most superb. I didn't want to read it tonight, but I thought I'd at least read the first section in case I should be extremely busy tomorrow. Couldn't stop. Well done.