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from Diary of a Village Witch
It isn't easy to converse with the fae. Most of them don't bother to learn mortal tongue (no more than that of mortals taking the time to learn fae languages), instead they cast a glamour that persuades mortals that we understand them. That works about as well as any glamour; which is to say, with indifferent success. That's how several mortals listening to the same fae at the same time can "hear" different things.
But the glastig took the effort to speak to speak to me with mortal words. Or word. "Closed." That's all she would say, over and over again. She was so insistent that I decided to investigate. I left the village matron with her, gathered up Dis, and went to the standing stone on the moor, where she was found.
Dis is a rock goblin, rooted in this land, not in Faerie. Being a rock goblin, he can ... not exactly converse ... but ... understand, maybe ... the stones and bones of the land. He doesn't have much glamour, only enough to convince the unwary that he's naught more than a rather large stone. I've learned enough of his language to understand some of what he says and he's learned enough of mine to do the same. Neither of us can speak the language of the other - physical impossibilities, I believe. Anyway, communication is possible.
The standing stone was not entirely born of the bones of the moors, he told me. There is something of Faerie about it. That wasn't surprising, considering the ceremonies the locals conduct there. From the state the glastig was in when found and by her lamentations and painful words to me, I suspect that the stone was a Gate into one of the lands of Faerie. A Gate that closed on her unexpectedly. That is what I expected Dis to tell me.
What he did say surprises me and worries me. I'm not entirely certain of this, but I think he said that ... that the stone is dead. The implication was cold and dead, like a corpse that's been lying out for a while so that all semblance of life has fled.
Dis is living stone, as I am living flesh. Perhaps to him all rock is alive, somehow? Perhaps as alive as a tree or flower ... or an animal? ... is to me? The Spirit of God flows through all life and is excreted as magic. Does Their Spirit also flow through minerals and other matter?
What can kill rock? Whatever happened drained all the magic from the area. Could it have been some necromantic rite?
I have informed the local Border Guard; she will send word on to the central authorities. I suspect that I will have to send word to the Academy wizards. This is beyond my knowledge, beyond my understanding, and far, far beyond the capabilities of a village witch.
When I returned to the bothy, I found the glastig gone and the matron sitting in a mazement. A simple glamour, I broke it easily, but she was unable to tell me what had happened. I guess that the glastig left of her own; there are no signs that she was taken unwilling. I told the villagers to contact me if they encounter her again, then I left, heading back to my cottage. Maigret Black and Smitham will have to wait.
But the glastig took the effort to speak to speak to me with mortal words. Or word. "Closed." That's all she would say, over and over again. She was so insistent that I decided to investigate. I left the village matron with her, gathered up Dis, and went to the standing stone on the moor, where she was found.
Dis is a rock goblin, rooted in this land, not in Faerie. Being a rock goblin, he can ... not exactly converse ... but ... understand, maybe ... the stones and bones of the land. He doesn't have much glamour, only enough to convince the unwary that he's naught more than a rather large stone. I've learned enough of his language to understand some of what he says and he's learned enough of mine to do the same. Neither of us can speak the language of the other - physical impossibilities, I believe. Anyway, communication is possible.
The standing stone was not entirely born of the bones of the moors, he told me. There is something of Faerie about it. That wasn't surprising, considering the ceremonies the locals conduct there. From the state the glastig was in when found and by her lamentations and painful words to me, I suspect that the stone was a Gate into one of the lands of Faerie. A Gate that closed on her unexpectedly. That is what I expected Dis to tell me.
What he did say surprises me and worries me. I'm not entirely certain of this, but I think he said that ... that the stone is dead. The implication was cold and dead, like a corpse that's been lying out for a while so that all semblance of life has fled.
Dis is living stone, as I am living flesh. Perhaps to him all rock is alive, somehow? Perhaps as alive as a tree or flower ... or an animal? ... is to me? The Spirit of God flows through all life and is excreted as magic. Does Their Spirit also flow through minerals and other matter?
What can kill rock? Whatever happened drained all the magic from the area. Could it have been some necromantic rite?
I have informed the local Border Guard; she will send word on to the central authorities. I suspect that I will have to send word to the Academy wizards. This is beyond my knowledge, beyond my understanding, and far, far beyond the capabilities of a village witch.
When I returned to the bothy, I found the glastig gone and the matron sitting in a mazement. A simple glamour, I broke it easily, but she was unable to tell me what had happened. I guess that the glastig left of her own; there are no signs that she was taken unwilling. I told the villagers to contact me if they encounter her again, then I left, heading back to my cottage. Maigret Black and Smitham will have to wait.