The Mortals
"Let me tell you a story of two lands divided by a river, and by hearts so bitter, so contrary, that no bridge and no boat can ever bring them closer.
Different as night and day, the people of Shadeward and Lightwick are enemies by birth, and allies by need; for they cannot live together, and they cannot survive apart (...)"
Shadeward
Baracaldo (Bilbao), perspectiva de la fábrica del Cármen, de la "Sociedad de Altos Hornos de hierro y acero" by Eugenio Vela
At the tail end of the industrial revolution, even the remote village of Shadeward cannot escape the clutches of the machine. Smoke and chimneys, production, and muddy streets are the necessary price for streetlights, progress, and growth.
The people of Shadeward are used to the dark, relying on hearing and touch in the dim light of a lantern. Nature needs to be conquered rather than obeyed; stone and metal is more malleable, less corruptible, and does not constantly spread the roots and weeds that lead to endless work.
The upper-class have grown complacent, and see the world through the prism of monetary value. They are cunning entrepreneurs, hungry for opportunities, spinning their lives around the coin, and disregarding anything and anyone that possesses no material worth. They obsess over arts and exotics, and for many of them appearance is as important as wealth itself. They will seek to possess, to outpace the others, to go higher, faster, and grander than anyone else.
The lower classes are the down-throdden, the exploited, the voiceless. They are factory workers, servants, orphans, workhouse dwellers - people in name only, hardly recognised as such by their so-called betters. They can barely afford to live, let alone dream grand dreams. They seek to better their situation, to execute revenge upon their oppressors, and to find respite from their everyday toil.
They seek to better their situation, to execute revenge upon their oppressors, and to find respite from their everyday toil.
Lightwick
The artist with family and friends in the garden of a Regency villa by John Bennett
Lightwick is a vibrant rural village. Their focus on flowers, farmlands, and hunting brings them more in tune with the world around them. They are at home in the light, familiar with the habits of animals, and the life cycle of crops. At night, they seek shelter indoors, wary of the prowling wolves and the whispers of the night.
The upper-class relish in the arts, and gladly spend their income on paintings, intricately carved statues, and wooden engravings. They delight in beauty, both physical and ephemeral, adorning their mansions with expensive art pieces, and their bodies with loveliest fashions. They are social butterflies, connecting their high-class cliques with lavish balls and invite-only luncheons. They seek to admire, to impress, and to capture beauty in all its facets.
The lower class is closer to earth, figuratively and literally. They delight in simple pleasures, in wild music and dances; but secretly dream of the grand balls thrown by their betters. They are the hunters and the gatherers, the footmen and the maids, the bakers and the seamstresses; and while their hands bleed from menial tasks, their souls long for the easy life of the nobles.
The conflict
There are as many theories about the beginnings of Shadeward and Lightwick as there are residents in both villages. Be it a feud over land, or stolen crops, or burned down houses - there isn't a soul alive that would remember how it had all started.
There are, however, many that'll tell you how it is going.
"You shall not conspire with the enemy," echoes the main rule of both villages, forbidding all contact except that for the purpose of the bimonthly exchange of goods. Lightwick shares its abundant crops with the barren Shadeward, and in exchange receives stone for their homes, and iron for their tools. When the transaction is complete, the villagers cease all contact for the next two months.
The Whispering Isle
Perhaps the conflict could be put to rest if not for the island which lies between the two lands, equally close to both and equally far from each as to make visiting it troublesome.
In daylight, it lures the residents of Lightwick with echoes of music and laughter that carry across the waters with their enticing magic.
At nightfall, its twinkling lights and mysterious whispers reach the shores of Shadeward, imbuing the stone roads with glittery trails that lead to the waters.
Mortals, however, know better than to set foot on the island. Stories of faeries are told from generation to generation, warning against the place which does not belong to this world.
However, our story would not be told if all mortals were wise and restrained in their compulsions. The Whispering Isle holds magic which appeals to those who are lost, those full of fear and doubt, but also to those whose dreams are too big for the confines of their world.
This is the story of these mortals.
THE FAE
"Remember, child, that you cannot trust a faerie. What a peculiar thing to say about a creature that cannot lie, yet you'll never hear words that ring more true.
fae have lived a thousand years, yet they haven't experienced even a fraction of your joy, your pain, your dreams, or your desires. guard those treasures closely, for whatever you give to a faerie shall be lost to you forever (...)"
Beyond the veil which separates the mortal world from the realms beyond lies a land of magic and whimsy, of days that last a hundred years and nights that never end. It's a domain of immortal creatures whose resemblance to human beings lies in their form alone.
They call themselves the High Courts.
Mortals know them as the fair folk, the elves, or the faeries.
Driven by curiosity, capriciousness, and cruelty, matched only by their desire for power, the fae are fascinated by mortals and everything they represent. They are drawn to human strengths and weaknesses, to the big and the small things that make humans human. Unable to experience emotions past their superfluous gleam, some faeries crave to possess them like they're new treasures for their collections, while others see them as toys to be played with, warped, moulded - or destroyed.
Much like the mortals they imitate, the fae differ from one another like day and night. Driven apart by their internal politics and endless charades, they have divided their kind into Courts, each with its own distinct nature and flare.
To the fae, power means control, and control is everything. The Courts connect those of similar nature, and unite them within the shadows of the night among the Nocturnal Courts, or under the boldness of the sun in Daylight Courts.
Daylight Courts
Beauty comes in various forms, and no-one has a better grasp on its principles than the fae of the Daylight Courts. Many mortals fell victim to the charms and allures of the Daylight fae and their irresistible charms.
They are the gentlefolk of meadows whose imposing aura brings mortals to their knees; the lovely maidens whose sparkling laughter makes the heart flutter and the breath catch in one's chest. The cruel hunters whose Wild Hunt mortals fear.
They are the admirers and the snatchers of the unique. Their hands and minds cannot craft, only imitate, but their hunger for the new, the beautiful, the extraordinary is ever insatiable.
Things, feelings, people - all these can be collected, and there are no prouder collectors than the fae of the Daylight Courts.
Nocturnal Courts
While their sun-loving brethren might lure mortals with their beauty, Nocturnal Courts are less overt in their seduction. They are the silver-tongued charmers, the prophets who draw visions from the earth and the moon, the shadowy figures who speak little but hold knowledge human minds can only dream of.
Often less human-like in their customs and appearance, Nocturnal fae ripple with primal power. Their speech is often blunter than that of their Daylight counterparts, their manners lacking, their glamour fading faster. They are full of contradictions: some of them are refreshingly straight-forward, other only seem so; some speak in muddled riddles, others are eager to offer their deepest knowledge for the right price.
While they are considered lower in status than the Daylight fae, they are by no means less powerful. Woe are those who disrespect the Nocturnal Courts, for their fate will be worse than death.
Costumes
Mortals
Mortals wear outfits suitable to their social standing and work station. Think Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters, sprinkled with dickensian aesthetics. Picture ragged workhouse clothing vs. frilly gowns twirling at fancy balls; firm-soled oxfords for cobbled streets vs. hunting boots for ventures into the woods; utilitarian clothing vs. outfits designed to be admired rather than lived in.
Think of your character's costume as part of the character's story: it can be a reflection of their personality, social status, occupation, wealth; or it can be a mask that conceals the truth about them.
Fae
Fae are as different from one another as day and night - hence their division into Daylight and Nocturnal Courts; but even among their own kin, they differ in their appearance based on personal preferences.
From high fashion and expensive silks, to haggard rags adorned with bizarre accessories, faeries do not know the meaning of the word "subtlety". They dress in a way they imagine humans would do, only exaggerated, warped, not quite right. Their styles often clash, and they delight in strangeness, thinking themselves original and innovative in their pursuit of fashion.
Playing a fae gives you as a chance to go wild with your outfit. Think Alice in Wonderland, sprinkle it with Penny Dreadful, then turn it up to 11.
