First Ill Star
By Kaiel Morduun, Warrior of Rucesion, in Dark Ages
Research on the topic is difficult, since the Fey histories are strangely silent about this phenomenon, the keepers of dark lore are notoriously unhelpful when it comes to sharing such lore, and the public records of the day are more concerned with the politics and, thereafter, the wars that followed the falling of this infamous 'ill star' than they are with the star itself.
My research, in fact, was entirely halted until I made what I thought was a lucky acquaintance in a pub in Piet: an old dark magician who called himself Crab, who had a taste for good wine, and whose desire for secrecy waned with every bottle. Though it beggared me, I wormed part of the story from out his withered lips, and as it was late I was able to convince him to take me to his home to view the proofs of which he spoke.
Given the nature of my interview and the fact that I have never again been able to find this dark magician or his home, some may call into question the source of my information. Others may even question the motives of the magician who shared his ancient lore with me, especially due to the nature of some of the revelations that follow. Be that as it may, I have viewed these dark histories -- at no small cost to my soul -- and I believe them to be true.
then, are the facts as presented to me by that stooped,
drunken magician and his unholy tomes. Intrepid Aisling,
read on, but know that knowledge ever colors perception,
and that which is learned cannot be unlearned.
The star, in fact, was an astronomical body the magicians call a comet; a great, fiery star of horrific aspect, that travels across the sky and rips the heavens as it goes. The appearance of this comet was first met with joy, as it first appeared much like a great shooting star, which most Aislings believe are signs of good luck or wishes fulfilled. In fact, the Nether Codex, one of the tomes it was my great misfortune to read at length while my inebriated companion ranted wildly into the night, described great celebrations in honor of the night visitor, or nochd reanná.
It was not until the nochd reanná was a well-established part of the nighttime sky that the ceillidh warned against its presence, for they, too, had been beguiled by the star's fair appearance. However, as most continued the great celebration, they failed to note the crops withering in the fields, the changing of the tides, or the ease with which men's minds were distracted from such portents. The ceillidh were not so easily distracted.
the ceillidh had noticed, at long last, many grew angry
when they spoke ill of the nochd reanná,
questioning the sanity of the wise who warned against
such an obviously fair visitor. Chief of those most
critical of the ceillidh were the fey, who, in typical
fashion, had taken to the merriment with great aplomb,
and who had created great songs praising its unmatched
celestial beauty, and poems lamenting the day when it
would inevitably disappear or descend to earth. As a
result of the debate between the ceillidh and the fey,
both turned their eyes heavenward and watched the star,
gauging its every movement, measuring its growing tail,
and rationalizing loudly its presence in the sky of
As for the fey, they watched the same star and could find no omens, no taints, no ill portents that might come from their beloved night visitor, and as a result they dismissed the warnings of the ceillidh as loudly as the wise men themselves sounded them. While the fey also came aware of the many small ills that had begun to grip Temuair, their arguments against the ceillidh's claim that the star was the source of this evil took precedence, as they believed avoiding a general panic was of more concern than avoiding some nebuluous, unprophecied doom. In time, both sides only argued louder as each dismissed the others' findings with increasing vehemence.
wise could not agree with each other, and when doom was a
word spoken not by the mad but by respected men and
women, many began to fear the nochd reanná,
refusing to go out of doors while the thing showed in the
sky. Many hoped the fey were right, while others feared
the ceillidh spoke the truth. And, failing the guidance
of the wise, others forged their own, darker paths.
In fact, my host laughed raucuously when I came to this list, though I had long suspected him asleep (and thought certain I had heard him snoring not moments ago). When I asked him why he laughed, he chortled to himself and handed me an untitled third volume, of leathery pages and faded, spidery writing. I fear the pages of that volume were made of a most evil substance, and my very skin crawled as I paged through the book, but I held the book closely when he pointed at a page, and I read unbelieving as I learned the fate of that star.
untold in any but this single tome, the star remained in
the sky but grew steadily larger and more fierce, tearing
with its horrid maw the last shred of sanity from the
Fiosaiche and plunging the fey and the ceillidh into
anger and open aggression. In too much detail I learned
the dark workings of an unholy agency, that, summoned
from Kadath in the north, gave a mortal the knowledge to
tap unlimited power to bend to his will. I read aghast as
this unnamed man, this priest of a dark power, brought
the very star down upon what was left of sundered
Hy-brasil, drowning the once-great city and starting the
war that would end forever the dynasty of enlightenment
and purity that had begun with the love of Danaan.
I begin to understand why the fey refuse to speak of the star. Perhaps they feel responsible in a way for their failure to forsee the inevitable. Perhaps they regret their dissension with the ceillidh, and perhaps they wish that, with eyes more open, the darkness could have been stopped, even then.
Regardless, I do know that any thirst for arcane knowledge I have ever had has forever been quenched by my investigation into the fabled 'first ill star to fall' in the sky of Temuair. Surely we will know when one comes again; it remains a mystery as to whether the comet was the cause or the symptom of the original evils that befell Temuair in the Seventh Aeon, and it remains a mystery as to whether another nochd reanná would bode well or ill today. Hopefully we will never again possess the lore to rain such destruction down upon our bretheren. Perhaps this is why the fey speak not of the comet, and why to this day they perpetuate misinformation about the events of that time.
But the details of the deed still cloud my mind, and I shall speak no more of it, lest I speak too much -- for knowledge ever colors perception, and that which is learned can never be unlearned.