Cha tèid nì sam bith san dòrn dùinte.
<Nothing can get into a closed fist.>
⚔ HISTORY ⚔
-- Perched upon the weathered cliffs of Ireland is a storied manor. An authentic work of local masonry, chimney and all, for centuries it served as an enclave for the sole remaining house of witchers present on the British isles: The Fetching Faradays. By the kings and queens of yore they were granted a large plot of land for their loyal servitude, land that now fell into the hands of their only descendant for keeping. --
The Days of The First Faradays
Before the name and before the land, back when Arthur's empire of Britannia and the Commonwealth of The Fae King Dagda were at their prime, existed a conflict of territory and privilige. Endangered, the magical Faes fought the insolent man over their ancestral lands in battles of gore and blood that brought nothing but famine and death to the warring parties.
Exhausted, King Arthur sent word into the farthest reaches of his land calling for the most adept fruit of warmastery to represent the kingdom in a final resolution by armed combat. The Dagda did the same and sung throughout the domain of magic for a champion.
The kings could not deem any man or creature worthy of their name until a man with the magnificent horns of a stag dared into the courts of both monarchs. He proposed that they he will give them their champions if they meet him personally in two years time exactly in the middle of the way between the two empires.
Two years later the kings, further weathered by their endless conflict, met where the Stagman instructed and broke into an argument at the sight of one another. Suddenly, ground rumbled beneath their feet and seperated them by a risen pile of dirt. Finally, the horned man made himself known and told them that he devised a means to maintain peace and stability between the two empires: a pact of blood in the form of Witcher-kind. The kings, reluctant for their nature, each slit their palms and made a deal over the pile of dirt as the man told them for the sake of their kingdom,
This was the first time the blood of man and fae came together as a united force. A mixture of the arcane arts of the Dagda and the physical potency of Arthur, it dripped into the formless pile below and granted it life: the son of two empires, a boy with the wolf eyes and the form of man but the spirit of fae. The mysterious architect of his creation then took him into the woods near Loch Lomond and gave him discipline in the play of the sword and made him literate in the words of various cultures and versed in the small cantrips of magic.
Might and magic flowed through the veins of twin empire son and his mind was made into that of a seasoned warmaster before his first chest hair. O'Fearadaigh (= Man of Woods), as his mysterious mentor and father coined him, then served as a diplomat between the two kingdoms. Where one sinned he repaid the other in blood.
And so it went until he came down in lore himself as Gan Ceann, Dullahan. The boogieman to keep the sons and daughters of the two empires humbled and willing, the offspring Faradays of his old age upholding his tradition in times of need.
The Sword In The Pond
Centuries passed since the glory days of Balor's Bane O'Fearadaigh and his progeny still roamed the land in the form of vagrant peacekeepers and knights of the occult table long wayward from the verdant woods of Loch Lomond. The few that remained thusly lived a reserved life by providing their unique skills to bewitched hamlets and cursed villages until one aspired higher.
He was Conn O'Fearadaigh, The White Wolf of Wales, who served the king himself and done him great service by breaking the hex of beastial therianthropy that a witches sabbath placed upon his first daughter.
The witcher was to be rewarded plenty for this deed, but the witcher had none of the gold and women. He sought further employ by his liege and his wish was fulfilled.
Years washed by and the White Wolf became a seasoned slayer of ill fae-folk, even fishing the lost sword Fragarach of Manannán mac Lir from the abominable bowels of Loch Ness. The golden sword became as much his badge of office as his personal weapon.
One day the king had sent the royal witcher towards a unique scene of battle between two warring dukes. Satrap fighting for the good of the king and Darren, armed with an unnaturally potent oracle, fighting for his greed.
What made the scene peculiar was that when the greedy despot attempted to coerce a prediction of certain victory from his oracle he only heard him quietly mutter, "It could go either way." No firmer statement could he force from the oracle's lips. Still, Darren was confident in his army. The Satrapy was landlocked, poorly armed, and shut off from all possible allies. He took "It could go either way" to indicate that with tactical might on his side, there was little risk in his plan.
Of course, we now know that he should have taken the sayer's words more literally. Even with careful study of the Annotated Annals of If, what happened on on the Graven Shores is almost impossible to visualize. It appeared that in the midst of the carnage, the battle began to bifurcate.
"...At each pivotal moment, reality calved and broke into bits. Soldiers who staggered and fell in battle also stood sure-footed, forging onward to fight. Their minds also split; the warriors found themselves both dead and alive, existent and non-existent. Victory and defeat were partitioned, so that each separate outcome was experienced in simultaneity by both armies. The universe became a hall of mirrors, with all the mirrors endlessly shattering.
The immediate effect on both parties was insanity. Unable to comprehend the state of being both triumphant and defeated, the Evil Duke's mind dispersed into motes of madness. The naive Satrap fared no better. The opposing paired realities continued to split and split again, echoing into infinite histories, all of them populated by a bewildered populace that soon lost the ability to feed, clothe, defend, or reproduce itself in the traditional manner...."
Never-the-less, Conn charged into the mad feebly protected by the arcana of his signs. Pushing against the shards of space itself he had managed to slay the oracle to bring the end to the madness by piercing through him with Fragarach, but in doing so laid his life for the land.
The land returning to it's ordinary state, the only thing that remained on the shore as a remnant of the great battle was a golden blade stuck in the rock that was once the oracle's body and remained ever buoyant in the pond that was once his blood. In honors of his most loyal servant, the king granted the land to his name and the great house he built over the years to keep.
Ever since that plot of land was known as Tír na hÓige, The Land of The Young.
Modern Times
...
⚔ GROUNDS ⚔
-- A museum of witchery, the occult and honest brotherhood, the Tír na hÓige is filled with an assortment of obscure decorations of past triumphs. The comfort provided by the Seat of Faradays is only equaled by the perplexing beauty of it's lavish interior. --
Exterior
The land of the Faradays spans as far as the eye can see from the manor, from the cold shoreline and over the grassy medows to the limits of the humble town that stands near.
The main a accommodation is found on the elevated corner of the shore. It is a grand mansion that has been built and rebuilt with the flow of time and thus is unofficially the oldest abode in the area. Due to being subject to arsony out of spite in 1845 the structure has been reconstructed in a heavily Tudor style influenced by Anglo-Saxon and Victorian aesthetic and is even larger than before. Unlike the traditional aristorcratic dwelling the main house isn't seperated into any wings.
The lawn presented infront of the building and around the parkway is frequently maintained by hired helpers from the local gardeners. However, some vegetation that adds to the homely atmosphere such as moss and it's leafy equivalents are left to spread on the facade of the manor only hardly trimmed. Exquisite and elegant work of masonry is accented by durable wood from local woodworks, the windows are the most contemporary piece of the puzzle but still remain glass.
Another garden exists there also, veiled behind a thick wall of bushy vegetation. To these gardens can one go only through the manor itself or by scaling the hazardous rockface on the shore. It is there that the most rare and exotic ingredients of the arcane world grow in magically sustained and aligned habitats for the witcher-clan to collect and harness in their work. Here the pond containing Fragarach is found. Furthermore, the gardens sport it's own array of apiaries as honey happens to be a crucial part of their alchemical practices.
- Greater Royal Pardon - In 1788 the estate came into the scope of the blooming aristocracy of England due to numerous reports of nightly shrieks and sights of 'pagan' practices performed on the grounds of the manor. Deeming the work of the witchers necessary for the good of all England, King George III. enacted a royal pardon upon the actions and properties of House Faraday. Their territory is since immune to the reach of common law enforcement and all inhabitants are to be dealt with as if they had diplomatic immunity. This pardon remains effective to this day.
- Lesser Legal Pardon - Similarily, the witchers maintain a plethora of plants that produce exotic toxins and opiates that are needed for their profession. Thus another pardon was enacted by Queen Elizabeth II. in the autumn of the 20th century that releases any production happening within the premises of Tír na hÓige from taxes and recourses of the legal system. This pardon remains effective to this day.
The premises of the manor are protected by tall walls of stone that survived the days of Conn. These barricades have only two entrances: one being the drive way and the other being the gate that leads down to the pier. It would also so happen that this sole barrier is subject to intricate protection from all malevolent magics that makes it painful to the touch of nefarious fae. While the physical portion of the wall ends somewhere at 10 ft of length a metaphysical barrier tapping directly from the Dragon Lines exterts beyond and encloses the building in a cubical field. Due to this no lighting strikes in the manor's vicinity.
Interior
The insides of the main house actually seem quite ordinary in their majority. A general posh atmosphere lingers about the place due to to the generic old English luxury of the accommodation.
Hardwood floors tie into lavish furnishings of imported wood and are accented by family memorabilia in the form of ancestral paintings or worn out photos in monochrome.
The true panopticon sometimes pokes out from the exhibits in the house as skulls, organs and relics of unseen athropomorphic civilizations can be found proudly exhibited and designated in old cabinets. Another great give-away is the grand throphy room where heads of therianthropes and mythical beasts adorn the fireplace wall.
Naturally, the house is fully equipped and has functioning plumbing and weather insulation but problems arise in the realm of actual heating and remote communications. Being a geront of a house, the luxury of adjustable heating isn't aviable and has to be done by hand. Another terror for any visitor is the apparent lack of Wi-Fi. This is due to the remote location of the Tír na hÓige and can be once again attributed to the adobe's age. Luckily, phone reception is aviable here if you are fortunate.
To accommodate the family profession an entire segment of the house and all of the sub-basement are off-limits to any visiors because they contain not only the family armory but also a complex workshop containing a station for alchemy, a blacksmith's corner and an enchanting station. These areas are protected by blood sensitive seals and anyone not of the family attempting to enter will simply come out the front door.
A spanning library overlooks the sea and contains the amassed knowledge of all previous Faradays in the encyclopedic form of beastiaries, books of herbology and personal chronicles.
The Domovoi
Contrary to popular belief the Faradays weren't mere slayers of all things unnatural. They were herders and potentially hunters, maintaining the status quo between humanity and inhumanity.
So, over the centuries some formed bonds with various critters and creatures in the supernatural realm. None so as Thomas Faraday, The Bloody Bane of Baba Yaga hisself, who bought a spirit over from the cold clutches of Russia and into the hearth of the manor.
This Domovoi is a servant wisp, a household protector of goblin features with thick dark hair dirty from coal, who oft rests in the cold stove for reasons that are his own. He does the chores around the house and better so than a highy educated butler ever could, and is treated as such by the houses inhabitants.
⚔ Tomb of Herne ⚔
-- As the centuries come and go all men fall prey to the brassbound fangs of time. Alas the Faradays are no exception, but to the witcher-kind death does not mean an end. After the autumn of their lives they are entombed in the family crypt on the other end of town, united with their ancestors yet not asleep entirely. Townfolk care avoid the place for hearsay has it that all manners of nefarious things occur there at night. --
The Tomb of Herne sits high on a hill that overlooks the nearby town, a cobblestone structure of arcane atmosphere to which leads only one weathered flight of irregular stairs. Since the days of Conn's children it stands lonely on that hill and seemingly forever will. It's vicinity is sealed of completely by large fences of iron and stone and one might think it is so to prevent any desecration of the land but in actuality it is to contain the ancestral spirits in the confines of the cemetery.
It's name is derived from the Celtic god of the Hunt, Herne, who later revealed himself to be the driving force behind O'Fearadaigh's birth and to whom are the souls of all Faradays pledged then, now and forever.
Various charms and holy symbols in the form of intricate ornaments on the interior of the perimeter wall give the area an ordinary yet slightly creepy appearance from the outside. But once inside all manner of otherworldyl phenomena can occur from the tricks of poltergeists to the possession of specters. At night, however, this is twice as true as the Faraday Spirits wake from their slumber for a brotherly feast in the dark of the crypt. Which is why some can hear merry laughs and singing emanate from beyond the wall.
Sometimes, and this happens very rarely during the Full Moon, the specters within the crypt reach out into the town and lull a young virgin maiden into their midst to be dressed in a crown of fresh lillies. She then dances with the specters in the moonlight until the morning to sate their need for the warm touch of a woman. The next day she wakes as she would any other day, at home with her feet dirty from dirt and grass.
⚔ OOC ⚔
- Standard rules of CVnU apply.
- Major destruction needs my explicit permission.
- Have fun!
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