Floris

Laoch

They say the mist clung to the trees like a spiders web when the new mother left her child on the outskirts of a human village. She wove through the helpful shadows, wary of any prying eyes as she hid behind the stables. Building a small shelter for her young, casting her charms over the dew covered Earth to protect her kin until he were ready to stand on his own. The child let out a small whine, already missing his mother's warmth. Hearing her delicate coo encouraging him to sleep, leading him to fall back into a slumber while she continued her heartfelt apology for what was to happen in order for him to reach his designed fate. Then she was gone, once more led through the lands by the darkness.

When the light breached the mist upon the dawn the child once more did stir. Pitiful calls for a mother no longer within reach escaped from hungry lips. The sounds gaining the attention of a nearby smith whose heart bled at the sorrow. The kindly smith brought the sobbing child home, begging his hardened wife - who had not wished to bear a child - to help rear the child as if he were their own. With great reluctance the wife agreed. She would help raise the boy only for him to work in the forge when old enough to wield a hammer. As agreed upon, the married couple nurtured the youngling till he were strong enough to help his male carer with the forge.

During one of the few private days away from the forge, he met another young male who was similar in age. The boy introduced himself as Cillian, a farming child who had no parents, then asked for the name of the other. Without hesitation, he spoke his own name; Laoch. Cillian questioned Laoch, as much as a young boy could, before they marched deeper into the surrounding forest to play with sticks, acting as the brave protectors who ventured far from the village in order to save the civilian folk.

After their initial meeting, they would spend their free days coming together to play or even head to the farming lands to help Cillian with what needed to be done for that day; attend the fields, care for the livestock. While being around each other they would often talk of their lives, finding their shared experiences within their short times such as being raised by carers instead of family and having to work from young ages. It strengthened the bonds between the two, becoming dear friends even when disaster struck, such as when Laoch's carers' suddenly passed years later.

On that dark day, Laoch started to learn of his true heritage. The forest would whisper to him when he was alone, telling him of an ancient race blessed with flora in their blood, of the treasures and creatures the race would protect in their home land; the Tir Nan Og. Each member of the old race belonged to a different collection, a specialty that was an extension of themselves, with wings of blooming flowers that helped show others of their kind just which collection they belonged to. When Laoch begged for the name of this race – his ancient kin – at first the forest was hesitant to speak, softly breathing for only him to hear. The Fae.

When the forest had told Laoch all it knew of his kind, the young Fae ran to find Cillian, quick in his excitement to tell his friend all he had learnt, to share his secret to the only one he trusted. Cillian, fascinated by Laoch's tales, questioned further for every last morsel of information he could wring out of the Fae until there was nothing more to tell. With astonishment filling their minds, they chased through the forests surrounding their village in hopes of finding a gateway into the mystical land of the Tir Nan Og. It took many weeks till they stumbled upon a ring of standing stones. The ground in the centre charred from unknown causes, the branches of the trees surrounding the stone structure curved upwards to make what would seem to be a roof, the midday light able to glimmer between the emerald leaves. Try as they might, nothing they could do would show them even a glimpse of Laoch's primordial birthplace, leaving them to wonder if they could gain access.