Location: Home / / Tir - Remorting

The experience is traumatic: urban rebirth, culled from my present form in Mota's cathedral, that God not even my own. I am Tir, Truthair of na Daoine Sidhe. Born a Halfling in the woods about the gnome village, I plied my trade as a robber, picking the pockets of Midgaard's elite, made invisible by my beloved ring. I enjoyed it, skulking the back-alleys, hob-nobbing with the pickpockets and thieves, hiding in the sewers from the city guard. But gradually, I got tired of the cheap money, the bangles and bracelets, and started to wander. Deep in the forest, late at night, I found myself lost, and lay upon a mound to sleep.

I woke up dazed, my head not my own, my tongue heavy in my mouth as if drugged. I felt a throb from my neck; checking it, a feathered dart was embedded deep within. Those that had shot it told me that I had trespassed in their domain; they were the fair folk, the Daoine Sidhe. But impressed that I had found my way to a place outside the world of men, they offered me immortality and a place in their midst. I gratefully accepted, and took my place among the elves, brownies, redcaps, and fairy dragons of their clan.

Over the coming years, I spent my summers exploring hand-to-mouth, sleeping in the boughs of trees, thieving green apples and water from the creeks. I wintered in the depths of the underground caverns, sleeping behind waterfalls, careful not to disturb Klaatu's slumber or Sunset's hoard.

Finally, I found myself at the peak of my strength. Deep in the dungeons of doom, slaying dragons and orcs, I felt as if I could not become more powerful: I had mastered the art of thievery, of running numbers, gambling, and shadow-walking. My soul was unwell, and I felt a pull between what I had been born, and what I was now.

After discussing my sickness with Mab, the Faerie Queen, I made the trek to Midgaard, making brief contact with those I had known in my former life. Entering the cathedral, stripping to nothing, I entered the chamber, and spoke one phase:

"Make me holy."

Energy ripped into me, tearing my soul from my body before cleansing it, and infusing it once again. I felt reborn, ready to lead worship of Queen Mab, and to perhaps undo some of my former wrongs. But wait - what was this? Scales? Gills? Turquoise colouring? That trickster Mota had turned me into some manner of fish! What kind of malarkey was this? Who would be afraid of some oversized halibut? Who would sweat at the sight of a sardine? I cursed Mota's filthy name, and vowing revenge, made my way through the waters of the world.