Òranaiche Dubh

Come to the Unseelie Court! We have cookies!

Is that a better recruitment tactic for you, Your Majesticness?

To put it as plainly as possible, y’all don’t want to. Seriously. Don’t any of you remember the songs your ancestors used to write about us? Hell, y’all, half of ‘em in the last eight hundred years probably came from me. (I lose track; I’ve been paying way more attention to the music you people have been putting out in the last couple centuries anyway.)

But I digress. Trust me when I tell you you are better off outside Luciriel’s reach. Oh, sure, she could offer you carnal delights beyond measure, and that might even keep you entertained for the next ten or twenty or fifty years, but what happens when you start getting less limber? You will, you know. The Queen will promise to extend your lifespan. She may even do so. But she can’t make you immortal. Eventually, time will catch up with you. And there’s no place in the Court for aging, graying mortals.

And besides, do you really want to spend a decade or five in thrall, letting us drink down your thoughts like wine right out of your skulls, letting the teeth of goblins pierce your fragile flesh? Yes yes, I know, your little mortal lives seem so pale and insignificant next to our grandeur, our moonlit glory, stars and air and darkness and yadda yadda yadda been there, believe me darlin’s, heard it. A lot.

But here’s the thing. Here’s what all you’ll be missing if you bind yourselves to us: rock ‘n’ roll. Pizza. Modern medicine. Science that can take living beings to the moon (and I don’t mind telling y’all, you have us beat cold when it comes to science. Have y’all ever heard of a Sidhe scientist? I didn’t think so). The Internet. Cats. Sushi. Raves. Climbing to the top of Mount Everest. Scuba diving. Action movies. Ice cream. Scotch. Snowball fights. Fireplaces–

Do I need to go on? But if you’re still not convinced, take a look at your loved ones, your mates, your sires, your dams, your brothers and sisters and cousins and all the myriad little offspring you mortals are so very, very good at creating. You’ll be fnlvat tbbqolr gb rnpu naq rirel bar bs gurz–

Jnvg, jung va gur avar uryyf? Jung gur uryy whfg unccrarq gb zl xrlobneq?!

ETA: My bardling, what have I told you about your recruitment tactics? Seriously now. Did you really think I wasn’t monitoring your posts? Consider yourself cursed to post in ROT13 for the next few weeks until you remember your place. –Luciriel

My Queen reminds me that as long as we hold a corner of this virtual realm, we must defend our claim. There are wards–not Wards as the humans understand them, but protections nonetheless–I’ve laid about this place, but they grow thin. Don’t think I don’t see y’all, little mortals, peeking in.

Are you sure you’re ready to see what’s peeking back?

What, did you think I meant me? I’m just a l’il’ ol’ bard. There are far worse things than I in the ranks of the Court.

Fortunately, hardly any of ‘em have computers. Yet.

I ain’t even dignifying this with a response.

C’mon now, children, do you think a mere mortal storyteller would get it right?