Chapter Text
She was not the very first of her line, but she was among the first. She was certainly the oldest one left. So old, in fact, that she can remember when the others mocked them for the choices of their line's first. It had been said that no Fae would turn on another, and so all he had done was condemn his descendants to lives of mockery.
He had lost his lifemate while his children were still eggs, an accident when another Fae's joke had gone wrong. While she, obviously, had not been around for the death of her great-grandmother, she had known many who were. They told how his fellow Fae had at first expressed sympathy and sadness, having no words, even as his form began to change.
They watched, perplexed and full of sorrow as his body shifted into one that spoke of an unsurpassed durability. Interlocking armor covered his skin, scales ranging from tooth-size to plates that could shield the average horse. His wings similarly protected themselves, durable teeth like shark-skin slipped around and between lattices of plates that braced against one another to disperse any impact. Horns sprouted from his skull, tough enough for ramming, easily enough snapped to be terrible handholds. Some, apparently, were surprised when they saw him turning all his power into magical defenses as formidable as his physical ones. Even his flame was dimmed, leaving flight the only non-defensive utility left.
Of course, it wasn't long after that his children hatched. Everyone took one look at how similar they were to him and whatever sympathy remained disappeared faster than a block of ice faced with a Monstrous Nightmare. Her great-grandfather became the laughingstock of the Fae. The Fool, the Mad-Widower, the Roughneck, they called him plenty of names, each one a mockery, each one an insult. She was strangely pleased to know the term "Bonehead" came from her ancestor's behaviour. But more than that, he was a warning, a cautionary tale.
Whenever a Fae went through loss, whenever one was deciding how to affect their children, all the fingers would point to him. Point to the tale of the Fae who locked his entire Line's power, every last ounce of magic, into the most pointless uses imaginable. The one who chose to protect against his kind above all else.
She grew up in this perception of her family. But, before she reached full maturity, everything had changed. The Foul One had corrupted his line, conquered swaths of mortals, and then he took on what he saw as the last threat before challenging the divine power behind mortal and Old Fae alike. Claiming the Other World in a bloody coup, Chernobog declared war upon his Fae kin.
When the fighting began, all attention was on the offensive powerhouses; Genies summoned whole armies from the ether, Fairies channeled great power through their wands to empower brave mortal rebels, Pixies wielded the very power of the seasons themselves. Even among those who remained of the Old Fae, changes came to suit them for war.
Deadly Nadders zipped across battlefields, precise spines hardened by magic to pierce barriers and stick their foes like the pigs they were. Monstrous Nightmares brought raging infernos upon their foes, burning all who lacked the Old Fae's resistance to the flame. Zipplebacks undercut their foes and slipped into enemy camps to decapitate the enemy armies. Gronkles dodged magical missiles, crushed and ate enemy fortifications, and then used them as fuel to equip their own troops. Bewilderbeasts grew to be titans who downed whole armies while marshalling their own. And yet, despite all this power assembled against them, the Demon's Dark Fae gained ground.
It was only because of this that her forefather's determined calls to let him fight were heard. And it was only because he fought that the Fae realized the horrible weakness they had overlooked. For while it was true that the Dark Fae had on their side the seemingly endless magic of the world Chernobog had turned into his vile Chamberpot, there was another reason they cut down their Fae brethren so well. The mocking of her line had died down since the war began, but there was one facet they had still mocked, until that day. For on that day, 'The Nameless Ones' were vindicated in full.
Names, True Names, had always had a power to them among the Fae, but Chernobog's children took this power to a far, far higher level. Her forefather spoke of Genies chained and enslaved by the enemy's captains; of Fairies whose enchantments vanished, their wands going cold moments before the hands which wielded them; he spoke of Nadders whose unerringly fired spines instead fell upon their allies; of Nightmares which burned to ash from their own flames. And before each downfall - a Name. The Fae were overcome by horror at the weaponization of something so sacred to their being, and yet now, now, they knew how to fight.
With this revelation, her line became essential to the effort. And amongst her line, few had proved themselves more than she. In her first battle she felled a Spawn of Chernobog himself, claws rending the foul being's wings, horns splitting the demon child's ribs, fangs ripping his slippery tongue from his mouth, natural flame cooking the organs within his skull. They called her the Brave Barbarian. It was her first title not given in mockery. It was not her last.
Fighting through the years of carnage, more and more names came; Slayer of the Witch of Eire, Raider of the Enchanted Forest, Bane of the Hollowed Hag. It was she alone who stopped the Battle of Fang's Edge from ending in a rout, and she who led the push to expell the Dark Fae from the Isle. Her eyes bore witness to the first Night Fury, and her scales bore the scars of fighting the Great Kraken. Her line became an ever thicker of thorns in Chernobog's side, and she among their sharpest.
It was nearly the Eve of Chernobog's defeat when it all changed. The Hollowed Hag had come to the first of their line in secret. She came to offer them a Deal. By now, many of the Genies had been captured by the enemy, enslaved by their magic and that of the Vile One's Chamberpot. By pulling up on the combined powers held within the lamps that served as their prisons, Chernobog had managed to bind her line to him with a curse.
Were he to be defeated, the line would be crushed beneath the weight of all that power. But, if they would fight for Chernobog, they would become his greatest of Generals. While the first among its number would sooner die in agony than take the Deal, it was laid before the whole of the line. And not a fortnight afterwards, she and her brethren led the final battle against Chernobog.
In the midst of the chaos, the Apprentice was sighted, dancing through the battlefield to confuse the forces of the enemy. And while His Apprentice fought beside them, the Sorcerer's Luck shined upon them. Their blows struck true while the enemy seemed incapable of touching them. Chernobog was at their mercy, his forces routed in the fight. To this day, she wasn't sure how it happened, but Chernobog was sealed within the Isle, forced into a deep sleep, and held there by the power of the Isle itself.
If it was up to her, the cur would have died, the Other World rebuilt, not turned into a prison. But, such matters were beyond her. What she did know is the agony that filled her and her kin as the power of the curse waged war against the defenses within their bodies, their beings. The might marshalled against them was unimaginable, but it had to be for Chernobog to accomplish his purpose. They knew they would suffer, but none knew just how until it was over.
The agony fading, she had gained awareness of feathers, of two limbs missing, of a hornless head, and of soft skin. Her mouth opened and closed, squawking ringing out as a beak clacked shut, over and over. Her line, mighty warriors, champions of the Fae, the strong support that had shored up their brethren to keep them from defeat was no more. In their place were animals that personified cowardice, average fowl, an object of mockery and scorn once more.
The following years were both a blur and full of horror and tragedy as she had never known before. Unable to speak the Old Tongue, they were unable to explain what had befallen them. Not many had known of the curse, and even less knew what it would do, perhaps only Chernobog himself. In the following days and years it became clear that the Fae saw them as an oddity, or perhaps a useful, if inexplicable, source of power. They were more than just a bird, but not different enough for their former brethren to care.
The mortals saw them as abominations and witchcraft. They were too smart for what they appeared to be, unaging when compared to the creatures' whose form they had been forced into. Too different to risk leaving alive. Some risked hiding amongst the animal fowl they now appeared as, but she wouldn't pretend to be an animal when she was Fae. And she wouldn't risk be killed by an overzealous, or over fortunate, mortal, especially not after all she had been through. So, she was instead among those who hid among the wild, hermits hiding from everyone else.
Life like that quickly saps one's sense of time. Years went by, decades, centuries, and she remained both ageless and powerless. She moved from place to place, living off the land and staying ahead of anyone's suspicions. She crossed paths with others of her line, unsure if they were animal or trapped Fae unless they interacted. News came rarely amongst them, but still she heard of more and more that were lost to the hazards they faced.
She became lost, revisiting battlefields from the war and ruminating amongst the memories, dreams and feelings. It was while she was roosting amongst the wilderness of Fang's Edge that things changed once again. She was vaguely aware of a small mortal settlement on the island, but her worries were centered on the Old Fae invaders that were prowling about it. Which is the reason she blamed for being found by a mortal. He was unnerved by her, though his fellows seemed to think her nothing more than she appeared to be.
Something about the mortal unnerved her in return. She could sense something about him, something more than what a mortal should be. Weary from running and hiding, she chose to stay and see what she could discover. She was slightly intrigued to learn the settlement was for both mortals and Old Fae that had bonded with them. This intrigue shrunk a bit when she found both a Night Fury and Dark Fae trapped as a dragon among their number. Oddities gather oddities, in her experience. But the mortal was an oddity even among the others in the group.
The more time she spent around him, the more she saw signs that he Knew. The others brushed him off as mad, most of the time, yet he was not a fool. Not as they assumed. No, his madness was because he Knew things no mortal should, not even those with Fae blood in their veins. Not least the fact that he Knew she was not just the animal she appeared to be. This mortal treated her as an equal, not because he was a few eggs short of a clutch, but because he Knew that she was his equal. This one called Tuffnut earned her respect, and so she decided she would stay. She would stay and do all that she could to protect this strange mortal, this one who was also More Than He Appeared. And if that meant she finally had a Name, then she would accept it with honor. Beware, world; Tuffnut and Chicken would not let you take from them again.