The Fair Folk

[Gonzoron of the FoS]

Damn, this guy's good.

One Midnight Market visit is now scheduled for sometime hence in my campaign.

[MadStepDad]

I agree with BBQDaddy that I never considered using fairys in this capacity before. You've definitely opened my eyes a little. Like GRon I too will plan an unplanned visit to the Midnight Market in my campaign. Good job on this.

peace,

MSD

[Irving the Meek]

I love it. It's the perfect little taste of high, dark fantasy a low-fantasy campaign can use in a setting to keep it interesting. This seems like an excellent place for wizards, sorcerers, and warlocks of all stripes to purchase spells and pay for a tutor.

I have a *few* quibbles, but they're minor.

- The tech level's just a touch too high. This is really just a matter of changing the references to iodine bottles and gas lamps; it's hardly a problem.

- Jeremy the Darklord has some issues. Why would he conjure the Master of Fear, and the other merchants? Why is his realm so extremely accessible?

There are lots of answers, but my choice would be this: Jeremy's domain, in its "natural" state, is an empty, twisting, cramped maze of streets. The Minister of Fear, the merchants, and the other fey are non-natives - fey who took a manageable domain with a weak Darklord and co-opted it for their own purposes. It's a convenient place to stand on, no more, no less. The Minister and other fey build the roads and doors to the Domain; Jeremy has no connection to the mercantile aspects of his domain proper. (Of course, this disconcerts Jeremy to no end. It's one thing to be trapped in your own personal nightmare; it's quite another to have squatters crowding you out of your own hell. He's hardly in a place to do anything about it, though. While he could, in fact, assume total control of his Domain and drive everyone out if he wanted, he has no idea he could do so, and the Minister of Fear has terrified him to the point that he has no idea of his own power.)

[NeoTiamat]

I agree with BBQDaddy that I never considered using fairys in this capacity before. You've definitely opened my eyes a little. Like GRon I too will plan an unplanned visit to the Midnight Market in my campaign. Good job on this.

peace,

MSD

I consider it (only about half-facetiously) my life's work as a DM to present very frightening Faerie for public consumption.

The thing which I specifically love about the Fey, and what I think sets them apart from other horror entities, is they're level of self-awareness as a fictional construct. Faerie act like their in a story (the whole Narrative Entities bit I mentioned above). And their stories tend to be the dark and surreal 'fairy tales' of the Brothers Grimm and those like them.

Basically, a story with the Fey ends up being a fight between 'realistic logic' and 'story logic', which has a feeling of post-modernism that I find lots of fun, and rather ironic seeing as its post-modernism done with unimaginably ancient entities, both in game (Faeries are immortal) and out of game (Faeries have a long history).

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I love it. It's the perfect little taste of high, dark fantasy a low-fantasy campaign can use in a setting to keep it interesting. This seems like an excellent place for wizards, sorcerers, and warlocks of all stripes to purchase spells and pay for a tutor.

Heh, that is the idea. To be honest, I'd be hard-pressed to run an entire adventure, let alone a campaign, based on the Midnight Market. That's not its design-goal. It's a back-drop for some other adventure, a little area that can be inserted into the game for atmosphere and shopping.

It's also a little taste of nightmarish society. For all that Ravenloft has the trappings of a low-magic society, it has a lot of monsters running around. Liches, hags, vampires, secret societies of mages, Faerie, golems, werewolves, doppelgangers, vampyres, wererats, ghosts, paka, necromancers, all sprinkled with a touch of fiends. Given the sheer variety and quantity, I figure that all of these creatures have to interact somehow.

Now, I suppose you could run them as being very cliqueish and isolated and generally avoiding one another, or maybe there's not so many of them (the idea of the only vampires being around are those you actually use in your campaign). Which is certainly a workable idea.

That said, I find it more interesting if sometimes, at least, these monsters can have peaceful relations. After all, Azalin and Strahd managed to coexist for several decades.

And once you've established a monstrous 'shadow society', however tenuous, all that remains is introducing the PCs to it. Ergo, the Midnight Market.

- The tech level's just a touch too high. This is really just a matter of changing the references to iodine bottles and gas lamps; it's hardly a problem.

*embarassed cough* I really do know better, but my creative mind has been permanently locked into 'Dracula Time'. Most of the most famous Gothic Horror books were Victorian-era in style (Dracula, Frankenstein, anything written by Poe), so my imagination gravitates to it.

Actually, the very houses are sort of Victorian row-houses, at least in my mind.

I think I'll go and take another read through and see where I should de-tech it.

- Jeremy the Darklord has some issues. Why would he conjure the Master of Fear, and the other merchants? Why is his realm so extremely accessible?

There are lots of answers, but my choice would be this: Jeremy's domain, in its "natural" state, is an empty, twisting, cramped maze of streets. The Minister of Fear, the merchants, and the other fey are non-natives - fey who took a manageable domain with a weak Darklord and co-opted it for their own purposes. It's a convenient place to stand on, no more, no less. The Minister and other fey build the roads and doors to the Domain; Jeremy has no connection to the mercantile aspects of his domain proper. (Of course, this disconcerts Jeremy to no end. It's one thing to be trapped in your own personal nightmare; it's quite another to have squatters crowding you out of your own hell. He's hardly in a place to do anything about it, though. While he could, in fact, assume total control of his Domain and drive everyone out if he wanted, he has no idea he could do so, and the Minister of Fear has terrified him to the point that he has no idea of his own power.)

Ooooooh, now that is clever. To be honest, Jeremy-the-Darklord was a late addition to the Market. I had the idea of the Market first, and I knew it would have to be a Pocket Domain of some sort, but rather than making the Minister the Darklord (which raises all sorts of issues seeing as he's a Faerie and not a mortal of any sort), I decided the immortal beggar on the street would be the real lord. From there, I just sort of handwaved the rest.

But I like the idea of squatters. Very likely there's some kind of alliance between the Minister and the goblin-merchants that led to this.

The merchants get a safe haven to sell their goods, (as Faerie of wealth and commerce, their very existence is predicated on selling and buying). They can congregate and become stronger by virtue of numbers, with customers from one visiting others, making all of them stronger. They can sell openly, which is always nice, and they can do so safely, without worrying about unruly customers, since any transgressions will be punished by the Minister.

For his part, the Minister gets a steady flow of prey also. As a terror-justice-Fey, he needs people on which to inflict the one or the other. The Market provides a steady circulation of mortals coming to him, without the Minister needing to leave and hunt. And by staying in one place, with a slowly shifting base of terror-struck mortals, the Minister grows his narrative more effectively than if he was all over the place.

I like this idea. With your permission, I'll edit some of this into the post (and give you a credit, never fear).

[DeepShadow of FoS]

Pure gold. I don't mind the gaslamps or iodine, but Jeremy as DL is something I won't be including when my PC's make a trip to the Midnight Market. I'm not convinced my version of the MM will even be a domain, but I can leave that open.

[Irving the Meek]

I like this idea. With your permission, I'll edit some of this into the post (and give you a credit, never fear).

Are you kidding? I'm flattered you like the notion. Please, steal it, twist it to make it your own, and enjoy it for all it's worth!

[Joël of the FoS]

Will you be making an QtR article out of this, or do you want me to collect it all in the DM's vault?

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I'm also going to use the MM, but in as a place where info can be found. The PCs will be asked to buy back a contract/soul from the fey who made the changeling they saw in the last session.

I was looking to make a place similar to Neverwhere'sd underground, but the MM is perfect for this "find XYZ at the MM, he should know who owns the soul, or be able to help" adventure hook.

I'll just put more "classic" fey breeds than the writing suggests, while keeping the goblin folk as well.

Joël

[Igor the Henchman]

I love the concept of a serial killer who grows an extra eye each time he murders someone. There's something... surpassingly creepy about that.

[NeoTiamat]

Will you be making an QtR article out of this, or do you want me to collect it all in the DM's vault?

Hrm... good question. No idea. Laziness argues for DM's Vault, but I'm open for any suggestions for or against either.

I'm surprised (and very glad) that so many people like the Midnight Market. I hope you'll tell me how it goes (nothing is nicer than knowing just how actual PCs liked your creations).

In fact... given how popular it seems to be proving, I think I'll detail a few more denizens of the Midnight Market here. I'll edit them into the original post, but I'll also reproduce them here for convenience.

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More of the Midnight Market's Visitors

• Conall: Even amongst the shadow-dwellers of the Midnight Market, this grim Tepestani stands out. He maintains no stall or tent, offers no goods or magics for sale. Conall sells only himself, never for more than a day at a time. Conall is a mercenary, and if his businesslike manner is to be believed, he is a very good one.
  
  Certainly his appearance bears it out. Conall stands six feet and seven inches tall, and possessed of the frame and build of a blacksmith or stevedore. He carries no weapons, dresses in workman's clothes instead of armor, but he has no need of either, for Conall is one of the Mountain Loup Garou, a werewolf of unimaginable power, harmed only by the touch of pure gold.
  
  And for a price, for one day, this engine of destruction will stand at his employer's side, and rend and tear whomsoever gets in the way. And for his price, Conall asks no money or jewels. For one day of service, Conall demands a life. And not just any life, but that of an artist, though whether musician, painter, or what not matters not in the least. Only when the sacrifice is brought to his feet, willingly or in chains, does Conall offer his not inconsiderable might. Those who care about such things presume that Conall sates his animal lusts on his victims in some unsavory fashion. In truth, the story is rather different.
  
  Once, Conall was an infected werewolf, a maddened beast who upon his first transformation slew wife, parents, brother, and child in one gore-soaked night. Unhinged with grief, Conall made a bargain with an entity best left unnamed. For one hundred and twelve lives, lives of artists, his own life will be returned to him.
  
  This is something Conall has come to believe with a religious fervor. He needs to believe it, to maintain his own vestiges of sanity. If only he can cover his hands in enough broken dreams, then perhaps his curse shall be lifted, his family returned.
  
  Those familiar with the bargains of Faerie expect a less happy ending to Conall's tale.
  
  Greysilk: Sometimes, people come to the Midnight Market not to buy, but to sell. Some things are valuable, assuredly, but only to those in the nocturnal realm of the Midnight Market. A condemned man's last breath? Fresh virgin tears? Soil from a vampire's coffin? For those, no mundane merchant will do. Enter Greysilk the Fence.
  
  Greysilk is an easy Fae to spot, wandering around the Midnight Market. A short, chubby man in a pale grey, silk suit, Greysilk cuts a fairly ridiculous figure amongst the shadowy customers and goblin merchants of the Market. Eminently friendly, even over-familiar, Greysilk introduces himself as "Charles Emmanuel Grey, Esquire," and has the manners of a court dandy. Still, compared to most of the Fey, he looks completely human, the only proof of his nature his own ready admission.
  
  The Faerie doesn't buy everything offered to him, of course. There's really been an over-supply of condemned men's breaths ever since Drakov took over. But some things he will buy, and not just the esoterica either. Greysilk will buy jewelry, stolen paintings, most anything, and he pays in good gold and silver for it, though his coins are oftentimes of... peculiar origin.
  
  That said, one should never, ever accept an invitation to Greysilk's parlor. He's quite harmless to deal with the rest of the time, he truly is. People who try to cheat him may run afoul of the Minister for oath-breaking, but Greysilk himself is quite a nice man, quite harmless really.
  
  Just... don't visit his parlor.
  
  Zerachiel Those who see this beautiful figure think him one of the Faerie, or at the least one of the children of the Night. A tall, willowy man with golden-blond hair, Zerachiel conducts his business in the market with face concealed beneath an ivory half-mask, a vision almost angelic.
  
  In truth, Simon Dupree is quite mortal. He is also a monster greater than most in the Market.
  
  Ever since his first visit to the Midnight Market, Simon saw a niche for himself. So much in the Market can be bought with human lives, with human souls, with blood and pain and whispers and tears. But not all creatures wish to go to the hassle of kidnapping a mortal merely to hire the services of Conall, or care to drain themselves of blood (if they even possess blood any longer) just to purchase from the Clan Karkar.
  
  Simon makes it so that they don't need to, for Simon, you see, is a slaver. Traveling through the sunlit realms, the beautiful Richemuloise man places himself as honeyed bait, pretending to be a merchant traveling upon business (which, in truth, he is). To his elders, Simon is a studious young man of business, eager to learn. To his fellows, Simon is the dashing traveler, carrying just a hint of exotic danger about him to heighten the allure. To children, Simon is kind and attentive, always ready with a helping hand and a kind word. And when the time is ripe, when he lures his victim to a secluded spot with soft words and sweet looks, he strikes. A stab of the syringe, the clink of the manacles, and then through the Gateway to the Midnight Market, to await the buyers with their soft gold and bright silver.
  
  As for what happens while his prisoners are in his care... very few of the denizens of the Midnight Market care whether or not their victims are in pristine condition when bought.

[Paladyn]

Great Idea, NeoTiamat. Honestly, it plays on the right and frightful strings. What appeals to me most, is idea of single person, living inside his/hers mind. For some time I thought of villain psion, who is crippled and catatonic or in coma, but is able to posses bodies of other men or influence their actions, to his/hers whims or schemes.
One more time, great and inspiring job!

[NeoTiamat]

Glad to be of service. Hrm...

First, another lesson in "How that crazy dragon thinks", followed by a Faerie.

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Faerie Names: The name of a Faerie is a complicated and valuable business. Now, all things possess a True Name, and possession of that Name grants a person power over the Name's owner. There's an entire school of magic based around the True Names of things, people, and ideas.

But a Faerie's True Name is different. Anyone can use a Faerie's True Name to compel it, all it takes is enough will and determination. A child, possessed with enough stubbornness, could control one of the Lords of Faerie if she had his Name.

For obvious reasons, the Faerie are very, very careful with their True Names, to the point of paranoia. Most go by titles or nicknames, traditionally a two-word name such as Red Jack, or Featherflute, or Greysilk. Others draw upon mythic names, such as the Lorelei or Atheling. Others still merely go by diminutives of their True Name, such as Brum (who's True Name starts with Brum... and goes on for another eighteen letters).

Moreover, the Faerie tend to change their names as frequently as they can get away with. This protects them (a name used often enough, and long enough, gains power, even if it's not their True Name), but the changing of the name often hurts their narrative, weakening them.

For most Faerie past a certain level of power, it's a necessary weakening. Brum of the Mound can take a certain comfort in anonymity, sure that no one will seek to enslave him. Red Jack, Dead Jack, Brave Jack, Grave Jack, however, has many names.

It can be a quick, if inaccurate, measure of a Faerie's power, how many titles they answer to.

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The False Knight

• ‘O whare are ye gaun?’
  Says the false knight upon the road;
  ‘I am gaun to the schule,’
  Says the wee boy, and still he stood.
  
  ‘Wha’s aught the sheep on yonder hill?’
  Says the false knight upon the road;
  ‘They are my papa’s and mine.’
  Says the wee boy, and still he stood.
  
  ‘How many of them’s mine?’
  Says the false knight upon the road;
  ‘A’ them that has blue tails.’
  Says the wee boy, and still he stood.
  
  ‘I wish you were in yonder well:’
  Says the false knight upon the road;
  ‘And you were down in hell.’
  Says the wee boy, and still he stood.
  
  -And old Tepestani ballad

Asked to describe power, many would answer that power is Dominance. Nobility. Strength. Magic. Wealth. Followers. Status. Few would consider a boy's bravery and quick wit to be power, for with them he managed to withstand one of the Lords of Faerie.

Luckily for the False Knight, few have that small child's guile and courage.

Appearance: The False Knight takes many forms, but always he is the greater. To a child or peasant, he appears as a silvery knight upon a pure white horse, with a raised lance and drawn sword, though his shield bears no device. To a well-armed band of adventurers or mercenaries, the False Knight appears as a demon out of hell, riding upon the back of a bleak and dreadful wyrm, with a lightning bolt his lance and an inferno his sword. To an old wizard, wise in the ways of the Mists and a brother of shadows, the False Knight seems as Arawn himself.

Perhaps he is.

Always, there are two constants. Always the False Knight's face is hidden, his helmet's visor down, though from within the slats of the helmet comes an unearthly glow, a hellfire yellow-red flame. And the False Knight's shield bears no device, only cold silver. Thus can the False Knight be recognized.

Nature: The legend of the False Knight is an old one, dating back centuries, and many of the songs are quite famous in their own right. There are disparate threads, of course, but the tales agree on the basics enough.

The traveller is one who is walking down a lonely road at a time when the sun is not out. It may be overcast, or it may be night-time, but always the shadows are long and the light is dim when the False Knight appears, riding in the opposite direction from the hapless victim.

Always, he is terrible and frightening, and presents the appearance of someone so far beyond the traveller's power as to be untouchable, a force of nature. Most often, he merely appears as a grim knight, but for stronger prey, his forms become more... esoteric.

Rudely and without preamble, the False Knight questions the traveller, his voice hollow and reverberating. His questions differ, but the following are frequent in the tales.

• "Where are you going?"
  "Where have you been?"
  "What are you carrying?"
  "Who's is _______?"
  "How many of ______ are mine?"

If the traveller meets his questions with cool and clever answers, the False Knight begins to curse him, wishing all manner of ill-fortune upon him.

• "I wish you be out at sea."
  "I wish you be up in that tree."
  "I wish you be at the bottom of that well."
  "I wish you be beneath my horse's hoof."

Eventually, the queer conversation is over. Sometimes the False Knight finishes his interrogation in moments, sometimes he continues for hours. Eventually, however, he finishes, and he judges.

If the travellers have greeted his questions and curses with cunning retorts and brave wit, then the False Knight is left with no choice but to reward them, though it galls this dark creature to no end. Angrily, tersely, the False Knight tells them a single sentence worth knowing, something of great value to the traveler. The location of a treasure, the fate of a friend, a prophecy of the future.

The False Knight loathes doing this, but he is bound by old pacts to make his words clear and understood, though if there is a way to twist them darkly, he shall. Regardless, the False Knight will depart angrily then, and never again will the travellers be bothered by him, for he hates to be bested.

If the travellers were churlish in turn, or offered him steel, then the False Knight laughs darkly once and calls them fools, though brave ones. In a swirl of mist and fog, the False Knight will leave then.

But if the travellers have neither wit nor courage, if they run from the False Knight or try to appease him, then they are in his power, slaves and chattel to be spirited away to his otherworldly realm. And from there, none return.

The Truth: The False Knight is an old Faerie, and one so famed that he cannot be otherwise but one of the Lords of the Fae. Some call him a demon, and in truth this old Terror-Fey is as filled with hatred and malice as any hellspawn. And yet, he is honorable in his way, for he is bound by pacts.

Simply put, the False Knight's power is determined by the fear of his victim, and he is rebuffed by courage. If the traveller is outright scared and tries to flee, then he is the False Knight's, to be stolen away to his nightmarish manse.

But just standing your ground is not necessarily a sign of courage. It may also hint at stupidity, which interests the False Knight not at all. But if someone rebuffs and outwits him, demonstrates that he understands the enormity of the False Knight's power, but is still unafraid... then the False Knight's own vows force him to reward the brave petitioner.

It's not something he's forced to do very often.

DM Notes: The False Knight is basically a challenge of intellect, wordplay, and the ability to think with something other than your sword, traits useful in the general Ravenloft game. [For DMs with PCs slightly slower, a Bardic Lore or Knowledge: History check might provide a useful hint for how to deal with the False Knight]

It's possible to play the False Knight as a random encounter, a way to show the nightmarish reality of Ravenloft, as he turns the corner, riding on a black dragon and wielding a lightning bolt for a spear. Should they succeed, the False Knight's words can lead them to a buried treasure, an old bandit's hoard or the ruins of a wizard's tower.

But it may also be that the PCs are specifically directed to the False Knight. The old Terror-Fey knows a great many things he shouldn't, things he couldn't know. Things that no one else knows, secrets of the Faerie, and of Mortals, and of the Mists themselves.

Of course, there is another possible adventure here. Somewhere in the Mists lies the False Knight's demesnes, a nightmarish, otherworldly estate where reason is suspended and the False Knight is lord. He's collected quite a few mortal slaves in his time, serfs and servants who never age and never remember their lives before, serving their overlord with all of their hearts. Perhaps someone the PCs need has also been taken. But the False Knight is an old Faerie, and a powerful one, with stories told of him throughout much of the Land.

Bearding the old Terror-Fae in his lair would be quite an adventure.

[NeoTiamat]

And here's another Faerie, of slightly more lethal mien. Ironically, the hardest part of this guy was making up a decent name. I swear, I went through about twenty iterations and must've bugged half my players and co-GMs.

Not exactly terror-inducing, but I can safely say that no one else has this name. (My other idea was Gravedancer, but that steps on the toes of a certain bloodstained ballerina).

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The Elegist

• Zig, zig, zig, Death in a cadence,
  Striking with his heel a tomb,
  Death at midnight plays a dance-tune,
  Zig, zig, zig, on his violin.
  
  The winter wind blows and the night is dark;
  Moans are heard in the linden trees.
  Through the gloom, white skeletons pass,
  Running and leaping in their shrouds.
  
  Zig, zig, zig, each one is frisking,
  The bones of the dancers are heard to crack—
  But hist! of a sudden they quit the round,
  They push forward, they fly; the cock has crowed.
  
  -Danse Macabre, Op. 40, by Camille Saint-Saëns

There is a hush. The moon hangs low in the sky, bathing the cemetery with its pale glow. A single figure steps out into the graveyard. He raises a violin to his shoulder, and begins to play, a fast, quick little melody, of the sort that causes one's fingers to beat a tattoo in time with it.

The first dancer arises, pushing the barren earth from his form. He is old, but he still remembers a few steps from his youth. His companion is lovely, perfectly frozen in the shape of her burial. Together, they begin to dance. Soon they are joined by others.

By midnight, the entire cemetery is dancing, as fast, clever music fills the air. Thus is the passing of the Elegist.

Appearance: In person, the Elegist resembles a certain kind of dying young poet. He is a slender-framed youth, clad in black clothing with a white rose upon his lapel. His skin is pale, and his blond curls fall in a dishevelhed heap about his head. His eyes are large, and dark blue, and the Elegist carries a violin of ebon-wood with him.

The Death-Fey, however, takes the appearance of the dying poet a step beyond. His skin is the pallor of the corpse, and an observant viewer would notice the first signs of decay around his large eyes and his fingers. The Elegist moves in a jerky, uneven fashion, as if a marionette with a poor puppeteer. Those familiar with it would consider the Elegist one of the Obedient Dead at first glance.

At the same time, his heart does beat, quickly, too quickly. The Elegist breathes, though he rarely speaks and never smiles. All his uneven movements, likewise, do not hurt his playing ability one whit.

Nature: For all that this Death-Fey rarely speaks and almost never travels beyond the confines of his graveyards, most of the town will soon learn if the Elegist has paid them a visit.

The first few nights (and the Elegist is only ever seen at night), the Death-Fey does little more than play his violin within the cemetery, standing before the headstone of some long-forgotten soul, and filling the night with his slightly deranged music. For now, the Elegist plays slow dirges and mournful laments to the dwellers of the graveyard. Nothing yet has happened. Sometimes, the Elegist leaves after this point.

More often, however, the Elegist's music changes. It becomes quicker, faster, possessed of a rhythm and melody that hint at the Death-Fey's otherworldly origins. Now, the denizens of the cemetery know him, and to this music, they rise up to dance.

Merchants and beggars alike, buried in their finest threads now greatly decayed, the dead open their coffins and pass to the surface in some mystic fashion. Some are zombies, or embalmed to look quite nearly human in their somber suits. Others are skeletons, clad in a few tatters of cloth. Some few are merely ghosts, shadows and echoes of the past. At first, only the bravest and most venturesome of the dead answer the Elegist's call, but in time, they all dance.

Stately waltzes and sprightly mazurkas are the Elegist's fare, interspersed with folk dances of the distant past. Still, the dances are yet harmless, provided one doesn't venture into the graveyard. The Elegist will not venture forth, and those who avoid the cemetery between dusk and dawn are safe.

The Last Movement: Still, it is an untenable position, and eventually the Elegist finishes his visitation in one of three ways. Sometimes, the Death-Fey grows bored and departs. He arrives and turns the cemetery into a nightly uproar for some days or weeks, but then is gone, and the confused and frightened town is left to wonder, and often times to put stouter locks upon the lichgates.

More often, however, the Elegist refuses to depart until a sacrifice is made. Scholars debate and argue for why this is so, but most suspect that he loathes leaving a graveyard unattended, and so seeks a 'replacement' for himself before he leaves.

The sacrifice may be a man or a woman, young or old, but they must be a good dancer and of sound limb, and so most are youths. Sometimes the Elegist makes his requests clear through signs upon the cemetery walls, ominous scribblings in old blood or ink. Other times, the Elegist collects the sacrifice himself, luring them to the cemetery with hypnotic songs.

Eventually, the sacrifice arrives, and thence the Elegist offers a dance with his victim. It seems dreadfully important to him that the victim accept of their own free will, and the Death-Fey does nothing to compel them. Of course, if they refuse, the waiting dead tear them limb from limb, but that is something the Elegist does not tell them.

Then the Death-Fey and his victim dance, twirling through the night as the restless dead look on and keep time, knocking bony knees and clapping decayed hands. A single dance, and if the Elegist is satisfied, then the victim's fate is sealed. While they dance, the waiting dead prepare a grave, and bring out a headstone for their new neighbor.

At the dance's conclusion, the Elegist shows the sacrifice his or her new abode, and bids them enter their coffin, compelling them with some eldritch magic of the Faerie. Then the coffin is sealed and lowered into the grave, and the Elegist supervises its burial, binding the grave with powerful magics that it is not disturbed or tampered with.

The next day, at dusk, the Elegist is no longer present, but in his stead, the graveyard has a new ghostly member. The sacrifice is translucent and otherworldly, and for the rest of eternity is doomed to dance the night away, waiting for his or her partner's return.

Of course, sometimes the sacrifice is unsatisfactory, or perhaps the Elegist decides these things but pure caprice, but a third option is possible. Very rarely, on the night of the new moon, the Elegist will lead his dancing entourage into the land of the living.

Some of the undead, those buried with husbands or wives, have partners and are harmless. But those without such fellows seek out partners in the dance. They scrabble into windows, break down doors, seek out mortals with whom to share the Elegist's song. This mad collection continues, a hunting of the living until all have a partner, or the night grows late. Before dawn, the Elegist leads his expanded troupe back to the cemetery.

There, with dark magics and vile pacts, he lets his entourage take their dancers back into their crypts and coffins, burying themselves beneath the ground... with their mortal partners in tow. And then the Elegist departs. Few of the townsfolk survive their entrapment below the earth, and even those who are dug out in time... spending several hours trapped with a corpse in a coffin does not do one's sanity anything good.

Defeating the Elegist: Aside from simply hoping he gets bored and goes away on his own, the Elegist is a difficult foe to face. The surest way to avoid his dark visits is to give him a sacrifice, a ghostly partner in the dance to replace him after he departs. Some towns, those familiar with his stories, find it the simplest solution.

Actually destroying the Elegist is rather trickier. The Elegist knows old bindings and pacts, and mystic songs most have forgotten. Moreover, he usually has an entire cemetery's dead as his servants. That said, the Elegist can be defeated.

In particular, the touch of rowan wood is deathly dangerous to the Elegist. It burns his skin, making it crackle and smoulder like flaming parchment, and causes the Death-Fey an unholy pain. Were a rowan stake plunged into the Elegist's throat, then his manifestation in this graveyard is ended, and all that is his disappears into an oily smoke. Never again will he trouble that town... though others may feel his sting.

As for destroying him permanently? Well, that requires destroying his violin. One must steal the instrument and smash it to kindling with a rowan staff, and then burn it upon holy ground. The ashes must be mixed with holy water, and then buried beneath a church. Of course, the difficulty lies in the fact that if the Elegist's manifestation is destroyed during this, than the violin disappears. And it is unlikely that the Death-Fey will take the theft of his property lightly.

DM Notes: The Elegist is a bit simpler a foe than most of the others presented before. He's frightening, he's powerful, and he's explicitly malicious. His visits cast a pall of fear over the town where the PCs are staying, and the alternatives are to sacrifice one of the town's own, or else risk unimaginable destruction. Beyond that, destroying the Elegist is simple. Hurt him enough, preferably with rowan-wood implements, and he goes away. (bear in mind that simple does not by any means equal easy).

That said, the Elegist also serves as a kind of 'bait-and-switch' antagonist. Most players, hearing about trouble in the graveyard, expect vampires, or liches, or necromancers, or maybe mad scientists looking for Flesh Golem parts. A Faerie is most certainly not what they are going to be expecting. At which point he goes and unleashes a wave of zombies upon them, or buries dozens of people alive in graves.

I love the Fair Folk.

[Archedius]

Wow...that is one of the creepiest npc's I've ever read about. I sat for a moment imagining all of what you wrote about- that's truly disturbing. Good job *gives a cookie*

[Ornum]

I knew you had a thing for fey, as we have talked about it in the past. Honestly, what I'm reading here is very good and I'm glad that the fey are getting their due somewhere. I have always felt that the fey were fairly weak as presented, especially considering how old and powerful they are supposed to be (even though stats never present them as all that powerful). Other than the Seelie Court's description in 2e's Monstrous Mythology, I have found no other real source that goes into unique fey personalities. Mostly what I've found is "typical members of their race" kind of stuff that I hate.

Your views on the subject are different, in a very good way, and the examples provided so far are outstanding (especially the market...love that). It's this belief of how fey should be that I'll be bringing into my game, should I actually start playing again.

Also, good job on not providing stats. I'm all about fluff and not crunch. I also feel that stats make DM's lazy or limit their creativity and that such things should be made up by the DM to fit the individual campaign or adventure as needed.

[Rotipher of the FoS]

This has gone well beyond an ordinary thread at this point, and become more like a CotN:Fey netbook in the making. Cool stuff, Neo!