The Faerie Truth Behind the Fairy Tales
By Vern d'Wyvern{1} Transcribed by Karina Fabian
O brave new world, that has such creatures in it.
Gotta hand it to Shakespeare; he sure has a way of putting things that endures. You wouldn't believe how many Mundanes have said just that about Faerie--and how many Faerie say it about you Mundanes.
It is a new world. Ever since the Gap[2] opened between my dimension, Faerie (spare me the jokes) and yours, Mundane (now you can snicker), there have been changes great and small to both our universes. So many, in fact, that historians want to synchronize both calendars to the date of the opening and call it AG. (You can imagine the Faerie Catholic Church isn't too thrilled by that idea.[3])
I'm not here to talk about the big changes. It's been done--from Rimspotter's Compleate Hystories of the Post-Gap Worlds to Idiot's Guide to Faerie[4]. I'm certainly not here to marvel at the creatures in it. When you're a dragon, you're the one who gets the awe, not the other way around.
I'm here to help you protect yourself.
Who am I? Vern of DragonEye, PI. Yep, a for-real dragon. "Wisdom of the Ages. Experience of Eternity. Treasures Found. Virginity Confirmed..." My ad used to say "Hired Muscle;" but my partner, the mage Sister Grace of the Faerie Catholic Church, didn't like that. It didn't work well, anyway--I may be 800 pounds of muscle, wings and scale--and don't forget teeth--but any Faerie will tell you I'm an undersized runt compared to my fellow drakes.
I used to be large as a house--well, trailer in your Mundane world; you build big--but that was before our St. George captured me in a holy spell. He took everything from me: my size, my magic, my fire-breathing ability, even my fangs! By the time he'd finished, I wasn't much more than an intelligent and good-looking Gila-monster.[5] Then he laid a geas on me, a real doozy: if I wanted to return to my former grandeur, I'd serve God and His creatures under the authority of the Church. I've been a faithful servant ever since. I've gotten back about a quarter of my size, a functional but (to my mind) miniscule amount of my knowledge, my flight and my fire. Damsels and Knights, how I missed my fire!
Actually, I don't mind my fate overmuch. Faerie dragons live forever, which is why George didn't even try to kill me, so we value novelty. Much as I resent the loss of myself, I've certainly had some interesting assignments the last eight centuries. I've traveled the Faerie World and seen some of the Mundane, fought--and defeated, boo-yah!--demigods and demons, and made some very interesting friends in species I'd have never even met if I'd stayed my glorious dragony self in my territory of Caraparavelenciana. Now, here I am, in a whole new dimension, eeking out a living as a private detective with a rusting warehouse for a lair and leftover e-bay rejects for treasure.[6] OK. That part's not so good.
God bless St. George--magically overpowered pain-in-the-tail.
Enough on me. Read more on my website if you're really interested[7].
It's my current job to help out Mundanes and Faerie when the crossroad between magic and tech leads to trouble. It hasn't been easy. How can such a naturally suspicious people believe that if you catch a leprechaun, he'll give you gold and not some debilitating disease?[8]
So why am I trying to work myself out of a job? Frankly, I'm hoping to spare myself some agony. Have you any idea how annoying it is to listen to some Mundane princess-wanna-be who gave a Faerie strongarm five thousand dollars so he could hire mercenaries to win the kingdom back while she babysat the Frog Prince? What's worse is when "Princess" wants to hire my mage partner, Sister Grace, to break Princey's spell. I'm embarrassed for my entire universe.[9]
So let's spare me the headaches and you the heartaches and get down to Faerie Truth Behind the Fairy Tales.
Living Easy Scams: The average Mundane is all about "wish fulfillment." Easy living is top on the list. No wonder some of these "services" sound so tempting.
*Brownie Housekeeping: This service promises to bring brownies, also known as "helper elves," or "shoemaker elves," to your home for a fabulous, one-time fee. After that, you keep the little buggers fed and they'll do your chores.
Please. How can you Mundanes believe they will clean your house or finish your project for a saucer of milk?
First of all, brownies are lactose intolerant. Second of all, they don't work that way. Brownies are Type-A transdimensional beings with Attention Deficit Disorder. The last case I had that involved them, someone had--bribed is such an ugly word[10]...but it's accurate--bribed them with soda to search for a document at a hotel. In addition to searching, they re-organized rooms, finished Sudoku puzzles and even painted clothing on one guy's photos of nudes. [11]
Trust me, even if someone could offer a brownie housekeeping service, the resulting chaos is not worth not having to do your own dishes.
*The Pied Piper Extermination Service. For a modest fee, a musician with an enchanted flute will draw all the vermin far from your home. Completely earth-friendly, completely "humane," completely non-toxic. How can you go wrong? Problem is, as soon as the music stops, the little rats get homesick--and the music didn't make them forget the way home, not at all. You're better off getting a predator in your home, like a cat.[12]
[1] Don't call me d'Wyvern if you know what's good for you. My name is Vurnerrah, with a wing flap and a bubbling of fire that humans cannot replicate. (The Faerie) Pope Pius saddled me with that name at my Confirmation. Pius was a very spiritual man with a lousy sense of humor. Vern is fine.
[2] Please don’t make the joke. I've heard them all. Even the clothing store can't milk the name any longer.
[3] The clothing retailer, however, is pushing hard and has started a new line of "AG" wear.
[4]...and its companion Ye Fool's Guide to Mundane. There are actually two versions of this book; the less popular one was penned by an out-of-work jester who finally hit it big in the comedy circuit in the Mundane world. If you don't know about Chuck Chuckler, you obviously haven't been watching They Were Discovered and I'm not going to waste time giving you details. Get the book, though; it's more accurate than the Idiot's Guide version.
[5] Intelligent by human standards. I knew one language--Latin--and had the most of my wisdom and memories taken from me.
[6] The former owner apparently made a comfortable living off buying junk and reselling it on the Internet. He willed the warehouse and all its contents to the local parish; who passed it to me on a lease-to-buy deal. I still don't know what's in half the boxes; better to pretend they're precious jewels. Ignorance can be bliss, and I'm as lazy as the next drake.
http://www.dragoneyepi.net
. (This is a real website folks--Karina)
[8] Usually involving shrinking or turning green. They have a wicked sense of humor, leprechauns.
[9] Both universes, actually; it turned out the idiots running the scam weren't even Faerie. The guy finally got caught by the Los Lagos PD when he tried to sell a frog to an undercover agent. Since the frog weighed well over 2 ounces, he got 5 years for possession with intent to sell.
[10] Actually, "bribed" is not such an ugly word to us Magicals. Nope, not even to me. Come on, why do you think I'd carry some screaming maiden princess into my lair and let her Intended rescue her, sometimes poking me in the side and swiping some treasure while he was at it? It wasn't instinct, and it certainly wasn't some misguided sense of romance--it was the cow they tossed over the fence when the farce was done. Two, if the knight got lucky and drew blood.
[11] For more about this case, check out Magic, Mensa, and Mayhem (2009 Swimming Kangaroo Books).
[12] It took about a month and a half dozen meals and light snacks before my neighborhood became a rat-free zone. Every now and then, I extend my territory. Rats are vile, but they fill the stomach, and since Sister Grace moved in, I've laid off eating my pets. Kidding! (I only did that the once, and it was Hot Dog or the mailman, and the government doesn't like me as it is.)