There was a time when they resembled fairies so closely that it was hard to tell the two species apart.
The Faeryn and fairies were very competitive with each other and as the years passed, the competitions grew more and more ugly.
One day, the fairies stole the Faeryn King’s prized dagger and fled into The Downs. The Faeryn gave chase, but before they could get the dagger back, the fairies dropped it down the chimney of a witch’s shack.
Bethesda was the cruelest of the cruel. If there was an award for the nastiest witch, Bethesda would win every time.
The King’s guards approached the door to the shack, but he called them back.
“We shall not wake the sleeping beast,” said the King. “We will use magic.”
The Faeryn King and his guards used many spells to try and retrieve the dagger, but the witch’s shack could not be penetrated.
“We will use the chimney,” said the King. He chose the smallest and thinnest guard in the regiment. “Climb down the chimney as quietly and quickly as possible. Be warned. If you wake the witch, she may have you for breakfast.”
The guard climbed on to the roof and climbed into the chimney with ease. The King and his guards watched and waited.
Minutes passed. The King became concerned. He started for the front door, but stopped when it flung open. The small guard flew out and landed in a soot covered heap on the ground.
Bethesda stood in the doorway. “Naughty. Naughty, Faeryn. It’s not nice to wake a witch when she’s getting her beauty sleep,” she cackled.
The King tried to tell her about the fairies and the dagger, but she wasn’t listening. You cannot reason with evil.
Bethesda mumbled something under her breath. Black smoke swirled from her fingertips. The King motioned for his guards to back up. All, but one, did as they were told.
The lone guard slipped into the house and ran back out with the dagger in his hand. He was almost to the King when black smoke whipped around his legs and yanked him back.
“No one steals from me,” screeched Bethesda. She lifted her arms. The black smoke grew. A crack of thunder sounded as her arms came down. The King and his guards fell to the ground; enveloped in a black haze.
They woke to find to find their wings had shriveled and fallen off. Many attempts to repair the wings were made, but they quickly realized, they had no magic either.
The Faeryn returned to their home without the dagger, wings and magic. Their hatred for fairies and witches grew tenfold that day.
They moved far North to the thickest part of The Downs and were never heard from again.