The following is a story written by Kalyn, Holly’s player and collaborator in the Terrafirma worldbuilding project. You can find more of his work on his Tumblr.
The night is dark, and without a moon. Countless stars dot the sky above, peaking through the canopy overhead, serving as the only source of light in the tropical forest in which our heroes have made camp this night. Or rather, the only light source other than the campfire. The fire burns bright and hot, having been built efficiently and with ample fuel to last them throughout the night.
“How about a story?” Holly asks the group with a mischievous smirk. He glances about with his eyes, but he does not turn his head. Three out of the four other party members are staring at the young wizard, or rather, at his shadow, with looks of consternation and suspicion.
Holly sees Helen–the party’s resident hunter, scout, and archery expert–lean over to whisper in the ear of Jessie, her wife, who appears to be the only one not to have noticed the strange shapes Holly’s shadow was taking on only moments before. Holly overhears the whispered conversation, and feels somewhat more at ease from what he hears. Neither of them seem to suspect the truth, having made other assumptions.
“I’d love to hear a story!” Jessie chimes in. “Go on ahead! I’ve got something to set up real quick, but I’ll be listening.”
The acolyte of Dahlania stands up and begins pouring a steady stream of salt from a bag she fishes out of her pack, encircling the campsite and muttering prayers under her breath. Holly grins at this. Helen and Jessie assume the magic came from without rather than within Holly himself. Good. Now all he has to do is convince the others that his shadow’s odd movements were a mere trick of the firelight. Leaning over the fire, Holly touches one hand to the tome holstered at his belt, and covers his mouth with the other, whispering a Name under his breath.
“This,” he says aloud in the Common Tongue, “is a story I was told as a young boy by a local storyteller back home. A story passed down through many generations of my people. The story of three millers’ daughters, and an ancient hag.”
With a wave of his hand, the flames at the center of camp begin to take on vivid three-dimensional shapes, following along with what Holly says by performing the story as he tells it. Three tongues of flame take on three feminine shapes–three sisters, standing in a row. One tall and willowy, one broad and muscular, and one small and mousey. Smoke and flickering embers form the terrain, creating a simulacrum of a village watermill behind the three young women.
Sensing that this story is going to be good, Nero, the Kenku composer, opens their beak and begins recording the memory of this tale to be spoken again later. Ashton, the axe-wielding Dwarf, leans forward, feigning distraction, but continues to watch Holly carefully out of the corner of his eye. Helen, impressed by the visuals but still on edge, watches her wife carefully as she finishes up her prayer of protection and closes the circle of salt, only allowing herself to relax once Jessie sits back down and readies her notebook, eager to hear the story Holly wishes to tell.
“Once,” Holly says, “Long ago, in a small village by a river, there lived an old miller and his three daughters.”
The flames shift and expand, the audience’s view appearing to zoom in on the tallest of the three millers’ daughters.
“The eldest daughter was tall and beautiful, and the object of admiration by every bachelor and bachelorette within two days’ travel of the village. She was her father’s pride and joy. One day, in the spring, she ventured deep into the forest in search of medicinal herbs, with which she hoped to ease the aches and pains of her aging father.”
The perspective zooms out once again, creating towering, gnarled trees with thick trunks formed out of spiralling tongues of flame. The eldest daughter wanders about, remaining in place at the center of the scene, but the trees moving around her. We see her stop every so often to pluck small collections of embers in the shape of wildflowers from the transparent, implied ground beneath her feet, adding them one at a time to the basket hanging from the crook of her arm. The rest of the party leans in, watching the scene in the flames with great interest. Only then does Holly cause some of the flames making up the trees to abruptly shift out of the way in the shape of a hunched old woman with a long, pointed nose and a cowl hiding much of her silhouette. She, unlike the rest of the scene, is made not from smoke or flames or embers, but instead a stark absence of such things, each strategically placed to suit the angle at which each member of the party perceives the scene.
“It was not until she was far too deep in the forest for anyone back home to hear her,” Holly says, “that the eldest daughter realized she was no longer alone. She was approached by an old crone, who greeted her with a sweet smile.
‘Hello dearie,’ said the crone to the eldest daughter.
‘What brings you so deep in the forest all alone?’
‘My father is ill,’ the eldest replied. ‘I come seeking herbs to ease his pain.’
‘I see,’ said the crone. ‘How kind of you to do something so thoughtful. You must care deeply for this father of yours.’
‘Oh, very much so,’ said the eldest daughter. ‘I only hope I can find the right herbs with which to help him.’
‘I know exactly which herbs you need, my dear,’ said the old crone with a smile. ‘I have many such medicines back in my hovel.’
‘Oh please, good lady, may I have some?’”
The scene zooms in, and we see the crone’s negative silhouette reach a withered hand out toward the eldest daughter’s glowing shape.
“‘Certainly.’” Holly continues in the voice of the crone. “‘But before that, may I have your name?’”
The flames swallow up the scene and for the moment, the campfire appears to have returned to normal, drawing the attention of the party back towards Holly.
“What the eldest daughter did not realize,” Holly explains, “was that this was no ordinary old woman. In fact, she was an ancient, wicked, and powerful hag. Hags are renowned amongst fae and mortals alike for their skill with esoteric magics, and for their insatiable hunger for the misery of the undeserving. While at first glance, every hag appears to be an ordinary–if homely–old woman, they are in fact a kind of fae creature, no closer in nature to a human or a dwarf than you and I are to the gods themselves. And everyone knows that it is folly to tell a faerie your true name. From the moment the eldest daughter’s name passed her lips of her own free will, the hag snatched it out of the air.”
Holly emphasizes the ‘snatch’ with a swift and sudden grabbing motion of his own, making some members of the party jump in surprise as he claws at the air in front of him. Then he waves his hand, and the flames take on a new scene, this one also set in the forest, but this time centered on two shapes–one of the broad and muscular miller’s daughter, who carries a sword in one hand and a lantern in the other; and the second flame being shaped like the third and final miller’s daughter, who cups her hands to her mouth and appears to call out for her eldest sister as the two of them walk through the forest.
“It wasn’t until the following morning that the remaining two millers’ daughters thought to seek their sister out in the wilds beyond the village,” Holly says. “The youngest sister, who was also the smallest of the three, recommended that they search together, so that should something terrible happen, at least one of them would likely live to tell the tale. After many hours of searching, they found the Hag’s hovel.”
Holly’s depiction of the hovel has real smoke coming out of the fiery chimney. It is surrounded by a rickety wooden fence, and features a garden of mushrooms and various herbs and wildflowers.
“Hearing them both calling after their sister, whose True Name she now held in her possession, the Hag greeted them from just behind the gate at the edge of her domain.
‘Well, hello there dearies!’ the hag called to them in greeting. ‘What brings you to my humble abode so deep in the forest. Are you lost?’
‘We are searching for our sister,’ said the youngest. ‘Do you know where she is?’
‘I do,’ said the hag, who in accordance with faerie law, could tell no outright lies. ‘She is here in my hovel. I found her wandering the woods alone, and took it upon myself to shelter her in my home. May I have your names?’”
At this request, the fiery shapes of the two youngest daughters visibly tense up, and the second oldest daughter takes on a battle stance and draws her sword, shoving her youngest sister behind her with her other hand.
“Recognizing the hag for what she was, the middle daughter, who was the strongest of the three, prepared herself for a fight.
‘What have you done with our sister, Hag?’ she growled, pointing her sword of brittle iron at the ancient faerie witch.
‘My my,’ said the Hag with a sneer. ‘Just what are you intending to do with that sword of yours child? Best be careful. You might poke someone’s eye out. Rest assured, your dear sister is alive and well. She has given me her name of her own free will, and in doing so has surrendered her freedom to me. Her life is mine by right to command’
‘Release her immediately, you hideous beast, or I’ll run you through!’
The hag let out a sinister laugh at this. ‘You can certainly try, mortal. I should be happy to have a chance to torment yet another innocent youth.’
With a cry, the eldest sister leapt over the fence and into the hag’s garden, attempting to strike the faerie down where she stood. But as soon as she did so…”
Holly’s depiction of the hag snaps her long, clawed fingers, and the second daughter freezes in place, while the mousy youngest daughter looks on in horror.
“‘How rude,’ said the Hag.” Holly sneers in imitation of the wrinkled fae’s expression. “‘Someone ought to teach you a lesson, child. I will be more than happy to do so personally.’”
Holly snaps his fingers in sync with the absence representing the hag. The second daughter vanishes in a puff of smoke, and the third flees the scene as Holly does his best impression of the ancient faerie’s cackle.
Jessie gasps as the second eldest daughter vanishes. “No! Wha-why didn’t that work? Her sword is made of iron! Shouldn’t that have been able to hurt the hag?”
Holly smirks, feeling pride that his retelling of this story has his audience so engaged. As the scene unravels into an ordinary campfire, he waggles a finger and provides an explanation.
“While it is true that fae are generally weak to iron, the second daughter, much like the first, made a crucial mistake that cost her her freedom. For you see, it is the cordiality of the conversation prior to this attack that had saved both her and the youngest sister from being captured right away. Hags are very powerful, second in raw magical strength only to the monarchs of the faerie courts. If allowed to use their powers freely, mere mortals would have no chance against them. But hags, like all fae, are bound by ancient and esoteric rules, one of which prevents them from using their magic against free mortal agents except as a form of self-defense, as retribution for a slight against them, or if the mortal in question owes them a favor.”
“So…if the second daughter hadn’t tried to attack the hag, it wouldn’t have been able to use magic against her, like, at all?” Helen asks.
“Not directly, no,” Holly says in reply. “There are some loopholes the hag could have exploited if necessary. Most of the time, powerful fae will circumvent these sorts of limitations with clever wordplay or other forms of trickery. For instance, by agreeing to ‘give’ the hag her name, the eldest daughter essentially gave permission for the hag to literally take her true name by use of magic, at which point the faerie laws ceased to prevent her from bewitching and enslaving the poor girl. This is why it’s folly to give your name to any sort of fae creature, and why most fae guard their own true names very carefully.”
“So, what, is that it?” Jessie asks, distressed by this revelation. “Where’s the happily ever after? The story can’t just end there!”
“Certainly not,” Holly says with a grin. “After all, there’s still one miller’s daughter left. The youngest and the smallest of the three, who ran home in a panic after witnessing her elder sister’s capture by the wicked, ancient hag. The screams of both her sisters rang out behind her as she ran and ran and ran and ran as fast as she possibly could.”
Holly gestures to the fire, and again it changes shape to match the scene he describes, trees made of twisting tongues of flame zipping past as the youngest daughter’s glowing silhouette runs in place. Abruptly, the trees come to a halt as the girl trips and falls, before rising to her knees and weeping.
“The youngest daughter,” Holly explains, “felt so very alone, and indeed she was alone as she wept on her knees in the middle of the forest. She was often ignored by people back home. She wasn’t as beautiful as her eldest sister, nor as strong as the second oldest. But if there’s one thing to learn from the fae, it’s that appearances can be deceiving, and one should never underestimate the value of a sharp mind and an iron will. The girl knew that she had no hope of saving her sisters without help, but as the wheels in her mind began to turn, she thought back to everything she knew about the fae, and a plan began to form in the back of her mind. A plan which she immediately started putting into motion.”
The scene changes to an exterior shot of the watermill shown earlier in the story. A window opens in the side of the cottage, and the youngest daughter can be seen waving a steaming freshly-baked pie out the window, with real smoke streaming from the pie-shaped flame serving to convey the image of fragrant steam.
“That night, the youngest daughter baked a pie using sweet berries she’d gathered in the forest—berries that were unsafe for humans to consume, but she knew to be favored by many varieties of faerie. Once the dish was complete, she waved it around outside the kitchen window, then set it down at the table and left the window open by just a crack. Then she went to sleep for the night, and sure enough, in the morning, she found that some small fae creature had slipped in through the cracked window and eaten the whole thing. At this, she feigned shock and distress, but then sighed.
‘Oh well,’ she said aloud. ‘I’ve an even tastier recipe in mind for tonight anyway.’”
The scene in the flames now depicts the inside of the millers’ house, the miller’s daughter displaying an exaggerated shrug. The scene shifts at this point, showing a sped up montage of the youngest daughter preparing a similar treat to the previous one, but this one is a little bigger, and adorned with twinkling embers that make it look quite inviting indeed.
“True to her word, on the second night, she baked a second, even sweeter treat, using ingredients that all faeries love. And sure enough, on the morning of the third day, this treat, too, had been eaten. With another sigh, she lamented aloud about how she always seems to fall asleep before her baked goods could cool enough for her to safely eat her fill. This time, surely, nothing would break in and eat her tastiest dessert of all. She would make sure of that. To sell this illusion, she made a show of closing the window all the way, but pretended not to notice that she hadn’t closed the latch all that firmly.
Then, on the third night, after loudly yawning and declaring that all she had to do now was go upstairs and wait for this last pastry to cool off, she laid her trap, hid, and watched her carefully prepared bait oh-so-patiently, until she caught site of the little faerie who had been eating the food she left out. It dug into the pastry, eating the whole thing with ease, despite its small size. The youngest daughter crept up behind the creature as it finished its meal, now having been rendered sluggish and bloated by the enormous dessert it had just consumed. Then she snatched the little imp out of the tray where the food used to be and held it by the scruff of its neck.”
Holly mimics the creeping up and snatching motion, and actually appears to hold a little imp made out of fire between two fingers, it flailing and wriggling in his grasp, and Holly’s fingers showing no sign of burning in the slightest. Meanwhile, the youngest daughter’s silhouette holds out a jar made of embers and holds it open for Holly to toss the little faerie in, which he does, right as the youngest daughter slams a lid atop the container.
This stunt warrants a few oohs and ahs from Jessie, and Helen seems impressed, but the outward reactions of the other two party members are minimal. Nero’s feathers twitch, but they otherwise remain stock still, and Ashton gives little more than half of an eyebrow raise. Holly smirks a little at the thought that his little stunt just now won’t carry over into Nero’s auditory recreation of this tale later on. This trick is just for the audience tonight, and tonight alone. Good. That means it’ll only amount to hearsay, and hearsay gives birth to rumors, and rumors to tall tales, and tall tales to legends. Seating himself back onto the log he’s been using as seating up until this point, Holly continues his tale without even the briefest remark about what he’d just done. Keeping it casual. Letting the image stew in his audience’s minds. With the fire having once again taken on its ordinary shape, all eyes are on Holly once again.
“To capture a faerie like this,” the magician explains, “is at times considered a foolish endeavor, but the miller’s youngest daughter knew that she was well within her rights.
‘Thrice you’ve stolen from my kitchen,’ said the girl, her voice like ice. ‘Thrice you’ve trespassed in my home. Thrice these nights you’ve wronged me, thief, and thrice you’ll pay the price.’”
With a wave of his hand, Holly constructs the scene in the flames once again–the miller’s daughter, almost life-sized at the moment, holding the jar of embers in her fiery hands, with a little pointy-eared humanoid with an acorn hat and a squirrel-skin cloak contained within.
“‘Mercy, lady,’ the little faerie cried through little holes in the glass jar’s lid. ‘Though it’s true that thrice I’ve erred, I’ll make it up to you! Name your price, three gifts I owe, and three I’ll give, if ‘tis within my power to do so!’
‘And how am I to know you’ll keep your word?’ the youngest sister asked. ‘Perhaps I ought to offer your debts to the hag in the forest, to seek forgiveness for my sister’s misdeeds.’
‘Nay good lady, I beg of you,’ said the brownie in the jar, shaking. ‘Upon my Name, I swear to you my services are freely given! I swear it thrice, to bind my soul, for a faerie oath made thrice cannot be broken. I swear to repay my debt to you, to honor my word in spirit and letter! I swear it, I swear it, I swear it!’
The miller’s youngest smiled at this. ‘Very well. Three gifts you’ll give, with haste and with exactness. Three gifts I require, with which to rescue my sisters. Give these gifts, and if I succeed in escaping with my sisters unharmed, not only shall your debt be paid, but indeed I shall reward you. Fresh-baked treats, much like the three you stole from me. These I shall offer you freely in exchange for future favors, and ever welcome in my house you shall be. Agreed?’
‘You are too kind, fair lady,’ said the brownie with a bow. ‘Name your three requests and I shall do all that is in my power to prepare you for your daring quest.’”
The scene unravels again, the miller’s daughter and the brownie in a jar disappearing in a swirl of golden flame.
“The miller’s daughter made three demands of the brownie in the jar,” Holly explained, holding up three fingers as a visual aid, then counting them off as he described them. “First, a beautiful faerie cloak, interwoven with uncut hairs from the head of a korred. Of the three gifts, this was the one the brownie found most difficult to acquire, for korreds are reclusive and elusive fae, with the power to meld into stone, and they guard their enchanted locks with a vicious fervor.”
Right on cue, the campfire takes the shape of a cloak, which drapes itself around the shoulders of the third daughter’s silhouette.
“Second, the clever girl demanded the means by which to see past glamours, and perceive all things as they truly are, at least for a time.”
A tongue of flame takes the shape of a small bottle with an eyedropper cap, the contents of which the third daughter’s silhouette drips into her eyes, causing them to momentarily flare up with white-hot radiance.
“And, for her final gift, the youngest daughter demanded a key, which could open a door into this little brownie’s domain.”
Another swirl of flame took shape into a key hanging from a cord of embers, which the youngest daughter ties around her neck and tucks beneath her clothes for safekeeping.
“With these three things, the girl set out into the wood once again.”
The scene in the campfire changes once more to the scene representative of the hag’s hovel. The smallest miller’s daughter approaches the gate into the ancient fae’s garden, looking nervous, but determined.
“Upon arrival at the edge of the wicked hag’s domain, the third miller’s daughter knew better than to trespass. Instead she invoked yet another faerie rule.
‘Good lady, good lady’ she called into the hovel. ‘I beg of you. I am alone, and it shall be dark soon. I have need of your hospitality.’”
With a cackle, Holly mimics the posture of the hag as the absence representing her slithers out the hovel’s front doorway.
“‘Indeed, indeed, the night grows cold, my dear. Come inside and be welcomed as my guest.’
It was only upon receiving this permission that the youngest crossed the Hag’s threshold, following the wrinkled crone inside. She felt as if she were entering a dragon’s den, but she pushed past her fear, for she knew that the laws of hospitality would protect her for so long as she remained a gracious guest.”
The campfire dims suddenly, and appears nearly extinguished, but Holly waves his hands and swirling, serpentine groupings of sparks and embers swirl around the firepit before forming into an incredibly detailed cluttered interior, complete with shelves full of bottles, jars and trinkets, a rickety wooden table with a few chairs off to one side, and a bubbling cauldron in the center. A door opens into this space, and the youngest daughter and the hag walk in.
“‘May I take your cloak?’ asked the hag, gesturing to a coat rack made of bundled bones.
‘You may not take my cloak, dear lady, but you may borrow it until I decide to take it back. I confess my reluctance to part with it, given the protection it offers.’
‘Very well.’ said the hag, masking her disappointment. ‘Please, sit in whichever chair you’d like, dearie. Whichever you find most comfortable. Rest your legs after journeying so far from home, and I shall keep your cloak safe.’
The youngest daughter looked pensive at this. ‘Do you swear you will not damage it?’
‘I swear upon my honor, dearie. I shall not tear the fabric.’
‘Do you swear no harm will come to it?’
‘Indeed, I swear. I shall not tear your cloak.’
‘Do you swear that it shall suffer no damage at all, by any hand except my own?”
‘Yes, indeed,’ said the hag in frustration. ‘upon my name, no harm of any kind shall I or anything under my control bring any sort of harm to your cloak!’
Satisfied, the girl handed it over, for any oath made thrice would bind even this hag to obey her word.”
The hag’s silhouette of stark absence takes the girl’s cloak and drapes it over one arm, but does not hang it on the coat rack, instead carrying it with her to her seat as the miller’s youngest sits down in the seat across from her.
“‘I wonder,’ said the hag, ‘where did you get a cloak of faerie make, my dear?’
‘It was a gift, good lady. Is the fabric not lovely?’
‘Yes, yes, lovely indeed,’ said the wrinkled fae with a grin, thinking that a gift of such fine quality would be worth her fill in misery. ‘Would you like a drink, my dear? You must be thirsty after journeying so far.’
‘You are kind, good madame,’ said the girl with a seated bow. ‘However, I wish to remain clear of mind, so as to avoid unintended offense.’
‘Then how about a hearty meal?’ asked the faerie witch. ‘I would hate for you to go hungry.”
‘Your offer is appreciated, but I haven’t the appetite, I fear.’ She shivered, then. ‘Oh dear, are you not cold, dear lady?’
Sensing an opportunity to watch her guest be miserable, the hag donned the third daughter’s cloak. ‘Hmm, you are right my dear. It is a chilly night. But your cloak is warm, so I am fine.’
Seizing the opportunity, the youngest sister coughed into her arm, concealing the cloak’s whispered true name, and in a flash…”
Holly snaps his fingers, and the fiery cloak worn by the hag springs to life and wraps around the ancient fae, entrapping her in its embrace. The hag struggles, but cannot escape without breaking her oath not to damage the cloak.
“The cloak’s enchantment took effect, restraining the hag and rendering her unable to stand up from her chair.
‘Gah! Child! What trickery is this?’
The youngest daughter feigned ignorance, but was careful to tell no lies. ‘I simply wished to ensure the cloak was tight enough, my good host. You have admitted that it is a cold night. I am the cloak’s mistress, and it wraps its wearer up thoroughly at my command.’
‘It is too tight now, my dear. Make it loosen its grip on me!’
‘I cannot, good lady, for it returns to me upon release, and I have no desire to have it back until I am reading myself to leave. Alas, I shall not leave this hovel without my two sisters.’
The hag sneered at this. ‘Your sisters are mine by right. To leave with them would be a theft, my dear.’
‘Then we are at an impasse,’ said the girl with a shrug. ‘For I swear to you twice more, I shall not leave without them. I shall not leave without my sisters.’”
Holly’s flaming image of the restrained ancient hag ceases struggling, and Holly mimics a cackle.
“‘In that case,’ the hag said, ‘stay as long as you’d like, my dear.’
The girl feigned startlement at this reaction, pretending to have realized she’d made a mistake. Now, she could not leave without her sisters without breaking a thrice-made oath, which would give the hag power over her, and she could take her sisters with her by force without stealing, which would also give the hag power over her. From the hag’s perspective, so long as she remained firm and tolerated the restraints for now, her eventual freedom and victory over the third daughter was guaranteed. Luckily, the girl had one more trick up her sleeve.
‘I…’ she trailed off, looking pensive. ‘I suppose I shall have to get comfortable then. Oh! My host! I see a hair out of place in my precious cloak!’
She gestured to a portion of the cloak where several of the korred hairs that had been woven into the fabric dangled loosely.
‘Let us hope that it does not unravel as you move about in it,’ she said. ‘for if it was damaged because of this, it would break your oath to me! Here, let me cut the loose threads for you, so there is no threat of this.’
‘Very well,’ said the hag, overconfident at having essentially already won. ‘Come along and cut the loose threads.’
The youngest miller’s daughter obliged.”
Holly waves a hand, closes it into a fist, and the flames momentarily return to their ordinary shape.
“Here’s what you need to understand about a korred’s hair,” Holly says. “Korreds are unique among the fae for their affinity for earth and metal. It is theorized by some that they are what results when a powerful fae donates blood and some of their will to the heart of a soon-to-be-born dwarf. Most notable among their peculiarities is what happens when their thick locks of hair are cut, be it from their heads, or from their long beards. Hair grown from the head of a korred takes on the material of whatever tool was used to cut it. A silver knife will transform it into silver cords. Gilded shears will make the smooth, dark hair into literally golden locks. So then, when the third and youngest daughter of the miller cut those few loose threads with iron shears, it was only natural that the hag began to screech with agony.
‘AAAAAA!’ Screeched the hag. ‘Get it off! Get this cursed garment off of me this instant!’
‘I would be happy to, good lady,’ said the girl with a smile, ‘but only if you swear three times to forgive all favors and and all debts owed to you by my sisters, free them from the influence of any and all magic cast upon them, and forfeit all knowledge of their True Names.’
‘Very well!’ cried the hag. ‘I swear that if you release me from your cloak, then as soon as you and your sisters leave my domain, your terms shall be met! I swear it on my name and power! I swear it, I swear it, I swear it!’
With that, the youngest daughter spoke the command word, and the hag was freed from the iron-lined cloak.
‘Your generosity is appreciated, good lady,’ said the girl. ‘Where are my sisters, so that I may leave with them?’
With a wicked smile, the hag rose from her chair. ‘They are in the back, just over this way. Allow me.’
A moment passed, and the hag returned with what appeared to be the girl’s two sisters, but the magic eyedrops granted to the girl by the brownie she’d captured revealed the truth.
‘Those are not my sisters, good lady. Those are but mannequins dressed up in their clothes. I ask again. Where are my sisters?’
With a growl, the hag said, ‘Oh, yes, my mistake. These are not your sisters. Please, allow me to show you to them. They are in the back.’
The hag guided the girl to the back, then gestured to two captives, kneeling in a cage of bone. These, too, looked like the girl’s sisters, but the true seeing granted by the eyedrops revealed them to be captive changelings.
‘These are not my sisters either, good lady. Where are my sisters?’
At a third repetition of the question, the hag’s third answer was compelled to be as close to the full truth as one can ever get from the fae.
‘They are in that room over there, but they are disguised. I have transformed them into small animals. They are two songbirds in a gilded cage. The birds in the silver and copper cages are other guests of mine. I shall unlock the cage and let you attempt to leave with them.’
True to her word, the hag retrieved and unlocked the gilded cage, releasing the birds inside, which the youngest daughter could see with her true sight were indeed her sisters.
Politely bidding the hag goodnight, the girl made her way to the door outside, but found that it led back to the back room instead. This was not unexpected. The laws of hospitality demanded that the hag accept those who ask for sanctuary into her domain, but it was not a violation of such laws to prevent one’s guests from leaving. Luckily, the girl had one gift left. She closed the door, inserted the brownie’s house key into the lock, and when once again the door was opened, she and her sisters stepped out into the forest, just outside the door of the brownie’s home tree. Upon stepping through, the two birds became the girl’s two sisters again, and with the aid of the youngest’s new brownie friend, in exchange for a delicious pie, their ill and aging father was healed of his ailments, and the four of them lived happily ever after, never to be vexed by that ancient hag ever again.”
The scene in the flames bursts into a prism of different-colored tongues of fire, swirling around the words “The End” written in the Common Tongue, before the fire returns to normal one final time. Holly stands and takes a bow, to a chorus of polite claps from his fellow adventurers.
“Thank you, thank you, I’ll be here all night.”