Fey day, in its own way, is a time for celebration. It has its traditions, little quirks, a feywild congregation. But traditions as with all things, have to start some place; a child's rhyme, lost to time, leaving not a trace. The fey, I fear, are simple things just like a worm in Mud; the origins of all Fey Days begin and end with blood.
Screaming into the void
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Funding at the Inn
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The mysterious echo
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