Somewhere, north of the Hebrides, is an island where we are not quite Scottish, not quite Irish and not even a little bit Viking. Where we keep the druid faith alive and magic still seeps from the
ground in great glowing streams. Where wee folk dance in little caves, and the Banshee wails upon the cliffs. And some days, when it stops raining, you can step outside and see the beauty that is
Dunn has a human population if forty-two, myself included. Most of the island is inhabited by the overflow of magical creatures from the larger isles to the south. One of the few creatures native to the Island is the Augurey, a phoenix like bird who is greenish black in color, flies only in the heavy rains which seem to persist here every day. Its cries, low and throbbing, are said to bring death to all who hear. The Augurey is the main predator for the isles other native, the Fairy. The Fairies live in the innermost part of the glittering forest of Renn. Homes are built into trees and the glowing streams light up the wood even in the darkest of rain. The fairies laugh, sing and bring the most joy that any creature could bring. Their songs lift up through the rain and fill the island with a soft sweet melody.
At the southernmost tip of the Island is a very small village where the forty-two human residents live. They live side by side with the wee folk, who have built their own homes in the hills and crags outside the village. It is said that the first Leprechaun came to this island with the first human, seeking a place where man and magic could live together in harmony. The Fairies were much joyed to see the arrival of man, whom stories had been told, though one had never been seen up close. The story in the village is that the first man was Mard, and as a gift, he was given immortality if he so wished. The thought behind this was a choice to live with the fairies, the wee folk, and the magic for the rest of time. It is said that he took the offer, and became a fairy himself and disappeared into the forest of Renn. The villagers, though firm believers in all magic, find this to be hogwash. Nobody has seen hide or hair of Mard in over 300 years. Some have claimed to see him,but after 300 years it isn’t likely to have been him.
If you Travel north from the village, pass the Leprechauns, and through the forest of Renn, you come to the Brae, beyond which live the Augurey. Go even farther, and you can find the more feared creatures of Dunn. There are many myths about what lives beyond the brae: Unicorns, Goblins, maybe even a Dragon. However nobody is brave enough to venture to deep pass the nest of the Auguery. Once you go past the Brae (or around, if you are not of the brave) and down you end up on the cliffs of forever sorrow. This is where the Banshee lives. The Banshee, like the Augurey's cry, is said to bring death, a silly superstition. The Banshee and the Augurey cry together most nights, and the forty-two humans in the village still wake up the next morning, no worse for wear than they were the night previous.
When I was a child, my mother told me stories. The stories told of beyond the Brae, where there was more magic than we'd ever seen or felt. She told me that nothing in Dunn should be feared, just because it is unknown. She said to me that the source of all Dunn’s magic is hidden beyond the Brae. This very magic keeps the isle cloaked, leading only those who are worthy to its shores. "It is a place that you must never go to," she told me when I was no taller than a Leprechaun. Now where is the adventure in that? Why do we not search for the source of the magic? Madge, the elder of the village, told me that we do not need to look for the magic, and wherever it may lie. The magic is the whole place, is any place that I want. The Magic is Dunn, it is the Brae, and the glittering forest of Renn. The magic is in Leprechaun crags and the village. It is apart of every Augurey, every Fairy, the wee folk and the Banshee. It lies in the original twelve, chosen by fate to live here. It runs through the veins of their children. Dunn itself is the source of magic, the last source of magic in the world. This is where it runs wild through the air, in the streams, and in the voices of the forest. The magic seeps from the island, and its roots stem around the world, drawing the worthy to it.
The magic is all around. Don’t go looking for it. It has already found you.
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