Criodan the Blue

No one deeply understands the dream-like magic that suffuses and powers the Fae and their proceedings. Certainty is fundamentally incompatible with study of them. Surely magic is the core of all their ways, so reason scholars. How else could Fae claim dominion over bizarre and eclectic domains such as thunder clouds or lichens, and draw the power to change shape and wreak havoc from absurd sources? Nothing in their eldritch world seems truly impossible, and for ambitious Fae like Criodan, that represented an opportunity. Long ago, when the Fae Court was young, an upstart minor noble proclaimed himself Criodan the Blue, Lord of Azure, Master of All The Sapphire-Souled Forces. Even within a Court that buzzes with illogical energy, there seem yet to be patterns, and even in an early form, their politics had norms; but Criodan sought to shatter them and set a new standard. While other Fae were claiming to represent things such as Reeds, Moonlight, Mountaintops, and Cinders, Criodan audaciously presumed a far vaster swath of creation as his domain. Was such a thing even possible? Would his power be vast, or diluted to the point of uselessness? No one knew, and Criodan was determined to find out. Other noble Fae reacted with titters, gossip, whispers, and occasional screams. Enough of them genuinely feared Criodan, or at least wished to preserve existing norms, that he faced immediate opposition that grew along with his notoriety. To the Fae, fending off murderous attacks can be just another part of existence, and Criodan was frequently set upon by other lords as well as their agents and creations. Tales say that as he moved from blue to blue he knew no peace: by cerulean pools of pristine water he was attacked by lumbering rock-golems, flying in bird form he was targeted by unnatural lightning from the clear blue sky, and when he retreated to the heart of an ancient glacier, his enemies assailed it with otherworldly heat. Criodan, and a small handful of friends and allies, fought back. To combat his foes, Criodan conjured sapphire-hued storms of freezing hail, each chunk hard as iron and with edges sharp as razors, and to his hand he conjured a blade formed of mystic ice and crackling bark. At his command, his allies fought ferociously, with incredible speed and grace. The blessings of the Blue were mysterious and manifold, and those who doubted that Criodan could master such a broad concept were terrified to see that mastery growing with every attack he thwarted. They insisted that Criodan’s scope be narrowed, that he be content styling himself the Marquis of Hail or the Exarch of Freezing Skies. Criodan refused, and continued attracting power and attention to himself. The struggles between his Fae clique and the others saw jungles encased in rime as frost fought with vine, and streams dammed with ice to thwart the machinations of the Duchess of Rushing Water, who battled Criodan for aqueous mastery. Their rivalry proved Criodan’s most dire challenge. The Duchess too possessed a broad domain, but not so expansive as the very concept of ‘the Blue’. Her authority over all that flowed was sufficient to beat Criodan back to stagnant lakes and ponds and the occasional meager patch of blue sky. Then, accounts of Criodan dry up and end, seemingly along with Criodan himself – likely because the many spiritual domains he claimed were absorbed by other Fae who were more willing to specialize. Or perhaps Criodan went into hiding, or bowed to a new master and now wears a new guise.