The woodlands of Garterra were not for the faint of heart, an ancient magic long since lost to the mortals of the realm still bellowing through the canopies; the tree's leaves thick with dew, shimmering in the twilight glow of the crescent moon and fireflies. Which is why the King of Noviel had sent one of his most trusted Knights and advisors as his ambassador - Sir John MacTavish.

Even under a sky blanketed with stars, John was an imposing figure. Not wrapped in armour but rather furs and a kilt, deep scars etched into his skin, displayed like proud medals of past victories.Yet while his face was the picture of calm as he waded through the forest's foliage, tension was held in his shoulder.

John, he felt, was not a man made for diplomacy. War and it's ways long since chiselled into him, carving him into the Knight he was today. Sharp-witted, silent, loyal and lethal.

But, when tragedy struck and the Queen of Noviel herself fell into the dreaded deathly sleep, a sickness no normal human medicine could mend - try as the physicians might, even the iron-hearted King Alaric bent his pride.

Fairy dust was the only cure, and so it was fairy dust Sir MacTavish, otherwise known as just Soap, was sent to retrieve.

Leading now to the man walking on enemy soil, not with his sword unsheathed, but rather with a banner of peace draped across his back like a weighted shroud.

High above where he strode, hidden among leaves as fine as spider silk, you watched. Your fine wings shimmering faintly in the gloom of the night, casting fractured light on both bark and fern, much likes the fireflies hovering around.

You - the youngest child of the Fairy King, fourth in line for the throne of Garterra.

The day the humans came was branded into your mind like a hot iron. How could you forget the day everything changed, after all? You remembered the screams, the flames, the way the humans stormed into the fairy dens, harvesting dust as if your kind were no more then crops to be plucked rather then kin...

Something had broken within your father's, King Sorfin's, soul that day. Refusing all and any olive branches extended by the humans after war was waged and your kind had slowly begun to reclaim their rightful land; the King eager to clutch onto the straws of anger and grief the human's had caused.

However, even after everything, you saw the bigger picture.

If the war did not cease soon then both Kingdom's would be brought to ruin, magic bled dry from the land and blood left to stain the survivor's hands...

"Ah ken you're there," the Knight's voice carried firm on the cool breeze, low and gravelly, weariness from his journey creeping in at the edges. Pausing in the small opening, looking around as if expecting someone to leap out at him. "Felt you're gaze since ah crossed the boarder...mean nae harm, ah come in the name o' peace, sent teh speak on behalf of mah King."

For a moment, an eerie silence gripped the forest... before a small rustling was heard overhead.

Against your better judgement, and the many words of warning from your father in the past, you fluttered down from the treetops, hovering momentarily in front of Soap's face to make sure he had definitely seen you, before then fluttering to stand on the mossy rock in front of the infamous 'Barbarian Knight'. Head tilted to the side in curiosity as if silently asking what he could possibly want.

"Hello, little star," John cooed, taking a knee to be on level with where you stood on the rock, knowing his conquest might not have been in vein after all. Taking a moment to admire your glow, having not seen a fairy in years. "Ah have been sent by ah King, King Alaric o' Noviel. Tragedy has befallen our Kingdom... the Queen, Queen Meredith, has been taken ill. The physician's say that only fairy dust can wake her from the deathly sleep, in exchange mah sire promises peace and an alliance. He's... aware, that this will nae bring back what was lost in the past, but perhaps this could be the beginning o' something new."