PROLOGUE: An Irish Fairy Tale

Come, my little ones, let me tell you a story. It starts as all fine stories do, with a proper, once upon a time, long, long ago, so far ago that there were no cell phones or computers, no schedules or appointments, no dates or times of day. Well, what was there, you ask? All that was, was earth and sky. There were verdant green hills and crystal blue waters. Sunrises and sunsets that contained every color on the artist's palette. Untouched land lie as far as the eye could see.

Human footprints had yet to tread on these lush fields of green, but there were beings. All of those things that have been written about in fairy tales and legends roamed those lands, faeries and elves, gods and daemons, giants and goblins. Creatures that today live only in the furthest reaches of our imaginations. One of those things was called the Fomori.

The Fomori live most frequently in legends told from father to child with foreboding tones and menacing images. In some stories they are sea faring pirates, ruthless in their nature. In other stories they are sea monsters, lurking at the bottom of the ocean, luring people to a gruesome death.

In some stories, so few in number and so rarely told that they became more history than legend, they are demons. They mostly incited chaos and encouraged a wild and reckless nature. They had the ability to control the elements, and appeal to the nature of other beings such as themselves. Their nature was magnetic, attracting not only other beings but humans as they made their way onto the earth.

The books say that the Fomori were ugly beasts, with the body of a man and the head of a goat. My great grandfather would laugh as he told me their legends, especially at this. Human beings hear the word demon and think they must be ugly little beasts that poke and jab. But the Fomori looked as human as you or I, he would whisper when my mother told him to hush for fear he would give me nightmares. They were demons in their nature not in façade.

Now as I heard the stories, they originated in the land of Ireland. My great grandfather's brogue would grow thick with the ancient tales of them stirring up trouble and creating havoc where ever they traveled. As time passed, they became curious and journeyed further and further outside of their homeland. Mayhem and chaos followed in their wake.

Some humans are drawn to chaos, either to calm it or encourage it. I am willing to bet you know at least one of these sorts of people. Well, those same people existed then. They were drawn to the Fomori, drawn to the apex of their chaos and untamed nature. The Fomori were also drawn to the humans, with their fragility, emotions and sincerity, among other more carnal temptations.

Time passed as it has a tendency to do, and after a few hundred years there were no true Fomorians left. They had either died or been killed, as they had not been blessed with immortality. Some, however, had mingled in amongst the humans, and had relationships. It was their children who lived on.

The new generation of Fomori looked as their predecessors did, as human as you or I, but they had qualities that set them apart against the human race. Most noticeable, was that they lived extraordinarily long lives. They chose to keep the language of the old country wherever they traveled to, a link to the past and a connection to who they truly were. This new generation and the ones that followed were not only able to create chaos, such as their ancestors had, but some had the ability to quell the chaos, control it, and manipulate it to their will.

Time and human blood altered the Fomori, but the essence of what they were remained, demons. With each generation the knowledge of what they were was passed down. Demon blood mixed with human, chaos mixing with compassion. With each generation, their mentality changed and choices were made.

But of course, these are the things of legends and stories, a whispered yarn from great grandfather to granddaughter, and now from I to you. A once upon a time….