Aos Sidhe of Eire
Aos Sí (Aes Sídhe), the Sidhe of Éire
The Aos Sidhe are the native elves of Éire. They came to its shores in elder ages as kin to the Tuatha Dé Danann—peers and cousins rather than subjects—and were shaped as much by invasion and treaty as by the island’s dense web of ley lines. Early Sidhe life was tribal and place-bound: hill raths and lake isles, fords and ringforts, each held by a lord or lady whose right flowed from presence, craft, and the keeping of guest-right.
Conflict taught them measure. The Fir Bolg—a type of giant, earlier settlers hardened by exile—pressed their claims across the island until the Tuatha and their Sidhe kindred met them in lawful challenge and parceled the land by oaths and trial. Worse were the Fomóire out of sea and storm: taxers of cattle and grain, raiders who called their predations “due.” In their telling, the battles of Mag Tuired were not conquests for glory but restorations of right relation. Nuadu’s silver hand showed that maimed kings must be made whole to rule; Lugh’s spear and craft broke Balor’s tyranny so harvest and hospitality could stand again. From then on the Tuatha rose into godhood as wardens of place and craft, while the Aos Sidhe kept the courts under the hills, ruling the day-to-day lives of Éire’s otherworldly folk.
Humans entered the story more than once. When Hy-Brasil slipped from Earth into Otherworld, the shock tore thin places wide and drew the Nemedians across. Nemed’s people arrived as refugees and seekers; some bargained sanctuary and fosterage with the Sidhe, some took service under the Tuatha, and some—misreading the island’s law—made enemies of Fomóire and Sidhe alike. From those crossings came blood-ties, guest-right compacts, and a shared memory of how quickly fortune turns when measure is broken.
As crossings with Earth waxed and waned, the Sidhe learned to husband their power. They withdrew from open rule into mounds and raths, made seasonal passage-times (Samhain, Beltane) their public doors, and stitched the island’s courts together with judges (brithemain), poets (filid), and enforceable honour-prices (lóg n-enech). When Earth’s religious winds shifted, the Sidhe did not vanish; they adjusted their veils and tightened their law. When the lines dimmed they kept to the feast-halls; when the lines brightened they walked among mortals under the old veil of unremarking, with the island’s hospitality codes translated into contracts, sureties, and witness.
That is the spine of their history: invasion answered with restoration rather than annihilation; kinship with the Tuatha without servility; hospitality and oath as the island’s true engines; and a practiced ability to retreat without surrender and to return without apology. What follows is the standing portrait of the people those ages made.
The Aos Sidhe are the native elves of Éire. They came to its shores in elder ages as kin to the Tuatha Dé Danann—peers and cousins rather than subjects—and were shaped as much by invasion and treaty as by the island’s dense web of ley lines. Early Sidhe life was tribal and place-bound: hill raths and lake isles, fords and ringforts, each held by a lord or lady whose right flowed from presence, craft, and the keeping of guest-right.
Conflict taught them measure. The Fir Bolg—a type of giant, earlier settlers hardened by exile—pressed their claims across the island until the Tuatha and their Sidhe kindred met them in lawful challenge and parceled the land by oaths and trial. Worse were the Fomóire out of sea and storm: taxers of cattle and grain, raiders who called their predations “due.” In their telling, the battles of Mag Tuired were not conquests for glory but restorations of right relation. Nuadu’s silver hand showed that maimed kings must be made whole to rule; Lugh’s spear and craft broke Balor’s tyranny so harvest and hospitality could stand again. From then on the Tuatha rose into godhood as wardens of place and craft, while the Aos Sidhe kept the courts under the hills, ruling the day-to-day lives of Éire’s otherworldly folk.
Humans entered the story more than once. When Hy-Brasil slipped from Earth into Otherworld, the shock tore thin places wide and drew the Nemedians across. Nemed’s people arrived as refugees and seekers; some bargained sanctuary and fosterage with the Sidhe, some took service under the Tuatha, and some—misreading the island’s law—made enemies of Fomóire and Sidhe alike. From those crossings came blood-ties, guest-right compacts, and a shared memory of how quickly fortune turns when measure is broken.
As crossings with Earth waxed and waned, the Sidhe learned to husband their power. They withdrew from open rule into mounds and raths, made seasonal passage-times (Samhain, Beltane) their public doors, and stitched the island’s courts together with judges (brithemain), poets (filid), and enforceable honour-prices (lóg n-enech). When Earth’s religious winds shifted, the Sidhe did not vanish; they adjusted their veils and tightened their law. When the lines dimmed they kept to the feast-halls; when the lines brightened they walked among mortals under the old veil of unremarking, with the island’s hospitality codes translated into contracts, sureties, and witness.
That is the spine of their history: invasion answered with restoration rather than annihilation; kinship with the Tuatha without servility; hospitality and oath as the island’s true engines; and a practiced ability to retreat without surrender and to return without apology. What follows is the standing portrait of the people those ages made.
Naming Traditions
Feminine names
Áine, Étaín, Clíodhna, Aoibheall, Niamh, Gráinne, Deirdre, Fand, Ériu, Bóinn.
Female Sidhe given-names lean toward sovereignty, place, and natural force—often theonyms (Áine, Ériu, Bóinn) or famed heroines (Deirdre, Gráinne). In courtly style they commonly take epithets that mark beauty, domain, or deed—e.g., Niamh Cinn Óir “Niamh of the Golden Hair,” Clíodhna na dTonn “Clíodhna of the Waves,” Deirdre an Bhróin “of the Sorrows.” Earth-facing aliases may use anglicizations (Medb → Maeve; Bríde → Brigid/Bríd) while true-names remain veiled. Names can signal allegiance to a mound, river, or patron, and fosterage may add a matronymic/affiliation tag. Phonetics favor vowel-rich, long-vowel forms and lenition-friendly initials, giving Sidhe names a lyrical cadence even before any glamour.
Female Sidhe given-names lean toward sovereignty, place, and natural force—often theonyms (Áine, Ériu, Bóinn) or famed heroines (Deirdre, Gráinne). In courtly style they commonly take epithets that mark beauty, domain, or deed—e.g., Niamh Cinn Óir “Niamh of the Golden Hair,” Clíodhna na dTonn “Clíodhna of the Waves,” Deirdre an Bhróin “of the Sorrows.” Earth-facing aliases may use anglicizations (Medb → Maeve; Bríde → Brigid/Bríd) while true-names remain veiled. Names can signal allegiance to a mound, river, or patron, and fosterage may add a matronymic/affiliation tag. Phonetics favor vowel-rich, long-vowel forms and lenition-friendly initials, giving Sidhe names a lyrical cadence even before any glamour.
Masculine names
Lugh, Óengus (Aengus Óg), Manannán, Nuadu (Airgetlám), Midir, Fionnbharr (Finvarra), Aodh, Goibhniu, Oisín, Donn.
Male Sidhe names often signal sovereignty, skill, and element: light and craft (Lugh, Goibhniu), sea-wardship (Manannán), fire (Aodh), lordship of mounds (Midir), or the Otherworld’s threshold (Donn). Traditional epithets and patronymics—Airgetlám “Silver-Hand,” Mac Óg, Mac Lir—sit alongside age/size honorifics (Óg “the younger,” Mór “the great”). In Earth-facing circles, anglicizations or gentle trims appear (Óengus → Angus, Fionnbharr → Finbar, Aodh → Hugh), but many retain mac/Ó forms to signal status, allegiance, and remembered ties to a mound, river, or craft-guild.
Male Sidhe names often signal sovereignty, skill, and element: light and craft (Lugh, Goibhniu), sea-wardship (Manannán), fire (Aodh), lordship of mounds (Midir), or the Otherworld’s threshold (Donn). Traditional epithets and patronymics—Airgetlám “Silver-Hand,” Mac Óg, Mac Lir—sit alongside age/size honorifics (Óg “the younger,” Mór “the great”). In Earth-facing circles, anglicizations or gentle trims appear (Óengus → Angus, Fionnbharr → Finbar, Aodh → Hugh), but many retain mac/Ó forms to signal status, allegiance, and remembered ties to a mound, river, or craft-guild.
Unisex names
Ailbhe, Flann, Dara (Darragh), Naoise, Fiachra, Connla, Sionainn, Muirgen (Muirghein), Réaltán, Ruadhán.
Unisex Sidhe names skew toward nature-words, waters, and brightness rather than overtly gendered roles—stars (Réaltán), rivers (Sionainn), sea-birth (Muirgen), color/quality roots (Flann, Ruadhán), or renowned figures whose lore reads as role-first, gender-second (Naoise, Connla, Fiachra). Court usage often adds a tilting epithet or honorific to signal presentation—Óg (younger), Mór (great), a mound or river tag—while keeping the given name stable. In Earth-facing circles, some adopt light anglicizations (Dara, Rowan for Ruadhán) but retain the cadence of long vowels and lenition-friendly initials that mark the name as Sidhe. True-names may bundle a place or craft element, with the public style flexing as needed without breaking oath-bound identity.
Unisex Sidhe names skew toward nature-words, waters, and brightness rather than overtly gendered roles—stars (Réaltán), rivers (Sionainn), sea-birth (Muirgen), color/quality roots (Flann, Ruadhán), or renowned figures whose lore reads as role-first, gender-second (Naoise, Connla, Fiachra). Court usage often adds a tilting epithet or honorific to signal presentation—Óg (younger), Mór (great), a mound or river tag—while keeping the given name stable. In Earth-facing circles, some adopt light anglicizations (Dara, Rowan for Ruadhán) but retain the cadence of long vowels and lenition-friendly initials that mark the name as Sidhe. True-names may bundle a place or craft element, with the public style flexing as needed without breaking oath-bound identity.
Family names
Uí Danann, Uí Manannáin, Uí Bríde, Uí Óengusa, Uí Nuadat, Ó Leannáin, Ó hAonghusa, Ó Sionnaigh, Ó Fiachna, Mac Lir, Mac Manannáin, Mac Óg, Mac Oghmáin, Mac Bóinne, Bríleith, Sítheanach, Liosráth, Nemeda, Glasfionn, Cnocsídhe.
Sidhe surnames tend to be clan-markers first, lineage labels second. You’ll see particles like Ó/Uí “descendant(s) of” and Mac “son/line of” (with Ní/Nic for feminine forms), usually tied to a patron ancestor or deity (Danann, Manannán, Bríde, Óengus, Nuadu), a function or craft (Goibhnenn “smith,” Oghmáin “lore/learning”), or a sacred place—especially ringforts and hills (Lios, Cnoc), and rivers like Bóinne or Sionna. Descriptive epithets built from color/quality roots (Glas, Fionn, etc.) and sí-words (Sítheanach, Cnocsídhe) are common. In courtly life, a public courtesy-name often sits over a veiled true-name; in Earth-facing circles, some adopt translated or shortened forms.
Sidhe surnames tend to be clan-markers first, lineage labels second. You’ll see particles like Ó/Uí “descendant(s) of” and Mac “son/line of” (with Ní/Nic for feminine forms), usually tied to a patron ancestor or deity (Danann, Manannán, Bríde, Óengus, Nuadu), a function or craft (Goibhnenn “smith,” Oghmáin “lore/learning”), or a sacred place—especially ringforts and hills (Lios, Cnoc), and rivers like Bóinne or Sionna. Descriptive epithets built from color/quality roots (Glas, Fionn, etc.) and sí-words (Sítheanach, Cnocsídhe) are common. In courtly life, a public courtesy-name often sits over a veiled true-name; in Earth-facing circles, some adopt translated or shortened forms.
Other names
Courtesy / collective names (euphemisms & endonyms)
Na Daoine Maithe (“the Good People”), The Gentry, The Hidden Folk, Daoine Sí / Aos Sí (“People of the Mounds”), Sídhe Uaisle (“the Noble Sidhe”), The Fair Folk.
Titles & honorifics (court and craft)
Rí Sídhe (Sidhe King), Banríon Sídhe (Sidhe Queen), Ard-Rí / Ard-Bhanríon (High King/Queen), Tiarna / Bantiarna (Lord/Lady), Tánaiste (heir-apparent) Curadh an Ratha (Champion of the Rath), Ollamh na hÉigse (Chief Poet/Scholar), Fáith (seer/prophet), Brithem Sídhe (judge), Draoi (druid) Epithets & by-names (nicknames in use)
Cinn Óir (“of the Golden Hair”), na dTonn (“of the Waves”), an Óg (“the Younger”), an Mór (“the Great”), an Bán (“the Fair”), an Dorcha (“the Dark”), Sionnach Rua (“Red Fox”), Fiach Dubh (“Black Raven”), Mac Tíre (“Wolf”), an Ceolmhar (“the Tuneful”)
Place-linked styles (urban-era courtesy)
of Brú na Bóinne, of Teamhair (Tara), of Knockmaa (Cnoc Meadha), of Uisneach, de Lios Ráth
How these “other names” work:
Sidhe identity is layered: a true-name held close; a courtesy-name for dealings; titles that tie rank to a mound, craft, or patron; and epithets earned by deed, gift, or appearance (often seasonal and swappable). Humans should use euphemisms—“Good People,” “Gentry”—to show respect and avoid offense; Sidhe may adopt such terms in Earth-facing circles alongside Norman/English particles (de, “of …”) without surrendering older Ó/Mac/Uí kin markers. Formal address often stacks title + epithet + place (“Banríon Sídhe an Bháine of Brú na Bóinne”), while oaths and bindings lean on place-names and roles rather than the perilous precision of a true-name.
Na Daoine Maithe (“the Good People”), The Gentry, The Hidden Folk, Daoine Sí / Aos Sí (“People of the Mounds”), Sídhe Uaisle (“the Noble Sidhe”), The Fair Folk.
Titles & honorifics (court and craft)
Rí Sídhe (Sidhe King), Banríon Sídhe (Sidhe Queen), Ard-Rí / Ard-Bhanríon (High King/Queen), Tiarna / Bantiarna (Lord/Lady), Tánaiste (heir-apparent) Curadh an Ratha (Champion of the Rath), Ollamh na hÉigse (Chief Poet/Scholar), Fáith (seer/prophet), Brithem Sídhe (judge), Draoi (druid) Epithets & by-names (nicknames in use)
Cinn Óir (“of the Golden Hair”), na dTonn (“of the Waves”), an Óg (“the Younger”), an Mór (“the Great”), an Bán (“the Fair”), an Dorcha (“the Dark”), Sionnach Rua (“Red Fox”), Fiach Dubh (“Black Raven”), Mac Tíre (“Wolf”), an Ceolmhar (“the Tuneful”)
Place-linked styles (urban-era courtesy)
of Brú na Bóinne, of Teamhair (Tara), of Knockmaa (Cnoc Meadha), of Uisneach, de Lios Ráth
How these “other names” work:
Sidhe identity is layered: a true-name held close; a courtesy-name for dealings; titles that tie rank to a mound, craft, or patron; and epithets earned by deed, gift, or appearance (often seasonal and swappable). Humans should use euphemisms—“Good People,” “Gentry”—to show respect and avoid offense; Sidhe may adopt such terms in Earth-facing circles alongside Norman/English particles (de, “of …”) without surrendering older Ó/Mac/Uí kin markers. Formal address often stacks title + epithet + place (“Banríon Sídhe an Bháine of Brú na Bóinne”), while oaths and bindings lean on place-names and roles rather than the perilous precision of a true-name.
Culture
Major language groups and dialects
Major language groups & dialects
Endonym. Teanga na Sí (also Sítheann) — the Sidhe’s own tongue.
Stages. Old Sítheann (law/poetry, oath-formulae) → Modern Sítheann (everyday & Earth-facing).
Main dialects. Ard-Sítheann (High Court), Ráth-Sí (Hill/Rath speech), Abhainn-/Mara-Sí (River/Sea courts).
Ritual registers. Caoineadh (keeners/heralds), Draoi-cant (healers/witches), Féth Fíada (veiling/misdirection).
Script. Ogham na Sí for oaths and names; Latin script for letters and records.
Modern sociolects. Glamourcant (court + legal/arts),
Street-Sí (tight urban patter).
Endonym. Teanga na Sí (also Sítheann) — the Sidhe’s own tongue.
Stages. Old Sítheann (law/poetry, oath-formulae) → Modern Sítheann (everyday & Earth-facing).
Main dialects. Ard-Sítheann (High Court), Ráth-Sí (Hill/Rath speech), Abhainn-/Mara-Sí (River/Sea courts).
Ritual registers. Caoineadh (keeners/heralds), Draoi-cant (healers/witches), Féth Fíada (veiling/misdirection).
Script. Ogham na Sí for oaths and names; Latin script for letters and records.
Modern sociolects. Glamourcant (court + legal/arts),
Street-Sí (tight urban patter).
Culture and cultural heritage
The Sidhe are among the oldest elven peoples of Otherworld—perhaps second only to the Nymphs of the Mare Internum. Their culture is ancient, unbowed, and carried with proud precision by most houses (the few who stray are named deviant not for difference, but for breaking oath and courtesy).
Roots. Heirs to the sí-mounds and the Tuatha’s customs: hospitality, oath, geasa, fosterage, and law kept by judges and poets. Beauty is conduct; craft is sacrament.
Houses & courts. Place-bound raths, lake isles, river and sea courts; no single empire, but webs of alliance sealed by fosterage and sureties.
Arts as life. Weapon, garment, bread, and hall are masterworks or not made at all. La Tène lines, ogham trims, tuned light and sound; mending is visible and honored.
Language & lore. Teanga na Sí (Sítheann) in high and common registers; Ogham na Sí on torcs, door-lintels, and treaty staves. Praise builds; áer (satire) corrects.
Festivals & thresholds. Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasa mark processions and renewals. Thin places—fords, hills, doorways—carry stricter courtesy.
Heirlooms. Clan torcs, oath-brooches, traveling harps, and geas-pins that bind service; each holds a trace of the house’s story.
The Otherworld Diaspora and modern Earth. Earth-facing embassies and guilds; contracts as oaths, Glamourcant in galleries and boardrooms; patronage of sustainable craft and living law.
Roots. Heirs to the sí-mounds and the Tuatha’s customs: hospitality, oath, geasa, fosterage, and law kept by judges and poets. Beauty is conduct; craft is sacrament.
Houses & courts. Place-bound raths, lake isles, river and sea courts; no single empire, but webs of alliance sealed by fosterage and sureties.
Arts as life. Weapon, garment, bread, and hall are masterworks or not made at all. La Tène lines, ogham trims, tuned light and sound; mending is visible and honored.
Language & lore. Teanga na Sí (Sítheann) in high and common registers; Ogham na Sí on torcs, door-lintels, and treaty staves. Praise builds; áer (satire) corrects.
Festivals & thresholds. Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnasa mark processions and renewals. Thin places—fords, hills, doorways—carry stricter courtesy.
Heirlooms. Clan torcs, oath-brooches, traveling harps, and geas-pins that bind service; each holds a trace of the house’s story.
The Otherworld Diaspora and modern Earth. Earth-facing embassies and guilds; contracts as oaths, Glamourcant in galleries and boardrooms; patronage of sustainable craft and living law.
Shared customary codes and values
Customary codes & shared values
Fír (truth/rightness). Truth is alignment with rightful order—spoken plainly, kept in deed. A lie that harms honour or hospitality is ugliness itself. That said Sidhe are well trained at withholding truths and telling lies without saying a word of a lie when guile is required.
Enech (honour-face) & lóg n-enech (honour-price). Reputation is a tangible asset. Injury to name—by insult, satire, or broken promise—demands measured redress.
Béasa (courtesy & measure). Grace in word and bearing. Speak well, sit well, gift well; keep tempers leashed in hall and on embassy.
Hospitality & guest-right. A guest is sacred while under one’s roof; a host is owed obedience to house-rule. Feasting tables are neutral ground.
Oaths, geasa, and surety. Promises bind. Personal geasa (taboos/charges) are respected by all; great bargains are sealed with witnesses and sureties who guarantee payment or service.
Fosterage & kin-networks. Alliances are braided by foster-kin. A foster-child honours both houses; quarrels must spare those bonds.
Law by judges & poets. Brithemain (judges) weigh cases; filid (poets) bless with praise or correct with áer (satire). Law aims at restoration, not ruin. though make no mistake if the Sidhe seek vengeance it is a thing of terrible beauty.
Sovereignty & place. Rank flows from right relation to land and people—keep wells clean, roads safe, borders clear—or forfeit the mantle you wear.
Craft as truth. Work well done is moral beauty. Smith, singer, healer, and harper stand peer to warrior; shoddy craft is a kind of lie.
Reciprocity & gift-economy. Prefer service, craft, and favour over coin. Gifts should be useful, tailored to person and place.
Contest without treachery. Rivalry sharpens; ambush that breaks truce soils the name. Name terms, name an end, then strive to raise both houses.
Threshold ethics. Bridges, fords, doorways, and feast-halls are governed by stricter courtesy; violence there draws heavy price.
Hazards & why many mortals keep their distance from Sidhe Customs
Glamour as weapon. Sidhe glamour does not just beautify; it edits notice, tilts memory, and frames consent. You may “agree” and only later realize whose game you played.
Names & oaths bind. A true name or an incautious signature can leash a life. Even a toast can become surety if phrased as vow before witnesses.
Debt is a net. No “free” gift exists; every kindness carries counterweight. Fail to balance it and you may owe service, craft, or years.
Satire that scars. Áer (poetic censure) can mark reputation—and sometimes flesh—with visible blemish until redress is made.
Time moves sideways. A night in a feast-hall may cost a year outside; a year’s penance may pass in an hour. Few bargains mention the clock.
Hospitality cuts both ways. Break guest-right or house-rule and sanctuary becomes judgment-hall; penalties are elegant, public, and remembered.
Threshold traps. Bridges, fords, doorways, and table-edges are law-heavy places; one rude step there can trigger geasa that leash your choices.
Vengeance, beautifully done. When the Sidhe answer a wrong, they prefer artistry over noise—reputations ruined by a single perfect tale, fortunes unspooled by lawful suits, hearts turned to ash with a courteous smile.
Iron, salt, and insult. Wards may thwart glamour, but brandishing them in breach of courtesy brands you too. Protection bought at the price of honour draws long debts.
Modern gloss. In Earth-facing life, replace oaths with contracts, witnesses with notaries, áer with media narratives—and remember: the forms are different, the stakes the same.
Fír (truth/rightness). Truth is alignment with rightful order—spoken plainly, kept in deed. A lie that harms honour or hospitality is ugliness itself. That said Sidhe are well trained at withholding truths and telling lies without saying a word of a lie when guile is required.
Enech (honour-face) & lóg n-enech (honour-price). Reputation is a tangible asset. Injury to name—by insult, satire, or broken promise—demands measured redress.
Béasa (courtesy & measure). Grace in word and bearing. Speak well, sit well, gift well; keep tempers leashed in hall and on embassy.
Hospitality & guest-right. A guest is sacred while under one’s roof; a host is owed obedience to house-rule. Feasting tables are neutral ground.
Oaths, geasa, and surety. Promises bind. Personal geasa (taboos/charges) are respected by all; great bargains are sealed with witnesses and sureties who guarantee payment or service.
Fosterage & kin-networks. Alliances are braided by foster-kin. A foster-child honours both houses; quarrels must spare those bonds.
Law by judges & poets. Brithemain (judges) weigh cases; filid (poets) bless with praise or correct with áer (satire). Law aims at restoration, not ruin. though make no mistake if the Sidhe seek vengeance it is a thing of terrible beauty.
Sovereignty & place. Rank flows from right relation to land and people—keep wells clean, roads safe, borders clear—or forfeit the mantle you wear.
Craft as truth. Work well done is moral beauty. Smith, singer, healer, and harper stand peer to warrior; shoddy craft is a kind of lie.
Reciprocity & gift-economy. Prefer service, craft, and favour over coin. Gifts should be useful, tailored to person and place.
Contest without treachery. Rivalry sharpens; ambush that breaks truce soils the name. Name terms, name an end, then strive to raise both houses.
Threshold ethics. Bridges, fords, doorways, and feast-halls are governed by stricter courtesy; violence there draws heavy price.
Hazards & why many mortals keep their distance from Sidhe Customs
Glamour as weapon. Sidhe glamour does not just beautify; it edits notice, tilts memory, and frames consent. You may “agree” and only later realize whose game you played.
Names & oaths bind. A true name or an incautious signature can leash a life. Even a toast can become surety if phrased as vow before witnesses.
Debt is a net. No “free” gift exists; every kindness carries counterweight. Fail to balance it and you may owe service, craft, or years.
Satire that scars. Áer (poetic censure) can mark reputation—and sometimes flesh—with visible blemish until redress is made.
Time moves sideways. A night in a feast-hall may cost a year outside; a year’s penance may pass in an hour. Few bargains mention the clock.
Hospitality cuts both ways. Break guest-right or house-rule and sanctuary becomes judgment-hall; penalties are elegant, public, and remembered.
Threshold traps. Bridges, fords, doorways, and table-edges are law-heavy places; one rude step there can trigger geasa that leash your choices.
Vengeance, beautifully done. When the Sidhe answer a wrong, they prefer artistry over noise—reputations ruined by a single perfect tale, fortunes unspooled by lawful suits, hearts turned to ash with a courteous smile.
Iron, salt, and insult. Wards may thwart glamour, but brandishing them in breach of courtesy brands you too. Protection bought at the price of honour draws long debts.
Modern gloss. In Earth-facing life, replace oaths with contracts, witnesses with notaries, áer with media narratives—and remember: the forms are different, the stakes the same.
Average technological level
Otherworld runs on craft + covenant rather than engines. The Sidhe replace “technology” with made things perfected by right-magic—works bound to place, oath, and purpose. Mass industry is rare; masterwork guilds and sworn apprentices scale production without losing truth in the hand.
Functional parity (by role).
• Light/heat. Hearth-wards, sun/moon shafts, weather-screens; halls keep steady climate without smoke or noise.
• Communication. Ogham staves (sealed like letters), dream-messages by licensed poets, river/sea courts speaking water-speech; keeners carry urgent notices.
• Transport. Fey steeds and chariots, tide-lanes, boatways under hill, safe-conduct glamours (“Horse of Glass”) between thin places.
• Medicine. Herb-craft, song and saining, geis-unbinding, bone-setting by oath; iron-sickness treated with milk, bog-moss, and charms.
• Defense. Warded walls, courtesy fields at thresholds, glamour screens that bend notice (not consent), bronze arms etched with binding lines.
• Records. Treaty staves, ogham pillars, living archives of story-stones and braided memory in household poets.
• Materials. Drystone, bog oak, yew, fine linens/silks, jet, bronze, gold; cold iron excluded from delicate works.
Tiers of making.
• Everyday: safe hearth-charms, good tools, oath-true garments. • Court-grade: hall wards, river/road protections, envoy glamours. • Treaty-grade: bridges that sing, weather domes, cross-realm gates—require multiple houses, witnesses, and heavy cost.
Limits & costs.
Magic answers to place-law and oath-law; break either and the working fails or backlashes. Iron disrupts fine craft; heavy workings on Earth need thin places/times. Glamour may not lawfully counterfeit substance.
Modern gloss (Earth-facing).
Sidhe adopt mortal tools where useful—phones, labs, transit—but wrap them in courtesy: NDAs as oaths, notaries as witnesses, sureties for escrow. Best practice blends both: a warded server room; a bridge that hums a welcome; couture that carries your contract in ogham along the seam.
Functional parity (by role).
• Light/heat. Hearth-wards, sun/moon shafts, weather-screens; halls keep steady climate without smoke or noise.
• Communication. Ogham staves (sealed like letters), dream-messages by licensed poets, river/sea courts speaking water-speech; keeners carry urgent notices.
• Transport. Fey steeds and chariots, tide-lanes, boatways under hill, safe-conduct glamours (“Horse of Glass”) between thin places.
• Medicine. Herb-craft, song and saining, geis-unbinding, bone-setting by oath; iron-sickness treated with milk, bog-moss, and charms.
• Defense. Warded walls, courtesy fields at thresholds, glamour screens that bend notice (not consent), bronze arms etched with binding lines.
• Records. Treaty staves, ogham pillars, living archives of story-stones and braided memory in household poets.
• Materials. Drystone, bog oak, yew, fine linens/silks, jet, bronze, gold; cold iron excluded from delicate works.
Tiers of making.
• Everyday: safe hearth-charms, good tools, oath-true garments. • Court-grade: hall wards, river/road protections, envoy glamours. • Treaty-grade: bridges that sing, weather domes, cross-realm gates—require multiple houses, witnesses, and heavy cost.
Limits & costs.
Magic answers to place-law and oath-law; break either and the working fails or backlashes. Iron disrupts fine craft; heavy workings on Earth need thin places/times. Glamour may not lawfully counterfeit substance.
Modern gloss (Earth-facing).
Sidhe adopt mortal tools where useful—phones, labs, transit—but wrap them in courtesy: NDAs as oaths, notaries as witnesses, sureties for escrow. Best practice blends both: a warded server room; a bridge that hums a welcome; couture that carries your contract in ogham along the seam.
Common Etiquette rules
Ask a Sidhe and they’ll say no etiquette is “common.” They don’t walk rules; they dance them—exact, graceful, and edged.
Announce & ask. Halt at the threshold, name yourself, state peace, and wait to be invited.
Leave iron outside. Surrender cold iron and overt wards; they’ll be kept safe or you won’t enter.
Title before name. Use title + place (Tiarna of Brú na Bóinne). Don’t ask for, or offer, a true-name.
Mind your words. No vows in jest; every “yes,” “if,” and “unless” binds in measure.
Gifts with balance. Offer useful craft suited to host; name a counter-gift or service to avoid debt-nets.
Seat & order. Take the seat given; follow the host’s cup, carve, and toast. Don’t drink before the blessing.
Feast law. Accept or refuse cleanly. Don’t pocket fae food, spill drink, or waste bread.
Praise in public, sting with care. Satire (áer) is steel—use as counsel and be ready to pay its price.
Witness & surety. When talk turns to bargain, call a witness or token; casual speech counts.
Depart beautifully. Leave the place better: a tidy plate, a mended hinge, a short verse, a dated promise.
Modern gloss. RSVP and be punctual; tailored dress that suits the venue; no recording in safe halls; precise contracts with a named surety; metal tools checked at security; bring craft, not clutter.
Announce & ask. Halt at the threshold, name yourself, state peace, and wait to be invited.
Leave iron outside. Surrender cold iron and overt wards; they’ll be kept safe or you won’t enter.
Title before name. Use title + place (Tiarna of Brú na Bóinne). Don’t ask for, or offer, a true-name.
Mind your words. No vows in jest; every “yes,” “if,” and “unless” binds in measure.
Gifts with balance. Offer useful craft suited to host; name a counter-gift or service to avoid debt-nets.
Seat & order. Take the seat given; follow the host’s cup, carve, and toast. Don’t drink before the blessing.
Feast law. Accept or refuse cleanly. Don’t pocket fae food, spill drink, or waste bread.
Praise in public, sting with care. Satire (áer) is steel—use as counsel and be ready to pay its price.
Witness & surety. When talk turns to bargain, call a witness or token; casual speech counts.
Depart beautifully. Leave the place better: a tidy plate, a mended hinge, a short verse, a dated promise.
Modern gloss. RSVP and be punctual; tailored dress that suits the venue; no recording in safe halls; precise contracts with a named surety; metal tools checked at security; bring craft, not clutter.
Common Dress code
Rule One: Dress for the venue. Sidhe honour a house’s code—then press it to its highest edge. If limits exist, they skim the line with perfect courtesy; if none do, expect spectacle.
Style. Dramatic, precise, and place-true. Silhouettes echo old forms (léine, brat, torc) in couture cuts; materials favour linen, wool, silk, leather, jet, gold, bronze—never coarse iron.
Colour & season. Dress follows court and place: spring greens/whites, harvest russets/gold, sea blues/pearls, winter blacks/silvers. A guest wears the host’s colours unless given leave.
Meaningful ornament. Brooches, torcs, and ogham-edged rings signal rank, oath, and mood; shoes clean, hair kept, scent of meadow/wood/sea over chemical glare.
When permitted, expect legend. Gowns of living bloom, webs of frost that refuse to melt, garments woven of midnight—and, once, a lady dressed only in the guests’ “imagination.”
Modern gloss. Black-tie becomes blade-sharp tailoring; streetwear becomes artful layers with clan stripe or ogham trim. Always immaculate, always intentional, never boring.
Style. Dramatic, precise, and place-true. Silhouettes echo old forms (léine, brat, torc) in couture cuts; materials favour linen, wool, silk, leather, jet, gold, bronze—never coarse iron.
Colour & season. Dress follows court and place: spring greens/whites, harvest russets/gold, sea blues/pearls, winter blacks/silvers. A guest wears the host’s colours unless given leave.
Meaningful ornament. Brooches, torcs, and ogham-edged rings signal rank, oath, and mood; shoes clean, hair kept, scent of meadow/wood/sea over chemical glare.
When permitted, expect legend. Gowns of living bloom, webs of frost that refuse to melt, garments woven of midnight—and, once, a lady dressed only in the guests’ “imagination.”
Modern gloss. Black-tie becomes blade-sharp tailoring; streetwear becomes artful layers with clan stripe or ogham trim. Always immaculate, always intentional, never boring.
Art & Architecture
For the Sidhe, every craft is high art and every artwork is a kept oath—to place, to people, to beauty.
First principle: craft as covenant. A thing must be useful, beautiful, and rightful—or it should not be made.
Materials & touch. Drystone and white quartz, bog oak and yew, linen and silk, jet, bronze, and gold; no coarse iron. Surfaces are hand-finished so they “sing” to skin and sound.
Forms & places. Raths and brú (great mounds) with sun/moon light-shafts; lake crannóg isles; beehive chambers and souterrains; living cloisters of tree and hedge. Paths follow desire-lines, not grids.
Light & sound. Halls are tuned for harp and voice; vents and hearths draft clean; dawn beams mark feast-days and vows.
Signs & script. Ogham na Sí along lintels, brooches, and door-posts; spirals and La Tène curves bind pacts and blessings.
Threshold craft. Doors “speak”: inlays declare guest-right; hinges whisper house law; insult-mats eat ill-words at the step.
Everyday arts. Blades etched with genealogy; bread scored with house-marks; flower-sets arranged as heraldry; garments cut to read the wearer’s story.
Mend, don’t waste. Breaks are repaired visibly—seams of bright metal that honour truth in the object’s life.
Ephemeral splendour. Ice, blossom, smoke, sand—made for a moment, remembered in verse; transience is part of the beauty.
Modern gloss. In Earth cities: green roofs and quiet rooms, façades that age gracefully, privacy screens woven with ogham, bridges that hum a welcome in court-speech. Even the smallest spoon is a masterpiece if a Sidhe hand made it.
First principle: craft as covenant. A thing must be useful, beautiful, and rightful—or it should not be made.
Materials & touch. Drystone and white quartz, bog oak and yew, linen and silk, jet, bronze, and gold; no coarse iron. Surfaces are hand-finished so they “sing” to skin and sound.
Forms & places. Raths and brú (great mounds) with sun/moon light-shafts; lake crannóg isles; beehive chambers and souterrains; living cloisters of tree and hedge. Paths follow desire-lines, not grids.
Light & sound. Halls are tuned for harp and voice; vents and hearths draft clean; dawn beams mark feast-days and vows.
Signs & script. Ogham na Sí along lintels, brooches, and door-posts; spirals and La Tène curves bind pacts and blessings.
Threshold craft. Doors “speak”: inlays declare guest-right; hinges whisper house law; insult-mats eat ill-words at the step.
Everyday arts. Blades etched with genealogy; bread scored with house-marks; flower-sets arranged as heraldry; garments cut to read the wearer’s story.
Mend, don’t waste. Breaks are repaired visibly—seams of bright metal that honour truth in the object’s life.
Ephemeral splendour. Ice, blossom, smoke, sand—made for a moment, remembered in verse; transience is part of the beauty.
Modern gloss. In Earth cities: green roofs and quiet rooms, façades that age gracefully, privacy screens woven with ogham, bridges that hum a welcome in court-speech. Even the smallest spoon is a masterpiece if a Sidhe hand made it.
Foods & Cuisine
Faerie fare & mortal risk. Sidhe food is not meant for humans without explicit leave. It can quicken the blood, bend time, spark visions, or lull mortals into months of sleep. A courteous host will serve guest-safe plates (plain bread, fruit, broth) and name them so before witnesses; anything unnamed may bind by taste and tale.
Hospitality, not hunger. Feasts prove welcome and skill, not excess. Courses come as stories—each dish honors a place, season, or oath. Refusal is allowed if done cleanly (one bite, praise, set down).
Staples & flavors (Otherworld). Oat and barley breads; fresh butter and soft cheeses; wild salmon, eel, trout; venison and boar; apples, hazel, bilberry; nettle, sorrel, wild garlic; honey, heather, bog myrtle. Sea courts lean to dulse, limpets, razor clam; river courts prize trout roe and watercress.
Technique & “right magic.” Fire and stone first; magic only to perfect truth (hold a crust at peak, clear a broth, awaken scent at the moment of serving). Glamour may shape presentation, never fake substance. A lie on the plate is a lie of the hand.
Signatures. • Bradán Feasa (“salmon of wisdom”): cedar-smoked salmon finished with hazel and apple vinegar; mortals taste only the idea of insight unless licensed. • Coddle of the Green: nettle–barley stew with venison marrow, served with oatcakes stamped in ogham. • Honey-butter of Tara: churned at sunrise; keeps a vow sweet on the tongue. • Heather mead & bog-myrtle ale: potent; mortals sip sparingly or risk dream-wandering.
Fusion, Earth-facing. Sidhe chefs happily learn and blend: sea-trout crudo with wild sorrel; oat blinis with farm butter and trout roe; venison seared, finished with peat-smoke; apple–heather pavlova; bannocks perfumed with green tea; elderflower granita between courses. Spices are chosen to speak with the land, not drown it.
Dining forms. Hand-wash at the basin; wait for the host’s cup; no cutting bread before the blessing; praise the cook by naming the place in the dish (“to the Sionainn for her trout”). Leave a token bite for the house spirits unless told otherwise.
Taboos & courtesies. No cold iron at table. Don’t pocket faerie food. Don’t toast a promise you won’t keep. Never mock a simple dish; simplicity is a virtue when it’s true. Mortals: ask what is safe before you taste.
Hospitality, not hunger. Feasts prove welcome and skill, not excess. Courses come as stories—each dish honors a place, season, or oath. Refusal is allowed if done cleanly (one bite, praise, set down).
Staples & flavors (Otherworld). Oat and barley breads; fresh butter and soft cheeses; wild salmon, eel, trout; venison and boar; apples, hazel, bilberry; nettle, sorrel, wild garlic; honey, heather, bog myrtle. Sea courts lean to dulse, limpets, razor clam; river courts prize trout roe and watercress.
Technique & “right magic.” Fire and stone first; magic only to perfect truth (hold a crust at peak, clear a broth, awaken scent at the moment of serving). Glamour may shape presentation, never fake substance. A lie on the plate is a lie of the hand.
Signatures. • Bradán Feasa (“salmon of wisdom”): cedar-smoked salmon finished with hazel and apple vinegar; mortals taste only the idea of insight unless licensed. • Coddle of the Green: nettle–barley stew with venison marrow, served with oatcakes stamped in ogham. • Honey-butter of Tara: churned at sunrise; keeps a vow sweet on the tongue. • Heather mead & bog-myrtle ale: potent; mortals sip sparingly or risk dream-wandering.
Fusion, Earth-facing. Sidhe chefs happily learn and blend: sea-trout crudo with wild sorrel; oat blinis with farm butter and trout roe; venison seared, finished with peat-smoke; apple–heather pavlova; bannocks perfumed with green tea; elderflower granita between courses. Spices are chosen to speak with the land, not drown it.
Dining forms. Hand-wash at the basin; wait for the host’s cup; no cutting bread before the blessing; praise the cook by naming the place in the dish (“to the Sionainn for her trout”). Leave a token bite for the house spirits unless told otherwise.
Taboos & courtesies. No cold iron at table. Don’t pocket faerie food. Don’t toast a promise you won’t keep. Never mock a simple dish; simplicity is a virtue when it’s true. Mortals: ask what is safe before you taste.
Common Customs, traditions and rituals
Name-Veil (Coimhéad). Newborns get a courtesy-name; the true-name is whispered to a stone and kept by a watcher until coming-of-age.
Door-Fast (Troscadh na Doirse). To press a just claim, one may fast at the threshold of the debtor’s hall; hosts must answer before nightfall.
Borrowed Fire (Tine na gComharsan). At seasonal turnings, houses trade a live ember to renew friendship and luck.
Lia Fírinne (Truth-stone). Witnesses touch a marked stone when giving testimony; perjury stains the hand until redress.
Keeners’ Path (Slí an Chaoineadh). Funerals travel a fixed road; ritual laments “clear” the way between mounds and home.
River Offering (Cnó & Mil). First crossing of a season: hazelnut and honey to the water—knowledge sweetened is knowledge kept.
Masking Nights (Oíche Mhaosc). On certain eves, titles only—no personal names; veils and masks prevent stray bindings.
Cloak of Refuge (Brat Dídean). Throwing one’s cloak around a suppliant claims them under your protection until dawn.
Ribboning the Well (Bratóg Imbolc). White ribbons tied at sacred wells for healing vows; removed when the vow is fulfilled.
Mute Hour at Dusk (Uair Chiúin). The hall falls to soft voices at sundown; disputes pause, lamps are lit, thresholds blessed.
Witness Bands (Cuing Fianaise). Negotiators wear colored ribbons; a cut ribbon seals the bargain before onlookers.
The Third Cup (An Tríú Corn). First cup to the host, second to the gathered, third to the absent or the land; only then begin business.
Door-Fast (Troscadh na Doirse). To press a just claim, one may fast at the threshold of the debtor’s hall; hosts must answer before nightfall.
Borrowed Fire (Tine na gComharsan). At seasonal turnings, houses trade a live ember to renew friendship and luck.
Lia Fírinne (Truth-stone). Witnesses touch a marked stone when giving testimony; perjury stains the hand until redress.
Keeners’ Path (Slí an Chaoineadh). Funerals travel a fixed road; ritual laments “clear” the way between mounds and home.
River Offering (Cnó & Mil). First crossing of a season: hazelnut and honey to the water—knowledge sweetened is knowledge kept.
Masking Nights (Oíche Mhaosc). On certain eves, titles only—no personal names; veils and masks prevent stray bindings.
Cloak of Refuge (Brat Dídean). Throwing one’s cloak around a suppliant claims them under your protection until dawn.
Ribboning the Well (Bratóg Imbolc). White ribbons tied at sacred wells for healing vows; removed when the vow is fulfilled.
Mute Hour at Dusk (Uair Chiúin). The hall falls to soft voices at sundown; disputes pause, lamps are lit, thresholds blessed.
Witness Bands (Cuing Fianaise). Negotiators wear colored ribbons; a cut ribbon seals the bargain before onlookers.
The Third Cup (An Tríú Corn). First cup to the host, second to the gathered, third to the absent or the land; only then begin business.
Birth & Baptismal Rites
Ainmniú & the Veil of Name. Birth is kept quiet and lamplit. The bean ghlúine (midwife) receives the child; no cold iron crosses the threshold. A courtesy-name is spoken to the hall, while the true-name is breathed to a kept stone and entrusted to a Coimhéad (Watcher) until coming-of-age. Only the parents, Watcher, and judge-poet present hear it; careless names bind, so words are weighed.
Fire and Water. The child is lifted over a live ember from Borrowed Fire (luck shared between houses) and touched with water drawn before dawn from a sworn well. Fire promises courage; water promises memory. A white Bratóg Imbolc ribbon is tied to the cradle or doorway and later carried to the well when the first fever passes.
Saining & Safeguards. The hall is circled sunwise; juniper and bog-myrtle smoke the corners; door and lintel are marked in Ogham na Sí. A lullaby-vow is sung by the household poet; any who sing it after must keep goodwill for the child or pay honour-price.
Sponsors & Sureties. Two or more sponsors—often from allied houses—stand as sureties, promising teaching and redress if the child wrongs or is wronged. Instead of coin, they gift useful tokens: a plain brooch (for oaths one day), a harp string, a small knife of bronze—tools to grow into.
First Presentation to Place. At the first safe dawn the infant is carried to the house boundary, then to the nearest mound, ford, or tree, and named “of” that place. A drop of sweet milk and a crumb of oat bread are offered; for river courts, a hazelnut is given to the water—knowledge sweetened is knowledge kept.
Fosterage & Milk-Oath. If a milk-kin wet-nurse is sworn, a brief milk-oath binds households until weaning. Formal fosterage is chosen later (often at “a year and a day”), but a lock of hair from child and parent is braided and stored with the name-stone to mark future ties. Some modern mages refer to this as Faerie Godmothering/Godfathering.
Modern gloss (Earth-facing). Hospitals are treated as guest-halls: no photography without leave; records carry the courtesy-name; a travel-shrine with well-water and candle stands in the room. Sponsors sign a civil contract that mirrors the oath, and the first walk is to a city green, bridge, or museum—place before publicity.
Fire and Water. The child is lifted over a live ember from Borrowed Fire (luck shared between houses) and touched with water drawn before dawn from a sworn well. Fire promises courage; water promises memory. A white Bratóg Imbolc ribbon is tied to the cradle or doorway and later carried to the well when the first fever passes.
Saining & Safeguards. The hall is circled sunwise; juniper and bog-myrtle smoke the corners; door and lintel are marked in Ogham na Sí. A lullaby-vow is sung by the household poet; any who sing it after must keep goodwill for the child or pay honour-price.
Sponsors & Sureties. Two or more sponsors—often from allied houses—stand as sureties, promising teaching and redress if the child wrongs or is wronged. Instead of coin, they gift useful tokens: a plain brooch (for oaths one day), a harp string, a small knife of bronze—tools to grow into.
First Presentation to Place. At the first safe dawn the infant is carried to the house boundary, then to the nearest mound, ford, or tree, and named “of” that place. A drop of sweet milk and a crumb of oat bread are offered; for river courts, a hazelnut is given to the water—knowledge sweetened is knowledge kept.
Fosterage & Milk-Oath. If a milk-kin wet-nurse is sworn, a brief milk-oath binds households until weaning. Formal fosterage is chosen later (often at “a year and a day”), but a lock of hair from child and parent is braided and stored with the name-stone to mark future ties. Some modern mages refer to this as Faerie Godmothering/Godfathering.
Modern gloss (Earth-facing). Hospitals are treated as guest-halls: no photography without leave; records carry the courtesy-name; a travel-shrine with well-water and candle stands in the room. Sponsors sign a civil contract that mirrors the oath, and the first walk is to a city green, bridge, or museum—place before publicity.
Coming of Age Rites
Teacht in Aois (Coming into Age). Sidhe mark adulthood by milestones, not birthdays. The rite is held when judge and poet agree the youth’s craft, courtesy, and courage are ready—often at Imbolc or Lughnasa.
Return of the Name-Stone. In a private circle the Coimhéad (Watcher) returns the stone. The true-name is heard once, sealed into Ogham na Sí on a small staff; the courtesy-name remains public. From this hour, the bearer is answerable for any misuse of names.
Three Trials (Word • Hand • Road). • Word: Offer a praise-song and endure friendly áer (satire) without losing courtesy. • Hand: Make or mend a useful thing for one outside your kin. • Road: Settle a debt or right a slight without cold iron—by witness, wit, or service.
Geas-Pin & Path. A bronze geas-pin (oath brooch) is given. The new adult names a first path—war, law, healing, craft, song, or embassy—and accepts a fitting geis. Refusal is allowed once, paid by honour-price and a year’s delay.
Hospitality Test. From dusk to dawn the candidate holds guest-right for strangers and rivals. Any breach extends the rite with a season of service to the slighted party.
Witness & Surety. Sponsors cut their witness bands; the brithem (judge) declares the youth keeper of their own lóg n-enech (honour-price) from this day.
The Third Cup & First Oath. After the third cup (host, gathered, absent/land), the new adult swears a first public oath—most bind to place rather than person.
Year-and-a-Day Wandering. Many take sanctioned wandering to allied courts or Earth-facing guilds, carrying letters patent and returning with a gift for the house.
Consequences. Failure earns debt, not disgrace—a learning geis, service, or public correction in verse. Fraud is different: it stains enech and can bar titles for a century.
Modern gloss. In cities the trials become a recital or portfolio (Word/Hand), a community hospitality shift (Road), contracts notarized as oaths, and the geas-pin paired with an ID seal. The spine holds: name kept, craft proven, oath clean, courtesy intact.
Return of the Name-Stone. In a private circle the Coimhéad (Watcher) returns the stone. The true-name is heard once, sealed into Ogham na Sí on a small staff; the courtesy-name remains public. From this hour, the bearer is answerable for any misuse of names.
Three Trials (Word • Hand • Road). • Word: Offer a praise-song and endure friendly áer (satire) without losing courtesy. • Hand: Make or mend a useful thing for one outside your kin. • Road: Settle a debt or right a slight without cold iron—by witness, wit, or service.
Geas-Pin & Path. A bronze geas-pin (oath brooch) is given. The new adult names a first path—war, law, healing, craft, song, or embassy—and accepts a fitting geis. Refusal is allowed once, paid by honour-price and a year’s delay.
Hospitality Test. From dusk to dawn the candidate holds guest-right for strangers and rivals. Any breach extends the rite with a season of service to the slighted party.
Witness & Surety. Sponsors cut their witness bands; the brithem (judge) declares the youth keeper of their own lóg n-enech (honour-price) from this day.
The Third Cup & First Oath. After the third cup (host, gathered, absent/land), the new adult swears a first public oath—most bind to place rather than person.
Year-and-a-Day Wandering. Many take sanctioned wandering to allied courts or Earth-facing guilds, carrying letters patent and returning with a gift for the house.
Consequences. Failure earns debt, not disgrace—a learning geis, service, or public correction in verse. Fraud is different: it stains enech and can bar titles for a century.
Modern gloss. In cities the trials become a recital or portfolio (Word/Hand), a community hospitality shift (Road), contracts notarized as oaths, and the geas-pin paired with an ID seal. The spine holds: name kept, craft proven, oath clean, courtesy intact.
Funerary and Memorial customs
What death means. Sidhe do not age past adulthood; any death is tragedy, not schedule. The hall falls silent; iron is set outside; the body is washed with sworn well-water, anointed with honey and heather, and robed in house colours.
Bane Sidhe & the Keening. The Bane Sidhe—living keeners, not ghosts—lead the caoineadh: verses that praise, tally deeds, and summon the sky to weep. Their charge is double: comfort the house, and cut falsehood from the tale so the dead are carried in truth.
Unbinding of the Name. At the bier, the true-name is whispered thrice and unbound from oaths. Geasa that cannot die with the bearer are reassigned to kin or sureties; the geas-pin returns to the judge. Debts owed to or by the dead are spoken and given lawful paths to closure.
Procession & places of rest. The cortege takes the Keeners’ Path to a chosen threshold:
• Mound-chamber for hill courts (stone, oak, and light-shaft). • Water-burial for river/sea courts (boat or cairn at the ford/shoal). • Tree-interment for forest houses (bog-oak bier, roots braided through). Pyres are rare and reserved for those sworn to fire. Cold iron never touches the dead.
Tokens & parting. One useful thing the dead made is passed to a younger hand; one heirloom is gently broken and mended so the seam remembers them. A small ogham pillar or river-stone is inscribed and set at the boundary of home.
Wake & the Third Cup. After burial, the wake begins: the first course in silence, then stories—praise first, light satire last to set the balance right. After the third cup (host, gathered, land), the house either swears a Peace Oath or declares a Lawful Vengeance with terms and an end named.
Annual observance. On Samhain, a lamp is lit at the door and a slice of oat bread laid aside; on the death-day, a short verse is recited and the name traced once along the lintel.
Modern gloss (Earth-facing). Gallery or chapel vigils replace mound chambers; oaths are mirrored in civil filings; a memorial commission (harp, brooch, bridge plaque, garden) stands in for the ogham stone. Rain at the funeral—natural or conjured—is read as the Bane Sidhe’s work well done.
Bane Sidhe & the Keening. The Bane Sidhe—living keeners, not ghosts—lead the caoineadh: verses that praise, tally deeds, and summon the sky to weep. Their charge is double: comfort the house, and cut falsehood from the tale so the dead are carried in truth.
Unbinding of the Name. At the bier, the true-name is whispered thrice and unbound from oaths. Geasa that cannot die with the bearer are reassigned to kin or sureties; the geas-pin returns to the judge. Debts owed to or by the dead are spoken and given lawful paths to closure.
Procession & places of rest. The cortege takes the Keeners’ Path to a chosen threshold:
• Mound-chamber for hill courts (stone, oak, and light-shaft). • Water-burial for river/sea courts (boat or cairn at the ford/shoal). • Tree-interment for forest houses (bog-oak bier, roots braided through). Pyres are rare and reserved for those sworn to fire. Cold iron never touches the dead.
Tokens & parting. One useful thing the dead made is passed to a younger hand; one heirloom is gently broken and mended so the seam remembers them. A small ogham pillar or river-stone is inscribed and set at the boundary of home.
Wake & the Third Cup. After burial, the wake begins: the first course in silence, then stories—praise first, light satire last to set the balance right. After the third cup (host, gathered, land), the house either swears a Peace Oath or declares a Lawful Vengeance with terms and an end named.
Annual observance. On Samhain, a lamp is lit at the door and a slice of oat bread laid aside; on the death-day, a short verse is recited and the name traced once along the lintel.
Modern gloss (Earth-facing). Gallery or chapel vigils replace mound chambers; oaths are mirrored in civil filings; a memorial commission (harp, brooch, bridge plaque, garden) stands in for the ogham stone. Rain at the funeral—natural or conjured—is read as the Bane Sidhe’s work well done.
Common Taboos
The Law of Three. An oath sworn thrice binds like iron. Even a casual promise, forced or tricked into threefold phrasing, carries grave consequences.
True-name Silence. Do not speak, write, or barter a true name outside ritual circles. Demanding one is an insult; leaking one is a crime.
No “thank you.” Do not close a gift with thanks; repay with a counter-gift or service. “Thank you” ends the bond and implies dismissal.
Cold Iron Prohibition. No cold iron across threshold, table, or bed. Brandishing wards inside a hall stains your own honour.
Unnamed Food & Drink. Never serve or accept fare without naming it and its intent before witnesses; unnamed bites can bind.
Walk Sunwise (Deiseal). Circle mounds, fires, wells sunwise only. Going widdershins (tuathal) invites ill luck and offense.
Hawthorn & Rowan. Do not cut lone hawthorn or rowan, nor burn them for convenience. They are treaty-trees; harm draws a forfeit.
No Head-Counts. Do not count the gathered aloud, especially the Sidhe; tally by tokens, not by mouths.
Threshold Sanctity. Don’t stand on a threshold, block a doorway, or make oaths half-in/half-out. Cross cleanly or keep back.
Bell-Ban in Halls. Iron bells and sudden peals are forbidden indoors; using them to break glamour is escalatory and dishonouring.
Blades Need Coin. Never gift a knife or pin without a token coin from the receiver, lest friendship be “cut.”
Do Not Rip Glamour. Tearing another’s veil without due cause (law, duel, or rescue) is a violation answered in court.
True-name Silence. Do not speak, write, or barter a true name outside ritual circles. Demanding one is an insult; leaking one is a crime.
No “thank you.” Do not close a gift with thanks; repay with a counter-gift or service. “Thank you” ends the bond and implies dismissal.
Cold Iron Prohibition. No cold iron across threshold, table, or bed. Brandishing wards inside a hall stains your own honour.
Unnamed Food & Drink. Never serve or accept fare without naming it and its intent before witnesses; unnamed bites can bind.
Walk Sunwise (Deiseal). Circle mounds, fires, wells sunwise only. Going widdershins (tuathal) invites ill luck and offense.
Hawthorn & Rowan. Do not cut lone hawthorn or rowan, nor burn them for convenience. They are treaty-trees; harm draws a forfeit.
No Head-Counts. Do not count the gathered aloud, especially the Sidhe; tally by tokens, not by mouths.
Threshold Sanctity. Don’t stand on a threshold, block a doorway, or make oaths half-in/half-out. Cross cleanly or keep back.
Bell-Ban in Halls. Iron bells and sudden peals are forbidden indoors; using them to break glamour is escalatory and dishonouring.
Blades Need Coin. Never gift a knife or pin without a token coin from the receiver, lest friendship be “cut.”
Do Not Rip Glamour. Tearing another’s veil without due cause (law, duel, or rescue) is a violation answered in court.
Common Myths and Legends
Otherworld is a mirror of earth shaped by human myth, folklore, tales and beliefs and the Sidhe are no differnt. Though their tales are told from their side of things not the human side our world is used to a few famous myths and legends are.
Oisín in Tír na nÓg. From our halls, Niamh went as envoy, offering fosterage and love with clear warnings about time. Oisín chose to return to his people; the grief that followed was honoured choice, not trickery.
The Children of Lir. We remember Aoife’s abuse of geasa as a crime against kin and courtesy. Swan-shape was a protective binding gone cruel—our laws now mark such misuse with lifelong satire and loss of title.
The Fairy Host at Samhain. What mortals call a “wild hunt” is our treaty procession: border-rides, debt tallies, gifts to the land. Those who ride with us do so by oath or for cause—not by whim.
Finvarra and the Lady of Knockma.** Finvarra claimed a hospitality debt; the digging of the hill broke threshold law. He returned the lady to end a feud and paid in fertility-gifts—measured power, not theft.
Bean Sí (the Keeners). Our keeners are warners, not harbingers of harm—voices assigned to families to give time to make amends, settle debts, and set the house in order.
Bradán Feasa (Salmon of Wisdom). The salmon is a warden, not a prize. Fionn’s taste was permitted by craft and courage; stolen wisdom burns the tongue and stains honour.
Changeling tales.** Regardless of what tales huamns tell to the Sidhe these are lawful exchanges: fosterings to heal iron-sick infants or balance debts, witnessed and time-bound. Unlawful swaps are crimes; human cruelties born of fear are condemned in our courts. It is the work of Hags, demons and unsavory ill born fairies to kidnap and exchange human children with their own. Mocking birds and Magpies as the Sidhe somtimes call them.
Mag Tuired (Moytura). Not conquest—restoration. We remember Nuadu’s silver-hand and Lugh’s spear as vows to set measure against Fomorian disorder, returning right relation between land and people.
Clíodhna’s Wave.** To mortals a drowning; to us a cycle kept. Clíodhna returns by geis to sea and shore in turn, renewing compacts with the tide.
Niamh Cinn Óir & the Horse of Glass.** The “enchanted steed” is a safe-conduct—a glamour that carries guests unmarked between worlds. Step off without leave, and you fall back into time.
Oisín in Tír na nÓg. From our halls, Niamh went as envoy, offering fosterage and love with clear warnings about time. Oisín chose to return to his people; the grief that followed was honoured choice, not trickery.
The Children of Lir. We remember Aoife’s abuse of geasa as a crime against kin and courtesy. Swan-shape was a protective binding gone cruel—our laws now mark such misuse with lifelong satire and loss of title.
The Fairy Host at Samhain. What mortals call a “wild hunt” is our treaty procession: border-rides, debt tallies, gifts to the land. Those who ride with us do so by oath or for cause—not by whim.
Finvarra and the Lady of Knockma.** Finvarra claimed a hospitality debt; the digging of the hill broke threshold law. He returned the lady to end a feud and paid in fertility-gifts—measured power, not theft.
Bean Sí (the Keeners). Our keeners are warners, not harbingers of harm—voices assigned to families to give time to make amends, settle debts, and set the house in order.
Bradán Feasa (Salmon of Wisdom). The salmon is a warden, not a prize. Fionn’s taste was permitted by craft and courage; stolen wisdom burns the tongue and stains honour.
Changeling tales.** Regardless of what tales huamns tell to the Sidhe these are lawful exchanges: fosterings to heal iron-sick infants or balance debts, witnessed and time-bound. Unlawful swaps are crimes; human cruelties born of fear are condemned in our courts. It is the work of Hags, demons and unsavory ill born fairies to kidnap and exchange human children with their own. Mocking birds and Magpies as the Sidhe somtimes call them.
Mag Tuired (Moytura). Not conquest—restoration. We remember Nuadu’s silver-hand and Lugh’s spear as vows to set measure against Fomorian disorder, returning right relation between land and people.
Clíodhna’s Wave.** To mortals a drowning; to us a cycle kept. Clíodhna returns by geis to sea and shore in turn, renewing compacts with the tide.
Niamh Cinn Óir & the Horse of Glass.** The “enchanted steed” is a safe-conduct—a glamour that carries guests unmarked between worlds. Step off without leave, and you fall back into time.
Historical figures
Bodb Derg. First great convenor after the Tuatha withdrew; set our codes of hospitality and oath in the mound-courts.
Midir of Brí Léith. Master of lawful challenge; in our telling he reclaimed Étaín after King Eochaid broke guest-right—by game, not theft.
Étaín. Sovereign of renewal; her returns from exile and enchantment healed breaches between halls and human thrones.
Aoibheall of Craig Liath. Prophet-queen who warned Brian Boru; we remember it as measure kept—truth over partisanship.
Clíodhna of the Waves. Tide-bound lady; her “wave” is a covenant cycle, not a doom, renewing pacts of shore and sea.
Fionnbharr (Finvarra) of Knockma. Diplomat-lord; ended the Galway feud by restitution and fertility dues, not abduction.
Niamh Cinn Óir. Envoy to Oisín with clear terms on time; his sorrowed return was honoured choice, not faerie trick.
Fand. Sea-lady who made truce with Cú Chulainn; the draught of forgetting repaired oaths rather than erasing blame.
Caer Ibormeith. Swan of dreams; her yearly shape is a shared geis with Aengus—a union chosen, not a capture.
Aoife (of Lir). Cited in our courts as precedent against coercive geasa—a kin-wrong that still draws lifelong satire.
Oisín. Mortal friend and bridge-singer; our annals keep his lays as guest-poems, not stolen lore.
Balor. We speak the name only to spit; his eye is anti-hospitality itself—the measure we vow to oppose in every age.
Midir of Brí Léith. Master of lawful challenge; in our telling he reclaimed Étaín after King Eochaid broke guest-right—by game, not theft.
Étaín. Sovereign of renewal; her returns from exile and enchantment healed breaches between halls and human thrones.
Aoibheall of Craig Liath. Prophet-queen who warned Brian Boru; we remember it as measure kept—truth over partisanship.
Clíodhna of the Waves. Tide-bound lady; her “wave” is a covenant cycle, not a doom, renewing pacts of shore and sea.
Fionnbharr (Finvarra) of Knockma. Diplomat-lord; ended the Galway feud by restitution and fertility dues, not abduction.
Niamh Cinn Óir. Envoy to Oisín with clear terms on time; his sorrowed return was honoured choice, not faerie trick.
Fand. Sea-lady who made truce with Cú Chulainn; the draught of forgetting repaired oaths rather than erasing blame.
Caer Ibormeith. Swan of dreams; her yearly shape is a shared geis with Aengus—a union chosen, not a capture.
Aoife (of Lir). Cited in our courts as precedent against coercive geasa—a kin-wrong that still draws lifelong satire.
Oisín. Mortal friend and bridge-singer; our annals keep his lays as guest-poems, not stolen lore.
Balor. We speak the name only to spit; his eye is anti-hospitality itself—the measure we vow to oppose in every age.
Ideals
Beauty Ideals
For the Sidhe, beauty is conduct before it is cosmetics—right speech, perfect courtesy, measured passion, craft done truly. In this they mirror early Irish values: the face as honour (enech), the voice as oath, the hand as proof of skill. Physically, they prize proportion, poise, and radiance—a look of health and balance that suggests good order within and without. Hair worn long and well-kept (golden, raven, or flame-red alike), clear eyes, steady carriage, clean hands, and garments that fit the person and the place are classic marks of grace. Sound and story are beauties of their own: a sure singing voice, a harper’s touch, and a poet’s satire that can wound or heal status.
Cultural memory of wars with the Fomóire (Fomorians) and Fir Bolg leaves a bias that equates the grossly misshapen, crude, or scarifying with disorder and ill-will. In old law logic—where kings must be “without blemish” and satire can mark the face—visible disfigurement reads as a sign of broken harmony. That said, Sidhe culture also keeps counter-rules: beauty may be earned. Scars honestly taken in defense of a guest-right, burns from the forge, the weathering of long service, or age carried with dignity are beauties of truth. A flawless veneer masking treachery is not beautiful; truthful form outranks pretty falsehood.
Adornment follows function and oath. Natural materials—fine linen and wool, leather, antler, jet, gold and bronze—are shaped with precision and worn with restraint. Colour is seasonal and place-bound (greens and whites of spring courts; russets and golds for harvest halls; sea-tones for island raths). Jewellery is language: brooches to fasten obligation, torcs to signal rank, ogham-edged rings to bind a vow. Fragrance tends toward meadow, woodsmoke, salt wind—place made tangible.
In the modern era, beauty adapts without surrendering its roots. Glamour smooths presentation but is judged by ethics, not excess: the best glamours reveal the ideal you, not a lie. Contemporary Sidhe favour tailored lines that echo old forms (a suit as a new léine, a silk scarf as a clan-stripe), sustainable craft, and voice-craft that plays well in boardroom, gallery, or council chamber. However seamless the look, the old test remains: courtesy kept, oath clean, craft true—or the fairest face is only a mask.
Cultural memory of wars with the Fomóire (Fomorians) and Fir Bolg leaves a bias that equates the grossly misshapen, crude, or scarifying with disorder and ill-will. In old law logic—where kings must be “without blemish” and satire can mark the face—visible disfigurement reads as a sign of broken harmony. That said, Sidhe culture also keeps counter-rules: beauty may be earned. Scars honestly taken in defense of a guest-right, burns from the forge, the weathering of long service, or age carried with dignity are beauties of truth. A flawless veneer masking treachery is not beautiful; truthful form outranks pretty falsehood.
Adornment follows function and oath. Natural materials—fine linen and wool, leather, antler, jet, gold and bronze—are shaped with precision and worn with restraint. Colour is seasonal and place-bound (greens and whites of spring courts; russets and golds for harvest halls; sea-tones for island raths). Jewellery is language: brooches to fasten obligation, torcs to signal rank, ogham-edged rings to bind a vow. Fragrance tends toward meadow, woodsmoke, salt wind—place made tangible.
In the modern era, beauty adapts without surrendering its roots. Glamour smooths presentation but is judged by ethics, not excess: the best glamours reveal the ideal you, not a lie. Contemporary Sidhe favour tailored lines that echo old forms (a suit as a new léine, a silk scarf as a clan-stripe), sustainable craft, and voice-craft that plays well in boardroom, gallery, or council chamber. However seamless the look, the old test remains: courtesy kept, oath clean, craft true—or the fairest face is only a mask.
Gender Ideals
Among the Sidhe, sex matters far less than station, oath, and craft. With little sexual dimorphism—men and women alike tall, well-toned, long-lived—their roles are custom, not constraint. They honor masculine and feminine as broad qualities of power rather than boxes for people: sun and spear; wellspring and sovereignty. Most lives braid both.
The very gods of Eire set the precedents the Sidhe honor. Medb choosing kings by worth, Macha outrunning horses, Scáthach forging warriors, Brigid presiding over poetry, healing, and craft, Lugh as many-skilled champion. In Sidhe courts the lesson holds—geasa bind regardless of gender; enech (honour-face) is kept by deed, not by sex.
Roles in practice. Any Sidhe may be warrior, poet, judge, healer, witch, druid, or craft-master. Training follows talent and oath. Courts prize balance: a war-captain expected to cite law; a poet expected to ride and fight. Honour-price is measured by rank, kin, and craft, never by gender.
Presentation & titles. Dress, hair, and ornament are situational—feast, hunt, embassy—rather than gendered uniforms. Some prefer gendered styles (Rí / Banríon), others take neutral or role-first titles (Tánaiste, Curadh an Ratha, Brithem Sídhe). Epithets and place-styles do the heaviest lifting: an Óg, an Mór, of Brú na Bóinne.
Kinship, bonds, and household. Lineage is flexible: Ó / Uí / Mac / Ní / Nic forms appear according to household custom; fosterage across genders is common; marriages are oath-contracts that can be renewed or dissolved without stigma when hospitality, fairness, and obligations are kept.
Shapeshift and self. Glamour and shape-craft let many Sidhe tilt their presentation as season or task requires. Those who live “between” are not anomalies but good omens of balance—often chosen as envoys, judges, or keepers of thresholds.
Modern era. In Earth-facing lives—boardrooms, galleries, city councils—Sidhe treat pronouns, fashion, and courtesy as tools of clear meaning, not cages. The old measure remains: “All Sidhe may live as they will—so long as they live beautifully, no path is amiss.”
The very gods of Eire set the precedents the Sidhe honor. Medb choosing kings by worth, Macha outrunning horses, Scáthach forging warriors, Brigid presiding over poetry, healing, and craft, Lugh as many-skilled champion. In Sidhe courts the lesson holds—geasa bind regardless of gender; enech (honour-face) is kept by deed, not by sex.
Roles in practice. Any Sidhe may be warrior, poet, judge, healer, witch, druid, or craft-master. Training follows talent and oath. Courts prize balance: a war-captain expected to cite law; a poet expected to ride and fight. Honour-price is measured by rank, kin, and craft, never by gender.
Presentation & titles. Dress, hair, and ornament are situational—feast, hunt, embassy—rather than gendered uniforms. Some prefer gendered styles (Rí / Banríon), others take neutral or role-first titles (Tánaiste, Curadh an Ratha, Brithem Sídhe). Epithets and place-styles do the heaviest lifting: an Óg, an Mór, of Brú na Bóinne.
Kinship, bonds, and household. Lineage is flexible: Ó / Uí / Mac / Ní / Nic forms appear according to household custom; fosterage across genders is common; marriages are oath-contracts that can be renewed or dissolved without stigma when hospitality, fairness, and obligations are kept.
Shapeshift and self. Glamour and shape-craft let many Sidhe tilt their presentation as season or task requires. Those who live “between” are not anomalies but good omens of balance—often chosen as envoys, judges, or keepers of thresholds.
Modern era. In Earth-facing lives—boardrooms, galleries, city councils—Sidhe treat pronouns, fashion, and courtesy as tools of clear meaning, not cages. The old measure remains: “All Sidhe may live as they will—so long as they live beautifully, no path is amiss.”
Courtship Ideals
Among the Sidhe, politics may arrange a match, but passion must seal it. A proper courtship—arranged or freely chosen—mixes small, sincere tokens with sweeping deeds: a poem from the heart, a hand-made brooch, a night-long vigil at a lover’s threshold; or a perilous flower cut from a warded garden, a quest along an old road to repay a family debt. The measure is not spectacle alone but truth made beautiful.
Tokens & signs. Lovers trade crafted proofs: ogham-scratched verses on wood or jet, cloak-pins and torcs etched with house marks, braid-ribbons carrying a strand of the giver’s hair. Gifts should suit the beloved’s craft or place—harp strings for a singer, river-stone charms for a lake-born courtier.
Words & music. Poetry is the first trial. A suitor offers praise-songs; the beloved (or their poet) may answer with satire (áer) to test wit and steadiness. A voice that holds under friendly fire is a worthy heart.
Quests & geasa. Courts favor challenge-quests bound by geasa (taboos): recover a lost favor, reconcile a slighted guest, spend one full moon in service to the other’s household without fault. Deeds should mend or beautify—not merely impress.
Etiquette & taboos. Courtesy governs all: no glamour that misleads consent, no gifts of cold iron, no public promises given lightly. Breach of feast-hall manners is the surest way to end a suit.
Betrothal. When both hearts and houses agree, a betrothal ring or pin is exchanged before witnesses (poet, judge, and kin). Many households honor a “year-and-a-day” bond: a trial of shared duty, after which vows are renewed into marriage or parted without shame if obligations were kept.
Modern era. In Earth-facing lives, grand gestures might be urban—a rooftop garden tuned to festival stars, a gallery night curated around the beloved’s tale, a contract that frees a debtor sworn to their house. Small acts still carry the day: timely tea, mended gloves, a verse texted at dawn. Whatever the form, the old rule endures: let love be proved by craft, courtesy, and courage.
Tokens & signs. Lovers trade crafted proofs: ogham-scratched verses on wood or jet, cloak-pins and torcs etched with house marks, braid-ribbons carrying a strand of the giver’s hair. Gifts should suit the beloved’s craft or place—harp strings for a singer, river-stone charms for a lake-born courtier.
Words & music. Poetry is the first trial. A suitor offers praise-songs; the beloved (or their poet) may answer with satire (áer) to test wit and steadiness. A voice that holds under friendly fire is a worthy heart.
Quests & geasa. Courts favor challenge-quests bound by geasa (taboos): recover a lost favor, reconcile a slighted guest, spend one full moon in service to the other’s household without fault. Deeds should mend or beautify—not merely impress.
Etiquette & taboos. Courtesy governs all: no glamour that misleads consent, no gifts of cold iron, no public promises given lightly. Breach of feast-hall manners is the surest way to end a suit.
Betrothal. When both hearts and houses agree, a betrothal ring or pin is exchanged before witnesses (poet, judge, and kin). Many households honor a “year-and-a-day” bond: a trial of shared duty, after which vows are renewed into marriage or parted without shame if obligations were kept.
Modern era. In Earth-facing lives, grand gestures might be urban—a rooftop garden tuned to festival stars, a gallery night curated around the beloved’s tale, a contract that frees a debtor sworn to their house. Small acts still carry the day: timely tea, mended gloves, a verse texted at dawn. Whatever the form, the old rule endures: let love be proved by craft, courtesy, and courage.
Relationship Ideals
Sidhe measure relationships by fire and fidelity: better a love or rivalry that sings than a tepid tie that fades. Friendship, rivalry, and even enmity should be passionate, joyous, and loyal—each kept within courtesy and oath. A hated foe may be feared or fought; a boring foe is an insult to both houses.
Friendship (Cairdeas).
Good friends spar in wit and deed. They exchange useful gifts (not trinkets), keep each other’s enech (honour-face), and speak truth that beautifies—praise in public, correction in private. Fosterage bonds across courts are prized; a friend may carry temporary geasa for the other’s sake.
Rivalry (Comórtas).
Rivals are whetstones, not hatchets. They race to higher craft—song for song, deed for deed—under agreed rules and witnesses. A proper rivalry has seasons: contest, feast, rest. Breaking terms lowers honour-price; upping the stakes with grace raises both names.
Enmity (Namhaid).
Open foes are treated with formal respect: challenges delivered cleanly, hospitality observed on neutral ground, no glamour that robs consent, no strikes at children or guests. Vendettas must name a restoration point (debt paid, apology given, service rendered) so war can end with dignity. A worthy enemy is kept sharp—taunted in verse, tested in single combat, spared when the story demands they return improved.
Love (Grá).
Love is loud and loyal. Partners champion each other’s craft, protect each other’s name, and keep their quarrels inside the ring—fierce in private, seamless in public. Betrayal is measured in honour-price and repaired by service, geasa, or parting justly; secret treachery is ugliness itself.
Modern practice.
In Earth-facing circles these ideals translate to clean contracts, clear boundaries, competitive excellence, and public courtesy—even across lawsuits and elections. Whether friend, rival, or foe, the rule endures: keep the fire, keep the forms, keep the faith—and never bore your opposite.
Friendship (Cairdeas).
Good friends spar in wit and deed. They exchange useful gifts (not trinkets), keep each other’s enech (honour-face), and speak truth that beautifies—praise in public, correction in private. Fosterage bonds across courts are prized; a friend may carry temporary geasa for the other’s sake.
Rivalry (Comórtas).
Rivals are whetstones, not hatchets. They race to higher craft—song for song, deed for deed—under agreed rules and witnesses. A proper rivalry has seasons: contest, feast, rest. Breaking terms lowers honour-price; upping the stakes with grace raises both names.
Enmity (Namhaid).
Open foes are treated with formal respect: challenges delivered cleanly, hospitality observed on neutral ground, no glamour that robs consent, no strikes at children or guests. Vendettas must name a restoration point (debt paid, apology given, service rendered) so war can end with dignity. A worthy enemy is kept sharp—taunted in verse, tested in single combat, spared when the story demands they return improved.
Love (Grá).
Love is loud and loyal. Partners champion each other’s craft, protect each other’s name, and keep their quarrels inside the ring—fierce in private, seamless in public. Betrayal is measured in honour-price and repaired by service, geasa, or parting justly; secret treachery is ugliness itself.
Modern practice.
In Earth-facing circles these ideals translate to clean contracts, clear boundaries, competitive excellence, and public courtesy—even across lawsuits and elections. Whether friend, rival, or foe, the rule endures: keep the fire, keep the forms, keep the faith—and never bore your opposite.
Major organizations
Unlike the British Faeries’ Seasonal Courts and the Scottish Sith’s Seelie/Unseelie divide—structures the Sidhe consider trite and needlessly divisive—the Sidhe organize by place, not alignment or season, with power networked by law, fosterage, and treaty
The Sidhe reject Seelie/Unseelie or seasonal blocs; power is place-bound and networked by law, fosterage, and treaty. Place-bound polities (kingdoms & queendoms)
• Tír na nÓg — Ever-Young city-state; oath of joy and hospitality.
• Tír na mBeo — “Land of the Living”; healers’ courts and refuge halls.
• Brú na Bóinne Confederacy — River–mound league along the Bóinn.
• Court of Knockma (Cnoc Meadha) — Hill-crown of Connacht; Finvarra’s seat.
• Ráth Brí Léith — Midir’s domain; precedent court for lawful challenges.
• Craig Liath — Aoibheall’s white rock; prophecy and embassy hub.
• Emhain Ablach Isles — Apple isles under Manannán’s protection.
• Hy-Brasil Wardenship — Mist-island city; pilots, cartographers, and tides.
Trans-polity orders & leagues
• River League of Bóinn & Sionainn — Trade, ferries, and water-safe-conducts.
• High Mound Compact — Mutual defense + extradition between major raths.
• College of Harpers & Poets (Ollamh na hÉigse) — Praise, satire, archives.
• Brithemain Bench — Circuit judges; treaty law and honour-price tables.
• Ogham Surety Houses — Escrow of oaths, treaty staves, witness registries.
• Threshold Wardens — Enforce doorway/bridge law; sanction truce-breakers.
• Cloaks of Refuge — Sanctuary network for guests and penitents.
• Geas-Pin Order — Marshals who bind/verify geasa and service terms.
• Bane Sidhe Choirs — Licensed keeners; funerary rites and public warnings.
• Aonach Hosts — Seasonal fair circuits; neutral markets and craft trials.
• Horse-of-Glass Service — Envoy transit through thin places, time-safe.
Earth-facing bodies
• Embassies of the Sí — City salons and safe halls under guest-right.
• Glamour Guilds — Etiquette, veiling, and consent-law training.
• Gallery of Living Craft — Patronage for oath-true makers and restorers.
• Arbitration Chambers — Brithem-run dispute resolution mirroring civil courts.
The Sidhe reject Seelie/Unseelie or seasonal blocs; power is place-bound and networked by law, fosterage, and treaty. Place-bound polities (kingdoms & queendoms)
• Tír na nÓg — Ever-Young city-state; oath of joy and hospitality.
• Tír na mBeo — “Land of the Living”; healers’ courts and refuge halls.
• Brú na Bóinne Confederacy — River–mound league along the Bóinn.
• Court of Knockma (Cnoc Meadha) — Hill-crown of Connacht; Finvarra’s seat.
• Ráth Brí Léith — Midir’s domain; precedent court for lawful challenges.
• Craig Liath — Aoibheall’s white rock; prophecy and embassy hub.
• Emhain Ablach Isles — Apple isles under Manannán’s protection.
• Hy-Brasil Wardenship — Mist-island city; pilots, cartographers, and tides.
Trans-polity orders & leagues
• River League of Bóinn & Sionainn — Trade, ferries, and water-safe-conducts.
• High Mound Compact — Mutual defense + extradition between major raths.
• College of Harpers & Poets (Ollamh na hÉigse) — Praise, satire, archives.
• Brithemain Bench — Circuit judges; treaty law and honour-price tables.
• Ogham Surety Houses — Escrow of oaths, treaty staves, witness registries.
• Threshold Wardens — Enforce doorway/bridge law; sanction truce-breakers.
• Cloaks of Refuge — Sanctuary network for guests and penitents.
• Geas-Pin Order — Marshals who bind/verify geasa and service terms.
• Bane Sidhe Choirs — Licensed keeners; funerary rites and public warnings.
• Aonach Hosts — Seasonal fair circuits; neutral markets and craft trials.
• Horse-of-Glass Service — Envoy transit through thin places, time-safe.
Earth-facing bodies
• Embassies of the Sí — City salons and safe halls under guest-right.
• Glamour Guilds — Etiquette, veiling, and consent-law training.
• Gallery of Living Craft — Patronage for oath-true makers and restorers.
• Arbitration Chambers — Brithem-run dispute resolution mirroring civil courts.
Encompassed species
Related Locations
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