There was once a boy named Herod Lohkis, whose father owned a farm in the south lands with cotton the most vivid shade of crimson. Many people made comment how these were the only cotton stalks in the world the same color as blood, and because of the crops peculiarities Herod Lohkis’s father attained a vast amount of wealth, not for any textile or magical qualities that the cotton may have had, but simply because it was bright, bloody red.

Now Herod, whose parents raised him to be a respectable gentlemen, was a spoiled, insolent, mischievous, and petty child whose actions verged on malicious. Once he snuck into Lady Barbery’s garden and ate a bushel basket worth of pears. When Lady Barbery apprehended the child, he blamed it on the sparrows and then offered to hunt the birds with his sling to be sure that they never bothered Lady Barbery again. Perhaps he would have gotten away with the crime, had the sparrows (who did in fact eat the magic infused seeds) begin to talk and exposed the thief.

Herod’s actions through the years had gotten much negative attention. But perhaps no act is as famous as his dealing with Thomas Riverclay. Thomas Riverclay was a fairy otherwise known as the most helpful fae in all of creation, not because he was particularly kind and generous with his magic, but because he happened to do everything that was asked of him, regardless how menial or lengthy the task. If you asked him to fetch you the sound of sunlight or five minutes of a day, one could be certain that you would have both those things eventually delivered by Thomas Riverclay.

Herod Lohkis decided to make fun out of Thomas’s good nature and sent him on a quest. “Here is a letter that must be urgently delivered,” Herod started. “From here turn around and walk straight until you meet an old man standing in a field of cotton just like my father’s and hand him this letter.”

Herod handed Thomas Riverclay the letter and Thomas Riverclay turned around and walked straight-lined off into the distance. Herod laughed about the prank for days, retelling the story and reminding any who would listen that there was no other cotton like his father’s in the world. He welled with tears at the thought that Thomas Riverclay’s curiosity would get the better of him and he would eventually read the contents of the letter, in which Thomas would walk back from his task defeated and fooled. The days turned to weeks, and the weeks to months and Herod very much forgot about Thomas Riverclay.

The years went by and the spoiled, insolent and petty child grew up a spoiled, insolent, and petty adult. The only thing that changed about Herod Lohkis through the years was the grandeur of his schemes, one of which included several cons, a naive nun, and a very unfortunate accident in which an orphanage was built below sea level.

Herod Lohkis was like a cask of good wine, growing richer and more bitter as the years went on except, unlike good wine, people wanted nothing to do him. For every con, trick, or thievery, he would lose friends. For every home he seized  or demolition he sanctioned, fewer and fewer wanted to be near him, let alone in the same village. And so at 86 years old, Herod Lohkis found himself very much alone, but still scheming. Herod took a walk in his field of blood cotton (because that is where he schemes best) when in the distance a man was walking towards him.

Thomas Riverclay had not aged at all, and look exactly like he did the day he left. “I have come to deliver a very urgent message,” was all he said as he handed Herod Lohkis the letter. Herod opened it, vaguely remembering the single line he had written decades ago, scrawled by a child’s imprecise hand.
“Look at all the time you have wasted.”