The Green Man

A more controversial figure you will struggle to find. To bring up his name in a tavern is a sure way to start a loud and enthusiastic exchange of opinions, and possibly a fist-fight or three. Whilst nobody is in any discord about the nature of the Faerie Queen, or even that unkind imp Jack Frost, nobody can quite agree on the provenance of this elusive being.

Some have it that he is the very embodiment of the woodlands and the fens, an ancient and powerful elemental of the very life-force that pushes the sprout from the bean. His good favours bring a rich harvest, and his ire or disinterest might allow Jack Frost to begin his icy mischief early. This camp includes several denominations of Green Man worship, ranging from the small and intense occultists to larger organisations of farmers and horticulturists, which function more like trade unions than temples. It is also widely known he is of great interest to the Faerie Court, not least because he has yet to respond to the emphatic summons of the Queen, who is intrigued and frustrated at the prospect of a similarly powerful being roaming around, mostly unknown to her.

Less charitable souls describe The Green Man as no ancient being, but a disgraced sorcerer, disfigured into a somewhat leafier form than he had previously enjoyed. Unable to fully access magic in this weakened, not entirely human form, the Green Man is forced to wander and rely upon alms for his survival. These naysayers believe the whole legend is merely some hokum The Green Man made up himself to ensure a reverent reception, whenever he does deign to darken the doorway of polite society.

It is easier to describe others’ opinions of him than to describe The Green Man himself, for very few have solid claims to having met this wandering soul. There are substantiated sightings amongst both believers and non-believers, and all seem to have been deeply affected by these meetings, whatever their stance on his origins. All have reported an unassuming looking traveller, mostly obscured by robes and wrappings, but with kind eyes. None could explain how his voice seemed not to come from his mouth, but resonated instead from every green thing around them. Those who claim to have met him merrily, with warmth and hospitality, seem never to be in want for food or shelter

***

You haven’t seen a soul in days, so the arrival on the path of the tall, ponderous traveller ahead of you is a welcome one. As you set up camp for the night, you call out to him in earnest, asking if he would care to share the warmth of your fire and some of your mead. Though it is hard to make out his form through the many green robes and wrappings he is clad in, his stance is one of gratitude and humility. He quietly joins your party for the night.

Once you have all enjoyed your meal and drink, the fire begins to sputter, the dry twigs and leaves you collected rolling as if shaken by an unseen hand. A rich smell, like wet grass or fertile soil, fills your senses as the firewood begins to sprout verdant new leaves and branches, all untouched by the roaring flames.

You all look in bewilderment to the newcomer, who simply smiles. As you look into his eyes, you suddenly realise how much…bigger he is than most travellers. He is all around you. His back is the ground you walk on, his arms the trees you shelter under. A log crackles loudly in the fire, distracting you. When you look back to him he is gone, leaving only the strange magic-grown lengths of wood in the fire pit, which seem impervious to the licking of the fire. Perhaps they will prove useful. You wish you had known what to say in the moment, but you suspect he will be listening with a kind ear for as long as you are on the path. Maybe you will have a question for him one day. Maybe he will answer.