Noble vagabonds, riddlemasters and avengers, the parosemes wear the truth on their sleeves and change their Husks as often as the wind changes direction. The surviving bands of parosemes are the last important Anchor that keeps the vestiges of the Empire of Skies tied to the Earth. Without their strong example and civilizing activities, the innumerable rogue odors and lying mists of the air would almost immediately dissolve into absolute anarchy.

Those who remember the parosemes from the world's younger days know that because these flighty spirits are now responsible for enforcing phylum in the air only shows just how grim the battle for the sky has become. In a kinder age, the parosemes were numbered among the least concerned of all fae with weighty matters like honor or chivalry. Instead, they concerned themselves exclusively with the frivolous pleasures of argument, intellectual discussion and chatter for its own sake. Along with the pooka and other like-minded fae, they numbered among the best and most prodigious liars ever created, with the ability to bewilder the wise and delight the foolish whenever they stoop to play with heavier beings.

Now that the parosemes have shouldered the burden of re-taming the wild bedlam of the atmosphere, they still love to talk. However, their unending verbosity is more often spent negotiating with other creatures of the Dreaming in their constant quest to make alliances that will prove strong enough to return the Sky to its formerly harmonious state. Parosemes wander the breadth of the world, rarely staying in one town or changeling fiefdom for longer than a mortal year. Confinement of any sort — whether physical or occupational — causes them irritation and torment. Those self-sacrificing parosemes who volunteer for long-term embassies among heavier races are compelled to either take impromptu vacations or else grow gradually brittle and banal with frustration.

In general, the Making War makes little sense to these subtle creatures, so they take it no more seriously than they take just about anything else. At any one time, a fair number of parosemes is switching indiscriminately between the modes or else attempting to maintain a roughly neutral position between the Glade and the Kroft.

Most of those parosemes who are most concerned with rhe Battle for the Sky are staunch defenders of rhe Glade, arguing (perhaps rightly) that the madness that pollutes the minds and destroys the attention spans of the Wind Court is a symptom of humanity's efforts to shape the atmosphere. These spirits display all the rarefied tastes of their phylum, choosing Husks only from the cleanest alpine breezes and suffering the full banal effects of both containment and Kroft contagion. The knightly phyla of the Air are almost exclusively drawn from these traditionalists. Truly Krofted parosemes are exceptionally rare, numbering perhaps enough to fill a classroom. They are almost all tricksters, liars and malicious troublemakers — who delight in posing as upstanding Glade advisors and emissaries, then using the trust the charade grants them to stir up chaos. The damage that such creatures can cause is well known, causing many wise or conservative rulers to watch even the most benign Glade paroseme very carefully at the first sign of contagion or erratic behavior.

Still parosemes through and through, the Krofted have inhumanely delicate tastes and take their Husks only from the recirculated air found in sealed climate-controlled buildings. The forccd confinement often drives them quickly mad.

Appearance: In their natural state, all true silfar are invisible, although heavily tainted specimens will be apparent due to the unhealthy miasma or haze that permeates their sickly Husks. Those parosemes willing to take the risk of contamination may reveal themselves to other faerie spirits as more-or-less solid "sculptures" of mist.

All members of the former Empire of Skies can identify one another by sight because their sensory apparatuses are tuned to more rarefied levels of light and opacity.

Lifestyle: Flighty creatures, parosemes find it hard to stay in any one place for long. In a similar manner, even though they often make friends easily, they often soon forget those they have left behind.

Childling: To these fae, the world is a great place to be explored. They let nothing stand in their path of exploration.

Wilder: These fae tend to be a little wiser and more cautious than their younger kin. They often serve as messengers for the other phyla.

Grump: Exploration takes on a new meaning to those who have existed for this long in the meat world. Grumps seek true meaning and understanding of the world around them and how they relate to it.

Affinity: Stratus


Vaporous Husks —Any paroseme can dissolve its Husk at will by spending one Glamour point, assuming vaporous form. In this state, the paroseme gains the ability to seep into small openings or cracks and is not susceptible to physical attacks. Use of this Birthright costs one Glamour for each turn that it is maintained. This Birthright cannot be used in the presence of mortals.


Glomes — Ponderous beings. They do not understand the meaning of freedom.
Kuberas — Great lovers and sensualists.
Ondines — They are the source of life.
Solimonds — They understand freedom as we do, but they are far more destructive. Perhaps one day they can he brought back into the fold.
Mannikins — They move in their own world and are not truly a part of ours.
Kithain — They are as curious about our kind as we are about theirs. It seems strange that creatures of faerie would be willing to take on the limitations of flesh.

Flight — Parosemes can actually lift themselves into the air and fly. When flying, the paroseme can move up to five times as fast as he can. Use of this Birthright costs one point of Glamour per scene (or hour). This Birthright is subject to the usual dangers of chimerical flight in the presence of mortals in that the Inanimae risks being shunted into a random place in the Dreaming.


Chatterbox — Parosemes simply cannot stop talking. Even when physically forced to shut up, their uncontrollable urge to fill the world with sound causes them to compulsively tap their feet or fingertips to the great annoyance of those around them. Their unending verbosity more often finds an outlet in debating with the enemies of the Sky than in gossip or metaphysical speculation.

Quote: I look forward to meeting the rest of your family…. Wait! I hear the wind calling… I must be going.