Much of what is known of dungeon cores, comes from the Fey. No other species have the history or the relationship that the fey have with dungeon cores, there is a certain irony that those who have the least contact with dungeon cores, know the most about them. - Lydia Fortengraft, head researcher of the Lional kingdom 

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Talbrash Vyr Melœntėr was a Wylde Fey, born of Méntash of the Wyld hunt, and Orønaltir Lœntìr birthed of the Lœnt mountains, the edge of the realms of fey. He had spent his entire life in the Lœnt mountains, trapped by a status regal yet destitute. His mother born of the blood of fey, a shard of realm, and the mountains that shard became, was Royal. Her presence august in the mountains, respected throughout the realms of fey, and annals of the mortal world. His father, a fey of the wyld hunt, of terrible and beautiful nature, the coming of the end. Yet as with most fey of concept, unimpressive on his own standing, destined to ride for eternity as the twenty-ninth in line to be Savage Nature, The Ending. Talbrash as few fey were, was born without a complete Aspect or Concept, perhaps had his parents consummated and birthed him in the mountains of Lœnt he would've been a Prince of his mother's land, however they hadn't. His mother and father had met on the Hunt, his mother caught in a rare flight of fancy had chosen his father, and revelled in carnal bliss for a month, before her last nap in the mortal forest of sylverbark, then known as the chestnut woods. However the century long nap and pregnancy of a royal fey of Mountain and Wylde had forever changed the forest, and given birth to its own dungeon seed. 

Having spent his first 20 years in Sylverbark Forest with a sleepy mother and the local mortals from the nearby village, Talbrash had played. Mischievous, innocent, and slowly dying, Talbrash had fond but vague memories of his early years. The moments of concept he danced through with the villagers, of magic, of tea, of haunting transformation, and death, around their sacred fires. The kisses, hugs, rumbled secrets of ore veins, the smell of rain turning cracks into caverns, from his quieting mother. The first and only Hunt he had started, gathering nearby animals, rabbits, foxes, deer, a small wolf pack, Melanie, and charging through the village, like a cool ocean breeze far into the mainlands, out of place and purposeless yet no less salty and damp. Up to the old herbalist’s cottage, to knock on her door, and take her, and her patient to death. The moonlight shining on the silvered hair of Melanie, the only elf Childe in the area. Then of the journey to the Sidhe, to the Realms of Fey, and through them to his mother’s mountains.

The first moment of clarity, of true sapience Talbrash remembered, was the day they came to the Lœnt mountains, walking twenty seven steps up to the highest peak, one step for each mountain that made up the Lœnt mountain range. On the peak, his mother turned to him and, for the first time in his life, he heard her speak. Orønaltir Lœntìr birthed of the Lœnt mountains, the edge of the realms of fey declared “Here stands my child, bowed before none, bound to nothing, yet Royal of my blood, he is Wylde Fey, so long as he roams my Sidhe, he is Home.” So saying, Orønaltir Lœntìr birthed of the Lœnt mountains, the edge of the realms of fey, stretched forward and kissed Talbrash’s forehead, carving the Lœnt mountain range in silvered magic across his brow. In that moment, Sapience was born in Talbrash, the fading he had never noticed stopped, and for the first time since birth, he could feel himself slowly Growing. 

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Talbrash had been alone since, with no company on the Lœnt mountains, His mother tired of her centuries in the mortal world, giving birth to a new fey, and now using her authority to replace the missing Aspect of her Childe, returned to sleep soon after her Declaration, to be nourished and heal from her cultivation. While Talbrash had learnt a lot over the last six or seven hundred years, from his mother the mountains, who whispered to him in her sleep, and the plants who taught him to dance, perfect his tea making, foresee the weather, sleep as a tree, and played Hyde and Seeke with him in their dryad forms, he was lonely. The only being near him, his mother, was a sleeping mountain, and once she woke he would have to leave. As a True fey of Aspect and Concept, she had birthed him with a fey of Concept, should he, her fey Childe Of Concept and Aspect remain with her in the seat of her power, she would metabolize him into a shadow of herself, forever bound to her Tenets. Fortunately, Talbrash knew it would soon be time to venture out into the realms beyond the mountains. He could hear in the winds blowing snow off the peaks, and the rivers flowing through the valleys that his mother would wake in the next century or so, and he would have to be gone before then. 

Talbrash had been pondering what to do next, whether he should join a Concept, or find an Aspect to bind himself to. Yet both seemed a little shallow in comparison to his mother, steps leading to lesser power, rather than greater. All fey born in the fey realms were born complete, their futures foretold for them, yet here he stood with no destined path. Once Talbrash left the mountains he would have a mere century to find an Aspect or Concept before his fading took away his sapience, and perhaps a few hundred years more with the great and terrible sentience of a Wylde Fey before he faded away completely. This was the most exciting time of his life. Talbrash had already said goodbye to his mother, had walked her peak to valley one last time, and been gifted his inheritance, a crown of faerie gold and argent silver, the core seed of a Wylde Camellia, and the blessings of the Lœnt mountains, the edge of the Sidhes of fey. Now was the time to explore, make his own path, friends, and life, yet he was nervous. Standing at the edge of the mountain range, paralyzed before his first step out into the world beyond, beyond his mother and her constant presence, beyond his Home, and the first step back towards his death. Squaring his shoulders Talbrash Vyr Melœntėr lifted his foot and stepped beyond the mountains, heading towards the Wyldelands and the path back towards the mortal world. As he stepped into the wyldelands, the silvered magic of the Lœnt Mountains, the edge of the Fey Sidhes, disappeared, and the snowcapped mountain peaks of the Lœnt mountain range started melting, the slow tears of water started their journey down the treacherous rocky cliffs, a barely noticeable journey to the mortal eye that would last decades, as a mother grieved the departure and potential loss of a Childe in a species that never dies.