Arianwyn slumps with tiredness.
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"For an isolated island, this place has become a very popular destination." Arianwyn says dryly.
"'Lovable trickster'? I had no idea minstrelsy had rendered me so... twee..." Arianwyn says with a snarl. "You referred to 'your world', I would be most interested to hear more of that. And speaking of the extra-planar, this gem conveys the ability to speak and understand the language of demons. Not encouraging."
The tall, silver-haired eladrin turns his attention away from the gem he is studying at the mention of his name. His eyes glow faintly. He wears a gold coronet, and a tunic and breeches of dark blue, complemented by black riding boots. "As ever, Miss Rubarka's remarks are tinged with unintended irony. Her good manners generally only come into play with those of her own social status. If you have a font of stories of maiden aunts and society balls, then you should get along famously." he adds.
Arianwyn examines the polyglot gem to determine what language it contains.
"That is exactly what I just said. I swear your understanding of Common is at fault. Was your language teacher deficient in some way?" Arianwyn asks in a genuine manner. "Are you unwell in some way? You seem to require more and more recuperation after every skirmish."
"We must reunite it with the others. Which will be more difficult now that our erstwhile comrades are deceased. At least there are fewer of them to ultimately deal with."
Arianwyn's eyes burn with fury, "You have felled one of my people. It is you who shall kneel." he states coldly.
"No, you won't kill the children of the revolution..." Arianwyn hums to himself.
As ever, stubbornly his own man, Arianwyn can only watch as he comrades go crazy. He sighs and runs back to blast the last of the enemy formorians. Well... the last of their nominal enemies.
[ooc]No longer bloodied.
Arianwyn narrows his eyes. "How unsurprising." he sighs bitterly. "You do realise that we shall have to kill you too?" he says with an air of tedium.
"And now it ends." Arianwyn murmurs.
Arianwyn tries to concentrate through a throbbing headache.
Arianwyn's amulet glows as he feels his mind reel from the portal lord's attack.
Arianwyn nods at his handiwork and moves to rejoin the main party.
"This can only end in your death." the warlock intones as dark energy pours forth from his eyes into a guard.
Arianwyn fires a blast at one of the approaching guards and contemplates his next move.
Arianwyn snarls.
"Vile oafs! Your death will come soon!"
"Ach, tiresome," the warlock curses.
He contemptuously fires a beam of death from his rod and jogs into the middle of the encampment.
Arianwyn struggles to twist the spirals of energy coiling around the formorians. In disgust with himself he teleports away. He then inveigles himself into the fray, and conjures forth lashes of power. Again, these fail to make any impact and he swears very violently in Elvish and again vanishes.
A swirling shield of darkness springs into being between Arianwyn and the formorian. "Don't be ridiculous" he sneers as the giant's attack bounces off the arcane defence.
Arianwyn strides into the middle of the clearing and bellows, "MAY THE SPAWN OF NIDHOGGR GNAW ON YOUR BONES, CRETINOUS ONES!"
Arianwyn strides forwards, still yelling, as leaves coalesce around him, and blasts at a guard.
Arianwyn smiles nastily and emerges with a warcry in Elven.
Arianwyn flashes a fake smile, "Well, we of the Feywild must stick together".
"Val Sholaes sent us!" Arianwyn snarls.
Arianwyn's eyes flash but he relents, thankful that he has charm to remain resolutely clean no matter how dirty he gets.
Arianwyn looks at Whiteclaw blankly, "Of course. And we will likewise betray them. We're fey."
"Excellent!" Arianwyn says, "We shall... rendezvous with your colleagues then."
"That." Arianwyn responds, pointing at the rod, "And safe passage off the island." he adds, smiling equally beguilingly.
"And you will aid us against the other clans?"
"One does not simply summon a god, especially a departed one," Arianwyn replies as if to a child, "Even for such as us, such a thing is not possible." "What ails your master?" Besides congenital madness? he adds mentally.
Arianwyn smiles faintly, "Ah, I see. Then we have a mutual advantage; we were the first to unlock the stones' power over 10 years ago on this very spot. My comrades and I are blessed by the old gods to whom this isle was consecrated. We would have much to learn from one another." "Briefly then, I propose an alliance. You have the stones' locus but not the stones. We have the freedom to roam this island and 'retrieve' the stones, and return them here. What say you?"
Arianwyn gestures around the area, "The stones." he replies simply.
Arianwyn smiles (not pleasantly), and gauges the best way to appear in front of the giants. He concentrates and steps into the Feywild, reappearing closer to the fomorian group in a swirl of leaves, crown a- gleam, and announcing himself thusly, "Stand not amazed, o worthy guardians of the stones! I will harm you not. I would seek parlay with your leader."
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