Aritha, Aspect of Lamashtu's page

[joke] Rawr!

The flame troll of doom feeds on the power of the angry mob, and channels and unleashes the wave of hatred and negativity in an outpouring which threatens to reduce his hated foe, Emperor7, to ash....
[/joke]

Oy! You. Out of here. Bad Flame Troll.

Hmmph. That's better.
Rounds up Flame Troll of Doom and drives it off out of thread.

Damn. I like it as well, and want it for my collection. As soon as I am able I may go looking for it.
Mumble grumble, stupid dragon getting me tangled up in this and held under cottage arrest in the Realms of Dream.
Edit:
HE's still swanning around his various lairs, polishing his star collection.

Well if it wasn't, someone is going to be popping by the store at some point, I hope, to retrieve it. Pete had it last time I was in the Bazaar, back in the days before I was so honoured by Lamashtu.

Hey! Was that my Dead Man's chest? I still want it for my collection, even if I'm busier with other things at the moment...

Aritha, aspect of a goddess though she is, sits shaking as the ancient darkness comes forth and moves about the Wildwood.
She begins to regret ever having come here, safe though she may be from any foes - but not safe from the Queen of this Realm and her apparent mysterious servants and allies.

Aritha occasionally hears sounds of the dragon hunting nearby and gnashes her teeth in jealousy - and perhaps just a little fear.

Aritha turns to her guards.
First of all, I'm going to need to bathe, to ritually cleanse and prepare myself...
The satyrs in particular offer broad grins in response.
You're not going to give me any kind of privacy, are you?
She snaps, not least because she wouldn't care about this if she were in her natural draconic shape. But in this tender and thin-skinned form, she is loathe to shed what minimal protection even garments offer, least of all in company not of her choosing.
The satyrs' grins widen...

Downcast, Aritha replies.
Yes your majesty. As your majesty wills it.

Aritha opens the scroll. Her mouth drops open.
But...

Aritha fumes in a cottage, kept under constant armed guard of a pair of dryads, four satyrs, and a dozen sprites.
Outside is the glade where she used to enjoy sprawling, feeding and getting on with Lamashtu's business; now she is confined to the shape of a snow-elf, and denied most visitors.
A step on the path announces the arrival of the Elven Queen.

Aritha hangs her head in submission, and listens.

Eventually the audience comes to an end, and she is dismissed.

What... what are you?
A terrible fascination fills her voice.

The involuntary look of calculation which briefly appears on the features of the projected form is something which, if she had her time again, Aritha would dearly love to have been able to prevent.

The image of Aritha becomes very clear and focused as the potential seriousness of the situation looming grabs her attention. A look of alarm appears on her face.
Oh....

I had assumed that he dealt with me so because he enjoyed my company, and it suited him to deal with me so, but otherwise, yes, your majesty, that was my understanding of the situation.
For a moment, the image flickers, as Aritha's concentration wavers, distracted by other things occuring, but then it stablises again.

The projected image shaped like a female snow-elf in a lavender dress emblazoned with the holy symbol of the Mother of Monsters enters the audience chamber of the palace in the Wildwood. It is not an accurate representation of the female's current physical form, but even an aspect of Lamashtu needs must pay some respect to and humour the eccentricities of the Queen of the Wildwood - especially so when she precariously exists at present as a guest of one of the subjects of that queen.
You requested conversation?

The air elemental grabs the hole and quickly brings it over to Allura, who drops the artifact into it.

From inside the portable hole, the living artifact can be heard scrabbling around, attempting to get out of the shirt. It makes an attempt to mentally dominate the bearer of the hole, but as a practitioner of the art of psionics, Allura is easily able to resist these efforts.

The living artifact thumps onto the shirt, and immediately starts scrabbling across it, heading for the nearest person.

The item is a piece of twisted flesh and metal, a living artifact, shaped in the fashion of an unholy symbol of Lamashtu. It is about two feet long, drips mucus, and little tendrils scrabble at the air around its edges.
Somewhere in the depths, a star is tangled, one with the flow of unholy power which drives the artifact.
I'm assuming that a means exists to destroy the artifact and reclaim the star - probably very easily on the reclamation front, once the destruction is done.