Daelemos's page

Dral turns to the dragon. "I can sense that you are very powerful, and as I would like to mourn, I will give you ONE. CHANCE. To leave."

You amuse me, and for that reason I am going to strip you of your magic and leave you to discuss if the balance of the boards is served by preventing the abberation that is the goddess and her clique from burning themselves out with your elder and better, his lordship Joek here.

The claw that strikes down at Tarvek is larger than he is, and is not much marked by the man's sword. A pool of blood spreads from the fallen Tarvek. *
I have neither the time nor inclination to take steps at present to prevent you from raising such a poor servant from the grave, if the mood so takes you, but I would be greatly displeased to hear that it had been done for any reason other than to apply your own, proper, rigorous disciplinary procedures. You once had some relatively ingenius ways of dealing with your own traitors.
Unless you have any further comments you wish to make, I shall take my leave of you.

* Imagine a tiny fly, unable to move from a spot, trying to stop or hurt a man from stubbing it out with a fingernail. That's approximately what Tarvek just tried to do.

Daelemos snaps off an arcane word of holding and binding of epic power, and stabs a claw down at Tarvek, to smear him into paste.

The goddess and her allies violated one of my homes, using the World Ash as a crude battering ram to smash her way in in an attempt to steal treasure.
The resources she expended from the World Ash in doing so has caused famines, and tears in the fabric of reality, yet I did not see you rushing to punish her for such a violation of the order of things.
I am very surprised by the standards you keep now if she and her little clique are things you prefer to see preserved, instead of letting them fight amongst and destroy themselves in the natural order of things.

The dragon glances down at Joek, not deigning to show signs of anything, except perhaps for impatience.
I am waiting for an explanation of just why your organisation has apparently recently become full of bleeding heart do-gooders? I had understood that you had always kept a tight grasp on your minions and underlings, and kept them away from attempting to ease the pain and suffering of others? Right now, however, I gather several of your organisation's officers have rushed off in several directions to attempt to prevent harm in occuring in situations involving the ones currently known as 'Aidan' and 'The Bard'.

Out of nowhere, one of the largest, oldest, and most ferocius dragons that has been seen in these parts for a long time arrives outside the lair/headquarters of the Servants of the Boards, his scales shining a sleek black-blue.
He opens his mouth and his voice shakes the headquarters of the servants of the board like a thunderstorm and volcanic cataclysm and an earthquake all rolled into one.
Joek? Come out here, and speak with me. My patience for parley is limited.

A dragon the size of a small town swoops over the grove inhaling, and for a moment, it looks like it intends to do its best to blast everything in sight to ash.
At the last moment it apparently changes its mind, snarls a draconic curse, and a shower of stars rains down with some force instead.
It flies off.

Divinations carried out, and simple arithmetic done.
Suddenly Arielle has a sense of a lot of inbound stars.

Edited (toned down):
Daelemos watches the invasion amused. Last time someone used the World-Ash to trash one of his lairs it took the tree ten thousand years to recover the resources expended and in the interim the Midgaard Serpent took advantage of the opportunity offered by the weakened state of the tree to directly contribute to the downfall of an entire pantheon of gods.
Daelemos activates his contingency plans, takes a piece of broken and dead root with him for divination purposes to determine the origin point of this attack, and evacuates somewhere where he will not be bothered for a while by anything associated with the green.
He takes a few choice items from the hoard in question here with him (including the stars) and leaves the mere precious metals and gems behind.

Meanwhile, gnomes coming across strands of the severed root, and discovering how resilient it is, requiring vorpal edged weapons to chop it up more conveniently, collect a couple of dead and lifeless samples to show their master.
Well, you've got his attention here probably, anyway.

Following his brief excursion to deal with the one who had so foolishly insulted the magnificence of dragons, Daelemos returns to one of his lairs, to plot and wait for the next move from the idiot child.
Currently under development were at least half a dozen complex schemes to abduct her and the stars in her possession, if her friends failed to make a move within the next few weeks.

As the exodus of folk from the carnival of shadows crosses a stetch of open coutryside, looting orchards, and trampling fields, a vast dragon, whose midnight dark scales are only very faintly tinged with blue, appears across their path, apparently sprawled on some sort of invisible midair platform. He fixes the flippered midget with a particularly venomous gaze.
Sir freak, the dragon rumbles. Your information is inadequate, insulting to the majesty of a number of dragons in general, and to a handful of dragons whose reputation I vaguely care about in particular. Now nine hundred and ninety nine times out of a thousand, I grant that you would get away with such public statements. Unluckily for you, your little outburst has caught me at a time when I am waiting for other plans to mature and happen to be paying some attention to affairs in general in the outside world.
I am Daelemos, and I curse you so that except with regard to creatures which are your natural betters, such as dragons, the price of what you truly want will always be the undoing of everything you hold most dear.
As for your friends....
The dragon takes to the air. It is surprisingly graceful, in flight, for such a large creature.
The first blast of flame from its jaws burns a field to stubble, sets an orchard ablaze, and instantly incinerates fully half the folk accompanying the midget.
The dragon spends a while pursuing and tormenting the carnival folk, tossing meteor swarms like marbles, hammering them with hailstones, calling up thickets or windstorms to hinder them, or even animating the fallen as ash-wraiths to harry the others.
The dragon does not overly exert itself, and after several minutes of play, suddenly vanishes, leaving the results of its magic to frustrate and assail the survivors, whilst the leader with flippers is utterly unharmed.
But the malice of the dragon's curse has bitten deep into him, seizing him in a terrible grasp and marking him down for an awful doom.

Their going and their direction is marked by a number of gnomes.

Ahhh, the carnies are on the move. I am intelligent enough to go after those that made the insults. If they move...
Yawns and goes back to using the tusks of the last demigod to annoy him to pick at his talons.

Dinner delivered in a variety of flavours on a regular basis to your doorstep is supposed to be a hassle???
Starts smacking lips in anticipation...

Fuming, the dragon picks bits of the fourth (and failed) gnome of the crossbow team from his teeth. The idiot had been too slow to fire in the games, and had been taken down. He should have had the sense to be killed instead of being knocked unconcious.
'Dracul'? Where in the nine hells had that one come from? How had his wretched half-sister found him, or persuaded him to fight for her? Daelemos darkly suspected that playing goodie two-shoes with her mother she must have contacts and spy-network access beyond his own capabilities.
Okay, if a dragon *was* going to humble itself by serving the will of another, it might as well be someone as big and bad as that - Daelemos couldn't entirely fault her on that point - but dragons were supposed to be independent, the Lords and Masters of all which they surveyed, and even working for other dragons went against the grain.
Except, obviously, for dragons which worked for Daelemos. Obviously that was a privilige.
And just how long was it going to take those star-gathering twits to get down here, to grovel before his magnificence? He had sent them an invitation that they should have found irresistible, one way or another.
The collection was so nearly complete. Okay, he wouldn't ever be able to get the very last star away from Eiboria, and probably not the lesser ones she occasionally wore as jewels, but the idiot godspawn had so conveniently managed to gather together practically the rest for his benefit.
Privately Daelemos was not surprised that she was so stupid, given some of the idiotic things her parents had done.
Powerful by the standards of non-dragons, and a suitable ornament, properly treated, to grace one of his lairs, but of little more worth, except to annoy his half-sister.
For a few hours, Daelemos had been concerned that his half-sister might have claimed her, permanently, but she was apparently walking around without protection of any significance (in terms of draconic politics now) so was fair game once more.
Time to plot....

The dragon snorts as news of the disqualification of the gnome crossbow team arrives at his lair. He expected it to happen at some point, anyway, and they were dispatched to the contest to weed out some of the tougher opposition in earlier rounds to give his other champions a clearer run. The one gnome of the four who failed to make it into the semi-finals before disqualification struck is earmarked for later consumption.
Other news is mixed. As expected, his half-sister has dipped a claw into the contest, anxious to grab the star for herself.
Most of the ragtag bag she assembled to fight on her behalf have been ineffectual.
The contestant known as 'Dracul' - 'The Dragon' is bothering Daelemos however. He has no idea where he came from, and he half-suspects his sibling's influence in this...

Oh, and don't worry about the fate of that- the gnome waves in the direction of the officials' stand/box.
Even if you haven't bothered sending a champion to fight, my master has several in the contest, and I dare say that their mistress, he scowls at the nymphs, has someone fighting too.
Then he 'lets go' telekinetically speaking, and teleports out of the stands.

What happened to the description of the item? It disappeared.

Arielle looks really angry. There is a low rumble of thunder.
"That isn't something to make light of. And I want the rest of the pieces back, too."

As I said, this is my master's invitation to 'come visit', the gnome shrugs. Once you're in the general vicinity you will no doubt be able to locate his collection.

The gnome gives the item a little telekinetic 'nudge' a couple of feet through the air in the direction of Arielle, but stops it well short of her.
He glances at Jack Hammer.
Keep the portable hole if you like. Probably not safe for anything except disintegration after it's had that thing inside it.

My master traded for this precious item from the gullet of one of Lamashtu's most powerful servants, the gnome chuckles. And since the little lady here is collecting stars, he thought that she might like to have it.
Oh, only I wouldn't handle it directly if I were you. It likes to bore into flesh, or metal, or even the stuff of the elements, and convert the unfortunate who handles it into a pawn of the goddess it now serves.
It was immeasurably more powerful, before my master persuaded the previous owner to - uh - 'part' with it, and most of the power was left behind, although the delicious stench of corruption... most of that lingers, as no doubt you can all feel.

The gnome sets the portable hole down on the floor, twists a ring on one finger to activate some sort of telekinetic effect, and slowly remotely raises an item out of the portable hole.

Allura tries to use Read Thoughts on the gnome.

Blocked. Hardly surprising given all the magic he's carrying.

Well given some of the company you seem to be currently keeping, the gnome glowers here at the nymphs, I'll skip the plan to forcibly remove you, and instead play nice and convey my master's kindest wishes and fondest invitation for you to join him in viewing his collection of rare and unique items instead. He is a dragon of some reputation, with an eye for the unusual and wondrous.
I have here for you a calling card, 'from one collector to another'.
He reaches inside his cloak, and produces a portable hole.

Down in the arena, Little Kiba looks to be in trouble at this point in the fight.
Meanwhile, up in the stands, the gnome doesn't seem bothered by any of the others but as his glance catches the nymphs his expression changes from one of glee to immediately become crestfallen. He halts just short of the Dalesman, but doesn't seem to really notice him. He addresses Arielle.
Hi miss. You're the little girl who has been looking for stars, right?
The sense of wrongness is practically screaming at Arielle here.

A gnome with a patch over one eye emerges into the stands, looks around, and then begins to make his way purposefully in the direction of Azuri'ith's group.
edit:
The gnome has some very heavy-duty protective magic items about his person. Cloak, bracers, ring, epic level contingent spells, etc.

The sense Arielle has of horrible wrongness has entered the arena location now, and seems to be making its way through the stands....

Meanwhile, Arielle has a sense of a horrible twisted evil that is suddenly in the bazaar and drawing close to the Arena.

More treasures arrive borne by gnomes to decorate one of their master's lairs.

A wave of gnome thieves strike across the Bazaar, breaking shops, looting coffers, and buying, stealing, or otherwise acquiring any stars that they can get their hands one, and removing them to the distant Brackenspur Mountains. Some of them take the time to plunge poisoned daggers into the odd cultist, too, whilst they are about their other errands.
Soon, the only star left in the Bazaar is that at the gladiatoral arena, too heavily guarded for the gnomes to risk.

Gnome servants begin to erect a special stand, so that their master can display his latest acquisitions properly.

The caverns deep below the mountains, where the legendary dragon has his lair are a hub of activity, gnomes scuttling hither and thither at their master's bidding.

In a cavern deep below the surface, gnawed through the gneiss by ancient things whose names are long forgotten, a gigantic pile of treasure which most families of dragons would have difficulty matching even one tenth of the size and value of is spread - and it is on this trove that Daelemos is sprawled, clicking the talons of one claw impatiently against the stone.
Master! I have it! the gnome from the forest and then the bazaar runs shrieking into the cavern holding aloft a star. He has teleported, run, rowed, and run all the way from the forest pretty much non-stop. I have one of the pretty shinies for your hoards!
The dragon swiftly and expertly swipes the star from the clutches of the gnome, sending the gnome sprawling, and delicately holds the star up between the vast tips of two talons in front of his face to inspect.
You are late, the dragon rumbles. You were supposed to report back with one of these four hours ago, at the latest.
With the other foreclaw he lashes out at the squirming gnome.
No master, I.. hiiii... urgggh.
The dragon pulls back the claw.
Usually I would not be so tolerant of delays, but on this occasion, I am in a mood to teach you to focus on the task in hand, instead of to altogether dispense with you. With only one eye you should be able to concentrate more clearly, and not permit yourself to become distracted.
The gnome clutches at his bloodstained face, glad to be still alive and for the remarkable precision which the dragon can muster.
I, huh, thank you, master.
The dragon continues to inspect the star.
That is all for now. You may go.
The gnome turns and leaves; to be eaten by the dragon for failing him in some way is common, but to have in some way erred in the carrying out of a task, but to have been left alive is a high badge of honour amongst his people. He inwardly vows to prove worthy of the mark that the dragon has favoured him with...
Daelomin's lairs tend to be in the middle of areas which only the dragon can (presumably) travel in and out of by magic, possible exceptions being for The Night Dragon and Daughters of the Morning.

With a gleeful cry, the gnome takes the star, activates a taliaman, and teleports away.

The others I have I keep - for I am Eiboria, Reaper of Stars, and I have enemies to bait and hunt. You will need a more convincing arguement than 'I don't want to be a goddess' to convince me to even step within your designs.

With a nimble flick of her wings, the dragon takes to the air, and storms skyward, the singing of at least one star diminishing and withdrawing from Arielle with the dragon's departure.

(off-scene) <mumble, grumble> Show off. Well I will make her come to me and beg for my aid, rather than practically falling in front of her and fawning on the girl like that. <more mumbling and grumbling>

From foothills covered in forests the weathered and hoary peaks of an ancient mountain chain rise, permanent snowfields capping the gnarled sandstones and slates of the highest summits.
To the northern end of the chain, a turbulent cauldron of volcanic desolation marks the spot where once stood the dwarven citadel of Arnblast, before a goddess stirred the slumbering fires of the deeps.
Elsewhere in the peaks, dwarves still live, mine, and quarry, dragons have their lairs, and the tiny roads of men and elves wind amongst the massive natural architecture of the surroundings. Here and there are monasteries, homes of contemplative orders - some of whom are dedicated to deities of travellers or exploration and hence have omniportals.
Wild birds soar, cold mountain streams and rivers fall chattering in deep valleys, and the weather is fey and unpredictable, switching as easily to storms and gales whilst a sheltered valley beyond a ridgeline enjoys still sunshine.

Blundering through the forest, muttering and mumbling to himself, the gnome who so urgently searched the stalls of the bazaar at last comes upon a thicket, in whose depths he spots the glint of a star. With a shriek of delight, he pulls out a machete, and wielding it two-handed begins to hack his way through the bushes towards his prize...

In a cavern several miles beneath the surface, amidst the roots of a mountain chain, the vast dragon sprawls on one of its hoards, idly shifting coins, and waiting for the return of several of its minions.
It occasionally pauses in its coin-clinking activities to pick from between its teeth the remains of a sentient war-mammoth that returned with a report of failure from the last mission it was sent upon.
The legendary dragon daydreams of being able to put its upstart little half-sister in her place, and making it clear that there are only two dragons worthy of being the centre of attention in the great events of the moment.

As night starts to draw in, the gnome leaves the bazaar in an obvious state of panic, having furnished himself with powerful divinational tools at great expense...

Unless someone brings some new stars to the bazaar to sell, Arielle has currently picked that location clean. She still has to go to the Sanctum and the Forest and possibly meet up with a certain black dragon before heading to the Grove and then into the Realms of Dream for the last ones.

A gnome in motley frantically scours the stalls and booths of the market, searching desperately for something. He can occasonally be heard to repeat the same phrase over and over again.
Must find shiny for the master.... Muster find shiny for the master...