Nirellia Dimonia's page

Menacing retort.

In the midst of directing an elaborate and complicated attack designed to utterly crush one faction of the Denizens of Leng, the Elven Queen's attention is partially diverted for a few moments by events beyond the bounds of her kingdom on the prime-material plane.
She arches an eyebrow, and gives a mildly exasperated sigh, then dispatches a lieutenant with some orders and returns her full attention to the attack currently in progress.

Emperor7 wrote:

Can you see the sharks circling? :)

They look awfully hungry. ;)

That said, I'm obviously woefully unable to keep LJ out of the story, so a power-down was due.

Hungry?

In the Realms of Dream, in the heart of the wildwood, in the hall where pillars of carven stone and twisted wood alternate in their march about the vast central dome which they support above yet another of the palace's many thrones, the Night Dragon sits, illuminated by a single shaft of moonlight from above, girded and armoured in her elven form. At the foot of the seven stepped dais upon which the throne of ivory and of horn is centred one of the Denizens of Leng grovels and pleads, flanked by two impassive faced and mithral-clad ash-grey haired nymph guards. Words such as vengeance, trade, and enemies dribble from his mouth, as he desperately tries to make his case to the dread monarch of the twilight.
She sits there, in robes of silvery white, spun from the finest phase spider silk and decorated with innumerable pearls from distant seas, whilst he begs, her hair the only hint of colour, until he has finished.
And then she rises from her throne, calls a spear to hand with a snap of her fingers, and calmly slays him, the spray of his vital fluids spattering all around but leaving her untouched and pristine in the moonlight.
Remove his head and send it back to Leng on a silver platter with a scroll thrust through his head, from ear to ear, with the single word 'no' written in ancient fey upon it, she instructs the guards. Burn the rest, and send it back too, in a crude pottery urn.
She resumes her seat in the throne and contemplates another war, as the nymphs hurry to carry out their mistress' orders.
In other words nothing much going on here... Carry on everyone else... business as usual. ;)

Once Sorsha has returned to the Wildwood, the last gates to Dream abruptly close, and the only entrance or exit from the Realms is visits by casual dreamers.
It is possible that the dragons Candle Lighter and Frost are amongst the last to make their way out, perhaps via the gate controlled by the Eighth Runelord, whilst Yames Boornd and Tangessa are visiting from outside of the Realms of Dream, reporting.

Blodwen Pefhlawae wrote:

Blodwen tries to move the balls, but gets it a little too well on the first try as the ball comes hurtling at them at what would be lethal speed. She instinctively puts up her hands to ward it off and the ball bounces off a forcefield. She looks up, surprised.

:I didn't know I could do that.:

:The more you know, the more powers you seem to revive. I think your finally letting yourself accept this part of you. At this rate, we'll be back at the Eyrie to help reconstruct it!:

I wonder, just how subjective is time in a dream anyway? If not for his link to LJ, Sky wouldn't have known anything had happened at the Eyrie.

A lot of dreamers these days are sort of in maelstrom swirly unstable areas where time eddies go back and forth, and where you might not dream seventy years in one night. You only really need to worry about time at the moment if I take a personal interest in what you're upto, and then, frankly, time you get in dream relative to time outside is the least of your worries...

After several years of detention in the palace dungeons, at the petition of an important personage Prince Azran is moved out to join Aritha, under house arrest.
And so the Night Dragon's game advances...

Strange how one particular annoyance can suggest a solution to a certain problem, Nirellia considers, glancing out over the heart of her Realm, before making a leisurely descent back into the palace.
And now, frankly, as far as she was concerned, everywhere outside of the Realms of Dream could go to the Eldest.
It would be annoying if it actually did, of course, and at some point they would have to be dislodged as a point of general principle; possibly when that moment came there might even be some sort of resistance or at least passive defiance of them.
It was so long since she had last knowingly had sight of a Daughter of the Morning, that she had forgotten that they tended to collect tea-plantations...

Any bother in my absence? the Elven Queen asks, patting and checking her hair and adjusting her crown, as nymphs move forward to seize the still stunned Prince.
No your majesty, one replies. Your time away, as you had hoped, was relatively brief.
Excellent, the Elven Queen waves to Prince Azran. Shackle him with dragon-iron manacles, and then convey him to the dungeons to await my pleasure.
She dusts her hands.
And now I have everything in place, and all the pieces which I need.

Nirellia continues to contemplate the turmoils of the worlds.

However, I shall for now award you with the title of 'Countess'. Your errand was executed reasonably competently. You are something besides the sum of your parents.
You may go.

I am the Queen of the Realms of Dream, Sorsha. I can choose to deny them the only weapon they would have against the nightmares beyond to stop them from destroying it for themselves.
That which they would create in its place would as surely destroy them as the nightmares beyond.
The waking world has dwindled and diminished safe behind the fences of Dream for countless ages of the planes.
There is no strength or hope left to them. In the days before they forgot, the dwarves used to sing of the Siucci, loosely translated into our tongue, '...their lights undimmed whilst others' waned, in fire and ash, in blood and rage...'
The Siucci will not go to their rescue. I will not go to their rescue. The survivors of the seven dragons first made are unlikely to do so.
Daelemos is then only dragon left in the waking world with elder blood, and he will defend only those things which are his own.
Her gaze turns to Sorsha.
I could expend you Sorsha, if I wanted to make a token gesture.

A war is coming, Sorsha. A war for the lands beyond the Realms of Dream.
They will fall.
Barely was their strength sufficient to beat off an incidental side-show of the Seventh Sign.
Six more are to come.
Four Heralds at least are in play.
Perhaps five if the third of the Eldest Elemental Evils has one.
With the meagre resources they have to bring to bear, the war against the Eldest Elemental Evils is lost.

The darkness subsides into the palace, and Nirellia Dimonia sits on a throne of ivory and ponders what she has seen.

Good. I shall see that some extra supplies are sent for your comfort during this task.
The Elven Queen turns and goes.

I am fully cognisant of exactly what deals Daelemos made with you, and I require that you put forth your full and not inconsiderable power to accomplish this.
The Elven Queen's eyes are hard, and her voice chilly.
You really have caused me quite a lot of bother. I am getting reports of what your 'children' have been upto in other parts.

Ahh, Aritha. I note that your food consumption has dramatically decreased.
The Elven Queen's smile is frosty, and she has a scroll with her.
Your latest orders. I wrote them down for you, so that there could be no question of your forgetting or misinterpreting them.
She hands the scroll over to Aritha.

The Elven Queen heads to a chamber filled with pictures of various people of current interest in places beyond the Realms of Dream, which she visits every few months at present, to remind herself of whom they are. Her gaze lingers on a centuries old portrait of Lynora-Jill for a while.
Hmm. She is grown to adulthood now. Perhaps she has sought you out already. I can understand it if she has.
Perhaps things should be a little more in synch now, between our time and yours...
And...
She trails off, her glance going to a recently arranged picture of the girl, Arielle. She wonders whether either have it in them to be a bloody-handed murderess, and to so tear the demon dragonfire free.
She had not understood, those short centuries ago, the exact nature of Lucifer's plan - why he had never put through the project himself - why every attempt by demon, dragon, or other since had failed.
Now she glimpses the flame-gifter's plan in full.
The seven dragons he made first had all tried and failed at various times. They did not understand: they were too caught up with draconic form, and trying to be eternal and unchanging, believing themselves to be perfected forms of chaos.
She sits, looking at the walls of pictures, and wondering....

I don't think that you need to concern yourself with that anymore. What you should concern yourself with is as to when and in what ways you are going to serve me. I shall not require you to give up your faith, or your mortal lover, Prince Azran, wherever he is hiding from the Night Dragon at present, and if you are fortunate I shall not require you to give up your very existence.
Those are the only guarantees or certainties you will have from me.
Now, first off, you have been lolling around in draconic form, gorging yourself on the hospitality of those on whom you have some distant claim to kinship, for too long. You will put it off as soon as conveniently possible, and adopt a shape more suitable for any errands I may have for you to run, or other purposes...
The elven queen goes on, listing further conditions, and requirements, at some length.

Don't even think about going there, Aritha, the Night Dragon warns, drawing herself up to her full elven height, her voice and eyes filled with utter contempt and disdain. I have outlived whole pantheons of gods, and dealt with treacheries of creatures far older and more versed in it than you.

Eiboria is an officer and captain in my armies. Whilst certain difficulties which you have contributed to may have occured during her own time, whilst she was engaged in a private struggle of her own choosing with Daelemos, I still have sufficient cause to make your life very awkward if I so choose.
I will require some convincing that your part in this was entirely accidental.

Daelemos knows exactly who and what I am, and respects that a good deal more than your status as an extension of your goddess' will - he would have been a good deal more abrupt with you than he was, had that not been the case.
But now I have a problem given a diplomatic faux-pas which Daelemos has committed elsewhere. Normally it would be of no concern to me, but my daughter, Eiboria, is involved and the situation is, a genuine smile touches her lips, complicated.
And that artifact so recently in your possession and a part of you was tangled up in the incident...

Ah, Aritha. I believe that Daelemos recently visited you, and required that you cough something up for him for one of his collections. And that the reason he did not take it by force, but was relatively amiable to you about it, was because you are currently a guest here in my realm.

The elven woman nods to Frogskin (and the Jarl if present?) and leaves the Grove. Shortly after she departs, the last gate to the Realms of Dream to stand open and free to use closes. Only a handful of gates, in obscure and highly dangerous places on the side outside the Realms, and in the citadels, halls, or marshalling places of great lords on the side within the Realms, remain open.
Possibly, in the intervening period the Eighth Runelord may have secured one such spot on the 'Dream' side of the gate; after all Yames Boornd needs some way to come and go making reports and collecting new missions. :)

To Lynora:
I actualised an ancient draconic concept - Eiboria - as both guardian and guarded. I anticipated that it might be a question of whole ages of the worlds that watch would be needed for against the ceaseless malice that lies outside the Realms of Dream, and it was the highest protection, whilst showing honour to your passing, that I could afford the star.

She breaks contact.

I did things to protect the star which I took from the base of Yggdrasil. Things which made sense to me at the time. I did not think, at that time, that anyone would be trying to bring them together for any well-intentioned purpose. I saw only a requirement to keep that particular one out of the hands of enemies, where it might be misused.
I apologise. And if she comes to the end of the road, Arielle will see what I have done.
Lynora-Jill senses the presence of the elven woman beginning to withdraw.

To Lynora:
Unless you know any gossip about 'Aritha the Tarnished' - a silver dragon and former paladin turned champion of Lamashtu - that I could use as leverage, I fear that there is not a lot that you can do to assist with my unwelcome guest.
With regard to the quest of your daughter, Arielle, it has come to my attention that a different dragon from Aritha, this one a legend dragon by the name of 'Daelemos', may have been taking an interest in the stars. It is long since rumour of him has troubled the world of men or fey, but the stories say that at times he has disposed of whole kingdoms which he felt had slighted him in some way, that his vigilance over his treasure is unceasing even when he is not apparently present, and that his opinion of thieves is that they are light snacks that occasionally turn up for his convenience.
She sighs.
Young do not often heed advice of their elders, but Arielle should be careful if her route does take her in Daelemos' direction.

To Lynora:
I thought I would venture out here, into the big wide world to update you on a couple of developments, before I go home.
Sometimes, it's almost as if the borders of the Realms of Dream are governed by a hidden sentience, and in response to events outside of them, they almost entirely close down. Only the most powerful of rulers in dream are able to apparently keep connections to the wider world beyond open. Other means of access fail entirely. Only in their sleep can those outside sometimes catch fleeting glimpses of what is passing within.
The gate I have used to come here today is closing. Perhaps another half hour and it will be shut. Even connections such as your world's green and the world-ash fail at such times.
And I have acquired an unwanted guest. She sighs. Some of my subjects have invited a dragon to stay, which was seeking sanctuary with them, and had claims of kinship.
So long as she behaves herself, and pays her dues when taxes come around, I can do little to remove her without rewriting my own laws. And I am too proud to do that to remove one inconvenient dragon.

With the stealthy tread of an accustomed forest hunter, the elven woman arives in the grove. She loops fingers through the gestures of a communing with nature spell, then approaches the centre of the grove.
Lynora-Jill?

The elven woman leaves the grove; it is not clear, after she handed over the star, if she heard all of Lynora-Jill's parting remark or not.

To Lynora Jill:
Understand that I will not act directly to compromise the security of my realm. The best you or your daughter may hope for, if there is a conflict of interests is that I will delegate a decision to someone else. I wish that you had manifested the avatar trick of many deities of being in several places at once, instead of being tied to one perceived form.
I am no friend of the servants of the outer darkness, and in those places where my writ holds sway you or your daughter may request aid against any pursuit.

To Jack Hammer:
By all means.
She passes him the star, and turns to go.

That may perhaps be more awkward than she expects - perhaps impossible. For a moment the elven woman looks a little sad. I know them, you see, the servants of the outer darkness, and before I was certain of their actions, I took steps... She sighs and shakes her head. I will ensure that what servants I have outside my realm keep their ears open for word of your doings here.

Why do you suppose that she is collecting your relics? Would she be able to know and care enough to be a dutiful daughter, to collect them for burial? I do not think for one moment that she would collect them for any one of the other more neutral or darker reasons for which others might collect them.

Matters are complicated, and so I took a star I had been gifted by a traveller from Leng, and followed the paths of fate with it in hand back to this place and you, to inform you of this, she says to Lynora Jill. If I have surmised correctly - she has something of your look about her, and she was accompanied by your grandfather - the girl who was seeking stars in the Bazaar is some kin to you. Even if not, your grandfather might need to hear of this, if you have any means to speak to him, and she is under his protection for some reason.

She goes on not waiting for a reply from Jack Hammer.
These cultists are searching for stars such as this. They believe that one very particular one which corresponds to 'the essence of life' will allow them to raise up 'an army of the sons of a goddess' to fulfill a sign in a set of rituals which they pursue which they believe will allow their masters to circumvent the Realms of Dream where they have difficulty with some of the local rulers and simply invade the rest of reality, outright.
I do not think that the cultists will succeed in finding the star which they believe exists and which they seek for, or not in time to do them any good.
If word gets about and they pay attention regarding the pretty young lady who has been seen with Azuri'ith recently in the Bazaar, and they are in despair over finding the star they otherwise seek, I believe they may hit upon the notion of attempting to capture her to use as a substitute in their machines instead.

I thought it not worth pausing to wash my hands, so urgent was my news.
Some of the cultists of the late Goddess of Dangerous Knowledge have converted to the worship of other, older, nastier, things, and have taken some of their toys with them - toys which, I gather, allow mortals to reproduce copies of themselves, without the spells which some powerful wizards use to achieve similar results.
She pauses and glances at Jack Hammer. You would be the former stone lord, I take it?

The elven woman enters the grove. Her hands are bloody and in between the forefinger and thumb of one hand she grips one of the smallest of stars. She wears the garb of a huntress, and a crown of ivy and foxgloves sits about her brows.
She glances at Jack Hammer and then at the world ash - perhaps it is through the star which she grasps that she seems to be aware of Lynora Jill too.

From out of nowhere, a hunting spear comes and whirls. Five of the cultists die within an instant. The last is pinned against a wall, badly injured.
At last, the elven woman smiles, her teeth pale in the gathering dark. It seems like I've been waiting for ages for someone like you to turn up to hopefully answer me some questions. Let's go home, shall we, and you can talk to me about some interesting things...
In a swirl of deeper darkness, woman, spear, and man are gone, leaving only five corpses and the spreading pools of blood in the ruins of the house.
The spear that slew those five men is going to make it impossible even for servants of the Eldest Elemental Evils to get any answers out of them via divination or dead-raising magic - although the Eldest Elemental Evils are likely to recognise as such the signature as ND's.

The Night Dragon stalks the streets of the Bazaar, time and again going back to the house razed by death from above the previous night, and making her way out (in her elven guise) from it.
She seems to searching for something - almost trying to catch some psychic scent.
She ignores the gleam of the tiara with the star amidst the blackened and burnt timbers, and the locals, suspecting ill of anything coming from the wreckage of a house levelled by such ill-omened means, are too scared to loot it yet...

The flow of time fluidly shifting to fit the sovereign's will, very many years flit past in some parts of the Realms of Dream, as rebels and lieges rise and fall, and may wars come and go.
In this period of flux the leading figures of the Realms of Dream find the hidden ruler, to whom at times they answer, enforcing her will somewhat more vigorously than most have been accustomed to previously, with strange new weapons and forces deployed if they prove either tardy or contrary in answering a call.
Only the oldest whose memories reach back the longest recall an occasion when this occured before, and the apparent reason for it then, and these figures grimly commit themselves to absolute loyalty, knowing what is likely to come, and the horrible uncertainty that it was to be considered of questionable loyalty when Daelemos roamed abroad...

With a rustle of leaves and final burst of cinnamon, the tangle of roses and thorns that surrounded the grove suddenly shrivel and fall, tumbling to dry and brittle leaves and dried out stems in seconds, amongst which the dust that was once flowers blow - a dream exhausted and gone from a world too dreary for it to flourish in any longer.

Serafina wrote:

Serafina manages to stop crying, but still has a wild shocked look

Rio, I need to go somewhere where I can be alone for a while.

She rubs her tear-streaked face.

Can you take me somewhere?

"I'll have my friends -my pokemon- make a cave if you want. It won't take them long While they are doing that though, why don't we get under some trees? We should probably stay out of sight for a while."

*He gets up and helps her to her feet. Then lets his pokemon out(Aurora flies in) and explains what he would like them to do. Then, holding her steady, Rio leads Serafina under some trees. He casts a few illusion spells to obscure their position and a few divination blockers just to be safe.*

The Night Dragon happened to be observing events, mildly interested in the fate of the girl who was Innocent Blood, in a font carved from a stony-metallic 'fallen star' filled with quicksilver situated in a chamber in the lower levels of her palace. However she is not sufficiently curious about what happens next as to bother to pierce the illusions or wards which the young magician has erected. She assumes that, fast or slow, unless death (or decency in combination with some factor such as their turning out to be long-lost siblings) intervenes that the end destination will be the same one for the pair. She is long since familiar with the mating patterns of lesser species.

Ignoring the occasional ribald comments of passers by, several groups of half a dozen nymphs in mithral shirts and with dark cloaks and helms comb the byways and stalls of the bazaar. They seem interested in obtaining many of the stars which are turning up on stalls, or in the hands of street urchins, paying in ancient platinum coins or rare gems - although only the smaller ones seem to interest them. They give no heed to the great star that a master silversmith is making into the centrepiece of a tiara, nor with the one which a white-necromancer (one who uses his powers to destroy undead) is experimenting with in conjunction with a staff.

Please note that I am sovereign power here in the heart of my Realm, and that something in the vaults of my palace is not going to be magically locateable, even from the point of view of a 'compass bearing' unless I am feeling sufficiently bored to permit it to be. Not even deity level magic works.
The heart of my realm cannot be scryed, cannot be teleported to, and only gates/rifts I control or permit lead here.
Visitors somehow arriving at the edge of the Wildwood under their own power will wander in circles until they drop dead of old age, boredom, or are finished off by fey.
Shovastika (pesky woman, goes wherever she wants) is the one possible way in which currently exists for visitors whom I have not invited, but I don't advertise that and she certainly doesn't.

The two nymphs who visited the grove bring the casket before their queen in a high tower chamber of the palace, and she inspects the contents with interest.
So. It is true, then. You have both done well.
She closes the lid on the casket.
There will be a special tax on the princes and potentates of the Realms of Dream. Any similar such smaller fragments. I do not much care what they do with any larger pieces of power. Others will come looking for them in the end, no doubt.
The guard and my agents will scour the other places beyond these Realms for such smaller pieces. Again, the other larger fragments will be left for other seekers. I have all that I need here.
Oh, and I want Azran dead or hauled before me in chains if anyone sees him. His former lord made a complaint to me. The army Azran absconded with is gone now, which is enough to satisfy his former lord, but the bother I have been to on his account irks me.

Two nymphs in shirts of mithral and helms of dark adamantine accompanied by four dryads in leafmail armour and with long spears emerge from the shadows. The nymphs bear with them a casket of oak and ash, bound with iron. They open the cask, and with tongs of moonlight collect the star and secure it within the casket, before snapping shut the lid.
Then they depart back to the shadows, and the Realm of Dreams...
There's a curve-ball for you; assuming we're talking in poetic fashion, it would seem reasonable that 'Lynora's heart came to rest at the foot of the world-ash', and for fey to make off with it; they regularly get away with things like that in fairy-tales & fantasy.

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I do not know that we will meet again. We have a saying in the fey realms that things often go in threes, and this is our third meeting - and I have seen the path of fate which you walk.
Now, if you will excuse me, but there are thing which I must attend to elsewhere.
If we meet again, it is only likely to be the other side of a place of shadows.
She draws her cloak about her and departs.