The reunion of Prince Azran and Aritha is a little awkward, since there are some things which need explaining on Aritha's side. Up to a certain point Prince Azran is able to be understanding, but the situation is still socially awkward for a while.
He needs time and assistance to adjust to the changed situation, and some interesting philosophical discussions, to reach a new understanding with Aritha.
The Elven Queen of course makes things difficult for them, too, with intervention required by Eiboria.
The Prince, badly concussed, is in no condition to make any effort to resist as the fey lay hands and manacles upon him, and take him away...
Hyurk!
Translation: Urk, I've just been abruptly grabbed by something very big and nasty, having been caught completely by surprise. At no point in my wildest dreams did I think that he/she/it would ever give me his/her/its full attention. Drat. How wrong can you get?
In a discreet cave, high in the mountains above the Eyrie, Prince Azran pulls a face as he considers his latest meal.
Roast rodent on a stick, badly cooked over a joke of a fire. Hardly the fare that I have been accustomed to, eh Aritha? he murmurs to himself.
Well that settles that I would think.
Folds spyglass up and puts it away.
To Aritha:
Well that is what appears to be the situation, dear. But sometimes these are just setups by goblin pranksters, devised solely to get you to look at the telescope - which is of course treated to leave a black ring around your eye.
Produce his own immensely powerful pocket spyglass/scrying lense, and procceeds to examine the remote planet through it.
Hmm.
Passes the spyglass to Aritha.
They share a last, passionate kiss, then part, she departing to the standing stones, and he heading off elsewhere in the forest.
Within sight of a stone circle in the depths of the forest, the two apparent elves are standing.
The 'independent' gates are closing - you should hurry dear. Soon the only ways in will be for casual dreamers or through a few heavily guarded sites under *her* control or whose lords have enough power that *she* would effectively declare war on them by opening or closing their gates without asking them.
Well we'll head out of this place to perhaps somewhere slightly safer for you, and discuss this further.
He helps her, still somewhat weary as she is from her glutting of herself at the Carnival, from the bed, and downstairs. He settles the bill, and presently they leave the Bazaar.
I'm afraid that it looks that way, dear. I wish I had more information on what her current priorities are; but I could hardly risk going to see the traders to ask myself, since some of them are likely reporting to *her*.
A couple of the other traders who serve your goddess got together, obtained one of these stars which there seems to be fuss about, and acting on instructions made this which they send to you. Apparently you'll know what to do with it.
He passes her the holy symbol of Lamashtu brooch/talisman.
Bad news, dear, the Prince addresses Aritha. *She* hasn't been making so much of an effort to find me these past few days since she's been trying to figure out what the latest plot by the horrors beyond are. A few hours ago she captured one of their servants, who knew the name and location of another, and by the time that she was finished with extracting information she had a pretty good idea of what they're upto. And it's not a direct threat against her Realm or sovereignty.
Prince Azran's contact returns from the visit to the denizens, a bewildered expression on his face, and a strange brooch/talisman fashioned in the shape of a holy symbol of the mother of monsters with a star set in it as the 'third eye' with him. He recounts his news, hands over the brooch, and departs.
Word soon spreads to the inn where Prince Azran is keeping watch over Aritha, regarding the appearance of the traders from Leng in the streets. He calls in some favours from a local merchant, and sends him along to investigate.
The apparent elf male guides the sleepy woman, her clothes shimmering with a simple glamer, into a shabby inn somewhere close to the centre of the Bazaar, and hires a room for them both. He assists her upstairs to the room, jams a chair under the door handle, and lays her carefully on a bed.
He with an assisting arm around his consort's waist, the pair of apparent elves leave the carnival for other destinations...
The male elf busies himself rummaging in a satchel his consort carries, extracting a couple of scrolls written on devil-vellum.
A couple of 'arguments for mayhem' written by one of the more intellectual scholars of the church, he presents them to Ashaundra. For your perusal.
Now if you'll excuse us, but she needs to go and sleep this off somewhere, and preferably somewhere else, just in case anyone upset about this comes looking for us.
We may be back at some other time, if you have any questions.
The male comes to stand close to Ashaundra, keeping a close eye on events happening in the ring.
Lamashtu is a goddess with interests in nightmares and monsters, so terror and bloodshed are certainly part of her portfolio; the attitude of the religion is however perhaps a little to 'laissez fair' for some too stomach, who like to know exactly where they stand with neat words and rules and orders.
My consort has some religious tracts about her person, somewhere, which you might be interested in looking at if and when she has finished, that is.
In response to Ashaundra's comments about Aritha
Hmm. Well follow if you want, but I would advise you stay well back. Sometimes she gets a little carried away in her frenzy, and anywhere within reach or sneezing distance isn't really safe to be standing next to her.
Under other circumstances I might assist her, but I'm keeping a low profile at the moment, the male says conversationally to Ashaundra. So, since my lady is currently taking a few moments out to sate herself, and she would be doing this otherwise, have you ever considered the benefits of converting to the worship of the goddess Lamashtu?
Personally I have no opinions on the matter either one way or the other, but my lady is very enthusiatic about the goddess.
Anyway, my former employer seems to have gone whining to a higher authority, I no longer have the army, and I fear that I may be being hunted by a particularly unpleasant entity in terms of being in the bad graces of.
Just passing through at present, I fear. We need to keep moving since I appear to have incurred the displeasure of a significant other-planar personage.
Well okay, we'll wander over and take a look.
The male puts the sword away, and they wander over to take a look at Ashaundra.
A pair of apparent elves arrive at the carnival; they seem somewhat jumpy in disposition, and the male of the pair draws his sword and almost runs through a 'tree-woman' freak when she approaches.
Apologies miss; I mistook you for a particularly ugly dryad, and I'd rather avoid such fey for now.
Not now dear, we're on the run somewhere else...
Uhh, got to go....
Arm in arm with Aritha, the man runs, desperately calling the army to cover his retreat.
To Kobold Cleaver:
Can you think of any reason why you might have attracted the attention of a very irate, very powerful, force, from practically the beginning of time?
He waves and shouts and calls them off.
Well, a world with a few less... uh-oh.
He trails off.
The elven man mumbles and waves, and a third of the host of dreams and nightmares fly off to assail the yugoloths, slashing and raking at them with claws and fists that trail every type of elemental energy, and freeze to the touch.
There you go. Just to show we're dealing with you on the level for now...
Kobold Cleaver can probably tell that Aritha is a dragon in elven form, but because of Azran's dual nature - being both and elf AND a dragon, Azran will probably look like an elf to him at the moment, even to true sight.
Harlequins have a habit of messing around with things like destinies, dear. They have a limited writ to do so.
Ohh, very wily, but sadly I learned long ago, from hard experience, that magic is best preserved to protect oneself and one's lady-love, first and foremost, ahead of helping others.
Soldiers can generally be replaced.
Scars, upto a certain point, can be attractive, but beyond that they only reduce one's natural charms and handsome appearance.
And who would you be interested in having harrassed?
My exit from the Realm of Dreams with my army was not entirely unremarked upon... there were some personages quite bitter about the manner in which I absconded with my army after receiving a hefty bribe to do so from some of their enemies. The fact that they had neglected to pay me on time for the third century in a row was something which they didn't seem to consider mattered.
I'm looking to establish a stronghold somewhere in these parts, where I can watch my back against any assassins or other agents that are sent after me from the Realms of Dream.
If you can recommend any places in these parts where we might set up, and could assist us in clearing out any current occupants that would be useful.
And if you have any particular enemies you'd like us to harrass for the next month or so, we would certainly be happy to do so.
Very good, little marble. And now the rest have learnt immunity to anti-magic, and will redouble, and multiply, and come at you again.
Apparently you've fallen behind on your reading since you left the servants of the boards.
I am a lord of dreams. However, I'm nothing if not pragmatic, and if you make me an offer tempting enough I might fall in with you.
You're a blackguard these days, I gather, my lady is a blackguard. Sure we could fight, or we could negotiate towards our common interest.
Oh go away you wretched evil marble.
The male elf draws a net from his belt, swings it round to snare the assailing magic, and hurls it back at the small black marble, transformed into a banishing spell.
A pair of apparent elves crest one of the ridges overlooking the battlefield.
Hmm. Good thing we brought our army with us. Shame it's largely imaginary.
The male elf waves at a large spread of air, which seems completely empty, though the mage-sighted might notice a strong aura of illusion and evocation magic.
He rolls his eyes but says nothing more and waits whilst she collects the birdcage with its solitary surviving imp, puts the knife away, and comes back to join him. Then, arm in arm, they depart the Place of the Winds.
I don't know why you want that box so much, dear. You have so many boxes with curses or interesting histories attached back in the Abyss. We have a whole cave full of them, with half a dozen glabrezus on guard day and night, because you're so paranoid that someone will come along and steal one of them.
Or how you break 'em. I mean if you can get hold of unhatched eggs, that's quite one thing, but if you get a wild one, fully fledged... well you have to train it somehow. And I once heard that they're supposed to be intelligent, too, some strains of the breed.
I do believe I see some Starhawks circling over there.
You know, properly trained, they can be quite loyal I hear.
Not sure about what you have to feed 'em though.
The Prince shades his eyes thoughtfully and looks in the direction of the Eyrie of winds.
Of course having a brooding fortress of namby-pamby do-gooders nearby would be a bit of a downer. Although just think how much we would liven their dreary days up, if we moved in with our full entourage.
You know I really think that we could do something with this place...
The pair of apparent elves arrive at The Place of the Winds, Aritha carrying a silver birdcage which contains a couple of thoroughly miserable looking captve imps.
Prince Azran waves an arm around, generally, indicating the distant peaks, the sky, and the sacred place.
Really, my dear, I have NO IDEA exactly what you may be implying....
Bickering good-naturedly with one another, they wander off.
He sighs in mock exasperation.
But if you didn't make such a habit of eating your dressmakers every time we got one on retainer, we'd be able to manage a much more fiscally prudent route than instead having to go shopping every time you need a new one.
A pair of apparent elves emerge form the forest, to approach the grove and are halted by the wall of thorns and roses. They glance at one another.
Darn. We're too late. I told you we shouldn't have stopped to rob that tax collector.
Arm in arm the pair of apparent elves head off through the rain-soaked bazaar, disappearing from sight amidst the drenching rain.
You jest, my dear. We may need to come back to the bazaar and do business here. This isn't The Abyss where everyone else is out to get you so you may as well take what you want anyway.
We'll come back for the Dead Man's Chest some other day, when the owner is likely not hiding in the corner in superstitious terror.
Although given the bloodstained history of that item, and what he no doubt had to do to get it - unless his crewmates all just 'happened' to kill themselves first leaving him the de facto owner - he has cause to be superstitious.
It's shuttered my dear, but not necessarily shut.
Try the door.
Arm in arm a pair who appear to be elves, he a normal elf, she a snow elf, parade through the storm drenched streets and places of the bazaar. They pause outside Pete's shop.
...we may be showing up in the next few days with a small army.
Not that we need an army, but the fashion these days seems to be everyone to have one, so we may as well bring one to the party. Still, mustn't grumble.
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