Steel Dragon's "Tales of Orea"

Alaria arrived at the townhouse of the Lady Dauphinne at the appointed hour. The men were settling themselves into the apartments in the keep that Celerion, upon hearing of “the Stormriders’ arrival”, were immediately made available to them.

The page who led them there was very apologetic for the Lord Chamberlain that he could not attend them directly. With the Midwinter’s Ball only 2 days away, the aged elf had his work cut out for him, with guests of noble and magical bearing arriving constantly and being significantly more demanding than the humble adventurers. Their assigned attendant, Rik, whom they’d encountered in their last stay in Dragonwing Vale, sent for the Vale’s premiere gnomish tailor, Gnomelligent Quickstitch, to make them acceptable “formal” attire.

Upon finding out he was to make garments for the "Slayers of the Bulgruch," had dropped the multitude of noblewomen’s orders he had been accruing for the better part of the passed three months. Prestige was a funny thing. Though the gnome already had it in spades among the Vale’s residents, fewer and fewer of them were able to award him the “honor” of having them wear his creations. The gnome was immediately disappointed that the female magess was not in attendance when he arrived to take measurements and suggestion ideas for the heroes “costumes” for the preeminent ball of the realm.

Despite his constant "recommendations" for flashy bright and clashing colors with outrageous sleeves, leggings, boots and hats, the boys were able to convince the gnomish tailor of what they wanted.

Alaria sipped the awful [to her taste buds] “sweet tea” of the region. The Lady Dauphinne, of course, was not interested in indulging the R’Hathi magess’ taste, but as had been the case at their last meeting, establishing herself as the superior in their audience. Alaria detected more than a nonce of annoyance at her sister, Elhianne, inviting this “world traveler”, renowned hero of the realm or not, without her prior consent. Her demeanor almost visibly changed when Elhianne explained how she had met and had multiple audiences with the Lord Chamberlain and the Lady Rhea.

Alaria decided then and there, despite her respectful demeanor, that anyone who would seek to diminish the Lady Elhianne was not worthy of her respect. Still, the R’Hathi woman sipped politely at the porcelain cup and listened carefully and replied with coy grins and respectful answers to the noblewomen’s inane conversation.

“You can’t truly have fought a demon...really? I mean, such an endeavor for a sorceress of R’Hath. Seems...beneath her.” Dauphinne said after listening to Elhianne’s vaunted description of Alaria’s exploits, both in Bridgetower and Miralosta. “But we have no such concerns here. What are you going to wear, my dear? I mean, that traveling dress may do in inns and taverns, but this is the Lordmage’s Midwinter Ball, after all.” the birdlike pale skinned lady said between long sips of her cup.

“Alaria is going to sport one of the finest gowns of elfin design, of course? Why do you think she was in Miralosta in the first place.” Elhianne interjected/protected Alaria with a sidelong wink and smirk.

“I, uh...well, I mean I didn’t bring anything with me...” Alaria stumbled, thanking but cursing Elhianne for her intercession.

“Of course not! Such delicate finery must be delivered...conjured or transported into being.” Dauphinne said with a smirk of her own.

Alaria recalled that Elhianne’s sister had her own experience and knowledge of the magikal arts. Rather than quibble, she decided to turn the tables.

“And yourself, Lady Dauphinne? What will you be gracing the hall with? I can not wait to see.” Alaria sipped, again, on the dreadfully sweet tea. “I doubt even elfin finery will compare.” She smiled the most saccarine smile the R’Hathi could ever imagine mustering.

“Undoubtedly.” Dauphinne said with a coy smile.

Alaria didn’t understand the subtleties of courtly niceities but somehow had the impression that she had somehow gained the lady’s respect and appreciation.

“And you, my lady?” Alaria turned to Elhianne. “You always look so magnificent.”

“Oh, Alaria!” Elhianne tittered a reply as she reached for one of the delicate lacey cookies on the plate that a halfling maid had brought moments before. “You are too kind! And I’ve told you, we are as sisters, please call me Elhianne.”

“Not at all, Elhianne. I assure you.” Alaria replied. She turned with a grin to Dauphinne. The noblewoman seemed to be nonplussed.

“Well,” Elhianne continued with barely a breath, I’ve had the Bridgetower seamstress do her best. “I may require a bit of magical addition...from either or both of you, my dear sisters.” the blond woman nnodded toward Dauphinne first and then Alaria with the most sincere smile. “Rynthis has no aptitude for such things, despite his magikal fluency. Of course, “ Elhianne erupted in a giggle. “Men, you know. ahahahaha.”

“Cetainly not.” Dauphinne replied dryly. She cast a sidelong smirk at Alaria.

“I would be more than happy to assist you in preparing La-...uh...Elhianne.” Alaria offered.

“SPLENdid!” the blond woman visibly perked up in her chair. “We’ll be having a repast around 4 bells, won’t we Dauphinne? We can all get ready together!” Elhianne offered.

“Indeed.” Dauphinne took up the invitation. “Bring your men. They should have at least as much attention as we, don’t you think? And Rynthis will be arriving that afternoon, will he not, sister?” Dauphinne said with raised eyebrows to Elhianne.

“Of course. Yes, that will be wonderful!” the blond vision of courtly poise concurred. “It will be nice to see how the men all get along.” Elhianne tittered again. “And I do miss the lovely little Hilltender. He is a wonder. Will that handsome druid be coming too?"

Alaria, mentally, rolled her eyes. The strong noble lady she had known in Bridgetower was indeed “drunk” with anticipation of this great party.

“Alas, Fen is conferencing with his order. Whether he arrives in time for the ball or not, I can not say. But he will arrive to the Vale, shortly.” Alaria explained.

“I think he’d be a lovely introduction for Sispera.” Elhianne said to her noble sister.

“A druid?!” Dauphinne seemed genuinely surprised.

“Truly!” Elhianne replied with a broad smile. “He is quite handsome.”

“I am inclined, my...Elhianne, to believe the half-elf’s interests are otherwise...committed.” Alaria said matter-of-factly and took another sip of the awful tea without looking up at the other ladies’ questioning glances.

Fen thanked the Green for his druid’s cloak and the modicum of enchanted protection it offered him from the frigid air that whipped over him as he hung from Pyrnion, held by the winged man’s thick arms beneath each shoulder. The zephari had flown them a great distance in less than a day and Fen was amazed, not only that he seemed not to tire, but that he seemed not to be the least effected or concerned about how cold it was, despite the zephari’s distinct lack of protective covering or clothing.

Fen looked down at the snow swept fields and hills and trees. He had discovered earlier in their travel that the force and noise of air moving passed them made speaking and hearing nearly impossible. Again, this seemed to be no concern for the stoic winged man. <DM’s note: The half-elf was, naturally, unaware that zepharim are telepathic with others of their race and so have no problem conversing while in flight together.>

The druid pointed with his spear to a fair sized clutch of woods coming quickly into view.

Wordlessly, Pyrnion gyred to the side and began a somewhat rapid descent in concentric circles. This caused Fen’s stomach to nearly lurch out of his mouth, but the druid swallowed hard and closed his eyes to halt the dizzying arrival of the ground. With a few final flaps, righting the two men to a standing position, Pyrnion set them down in a snow covered glade among the pines and thickly woven branches of leafless dissiduous trees.

“Now then, that wasn’t so bad was it?” Pyrnion smiled, noting Fen’s distinct lack of color and slightly swaying stance as the half-elf shook the dizziness from his head.

“Yeah. Great. No problem.” Fen smirked a reply.

“So...Why are we here?” Pyrnion said as he casually drew his bow and nocked an arrow from his quiver. The zephari scanned the surrounding shadowy brush and thickets around the edge of the glade.

Twilight was already underway and the shadows and darkness within the woods seemed to deepen even as Pyrnion’s eagle eyes sought to pierce them. Patches of vines of night’s watch*, gathered just at the edge of the trees close to the ground, were beginning to splay their deep blue and white-streaked trumpets in the approaching night.

Fen took a moment to appreciate the nocturnal flower’s tranquil beauty.

* "Night's Watch" is a fairly common Orean flowering and creeping vine with dark blue trumpet shaped blooms streaked with white. They bloom at night and close up tightly during daylight hours. The white streaks of the flower glow in moonlight. Think, like a morning glory, but instead of pink/white it's navy or indigo and white.

“We are hear, my friend, in hopes of finding one of my order that I might consult about our recent events and, possibly, my future endeavors.” the druid explained distractedly as he saw leaves and blooms shake in disturbance, as if some small animal were moving around or beneath them. the druid did not give it a second thought until another batch fo brush shook and cracked, more loudly this time, at a different side of the glade.

Pyrnion turned, arrow nocked and feathery eyebrows furrowed. Fen turned as well, though much more calmly.

Fen put an arm out, to tell Pyrnion to lower his bow. “That should not be necessary.”

Again, back to the other side of the glade, twigs snapped. Fen turned to that direction in time to watch some snow fall from a low-hanging snow-laden branch. Landing on the snowy ground with an almost imperceptible *flumph* Just a small section of the snow from the branch...

“I think we have company...” Fen mused softly.

“Really? You think?” Pyrnion said with subtle annoyance and a start when loud thrashing seemed to come from the glade’s edge and proceed around the perimeter. Bushes shook and twigs snapped, dead leaves and pinecones and other natural debris seemed to be “thrown” into the air with the things passing...it was making quite a racket. Try as he might, though he looked directly where whatever causing the disturbance should be, Pyrnion could not see anything.

Watching as the noises and shakings moved around the one side of the glade, Fen watched about twenty feet before it and the subtle, small shakings and disturbances to the snow, dormant plants and patches of night’s watch.

The half-elf tilted his head and looked to a distinct curve in the treeline, where the small disturbances and the larger one would be closest (assuming neither struck out into the open glade). With a nearly silent command and wave of his arm, violet and blue flames arched out from him and crashed into the underbrush.

“What’re you...?!” Pyrnion turned, drew and fired in the direction the druid had cast, in cmoplete surprise. The winged man nocked a second arrow, almost as deftly as an elf would.

Where the minor magical flames had landed, they instantly disappeared except for several small flickering glow at the fore and a larger (though still small) roundish outline of faerie fire behind. All of the shapes had stopped dead still the instant the spell had effected them. As if waiting to see what happened next.

The smaller flickering flames darted out into the glade, heading straight for the two men. The larger round shape sped away into the woods and was quickly lost from view.

Pyrnion drew again.

“NO!” Fen, shouted and threw his arm in Pyrnion’s line of sight again.

“But...” the winged man began to protest as the tiny violet and blue flickerings sped right passed Fen and pulled up before and around him instead.

“They’re friends...Aren’t you, now? Let us see.” Fen said gently toward the little outlines of flickers.

“Yes! Yes! Friends is friends!” came a small shrill voice shortly before an icy blue pixie appeared directly in front of Pyrnion’s nose. “Winged One is friends! Winged One helps!” it exclaimed in apparent glee.

With this, the other flickering shapes filled in, as well. One pink, red, a darker blue and a forest green monochromatic, genderless and insect-winged figures came into view. The five faeries immediately joined hands and began “dancing” at shoulder height around the zephari.

“Winged One. Winged One. Ringed around the Winged One. Winged One. Winged One. Gonna save us all!” the chanted repeatedly.

Pyrnion did nothing but look at fen with a risen feathery eyebrow. “What are...I’m going to what?”

“My friends, we would very much like to, ehm, 'save you all’. But you need to tell us what the matter is. What was chasing you?” the druid asked, unsuccessfulkly attempting to interrupt the pixie’s revery.

"Pff. Green Ones no helps. Green One leaves!" spat the red pxie in Fen's direction.

The druid felt a tugging at his hip and opened one of his belt pouches to see the back end of yellow pixie (bent over) helping themselves to his stash of berries and nuts.

“Hey there, little one. Those are for me. But you can have some more if you tell me what’s happening here in your woods.” he said calmly as he picked the pixie up by its wings and set it down in his other palm.

The yellow toned pixie had an acorn lid for a cap and tilted its head at the druid. Its face scrunched up as if trying to discern if the druid was speaking the truth. Finally it turned to the other pixies dancing around Pyrnion and shouted, pointing at Fen, “Green One wants to helps too. Gives us berry-nuts for stories!”

“Stories?” said the icy blue one, stopping in mid-air. This caused a rather humorous pile-up as the other dancing pixies crashed into one another with the abrupt stop.

“Stories?!” the pink one said more excited.

“STORIES!” the all exclaimed and winged themselves over to Fen. Three nudged and fought for space to set in Fen’s hand while the other two were content to take up seats in the crooked his arm and on his shoulder.

“Tell stories, Green One!” the dark blue one said.

“Stupids! Berry-nuts first, then stories.” the pink one objected.

“Can’t make stories wifout berry-nuts.” the forest green one nodded in agreement, arms folded in complete seriousness.

“No no.” Fen tried to explain...then, thinking the better of it. “You first. I insist. You tell me a story about what was chasing you and then I’ll give you the, um, ‘berry-nuts’ for snacks while...uh...the Winged One tells you his story.” the carrot-topped half-elf finished with a warm smile toward Pyrnion.

“Ooooooooo.” the pixies all said in unison, pupilless round wide eyes turned to look at the zephari.

“Me first!” “I tell” “Once ‘pon...” “No! Me!” tiny voices all started saying at once. This quickly devolved into winged chases flitting all around the druid.

“Calmly! Calmly!” Fen attempted to restore order.

At this the pink pixie stopped in its tracks in midair. “CALMLY!” it exclaimed, arms wide in jubilation.

The pixies all joined hands again, even as Fen noticed a tugging at his hip pouch again.

“Calmly! Calmly! Ring around the Calmly! Calmly! Calmly! Gonna save us all! “

Pyrnion’s face lowered to meet his raising palm.

Fen, again, pulled out the yellow pixie from his pouch of snacks. It looked at him and if it had discernable eyebrows there was the distinct impression they would be risen high. Its cheeks puffed out bulbous, several red and black berries in each side. The yellow pixie forced a wide closed-lipped grin.

“Alright, then. You get to go first since you already got the snacks.” Fen said loudly enough for all of the singing pixies to hear.

“You gots the snacks?” the forest green one, who still had the distinct baring as more serious than the others. “No fairs!”

“Yellow One took the snacks. So he, uh, she, Yellow One goes first.” Fen said matter-of-factly.

“Not nice, Goldibelle.” the icy blue pixie waggled a finger at the yellow pixie. The other pixies shook this heads na waggled fingers in obvious agreement that this was, in fact, “not nice.”

Swallowing hard, its tiny thin neck bulging out into cartoonish proportions as the berries sank down into its gut, with an audible “sploosh” and visible bulging out of the tummy, Goldibelle flitting back to Fen’s opened palm. With a ceremonious clearly of the throat, the yellow pixie began to tell their story.

“Silverymoons ago, picties plays in picty wood.” The yellow pixie turned to looked at its companions. It made a pouty face.

“Ehem. Me saaaaays, 'Silverymoons ago, picties plays in picty wood!’”

The other pixies jolted from the wrapped attention to wiggled their fingers into the space behind the yellow one.

In a twinkling of sparkling colored dust (each the color of its respective pixie) an image began to form. A little screen in which a star-filled night sky appeared and then a large full silver moon. As the dust began to drop and settle, the image continued to form “down”, trees came into view, then brush and flowers, then images of pixies, these and others, dancing in circles among the toadstools and night’s watch vines.

The yellow pixie nodded in appreciation and turned back to the druid and zephari ranger.

“In the silverymoons, the door opens. Cutty badhats come. Not nice. Not pritty.”

The other pixies nodded in agreement to each other. “Not pritty. Not nice. Nasty bad cutty hats.” they murmured among each other.

The illusion of the tale showed night-blue goblin like creatures wearing bright red floppy caps and bright red soft boots came creepign into the picture. They carried harsh chipped and serated knives, hatchets and small sickles. Their faces were twisted into scowls with sharp pointed teeth showing through curl-lipped sneers. Then the faye-goblins attacked the dancing pixies in the image.

“Bad cuttyhats comes and stops picties play! Takes house and cuts picties up for stew!” the yellow one said, its voice cracked as if it might begin to cry.

The image came to rest on an old twisted oak tree with many obvious hollows. The goblin things were all around the tree and a small pot of stew sat before it with one of the red-capped creatures stirring it with a ladle larger than it was.

“Very bad cutty hats. Very sad story. Stops picties play! Picties says, ‘Hey you, Bad Ones, stop hurts the picties. Picties nice!” this illicited another round of murmuring agreement from the other pixies.

The image showed a bright green pixie, as large as the goblin, waggling a finger at the redcap by the cauldron.

“Cuttyhat says, 'Nuh uhhhhhh! Picties not nice. Cuttyhats comes through the doors cuz darkling Low Ones comes for the door.’ Says, 'Longnight silverymoon, gonna come out the door n’ ruin picties wood! Take picties house for always! Kills alla picties and ruin Dragon One’s house too!”

At this all of the pixies stopped their weaving of the illusion, putting their hands to their ears and writhing and wailing as if in great sorrow or pain.

“Woes to Picties! Woes to Dragon One! Woes woes woes!” the yellow one also now pulled its acorn cap down over its eyes and began to rock back and forth in Fen’s palm.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. We’ll stop the red-, er, 'cuttyhats.’ We’ll get your tree back for you.” Fen soothed.

“Awwww. Green One is nice. Green Ones is friends always.” the yellow one smiled.

“Winged Ones is better. No Winged Ones in picty woods since the befores. Winged One stops darklings, for sure!” argued the red pixie.

“Yeah, about that...” Pyrnion interjected, “what are the darkliings? And what’s this 'door’ you’re talking about?” The zephari said as an aside to Fen, “Maybe we can figure out a way to close it?”

The pink pixie flitted up before Pyrnion’s face. “Duuuuuuh. The dooooor?...Over theres?...Biiiiig white stone?....Outside the trees?"

Seeing no response the pink one turned to its companions and said, “Maybe Winged One nots so much help." It twirled a long slender finger at the side of its head.

“Hey!" Pyrnion objected.

“My friends, where is the door?" Fen asked calmly.

The pink one waved its hand dismissively toward the wood behind the winged man. “Over theres?...Biiiiig white stone?....Outside the trees?

“Green One not so smarts neefer." it said again over its shouler.

“Do you have any idea what its talking about?” Pyrnion asked.

Big white stone...outside the trees...it was familiar somehow...but he couldn’t quite remember.

“How about, you take us to your tree and we’ll get rid fo the dark faye for you. Then, you bring us to the door. So we can helps...Yes? Would be niiiice.” the druid bargained.

All of the pixies looked to the serious forest green one, who shook its head.

“Yes. Is nice. We helps Green One and Green One helps picties. Is nice. Come. Come.” the green pixie began flitting into the woods, away from where the pink one had indicated the direction of the door.

In unison the other pixies took flight behind it, except for the pink one who sped up to Fen’s face as he began to follow.

“What is it, little one?” the druid asked.

“Got story.” it said matter-of-factly. The pink pixie held out its hand. “Berry-nuts!”

Pyrnion followed Fen as the two moved with some urgency to kep up with the pixies, flying and flitting from tree to tree, branch to stone to thicket.
“A little insight would be appreciated here, druid.” Pyrnion said.

He had kept his bow nocked as they trotted through ever closer trunks and underbrush. The snow was noticeably less beneath the thick overhead canopy of interlacing bare branches and umbrella-like boughs of firs. The deepening twilight did not help as the paths beneath the trees became increasingly dark as night. Fortunately, the pixies gave off an ephemeral glow, each their own color, and left a trail of sparkling dust in their wake, which twinkled out of sight before it touched the ground.

“If I’m not mistaken, there are redcaps in the woods. Fayekin goblins of decidedly nasty temperament and cruelty. They are thoroughly wicked.” the druid began. He wove with trained ease through the thickets and tree trunks. His druid’s cloak flowing from brown to grey to darkness as he passed, seemingly without disturbing anything he passed.

“They are a bit smaller than Orean goblins, but delight in cutting things up and their bites are particularly vicious. But they should not pose much of a problem for heroes, such as we...depending on their numbers, of course.” he added as the afterthought gave him mental pause.

“Don’t you have fayekin in your mountain peaks, Pyrnion?” Fen asked.

“My lord Cyr Tyr does receive visits from sylphs from time to time. Though they are lovely to behold, kind hearted, well-spoken and as large as you and I...well, as large as you.” Pyrnion smirked. The half-elf was a full head shorter than the towering muscled zephari.

“Yes, well, there are all kinds of fayekin. Some are nice. Some not so. Some fully evil. They come in all shapes and sizes and a variety of magical abilities. Redcaps are vicious and prone to outbursts of anger, not entirely dissimilar to our goblins. But they are not particularly powerful.”

“So that was a redcap that was chasing these pixies aroudn the glade? So they can turn invisible at least. That, in itself, gives them a distinct advantage.” Pyrnion noted.

“True. They can turn invisible, but unlike the pixies who are invisible always except by choice, redcaps can not stay invisible indefinitely. And if they do, my faeire fire incantation should make them plain enough.” the druid replied, rounding a large trunk and pausing until he caught the yellow pixie ahead, waving them on from a branch.

“And this door? The ‘darklings’? What’s that all about?” the zephari followed. His wings were already pressed against his shoulders, as a great feathery cloak. He looked above again, patches of sky were becoming barely visible and less frequent. Pyrnion felt a nervousness falling over him.

“The door, it sounds like, is an obvious doorway into the Land of Faerie. Such portals are not entirely rare, particularly in such close proximity to a faye-wood as this.” Fen continued. “This particular portal is, apparently, a ‘great white stone, outside the trees’ the pixies said.”

“And the darklings?” Pyrnion posed again.

“That, my friend, is something of a concern.” Fen had to admit. “There are any number of wicked faye and fayekin. Some are minor, such as these redcaps. Some, however, can be quite potent. I’ve heard tales of dark sidhe lords who are near godlings.

“I’ve never heard of a ‘darkling’ before, though. But then, the way the pixies call things, it could mean any number of creatures. “

Fen mused for a moment, speaking more to himself than for Pyrnion’s understanding. “They said they were coming on ‘longnight silverymoon’...”

“They also said the redcaps came ‘silverymoon ago’." Pyrnion pointed out.

“They did, didn’t they...If I had to guess, I would surmise that the ‘door’ to the faye realm opens on when the silver moon is full....which it is tomorrow night. And, tomorrow is Midwinter...the longest night of the year.”

“So these darklings will be coming through then...to kill all of the pixies.” Pyrnion concluded.

“Not just that. If the ‘Dragon One‘s house’ means the realm or keep of the Dragonmage, as I guess, then they would be formidable faye indeed.” Fen finished his thought as the two came up to where their five pixie friends had all landed among a briar patch. The green pixie held its finger up to its mouth.

Fen and Pyrnion also crouched down behind the briar. Looking cautiously through the thorny twines. the zephari let out an audible sigh of relief to see the burgeoning stars and rising moon above.

At the far side of another glade, much smaller than the one they’d arrived in, was a very large oak tree, angled and twisted. Unlike most of the other trees in the wood, its leaves were intact, even mostly still green, which Fen found fascinating. Its lower boughs as thick aroudn as a man and along the trunk and knots of the branches, more than a few hollows were apparent. Several small round hunching figures wandered along the branches. Their bright red caps catching the rising nearly full silver moon’s light from time to time.

At the base, a dark cauldron sat upon a roaring campfire. A redcap slwoly stirred whatever was in the pot with a ladle, just as the pixies had portrayed, nearly half-again as long as the redcap was himself. Set near the fire, dangling from the lowest oak bough, were three crudely constructed cages of sticks and thorny branches. The three of them appeared empty, but Fen guessed that none of them actually were.

Another redcap, with its jagged knife was sharpening it along a stone beneath the cages. Beside it a log cut to have a flat side sat on the snowless ground. The flat side was darkened and wet.

“I count twelve.” Pyrnion said over Fen’s shoulder. “That I can see. Is that too many? I can make myself unseen, but can you cross this open ground without notice?”

“You go. I should make my way around, closer, through the trees.” Fen said. “Remain unseen until I work a spell.”

“A spell?!” said the pink pixie, excitedly.

“No no! No singing now. We will have a party after we slay the cuttyhats. But now you must stay very quiet.” Fen said, fearing the faeries would break into one of their chanting dances.

All of the pixies turned, their solid eyes bulging with anticipation. “A party?” the icy blue one said breathlessly. They looked to each other with huge smiles and quivered and bounced in excitement.

“What spell, druid?” Pyrnion said, uninterested in the pixies apparent pleasure.

“You’ll know. Go. Let’s get this done.” Fen said. He pulled the hood of his cloak up over his head and dashed off. Within a moment, he faded from Pyrnion’s gaze among the nearby wood.

With a thought, Pyrnion made himself invisible.

“Ooooooo.” the pixies breathed and they winked, for a second, out of normal vision. Then Pyrnion could see them all again, holding tiny hands to their mouths, to contain tittering giggles.

The zephari raised a feathered eyebrow. Apparently, if he were invisible, he could see them invisible as well. “Stay here, little ones.” Pyrnion said andas quietly as he could, launched himself into the open air and up into a holding pattern above the glade.

The jostling of the brush caught the attention of several redcaps who snarled at each other and scanned the sky. Thankfully, it seemed, they could not see the zephari.

A chilling thought crossed Pyrnion’s mind...If he could see the pixies while they were invisible, then it was likely if one of the redcaps turned invisible, they would also be able to see him. He made a silent prayer to Arinane the druid would hurry.

His wait was not long as, all around the base of the tree, roots and vines torn up from the ground. The cauldron was knocked from the fire, its contents splashing all over the entangled redcap chef. The faye goblin shrieked as it scalded and quickly died.

Among the branches, the visible redcaps were scrambling and shouting incomprehensibly at each other. Hatchets and knives flashed out to swipe at the rising vines and grasses that sought to ensnare them.

Pyrnion drew his bow and was reloading ven as he shimmered into normal view. Two arrows struck down two redcaps who fell form the branches to be quickly scooped up and caccooned by the enchanted vegetation.

That’s three, thought Pyrnion as he drew again. The darkfaye were in utter chaos and shouted and pointed to the hideous gleaming winged one that had appeared in the air.

Another redcap stuck its head out of one of the hollows, obviously surprised by the attack. It raised a small cone of dull grey metal to its mouth and sounded what must have been their alarm. It was a harsh grating and entirely unpleasant sound but caused no lasting damage to the zephari or druid who now was racing around the base of the tree, his leaf tip spear blazing green fire as he stabbed and swiped at the redcaps not entangled.

With another cryptic syllable, Fen bathed the area in violet-blue flames. As expected, there were multiple flickers in two of the three cages. Two redcaps, who had turned invisible in hopes of sneaking up on the druid, also became outlined in flickering harmless light.

Two of the redcaps still in the trees branches, loosed arrows up at the winged man. Both missed, though one only nearly.

Pyrnion let fly with another volley and two more redcaps hit the ground dead.

Fen held back the cry of pain when one of his would-be backstabbers did land a slice with a jagged edged sickle [turning fully visible with the attack though he was still ensconced with faerie fire].

The goblin that had blasted the alarm shouted commands from his mostly covered place in the tree’s central and largest hollow.

Another arrow flew passed Pyrnion. Then a fourth struck him in the wing. It was far from a mortal wound, though it caused a great deal of pain to keep beating his wings and the zephari was forced to circle up and out of view for a moment.

Fen felled the creature who had struck him with a swipe of his green-lit spear blade. He then turned his attention to three of the redcaps who were entangled. With a thought and a clench of his fist, he constricted the creatures to their death.

Pyrnion returned from above the trees and surveyed the battlefield again. As far as he could tell, there were still two archers, the “commander” in the hollow, and another invisible though faerie fired who seemed to be taken “the better part of valor” and breaking for the woods.

One arrow ended that well enough and the creature came into normal vision as it fell, face first, tot he ground in a bloody thud.

Pyrnion’s second arrow missed his intended archer target. It thunked into the branch between the archer’s red booted feet and the creature sumarily turned and scrambled out of view to a different part of the tree.

The commanding redcap had disappeared into the hollow and reemerged with a short spear in hand. He took aim on Fen who was not far below him.

Only Fen’s elf-blooded reflexes saved him from a spear in the chest, but the spear bit through his druid’s cloak and pinned to the ground. The redcap leader ducked back into the tree as Fen looked up in fury at the creature.

Fen laid his hands upon the trunk of the tree and spoke the unknown tongue of his order. Energy pulsed through him to the tree...or was it the tree’s own energies pulsing through the half-elf and back again? With a roar of anger and determination, the trunk of the tree rippled and lurched beneath Fen’s mental commands. It, literally, seemed to spit the redcap out of the hidey hole into the flailing vines and roots below before Fen removed his hands and the tree returned to its normal shape.

Pyrnion landed. He withdrew his axe and chopped open the small cages. A half dozen pixies in a myriad of colors became visible and sparkling with their colors as they all cheered in a chorus of tiny shrill voices all at once.

“There’s still one more.” Pyrnion warned Fen as he neared the leader with his spear level.

“Here it is! Nasty bad Cutty hat!” came the small voice of the yellow pixie as the five they had originally encountered came hovering around the tree trunk, twittling their fingers to release their dusty sparkles. Contained in their midst, floating off the ground and struggling against their magic, was the final redcap. It clawed and snapped toothy jaws at the surrounding pixies who were all easily flitting outside its reach. They levitated the creature over to the writhing vines and tossed it in beside their leader.

Fen calmed the larger area of his spell, the three slain redcaps fell to the ground and proceeded to...melt, for lack of a better term, into the ground, leaving only their red caps and boots and their poorly wrought weapons.

Fen kept the spell in effect, holding the two remaining redcaps. Several pixies were wagging fingers and berating the faye goblins as “Not nice.”

“Now then,” Fen began, leaning in toward the leader redcap and pressing his green flaming spear tip against its rotund round body, “what are you doing here and what are the darklings the pixies told us about.”

“Guh guh gunna tell you, warrior-green,
None o’ darklings have I seen.”

“Great. It rhymes.” Pyrnion said drily.

“Rhyming is wut redcaps do.
Not so matters much to you.” the leader replied with a sneer. He stuck his tongue out at the winged man.

Fen pressed his spear more firmly against the redcap. “Rhymes or no, you will tell us what we want to know.” Fen smiled to himself at the unintended rhyme of his own. ”What happens tomorrow night at the big white stone.”

“Hehehehehe. Doesn’t know. Doesn’t know.
Stupid elfling in the snow.” the leader replied with a throaty chuckle.

“heheheh.” the archer chimed in with a laugh of its own until Pyrnion levels his axe blade beneath the archer’s throat.

“Maybe you now. Or maybe I kill you first so your boss, here, will speak plainly.” the zephari glowered.

“Nuh nuh no. Not me you kill.
Tell them. Tell them. Tell them still!” the archer wriggled in his plant bindings and sounded like he was imploring his boss to talk.

“Squirmy squirm,
worthless worm.
Not one word I have to tell.
We’re not knowing darklings well.” the leader confessed.

“Well what do you know?” Fen pressed.

“Party now?” the pink pixie flitted up into Pyrnion’s face.

“Not now!” the zephari scowled and waved the pixie away.

“Nuh Nuh Know you stop them, not a chance.
Not with spell songs or spears’ dance.
From the shadows they appear
Move like midnight. Sounds no hear.
Through the thicket dark ones roam.
Chased us from our nasty home.
Through the door they wish to come.
You can not stop them. Not a one.” the leader told ending with a sly smirk of obvious enjoyment of his last statement.

“And?” Fen pressed some more.

“Nuh nuh no! No more to tell!
Knows no more and knows it well!” the redcap pleaded.

“If we let you go you leave these woods. Right now. Tonight!” Fen said with a menacing tone.

“Or we will hunt you down and slay you into the ground as these were.” he kicked at the nearest red boot laying upon the black splotch on the ground.

“Cuh cuh can not leave tonight.
Moon is not at fullest light.” the redcap implored.

“The door is closed. Do you not see?
Opens not for you or me.” the archer piped in to explain.

“Or the darklings, apparently. Sounds like you were correct, druid.” Pyrnion said. “Can we slay them now?”

“Suh suh SLAY?! No not, no please!
We will stay quiet, nice, at ease.
Told you all we has to know.
Lets us loose so we may go.” the leader snarled his acknowledgement of their defeat.

“If we let you go, you promise to leaves, erm, leave the pixie wood and harass them, or anyone else in these woods, until you can go through the door tomorrow night. Swear it on the Lady Green!” Fen insisted.

“Suh suh swear? Yes, yes and yes!
Won’t hurts nuthin’...more or less.” the leader tried to slip in at the end.

“No. Won’t hurts nothing. Period!” Fen placed the spear tip at the reccap’s throat. “Hurt nothing at all until you are back in the Faerie Land...or I will gut you, like a fish, where you stand.” Fen tilted his head in a most maniacal way.

Pyrnion looked at him with some discomfort.

“Nuh nuh nothing. None and no one.
Swears I do. It is done!
Lets us go and goes in peace.
Not guttings to us, uh puh pleese.”

Fen stood tall and with a wave of his hand, the vines and roots released the redcaps. They immediately raced for the woods in a scrambled hopping and somersaulting frenzy. THe pixies follwoed them to the edge of the glade, cheering and jeering and throwing acorns and pinecones at their backs.

The icy blue pixie flew up to Fen’s face. “Party nowwwww?”

Fen’s serious face couldn’t help but break into a smile.

“Yes, party now." He dug a hand into his pouch of berries and nuts and tossed a large handful into the air.

The pixies went wild flitting about catching and diving for the tasty treats. Rings of glowing rainbows of light became visible all around the glade and the chanting repetitive songs of the pixie rings filled the air.

Fen smiled at the zephari. Pyrnion rolled his eagle eyes.

Alaria awoke the morning of Midwinter. She laid there and stared at the paneled ceiling as she listened to the chiming of six bells. After the final peal, she rose and wrapped herself in a robe of soft white wool. The pitcher and bowl on the side stand had yet to be filled. With a thought, the magess “washed" her face and hair with a simple cantrip. No doubt she would do so again, with actual water and soap at least once again before the Lordmage’s gala that evening.

Braddok stirred in his deep slumber and rolled over, turning away from her.

Alaria grinned, despite herself. She followed the lines in muscled creases of his bare back. Rhea’s mental message from what seemed an eternity ago, “They are good for some things" replayed itself in her mind, yet again.

Turning back to the shudders, Alaria wondered how much of that had been idle comment, “woman to woman”, and how much had been the Emerald Lady’s psychic prescience to what was to develop between the two of them.

She opened the shudders (which bent into the room) to let the morning light stream into the chamber. Braddok groaned at the new, unwelcome, light but did not wake.

Alaria was surprised to hear a “tap tap tap” at the clear glass windows that filled the narrow opening. There was a bird on the ledge outside.

*tap tap tap* the bird hit the pane with its beak again.

Alaria squinted through the somewhat imperfect glass. It was a wren or nightingale or some other small nondescript bird.

*tap tap tap*

Alaria, puzzled, opened the latch on the window and swung the one beside the bird open.

The creature immediately hopped over to the opening, but stayed on the outside sill. It was a nightingale.

“Good morning, gentle one. What brings you here? I’m afraid I’ve no seed or berry to offer you." the magess said playfully. She expected at any moment the bird would take flight away.

It tweeted twice.

The third time it opened its beak, Alaria was utterly shocked to hear a voice!

“Fen sends his regards to Magess Alaria. He regrets they have been detained by some curious business in the pixie wood. But one way or the other, expect their arrival on the morn.” the bird said.

“I...uh...well...thank...” Alaria began to stammer at the exceedingly odd occurrence.

The nightingale took flight and was gone from view out over the town far below.

“...you.” she finished. ‘Curious business’, Alaria wondered. Whatever could that mean? A shame Fen and Pyrnion would be missing the gala. Though, she had no doubts, Fen would not be missing an introduction to the Lady Elhianne’s young neice.

---------------------

“Remind me never to drink pixie nectar ever ever again.” Pyrnion said from his place on a thick branch of the tree Fen casually leaned against below him.

“Still ill, Pyrnion? Fairy nectar is a singular honor. I would doubt you will ever have the opportunity to partake again. They share it with practically no one that is not of their kin. Not to mention this.” Fen ran his fingers, for the hundredth time that day, through the delicate sparkling pixie dust in a pouch at his side. “We are heroes to this wood, Pyrnion. It is a great privilege that we have earned their trust and devotion.”

“For you, perhaps.” Pyrnion said, squinting out over the field of snow beyond the wood glowing bright in the full moon light. His head still throbbed from the prior night’s “party” that went on to the rising sun. Following many too few hours of sleep, they had been brought to the southern edge of the wood.

There, Fen had recognized and recalled what someone named Festus had once called “the Giant’s Thumb.” It was, as the pixies had said, a great white stone, angled but rounded by age and weather, that jutted out of the surrounding field, currently covered with a solid foot of snow. Fen had posited that the stone must have, once upon a time, been within the wood. But over the ages of the Daenfrii residents' needs for lumber, now found itself about 100 yards beyond the current forest’s edge.

A shiver went through the zephari’s body as he noticed, quite unexpectedly a chill. Must have been his body reacting to the lingering effects of the fairy’s alcohol. He stretched his wings a moment and wrapped them, again, tightly around his person. They’d been sitting here watching for hours.

“How much longer?” Pyrnion asked. “We zepharim are a patient people and much accustomed to keeping watch. But we have been here since before twilight.”

“That is true, but we have no way of knowing when the door actually opens.” Fen defended. He too shivered beneath his druid’s cloak. Whether it was the effects of the nectar or the fact it was actually more cold here, at the end of the faye-enchanted forest, where winter sat dominant upon all they surveyed, he neither knew nor cared.

“It could have opened at the setting of the sun...or perhaps it waits for the silver moon to be at its zenith...I have no way of knowing. Besides, it would be good to see if our mercy to those redcaps is justified or we’ll be hunting faye-goblins for the rest of the night.”

“You are a strange one, druid Fen. Our concerns far outweigh whatever minor enchantments concern this wood. We should be meeting with the others in the Dragonmage’s Vale.”

“And we shall, my feathered friend. But this bares some merit...and may yet prove to relate to our friends in the Dragonmage’s Vale if what the redcaps said was true. Hush now!” Fen said in hushed alarm, wrapping his cloak about him to merge, seamlessly with the trunk of the tree. His enhanced hearing had noted something along the edge of the wood, not far from their position. With a thought, Pyrnion made himself unseen.

From the wood, some ten yards beside their position, the redcap leader and the archer broke the tree line. The leader toted a few feet of branch, using it as a walking stick and breaking the snow before them to make a path. Slowly, the two made their way out, beneath the bright white reflected light toward the stone.

Well, Fen thought to himself, at least they are not complete liars and fools.

The snow came up to their waists and it was obviously difficult for them to wade through the thick layer. Fen couldn’t help but admit that despite their evil nature, watching their round forms waddle through the snow, even these wicked faye were “cute.” He grinned, unseen, in appreciation of the duality of the purity of the Balance.

“Huh huh hurry, the moon is high.

F’not by midnight we surely die.” the leader croaked to his subordinate.

The archer, who it seemed had a full sack thrown over his shoulder and a couple of arrows left in a nearly empty quiver but no obvious bow, hurried his steps behind the leader. After three, he slipped and fell face-first into the snow.

Fen fought back an audible chuckle.

The leader had reached the stone and was continuing on to the right. The archer waddled quickly to catch up and began to go to the left.

“Fuh fuh fool, stupid Nashtoor!
This way. This way. To the door!
Use you feet or wings or fins,
Must approach it windershins!” the redcap commander shouted in near fury.

“Yuh yuh yessir, Bleegerplotz.
I am sorry. I forgots.” the archer replied.

Fen and Pyrnion watched as the redcaps trudged around the right side of the stone. The silver moon must have been at its zenith as the shadows which had been pronounced through the hours they had waited were now nearly gone.

Fen inhaled sharply as his senses tingled...nothing he really saw or heard, exactly, but felt most definitely. There was power emanating off of the stone. He perceived a powerful magic, a force older than he had yet to encounter that all but visually rippled across the frozen field around it.

Without any notice of what Fen was experiencing, the redcaps disappeared from their view, behind the far side of the stone.

Fen watched...and waited. He heard the soft bat of Pyrnion’s wings and felt his weight lifted off the tree against which he leaned.

A few moments later, he felt Pyrnion return.

“They’re gone.” the zephari whispered from his perch. “I flew above and around. The redcaps are just...gone. Their trail just...stops on the back side of the stone.”

Fen furrowed his brow but did not reply. “We will wait a few...” Fen’s sentence was cut off as a lean figure swathed in black emerged into their view, from where the redcaps had rounded the boulder.

A short update...intended as the end of the last...but alas, one cannot always get finished what one intends at a particular sitting.

More shortly.

As always, thanks for reading.
--Steel Dragons.
---------------------

The figure stood for a moment. It (as Fen could not deduce if the figure was male or female) seemed halted by the glare of the moonlight off the snowy field, which illuminated the surroundings almost as well as daylight. It held its arm up over its hooded face or a moment before lowering its opened hand toward the ground before it. Immediately a circle of inky blackness spread out beneath its feet, to a diameter of about 5 feet. This didn’t shroud the figure, but “lay” upon the snow, diffusing the immediate glare, though the surrounding light made seeing it simple enough, even helping Fen and Pyrnion to see detail more clearly.

The figure was armored over its torso and legs to just above the knees in what appeared a finally meshed material of dull black. Its gloves and boots were of an apparently very light material as the folds and edges wavered in some unfelt breeze, though they looked as sturdy as leather. The hilts of weapons, only slightly "less black", hung from their hips. The cloak, which was deeply hooded and completely obscured their faces, was of a similar material to their boots and gloves though did reflect some sheen from the ambient moonlight, giving it a quality as if they wore a garment of liquid ink. It too flowed easily in the breeze that picked up the looser top bits of snow.

A second figure appeared. Then there were five in view and finally, it seemed, a total of eight figure came around the end of the stone. If they spoke to each other, neither the half-elf nor zehari could discern it but each, in turn, followed the first figure’s actions in casting a darkness beneath them until the company stood within a solid platform of black in the midst of the pure silvery white glowing field. They were all identically clad, no hair was apparent, no details of head or face. They stood about Fen’s height, with trim and toned frames. As the redcap had stated, whether through sorcery or some other craft, their slight movements made not the slightest sound upon the fresh snow.

They certainly could be sidhe, Fen thought with some concern, as he took a single step back, moving himself to the opposite side of the tree from the newcomers. Only the side of his face peeked out from the other side, so Fen could watch peripherally. He knew the enchantments of his cloak’s hood would make the edge of his head appear as no more than a natural knot or protrusion from the tree’s trunk.

The movement however, was ill advised, as two of the figure’s hooded heads turned directly toward Fen’s direction. After a second, one pointed at the tree and a voice was heard. It was almost a hissing, but more like a buzzing...with clicking-clacking sounds intermittent, like the combination of a bee and a beetle “speaking” at once. Fen had no idea what was said, other than the word or phrase that easily soared across the 100 yard separation from the stone to the edge of the pixie wood.

“Zzee’teereem!” it said.

That’s not good, Pyrnion thought in amazement. The figure was pointing directly at him. How was that possible? The invisibility of his people was a tried and true cover. They couldn’t possibly see him without magic!

Before the zephari could spread his wings, two of the dark figures were speeding toward him, blurs of blackness crossing the snowy field at an incredible pace. As he did spread his wings to take off, the zephari was startled and actually fell off his perch to the ground below, when violet flames erupted all over his person. He had already hit the ground hard before realizing they did not actually “burn” or “hurt” at all. But he was most certainly visible to anyone in the vicinity now.

“By the Green!” Fen blurted in surprise. He whirled from his place, no sense trying to be stealthy now! He slammed the butt of his sacred spear into the ground and a streak of green lightning illuminated the ground, beneath the snowfall, to end about twenty feet ahead of them.

Even as the vines and dormant roots and grasses ripped up through the snow, the dark blurs altered course. One even used a rising root from the far end of Fen’s spell effect as a step to launch itself up into the air, ripping one of the dully black metal blades from a scabbard as he did so. A “zz-ing” shout filled the air from the figure.

“Are you hurt? Can you fly?” Fen said abruptly, throwing his arms around Pyrnion’s neck.

“Yes, I believe so.” Pyrnion said, making himself visible and doing his best to ignore the purple fires the flickered harmlessly all over his person.

“Go.” Fen said turning to their would-be assassins. One was near enough to begin to take a swing. “GO! Get us out of here!” Fen said in panic.

His a single thrust of his muscled thighs, Pyrnion launched the two into the air. The strike of the short blade cut deeply into Fen’s thigh as he rose into the air hanging upon Pyrnion’s back. The pain was explicit and Fen nearly lost his grip around Pyrnion’s neck. But he held on.

The zephari soared up inot the open night, ignoring the clicks and “zzt-tzz’es” from below. Two small black darts whizzed passed them as they curled up over the treetops and away out of view of the “darklings.”

“Shall we return to the pixie’s tree and warn them?” Pyrnion suggested.

Fen looked behind them and was sure he saw multiple blurry burst of black zipping from branch to branch just beneath the treetops.

“No. We cannot. I do not believe they are actually here for the pixies. We must get to the Dragonmage’s Vale with all haste."

Fen winced as the zephari adjusted his course abruptly.

“So, were those the sidhe godlings you were concerned about?” Pyrnion said calmly.

“I was hoping your eagle eyes could tell me.” Fen said. Mentally noting that it was much easier to hear while they flew laying upon Pyrnion’s back than it was dangling below him.

“I could see nothing of their faces. The darkness within their hoods was absolute. I had thought, perhaps, your elf-blooded vision might pierce it more readily.” the zephari reluctantly admitted.

“I think we’re in trouble.” Fen said. “They were so fast! And they saw you when you were invisible?” Fen stated more than asked.

“It seems so.” Pyrnion again admitted with regret. “I have never had that happen before. It is...unnerving.”

Fen looked down behind them again, they had already cleared the north side of the pixie wood. Fen exhaled a sigh of relief even as he noticed, again, the pain in his leg. As he prepared to incant a minor healing on himself, his eyes widened as one...three...then five...and eight points of blackness left the pixie wood and darted, like small black blurs, from shadow to shadow, tree to tree, to stone to wall to homestead...moving from whatever darkness or shade was present to the next nearest.

Then they stopped as Pyrnion winged his way over the small clutch of buildings that was Farthing’s cross. From the shadow of one of the largest buildings there, they struck out across open field, directly northeast!

“Hurry Pyrnion! We must get to the Dragonmage’s citadel with all speed!” Fen said in concern.

“I am flying as fast as I can, druid.” Pyrnion retorted in mild annoyance. “Hang on."

The zephari pitched and soared almost straight upward, gaining as much altitude as he dared. The sprawling town and towered citadel of the Dragonmage appeared, near the edge of his eagle-like vision. It was well lit for so late at night, Pyrnion noted with a bit of confusion. And lay, directly, to the northeast. A quick scan of the lands beneath them revealed, to Pyrnion’s complete surprise, the zipping clips of darkness shifting from place to place, no more than short lines of black.

This, Pyrnion had to admit, was bad. Pyrnion spread his wings and began to soared at a direct descent for the great towered vale of the Dragonmage. A sudden instinct occurred in him and the zephari sent out a telepathic call to any of his race that might be within “hearing” range.

“<Magess Alaria, may I present my cousin, Primagus Gorum Thesunder and Primagess Ynesthyra.>” Captain Rynthis elegantly introduced the Ablidon Magelord in the courtly tongue of her homeland.

The darkly bearded and deep-browed man, not much older than Rynthis himself or so he appeared, nodded slightly to Alaria. His gold and scarlet flowing layers of robes and finery and the flame-patterned high collor behind him dipped slightly, giving the impression that the illusionary flames all along his trim dimmed a bit.

His wife, the Primagess, was a woman of golden hair that blazed compared to her darker skin. Her adornment of amber and onyx jewels and beading along the length of her volumunous gown and cloak glittered at every slightest movement. She also said nothing, nor did she bow or nod. Though she stood no taller than Alaria there was the distinct impression of her “looking down” upon those around her. Some minor trick of perception that Alaria was sure she exhibited to everyone, perhaps even had built in to her finery.

Alaria curtsied deeply in the compulsory courtly acknowledgement. “<It is an honor, Primagus. Your majesty,Primagess. How fairs Abildon these days? I have...been abroad.>” Alaria said in her less than practiced R’Hathi.

“<We have heard some rumors, Alaria Staver.>” the Primagus answered. “<You have single-handedly saved Miralosta, as I hear tell.>” His voice was sharp, even high pitched for one of his apparent baring.

Alaria flinched at the sound of her family name. She had not realized but in so short a time she had not had cause to use it. Everyone always referring to her as “Magess” or “Stormrider.”

“<The City of Flame endures, as it always shall.>” he finished and seemed to have no more to say.

Rynthis looked at Alaria and then grinned at his cousin and cousin-in-law (from one of the most affluent Ablidon wizard families.).

“<Indeed. Though I would not say ’single-handedly.’>” Alaria admitted. “<I had quite a bit of aid. May I present, Primagus, Braddok Kar Barforth. He was...>” Alaria attempted to get Bradok into the decidedly uncomfortable conversation.

“<You may not.>” the Primagus interrupted. He turned his head slowly to Rynthis.

Alaria quickly shut her mouth.

“<Cousin, I would very much like to see the Lordmage, now.>” he said without acknowledgement or concern for Alaria’s non-magical man.

“<Lord Arganor has yet to arrive. He completes the Blue Star’s midwinter sevice as presided by the Lady Corandralla.>” Rynthis replied without any outward concern or disagreement with the Primagus’ rudeness. In truth, the seneschal would have much preferred attending the services himself but had been bidden to attend the early arriving guests. There was not much Rynthis could not do, but he was not about to decline or argue with the Lord Chamberlain or the wishes of his lord.

“<Corandralla is here?>” the Primagess now jumped in, questioning but evenly measuring any outward surprise. Speaking with her husband’s royal family was, of course, acceptable even if Rynthis had made the inconceivable choice to reside, let alone marry, these mundane folk of the 'Outer Realms'.

“<Indeed, my lady. She and the Lordmage are quite good friends. >” Rynthis replied. He shot Alaria a side long look.

“<If you’ll excuse us, Primagus.>” Alaria blurted. “<It has been a pleasure.>” She quickly grabbed Braddok’s arm and tugged him away from the snooty wizard nobles.

“They’re fun.” Braddok remarked drily as he grabbed two most glasses of bubbling elfvine from a sever with a passing tray.

“They are the rulers of my home province, Braddok. There are none above them save the Archmagus himself.” Alaria said. “My knees almost buckled to just stand before them. Let alone make small talk.” Alaria drank several deep gulps of the heady wine.

Braddok grabbed her and turned her toward him. She looked at him, momentarily confused.

“Have I told you, tonight, how radiant you look?” Braddok said with a smile.

Alaria looked down at her enchanted pale golden gown trimmed in deep blue patterns of clouds, swirleing patterns [to symbolize winds] and lightning bolts. She had gotten fitted earlier that day with enchantements and cantrips that gave the appearance of the winds and clouds swirling, the lightning bolts, never directly, seemed to catch the surrounding light and flare upon occasion. Her thigh high boots and mid-arm length gloves carried the motif up and down her arms and legs. She’d bound her hair up within golden strips the Lady Elhaianne had loaned her. In the interst of propriety, she had opted against the offer of illusions to make the binding seem to spark with lightning along their lengths. After meeting with the Primagus, however, a part of her wished she had agreed to them.

“Only four times, Braddok.” Alaria smiled. “And you, continue to look very gallant.” she returned.

The Grinlian swordsman had had his armor cleaned and polished, multiple times, by hand and magics so that it gleamed with the blue-white gleam of the purest steel. As did all of the warrior types at the ball. His tunic was his signature pale blue with the black swallowtailed hawk of his house blazed within a triangular field of white upon his chest. His hair freshly cut and face freshly shaven. His bright blue eyes even more pronounced against his bronzed skin tone. Alaria had forgotten how tan his natural skin tone was, when not darkened by the weather or layers of grit from the road. Such was the skin of all Grinlian’s within a day’s ride from the Arm of Tyris.

Alaria smiled again at her own thoughts.

“We’re not interrupting I hope?” came a familiar voice behind Alaria.

The magess turned to see Rhea. The Green Witch of Welford and Lady of the Emerald Tear, replendant in a sparkling emerald green velvet full-length affair with a telling slit up the right side. Her dark brown hair still hung loose beyond her shoulders, containedonly in the golden band and teardrop-shaped emerald that dangled between her perfectly arched brows seemed to sparkle even more than usual. Alaria noticed a teardrop shaped emerald also hung from a pendant that hung, just above her amply revealed cleavage.

Alaria almost blushed at the seeress’ appearance and seeming comfort in her display of sexuality.

Upon her arm, a man nearly two heads taller than she. He wore a suit of full plate armor, also polished to a blinding gleam, but a brownish-gold in tone. His helm, ceremoniously tucked beneath his right arm, as Rhea clung to his left, boasted a flowing thick length of sapphire blue hair. His eyes, marginally darker than his plume, were bright and sat well within a strong squared visage. To the strong jaw clung a tightly trimmed beard of golden brown. The hair upon his head was cropped close and short on top, moreso than even Braddok’s dark locks.

“Alaria Stromrider, have you met Londar?” Rhea said casually. “My dearest, this is the Magess Alaria of Ablidon. Also known as the Stormrider. She and her companions have made great strides in the security of Daenfrii in only a few months.”

Londar bowed deeply, took Alaria’s hand and laid a token kiss upon the top of her hand.

“And this is her paramour, Braddok Kar Barforth. He too has contributed to our collective well being. Perhaps you know his family?” Rhea continued directing Londar’s attention to the warrior.

Londar put out his hand, received by Braddok, and the two shook forearms strongly. Londar seemed not the slightest bit embarrassed by the introduction of “paramour.” Braddok could not say the same.

“Londar Draken? The champion of Resahd? I have heard your tales.” Braddok said with a bit too much hero worship.

“And I yours, Braddok. I know of your family, though must confess I have never visited the Barony of Barforth. My understanding was that it was now held by Baron Torist?” Londar replied in a deep baritone that perfectly matched his tall broad frame.

Braddok’s face darkened a bit. “It does, indeed, I am sorry to say. Torist is an usurper and blaggard who unseated my noble father with treachery unbefitting.” Braddok grumbled his reply.

Londar nodded. His face relayed complete understanding and agreement. “I am sorry to hear it. But tonight is not for such political talk.” He smiled warmly at Rhea and Alaria. “Our ladies should find it tiresome, I am sure.”

“Just so, my love.” Rhea smiled in return and squeeed closer to his thick forearm. “Tonight is for celebration and veneration of the Blue Star. The return to the world of light and...” Rhea’s voice trailed off as her eyes were suddenly miles away, looking beyond and through the mage and warrior standing before her.

“Rhea?” Alaria asked cautiously.

Londar took her hands from his arm and looked at her. His brow immediately furrowed.

“You know what’s happening?” Braddok said softly to his fellow fighter.

Londar simply nodded and continued to watch Rhea intently.

“There is...something...coming...it’s just at the edge...” Rhea began to say softly, haltingly, “One moment.” The Emerald Lady blinked and furrowed her own brows. Both her large eyes and the teardrop gem that hung between them began to glow with a bright green light.

Just then Haelan came troting up. He was respendid in a bright white tunic trimmed in deep green patterns of pine boughs and rich brown pinecones. He also sported a new shining silver amulet with the pinecone symbol of Faerantha.

“Oh Alaria, you should have been at the ceremonies of the Witch-Priests. It was fascinating. I think Fen would have enjoyed it. Shame he didn’t make it. Hail and Happy Midwinter to you, Rhea! How’re...you...uhm...Alaria, why are her eyes glowing?”

“Haelan, find Duor. I think something might be wrong." Braddok said quietly to the Hilltender.

“Right." Haelan nodded his head dumbly, his eyes stuck to the glowing light of the seeress' eyes as he trotted off into the crowded hall.

-------------------------------------

Pyrnion sent out a telepathic alarm to those of his kind once more. They were quickly coming up on the town and citadel. Lights filled the night’s air from the ground, both magical and mundane fires throughout the valley below. The dancing and mingling silhouettes of revelers easily visible to the zephari’s eagle eyes.

“I’ve lost them.” Fen said from Pyrnion’s back. “But I doubt that means they are not or soon will be here. Make for the keep. We must find the others and warn the Lordmage.”

Fen scanned the town below, the shadoes specifically, hoping to glimpse any sudden change or the fast moment of spots of “blackness.”

*Halt and declare yourself...-selves...* the forceful but still familiar voice of Rhea sounded in Fen’s mind.

Pyrnion nearly pitched them out of the sky at the surprising, unfamiliar, mental intrusion.

“It’s alright, Pyrnion. She is a friend.” Fen said quickly as the visage of a woman clad in flowing green light appeared to their eyes.

*I know you...Druid Fen?* Rhea’s projection visibly relaxed from her original interposing figure, though still flowed and floated before them with a distinct impression of might.

“Greetings Rhea. We have some disturbing news to bring to your lord...and our friends. There are...”Fen began to explain. He felt a disconcerting prodding of his mind, like the rubbing of feathers across his brain. His head tingled from the root of each individual hair.

*All is understood.* Rhea’s image nodded. *Continue on your course. I will alert the others. Alaria and Braddok are here with me. We shall meet you outside the gates to the tower.* Her image began to fade before coming back into clarity, *Try to avoid the welcoming line. We don’t want to unduly alarm the guests.*

“As you wish.” Fen said aloud.

“You Stormriders have most unusual acquaintances, friend Fen.” Pyrnion said as he resumed his flight path.

“And now, so do you.” Fen answered with a smile (though Pyrnion could not see it)

Pyrnion and Fen alit on the broad shelf of stone that comprised the entryway of the main keep. Their arrival garnered several “oo’s" and “ah’s" at the grandeur of the Lordmage’s gala, attracting such a rare and notable guest as one of the zepharim.
A line of dignitaries, nobles, wizards and priests of various faiths arriving to the party at the midnight hour following the Midwinter’s ceremony at the amphitheater of Manat outside the keep walls. Most slowly climbed the long borad stairs that rose to the great doors of the central hall. About halfway up the stairs was a small flat dias upon which Arganor, his sons Montor and Malac, and the high-priestess of Manat, Corandralla stood in gracious reception.

Rhea, Alaria, Braddok, and some great tall warrior in plate awaited their arrival. As they landed, Haelan, Duor, the satyr Jovias, and the violet-robed Lord Chamberlain came rushing up as well.

“Here now, Rhea, what is going on? The Hilltender said you were in a trance.” Celerion said with both concern and annoyance.

“Here are your answers, Celerion.” Rhea said curtly, as the zephari and druid came again to solid ground.

“Alaria, there are some faye-beings all in black coming here, even now. The pixies called them ‘darklings’ and said they would be seeking to lay waste to the Lordmage’s house.” Fen said as quickly as he could.

“Darklings? Whatever are darklings?” Duor said. “Yer takin’ the word of some pixies?! Nasty lil’ things. Probably playing a joke on you, druid. I’m back to my ale.” without a ‘by your leave‘, the dwarvish rogue turned to return to the party.

“I am afraid, Rhea, I find myself in surprising agreement to the dwarf. Though I will not so quickly dismiss your intuitions. Show me.” Celerion said, more to the seeress than the arriving messengers.

Without a word, Rhea’s teardrop emerald again sparkled and all those present found themselves in a link of thought and image. Pyrnion and Fen’s encounter with the pixies, the redcaps, then the dark lean figures that emerged from the stone. Their short altercation and the fearful dots of black zipping from shadow to shadow against the snow laden fields beneath their frantic flight. When the mental translations were complete, Rhea apologized for her abrupt intrusion. “It simply is easiest.” she said finally.

Celerion’s wiry greying eyebrows rose upon his wrinkled forehead.

“KEEP!” the elderly elf chamberlain shouted.

Immediately a sphere of blue-white light came into being before the elf.

“Lord Chamberlain?” Its multitudinous voice hummed in the night air.

“Put the citadel on Security Alert: Sapphire. Lockdown all essential areas. Inform the Lordmage and Princes to enter the Great Hall, at once!” Celerion said to the sentient ball of light.

“As you will, Lord Chamberlain.” the ball replied immediately. Then, with a bit of personality the companions all found odd and a slightly more feminine tone to its voice(s), “But what about the Midwinter’s Gala? What about the guests?”

“They needn’t know a thing, yet. Get the Lordmage and princes into the hall. The party may continue, hopefully, unabated or disturbed. Inform the Captain-at-arms to inform the guards to hold further guests due to...” Celerion had to stop to think for a moment.

“Over capacity?” Haelan said in an attempt to be helpful.

The elderly looked at the halfling with a surprised grin. “Over capacity, Keep. Initiate!”

“As you will, Lord Chamberlain.” the ball’s many voices replied in unison as the light faded from view.

The companions could see, even as it disappeared from their location, the ball of light formed far down the broad starcase, upon the flat dias area where the Lordmage et.al. were receiving guests. After a moment, the Lordmage took Corandralla’s arm and whispered something to her. Montor and Malac took on a grim look and bowed deeply at the next nobles to arrive at the platform. Almost in unison, the three nobles and high-priestess of magic rose into the air and flew with some speed, over their guests, and into the great hall. The huge, dragon embossed doors did not close, but a curtain of pale blue light became visible, seeming to “pour” from the keystone. The guard at the huge doors suddenly had double the number of guardsmen rushing to it from either side tower.

“What do we do?” Haelan said, ever-eager to help.

”Celerion, what is it? Who are they?” Alaria asked, ever-inquisitive for answers.

“I pray you do not find out, Magess. Quickly now. Come with me, I shall see you back to the party.” Celerion offered.

“My lord, if we can help defend the keep then we would do so.” Braddok said, drawing his enchanted blade from its sapphire studded scabbard.

Londar clasped a large hand upon Braddok’s shoulder. “As a true Steel Dragon would.” his smile through his beard in the deep baritone. “Would you ask Rhea or myself to simply ‘return to the party’?” Londar asked the elf.

Celerion nodded. “You young ones will be the death of me some day.” he shook his head.

“Keep!” Celerion said, again, forcefully.

The ball of blue light appeared once more.

“Permit Magess Alaria and her companions, here, Sapphire access to all areas.” Celerion said plainly.

“As you will, Lord Chamberlain.” the ball said simply.

“That is all.” Celerion replied and the light dissipated.

“Heed me, Stormriders, and heed me well." Celerion said with a degree of seriousness that gave all of the companions chills.

“If I am right, and I pray to all the gods and arts that I am not, these are ShiDaeiri. They will be ruthless and incredibly powerful. What they want here, I can not say, but they must not attain it for, whatever it may be, it will be ruin and evil for the realms. Destroy them if you can. Flee if you can not. Am I clear?” Celerion finished with expectant lavender eyes.

“Well what if we...” Haelan began to ask.

”Pff, there‘s only eight of them.” Braddok tried to bolster the mood.

“Am I clear!?” he said with almost a manic twinge in his eye.

“Yes, Celerion. Where can we serve you?” Alaria said, the severity of this situation was gaining increasing weight by the moment. If Celerion was this obviously concerned by the ShiDaeiri, things were about to get very bad.

“I would suggest you return to your chambers and arm yourselves properly.” he turned to leave before turning back with a mad look on his face. “Stormrider! Where is the Ihs Repahl?!” Celerion said suddenly.

“I left it in our chambers. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to...” Alaria began to reply.

“It is appropriate now. Get it, immediately, and return to the Great Hall for protection.” Celerion said even as her waved his staff with a flurry and disappeared in a whirlwind and low rumble of thunder.

With a thought, Rhea’s gem sparkled again and the Green Witch was surrounded by a few inches of green light before she began to float up into the air. “Come, my love.” she said we must search.” she said out loud.

“Can you not sense them, dearest?” Londar questioned.

“There are far too many minds here to pinpoint anyone. I will have to be near them.” Rhea responded.

“Fen and I are already armed. We can aid in the reconnaissance.” Pyrnion said and with a single beat of his wings rose into the air, beside Rhea. “They should not be hidden to my eyes."

Rhea nodded approvingly.

“I’ll survey the grounds.” Fen replied. “Can you keep us...uh...mentally in contact?” Fen said, not truly understanding the woman’s formidable psychic powers.

“Keep!” Rhea said. She continued as the blue ball of light reappeared, “Maintain communications of all activities with the Magess Alaria and her companions.”

“As you will, Rhea Willowlake.” the voices replied. The ball split into three smaller spheres. One went to float near Alaria. One beside Fen. The third rose to hover near Pyrnion’s shoulder.

“Good luck to you Stormriders. To us all.” Rhea said and began floating away over the courtyard far below.

Pyrnion flapped again and soared off after her.

Londar donned his helmet with the blue plume. “We shall meet again, my new friends. The gods’ grace watch over you.” He took a small palm-sized length of metal from his belt. In a moment, it blazed to a full length halberd in his hands as he sped off away toward the long staircase.

Fen gave his friends a grim faced nod and followed him.

Alaria turned to the remaining companions. “You heard them, let’s go.”

Alaria, Braddok, Haelan, Duor and Jovias raced up curving staircases and through long corridors that gave way to more stairs as they climbed through the northern tower to their chambers. The small, palm-sized ball of blue light that was some iteration of “Keep” bobbed and floated along with them, easily keeping pace.

Periodically the voices were heard, reporting, apparently from elsewhere in the citadel.

“All portals shielded and holding.” the many voices of Keep relayed to all who were listening.

“This is Captain Daeror to all Watches. Two guards have been found dead on the south wall parapets.”

“Sergeant Hurbin, here. Three dark figures are moving across the base of the south tower. Gods they’re fast! Moving to eng-urk.”

“South Watch move to the...where the hells...*clang* clang* AAH!” Daeror’s voice cut off abruptly.

“Two intruders detected on transept bridge five.” the voices of Keep said dispassionately.

“Intruders engaged in the western gardens. Four of them are trying to gain access to the northern tower through the western garden. Shields seem to be holding. They...”

“All Watches this is Rhea. Captain Daeror is dead. Converge upon the north and south towers. Hall guards remain vigilant. We are moving to intercept the intruders on bridge five.”

“West watch, acknowledged.”

“South Watch acknowledged.”

“East Watch acknowledged. We can see them on the bridge from here. They haven’t gained entry at either side...They...they’re gone! Disappeared in a ball of shadow.”

...

“North watch?” Rhea’s voice sounded again.

“North watch?!”

A moment later the cold voices of Keep again spoke, “North Tower garden entrance portal has been breached. Intruders in the North tower.”

“Aren’t we in the north tower?" Haelan said with concern.

“Yes, Haelan." Braddok said as the party reached their chambers.

That was cool! Love the communications network set up by the Keep, very good at keeping up the tension of the encounter even though the characters were running to Alaria's chambers.

Thanks once again for a great update SD!

Alaria dashed into their chambers, feeling the tingling of magic pass over her as she moved through Keep’s mystical security barriers. She immediately dashed into the bedchamber she and Braddok were sharing these days.

Halaen raced for his own chamber (which he fully expected to be sharing with Fen and Pyrnion when they arrived to stay).

Braddok slammed the door shut behind them, bolted it and leaned against it heavily. Kandu pulsed its blue light in his hand.

Duor, who had worn his ethereal dagger to the festivities, showing off the green-flaming blade in attempts to impress the serving maids, headed for the chamber he and Jovias were sharing to get his other weapons.

“Stay here. Watch the door with Braddok.” the dwarf instructed his henchman.

The satyr nodded in compliance. “If I may, Master Braddok?” Jovias asked even as he pressed a hand against Braddok’s side to move him out of the satyr’s way.

When met with a look of questioning annoyance, the russet haired satyr simply smiled and pointed at his elf-like tapered ears and wiggled them visibly. Braddok took a reluctant step back and let the satyr minstrel press the side of his goat-horned head against the door.

Alaria immediately grabbed the Staff of Azanna and scooped up the satchel in which she’d stashed her pouches of spell components and the Ihs Repahl. as she swung around to rejoin the others in the living space/sitting room the emotionless voices of Keep emanated from the blue ball of light that floated in the chamber near her.

“Portal shielding breach in the North Tower.”

Alaria stood, stilled with alarm, facing the light ball as if it were speaking “to” her instead of simply reporting.

“Level 4.”

Jovias looked up at Braddok, his face full of concern. The warrior mentally calculated that they were, in fact, on Level 4.

“Guest Chambers.”

Haelan reentered the communal living chamber from the short hall that led to the other bedrooms, his shield and mace in hand. His gaze was glued to the window of that chamber and the dark shapes that seemed to be moving outside the wide tall windows of that room.

“Suite B.” Keep’s voices said immediately before the window pains flew open before him.

One dark cloaked shape was in the room, leaping effortlessly from the sill to the large round table where the party took their meals. Before anyone could react, the figure outstretched an open hand toward the large roaring fireplace and the chamber was doused in darkness as the flames were enveloped in a cloud of black.

A second dark figure moved through the window, seemingly crawling along the wall beside it. A single bound brought it to the wall near Haelan and a second bound brought it to rest, momentarily, above the darkened fireplace. The inky cloaked figure had a short dull black blade in each hand.

Haelan noted with alarm as a thick viscous fluid dripped from the edges of both blades.

“Beware! Their blades are poisoned!” Haelan managed to yell.

Braddok, in a single bound was upon the figure on the table even as a third appeared on the window sill. His swipe with Kandu took a large chunk out of the table where the “darklings” had been at the beginning of his stroke. Before the blade could land, however, it had jumped up to...and now stood?!...upon the ceiling!

The ShiDaeiri in the window lunged forward only to be surprisely halted and jolted back by the neck for a moment before, seemingly, flying backwards out of the window.

Pyrnion, outside the tower, heaved back on the inky black cloak, up, over himself and flung the figure from the window toward the hard stone courtyard below.

The creature fell, tumbling heels over head about half way to the ground before halting its descent in mid air and righting itself. With a buzzing snarling response to the zephari, it withdrew two short blades of its own and began floating, at a significant speed, back up toward Pyrnion.

The winged ranger withdrew his elegantly crafted hand axe and prepared to dive to meet the creature in battle.

Just before they were within striking distance of each other, the ShiDaeiri was shunted to the side by an apparently very solid beam of green energy. Flung several tens of feets to the side and down.

Pyrnion turned in surprise to see the othe end of the green beam connected to the teardrop gem upon Rhea’s brow as the glowing Emerald Lady came floating up beside him.

“Go! Help the others. Get the Ihs Repahl to the Great Hall! I’ve got this.” Rhea said forcefully.

Pyrnion began to protest until he saw a blue corona of light shaped like a dragon appear in the air not far from them. The Dragonmage-apparent, lord prince Montor, materialized in the air beside Rhea. As a thundering bolt of sapphire blue energy left the wizard and struck the still disoriented floating darkling, Pyrnion nodded and winged his way back around to the party’s chambers’ window.

Two sword strikes clanged loudly off of Haelan’s rounded shield. Haelan’s attempt to strike it off of the mantel had fallen short and now, the daelvar Hilltender was on the defensive, being forced back with slicing black blurs of blades.

*TANG* T-TANG*

The clashing of weapons occurred on the other side of the room simultaneously as Braddok did his best to battle the ShiDaeiri that had been on the ceiling...then back to the table...then the opposite wall...running along the wall back around toward the window only to launch itself again at the Grinlian warrior. Neither swordsman seemed capable of piercing the other’s deft defensive moves.

Duor now entered the fray, firing a art from his hand crossbow from the shadows down the hall and striking the darkling assaulting Haelan.

The creature’s cloaked head turned to face the dwarf in surprise as the dart stuck out from its forearm.

All Duor could make of the face were two narrow slits of bright amethyst. Something...there was something about the purple eyes that triggered a memory in the back of the dwarf’s mind...but he didn’t quite recall, only that he should be very very scared.

“Don’t like the light, eh?” Haelan took full advantage of the momentary distraction to call for Faerantha’s aid.

“Yaix ar Yomarus Suprimus, benifica Faerantha urmu!” <cleric spell: Continual Light>

With a chiming ring through their chambers, light burst into every room and corner, bright as the sun.

Both “darklings” were immediately stunned, halting their attacks to cover their cloth wrapped faces with this arms and hands as they buzzed and clicked and hissed their obvious displeasure and discomfort.

"Everx zaar!" Alaria's voice boomed through the chamber.
Two bolts of violet-blue energy struck into the ShiDaeiri near Braddok. The warrior saw the energies surrounding Alaria’s outstretched hand in the doorway of the bedchamber.

Just then, Pyrnion surged into the room through the window and struck it from behind with his axe. At the same time Braddok brought Kandu down, deeply into the creature’s shoulder.

The ShiDaeiri hissed in apparent pain and faltered, but did not fall.

A third bolt of energy slammed into the back of the ShiDaeiri near Haelan. Duor fired his crossbow into the creature again, but it seemed to skirt off the dull black fine mesh of armor that encased its torso.

“Zzt! Hzzik’kikit!” one of the creatures cried out.

Both became surrounded in globes of blackness. The holy light of Faerantha pressed the globes inward until the shadowy darkness clung closely to the figures.

Shielded from the painful glare, the ShiDaeiri near Haelan struck out wildly and managed to clip the daelvar through his white “formal wear” and into his arm.

Haelan cried out in pain as the cut but then steadied his mind to fight through the burning sensation that infused his whole arm almost immediately. Damn! The poison! Haelan knew.

“Duor! Alaria! Help! I’m hit!” Haelan shouted in abject fear and ducked the second blade’s swipe to rush back down the short hall toward the dwarf.

“Jovias, do something!” Duor shouted in command as he tucked the daelvar behind him and the two backed away from the approaching ShiDaeiri. He heard Haelan begin praying to his goddess in muted tones.

“Right. Right. Yes, Master. Right away!” Jovias stammered as he jostled the lyre strapped over his shoulder around to his hands and after a few plucks of individual notes and a solid strum took in a deep breath. Jovias began peeling notes on his lyre as he a harmony rang from his throat.

*CDCFFCG-B-flat-AAAAAAAAAAA!* <DM’s note: Bardic magic, in Orea, is not conducted by “Arcane" magic. They are a way of accessing the natural energies of the physical world, as those used by Druids. Their magics are referred to “spellsongs” [not overtly creative, I know] and require an instrument and/or their voice, depending on the spell, to actuate the magical effect.>

There was a burst of light around the ShiDaeiri moving into the hall toward his master and the Hilltender.

The shroud of shadow around it disappeared and it was again staggered by the glaring yellow-white sunlight that filled the chambers.

The heavily wounded ShiDaeiri, stuck between Braddok and Pyrnion, ducked and bolted beneath the table between him and the magess in the doorway.

Alaria backed away in alarm as the dark shadowy figure emerged from the table (throwing chairs away as he did so) and managed to knock away the Staff of Azanna even as Alaria prepared to swing a shocking blow.

Its violet eyes were pupilless and glowed from the shadows of its hood. The slender eyes narrowed further at the astonished magess, then to the satchel beside her.

It grabbed the purse, using one of its blades to slice the strap around Alaria’s shoulder.

“NO!” Alaria protested.

In a whirl of shadow, even as Braddok was within a step of his mage lover, the ShiDaeiri turned back for the window. It ran up onto the wall, avoiding a swipe of Pyrnion’s axe and dove through the window.

”Are you hurt?” Braddok said quickly, turning to see the last edges of the inky cloak slip through the window into the night.

“STOP IT! IT HAS THE ORB!” Alaria was frantic, pushing past her champion without the slightest acknowledgement.

Pyrnion dove out the window after it without even a beat of his wings.

The second ShiDaeiri staggered and swung wildly with its blades. It seemed to the dwarf, satyr and halfing engaging it that it was entirely blinded by Haelan’s spell.

Pyrnion dove, his wings pressed closely against his body, his arms pressed to his sides.

The fluttering flowing inky darkness beneath him was getting closer and closer until, finally, it too stopped in midair and shunted to the side out of his path.

Wings immediately unfurled and pinions twisted to bring the winged man out of his dive and swing him around to rise back up toward his prey. Pyrnion noted silently at these wingless creatures’ ease of movement when not on solid ground seemed to match their fleetness upon it. The zepharim were nearly unmatched in all of Orea for their agility in the air. These intruders were an unknown challenge to him.

Now out of the painful glare of the light in the chamber, the figure dispelled his shadowy sheathe and unfurled a scroll from somewhere on his person.

*Rhea, we need help!* Pyrnion shouted out telepathically.

*Do as the Chamberlain said and flee if you can. We are otherwise engaged. I’ll be there as soon as I can.* was the disappointing reply, though definitely underlined with an unmistakable urgency and a fear that Pyrnion could perceive in the telepathic connection.

*They have the orb!* Pyrnion returned as he raised his axe over his head and threw it with all of his might.

From somewhere above him, he heard Alaria’s voice crying out into the night.

“Arakness Aknis Arankinae!" <mage spell: Web> A ball of milky white light flew through the air toward the floating cloaked figure.

The floating ShiDaeiri read his scroll and a disc of blackness appeared upright before him.

It looked up and swung an arm as Alaria’s spell struck while it moved forward for the circular wall of blackness. It seemed to shrug off the magic and the milky white ball flew off to burst into a patch of iridescent webbing against the wall of the tower.

“NO!” Alaria shouted again from the window, her eyes wide in disbelief that something just...”deflected” a spell right off of its arm? How was that possible?!

Pyrnion’s axe clipped the creature as it dove into the shadow disc and disappeared. The disc closed behind it and the winged man caught his axe in its descent. He checked the blade.

A small collection of chinks of armor was stuck to the lower-most edge. Maybe the ShiDaeiri had been killed as it fled. But that hardly mattered now, the zephari thought. The Ihs Repahl had been lost. He had failed in his singular task.

With a few beats of his mighty wings, Pyrnion came to land upon the broad sill of the party’s chambers.

The remaining ShiDaeiri had been bound to a chair with a cord of silver-white, whether by mundane or magical means, Pyrnion could not tell. Alaria stood over it with a hand of violet-red flames.

"Where did he go!" Alaria shouted in a fury.

Braddok pulled the hood off of the creature and lowered the wrap of cloth that covered the face from the nose down.

What sat before them literally shrieked at being exposed to the still hanging light inoked by Haelan.

All of the party gasped and a few took a step away.

Bound to the chair was the head and face of an elf. The hair was a silvery white. The eyes, that pupilleess violet, the skin a dusky charcoal grey. But the chiseled features, the shape the eyes, the pointed eyes...all distinctly elvish.

“Is that...what is it?” Haelan asked in his imminently innocent way.

“I never thought it possible...” Alaria said breathless. “It can’t be.”

“But it can, Stormrider.” came the voice of Celerion form the chamber’s outer doorway. The Lord Chamberlain edged his way into the room, his gnarled staff tapping gently upon the floor. He seemed, to all present, weak...older, somehow, than usual.

“A dark elf." the elderly elf stated matter-of-factly, with a discernable mote of defeat in his tone.

"Those of the Blood of Shadow have returned to the world.”

Guards arrived in bright blue tunics emblazoned with the golden dragon, wings outstretched, holding the blue diamond in its claws, the symbol of Daenfrii and the house of the Dragonmage. At Celerion’s instruction, and Alaria’s protestations, the ShiDaeiri was taken away with the Lord Chamberlain keeping close eye on the prisoner. As they left the party’s chambers, the elderly elf turned back to them.

“You are welcome to return to the gala. There will be ramifications to this night’s events we can not, now, guess. you shall be summoned tomorrow, after the Lordmage has been apprised.” Celerion said curtly.

“Celerion, you must let us interrogate this...um..dark elf.” Alaria protested, again.

“Peace, Magess.” the old elf said with a quieting hand upon her forearm. “As the caretaker of the Ihs Repahl, you shall be included in all further actions. But for tonight...we are defeated. You can make the best of it or remain here and lament. “

Celerion winked at Alaria with a weak smile. “I suggest you enjoy the time that is. For tomorrow shall brign all new concerns.”

With that and a small dip of his head as a “good night” to the rest of the party, Celerion departed after the guards.

“I can’t believe...” Alaria began to say, her mind and body fully tense with frustration and anger...and the realization of failure.

“Do you wish to return to the party?” Braddok said.

Alaria looked at him. His lovely new “formal” tunic was shredded in several places. Haelan looked, not unexpectedly, as if he would burst into tears. Pyrnion’s sweat was glistening in the magical light of their chambers all over his bared chest. Finally, she looked down at her own gown and finery.

“Where else shall I ever wear such finery?” Alaria said.

“N’after tonight when’re we ever gunna get an invitation?” Duor added in his typical cynical observational way.

The ball of light that kept them in communication with elsewhere in the Keep reported, simply, “Intruders no longer detected within the Keep walls. Security protocols dismissed by order of the Lord Chamberlain.” When it had finished this report, the ball of light faded from their presence. The party stood staring at each other in silence in the bright daylight-like ambiance of their sitting room.

“I think...I think we deserve a party.” Alaria said with a smile. “Let’s go back to the hall.”

The party, grinning weakly at their obviously defeated magess, returned to the festivities though few found comfort in the trappings of grandeur and promises of the new light to come.