Shadow Games

Faithful

At the heart of the temple of Corellon Larethian, Cecil, Elara, and Arken stood in an audience chamber, their presence commanding attention. Cecil, with his shadow-infused eyes, stood tall and vigilant, his eladrin heritage undeniable. Elara, dressed in her priestly robe, was graceful and composed. Her deep green eyes reflected the light filtering through the stained glass, and a light fragrance added to her aura of divine elegance. Arken, the forged sorcerer, his body engraved with luminous runes, stood stoically by their side.

The audience chamber, adorned with intricate elven sculptures and illuminated by the soft glow of magical lanterns, exuded an atmosphere of reverence and history. A glimpse of the temple revealed majestic arches, ivy-wrapped columns, and frescoes depicting the many heroic deeds of the god.

Elara’s eyes widened with excitement as she gazed at the five grand paintings adorning the temple walls. These masterpieces, each capturing a key moment in the creation of the elves, were renowned among her people. Seeing them again, with their vibrant colors and intricate details, inspired in her a profound sense of belonging.

The first painting depicted the birth of the elves from Corellon's divine essence. At the center, Corellon stood, their form shifting between male and female, humanoid and ethereal. Radiant light emanated from their being, forming the first elves from droplets of Corellon's blood. The newly created beings danced in wonder and joy, capturing the essence of their divine heritage and mutable nature.

The second painting illustrated the elves in their original, mutable state. Corellon, surrounded by a cascade of changing forms—golden waterfalls, shimmering clouds, and mystical creatures—bestowed the elves with the ability to transform and adapt. The painting showed elves shifting forms, becoming various fey beings, and exploring the diverse environments of the multiverse with boundless freedom.

The third scene depicted the moment when the elves heeded Lolth's call to adopt fixed forms. Corellon appeared distant, their eyes filled with sorrow as some elves began to solidify into distinct subraces—wood elves, sea elves, and more. The painting conveyed the internal conflict among the elves and the beginning of their divergence from Corellon's mutable nature.

The fourth painting captured the fracturing of the elven race and their exile from Arvandor. Corellon, heartbroken, cast the elves out, their divine light dimming as they descended into the Feywild. The painting showed the elves transforming into more humanoid forms, with expressions of regret and loss as they left their divine homeland behind, stepping into the vibrant, magic-infused realm of the Feywild.

The final painting portrayed the Eladrin, those elves who chose to remain in the Feywild. Corellon stood in the background, a figure of radiant, mutable light, while the Eladrin embraced their new home. The painting depicted Eladrin shifting with the seasons, their appearances changing from autumnal hues to wintry blues, symbolizing their deep connection to the fey magic that permeated their beings.

Elara’s heart swelled with pride as she absorbed the significance of each scene. These paintings were not just works of art; they were a testament to the divine heritage and indomitable spirit of her people. As she contemplated the grandeur surrounding her, she felt the importance of her mission.

Returning to reality, she noticed the multitude of priests surrounding them. Their expressions mingled curiosity and solemnity, ready to hear the request that would soon be presented.

Elara stepped forward, addressing the assembly with a voice both respectful and resolute. “Honored priests of Corellon Larethian, I am Elara Brightmoon, High Priestess of Sehanine Moonbow. We come before you with a grave request, bearing knowledge gleaned from the deepest realms of madness and from Mystra's Tower itself. We seek an artifact you have safeguarded for centuries—the Shadow Lord’s Dark Armor. Standing by my side is Cecil, his chosen, to whom this artifact rightfully belongs. We beseech you to grant us this relic to aid us in our quest. In return, we stand ready to fulfill any request of equal importance that you may ask of us.”

The priests exchanged alarmed glances, their faces pale with shock, as all eyes turned towards the high priest. His face darkened with anger as he spoke. “How dare you utter that accursed name in this sacred hall? And to bring his chosen one among us, seeking our aid? Have you lost your mind? Do you wish to bring ruin upon this realm, where we have struggled and endured for so long? I thought you one of our own, but this act is unforgivable. You will be condemned, and he shall face death.” As he pronounced these words, a blinding sacred light emanated from his mouth, his words echoing through the temple with a force that shook all present, leaving their souls trembling with terror.

Suddenly, there was a temporal distortion, and the high priest’s words blurred. He found himself repeating “and he shall face death,” but this time, the words had no effect. Arken stood tall, raising his staff high, the runes etched on his body glowing intensely as he countered the death sentence with his powerful magic. Seizing the moment, Elara commanded, “Our Creator has denied your judgment in this court by allowing this ageless sorcerer into its midst. How dare you utter such a power word against one of Corellon's most wondrous creations? He is our brother; you should be ashamed.” She paused, her expression softening. “We implore you to help us. We are not your enemies. We seek peace.”

The high priest, visibly shaken by this event, stared intently at the Warforged. He took a moment to reflect and meditate. In a soft murmur, he began to pray, the whispers of the other priests filling the chamber. “The authority of Sehanine Moonbow is honored here, High Priestess,” he intoned. “We will aid you in this quest. I will not question you further. But know this: from this day forward, your fate is now tied to ours. Be cautious.”

He then commanded, “You will depart at dawn. I am sending you to the Crimson Court to retrieve a treaty. This treaty comes from the Selunite elves of the Forgotten Realms and will allow them to establish peace with a community that has recently left Menzoberranzan to found their new home. If you succeed, we will grant your request.”

Having made his decision, he raised his hand and called for the temple servants. “Escort our guests to the dining halls and ensure they are well-treated.” The servants, moving with practiced grace, guided the group through the grand halls of the temple to a spacious, warmly lit dining hall. As they settled in, exquisite elven cuisine was brought out, and the travelers began to eat, the tension from their recent audience slowly dissipating in the comfort of the temple’s hospitality.

As they enjoyed their meal, the door opened again and a figure entered, drawing everyone’s attention. She was of extraordinary beauty, an elf whose nymph heritage was evident in her striking features. Her hair, a cascade of silver and emerald, shimmered like moonlight on water, falling in loose waves down to her waist. Her eyes, an enchanting emerald green flecked with gold, seemed to hold the secrets of the fey forests. Her pale, flawless skin had a slight luminescence, as if kissed by starlight.

She moved with grace, each step a dance that drew all eyes. Her presence was captivating, a harmonious blend of nymph allure and elven elegance. As she entered, she began to sing, her pure and melodic voice resonating through the hall. Her performance was unparalleled, a display of talent that charmed them all.

Then, walking towards Cecil, she exclaimed. “Ah, it is you, Corellon's most wondrous creation,” she murmured, her voice seemingly caressing the air. “Indeed, you seem a resplendent example.” She gently placed both hands on Cecil’s chest, her enchanting eyes meeting his. In response to her touch, Cecil’s attunement shifted to spring. His hair and eyes took on the vibrant hues of new growth, a brilliant palette of greens and fresh blooms, like the awakening of a great forest at the dawn of the year. The transformation was immediate and profound.

“Unbelievable,” she breathed, her eyes widening in admiration. “Truly wondrous. I have never seen such an intense reaction to my charms. I must discover your deepest secrets.” Her voice held a note of curiosity and sincere admiration, captivating Cecil even more. She then glanced at Elara, whose face immediately flushed with jealousy, her emotions laid bare. The nymph smiled proudly, having discerned the depth of Elara’s feelings in that fleeting moment.

Turning her attention back to Cecil, who held her gaze with calm and unwavering intensity. “It would be wise to abstain from drinking this cup,” he said firmly. She then took a cup from the table and drank deeply, her eyes never leaving his. “Would I?” she replied with a playful and daring smile. “You will be worth much gold and much attention. Your balads will be known should you succeed at your mission, which I want to know all about. Come with me, dear, and tell me, personally.”

Cecil and the half-nymph, now bound by a silent understanding, left the room together, their smiles reflecting a charming and mutual intrigue. As they walked side by side, their graceful movements were perfectly synchronized, drawing the eyes of all who saw them. Her soft and melodious laughter mingled with Cecil’s discreet words, creating an aura of elegance and charm that seemed to shimmer in their wake.

Left behind, Elara’s face was a storm of emotions. Anger and jealousy warred within her, her heart aching at the sight of the evident bond between Cecil and the half-nymph. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she struggled to maintain her composure. Her eyes, filled with a mix of pain and resentment, remained fixed on the door through which they had just left.

Seeking distraction, she turned her attention to Arken, who had remained impassive throughout the exchange. She began speaking to him in Draconic, her voice carrying the edge of her inner turmoil. The ancient and guttural language flowed between them, each word a deliberate effort to anchor herself amidst the storm of her emotions. Arken, ever present, responded calmly, his deep, metallic voice providing a counterweight to her fiery intensity.

After their intense discussions and emotional exchanges, Elara and Arken remained in contemplative silence. The evening progressed, and the fatigue of their journey began to weigh on them. The temple servants guided them to their quarters. Each retired to their own room, seeking rest and comfort, preparing for the journey that awaited them at dawn.