Shadow Games

Crimson

As Elara, Cecil, and Arken stepped through the portal, they were immediately met by the sight of the Keepers awaiting them. Their transition to the Crimson Court was smooth, and they found themselves enveloped by dense forests and the eternal twilight of this new realm, imbued with a unique and timeless atmosphere.

In front of them stood five imposing figures, each exuding an aura of power and authority. The Keepers were dressed in crimson and forest green robes, adorned with intricate patterns of gold and silver threads that glittered in the perpetual twilight. Their most striking feature was their headgear—each wore a helmet made of tree bark, finely carved with fey symbols. The druidic helmets, intertwined with vines and delicate leaves, emitted a soft golden glow.

Their leader, imposing in stature, stepped forward. His eyes, serious and knowledgeable, scrutinized the newcomers intensely. “Who dares to enter the Crimson Court unbidden?” His voice echoed in the clearing, both a warning and a demand for respect.

Elara, aware of the importance of their mission, stepped forward confidently. She stood tall and commanded in a clear and strong voice. “I am Elara Brightmoon, high priestess of Sehanine Moonbow,” she began. With a subtle gesture, she invoked a touch of divine magic, her form shimmering slightly as the power of her goddess bolstered her presence.

“We come as emissaries, representatives of the high priest of Corellon, creator of the elves. A mission of great importance. A mission that holds the fate of many beings in the balance. We seek the aid of the Crimson Court to retrieve a treaty from the Forgotten Realms. A treaty destined for the Selunite elves. This quest is of utmost importance to our elven brothers and sisters. Their lives are at stake. Please guide us to your elders so we may inquire about this matter.”

The leader of the guardians looked at Elara with a measured gaze, his expression inscrutable while the others remained silent, their eyes fixed on the trio, assessing their intentions and the truth of their words.

He suddenly burst into laughter. “Our elders!” His voice echoed in the clearing like the sound of leaves rustling in a strong wind. His eyes sparkled with amusement as he spoke. “Our leader, Thalion, is young and Silvanus' chosen. You might find his wisdom enticing. We can lead you to him, but his concerns will be,” he paused, “I recommend leading you to our archivist instead.”

His laughter faded, but the merriment remained in his eyes, softening the serious atmosphere of the introduction. The other Keepers, though silent, shared their leader’s amusement, their expressions also softening. The eternal twilight of the Crimson Court seemed to grow warmer with the shared laughter, easing the tension of the moment.

Cecil stepped forward, his shadow-infused eyes fixed on their leader. “Lead us to your archivist,” he requested firmly. The leader nodded, signaling for them to follow.

As they walked along the dense paths of the Crimson Court, Cecil began gathering flowers, roots, and other natural elements that caught his keen eye. His movements were fluid and efficient, managing to work without hindering their progress.

The Keepers leader glanced at Cecil, a slight smile on his lips. “You seem to have an eye for the flora of our realm,” he remarked softly. “But be mindful, for our archivist, Lirien, is a being of peculiar tastes and habits. He values knowledge above all and has a unique way of discerning the truth behind words.”

As they approached the archives, the structure became visible—a magnificent, labyrinthine edifice woven harmoniously into the forest itself. The walls were a living tapestry of roots and branches, filled with the life and magic of the fey. The air thick with the scent of old parchment and blooming flowers created an atmosphere both mysterious and serene.

Upon entering the archives, they were greeted by Lirien. The archivist stood tall and imposing, much larger and broader than Arken, resembling a giant. His blue skin glistened in the dim light. His silver eyes assessed them calmly and kindly. His long, flowing hair, a cascade of dark indigo, reflected the library’s light. Despite his intimidating stature, there was a grace and gentleness in his movements, a testament to his scholarly nature.

“Welcome,” he said, his melodious voice carrying both warmth and authority, his gaze resting on each of them in turn. “I am Lirien, guardian of these archives. How may I assist you on this day?”

Lirien’s attention was immediately drawn to Cecil’s shadow-infused eyes. He leaned slightly forward, his silver eyes narrowing with interest. “Fascinating,” he murmured, “your eyes hold many interesting truths, ranger. I sense a connection to the shadows, and yet, there is a depth of clarity within them.”

Before Lirien could go further, Elara stepped forward, her voice strong and clear to divert his attention. “We are here on a mission of great importance,” she declared, extending a missive. “Here is an official document detailing our quest.”

Lirien, towering over Elara, graciously bent to accept the missive from her small hand. He unfolded the parchment with careful precision, his eyes scanning the contents with practiced ease.

As Lirien read the missive, something behind one of the thorny walls of the library caught Cecil’s attention. Quickly, he uncorked and drank two small potions, including the mixture he had prepared along the way. His skin hardened and transformed into bark. He turned to Lirien, gesturing upwards. “Would you give me a hand?” he asked.

Understanding immediately, Lirien bent down, allowing Cecil to climb onto his broad shoulders. With surprising ease, Cecil scaled the archivist’s form and hoisted himself into a narrow space among the thorny branches. The thorns scratched his magically bark-covered skin, breaking without causing harm.

A sudden commotion erupted behind the wall. The sound of a fierce struggle reached the group’s ears. “Combat,” Arken whispered, his metallic voice tense.

Lirien closed his eyes and murmured softly to the plants, urging them to move aside. Slowly, the thorny branches began to shift, revealing the hidden space beyond. Through the gaps, they saw Cecil fighting invisible adversaries. His strikes were erratic, missing their mark as the enemy moved with precision, exploiting this advantage.

As the wall fully opened, the invisible adversaries seized their chance to flee, their forms shimmering briefly before disappearing entirely. Cecil, breathing heavily, stood amidst the remains of the battle. The spell fading, his skin returned to its normal state, and his wounds began to bleed.

Elara rushed to his side, her hands glowing with divine light. “Hold still,” she commanded, preparing a healing spell as Cecil removed a poisoned crossbow bolt from his flesh.

“How have you foreseen this? How are you not paralyzed?” Elara asked, concerned.

“The nymph,” he replied simply, a slight smile on his lips. He then pointed to one of the empty flasks on the ground. “Antidote.”

“Invisibility, poisoned weapons,” Elara murmured, immediately recognizing the tactics. “Typical Drow fighting techniques. Some do not wish for peace.” She focused on the crossbow bolt, channeling her divine energies into it.

A soft silver light emanated from her hands, gently enveloping the bolt. Her eyes glowed softly, reflecting her divine connection to the world of dreams. The energy flowed, revealing a series of visions to Elara.

She saw the creation of the bolt, forged in the subterranean depths of Menzoberranzan by Drow craftsmen. Every step of its fabrication was imbued with dark intent and a precise purpose. The vision shifted, showing the bolt coated with a paralyzing poison, carefully applied by an assassin. Elara then saw the moment the bolt was handed to its user.

The final vision revealed the bolt’s journey to the Crimson Court, carried by the assassin.

Elara, her eyes still faintly glowing, carefully stored the bolt. “This bolt was used by a trained assassin,” she said firmly. “What else can we expect from the followers of Lolth? For these dark and fallen elves, eradicating the heretics who have abandoned the depths of their subterranean Underdark home for brighter days is merely a trial to prove their devotion to their malevolent goddess.”

At the same time, Lirien stepped deeper into the library, his footsteps echoing in the silent corridors. “And the treaty is gone. As expected,” he announced, his voice tinged with frustration. Turning to the group, he asked, “What now?”

Cecil, still recovering from the skirmish, looked to Elara for guidance. Elara took a deep breath, her mind searching for a solution. “We must act swiftly,” she said. “The presence of an assassin confirms the treaty’s importance. We need to find out who took it and where they might be headed.”

Arken stepped forward, his runes glowing softly in the dim light. “Lirien, do you have any records or magical means to track who accessed the archives recently? Perhaps we can find a trail.”

Lirien nodded thoughtfully. “Indeed, enchantments have been placed within these walls to record such events. Follow me.”

He led them deeper into the labyrinthine structure, passing countless shelves filled with texts and books. They arrived at an isolated chamber, where a large, finely carved stone table stood. Lirien placed his hand on the table, and the runes on its surface began to glow.

“Show us the last one who touched the treaty,” commanded Lirien. The runes emitted a bright light, projecting the ghostly image of a hooded figure, its movements quick and precise as it retrieved the treaty. The image then showed the figure slipping away through a hidden passage.

Cecil clenched his fists as the imminent hunt awakened his primal nature. His pulse quickened with anticipation, stirring his hunter’s spirit. “We need to follow that passage and catch up with them,” he declared, his voice firm and impatient.

As he spoke, Cecil’s shadow-infused eyes darkened. His skin turned icy blue, his hair seemed to freeze, becoming white, and his breath turned frosty. His connection to winter and his shadowy nature intertwined, creating a powerful aura of dread and fear.

Elara, focused on the task at hand, asked Lirien, “Can you guide us through the hidden ways of the library? Time is of the essence.”

Lirien’s expression became serious, his previous merriment replaced by a shared sense of urgency. “I will guide you. But be prepared; this passage may hold dangers.”

Together, the group followed Lirien as he navigated the less-traveled aisles of the archives, each step bringing them closer to their assailants and the stolen treaty.