f o u n d e r

"And am I to replicate the Founder's great journey?" All Nid had ever known was the Underdark, the dark crystalline spires of Queen Ayi'ig's world; they'd fabricated it together with the help of the Founder and the other original drow. They'd conquered other places, subjugated creatures to their demands, but the dracaenae had stayed faithfully beside the queen, an Aspect ignorant to the hundreds of realms around them. "What is meant to become of this world if we all abandon it?" Nidhoggr had trouble letting go.

"You wouldn't survive," Faerinaal's grin was a bit cheeky, one that held a bit of mirth. Perhaps the dragon would survive, but they wouldn't need to find out. Traveling through the Underdark was less than ideal at the moment, but he'd take Nidhogg there perhaps. One day. "This world would continue on. This realm...it holds life. But so do all the others. You haven't been far from the tree, have you?" Their worlds had many branches, many pathways, and he was curious if Nid would be able to carve his own.

Sinbyrn knew the best way to demonstrate her worship was to use the strength the Weaver graced her with. She refused to let her battle sense grow dull, which meant giving equal attention to her devotions and her swordplay. Her dark sister hissed in delight as she stood amongst the warriors she'd wounded while sparring. Sinbyrn hoped they'd provide at least a little challenge, but even as tens of them charged her like she commanded, she barely expended any effort when she struck each of them down. "I do hope these were of the newer regiments you're training. Because if they represent your acadamy's standards, I weep for the future of the Court," she says, turning her attention to the direction of the steady footsteps. Sinbyrn stands proudly amongst her devastation, hoping he caught at least a portion of the bout. She wanted the entire Triumvirate to know that she was a cut above. "There must be someone available who has suitable power to train with me. I would hate for my blade to dull from constantly clashing with inferiority. I require a higher caliber of partner."

The Founder tilted his head with a small smile, watching Sinbyrn for a moment. It had been centuries since he'd been in the Court, since he'd built this place with his bare hands, until Ayi'ig requested that he'd return home. He'd seen monstrosities beyond Sinbyrn's imagination, and like a child, she stood there. "Then perhaps you should've brought it up with Ayi'ig if you truly had something worthwhile to add." But she hadn't, and still, the Founder remained at the top. The general was weary, but not too weary to hold a fight. He enjoyed all drow who could fight, who showed a minuscule of talent, "You stand above many, but don't think above all."

Ayi'ig's missive had been to claim the Faerie Court, the Otherworld, as the hierarchy of drow; her reign upon such conquering had been fleeting, but Nidhoggr took small comfort in the realization that shed had achieved when she had long aspired for. "My loyalty was to the Queen," one who had released a subjugated and incensed mind, a writhing beast turned into divinity, "But make no mistake that while I may not kneel to you, my loyalty remains in her absence." It needed not to be said and though Nidhoggr smirked at the mild implications of times long passed, there were small victories to look forward to as they all grieved.

Ayi'ig had been but a pawn in the world of Lloth's choosing. They all knew this, and even Faerinaal, who believed that Lloth was still there to guide them through the hands of her chosen leaders, knew that Ayi'ig had her end. Whether or not it was to remain her end would be seen. "You see things too small, Nid. There are worlds beyond ours, Ayi'ig a tool in another storyline. Don't find your loyalty misplaced in a figure that used to be."

"Within my mind? I still grieve. But in spirit? I've never been more well prepared." Ayi'ig's assassination had silenced the dragon for some time. In the wake of her passing, the dracaenae had found himself on the chaotic shores of Nastrond, perhaps in reminiscence of a loyalty that could not be replicated again. The Queen of Drow had freed him from such chaos, forged a friendship that would surpass the ages of udadrow since passed, but Nidhoggr would not go timid in face of her demise; it only bolstered his restless need to accomplish what she once vied for. "Are you to disappear again?" There's a lapse of understanding there spliced with hope that the Founder would not slip away when needed most.

“No.” Not with his position, not with his nephew so close once more. Faerinaal had seen the Underdark, he’d traversed worlds that had swallowed others whole. He was accomplished, and the dark elf no longer needed to push for realms that were not theirs. The former Faerie Court suited them well; perhaps it was less of a hatred now for a society that had struggled to thrive. Ayi’ig had given her people a home, and she’d given her life for it. “I’ll stay because we need order. We no longer need to kill each other to survive, but the matriarchy stands. We have priestesses that will do Lloth’s will.” Lloth. A rebel queen herself, a story lost to the ages that even Faerinaal couldn’t tell if it was true or not.

"I hope you will not hesitate when your blade is called upon," mercy and hesitancy was weakness upon the drow and it could be taken as a mocking insult as she chided the Founder. They were all original creatures of a dying age, the rest of the drow molded within their image as she, Faerinaal, and Felandaris were called from the cosmos to enact Ayi'ig's will. Nyloth and her sisters had agreed to utilize their prayer to enact Aegnor's downfall, the destruction of his forces, but it was Faerinaal who seemed keen on delivering the fatal blow.

“Am I known for my hesitation?” Faerinaal pulled his blade from the ground, the sharpened edges of it singing with an old revenant from the Underdark. An old friend that he’d had with him for centuries upon centuries, and even now, he put his trust in it for the war that raged around them. Another fey was cut down, another lycan whose pelt would warm the halls of the Drow Court — and Nyloth simply stood by and prayed. “Death is necessary for survival, and for the rebirth of this miserable realm.” Faerinaal knew there was magic in all things, even in this mortal realm that was being torn in two around Rome. “Those who stand against us will only meet their death.”

As all of the fallen high elves of Hyperborea were resurrected and constructed to the original visage of drow, Nid was freed from his chains in the same breath. Faerinaal was the subject of favoritism that could only propel Aegnor so far, the Prophet's failure still a stench upon them as the Founder settled into the role as though he'd never left. "Seemed almost too easy," it was an affirmation, the ichor of the Moonfolk staining armor and coloring blades; the soratami conquered and at the mercy of the court of Drow. "Their stagnancy did not absolve them from war." There was much to accomplish but the dracaenae turned divine had learned to savor in the goals accomplished, even for just a mere second.

Nid was a welcome companion, an old friend that surpassed death. Faerinaal cleaned the blood from his blade, though he kneeled to close the eyes of the deceased that he had cut down. Many were mindless, ready to bloody all those they came across, but Faerinaal was too old for things like that. He enjoyed a fight, never to cross someone in the back like one had done to the Soratami that was killed in front of him. The drow had been dealt with, sent back to the Underdark, and the general turned to his old friend, "No, but they were a grand people. One that will help us in the coming fight, no matter their fate."