#severonstarter

The sight of the beast turned Felandaris’ stomach, but he had no interest in revisiting any memories of the night the three of them had spent together over Midsommar. “Keep up, creature, you’re dragging behind.” Felan barked as he settled back into the arcanist’s lair. He’d perfected his gates, all that remained was to turn them on but the drow was resolved to wait until the opportune moment. The architect wasn’t without ambitions, for now he would continue to act in secrecy. Only fools showed their hands. There was a saying among drow, offer a friend a knife and you’ll soon find it in your back. Rhovanor was made to carry his instruments, not because Felandaris required it but because it amused him greatly to watch the creature struggle. Spellcraft was where he’d excelled most, the halls of the sorcerers’ academy he’d built was filled with the volumes he’d written. Wizards busied about the chamber, each more ambitious than the last. Cutthroat. Just as Felandaris preferred them. The soratami had held the missing regents he required to complete his gates, a secret they’d been hoarding over for some time, melding it with his shadow magic had been a simple task for him. “What do we say when victory is ours? Quickly.”

Yavie was not a refined tool, he was a very blunt object and the things he’d managed to hobble together were representative of that. He’d been raised a warrior and the things he wished to make always threaded the line of warcraft. While Zahrya was pumping raw power into his changelings, Yavie was more interested in making the entire system autonomous. Subjugating Otherbeasts, and creating weapons similar to what Theneras had crafted. Yavie was having a hard time with all of it though, the tinkerer’s journals had been hidden away by the summer court so apart from the salvaged pieces from the devices Theneras had used, Yavie was starting over from square one. Arys or Levent, whatever his name was, had been kind enough to introduce him to blood magic, which Yavie hadn’t stopped using since. 

Ichor sank into the Otherworld as it melded with his song to calm the creature in front of him. Yavie was aware that he’d drawn the attention of at least one drow, he hoped it was Somniar but the fey wouldn’t hold his breath. He’d have known if the man was close. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Yavie said as he looked over his shoulder towards the shadow, the writhing beast in front of him settled under the fey’s song of enthralment, his blood enhanced the spell as waves of raw magic emanated from the eladrin’s palm. A quick flash of his blade and it’s enormous head rolled between him and the drow. “I’ve been asking myself: what do these things eats? How do they think? Where did they come from?” 

From his chambers in the spire he’d erected over the former Winter court, cruel and oppressive as it overlooked the landscape of snow and shadow, Felandaris looked out to the promised realm. To the place that had been spoken of for millennia as Ayi’ig wove her carefully constructed web to lead them here: to the quarry in the South, the structures that had risen over the four courts and the royal palace, to the darkness that hung over the stars as Felandaris’ spires drew from their fading light. From the ground itself as raw, cosmic magic fueled the workshops and the industry that quietly bloomed under the workforce that had been brought in from the Underdark. 

Large, velvety wings unfurled as he stood upon his balcony that in a single sweep brought him off the floor before he was descending through the open air. It was a feeling that Felandaris was not sure he’d ever tire of, the rush of the wind as it passed over him, the thrill of free falling and then breaking and steadying. The caverns of the Underdark were expansive, gargantuan, but a ceiling above him was nothing compared to the infinity of sky. To the feeling of flight and freedom. 

When he descended amidst Severon’s workshop, within the metallurgy and enchantments of the force that wandered about his wings ceased to beat but Felandaris remained aloft still. The royal drow had lived a very, very long time. More years than he could number as eventually they all began to muddle together, but he remembered the days they spent in the stars, the realm of light that they’d hailed from. It was Felandaris’ hope to usher in a renaissance of this fallen age, one not made for the light elves, but for the dark instead. 

Air and will kept him afloat, a head above the others as he preferred to keep his gaze turned down upon the rest of the world. “Greetings,” Felandaris stated with ease, his smile easy but pointed. Silver hair and gray skin with a pair of purple hues looked back towards his fellow drow, “this bangle is quite useful.” The drow pointed out as he turned the bracelet with an easy flick of his wrist, all at once his wings dissipated, his skin pinkened and his hair darkened to an ashen blonde while blue eyes looked back at Severon. “You were right, works like a charm. I’ve been able to walk among them undetected for months.”