An Audience with the Lady – Orianna Èirigh – 6.09.2023

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They all had gathered in Orianna’s and Gerhard’s home for their weekly “family meeting” when Henri mentioned receiving an invite to the Court of Sorcery, sent by one Rylas Thanim. These gatherings were something she decided to have after the first one, after their return from the Fountains of Creation. It was just her, Henri, and Calla, and sometimes Gerhard when he wasn’t off doing whatever important task the Staircase needed him to do. Not a tenday or so later, she thought it would probably be best to invite Lucky and Zari. Their paths had already crossed the Primordial Incarnates before they even knew what was really going on. They were as much part of this as the four of them. Then her father joined once he had recovered enough after having his very soul cursed with bitter cold. The latest addition of course was Matches, the closest she has ever come to a cousin or — dare she even think it — brother.

“Welcome, Matches. So happy to have you be part of the family.”

That’s what Henri had said when Matches came to his first gathering and in a way they were becoming something like one. A tribe, in a way. A community for sure. The Archwyrms, the Staircase, and the Primordials. Three sides to a pyramid, three branches to this tree. Three. A powerful number.

Henri’s mentioning of an invitation to the Feydark made Calla uncomfortable, He knew her history, where she was from, yet Orianna wasn’t sure if he cared to ask. So she did.

“Calla, do you have any advice for us?” The eladrin looks at her, wary. “I would like to accompany Henri and, well, I do not have the experience of the Feywild that you do. Any knowledge you have would be most helpful to us.”

“Don’t trust anyone,” came the instant reply.

There’s a beat of silence. “…I see.” Orianna glances at Henri who’s mirth is clear as day in his silvery-grey eyes. She tries another way.

“I know there is… a lot of history we don’t know. We would be here for hours if we were to learn everything from you, Calla. We do not need everything. Just the important parts, the things that will help us navigate our way in a place unfamiliar to us.”

Calla’s gaze drifts over to her but does not rise up to meet hers quite yet. They are all waiting, expectant. With a small sigh, she straightens up and looks each of them in the eye as she speaks.

“The thing you have to understand about the Feydark,” Calla starts, “is that nothing ever intended to be there.”

Her lips narrow. Her eyebrows lift and drop in a kind of sad shrug.

“Things. People. Plants even. They all just kind of fall through the cracks until there are no more cracks to fall through. Everything that’s there is something that someone has lost, and then kind of given up on. ‘Oh well’ they say, ‘I guess that thing’s never coming back’… and mostly, they’re right.

“My people, the Elves of the Feydark, are survivors of a great cataclysm that punched a hole through the Feywild. But the witnesses, they took one look at that crater before sealing it up behind them. ‘Oh well’, they probably said, ‘I guess they’re never coming back’. And then they returned to their courtly life after an appropriate mourning period, I suppose.

“So when I say, ‘Don’t trust anyone', I mean it. Everyone down there is so lost that they’re either clinging on to the very last precious thing they have, or they don’t have anything at all. Most of them have survived near total desolation only to live nigh immortal lives in the most broken place there is. All they can do is scheme and politic and backstab for things everyone else has already given up on, or places with magic so weirdly hypnagogic that no-one with an ounce of sense in their head would want it anyway.”

“Listen, here are the names of the great houses where I grew up: The House of Echo and Ember; The House of Vines; The House of Loss and Loam; The House of Masks and Mazes. These are the seasons they dance through: Smoke; Fecund; Drought; Flood. There is not a palace down there that is not rotten, nor a canal not overgrown. Not a rule written down. Not a mistake that cannot become leverage.

“To the Elves of the Feydark, if you are not born with it, and you cannot take it, it is not worth having.”

There’s a long pause. Henri shifts in his chair, covering his lower face with his hand, eyes intently staring at Calla. Matches shakes his head, mumbling something under his breath, pulling out a cigar but not lighting it, not yet. Lucky’s brow is furrowed in contemplative thought as he and Orianna share a look.

“I left behind a modest library when I escaped,” Calla adds, “I very much doubt anyone’s read a page of it since…”



OBSERVATIONS & EXCERPTS from the JOURNAL of SECOND ASSISTANT ARCHIVIST ORIANNA ÈIRIGH of ASHKHA

It is the first time I have met someone so shrouded and surrounded by spirits that for a moment I nearly mistook Crow for someone else. But not only is he a half-elf instead of a dragonborn, but he is haunted by his spirits — unlike my cousin, who is not in these lands. I would have liked to have found a moment to speak to him about his… family. But so many other things happened that took our attention elsewhere…



It was Henri who insisted we have Crow come with us. He would be the best guide, having been to the doors of the Lady’s sanctum before. Matches, Lucky, nor I could not argue that logic, especially after Calla’s rather vehement description of what the Feydark is like. When we asked how Henri knew who best to ask for help with this, he mentioned it was Lord Jaezred Vandree who told him…



Mystrum is a breathtaking city. The Court of Sorcery is just like the fairy tales my father used to read to me as a child. An enchanted forest with a golden path through its treacherous woods, leading towards a city of towers, all of various types — iron, wood, stone, quarts — with bulbous tops. In the centre of it all, a column of brilliant blue light like the trunk of some ancient, colossus tree, its branches arching over to protect the whole city.

Fey from all over the pass through its skies. For one does not simply walk in this city. Oh no. They fly on gigantic, magical creatures called mythriders!

An interesting point of observation as we flew to our destination: Though there were people everywhere, not a single soul came within five or six hundred feet of the central beam of light…



Henri suggested we go into this meeting with Rylas Thanim as ignorant adventurers, not mentioning anything about the Lady of the Well, the Archwyrms or the Primordial Incarnates. Another prudent decision if only he, Matches and Lucky did the talking. I ensured they would be able to do their best, with a little help from the Cosmos, but I don’t think any of us were quite expecting the party that showed up in Rylas’ room.

Five mysterious, Unseelie Fey were to be our charge. Their goal? To reach The Lady.

Apparently she is the “greatest secret” in the Court, one the Sovereign covets most of all. Any attempt to mention it to Sovereign Farleigh and the Coven of Sorcery garners “a very stern telling off” which I can only assume is fey-speak for repercussions. They think there was some kind of enchantment or illusion on the door when Crow and his party had gone there before. Which was why when they tried to enter it did not go well.

I thought we were doing quite well in our deception. Crow and I staying silent helped I am sure. But then, just as we were preparing to leave, Lucky said “perhaps a draconic poem might be fitting for this expedition.”

The look that passed over the Unseelie leader, Ranni’s face — we may have shown our hand…






As we progressed through the Feydark following the trickle of Well Water and the path that Crow knew, I spoke with Culrith. He seemed the least happy to be there out of all his compatriots and I was curious as to why. Being to the Feydark wasn’t new to him and he claimed to be from the Court of Sorcery. But he would not open up. Paying compliments to his magic revealed that he was able to expand it, make it do more than what would be limited to a single person. I wondered if all fey have this trait when they are in their home Courts. Culrith told me that the first fey that came to the Court of Sorcery drank from the Well. It was for that reason that his magic was amplified.

This supports the reason why Glastor has been here, seeking the secrets and Waters of the Well. Power. It always comes back to that for beings who are… wanting.

Overall, my conversation with Culrith was pleasant, but I noticed he chose to be careful in what he said. He did not want the others hearing what he was telling me. He also seemed to have an air of regret or resignation to him. It reminded me of Henri, in a way. Of the many things he told me though, one thing lingers in my mind like ants in the walls: A deal made is a deal done…



I do not know who this Queen of Air and Darkness is but she is another faction that wants the power of the Well for herself. Lucky managed to get Ranni to admit as much to us…



“That’s quite far enough.”

They all stop at varying paces, confused. Matches, who had been walking closest to Dalis, is the last to fully register the words the dark-haired elf said. Dalis turns around, gaze raking up and down Matches before a cruel smile twists his face. Instinctively, Orianna begins to step forward towards her cousin, but she’s not quick enough.

It was like watching flesh melt mixed with porcelain cracking as pressure built inside a container suddenly too small to contain its form. The Unseelie they knew as Dalis melted/broke apart. In his place was a column of undulating smoke, dark as nightmares and coiling.

Glastor smiles at them as his arm shoots out to impale Kallun in the chest.

They are all frozen in shock.

“No!”

Henri’s voice breaks her out of the shock. Orianna feels her heart beating thunderstorms across her ribs, a fear wrapping its hands tightly over her throat when another voice calls out.

“You are not welcome in the Court of Sorcery!”

Hivlathra was the one who spoke. Except her form was different now too. No longer was it that of the hooded and taloned Unseelie fey that had travelled with them the past half day. She was Cervus, one of the Coven of Sorcery.

A bolt of radiant light flew from her dark veined hand towards Glastor. It struck true — or would have. But Glastor shifted his form to let the bolt fly fight through him, unharmed…




I had to think, and quickly. Cervus used something like a bolt of starlight, similar to what I can do, but Glastor seemed immune to such magic. If I couldn’t call upon my innate Starlight then what could I do?

What could disperse smoke? Air. But perhaps something a bit more opposing would be better.

What is the “opposite” of smoke? Water. It worked, quite effectively!

But then Glastor started casting his own spells. None of the other Primordial Incarnates we have met are able to do that. It was… wrong. Unbalanced. I thought for sure we would not succeed. But Lucky, brave and strong Lucky, stopped Glastor from going any further…



Cervus did not trust us. It was to be expected, I suppose. Henri did his best to explain why we were there. I added that we are more connected to what was going on with the Primordial Incarnates and who may be at the Well, than she probably realised. It was a relief when she let us go onward.

Culrith was still alive, thankfully. Ranni, too. But Kallun was not. She grabbed her fallen ally and teleported away, leaving Culrith behind. I did not want to leave him but neither did seem able to move. Calling upon the Cosmos I left him with a star-jackal to keep him company until he was ready to find his own way. I think he appreciated that. Perhaps our paths will cross again and I will get a chance to ask him.

After checking in with Matches, ensuring he was alright, Crow led us on to the grand, stone door. Last time he was here, one of their party stone shaped the door to create an opening. The aftermath of that did not go well. Crow barely wanted to be back here. Though he was with more informed company this time, we were still about to enter the sanctum of an Archwrym. I did not want to make a wrong first impression for us. So I asked the Stars and She gave me the answer: A herald can open the door…

Kessarax, the Opal Dragon. Lady of the Well. The Maiden of Magic. She is an exquisite and beautiful Archwyrm — and the biggest kept secret of the Court of Sorcery.

Sovereign Farleth made us all promise not to speak about what we saw. A fey promise is not one easily broken, especially not one made to the ruler of the Court that has perfected the Fey Deal. But writing this here is not proving to be impossible, unlike other topics I struggle to even remember.

Speaking with Kessarax was informative for many reasons. She told us there are eighteen Primordial Incarnates. Adai, the First Star, is quite influential amongst them. She would be a great ally to seek out should we wish to gain the allegiance of the others.

The Lady of the Well also informed us that the Crystal Foci can unlock something dangerous.

Two of the Incarnates are locked away in their respective Planes. The First Life and the First Death. If they were to be released it could be catastrophic.

Though he is not Stellarum’s Herald, my father has her bloodline. Could he be used to release these two Primordials in some kind of sacrifice? No. I can’t- I won’t-

I must find him. I must rescue him. I won’t leave him like I did before.

If accepting the responsibility of becoming Stellarum’s Herald means I can save him… if it would help in any way… I will do it. will become her Herald…



As Orianna finished writing, the Kessarax’s words to Henri echoed through her mind, foreboding and full of caution.

“Be careful. You might not be aware of the burden that will be placed on your shoulders.”