813/Elven Supremacy

Elven Supremacy
Date of Scene:	16 October 2014
Location:	Middle Earth
Synopsis:	In an unfamiliar forest, under an unfamiliar sky, unfamiliar spiders bring unfamiliar elves together. What could have easily been bloodshed is instead turned by cunning manipulation towards... a party invitation for the future. And the possibility of trade between two very different cultures.
Cast of Characters:	592, 599

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Lolth (599) has posed:
    The Multiverse is a large place, and it is full of mysteries. Quenthel had marveled, at first, at the fact that the amulet she was given could keep her in touch with her followers and allies across almost all of it. Then, her heart had fallen, for she knew what it meant. She had to travel from her comfortable city, and see at least some of the sights of the Multiverse for herself.

    The Mirkwood is far indeed from the forests of Faerun, and though to many travelers they might look identical, the beautiful Drow and her entourage could sense the difference in their very bones. They could also sense some of the dangers, here, and it is in a small clearing that we find them contesting with one now.

    The creature is huge; larger than a horse, eight-legged and terrible. The spiders of the Mirkwood are not to be trifled with... and yet the High Priestess is smiling a faint, distant smile as she strokes her hand over the creature's head, and it releases a high-pitched, clacking purr. "This is an adorable one." She muses, looking back at one of her entourage - a serious young woman with a hand crossbow in one hand and a shortsword in the other, "What say you, Erelrafryn? Do you think the masters of this land would protest were we to bring it back with us?"

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     The residents of this sickly forest would certainly not protest if someone took a spider home with them. Once they leave the borders of the woods, Thranduil is no longer concerned with them. If they turned on their master, well, that is just one less outsider to deal with.

     The wind howls through the forest, blowing dead leaves through the twisted mass of roots and branches. The daylight barely makes it through the thick canopy high above, bathing the forest in a dull, cold sort of light. Suddenly, Silvan Elves drop down from the trees, surrounding the group with their bows drawn and daggers at the ready. Guards in their armor come jogging up the path. "Move away so that we may destroy this wretched creature."

Lolth (599) has posed:
    Quenthel's first instinct is to lash out. Pale elves are, generally speaking, the natural enemies of the Drow. Certainly, as the Elven warriors level their weapons, the Drow respond in kind, and Quenthel has to act quickly. Holding her hand up, she speaks in the sharp, clipped tone of someone used to being obeyed. "Do not draw first blood." She demands, and then she turns her red gaze towards the one who spoke.

    She does not move away, but she does face that warrior directly. Her tone softens, even as her eyes narrow. "Come, come. There is no need to resort to violence. The beast is quite pacified, I assure you. Please."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     The elves keep their weapons trained, unflinching. The guard holds his spear at the ready. "You are an outsider to the forest of Mirkwood. That foul creature is from the fortress of Dol Guldur. It is pure evil and must be destroyed. Who are you and what do you want?"

     The other elves drop to one knee in a gesture that indicates that they're ready to take action but they're not exactly threatening Lolth directly.

Lolth (599) has posed:
    Quenthel's jaw sets at the explanation, and she straightens her back. She does not show an ounce of weakness, but nor does she make an aggressive movement, not yet anyway. She stands calm and composed, though the women of her entourage are looking increasingly pensive as they size up their elvish counterparts.

    "I am Quenthel of House Baenre, Matron Mother of Menzoberranzan and High Priestess of Lolth, Goddess of the Dark Elves." She says, imperiously. "She is also known as the Spider Queen. If this creature is as evil as you say, then it is an /affront/ to her holy symbol, and as Her representative, I claim the right to destroy it."

    This seems to get some genuinely shocked reactions from two members of her entourage, though the spider... well, it looks almost like it is sleeping! It certainly doesn't seem aware of its impending destruction.

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     "Your title means nothing to us. If you wish to destroy the beast yourself, you are welcome to do so, but it will not be permitted to wander the forest. We are overrun with these spiders and our orders by the king are to destroy them all. "

     He keeps his hand on his spear, watching the spider pensively. "You are Elves? You are not of Middle Earth. There are Elves outside of our world? Where do you come from? Why are you here? Our orders are to take any outsiders to the King."

Lolth (599) has posed:
    Quenthel's lip curls up into an angered, haughty sneer that could rival any elf's. "You would be wise." She says, slowly, "Not to belittle my title." Suddenly rounding on the spider, the High Priestess draws her whip from her belt - and weaves an illusion in the same instant.

    What the world sees is impressive. The magical weapon - seven blood-red snakes bound into a handle - strike home clear and true across the spider's form, making it scream shrilly and then curl up on itself. Shadows actually lengthen and the darkness seems deeper for a few seconds, before the whip is replaced at her belt. What actually happens, is nothing at all, as the spider simply dozes off beneath the illusory image of its own dead body. It is a gambit; she doesn't know how resistant these elves may be to such illusion, but she can hardly let such a fine creature die!

    "If you wish to take me to your King, then that is agreeable, and I will answer all the questions he may ask. But my servants will dispose of the corpse. The Spider Queen must be made aware of this affront to her image, and I will not be disrespected further."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     "You will relinquish your weapons." The guard says firmly. He looks at the spider, his keen Elvish sight seeing the spider, but uncertain if it is dead or alive. "They will be returned to you upon your departure from Mirkwood." Wood Elves are not quite as wise or elegant as their High Elf cousins in Rivendell. Thranduil and Legolas are Grey Elves, a somewhat rare breed of Elves. The guard offers no apology, he's not there to make friends, he's there to keep the few safe spots left in the demented forest clear of outsiders and foul things.

Lolth (599) has posed:
    "If I hand you my whip." The High Priestess says, "It will kill you. But if you insist, I am happy to oblige."

    Quenthel's tone is, quite calm. It is taking a fair amount of restraint, but... it is likely worth it. She gestures to her entourage, in any case, and four of the six women move to bodily shift the spider's 'corpse' and take it from the Wood, back to the Warpgate from which they had come. The other two begin handing over weapons. The obvious are removed quite quickly.

    Then the vials of poison, spare daggers, backup crossbows and other such items take a little longer to locate and pass over.

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     The guard reaches out for the whip, then frowns and lowers his arm. "Why would it kill me?" He asks as the other guards collect the weapons and carry them along the path. "Shall we journey to the Halls of The Elvenking, then? It is a long and perilous journey. We must go before nightfall. Should the stars appear before we arrive, the forest becomes much more dangerous."

     The guard is not certain about these people. They do not seem as friendly as the outsiders they have enountered before. "Come."

Lolth (599) has posed:
    Quenthel holds up the whip - seven crimson snakes writhing against one another - and smiles faintly. "It isn't personal. She only abides my touch grudgingly."

    Quenthel says little about the night; frankly, she's glad that the Mirkwood is so thick with leaves that the sunlight is mostly obscured. "Let us travel." She agrees, instead. Night is not as comforting as the Underdark, but it is close enough. She does not linger on the path, though, and the Drow move with quick and practiced grace. They definitely are not a friendly lot, these three; bunching together, the two remaining bodyguards seem nervous and on edge... but then, they have been disarmed, and are on unfamiliar ground!

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     The guard gestures for the women to go first, while other guards are in front. "I understand. Please refrain from using any weapons within the Halls. You are but three females, there are thousands of Elves within the kingdom."

     Their journey takes them over massive roots, around trecherous curves on the edge of a cliff whose bottom cannot be seen due to the darkness, and through brambles, which a few of the scouts chop away with their long daggers. As they travel, it begins to rain, the water managing to find a way through he canopy of trees. One of the scouts almost slips, but due to their natural grace, regains her footing. The forest has a way of making the air feel like a thick fog closing in all around, but it isn't much longer before they reach...

     The Halls of The Elvenking. The sun touches the ground, even though the clouds are encroaching on the crystal blue sky. There is green grass here, flowers and living trees. A great waterfall flows down the mountainside into a river that runs beneath the bridge. Guards see the oncoming entourage and open the ornate blue gates to admit them inside.

Lolth (599) has posed:
    Whilst her companions bristle at the implied threat, Quenthel merely nods her head. "I am an envoy of my people." She says, "I have no intention of bringing violence to your home."

    The rain is unpleasant enough a reminder that there's a sky up there; the sunlight is even worse. Whilst Quenthel hides her pain well enough, her comrades are clearly in great discomfort as the three of them hurry towards the gates, and the shade within. The natural light burns their eyes and they are blinking away tears when they make it into more comfortable ground. They do regain some composure before continuing onwards, though. Accursed daystar!

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     "You must understand that we are constantly under threat. We cannot trust anyone." The guard leads them into the kingdom, which is vast and ornate. the pathways are made of roots which have been cut across the top to make a flat walking surface. It is not a place for anyone afraid of heights, that much is certain. The drop would lead one down to a small river running through from a branch of the waterfall outside. They are led up a rather narrow set of stairs that leads to a platform with a large throne made of enormous elk antlers made of wood, twisted roots and branches. It is quite a sight to behold. Upon the throne sits Thranduil, sitting crosslegged with his wooden staff in one hand.

     "You brought me more outsiders. How lovely." He says flatly, rising to his feet. Thranduil is an impressive 6'5, making him a towering figure. "What brings you to my halls?"

Lolth (599) has posed:
    There's no response to the comment about threats, Quenthel is still trying to erase the lingering trace of encroaching migraine from her head. When she stands before Thranduil, though, she has to admit; he is a very tall elf. Perhaps the tallest she's ever seen. As she stands barely over five foot herself, the contrast is... impressive, to say the least.

    "I am Quenthel of House Baerne, Matron Mother of Menzobarrenzan and High Priestess of Lolth, Goddess of the Dark Elves." She says, introducing herself and bowing before the King, as she straightens, she actually answers the question, though.

    "We have only recently arrived in this place. We seek trade, knowledge... perhaps even allies, in these strange times."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     Thranduil looks down at the woman and with a neutral expression steps down from the throne platform to face them properly. His long platinum hair is perfect, nearly reaching his waist. "I see. What is it you have to trade that we would find of value? What knowledge would we gain?"

     He folds his hands in front of him, ice blue eyes locked on her, as if looking right through her to her very soul. Grey Elves have a bit of an eerie look to them, occasionally. "I believe we would need to become allies before any trade would be possible. It is not wise to trade with outsiders when there are so many strange things such as metal giants and metal dragons."

Lolth (599) has posed:
    Quenthel has looked into the eyes of her Goddess, and wondered if she might have her heart plucked from her chest for some insane perceived insult. Whilst Thranduil's gaze is not comforting, the bright red eyes of the High Priestess meet his levely, refusing to be intimidated before him.

    "Your wisdom does you credit." She says, "I have heard tell of many terrible things, but never of a metal giant. Fascinating." And then she smiles. Dazzling white teeth agains tthe darkness of her lips. "We have precious metals, gems, magic. My people... we were driven from the surface of our world by our enemies thousands of years ago. Wood, seeds, and similar such luxuries are worth ten times their weight in gold to us. As for knowledge... I would be remiss in my duties if I did not offer to teach you of glorious Lolth, but we may also offer what we learn of this Multiverse, as we learn it. Maps, threats, and so forth."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     Thranduil lowers his head and closes his eyes for a moment at her compliment. "We too were driven to take refuge in these halls due to the forest becoming corrupted. We do not leave the woodland realm unless absolutely necessary." He looks a bit interested when she mentions seeds. "Seeds. What sort of seeds do you have? We are always looking for something to supplement our gardens. There are many mouths to feed here and sometimes food becomes scarce. As the shadows come closer and closer to our walls, our green areas are being overtaken by the sickness that plagues this forest."

Lolth (599) has posed:
    Quenthel considers the question, and purses her lips. She is not a farmer, but she does know her City well enough. "We rely largely on hardy crops that need little light. Edible fungus, as well."

    She looks about the hall, making a show, perhaps, of taking in the other faces before her attention returns to the King. "I am sorry indeed to hear of your pain. In our time of need, Lolth guided us. She gave us strength, and we have carved for ourselves a home in the dark. It is not comfortable, or safe... but from there, we hope to reclaim what our enemies have stolen from us."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     Thranduil folds his hands behind his back as he seems to look down his nose at them as he tilts his head back slightly. "Perhaps we have something in common, then. We have a similar method of farming, but they are set where the sunbeams can reach them. We once had crops that grew by moonlight, but with the moon missing from the sky I fear those crops will not survive by starlight alone. I am planning a feast under the stars soon. Perhaps you could join. Where are you from?"

Lolth (599) has posed:
    The High Priestess nods her head, "Indeed. We live in an age of ill omen." She says, with a heavy sigh. "We live in the Underdark, in the finest city of them all - Menzoberranzan." Any earlier mispellings of the city's name clearly dealt with as she enunciates precisely. "I would be honored to attend your feast, Your Highness. I will be certain to bring a gift that befits your stature, as this was a somewhat... unexpected audience."

Thranduil (592) has posed:
     Thranduil bows his head again and offers a thin lipped smile. "Then I look forward to your attendance. We will not be difficult to find in the forest. It is where the starlight reaches the ground. Silvan Elves and even Sindaran Elves such as myself prefer the stars while the High Elves prefer to bathe in sunlight. My guards will see you to the entrance of the forest so you do not become lost. Anyone who strays from the path is prone to succumbing to the madness the forest can bring."

Lolth (599) has posed:
    "You are most generous." Quenthel says, with an easy smile, "My people are... uncomfortable with sunlight, after so long beneath the earth. But to see the light of the stars without worrying about a dagger in one's back... truly, I shall wait for the night with great anticipation."

    With no more to say, Quenthel and her attendants bow low, and then simply allow themselves to be escorted to the edge of the forest. Interesting, to talk to an Elf who didn't wish them dead on sight... yes, the multiverse is most definitely full of rich possibilities!