The city was in chaos. Crowded in the narrow streets of mud and stone were the marching soldiers of the Highelven Empire. Doors were broken down, anguished, and shrill screams cried out. Iron chains rattled and swords hissed as they were drawn from their sheath. Men who fought back were cut down. The families were torn from their homes and dragged down the streets to the pier. Above, imposing figures wearing robes hovered in mid-air.
It was a city of elves, of Drow.
A dozen ships awaited in the water at the end of the pier, and already, thousands of elves had been thrown onto them. Their voices carried with them their frustration, fear, and confusion, but they were given not an answer or reason, treated no better than animals.
The city was taken, now void of any of its people who were now on the ocean water, sailing to an unknown destination. The elven mages, hovering above, cast their spells. They conjured bolts of fire and set ablaze the city, razing it to the ground in a smog of smoke and embers.
This event would go down in history as the time the Drow were forced from their land and forced to settle elsewhere. The Highelves would supply them with ships they manned, and thousands of Drow would be sent across the sea.
At that time, the invasion of Tel'vane was still ongoing and Erik, along with a few of his knights, took the time to pay a visit to the coven of the witch that had been captured, deep within the thicket of the woods.
It was a cold evening, a somber sky. Wooden signs were posted on the tree bark, warning of the forest being the territory of a nearby coven of witches. It was one made and posted by the locals to ward off children and men from entering the woods, but they only served to tell the dark knights that the witch was not leading them astray.
They rode slowly into the woods, following the scarce path until they eventually came across a small, rural village hidden among the trees.
("This... This is it.") The witch stammered.
As he hopped off his steed, his men did too. The knight whom the witch rode with aided her in getting off.
("Go. Tell them of our arrival.") Erik told the witch from beneath his helmet.
The witch was quick to scurry off into the village, meeting with a woman standing in the field. The witch spoke to her and pointed to the knights. The woman was visibly startled, but their conversation couldn't be heard from so far. They then ran off to the old, run-down manor covered in vines, while Erik and his men walked slowly past the gate.
"Be aware men. We are now guests. Act with mannerisms befitting as such."
His men stood straight, directly behind him. No weapons drawn.
"My lord. What shall we do if they use their magic?" One of his knights asked.
"Do not draw your weapons. I will handle it. I would rather have them join us willingly. The information they may provide may prove useful."
"I understand, my lord."
They would wait for a short time as the witches inside the old manor were being notified. The witches were in a panic, unsure how to act. Through the lines of his helmet, he could see a figure peaking through one of the manor windows.
Three witches would eventually come out of the manor, dressed in thick rags and holding twisted wooden staves. As they got closer, it became more apparent they were not human. Try as they did, they could not hide the feathers that sprouted from their clothing, nor the sickle-like talons grown from their fingers. They looked almost human, yet they shared features akin to avians.
They approached him and his men, fear clearly present on their faces.
The faintest of groans escaped from within his helmet, a groan, a grunt, a hum of consideration before he spoke. ("I am King Erik Alexander Chamber of Innah'vadah. Lord Fall of the Fallenic Temple. This land is mine, and as its citizens, you are hereby given the choice. Be offered sanctuary under my rule, devote yourselves to my service, follow the faith at which I lay before you, and document your identities with the temple. This is in accordance with my kingdom's laws and ways. Refuse, and you will be banished from this land. Refuse to leave willingly, and you will be forced to leave.")
The witch at the center of the three's mouth hung open, her rotted teeth and gums clearly visible. ("Wh-What would that mean for us? Y-Your grace.") She stammered on her words, stuttering even as she fell to her knees. The other two followed, kneeling with their old, ragged skirts, pressing against the cold hard soil.
("You mistake me for a monster.") Through the lines of his helmet, he could see the old witch's pupils, beading erratically.
("F-Forgive me...!") She lowered her head, prompting Erik to respond commandingly before her skin could grace the soil.
("Raise your head.") At which she promptly did, but she did not look back up at him. Her gaze remained focused on the ground. ("The eyes of a witch. You are able to see what others can not. Tell me. What do you see when you look to me?")
The witch wet her dry mouth and then answered. ("Nothing.") She said fearfully.
Erik understood what she meant, being the one to purposefully conceal his presence fully. ("Then you know.")
("I do... Your grace.")
("What of the rest? Do they possess the eyes that you do?")
("I... I....")
("No... Your grace.") The witch to the left answered in her stead. ("We have many young, our daughters and sisters who have yet to fully master the use of magic. There are few of us who have mastered the sight of magic.")
("There is a reason that I came personally to speak to you, rather than sending my men. I have heard of your coven, the inhuman witches of the Aughv'ben forest, and I had hopes that there would be few of you capable of using magic. Tell me. What blood flows through your veins.")
("We... We are the descendants of garpia.")
("You are half breeds. My understanding is that you seduce lonesome men, even take them forcefully for their seed. Then bare the children yourselves. Is this what your mothers and grandmothers did?")
("Y-Yes... This has been our way for generations. As time has passed... Our blood has thinned, and our magic has grown weaker.")
("I will give you until winter.") The witches looked up to him. ("Until then, you will decide whether to leave willingly, or stay and convert to Fallenism. If you decide to convert, you will make the journey to my throne, bringing with you one of your youngest and most gifted to be educated and taught proper magic. You needn't fear me. I have no intention to harm. I offer guidance, knowledge, order, so long as you faithfully worship me as your lord. I expect you to fulfill these requirements before the end of spring. If and when you decide to stay, you will journey to the village past the woods, and you will be meet with my priestess. She will bring you food for the winter, offer you teachings, and arrange for your travels upon the end of spring.")
With those words, Erik departed from their presence, flanked by his loyal men, his shadowy cloak trailing behind him and the young women inside the manor flocking to the three witches on the ground.
By the end of the allotted time, the witches' coven would come to a decision, sending their chosen daughter to be escorted by one of their coven's three elders.
Their chosen daughter was a young girl, no older than fourteen.
They entered the hall, designated as the throne room, located to the left of his palace. They stuck out like snow on a summer day, walking nervously, awkwardly, and wearing old and simple clothing that could not begin to compare to the fine fabrics that Marasia, who was walking by their side in guidance, wore.
They were intimidated by the large, fully armored knights aligning the pillars of the room. They approached his throne where the tall, dark figure sat, elevated upon his throne. Marasia took her place by his side. His three wives' seats were to the left and right of his. Astra and Kalia both cradled babies in their arms.
While the elder witch had not seen his face before, she could guess as to the identity of the man before her.
"M-My lord..." He uttered while kneeling and bowing, her accent struggling to utter the Common words she spoke.
("You do not need to speak Common.") He told her.
("Thank you, my lord. I will continue to practice.")
("Good.") His gaze darted to the young girl who joined the witch in kneeling. The young girl was startled, looking down to avoid the sudden eye contact. ("Introduce yourself.")
His words echoed down the hall for multiple moments in otherwise silence. The girl was too scared to move, prompting the witch by her side to speak on her behalf.
("Feriah!!" She whispered to her in a hushed tone. ("My, my lord... This is Feriah. She is our most gifted youngling")
("I see. Help them to stand.") He commanded one of his knights standing on the sideline, prompting them to help the two stand with a strong helping hand.
("Feriah, was it? Come here.") He gestured.
The girl would move hesitatingly, but would ultimately come before him. He examined her up and down, her body, which was small and frail looking, hardly more than skin and bones. She seemed human for the most part, but she had features that were unlike those of man. Her skin and hair were pale, akin to the shade of pearls. Her irises, a bright yellow, like those of certain predators. Yet the most noticeable difference about her was the feathers that grew from her very flesh. Few grew from her skull, blending in with her hair, while the rest spanned across her arms, from her wrist to her shoulders.
("Raise your head.") At which she would slowly do until she directly met his eyes. He could see the fear on top, yet behind that, nothing but the innocence of a child. She was afraid of being looked at in a certain way, but as he looked face to face with her and he began to speak to her with clarity, her eyelids began to lift. ("From henceforth, you will be granted the title of Second Apprentice to the Lord. You will be my disciple, learning from me and me alone. I will teach you everything from magic to modesty. You will refer to me as your master, and you will learn to be a Fallenic Priestess. Do you have any objection?")
("N-No.")
("Good. These three are my wives.") He extended his hand to his left. ("You may consider them your mothers or friends. Marasia will be responsible for your guidance, educating and looking after you in a way that only a mother would to a daughter. I will allow you to first become familiar with your new life. A change of clothing and a warm meal. As for you, witch.") A glance over to a knight who had approached from the side of the hall. The knight was facing him on his throne, something that no knight without urgency would do. He looked over Feriah to the elder witch. ("You will be sent back with food and clothing for your daughters and sisters.")
("Thank you!")
He arose from his throne. "Different matters called for my attention. I will leave it to you Marasia." Walking off to the side to meet with the awaiting knight.
"My lord. There is urgency."
Through a portal within the local town's church, Erik would cut the long journey to Ferin to a single moment.
On the other side, more of his men were awaiting to inform him upon his arrival.
"My lord!"
"How is the situation?"
From the town's streets, Erik made his way down to the pier with his knights in tow. What he found as he made it past the buildings was over a dozen, massive, Highelven ships of wood and metal, anchored in the water and his soldiers lined up at the railing of the pier, weapons in arms.
What stood out the most, however, was the single elf who sat comfortably in a chair before a small table, centered on the dock, and sipping tea as if he were in his own home. Across from him was an empty chair. Erik made his way and took his seat, and the conversation began.