In the Fel Woods

A fetid breeze blew in through the open window, ruffling tattered curtains and sending bits of dust swirling in little eddies in the corners of the room. The breeze was warm, and it made Serephel’s flame red locks flutter around her face. Sitting on the windowsill, she frowned, a hand absently coming up to brush some of the hair from her face, taking care not to get it caught around the two small horns that thrust forward from her forehead. 

She sat in deep concentration, her other hand steadying the tome that was in her lap, her knees keeping the book upright as she studied the intricate spells that seemed to crawl across the page, the foul fel magic difficult to read and decipher even for those long attuned to its use. The elf was pale, her skin pale from days spent indoors or in darkness studying secrets best left undiscovered. She dressed as a peasant commoner might; the fabric of her white shirt wrinkled with time and age and her striped purple and blue skirt pouring off the edge of the windowsill. Beyond this and the strange horns on her brow, she was much like any other Sin’dorei with her lithe figure and knife-shaped ears.

The room itself was dim, the interior of the tower’s top filled with workbenches and tables that were covered in tomes, crinkled old parchments and candles that burned with flickering green fires. In the far reaches of the domed chamber lay the debris of the previous occupants, the piles of dust from furniture that had decayed centuries before and marble seats and benches stripped of their fine cushions. Holes in the walls hinted at places where expensive sconces once stood and where banners once hung proudly.

All of this was lost on Serephel however; she had claimed the old Highborne tower a few years ago, clearing out those rooms that she needed and keeping the others in ruins where they were unnecessary. It had taken much time and effort to break down the magical wards that lingered on the place, and she had only done so successfully because she used the very energy that had destroyed the Highborne in the end anyway, fel magic. 

She paused in her reading, her vibrant green eyes gazing out into the distance of Felwood. The forest was twisted and vile, the trees weeping fel energies in places and the creatures mutated by dark powers from long ago. Most sane people would not even consider traveling in such a place, let alone claiming it as their home. It suited Serephel perfectly however; where else could one so deeply seeped in fel magic find a place that would serve as a home and base of operations. This was not to say that the venture had been easy, for just beyond the wards that she had placed upon the Highborne ruin creatures roamed that would tear a traveler limb from limb. Even from her vantage point she could see gnolls and other foul creatures moving through the underbrush. They could never touch her up in her perch however, and had long ago learned valuable lessons about what would happen to them should they try. 

In the distance she sensed a disturbance that made her frown, manicured hands gently closing the tome in her lap as she peered out into the tainted wilderness beyond her sanctuary. It was not unusual for battles to unfold deep within the forests as various factions vied for control of the tainted woods. Occasionally adventurers would travel through the area, battling the satyr or gnolls that each tried to claim different areas of the region as their own. The battles were typically short lived however, and what she sense now was different somehow. Beyond her gaze, somewhere in the fel mists, arcane magic was being used in great abundance.

Serephel whispered a word in demonic, the harsh syllables coming from between her pert lips. Her fingers fluttered in the intricate motions of the spell, the air before her condensing into a fel green eye that hovered before her. She pointed out the window, her tone harsh, “Go.”

Instantly the summoned eye darted out into the forest, Serephel’s gaze distant as she saw through it. Twisted forest seemed to flow beneath her, the eye darting across the distance in a heartbeat. When something caught her eye, Serephel mentally commanded it to slow and then come to a stop, the gaze of the eye locking onto the object of her interest. In a clearing some distance from her home, a group of satyr walked through the murky forest, a few bending over the crumpled forms of Sin’dorei that lay dead on the ground. While this would not ordinarily have mattered much to Serephel, the fact that the dead Sin’dorei all appeared to be well dressed, armed, and wearing expensive garments unusual for a party of adventurers did matter.

“Well well, what do we have here?” Serephel purred, releasing her hold on the eye. She rose from her place on the windowsill, setting her tome down and walking over to a nearby desk. There she snatched up a simple white wooden staff, a gem on its top sparkling with purple energies for a moment as she grasped it. She turned towards the window, barking out another spell in harsh demonic, a hole tearing open in the space before her and connecting here to there with magic. With a grin, Serephel stepped through the portal, fel energy wrapping around her and transporting her to the clearing.

After a second of disorientation, she stood in the dark forest, her staff in her hand and her gaze meeting those of the first surprised satyrs. They hissed, several taking a step back from the new arrival while the others circled cautiously, growling at her. None dared approach too closely however, for they were quite familiar with the horned Sin’dorei.

“What do you want, witch?” one of the satyr growled at her in demonic. It hefted a blade, as if wishing to bury it in her chest which, in Serephel’s view, it likely did.

“I will examine the fallen,” Serephel stated in a cold voice. “Be gone while you still may.”

One of the other satyr grinned, laughing at her and causing several of the others to chuckle and growl. It stepped closer, its voice a hiss, “Maybe you will join them.”

“You’re new around here, aren’t you?” Serephel said merrily. Before it could respond she brought a hand up and snapped her fingers. Fel magic flared and instantly howling green flames exploded around the satyr that had spoken, engulfing it in fire. It screamed, its arms flailing as it ran away into the forest only to collapse in a flaming heap nearby. 

The other satyrs growled, several of them drawing blades or beginning to conjure spells. Serephel rolled her eyes, her already meager patience at its end. She brought her staff up, the tip glowing as the sky above them began to flicker with a strange orange-yellow light. Fires began to drift down, slowly at first and then with more force, small balls of fel-flame slamming into the ground amongst the satyr and exploding. Several howled as they were struck, a few breaking and fleeing as the fires broke their moral. Two others continued their spellcasting, and Serephel brought her staff down, drawing a small dagger from her belt and viciously cutting her own forearm while intoning a spell.

Spells flew towards her as blood welled from the cut, her own life-energy flowing into the magic and wrapping around her like a comfortable shield of warmth. The spells struck the barrier and exploded, the ground around Serephel charring to ash while she remained unharmed within it. She grinned, the look devilish beneath her red locks and horns, and the remaining satyr glanced at one another warily and began to back away. 

“You’re not leaving fast enough…” Serephel warned ominously, beginning to stride towards them. The flesh on her arm glowed with fel green light and slowly began to knit itself back together, blood staining her sleeve as flames began to lick up from the ground around her, seemingly burning from the hem of her dress but leaving the fabric and her flesh unharmed. “I’ll not ask again.”

The remaining satyr growled curses at her and back away, quickly turning to join their friends in retreat. Serephel had dealt with them before, and although they were far more ancient than her they had given up their most valuable possessions when they made their pacts and joined the Legion, their free will. Their spells were as they had been long ago, and Serephel had had ample time to experiment, learn and grow, unfettered by enslavement to the powers that fueled her spells. She had burned the satyr out several times when they dared to interfere with her work or approach her home, and would do so again with gleeful malice should they fail to understand the lesson. 

Once the demons were gone from sight Serephel let her power wane, studying the partially burned clearing with interest. She moved swiftly, her high heeled boots digging into the soft, tainted soil of the forest as she bent over one of the fallen Sin’dorei. As she had scried, the elf was well dressed and clearly had been dispatched as a party with the others laying nearby. A quick check of several of the bodies revealed much the same; the little group had not been adventurers as they bore no adventuring gear or camping equipment, and they had come via magic and had meant to leave the same way until the satyr had ambushed them. A search party of some sort then, and one that was looking for a specific area in the forest. But the question was, why?

Serephel bent down again, searching one of the dead elves for clues. She found one in the form of a pendant he wore around his neck. She yanked on the golden chain, removing it from the dead and holding it in her ritual-scarred palm, studying the golden pendant laying there. The emblem of a sun cresting over three waves glittered there, and she frowned, realizing it was likely the crest of some noble family or house. Shrugging, she tucked the pendant into a pouch at her belt, saving it for later study. 

The rest of the Sin’dorei had nothing further of interest on them, and Serephel shrugged again, turning back in the direction from which she’d come. With the utterance of another spell a fel green portal tore open before her, the scent of brimstone filling the clearing as she passed through it and the raging green energies swept her away.

It was rare that Sin’dorei came to Felwood. Rarer still that they came via magic and in a well-armed party. Serephel’s curiosity was piqued, and she would find out exactly who they had been and what they had been doing there. It was obvious that they’d been searching for something, and whatever it was must have been valuable enough to risk so many retainers. An object of power perhaps? Something that could be of use for her own ends? Or a threat to her quiet solitude and study? Regardless, she would get to the bottom of it one way or another. It was past time for her to travel again anyway; her stock of spell components was running low and she needed several things from the city. 

Maybe this was an opportunity or maybe a threat. Either way, it represented a chance to potentially further advance her power or gain additional resources, and she was not one to pass at such things.