The necklace did not, or could not respond to Dasyra. Perhaps it felt a little warmer. Likely, she imagined this.
"The Daen accepts your presence. It does not mean I must like your presence here, undead... but for now, I will tell her of your sucess." With that, the more grumpy ones of the elves disappeared, leaving a slightly nervous guard with Dasyra, albeit not too long. She was then told to wait as the Daen prepared for the ritual.. which she had to, quite a while, but little choice did she have.
When finally, she was lead to a small runic circle, The Wilt-leaf Daen instructed.
"I was told of your sucess.. now, for my part of the agreement, place the accursed blade in the centre of these runes." She instructed, opening up an iron-bound Grimoire:
Dwynen then began chanting and, if Dasyra had not already been a timeless undead, she'd certainly get bored watching the arcane ritual. After a while, the Daen began sweating.. apparently it was not a simple spell, and a few other elves stepped in, taking her place and continuing the chant unbroken, icy mist flowing from the blade and permafrost covering the ground up to the runed circle.
Finally, when Dasyra felt just the slightest hint of her new dark hungers make themselfs known something white and etheral began flowing from the blade, with a crackling, racking of darkness, the supporting chanters growing louder while the Daen focused, and something looking, well.. like an elfish ghost, floating out of the blade, and being pulled towards the slightly purple glowing grimoire. For a moment, Dasyra could see her. Ventus, unbound by the blade.
She wore a traditional robe and armor, almost looking archaic, her lips moving briefly, a dainty, misty hand reaching out, but dispersing, being sucked up into the tome.
She err.. she said 'I'm sorry for the hardships you have to endure. I think Aru'lien means hardship right? ardous task? Burdens? Elfish is hard I swear...
Sylvie translated, while one of the ritual-chanter assistants fainted, the Daen quickly rushing to close the book.
"Good. The ritual was a sucess. She might be able to communicate with you through the tome, but for now, you should let her rest. The sword does not let souls it grabbed go willingly or eagerly.." The elf explained, nodding over to the blade that had bound Dasyras mistress.. and in a way, still did. Without Ventus noble spirit the sword was.. dark. A blade of pure darkness, eating away at all life. It called to Dasyra... Take me. Strike down everyone. End their disgusting life....
But the call was weak, easily ignored, at a distance. The tome, meanwhile, handed over to Dasyra by the Daen felt cool, soothingly so, like a cool breeze on a hot summers day, moisture condensing and freezing a little on its edges, but its power far less oppressive than it had been with the blade.
"The deed is done. Now. Destroy this wretched blade. Leave this place be. You could go through our portals, leading to Arvandor, but you will want to use the faeries ways. Just find a circle of mushrooms, step into it and close your eyes, as you wander out you should find yourself in a random forest on the prime." She looked at Dasyra, then shrugged.
"If you truly are more elf than undead still, navigating your way through the forest to whatever goals you seek to deal with this blade should then be easy."
And with that, Dasyra would consider herself dismissed, a blade of evil undead in one hand, a tome, containing the cooling soul of her mistress in the other and little in the ways of goodbyes, indicating that one would welcome her leaving.. quickly. She still had to wander the strange, alien forests of the feywild and find a mushroom circle though...
it did not take Dasyra that long, even in the alien enviroment of the feywild to find a strange circling of mushrooms, said to be the gateway between the faerie world and the real world .. though she wisely avoided the first one, noticing several small footprints around it, and continued her search, finding a second, less.. faerie infested one to use.
Stepping into the circle, closing her eyes and then walking back out as instructed with a 'woah, didn't think that'd work' comment from Sylvie, she found herself standing in an old but different forest.
It took the undead elven ranger a few days to find her way back to civilization, time during which her hunger grew quite strong... not insatiably so, yet, but it became clearer she was cursed.. if only Ventus was by her side, to feed on, not locked away.. and it would still take a while longer to Port Vaerlin, the human city that housed the adventurers guild she had joined what felt like a rather literal lifetime ago. She found that her body could walk without need for rest, so she made good speed,.. though the mid-day sun was exceedingly unpleasant, forcing her to hide in the shadows of trees. At least she didn't light up like a vampire, but it wasn't much better.
Spectre, Sylvie told her. Spectres were ghosts that stayed vengeful too long and couldn't stand the sun, although it did not destroy them either.
On her way, the dark sword ironically kept her safe from wildlife.One half-orcish bandit was foolish enough to attack her.. he only helped sate her unnatural hunger, which however burned still quite insistant afterwards.
It was about the morning as she neared port Vaerlin, one final rest from that now annoying sunlight before she could meet with the adventurers guild when the tome she had carried along opened on itself, clear, calm handwriting telling her:
Dasyra? Can you read this? I'm starting to feel strong enough to communicate a little. I understand now what you are trying to do. You must have somehow resisted the swords binding and now you have unbound me, right? I wish I had words to describe my deep feelings for your devotion, but I should not write or even focus too much upon this. The sword, it calls to me. It's dark hunger... My soul still belongs to it, I fear, though know that this temporary reprieve from it whispering in my ears is liberation enough, even should you fail.. I don't need to bring the world under the heel of undeath.. I just need you, my obediant bride. But.. this false life still needs to be stopped. But now, my bride, I know what your body and soul thirsts for. Deserves to have.. Sadly, without the sword, my undead body can't be rebuild, but this warlocks tome has offered.. other possibilities I think. I am afraid my 'dirty talk' will be quite lacking, for you wont be able to read and of this, but for your loyalty, your hard work, the least I can do is sate and nurture your perversions, my love, my sweet slave. Behold, one of the spells hidden in this book. Enjoy it as it lasts,.. this will drain me for at least a day.
With this, the writing ended, and instead, the ink began to pool and drip, getting an ooze-like quality of something dark and purple, oozing forth and pooling from the tome before a fully fledged, blue-black phallus formed out of an ink like substance, growing, wiggling like a snake, as did another, and a tinier one, a scent that made Dasyras instincts swim with excitement.... though the magical tentacles were weak, not growing out far.. The elf would have to debase herself upon the tome to sate her hungers..
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