Happily, my active workaround to all this should tie in nicely to what I was trying to accomplish.
What I was doing should have an effect on my Alter Self and Polymorph Self spells, as long as I was emulating another female halvyr/elf. The magic of the spells always defaulted to ‘average’ when shapechanging, so while a Caster could look like someone incredibly strong, the spells couldn’t really duplicate high Stats unless the Caster already possessed them, or in the case of Polymorph Self, was replicating the average Stats of a race with higher physical Stats, like an Ogre or Hag or something.
A Miracle that should allow me to naturally evolve my Stats to Nogged Perfection as I grew up should work with the Morphing magic to automatically emulate myself at my grown limit, right?
My working Strength as a child or brownie was 6, while my natural Strength was actually 3 now… which was excellent for a 2-year-old elfin, actually. The average adult elfin was 8 or 9, would max out at 16 with the -2 penalty for gender, damn physical differences of the genders and everything.
I watched my Assay acquire a parentheses, and opened it up.
(1/18 →16)
Eighteen Miracles to ensure I could Nog myself up to racial perfection and have an ideal physique.
Sounded cheap to me. I assumed it would follow to Dexterity and Constitution, which was also fine.
Six days to get all that done, and then thirty years for it all to take effect.
It really was a horrible world.
------
I was definitely attracting attention. It was the first time I was approximating my real appearance in anything public, and I was staying on theme, so I was dressed in black and red.
That contrasted pretty heavily with the whites, grays, browns, and greens favored by the local elves, who were basically fair-skinned and haired, lightly tanned by living outside, and certainly none of them with raven-black hair tipped in scarlet like I had. So I stood out like a dark flame in a field of marigolds and the like, heading for the stand of towering trees the Princess of Erendyl, Brittabelle Erewahr, was known to frequent.
I ignored the heads turning to follow me as I glided along with the stone casket on Disk, over which I’d draped the Elven Cloak and set the elven spellbook.
The copse of trees ahead framed a great garden, where the Princess of Erendyl, a golden-haired elfin from a noble family come from the forests of Sidheduiche, was prone to spending her time attending to the fantastic plant life there.
It was easy to see that she was in attendance, because her bodyguards were in place outside the gates. Naturally this was her equivalent of holding court, typical of an elven monarch of sorts, who were light on the rulership of their free-spirited people.
It was nice to see so many Good-leaning souls all around me, although they were definitely suspicious of me and my non-conforming attire and hair, but thems the breaks.
There was a crowd at the entry point, obviously queuing up to see the Princess about this or that matter. Most amusingly, most of them seemed to be humans, which for some reason didn’t surprise me.
Heads turned to see me coming, hard to miss that I was. Don’t see many elfin sure-I’ma-tweens bringing along a floating Disk all the time, especially dressed in blacks and reds like a goth show doll.
The guards were all Tens, but clearly I was a new experience for all of them as I walked up, and they were wondering just how to regard me.
I planted myself in front of the armored elven warriors, all four feet of me, and looked up at them. “Greetings, I am Lady Edge.” They all blinked at my Transyvian accent. “I seek an audience with Her Highness Erendyl concerning the final disposition of a student of hers whose remains I discovered in a dragon’s lair.”
Their amused and curious expressions shifted to something more serious as the implications of what I was saying sank in, and my accent was pretty good at emphasizing the salient points.
“May we examine the remains, young miss?” the officer there asked politely, obviously going to do so regardless.
“As it pleases the captain,” I said in an exquisitely bored and vaguely offended tone.
The humans were whispering as the elves moved carefully to the short casket. The captain respectfully handed off the Cloak and spellbook, then opened the casket carefully, obviously wary of any surprises that might be within.
His expression was carefully neutral as he inspected the carefully folded armor and greaves, the bones arranged compactly, the marks of teeth on all of them, and the cracks from being broken and put back together. He did not touch any of them, although he did murmur a spell to Detect for magic, of which there was none, save on the gray-green Cloak.
“You may wait for your turn with Her Highness,” he said with a mixture of reluctance and respect, putting the Cloak and spellbooks back. “May I ask whose remains these are?”This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.
“Her spirit identified herself as Ellyndrial Ivrinylli.”
“Elly?” one of the other elves blurted out in shock and recognition. “Captain…”
The officer held up his hand. “She will get her turn. Her Highness will call for supplicants shortly…”
I turned to look at the humans, most of them well-dressed in foreign garb and a bit overweight, two Casters among them with non-local attire that was regional Zanzyran in style, looked like Mordhill and Inclu.
I wasn’t impressed by them, and one thing it had been made plain by everything I’d seen about Zanzyr was that conformity among the Caster set was NOT rewarded.
I pursed my lips and blew a Note.
The Sublime Chord thrummed around us. Magic lit up in the heart and soul. The stars blazed in the night sky in the middle of the day. A transcendent music welled up within everyone, Thunder echoed… and then it all went quiet.
The elves there were staggering, two of them having joined the humans now unconscious on the ground, jaws gaping in astonishment.
“There doesn’t seem to be anyone ahead of me,” I remarked calmly, as all the elves stared at me in shock.
There was a twinkling sound from beyond them, something between a chiming whistle and a horn going off. Their heads turned slightly at the signal.
“Ah, Her Highness must be ready. If you could escort me to see her, Captain?” I went on, completely unruffled.
He seemed about to say something, looked at the unconscious men and elves, the latter refusing to wake up so easily even when prodded by their fellows, and regarded me in a newer, wary light. “Please follow me, Lady Edge,” he said, and even offered a proper bow to me.
I inclined my head to him, and, suitably impressed, he led me inside the Princely Gardens of Erendyl.
---
The Princess of Erendyl was rather young for her station, only a hundred and seventy years old. That was still plenty of time compared to humans to gain power, and the competition and strife with the flamenco elves of House Colorajo had made sure that she was motivated to gain the Levels needed to assure the strength of her House against the aggressive and martially-minded Zorozo. She had rapidly gained political experience in a culture extremely unforgiving of the incompetent and foolish.
Having emigrated and with many relatives in Sidheduiche, the Erendyl elves naturally were privy to the Elven Wizard advance schema, something that the Zorozo, for all their martial ability, did not have. Amusingly, that meant in a land of wizards, the Zorozo tended to focus on their martial edge against the Sidhe elves, pursuing weapon mastery in the rapier and becoming master duelists. As the Erendyl edge in magical ability didn’t really manifest until after Ten, it meant the dark-skinned and tempestuous House Zorozo actually were more dangerous than and frequently surpassed most of their Erendyl neighbors in combat.
Princess Brittabelle was a true archmage, however, and Mother’s notes indicated that she was probably the head of the Secret Society of Cryptomancers of Zanzyr, one of the Seven Societies that were truly the quintessence of magic in Zanzyr, possessed of skills and magic like no other mages in the world.
That was why I was here. The spellbook of the slain elfin had also had a dozen Runes inside it, unnamed, but clearly things of power, ready to be drawn upon… and which hadn’t done much for her at all against a dragon, obviously.
They also didn’t seem to be that powerful, but they hinted at stronger applications.
While there were multiple Secret Societies, and I certainly could have qualified for more than one of them, Runecasting promised extreme versatility. I had power. More versatility on the spur of the moment was great.
The area I was shown into was more of a pavilion courtyard, with a single simple throne of lovingly carved wood there, in between carefully grown trees guided into an ornate sun-dappled arch overhead. It was like walking into an outdoors ball room, the grass finer and as thick as any carpet, and the air alive with floral scents no noble hall could imitate.
I had to be careful not to sneeze. Down in the Underdark, there were only mushroom spores to deal with like this. I didn’t need to be showing floral allergies!
Captain Ditryll, I learned his name was, played it completely straight. “Your Highness, may I present the petitioner Lady Edge. She has brought one of our own back to us,” he stated simply, and then stepped aside to showcase me and my Disk.
I promptly swirled my skirts into a very deep and proper curtsy. “Your Highness,” I acknowledged, keeping my head down.
“Rise, young lady,” a gentle voice called out, and I did so.
She was a lovely example of a Sidhe elfin, golden of hair and violet of eye, what might be called a High Elf elsewhere. Her simple yet wonderful silk dress was white, while amethysts seemed to be her demure jewelry of choice, flashing lightly on her wrist, throat, and ears. She affected slippers instead of bare feet, at least when presented like this, and was studying me with fascinated interest.
“Forgive me, young lady, but I cannot seem to place you anywhere in my memory,” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “I am certain a child with an appearance as unique as yours would have generated some gossip somewhere.”
“Your Highness, my father is of Transyvia, and my mother’s tribe does not care to claim me,” I admitted. I tilted my head slightly. “Neither does my father’s,” I added as an afterthought, “and thus I claim no family name at this time.”
“I see.” She studied me narrowly, wondering what to make of me. “It seems you have a tale to tell me, young Lady Edge.” The pseudo-noble title drew a smile from her.
“Yes, Your Highness.” I bowed again. “I was in the Bleaklands and had finished up my killing and butchering of the red dragon Conflagros the Unequaled.” All of the elves blinked at that utterly dry and dismissive statement. “Investigating its hoard, I found the remnants of some of its victims and their belongings, added to the dragon’s hoard that it might bask in the glow of its triumphs.
“After sifting through the remains, I was able to reassemble a half-dozen or so victims intact enough to question as to their identities. Ellyndrial Ivrinylli was the name of the elfin among those bones when I inquired of her where she wished to be returned to. She indicated that you were her teacher and she would prefer her remains be returned to you. I have thus come to remand her remains into your care, Your Highness. Your captain has inspected everything, and she should be safe to inter under the customs of your clan and people.”
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Author’s Note: Amusingly, the list of dates in the source material of the Gazetteer on Glantri lists Princess Erewan as only 70 years old. That is the equivalent of an elven teenager, and somehow she’s the equivalent of a 20th level Caster as the High Mistress of Runes and her husband, the former Prince, has died already, while having at least two children! I’ve popped that up by a century, making her still young by elven standards, but in very competitive Zanzyr, it’s enough to become an archmage.
Also, the elves of Erendyl have a Tree of Life inherited from Sidheduiche, but the Elves of Colarajo do not, not serving the elven Immortal Ilsundal/Corellin and coming from a very different tribe.