Biographies, Pt. 3: Nikelas Ilanthiel

"Wrong things tend to grow when the garden is tended by the wrong hands."
Itamor, head of the Children of the Tree

Ever since Nikelas was found by Boris and the others in the ruins of the ancient coliseum she felt a growing restlesness pulling her thoughts back to somewhere far beyond her mind. The concern of her occult patron became sharper with alarm and anxiety, and she knew she was both coming closer to her (their) objectives and to a will as powerful as Qellerion's own, and as deeply concerned with the fate of the artifact she now had in possession.

Or, that they now had in possession. For, as unfortunate as it was, her party had also come across another Elf, a cousin of her own people among those who left Feyland millennia ago, and that now resided in the highest abodes among all peoples, far beyond the tallest mountains. She saw Maodar at first with suspicion, and little by little she wrapped her head around what he was and what he was doing. Now, she was sure he suffered from the same demands she was burdened with, but the entity he answered to was not at all clear.

Now, after experiencing an extract of the petty wars waged by less clever folks, she pursued her goal with doubled eagerness. The unleashing of her swift eldritch explosions had become as easy as breathing in the course of each battle, and she knew her potential was unlimited.

He reassured her so every step of the way. With amusement, she recalled the look in the eyes of the half-orc when she came over her in the heat of the skirmish with the Black Orcs and invoked the pure essence of the Fey itself to strike her foe in her vile, undeserving heart. Victory is all the taste she has need for, and she wants more.

She knows she has to be careful from now on. Very careful. Whatever her patron is looking for, it is close and, when the time comes, a very difficult decision will have to be made.

But Nikelas, she is not afraid of the cost.