Chapter Text
Cazador Szarr is a MADMAN! Mirenne thought to herself as she fled for her godsdamnned life.
Mirenne had come to Baldur’s Gate from the Feywild several weeks ago to investigate something stirring beneath the streets. Her fea-mir, Hahvulon, was not well-pleased by her insistence she come herself, but something in the gate was eating other warlocks of their Court and she was quickly running out of acquaintances who could hold a conversation with any degree of intellect. The sooner she could find out who or what was taking people, the sooner she could return home to her Love and her library.
Mirenne herself was an accomplished warlock in her own right, with certain additional privileges for being fea-mir to the Archfey she has been pacted with. Though a warlock, she held all the traditional hallmarks of a textbook wizard; a spellbook (a grimoire full of rituals), a familiar (A polymorphed faerie dragon who went by Mey-Kiir, and a delightful companion), and a crystal for focusing her magic (a scale, plucked from her beloved’s hide and gifted so that he may always be with her even when they are parted). The only true similarity between her and a real wizard was her ravenous desire for hoarding books and magical knowledge.
Her long-ago aspirations to become a wizard herself were dashed upon the rocks of circumstance of birth. Born as a water genasi, she was cursed to always carry the water with her, on her skin and in her hair. She perpetually appeared as though she has just stepped from the bath or come in from the rain with water beaded on her cerulean-tinted skin and soaking her hair to a fathomless deep-ocean blue. Every wizard she had ever approached took one look at her watery presentation and demanded she stay far FAR away from them and their precious parchment. One, after the other, after another turned her away like trash washed up on the shore.
For years, she found no comfort in any friend or lover, none wanted to associate with one so strange and some wanted it far too much from whom she would be forced to flee. And her soulmate remained elusive, only known to her through the gentle warmth in her heart that told her they were out there somewhere if only she had the means to find them. So eventually, she stopped entreating mortals and their fallible materials and morals for magic and searched elsewhere. She found a ritual to summon an archfey and dared to enact it.
The ritual did not go as planned and threw every idea she had of what an archfey is and appears to be out of the window from the very moment the magic sparked.
What she summoned was not the ethereally beautiful elven figure she was expecting. What she had conjured into her (in hindsight, far too small) iron circle was a dragon, in all its gargantuan form, shining amethyst scales, wings-spread and roaring splendor. A dragon who, after Mirenne’s initial heart-stopping terror of summoning a fearsome being of such size, became something else in a flash of violet light.
Mirenne lowered her arms from where she had flung them up in fear and to shield her eyes from the flash of magic. What she saw in place of the fearsome and awe-inspiring creature, was a much more humanoid male figure standing in the iron ring she had placed around the summoning. He was clad in a fine silk robe that draped wide across his broad chest, displaying the golden chains draped around his neck and dripping with shimmering violet gems. His handsome face was framed by glittering purple scales that began at his cheekbones and continued up his temples into his hairline where they rose up and arranged themselves in the appearance of a crown, holding back midnight-dark hair that tumbled to his shoulders in loose locs. He held himself with the ease of one who knew none had the power to challenge him and his fathomless eyes shone lavender as he stared at her, waiting.
Trembling, Mirenne rose from where she had fallen to her knees in shock. She dusted off her threadbare trousers and drew herself up. And she spoke, “Greetings to you.” Her voice held a distant echo under it, as if she were speaking with whalesong, courtesy of her aquatic heritage. “You may call me Flotsam. I seek to make a pact with you for magic and knowledge.” Thankfully, her fright only showed in her trembling fingers which she had clasped together in front of herself and not in her voice.
Mirenne waited, heart thudding in her chest as she awaited his response. And a response she got. A deep rumbling sound came from the figure. For a moment her heart stopped, thinking him growling in rage but the sound continued. The entity’s shoulders shook as he threw his head back, sharp white teeth flashing as he grinned. The sound was laughter! The rose from the chest rumbling chuckle to a deep throated sound of mirth. It would have sounded far lovelier, had it not been directed at her and her desperate bargain. When the male figure spoke, it was in a deep, rumbling bass that thrummed in her ears, despite how softly he spoke.
“And why, little Flotsam,” he spoke her given name in a peculiar way, as if it fit strangely in his mouth, “would I take you on as a warlock, hm? Have you something to offer me in exchange for this boon?”
Mirenne’s heart resumed beating, only to sink into the abyss near her toes. No, she had nothing to offer. She had no worldly possessions, save for waterlogged books she had purloined from secondhand shops. She had spent nearly every copper to her name to obtain the knowledge of this summoning and the means to perform it. She could not even bargain with the stereotypical firstborn as she did not have any children, nor did she desire to lay with another to sire one.
“I..” Her voice wavered. She cleared her throat to begin again. “I have no possessions to offer, nor anything of worth to bargain. I can only offer myself to be commanded and my fealty to be held. I have been turned away by all who I sought an apprenticeship with and I cannot bear to live without spellcraft to practice or literature to collect. Please…” Her voice cracked on the last word.
She fought to keep the rising emotion from her face but for one so close to water, tears were impossible to keep at bay. She turned her face to the ground below, blue hair falling in a curtain to hide her shame. She was supposed to be a tidal wave, sweeping and demanding a bargain to get her all she wished, but here she was, a tiny wave, lapping at an unmoving shore. All her life she had only desired two things, magic and reading, and at every turn she had been denied. If she were refused now, she may break entirely. What had she to live for if not even the fey would accept her?
The silence stretched, broken only by the steady drip-drop from her tears and the ever-present water in her hair, as she waited for the archfey to dismiss her, ridicule her, laugh again and spurn her. But he did none of those things when he spoke again.
“Look upon me, little Flotsam,” came the rumbling command.
She hesitated, sniffing, then raised her head, peeking through the fall of her hair. Her gaze rose from his clawed feet, up his robes and chest, and paused at the golden chains around his neck before rising to meet those piercing, lavender eyes. His expression is inscrutable as he studies her expression.
“You speak true, mortal.” He states in a gentler rumble. Then he chuffs, amused, “that puts you above some others who would try to bluff and make themselves more than they are. I see potential in you, that hunger for knowledge should be nurtured, not stifled. Mortals are such fools when they cast aside such prizes for the package they are presented in.”
Mirenne allows herself to dare to hope. Could he really be considering accepting her?
The archfey continues in a louder, formal tone “Very well, I, Dragonlord and an archfey of the twelve Zodiac accept you as my warlock. You will swear your allegiance to me and follow no other lord. You will never use the magic I have gifted you against mineself. You will do as I bid here on the material plane and you will be free to visit my domain in the Feywild once you have proven yourself” He smiles like the cat who got the cream, “And you will give me your name so I may know who I give this magic to.”
Mirenne’s hope curdles into uncertainty. Was he asking for her true name? She didn’t know it, or if she even had one. But if he wanted her name, she would give him the closest ones she knew: the one she was born with and the one she had taken for herself.
She took a deep breath and pushed her hair from her face. “If you ask my true name, I do not know it. I was born Meregor, but I am called Mirenne.”
The draconic archfey smirked, “well met Mirenne. You may call me by my title, Dovathur.” He holds his hand out to her, clawed fingers curling gracefully, beckoning. “Come a bit closer, we do need to seal the deal”
Mirenne feels herself blush, sure her face is flushed purple, as she draws herself inward. She stands up straight, clutching her fist to her chest as she takes halting steps forward until her toes brush the iron circle on the ground.
Her fingers tremble as she reaches out with her free hand and places it in his, “So how will this wor-!”
She gets cut off by Dovathur as he takes her hand and snatches her up and closer until she is pressed against his chest, left standing on only her toes. The moment their skin touches, a warmth blooms in the center of her being and suffuses her to the top of her head to her toes, tingling pleasantly. Now inside the circle, the fey magic was nearly suffocating as it hit her in full force. Dovathur stares down at her in his arms, eyes wide with wonder.
He takes her chin gently between his thumb and forefinger as he whispers, “How can you be…?”
Suddenly, it clicked in her mind. The warmth. The shock on Dovathur’s face. The shock on her soulmate’s face. She had found him. And he had found her. Fate was a funny bitch that day, giving her an answer to her greatest wish and the one who was meant to be hers in the same moment. Her soulmate’s presence and gift of magic was cherished within her from that day on. Shortly after she was taken to the Feywild, he gave her his personal name, Hahvulon.
The next several decades were filled with light, life, study, and joy after she was whisked away to the Feywild as soon as the pact was solidified. Her soulmate, her fea-mir in Sylvan, eagerly taught her Sylvan, the language of the Feywild at large, and Draconic, his own language and the language of many of his subjects. Hahvulon was most comfortable in his true form of an ancient amethyst dragon, but he could transform into a more humanoid form at will.
Hahvulon bowed to her every whim and wish, with very few exceptions. She asked for a library with every story he knew of? Granted, with plenty of lounge areas for her to rest in as she whiled the hours away. She requested a cloak, enchanted to keep her dripping of water in check? Freely gifted and enchanted to appear however she wished (Pale blue and completely closing around her form and reaching down to her ankles when she walked). She requested her bedchambers be converted to a large pool of water because she was most comfortable resting underwater and allowing her aquatic nature to sustain her? Immediately converted and her love transformed himself from his draconic true form and shifted to a sea elf to rest with her.
The only thing Hahvulon ever resisted was when she asked for a teleportation circle for ease of transportation when she wished to travel to the Material Plane on her own. It took several years of asking and persuasion, but it was granted… eventually with the condition that she never travel alone. She was permitted to travel without her dearest love at her side, but he asked that she keep a trusted companion with her. A faerie dragon messenger called Mey-Kiir was happy to volunteer. The circle was located at the edge of the domain, where the fabric between the planes was thinner and easily pierced. The area was a mossy grove near a clear pond with multicolored fish schooling in the water, a fine sight to return to when she was done plane-hopping.
Through the decades, her magical abilities progressed until calling on her power was as easy as breathing, particularly magic related to illusions and teleportation. She developed a knack for levitation as well after years of annoyance at having to chase down ladders to reach high shelves. Mage hand became her most trusted cantrip for both reaching high shelves and turning pages. After a lifetime of not wanting to drip on her books, it was a most welcome asset added to her skillset.
During her studies, she met other warlocks in Hahvulon’s service and became quite friendly with them. They were welcome distractions from her everyday studies and she quite enjoyed hearing the latest news from the Material Plane. Then they started disappearing…
It was only a few at first… one disappeared after being sent to gather information about a strange curse that had consumed a young fey lord. A year later, another vanished after being sent to find the first. Then another and another and another. Then other fey were disappearing, pixies mostly. Dozens over the decades and Mirenne had had enough of losing her peers and subjects to one damned city, Baldur’s Gate.
She pleaded with Hahvulon for weeks to go look into the disappearances herself. He denied her time and time again, begging her to think of her own safety. The argument went round and round for months off and on until news came. Iedheleran, a neighboring archfey, had gone to the Material Plane. Gone to Baldur’s Gate uninvited, which caused many concerns. Everyone on Sanrai’s borders, including Hahvulon and Mirenne, knew about the domain’s nasty habit of perpetually trying to expand whenever Iedheleran fell slack on restraining its growth.
That was the tipping point. If one Archfey was willing to go to the Material Plane to investigate, surely Mirenne should go as well. This was now larger than just their court now. Hahvulon eventually relented and agreed to let her leave, on the provision that she take Mey-Kiir with her and cast sending to confirm she is alright at least once a day.
She embraces her Fea-mir, tuning forks for planeshifting tucked in her pocket. “I swear, my love. I will message every day. I will do my utmost to solve this.”
Hahvulon pulls her closer, with a deep kiss. Pulling back he whispers, “Come back to me soon, my treasure. I will be counting the seconds to your return, and should anything happen to you I will tear through the planes regardless of consequences”
Mirenne laughs and steps back, “I expect nothing less. I’ll keep you informed every day of my search.” She beckons to Mey-Kiir and he polymorphs himself into a small frog for ease of transport and settles himself on her shoulder. She raises the tuning fork and prepares to cast, “Until my return, dearest.”
The last thing she sees as she leaves the Feywild is the longing on Hahvulon’s face, watching her leave. She strikes the tuning fork with a loud, clear note and disappears.