Last Lord of the Fey (Progression Fantasy)

Tristan departed the reinforced barricade, manifesting his wings and flapping them with ease as he ascended. The huge spriggan above the ravine moved away, as did the two that were covering the edges of the realm's border, and the one at the back of the ravine that once held the Daylight Dell. The edges of the realm were prismatic and pearlescent once more, with a neat arch that led into a small tunnel. Tristan could see down that tunnel, and across the battlefield, saw the trees of The Witchwood. Still in umbral, forever twilight.

"That's probably for the best," he said aloud in Elvish. "I would imagine if they suddenly felt a day and night cycle, they would unduly suffer."

You are quite the altruist, Zeltana quipped in his mind. I could get used to this blend of your benevolence and my warmongering. Go into a realm, declare a one on one challenge, and then graft the realm while reinforcing the "branch" leading to it.

Tristan scanned the horizon, and his eyes landed on the enormous mountain in the distance in the blasted, singular tree atop it. Zeltana's place of birth. "Not my intention. It just worked out well this time."

You may want to consider doing more of that. Adding other realms' power to your own, while also taking out threats, and wooing the species and Heritages that live within? That would make you a de-facto ruler of . . . well, every place you did that to.

Tristan frowned. "I don't want to rule everything. Just get vengeance for my mother, grow my power, kill dragons." He began moving toward the blasted tree. "The last two are interchangeable."

Might be worth doing with the Demon Realm.

"They would be unruly," Tristan replied. "I don't think they would take well to a foreign ruler inserting themselves as their new overlord."

I suppose so. Zeltana's voice became distant, and sorrowful. I . . . I regret that the dryads were slain while sealed away. That ultimately rests on my decisions to seal up the realm. I . . . I appreciate you taking the time and spending the energy to make things right and reforge the species.

"I need them," Tristan replied. "I want their help, but I also want to restore the Fey Realm to its former state."

And build upon it.

"That, too."

You may want to consider forging Realm Bridges.

"What now?"

It is similar to making the enclave of The Witchwood. The difference is that location is fully a part of the Fey Realm, just with its own unique section in reality to keep it separate from the rest. But that weird tunnel shape you observed? That can be replicated with a willing Realm Protector. You could make a Realm Bridge between, say, the Fey Realm and the Heavenly Realm which you are already on good terms with.

"And what would that do for us, exactly?"

Simply put, it would allow for travel from one to the other without the need for realmwalking spells. The downside—

"Is that we'd be opening up our defenses to a possible invasion from that Realm."

Yes.

"An interesting idea, but I will pass on that. The Fey Realm should stay isolated, save for our desired points of contact." He approached the mountain; a rocky, hard, pillar-like protrusion that stuck up at the edge of the Fey Realm. The stone was smooth, and coppery in tone. He landed next to the destroyed tree, his booted feet clacking onto the stone like a fine hardwood. "This is where you awakened."

Where I was born. She went silent.

"This will be the dryad's new home. I think I'll call it the Sunlit Summit." He took a seat next to the tree and closed his eyes, focusing on his essence crucible. As he visualized it in his mind's eye, he saw it; glimmering silver with crisscrossing lines that fluctuated and bent in a mesmerizing pattern. Going forth, he opened his eyes and was on the smooth, icy surface once more.

The tree at the center of his inner world was slightly larger, and Zeltana reclined on a couch beneath the branches. Her lips were pursed as she looked up at the boughs. Tristan walked over and took a seat on a comfy chair nearby. "Do you want to talk?"

Zeltana looked at him. She had been crying; he could see the rivulets that had run down her face leaving a small trail of crystallize droplets. "I will manage. I grieved for the loss of the spriggan, I will grieve for the loss of the dryads."

Tristan turned and cleared his throat. "Painting supplies?" Reality warbled in front of him, and a blank canvas appeared, with all of the paints that he needed. Immediately, he set to priming the surface of the canvas as he prepared to make the new version of dryads. "Okay, tell me about them."

Zeltana let out a sigh. "What do you want to know?"

"What did they look like, for a start. Then their personality, and what they could do – we're going to recreate them, just with my vision."

Zeltana sat up and wiped the crystals off of her face. "Well, they are the female version of spriggan. My version of spriggan were more like natural trees, whilst yours are like armored warriors. I would describe them as more feminine trees; juniper, ginkgo, spruce, dogwood, cypress – not as hard. The spriggan were sturdier, so I used oak, walnut, poplar, and ash."

"I'm going to make them humanoid then," Tristan said as he let the canvas sit and he willed a sketch pad and pencil into existence. "Now, let's design . . ." Zeltana peeked over his shoulder and suggested alterations, and Tristan spent gods-knows how long in his inner world, perfecting his sketched outline. He had a vision in his mind as Zeltana spoke. Elegant, graceful, with a thin frame and just the perfect amount of curviness in all the right places. A perfect feminine-appearance pairing to the spriggan's mass. A light, lithe warrior physique, with wooden plates that were less all-covering and allowed for greater maneuverability than what their male counterpart would have.

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"Planning on making them warriors?" Zeltana asked.

Tristan willed the sketch to depart the pad and plant itself onto the canvas, at which point he whacked the extra oil off of one of his brushes and set to work. "I am thinking the equivalent of a blademaster, like Gisele. Someone who doesn't need heavy armor and uses their speed and agility to fight. The spriggan are more brutish, like a fully armored knight. But the dryads? Quick support strikers." He began adding color; focusing on shades of black and grey which would nicely complement the greens and browns of the spriggan. And, they were colors that blended perfectly with most of the trees in the Fey Realm.

"A judicious decision. Do you still want them to do the same tasks?"

"Yes. Which, speaking of, keep talking about them."

"They were quiet but contemplative. Their poetry was phenomenal, and they cared about the spoken word. I remember we used to have competitions about who could best describe something common in a new, interesting way. They had a way with words, but not diplomatically like nymphs. It was more . . . passionate and less cordial. They were quiet creatives."

Tristan made some alterations, adding larger eyes, and daintier fingers. Unlike the spriggan, he did not include a mouth covering piece of bark. Instead, he added a small flower that, in his vision, could bloom to cover the face or recede. A means to ensure their voices would be heard if they desired to be heard, with a physical representation of that desire. "What spell types did they have at their disposal?"

"Teleportation, realmwalking, and binding."

Tristan added a few flourishes of swirls onto the armored plates. In his mind, what represented the swirling space between realms that lay just beyond the pearlescent and prismatic barrier at the edges of the Fey Realm. "Is there a way to add more spell types?"

"No more than three."

Tristan frowned. "That's a weird limitation."

"It is that way for every species. Only Heritages can have more spell types."

"Huh. And I'm assuming the more unique features a person has when the Heritage is designed, the fewer spell types they can use?"

"Yes. You figured that out quickly."

"But why that limitation?"

Zeltana did not reply, and when Tristan glanced at her, she had her lips pursed and a look of consternation on her face. "I never questioned it. I tried doing more, once, and I could not get the species to form."

"Why can Heritages have more?"

Her look of pointed examination of her thoughts shifted to a slight smile. "No fucking clue. Some higher power, perhaps, dictating what can and cannot be done?" She shook her head. "I just know that for a Heritage to be considered what it is, it must be Elfanoid in shape, must be able to reproduce sexually, and then can be customized. But, any type of alterations to the body aside from superfluous items like skin or hair color carry a cost in spell type access. It's why Humans can use any spell type – they're rather bland."

"Versus Elves like us, which have longevity, increased hearing, sight, and more."

Zeltana snapped her fingers. "Precisely. Now, why don't we finish the process? They look very nice. Sleek, beautiful, feminine reflections of the spriggan."

Tristan grabbed the edges of the painting and began pulling the figure off of it, stretching the form and forming the dimensions he wanted. "That brings to mind something – a few spriggan came out more thin and wiry. They seemed to be the primary wood craftsmen. What's that about?"

"Personality shapes the form a bit. Not a ton. Surely you saw the different fairy dragon antler types? That's the same concept."

"Ah." Tristan finished expanding the dimensions and stepped away. "Now, please speak to them as you did with the spriggan. Same setup as your first time around."

"My pleasure." Zeltana got off the couch, walked forward, and breathed into the mouth of the dryad. She backed away. "Your turn to make the final touches."

He spun his crucible, pushed the essence through his mouth, and stood before the dryad. He leaned in and thought as he exhaled. I want you to be the best wardens of the Fey Realm's borders as possible. You will only take orders from myself or my progeny, or the Realm Protector, and the dryad designated as the Fey Court representative. Most importantly, I want you to be your own people . . . as long as it does not harm me, my progeny, or the Realm's interests. He backed away and took in a breath to refill his empty lungs. "Take this essence and come to life. Awaken in the Fey Realm and grow."

The dryad straightened its posture, and the whole body glowed with a bright, silver light that flared into a rainbow of colors. The dark wood became even darker, a near-pitch black mixed with deep browns. Warm colors that were accentuated with the brightly blooming flowers near the top of the bust, just below the face. The swirls of the designs on its shoulders flared with silvery light. The eyes opened, and Tristan found himself for a moment lost in the flower-shaped irises.

I have made yet another species. I said I wouldn't abuse this power, and I don't think this counts as an abuse. Just righting a wrong. Like with the spriggan. He looked over to Zeltana. "What do you think?"

"They are buxom and I would mistake them for an armored woman in the distance if not for my impeccable vision."

"Perfect." Tristan closed his eyes and departed his inner world. His eyes snapped open back in the Fey Realm. Felicity was lounging on the tree above him, snoozing with fluttering eyelids and little kicks of some dream. "Oh, you came to find me."

She opened one eye and then stood up on the blasted branch, opening her jaws a bit with a yawn. "Yup. Did all the stuff you wanted. Whatcha doing?"

"I'm going to make the dryads." He tapped his head, and Felicity flapped over, shrank in size a bit, and began making her paw-claw biscuits. Tristan approached the destroyed, ruined tree, and raised his hand. "It's time to make way for the new."

And you're removing the last bit of my physical presence from the realm.

"No," Tristan replied at a whisper. He both-direction spun his crucible as fast and hard as he could. The silver aura flared out around him, crackling with multiple colors as the wood beneath his hand shifted and warped. "I order you to become a perfect, miniature replica of the Queen's Wood, with the trunk shaped like Zeltana." The tree responded immediately. Bark flaked away to reveal shining, white and purple flesh underneath. Swirls of light blue and brighter yellow flared up the trunk as the tree grew. Branches expanded to create a large canopy overhead, and then the trunk took shape. Zeltana, as Tristan had just seen her. Standing upright, with maul in front of her, planted head-first on the ground. "Now you'll never be forgotten."

Zeltana's voice broke slightly in his mind. Thank you.

Tristan smiled and placed both hands on the tree, right at the base of it. "Now, I think it's time. I want the dryads to be brought to life. Given form, thought, and joined to the Fey Realm." Essence churned out of him, and multi-colored energy flared off of him in bright explosions of light. He drained his essence to empty, then funneled the raw ambient essence of the realm through his crucible and into the tree.

The entire mountain flowered and bloomed. Grass grew on the top, along with a small meadow, and then moss grew down the sides to the floor of the forest below. Trees sprouted in small groves. And then hands reached up from the rock itself. Forms clawing their way up. Hundreds of them.

As Tristan stood up, he took in the sight of a new species waking up. "Welcome to life."