Tyraele the Familiar

Centuries later, the Great Tapestry did not weave out the design of the Magi of the Twilight Star. I found myself wearing the stole at a far younger age than any pixie mage throughout known faerielore. The line lived on in me, but as the numbers of pixies dwindle, so do the chances of finding the One to succeed me. But that is another tale. This tale picks up a month ago, on a brilliant, starry night. As I gazed into the celestial glory of the heavens from atop the Temple of Tatianna, I found my eyes transfixed on the Pyrtidlyynesti Pherysyle, which is the constellation composed of the fiery souls of the Ancients, previous bearers of the Robes and Stole. I had been meditating on the apparent stillness of life at that moment, contemplating on an inexplicable longing in my heart. I suddenly was overpowered by the need of my spellbook, the Codex of the Infinite Planes. A swirling globe of light and pixie dust coallesced above my opened palm, solidifying into a large, crystal-like tome, composed and infused with starlight. "I am lonely, my kindred are far and fading- something is missing." I grappled with what I felt was an inner weakness, and steeled myself as I had always done since I left the Fey Lands. But it wasn't the Longing, which sometimes takes me and my kind when gone from the rejuvenating powers of our homeland. It was something else. I knew what it was, and I decided it was time to do something about it.

Within moments, my efforts at warding the small room within the WhiteTiger Hall from intruders and unwanted eavesdropping were successful. A flurry of motion followed, as I began conjuring sprites, djinn, efreeti, elementals, and other astral denizens to fetch me what I needed. My urgency drove them on in an impressive burst of speed- within minutes I had what I desired: the tooth of a dracolich, a black rose, the essence of a druid, holy water from Tatianna's Temple, pixie dust, a Rainbow Cloak, and a handful of iron shavings. I quickly brewed a potent ink from the essence, holy water, pixie dust, and crushed rose petals. With the dracolich tooth, I scribed ancient sylvan runes with the shimmering ink upon the floor as instructed by the Codex. A sung chant, lasting for four hours, occupied my time as I slowly danced about the room- sometimes flying, sometimes walking. At the culmination of the song, I tossed the iron shavings into the air, and bolts of bluish white lightning flew in every direction. Screaming out arcane words of binding, I trapped the lightning into the circle of runes, flinging the Rainbow Cloak into the contained maelstrom of electricity. Color beyond imagination filled the room, and the Cloak became a tear in the fabric of reality, into the very heart of the Ethereal Planes.

A blinding blast of light, accompanied by an intense darkness, overwhelmed my senses, sending me reeling. When my vision came to, I found the room devoid of any of my spell components, including the runes I had etched into the ground. Frustrated at the apparent failure of my laborious sorcery, I began summoning the energy to teleport to an isolated region so that I could take out my anger with a barrage of novas, when a crackle of blue electricity pierced the darkness. It began to build in intensity, and soon coalesced into a tiny faerie-like being made of a bluish liquid light. It was a sylph- a faerie creature of pure magic. The spell had worked! My lips began to move in my intention to finish the last few syllables of the binding, when I was suddenly blasted to the ground by a barrage of lightning bolts. "Myrries lyste yeuis lippe dnis Tyraele myrry!" it laughed, melodiously. What was that? It had spoken in old fey tongue, roughly translated, "The unworthy do not bind the sibilant spirit of Tyraele!" Just as I had finished the translation in my head, the creature dove into the Ethereal Planes. Seething, I impolitely tore at the boundaries between this plane and the Ether, violently exploding through the Veil between the two worlds.

The story of my travels is yet another tale for another time. I ended up chasing the sylph Tyraele through 13 planes of existence, coming across Realms and other worlds far too strange to describe in mortal tongues. We battled across the Planes, and I discovered a wealth of knowledge with the Codex of the Infinite Planes, which aided me in my travels. Discovering a spell previously incomprehensible to me within the starlight pages of that venerable text, I finally was able to defeat Tyraele. Finally, after nearly two weeks of struggle, I finished the ending syllables to the spell I began so long ago: "Viedl quy Sylyrye ruiy llge mne yriell kyri. Peuis Ghou civy."

The final part of the enchantment never actually left my own lips. What I had thought I had said, I realized was spoken through the lips of Tyraele. My familiar.

~Faerylyn, Magi of the Twilight Star, Planes Walker
Day of the Moon, 11th Month of Ancient Darkness

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