Territory

Her primary domain overlaps both the Faerie Isles on the mortal plane, as well as the Fae Realm. On the small island of Vera Slighean near Melinda, there is a large mountain with a caldera that holds a large, beautiful glade. Here, the Fae Realm and mortal plane bleed together. At the centre of the glade, a permanent circle of massive mushrooms sits next to a picturesque lake. This location is believed to be the very first mushroom circle and serves as Essyllt’s gateway between the two planes. It is widely known that Essyllt has decreed that any mortal who sets foot into this glade will be gravely punished.

In the Fae Realm, her territory encompasses Sollaria, The City of Seasons, and a small expanse around it. It is for this reason that the four Fae Court Lords and their courts revere and pay respect to the Purple Firstborn. The mushroom circle in Vera Slighean is believed to connected directly to a beautiful glade in the center of Sollaria. Like its mirror on the mortal plane, Essyllt has decreed the same punishment for any Fae that attempts to use the mushroom circle without her express knowledge and permission.

Appearance

Her true dragon form is the smallest of all the Firstborn, yet is the most popular among the common folk. Her amethyst-coloured body is slim with long, slender peacock-like feathers as tails. The number of tails varies, but is usually no more than three. The tails can magically interweave to form a pink diamond at the tip, around the size of a grown person’s fist. She has been known to use this appendage as just as much a playful disciplinary tool than as a weapon. From tip to tail she is only a mere meter in length, with a 2 meter wingspan and a simple height of a meter. Her scales are a deep iridescent violet, with flecks of blues and greens depending on how the light catches them. Unlike some Dragons, it is said her scales are as smooth as silk and exude a feeling of calm when touched. She possesses the usual aura of immense fear that her Firstborn brethren give off, but chooses to keep it fully muted at all times. Her eyes shift from bright pink to deep magenta, while her teeth are small and reptilian. Essyllt also possesses the ability to change her physical proportions through Fae magic, but seems to prefer her diminutive stature. As such, she has never been seen transforming to smaller than her preferred compact size.

Essyllt’s mortal form is a feminine, Humanoid-sized pixie of Young Adult stature, with purple dragonfly wings, and eyes of the same colour as her Draconic form. Her skin colour can range from shades of regular Humanoid skin, to pale purple with flecks of shimmering lavender. Her clothing is always shades of purple, but one constant is a vibrant violet hat of a soft fabric. It will always appear in a style befitting of her current attire, and if not worn on her head will always be on her person. As her preference is for celebration over violence, her Mortal form is never equipped with visible arms or armour.

Passions

The Fae adhere to a strict code of balance, and Essyllt is no different. It is well known that if a mortal gives thanks to a True Fae, they are admitting that the Fae has helped them somehow, and now owe them a favour in the future. This is usually displayed by a unique Fae Mark that appears on the back of the individual’s hand. This bond also works in reverse to those aspiring to be her Dragon Knights who have passed the First Passage of Commitment, and it is these favours that Essyllt hoards. Her followers are required to earn favours from the Fae through either trickery or good will, and then transfer those debts to their patron Dragon. Those favours increase both her horde and her power and may be called upon in the Firstborn’s time of need.

Temperament

Akin to many True Fae, Essyllt’s demeanor can seem alien and whimsical to mortal beings. She often spends more time traveling through the Fae Realm and enjoying its many sights than managing her lands or followers. She takes few matters seriously, as her playful nature makes her relatively unreliable and unpredictable. However, woe befalls those who push her past her boundaries. Her usual lighthearted nature hides an incredible wrath against those who transgress the laws of freedom and balance. Her followers mirror this by assuming a lifestyle of celebration and enjoyment, even in the bleakest or strangest moments. The Purple Firstborn’s following seem almost lackadaisical and aloof to the common onlooker. However, this flips to fierce and swift retribution when the free-willed have their autonomy usurped.

Essyllt believes in each being’s power to choose their own path. Taking away that freedom, so long as it does not interrupt the worldly balance, is one of the fastest ways to incur her rage. She is against all forms of slavery and the use of mind controlling magics or alchemy. That is not to say she doesn’t love mind or body altering effects such as hallucinations and polymorphing, and will often use them to great amusement herself. This stance sometimes puts her in contention with True Fae who still wish to see the other Fae races, such as the Wood Fae, returned to their realm and dominion by force. Regardless, those who enslave others are shown no mercy with no exceptions. This is expected of all her followers, and especially those seeking Draconic Knighthood. She doesn’t necessarily hate the idea of government or a structured society, nor does she think that actions shouldn’t have consequence. Essyllt believes that everyone should be unrestricted in their choices, even if those choices are poor and lead to negative outcomes. However, should their stances actively seek to place the planes in disarray, either through corruption or discordance, her Dragon Knights are sent to intervene.

Affinities

Physically, Essyllt holds the title of the weakest Firstborn. However, her lack of physical prowess is balanced by her incredible magical potential and ability to manipulate it. While skilled with most magics, she tends to rely heavily upon those that confuse or disable her foes rather than more lethal ones. Essyllt also liberally uses Fae magic to alter her size and shape. Via this control of raw Fae magical energy, she can uncannily alter spells and abilities already cast, absorbing them into her body or redirecting their trajectory. She can also call upon her hoard of favours from the Fae to summon them for aid, though usually uses this as a means of last resort.

Breath Weapon

Essyllt is one of the only Dragons that actively holds back the use her breath weapon at all costs. The Azure Monks of Doranth the Blue Dragon have purported this is due a strict moral code, but some scholars have been bold enough to state it is held back out of personal fear for the outcome. It is said the Dragon draws in air, draining all the colour from her wings to a mottled grey. Next, the colour of her scales from her claws up toward her face begin to take the same effect, at which point she exhales a singular, quick and violent blast of purple fog. The colour of her scales and wings immediately pulse and returns to their regular shades, as the fog rushes to fill a 500 foot radius. This cloud disperses within a matter of minutes, but the effect is immediate and potent. All those touched by even a fraction of the mist are locked in the realm they currently reside in, and are severed from their home plane of existence for the next twelve hours. In addition, its rumoured full strength would strip all longevity granted from those graced by immortality, attempting to turn them to dust. Even the Celestials, though too powerful to immediately be destroyed, are rendered almost powerless, straining to even use their most basic forms of Arcane ability. With their Deific beings being locked away from their respective Heavens, the power of Essyllt’s breath would leave them completely vulnerable to Final Death. It is a mystery how this affects immensely powerful beings such as Demon Princes and True Fae, as it has never occurred. It is also unknown what would happen to another Firstborn caught in the fog blast, and no one has dared inquire the Temples of Essyllt on the subject. The only known record of its use was written by the Grey Elf, High Chronologer Esxen’Tenadall on June 1, 2258 upon the eastern shore of Melinda:

(There is no recorded history of Essyllt having ever used her breath in battle. It is widely known that all Firstborn possess a unique breath weapon. Styphon breathes acid that turns anything it kills into undead, Ahriman breaths frost, and so on. Perhaps those scholars thought Essyllt too small and weak to muster such an effort. They were wrong.)

A cloud of purple fog fills the battlefield, and then quickly disperses. The Gods stand there, bracing for some horrible effect to take hold but nothing seems to have happened . They look to each other then, some even laughing, but that laughter quickly fades. One by one, each of the Gods becomes more substantial, their ties to the celestial planes fading. Their majesty and glory diminish slightly. Essyllt’s breath is not one of fire or acid. It is much worse. The Purple possesses the strongest weapon in all recorded Draconic arsenals. Her breath severes. The Gods, once all powerful and immortal, are not only cut from their celestial realms, but now forced into this one. Trapped and mortal, the realization dawns on them and the battle plan is abandoned as they slip into chaos and anarchy.

Style of Governance

Essyllt believes that everyone should have the will to choose and thus, she does not involve herself directly in governing her lands or her people. She allows her Temple groups to organize themselves in the most efficient manners necessary. Her plans and motivations are unpredictable at best and as such so are her decisions. However, she leaves no room for negotiation when it comes to slavery and mind control. There have been many times in history where the Gentry of the seasonal courts have petitioned Essyllt for assistance in ways to reclaim the Wood Fae denizens of Melinda. They are met with what is, in effect, a hundred year long ‘cold shoulder.’

Every year during the month of June across the mortal plane and Fae Realm, grand parties are hosted honoring freedom and Essyllt herself, known as the Arrays of Amethyst. Before its decimation by Ga’more’s Brood, the citizens of Cherry Dale on Melinda threw week long celebrations full of food, drink, sex and bardic entertainment. For each of the four different weeks of the month, the Melindan people would alter the colours and festivities to match the four seasons of the year. Great parade wagons pulled by Lanciderms, large-horned beasts of burden native to the island, would populate the streets. Dancers and singers would perform at every tavern and hall, while feasts would be held in the town square. Wood Fae houses would brew special wines all year long in the hopes to highlight their alcoholic creations at the festival. These drinks were highly coveted by outsiders, and never drunk outside of the Arrays. Come nightfall each evening, the revelry would move to more adult-oriented events at houses of pleasure. Week-long orgies being performed in private across all hours of the day were held as well. It was not uncommon for the controlled usage of hallucinogens, one of Essyllt’s favourite means of joy, being implemented during these debaucherous eves. For weeks upon weeks these events would continue, with no sign of slowly or stopping till the Friday of the final week of June, where a massive feast would be held with plenty of hearty meats, cheeses, and fruits to combat the alchemy and liquor present in most veins. The approaching weekend was used to clean, rest, and rejuvenate the minds of the people, in preparation for life as usual to commence upon the new week.

Each True Fae court provides their own unique brand of decoration and events, often times appearing in the mortal plane for the ‘strange change of scenery’. While not always welcome among the Wood Fae communities due to their history, many accept the True Fae’s presence as a sign of putting aside differences for the Arrays to continue in passionate happiness. The goal of the celebrations is to throw the most incredible party in hopes of catching Essyllt’s eye. Only a few are graced by the Purple’s presence, which leads to increasingly bizarre plans and ideas for subsequent years. Many families of the isles plan their personal parties years ahead of time, in the hopes that Essyllt will one day grace their homes. There are rumors that she has, on rare occasion, visited smaller Wood Fae house parties versus the lavish events of the True Fae. No matter the hearsay, it is widely known that whichever event Essyllt attends will have its organizers be favoured until the next month of June. Their chosen season will come early, which is seen as the highest of honors.

Temple Structure

Essyllt’s temple structure is based loosely on the organization of the four seasons: Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter. However, each organization has a duty based on Essyllt ideals, and not the exact views of the True Fae seasonal courts. These factions all exist in tandem within Essyllt’s various temples across Arthos, and no temple can be run without the existence of each of the four inside. While smaller temples created by avid followers can be created without hindrance, to join one of the larger structures requires proof of allegiance to the Purple Firstborn. A Dragon Knight of any Firstborn must introduce the individual to the temple’s custodians of the Cabal of Winter, or the person in question must prove they are on the path to Draconic Knighthood of Essyllt themselves. The four factions within the temple are as follows:

The Deliverance of Spring:

The members believe in the creation of freedom, and shun those that adhere to tenets of anger and fear. They are the protectors of newly freed life, and take their duties very seriously. Those of The Deliverance of Spring attempt to free enslaved people at every turn, and promote the abolishment of such practices with knowledge and understanding.

The Wrath of Summer:

Warriors who focus on sustaining and preserving the work done by the The Deliverance of Spring. Those of Summer are the passionate fire that burns away those that dare threaten the balance. They are the first to be sent for military endeavours, and are considered the claws of Essyllt’s temples. In times when they are not sent out on missions for their Draconic Lady, they serve as guardians for the various temple communities.

The Rive of Autumn:

Accepting the natural cycle of death, decay and rebirth, those of The Rive are necessary shadows of the temple. They bring the harvest to those of their temples, providing food and nourishment. On the same vein, they are, too, the reapers of Essyllt’s most hated enemies. In each temple, the The Rive of Autumn’s more deadly purpose is spoken of in hushed tones. Even to the warriors of Summer they are seen as Essyllt’s hidden wrath and not to be trifled with. Their ranks are mostly populated by veteran Dragon Knights.

The Cabal of Winter:

The gatherers of information and Head Custodians for each temple. Quiet and observant, they catalog the machinations of the True Fae, Divine and other focuses of interest in their temple’s area, while serving as leaders for the local following. Pleasant and patient, they are responsible for the the temple’s artistry and iconography. In addition, they are in charge of funeral preparations for members of the temple. These preparations can sometimes come with expedition to betrayers of the faction, as the Cabal is responsible for eliminating traitors within Essyllt’s ranks via a process known as the Stillness. Though the exact means are unknown, once the offender is found, a fresh gravestone appears at the temple by daybreak bearing the transgressor’s name.

Historical Highlights

Historical Entry #1 – Year ????: The Cries of the Mad God

Opening passage from “Before the Name: Treatises on the Unseen Ancient History of Arthos,” written by Archmagus Oslo Cragg, White Tower of the Conclave, and published September 21, 2250

For the perusal and enlightenment of the Grand Magi council assembly, I, Oslo Cragg, Archmagus of the White Tower, submit these collection of treatises for the consideration of the position of Arcanist within the 500 acres of Southern Berphaunt.

Across the years it has be argued that the Dragons, or Firstborns as they insist on being assigned, have been living in Arthos since time immemorial as the prime beings of this world. While fullest extent of the statement is debatable, there can be no mistake that the Firstborn as a whole have encompassed Arthos as a constant for the better part of several millennia. However, the personal lives and experiences of these creatures have largely been shrouded in the mists of the past. Through my studies abroad I have found what I believe to be a discovery regarding this exact subject: an early account of a Dragon.

Within a sea-swept cavern near the northern tip of a spit of land off the coast of Melinda, I discovered an expanse of scrawlings in an ancient Fae dialect. Floor to curved ceiling, almost 22’ feet high, the etchings expanded across the entire nook. It took almost all my alchemical lights and ink, but I present to you now my findings, after the last two years of transcription to the common tongues.

An eyewitness account of the day the Purple Dragon, Essyllt the Unchained, felt chaos, and how it changed her forever.

As the text describes, long ago Essyllt was a frequent traveler between the prime material plane of our world, and the Fae Realm. She would frequently visit the early denizens of the Faerie Isles, before even Melinda was assigned its name. Playful and arrogant, Essyllt would lead the unafraid mortal beings in games of chance and intrigue. Gradually the fearful would learn to come forward, and begin to enjoy the presence of the miniature Dragon, and such life went on without recourse.

The script outlines a time a few cycles later, where many were playing with Essyllt as per usual during the height of the day. Mid-flight around a circle of mushrooms near the mortal’s village, the Dragon stopped, a look a paralyzed pain upon her face. A cry echoed through the village, loud and true. A Draconic roar of agony so piercing that many fled to their huts. Essyllt took off like a dart into the woods, some unseen force spurring her to action for the first time in her whimsical life. A singular being, undoubtedly the chronicler of the event, took chase… though I am entirely unsure of how he postulates the information about to be written here.

As Essyllt weaved and snaked through the trees heading north toward the shoreline of the island, she felt as if she was being watched from all sides. With each quick glance, no creature was to be found, but the feeling persisted as she finally broke the treeline to the rocky beach to behold a creatures in its death throes. A massive being was being entangled by the tentacles of a kraken, whose cephalopodic body was still hidden beneath the waves. As the creature thrashed, a face became visible through the wrapping bonds of the appendages; a Draconic face. “Help me, sister!” it cried, its faded green scales beginning to crack under the pressure of the tentacles squeezing it. Essyllt could feel the Dragon’s suffering, and instinctually flew over to it. The male Dragon was bigger than Essyllt, but had the same iridescent, shimmering scales as her. Its large butterfly-shaped wings slowly being held against its wriggling body by the kraken. “How could this… who-,” Essyllt began to utter as her tails began to twist and transform into a crystalline tail-club.
“-There is no time… the beast will take me if you do not aid me,” the Dragon roared back.
“Please… would you let your brother die?”
Upon those words, Essyllt’s pink eyes darkened to a deep purple as she summoned all the Fae magic she could muster. Growing in size to match that of her brother, she swung her tail over and over at the kraken’s tentacles. With each strike, the arms recoiled in pain, until finally the green Dragon was freed. As she dragged him to shore, she could see his wounds were grievous. She began trying to heal the Dragon with magical energy, but nothing seemed to work. The Dragon raised its head, eyes slowly drooping closed.
“Thank… you…”
And with that, the battered Firstborn laid its head against the ground. Essyllt roared in grief. She was no fighter. She wished only for the freedom of that which lived. And now her brother was dead. A fellow Firstborn, slain by a seaborne beast. As the thoughts raced through her mind, she finally noticed the feeling of being watched had never left her the entire ordeal. She transformed into her Humanoid form, turning her head back and forth, tears streaming down her face, trying in vain to satisfy the confusion. The pain. The madness…

… And then the feeling was gone. In an instant, she locked onto the word. Madness. The clarity was like a knife through her gut, as she looked over to the dead Dragon. And there, laying upon the beach, was a filled hooded cloak of swirling black mist. A voice began cackling, over and over, though no face could be seen, and no source could be viewed. No hands peaked from the arms of the cloak, and no legs crested out the bottom.

“Inharmoniously done,” spoke the voice, that seemed to change with each syllable.

Suddenly, Essyllt could feel it. All the Divine energy that was being masked crashed against her like a tidal wave. The beach, no, the entire air reeked of it. She turned and snarled at the cloak, only for it to seamlessly bear the fallen green Dragon’s face.

“Hid from you. Was not that fun?” the voice echoed.

Essyllt screamed as she threw a punch at the creature, who ripped into three pieces in an instant, flying behind her. As the pieces passed behind the Dragon, they began shifting in an endless undulance. Creatures and objects of all kinds flashed before Essyllt’s eyes. Multiples of each began swirling around her, as she cast her gaze to the ocean in time to behold the kraken rise completely from the ocean, only to burst into bubbles and gemstones that splashed into the waters below. Another illusion? No… this was real… yet impossible. She could feel the strain on this plane, as well as within the Fae Realm, the absolute insanity before her clawing at every recess of her skull. How was this possible? How could she have been so blind? She could always feel vile divinity when it reared its head, but this chaotic cretin blinded her senses with such ease. She began to dizzy, clutching her head with both hands.

“WHAT ARE YOU?!” she screamed to the sky.

In complete discord, all manner of tones, in all heights and depths of volume began to speak.

“No NAmEs, YeT manY… aLL anD nOtHINg, mAdnesS, sAniTy… I aM thE wilL of ThE youNg fiSheRmaN… wE arE the naUght BefOrE tHE oLD kING, yeT evER afTeR…. LizARd oF WiNG, siNger oF HYmn, DEep beLow, ANd up AboVe… ThE TrEE, thE CoLd, tHe tuNic woRn, anD thE woRm SougHT… eAt the FruIT oF mY labOuR, aND rEnD thE beaD of ORdEr.”

Essyllt crumpled to her knees, beginning to shift to her Draconic form as her skin lost all colour, turning stoney grey as she inhaled a deep breath. The swirling entities stopped all at once, freezing completely still. As Essyllt looked up, pure rage filling her face, the air opened in the shape of a simple door, as if the horizon itself removed a rectangular puzzle piece from its scenery. The swirling black cloak peeked out of the doorway, a singular word uttering from its direction.

“Hello”

The air was filled with the echoing cacophony of what sounded like the bestial cackling of hyena… And in that instant Essyllt was alone on the beach, coughing and spluttering her held breath weapon as the vibrancy returned to her face and her form settled back to Humanoid. She felt sick, but slowly got to her feet, gazing to where the deific trickster once took the form of a Dragon. Instead of a corpse, there was a large ‘+’ glassed into the sand on the spot.

From that day forward, the text goes on to explain her adherence to a new value; that of balance. It is described that her encounter with the entity undoubtedly known today as the Mad God, gave her perspective on why the planes and their denizens must be kept in equilibrium. For the Mad God’s impersonation of a Firstborn was an offense so wounding, that it caused Essyllt to forever abhor unchecked chaos.

As a final note, the diction of the account changes to one with far more knowledge than any witness should, while switching back near the end of the scrawlings. There was no change in the style of etchings, however. The concept of forgery in such a primitive civilization? Implausible… and yet, this Archmagus is at a loss. Whoever, or whatever, gave the account is beyond even my hypothesis… for now.

Historical Entry #2 – Year 2258: The Enslavement of Essyllt

In the year of 2258, Essyllt was captured by the God of Enslavement, Ga’more. Using potent toxins and powers yet unknown, Ga’more gained control of the Purple Firstborn, sealing the fate of the island of Melinda and its Wood Fae populace. When the Gods of the Light and Darkness came together to purge Ga’more from the mortal plane for his arrogance of Divine Law, Essyllt unleashed her breath weapon under Ga’more’s direction. With the Gods severed from their Celestial Heavens and direly weakened by the blast, the ensuing battle claimed the lives of many Divine beings.

Later that year, the nations of the world came together to Melinda to fight off Ga’more’s Brood army occupation, and eventually fought a giant Essyllt in an attempt to subdue her. Held down by special chains made of an iron that came from the stars themselves, she was eventually brought to the ground from her flying state and slain. Using an ancient Fae ritual, the Heads of the True Fae Courts, lead by the Lord of Summer known only to the mortals as Mistress Blaze, poured their magics into the corpse of the Dragon. A singular indigo-coloured egg was removed from the body, promising Essyllt an unheard of second chance at life. The egg was passed between many parties, including Emperor Louis Berphaunt, but in the end it was restored to Melinda by the God of Natural Death and Time, Vesmir.

Upon her rebirth and still recovering her full Draconic strength, Vesmir revealed that he believed all Firstborn were part of the natural balance of the world, and asked for alliance to aid them. The Purple Dragon, aggressively opposed to the Gods, initially rejected Vesmir’s offer with a blast of her breath, which severed him from divinity. Later, however, she found reason to reconsider her unyielding stance and instead bound the deity to a spirit-tethered pact: Vesmir was to recover Thade, the Orb of Necromancy, and the phylactery which shackled the spirit of the Firstborn Dracolich, Suulazultsur. Finally, he was to cleanse the undead Dragon of her corruption so she might at last find rest. As of February 25th, 2259, Vesmir has 10 years to accomplish this task. The consequence of failure remains to be seen.