Days of investigation ensued for the sprites. Venus, ever vigilant, put all his efforts into investigating the cause of the blight. With his keen senses and deep knowledge of plants, he collected samples of the affected flora and examined them meticulously.
Iris was stationed in her quarters, seated at her desk reading heavy, dust-filled books on the biology of toxic plants. A wilted lily sat atop her desk. Iris turned to it, eyebrows furrowing, and pointed her sharp nailed finger at it, giving it a zap. The lily gave a pathetic twitch before laying motionless, unchanged once more. Iris sighed, putting her head in her hands when Venus burst through the doors. Iris head snapped back up as Venus approached her, with urgency in his voice. "Your Majesty," he began, presenting a fern, "I fear the elves are behind the blight that is destroying our kingdom. These samples are from our natural land, they must have mistakenly brought this here when encroaching on our land to poison it. We must act swiftly to protect our home."
Iris, however, remained composed, her violet eyes thoughtful as she examined the fern. Venus had already been quick to assume the elves were the reason behind this blight and so treaded carefully when addressing him again about this. She valued Venus's counsel greatly, but she was not one to jump to conclusions without thorough consideration. "Venus," she said gently, "these findings are indeed troubling, but we must tread carefully. Accusing the elves without solid proof could lead to dire consequences."
"But, Your Majesty," Venus persisted, his brow furrowed with concern and an edge to his voice eveident, "the evidence is clear. We cannot afford to delay. If we wait, more of our beloved forest will be lost. We must take action now to secure our future."
Iris placed a reassuring hand on Venus's arm, her voice calm but firm. "I understand your concern. However, we must first seek a diplomatic solution. War benefits no one when our land is in perial, and we must be certain of the elves' involvement before we consider such drastic measures."
Venus looked conflicted, torn between his loyalty to Queen Iris and his deep-seated belief in the evidence he had uncovered. "But Your Majesty," he implored, "what if they strike again? What if we lose more than just our plants? Our very way of life could be at stake… Again. You very well know they do not care for the life of sprites," Venus stated, accusation colouring his tone.
Iris stiffened at this, anger and authority voiced. “I do know very well of the elves contemptous towards us.” But as quickly as her anger arose, it subsided - fighting amongst themselves is the worst possible thing for them to do now. Iris sighed softly, her heart heavy with the weight of her responsibilities. "Trust me, Venus. I will not ignore this threat. We will gather more information, explore every possibility before we make a decision."
Reluctantly, Venus nodded, knowing that Iris's cautious approach was born out of wisdom, not cowardice. He respected her immensely for that. "As you wish, Your Majesty," he said finally, his voice tinged with resignation. "But please, let us not delay too long. Our kingdom's future depends on it."
With a nod of understanding, Queen Iris and Venus parted ways, each lost in their own thoughts. In the days that followed, Iris convened meetings with her advisors, including scholars and diplomats, to discuss the best course of action and continuously referred back to her books and ancient scrolls for an answer she may have missed. Meanwhile, Venus continued his investigations quietly, determined to uncover any additional clues that would support his theory. Venus, had been consumed by his own investigations, growing increasingly secretive with each passing day.
One crisp morning, Iris resolved to seek answers beyond the musty pages of her books and spells that continued to fail her. Clad in a cloak the colour of moss, she ventured deep into the forest, hoping that a practical investigation might yield the truths that eluded her.
Giving her wings a break after an insistent twitch that seemed to have taken over her right wing, she began to walk, agitation consuming her when she found no new clues in the several hours she had been out. The feeling of the moss covered forest floor eased her racing thoughts of Venus's warnings and the looming threat of the elves. Lost in contemplation, she almost missed the faint sound of distress. Turning towards it, Iris looked out through a clear line in the clustered trees to a patch of mingled moss and rocks where a fawn stood, its once graceful form now twisted in pain, shivering beneath a canopy of twisted roots.
Iris approached cautiously, her translucent wings casting a soft glow around her. "Little one," she whispered, her voice carrying the soothing melody of the forest, "what ails you?"
The fawn turned its gaze towards Iris, its eyes filled with both fear and longing for relief. Without hesitation, Iris extended her hand, allowing a gentle stream of healing energy to flow from her fingertips to the fawn's quivering form. But as her touch met the fawn's fur, a startling transformation occurred—the fawn's eyes widened, its once feeble limbs grew muscular and strong, and a guttural growl replaced its pained whimpers.
Before Iris could comprehend what was happening, the fawn sprang to its hooves with an unearthly shriek, its visage contorted into a nightmarish semblance of its former self. Long, jagged horns protruded from its head, and its eyes blazed with a malevolent fire.
Iris recoiled in shock, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and disbelief. The demonic fawn lunged at Iris with razor-sharp hooves, its intentions clear—to strike her down where she stood. But just as the creature's monstrous form bore down upon her, a swift blur of motion caught her eye—a sleek arrow whistled through the air, finding its mark in the fawn's twisted skull.
With a final, anguished cry, the demonic fawn collapsed at Iris's feet. Trembling, Iris turned towards the direction from which the arrow had come, her wide eyes meeting those of a female elf emerging from the underbrush.
The elf's features were etched with a mixture of concern and relief as she approached Iris cautiously. "Are you unharmed?" she asked, her voice soft yet tinged with steel.
Iris nodded slowly, her mind still reeling from the encounter. "Yes, I... thank you. I don't know what happened. It was just a sickly fawn..."
They stood in silence, staring at the demented form that had once been an innocent fawn. Iris looked up at the elf suddenly realising that an elf was standing beside her. Conflicting emotions coursed through her, despite the elf's act of bravery and kindness, Iris couldn't shake the ingrained prejudices.
Yet here stood an elf who had not hesitated to defend her, to wield her bow against the darkness that threatened both of them. Iris knew that not all elves could be painted with the same brush, just as not all sprites were alike in their beliefs.
Sensing Iris’ conflicting emotions tainting the atmosphere, the elf turned towards Iris, seeing that she had put some distance between themselves. Hostility vibrated off Iris as she fluttered, staring at the elf. The elf had drawn her bow and arrow and aimed it towards Iris so quickly it was only a blur before Iris was staring down the shaft. Pointed directly at her head from the short distance between them.
Iris immediately felt rectified in her prejudices but only huffed her annoyance and crossed her arms to see the hostile stance the elf had taken - if she were to loosen the arrow, Iris knew she would be well out of the way with a flutter of her wings before it reached her.
“Typical elf, ready to kill at a moments notice.” Iris called over to the elf in an accusatory tone, who now looked thoroughly confused at Iris’ reaction and had ever so slightly lower her aim.
The elf had brought the arrows aim back true and furrowed her brows, her eyes never leaving Iris’. “Who are you?” she demanded, in a strong authoritative voice.
Iris calculating stare ran down the elf. Warrior cladded, with brown leather armor and green fabric woven in a regal fashion, her bow and arrow were not her only weapon; a silver short sword lay in its holster at her side. She also bore a crown of woven branches with emeralds. She was young, and although she knew elves aged like themselves, slowly, they were not as long living as sprites. From her study of elves in the past, she assumed the elf must be in the earliest of her second decade but could be as old as her fifth decade considering the complexion of her smooth skin.
With this conclusion of her age, Iris was sure the elf would not know anything of her species, especially considering the elf had not let the demonic creature finish her off.
Iris then began questioning why the elf was so far from her land. Was she a hunter, straying to far from the fold? A spy, tasked with locating the sprites? Could she be the cause of the blight to this land and be here to plant more posion?
Was she the cause of this demonic fawn? No, surely not if she had killed the fawn herself. Or had the elf planted this demon fawn and saved her life to attempt to gain her trust…
Iris deliberated, a war raging in her head of what the elfs first impression of her had been. Saving her from peral, to the fast hostility towards her, and to concluding she would likely have no knowledge of her kind. It had only been a brief pause since the elf first questioned her for Iris to run through all these observations and questions.
Before Iris had consciously decided on how to react. She had drawn herself up to her full height and declared, “I am Iris, Queen of the Sprites, Nurturer of this land.”