Pellias

The elves were also said to be beings of infinite mystery, with a myriad of legends and tales passed on from generation to generation. Now these stories have been inherited by the elves, and while many are simply fairytales or tattered rumours, there is still one legend that is very much true till this very day.

The Lady of the Lake.
She was said to be one of the earliest ice elves ever to exist. Years ago, when a great war amongst the elven races broke out, it is said that an ancient hero drew a sacred blade from within the frigid waters of a mythical lake, and put an end to the war. Since that war ended, the blade was returned to its rightful owner: the Lady herself. For centuries, the blade slumbered in the icy depths of the lake, hidden deep within the confines of the ice elf territory. No one was ever able to find it, not even the most knowledgeable of elves or the most talented of treasure hunters.

Millennia passed. The ice elves returned in the form of dragonkind. The tale of the hero who drew the holy blade from the lake lost truth through time, and eventually became a mere myth. Distant and aloof from the rest of elvenkind, the ice elves retreated to the snowy passes of their beloved mountains and hills, delved deep where no dragon had gone before.

That was when they found the Lake. Or rather, it found them.
A scouting party reported a glowing lake nestled within the valley close by, something completely unheard of. For months, the dragons made attempts to investigate the lake: tested the water(which proved to be rich in magical properties), tried to summon spirits from it, and the like.

The lake’s true secrets begun to unravel when they found a lone dragon washed up on the banks. Upon further questioning by the tribe’s leader, his name was revealed to be Pellias. However, he recalled nothing of this world, nor how he had come to be at the lakeside. Suspicious of any newcomer, he was kept under vigilant watch, with this one wish being his only condition: “I must remain at the lake until my Lady returns.”

And so they let him. Pellias made no fuss, no protest, answered everything they asked as best as he could. They could not deny him his sole wish, especially when he appeared to be an elven dragon like them, though his wings were a little dull. Day and night he continued this silent vigil over the still waters of the lake, barely ever ate or slept. How he survived, no dragon ever knows. An outcast, that was what the tribe called him behind his back, perhaps a corpse that not even the lake wished to consume and thus rejected. There was no possible way anyone could survive that long without sustenance, it was utterly impossible, and yet Pellias waited.

The magic happened in the dead hours of the night.
From an ambient glow akin to fireflies fluttering above the lake, the lake’s glimmer gradually intensified. The tides grew stronger, the winds blew faster, the lake’s glow reflected the moon in the night sky. In the midst of the lake’s surface, the lake's tides grew to a whirlpool, the winds spiralled into a howling gust, and from the spiraling depths of the frigid lake burst the glimmering form of a dragon. All who were present could only gawk in awe as the light gradually coalesced into the gleaming silhouette of a dragon, wrapping around the figure that had risen from the waters.
For what seemed like an eternity, the figure hovered in mid-air, before ever so slowly sinking back towards the rippling lake. The dazzling light that had so blinded them gradually dissipated, fading into nothing just as her feet touched the surface of the water. Gracefully, silently, she glided across the lake with nary a whisper, coming to rest just at the edges of the lake itself. Up close, she was no less imposing for the beauty she possessed, but it was a timeless sort of grace with which she carried herself. This was someone who had seen the rise and fall of the ages, had witnessed atrocities and miracles alike.
At her feet, Pellias crouched, head bowed in subservience. When he next raised his head, his eyes were filled with nothing but the purest of adoration. Without another word, she bid him rise with a crook of a claw. Then her gaze swept to meet the bewildered stares of the tribe, and within her ice-blue eyes gleamed the promise of ageless wisdom.
“For countless years, I have gone by countless aliases. The Enchantress. Queen of the Nymphs. Priestess of Avalon.” She paused, noting the blank gazes directed back at her in response. “Perhaps you might know me by another name, the Lady of the Lake, or perhaps simply as... Nimue.”

- lore written by rei711.