33rd of Frost, Year 119
Two Hira'lotha orbited around him. They circled around his view, fluttering before him and to each side, behind. Their cool, ivory-green coloring filled his vision, a light in the darkness. Taelian touched the soft bell of one of them. It had a gooey texture to it, though he found the contact to be... almost therapeutic.
Lethiril was there again. As strange as Taelian found his actions of late to be, he couldn't really learn anything without him there, and the Siltori was easily willing to admit that he'd developed something of an obsession. It started casually at first -- he would spend, perhaps, half an hour attempting to hasten and perfect the Ritual of Binding. Then... longer. An hour. He managed to complete it in far less than that, once or twice, though only when actively seeking Archetypes he was familiar with. Eventually, Taelian spent a large section of his day performing rituals and communing with Archetypes, calling them forth. He rested in-between such things to recuperate his aether, and to spend time with Riven . . . but aside from that, the magic had consumed an undisputed sector of his life.
And thus, Lethiril. As hesitant as he was to spend time with him, after their strange and uncomfortable experiences in his cabin to the southwest.
"You've gotten quite good, very quickly," the Dratori pointed out. Taelian nodded, directing one of the Hira'lotha to cease its movement by planting his palm upon the center of its bell, holding it still for a moment. After that, it stopped moving, but the other continued to orbit until the two ran into one another. The Archetype was truly rudimentary.
"I've always been talented at magic, or so they say," said the Siltori. "I'm one of the most skilled Clerics in Sigilic Pyromancy. Haven't learned Emblem, yet, but... I'm almost there. I've gotten the theory down, now I just need to put it into practice."
"Emblem?" Lethiril questioned.
"It's--I really can't explain it incredibly easily. We wield what we call 'Enkindled' weapons, enchanted by the Beacon to carry an internalized flame. This adds all manner of benefits to them, and allows us to utilize them as conduits for the magic. Emblem super-amplifies that, sort of. All of our swings, lunges, strikes, shots... they are followed by a dangerous, high-velocity flame arc. It's massive; especially for bigger weapons. Incredibly useful for culling Dranoch; makes our swings very difficult to dodge or parry, as the arc will fling right past their claws and other defenses and burn them, severely. No regenerating from that."
The Dratori stared quietly as he listened, his eyes appearing to wander upwards as if he were imagining these things visually. When Taelian finished speaking, he smiled and nodded brightly. "It's a wonder what things we've learned to combat the Dranoch threat. I know the Black Sigil is an ancient... commodity of ours, but to recall it for the purpose of culling the Court of Dusk was wise of Aldrin. It was created by Wraedan to kill the undying. And we just so happen to once again be beneath the thumb of death-defying Lords."
"Exactly," the Siltori replied. "Wraedan was the downfall of our Empire. The introduction of the Sigil was a slow rot within our old society; we used it to war and raze until it eventually claimed us, killing our immortal elite. So why not use that curse as a gift? Transform the Sigil not into the burden of humility, but a symbol of justice, brotherhood and retribution. This is the belief of the Ebon Knight. It is one that I wholeheartedly agree with."
