Some Things Never Change

[Taelian]

28th of Frost, Year 119

Some time passed between them as they came to their first realization about the identity of one another. As elated as both of them were, their past was very far behind them, seventeen years away. They hadn’t grown to know who the other was in this current state of being; who each individual had been as a developing youth, and now as a man. With the Black Sigil… it was difficult for Taelian. To emphasize or even grasp at empathy; to notice strands that left themselves throughout the conversation for him to pull and run with.

He had a difficult time conversing in general. So it had to be Leth who first spoke up and asked. And thankfully, he wanted to ask. He wanted to know.

“Was it ever easy?” he inquired. “Sil-Elaine, after I left. Did things get any better with Aldrin, or… did they continue spiraling? I see you have the Sigil, now. And this wound was to a Dranoch — I’m very lost, being truthful, as to why you are here instead of…”

Taelian stopped him. “Over there? Fighting the Dranoch at the heart of their power? I wonder that myself, sometimes. It’s to fight their expansion into other cities, feeding them strength; emboldening their internal position. It’s the right thing to do, of course… though it still feels strange not to be out there, with the other Ebon Kni—“

“How did you become one of them?” Taelian interjected to ask. “You were an orphan, Taelian, with no family or friends. Vulnerable to being… plucked off the streets by anyone with a roof available. Is that how you got involved?”

The Siltori frowned. His estimation had been… indisputably accurate. Lethiril wasn’t like the other people here. He knew Sil-Elaine well; its workings. An orphan wasn’t an orphan for long. Usually because they died… though he supposed he was both more and less fortunate than that. He got to live, and suffer by doing so.

But at least he could make a difference. Change things.

“It is,” he admitted. “But, Leth, I made the decision to stay with the Remedy even after they…”

“After they what?” he questioned. Again, the Siltori frowned. Lethiril probably didn’t know well about this, only what he had heard before he left. The epidemic that had swept over them, now consuming nearly a quarter of their population. An epidemic he was an early patient of, or, an early victim.

“Do you remember the hysteria early on?” he asked. “Once Aldrin was… loose. He started making these… things. These Elves without emotion; to still their suffering, to make them unfulfilling to a Dranoch’s thirst. The Famished. You remember, right? You must, Leth.”

[Taelian]

The Dratori’s eyes narrowed sorrowfully. He knew what was going to come next. What admission. Lethiril couldn’t believe it, everything that had taken place. But then, he could. A lot had happened to them both.

“I’m one of them,” Taelian said.

Lethiril exhaled. He knew it. “Don’t you… feel too much to be one of them? The ones I saw, they were…”

“...Not like me, I know,” the Ebon Knight nodded. “Had I been a full Famished, I would not have been allowed to join the Remedy. Too easily influenced. The Dranoch could’ve interrogated me into revealing everything. But I’m not… completely lost like them. I have willpower, and still some emotion, and grit. I’m not completely empty. Just recently, Leth, I fell in love with another man: Riven. I care for him more than I ever thought I could care about anything. A Famished would never be able to do that.”

“I’m glad,” Lethiril replied. “I’m glad that you’ve managed to find happiness. But… Taelian… we need to find a way to mend your condition. I know you might think I’m mad for suggesting it, or maybe that I’m insulting you; calling you stunted, or something of the like. But no; you deserve to feel the full range of emotions available, always, to make of them as they are at their base. To understand this love for… Riven, as you call him, more wholly than you can even imagine now. I—“

He paused, and lowered his gaze. “I remember the Taelian before. I still feel him in you, but he was bright-eyed and optimistic, hoping to adventure with the fullest of his imagination. I don’t imagine that has left you, but I’m certain it is weaker than it was. Do you not think that it is so?” he asked.

“I know that it is so,” Taelian said. “I would very much like to be restored. But… I don’t, how — how is it even possible?”

“Ridhain.”
“Ridhain?” the Siltori asked, confused.
“The other Dratori scorn him, his vengefulness, but they haven’t lived in Sil-Elaine like we have. He has reason for his fury… and love for his people. Aldrin seeks allies in Kings and Queens, but it is the Elven Gods that love us most. They are who we need to gather. They are the ones who will help us cull the Dranoch threat.”

Taelian shook his head, vehemently disagreeing. He was made uncomfortable by the mere thought. The Eldhan Weald… they were incredibly violent. “But—they are lost, Lethiril. Filled with hate.”

“That’s what we need,” he replied. “Their hatred. For all those who wronged us — all those who continue to wrong us. They place the blame on humans and attack them without relent… and they… they are right to do so. But there is an enemy that still hurts us, that—“

“Leth,” Taelian interrupted, concerned. “You sound… so filled with malice. What made you come to feel this way? I thought… you wanted to start over. Leave Sil-Elaine behind.”

“I did,” he said. “Or I used to want to. But I can’t let it all go. Not everything. Taelian, what they did to my parents in Daravin… they have not only stolen our homeland, but they rape and reave those who return; they exploit us. Kill us for defiance. We Elves, and our Gods, need to fight them. We need to kill them. But first, the Dranoch.”

[Taelian]

And therefore… the Eldhan Weald. Aldrin couldn’t do it alone, but if joined by Lachrann, Ridhain, Tyrnac and Lotheric… then he could. He could kill the Court of Dusk. It made sense; a worthy plan. But it was a fantasy, in many ways.

Lachrann was dying. Lotheric had gone mad; some even claimed he had begun to attack Siltori. Veratelle’s corpse was a burnt husk. Ridhain was despised even by the Dratori. Tyrnac was perhaps their only hope, though he allied with Lotheric in all things. Taelian didn’t know much of their dynamics with one another. He had heard only what he had heard; in legends, in memoirs, in the words shared by often lying lips. And of course, by hopefuls and cynics alike.

He didn’t know how there could be a plan. But Leth, apparently, did.

“The way we come closer to the Elven Gods is by meeting them as Patrons. Eventually, some can become their Apostles, their Intermediaries... it's an endeavor but; it was an Apostle who aided Lachrann in saving Auris. It will be either, or both, who bring them together to change the path of our people. That's why I am a Summoner, Taelian, and why... I am offering to make you one, too."

The Siltori blinked. He didn't really get it.

"Why...?"

It was rhetorical. Almost. He knew why Lethiril wanted him to become a Summoner, but... why? The risks for magic were... high, even though it wasn't his first Rune. And... what was more important was the question he could so easily put into words, lain at the very pinnacle of his thoughts.

"Why do you want me to join you in this? We haven't connected in so long, Lethiril, and now I might die to some... initiation. I will do it if you wish for me too, but I don't understand why you care so dearly," he posed. The other man frowned, and shook his head. The Dratori-Orkhan released an almost depressive exhale.

"I need someone to pursue this dream with me," he said. "I want it to be you. The fate of our people may seem sealed into stone tablets, decorated with triumphs in celebration of our defeat, but it does not need to be eternally lasting. We are going extinct; the humans outnumber us now, ten to one. More than that. We need to reclaim Daravin before it becomes too late. We need a unified Sil-Elaine for that, a Kingdom. We need our Gods back, as our champions like they used to be, battling alongside us against the tides of the mundane. We need our ancient magics, drawn by the Black Sigil. No one else that I've met here knows what it's like. Remember what I said. They may be Siltori, or Dratori, or whatever they may claim to be -- but they don't know.”

He was referring to the situation at home. Of course. And he was right — Taelian couldn’t imagine that Sahfri, for example, knew what it was like to live beneath a Dranoch’s arbitration. No one really knew... until they knew.

“Our people need saving, Taelian. If we can gain the ear of the Patrons, then we can at least bring them closer to prosperity. You know you can’t let that opportunity pass. If we let things run their course as they are, they will run us to extinction.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe... it was pressure. The will to do right by his old friend.

He smiled faintly. Fakely, almost. He felt strange.

“I accept,” he said. “Make me a Summoner. I will do as you ask.”

[Taelian]

The process of initiation wasn't incredibly perplexing. It was dangerous, but... Taelian already had one Rune, proving his body's resistance to aethereal degradation. Most Rune Magics initiated in roughly a similar way; Sigilic Pyromancy was somewhat different, given they were grafted the divinely constructed Black Sigil and it was made alight by Aldrin, but even then the precepts were familiar. Taelian had been given magic very young; almost as young as many of the Daravinic Entente. As a result, he had always lived with it as a facet of his being, and carried no particular fear or enmity towards the concept. Summoning would be an addendum to who he was, by Lethiril's will or his own, he was uncertain.

But again, he wasn't afraid. A Siltori could never fear power; they needed to embrace it at any risk. Power would not otherwise come to them, the disheveled of the world, even though it was the commodity which they needed utterly. Taelian welcomed the chance at communing with the Patrons of old. Of trying, as Taelian suggested, to become one with them. He nodded his head once as he sat quietly upon the sofa, staring into the bonfire. His own eyes, cornered by rings of charring flame imbued around the irises, appeared to almost mirror the heat before him.

"Where will you put it?" he asked. "The Rune."

"Where do you want it?" questioned Lethiril. He was preparing a brush, to draw the Rune of Summoning upon Taelian's form.

"Draw it on my scalp," said the Ebon Knight. "I don't want it to be seen... I... have a lover, as I told you. I don't want him to notice the change. I worry it may make me less attractive," Taelian explained.

"That's shallow," Lethiril responded. "But reasonable. On your scalp it will be, Tael."

He began to draw. The Siltori felt the cold touch of paint running across the skin betwixt each strand of hair, pushing into his scalp so as to maintain its shape despite the obstruction around it. It did not take long to complete the image; it was arcane in nature and completed by a plethora of complex images, but Lethiril appeared to have drawn it before. At least once, preceding the current moment.

When the symbol was complete, the reaction was swift. Taelian's mind was encumbered by an overwhelming weight. His eyes shut immediately as he fell into a stygian trance. Within his surroundings there was an overwhelming sense of wandering, uncertainty, distance -- from other things. From everything.

Then, within the depths before him, was a presence among the darkly things. A shadow within a shadow, darker than its blackened surroundings. A claw reached out from the... the surface. The tide. It was water, all around him; water filling his lungs, water drowning him. And the encumbering nightmare of the void, lurching over his form.

The presence lurched forward, nearer and nearer. The shadow expanded to fill the shape of every wave around him.

And it breathed, an incredible chill overcoming the Rune upon his scalp. What he had felt was crystal clear.

The Betrayer. The Vesj'vakar; somehow, he knew their name. In that space of time he was close to the God-like entity, though he did not know if it was dead or extricated to unfathomable depths.

He awoke from his hypnosis, nauseous. Maybe the... water in his lungs. After all, it felt like he had really been there. Like he had really drowned there. Taelian frowned, still feeling the cool breath rolling over his skin. He shivered. Vesj'vakar; whatever they were, they felt dark and unforthcoming. He had not communed with any of the Elven Gods still worshiped by their kind. What he felt was a presence that was patient, calculating, and hungry. He could not erase her name from his mind, told to him only once before with the embroidery of alleged myth.

Veravend.

"Veravend!" he yelled. His first words since returning. Uncontrollably, Taelian began to cry.

[Nyx]

Name

Points: 5/5

Magic?: Summoning

Lores:

Summoning: The Apostle
Summoning: The Intermediary
Summoning: The Patrons
Summoning: The Elven Gods
Summoning: The Rune of Summoning
Summoning: Vesj'vakar

Religion: The Eldhan Weald
Religion: Ridhain, Elven God of Mold
Religion: Tyrnac, Elven God of Glass
Religion: Lachrann, Elven God of Fungus
Religion: Lotheric, Elven God of Brine
Religion: Veratelle, Elven God of Thicket
Religion: Veravend, Elven God of the Unknown
Lethiril: Hates Humans
Lethiril: Summoner
Lethiril: Wants to make me a summoner

Loot: N/A

Injury and Overstepping: N/A

Comments: Full points for initiation. This was a pretty long and interesting thread to read. Seeing how Leth acted in comparison to how Taelian's emotions have shifted and changed regarding humans, it was dynamic and absolutely in major part thanks to Riven. It'll be interesting how the dynamic between Leth and Taelian also starts to evolve as things continue.