A Silver Seam [Moderated]

[Taelian]

10th of Frost, Year 119
Cuvindas

He and Riven had been together for... about a week, now, he thought. There had been ups -- literal ones, with them ascending a few hundred feet -- and the occasional down, mostly spurred by Taelian's extravagantly dangerous way of both wording and viewing things and the way in which his Sigil tugged at the strings of his Beacon somewhat randomly. Overall, though, it had been wonderful and Taelian was more than glad that he had found the taller man amidst his journey. The two of them shared a great number of special things between them now, between their bodies and their lips, details that would have been far removed from the common ear.

He had learned that the man was a sort of -- companion, or so he called it, to the Shokaze's son. The... Shinsei? Taelian did not understand the politics of Kalzasi well, though he was not aware of Riven's prominent position in society until delving into his profession through conversation. If one could even call it that. He was sort of like the friend of a Noble Lord's child; made privileged by proximity, allowed to reside in such an exceptional estate without the vices or risks of Nobility, nor the ardor of the common man.

If he didn't feel that he loved him, he would have envied him. And for Taelian, envy was perhaps the least healthy of available emotions.

He tried to do his research on the... uh, royalty, before coming to the palace. He knew nothing that the most mentally addled peasant would not know -- that the estate was known as the Palace of the First Wind, that the family residing from within it was known as House Novalys, and that the Lord and Lady were respectively named Savien and Sahfri. Talon, Riven's 'companion' was their firstborn son, and therefore in some ways the most important man in the realm. He would rule after Savien died, supposedly, though as any Siltori knew, nothing lasted forever.

Taelian had no care for the politics here. He had come for juvenile reasons, pursuing naught but pure intimacy. He had not intended to meet either the Shokaze or his family, though if he did he supposed he could only treat them with a peasant's deference. He would just use the skills he'd learned from Sil-Elaine, in dealing with the highly punitive Dranoch who lorded over them.

Once arriving, he was ushered by a well-dressed subject to an immaculately decorated guest hall of sorts, where two winged guardsmen sprung from their posts to seemingly corner him in yet another section of the room. Taelian was far from shocked, given the nature of the place he had sought to enter. When their questions began, he felt rather prepared for them, leaning back into the seat they offered him and glancing back and forth between the two men.

"What is your purpose for being here?" one of them asked.

"To visit Riven Kyon," he replied. "He's a... is it, Kath... Kathar Avialae, who lives here? I'm his..." he paused, biting his lower lip. Taelian wasn't certain if Riven wanted others aware of their status, though he did not seem to mind, either. "I'm his lover. Taelian Ela'Rannoch."

The expression of one man remained unchanged, though the other's brow quirked curiously, or perhaps suspiciously. He was uncertain.

"Do you have a weapon?" the curious one asked.

"No," Taelian replied. He was not dumb enough to bring his Claymore to a place like this.

"Any magic?"

"Uh -- active use?" he attempted to clarify.

"Magic at all," the guard replied. Taelian bit his lip.

"I'm a Sigilic Pyromancer. You've likely never heard of it; it's extremely rare outside of Sil-Elaine. Perhaps the Lady," he referred to Sahfri, "knows of it. But I doubt even that."

It did not seem that she was one of his kind. There was no way that filth from the dregs of Silfanore could ever end up here.

"Any violent usage of magic on estate grounds will be met with harsh penalties," one of them stated with a low, threatening tone. Taelian nodded.

"I can't even use my magic without a weapon, so you're in luck."

One of them left, sending for Riven, he supposed. Though he did not know if he was here. Taelian continued to wait, engaging in a drawn out staring contest with the remaining guard, hopeful that his partner was here if only to extricate him from the presence of these hawks.

[Paragon]

For all of its extravagance, the Guest Hall on the grounds of the palace was simplistic in its beauty. An emphasis on natural beauty, as opposed to that of the manufactured kind that might have been found in the homes of lesser nobles, was everywhere to be found. There were no gharish fountains or ostentatious tapestries, trees and wildlife had been carefully cultivated to emphasize the airy grace of the peak upon which the palace stood. The staff were equally dressed in a rather simplistic albeit elegant manner. The colors were subdued greys with black or stark whites and grey, mirroring the chosen colors of House Novalys. The sigil of the Silver Star hung on banners that, while simple, were made of fine cloth with silver embroidery.

Taelian was made to wait but not uncomfortably so. The guard that remained posted near him was largely silent but observant now that his questions had been answered. Guests seemed to filter languidly in and out of the hall. Either in the company of some high looking official or in the company of an escort. The winged guards were present but their armored attire was fashioned in such a way as to make them seem part of the decor rather than a forward presence in the hall. It was after roughly fifteen minutes of waiting, that the second guard returned.

“Riven is not on the grounds. He is tending to other duties. If you’ve no further business at the palace, we shall escort you out.” The guards both stepped forward, their demeanor straightforward and businesslike. While their countenance was not one leaning toward threatening their presence was no less domineering even for the capable elf. Both stood just a few inches taller than Taelian, were armored and carried swords of fine make. While the design was similar to that of the common Sky Guard infantryman, the sleeker and more heavy emphasis on silver accents marked them as royal guard. There was even a carefully designed armoring to the shoulder and forearm of their white feathered wings.

“This way, please.” The two guard bowed then righted themselves before stepping back, making the implication that it was time for Taelian to leave, very clear.

[Taelian]

Nothing incredibly exciting occurred while he was waiting. He occasionally looked at the guard with a plethora of odd expressions, once a grin and once a scowl that was playful enough not to be interpreted as one, and in general he only received a completely stale observational look in return. Taelian wasn't the friendliest of folks, but he thought he might have been able to convince the guard to let him roam the grounds for curiosity's sake if he managed to charm his way through the hall. Unfortunately, any attempt at conversation was shut down either actively or through the ignoring of his words. Once, the man did reply, but it appeared he was only using Taelian's words as ammunition to remove him, if anything, and so he stopped in his tracks.

The other guard returned, and was immediately the bearer of bad news. Riven is not on the grounds, he said, and thus continued logically from there. They did not intend to allow him to stay, as he had no real purpose for being here. He supposed that was a fairly consistent line of logic, and he really could not argue with it. Even if he could, he wouldn't, because there was no purpose in defying the arm of Kalzasi's law for a romantic visit. They could have theirs some other time, he supposed.

They stepped forward, standing as an impenetrable bulwark before him. He understood their message. Shortly afterwards they stepped back and bowed, in a reverse of deeds, though their movements only stood to make it ever more clear to him that he was unwelcome. It was time for him to go.

"Okay," he said flatly. There was as much fight in him as there was in the average corpse. Well, outside of Daravin, at least.

Taelian stood and allowed them to guide him out, at their leisure, though he did look around the enclosure as he went if only to ingrain it into his mind. He would be back here again, and perhaps the next time he came, Riven would be here after all.

Stepping towards the lesser eminence of the city proper, he braced his sight for the sun, and his frame for the first unwieldy touch of cold.

[Paragon]

The crisp cold of the winter air ghosted over Taelian’s skin as he was guided toward the exit. The guards were not forceful but their intent remained clear: to ensure Taelian left without incident.

“We shall leave word with Riven that you requested him. Is there a place he should meet you?” When Taelian’s answer was given, if it was given, there was a crisp nod returned to the elf. The two of them did not rush the exit. The pace they maintained was a comfortable one affording the Siltori the chance to observe at least the entry portion of the palace grounds. As the guard guided Taelian toward one of the bridges leading back to a lift that could take the man to the ground, the men came to an abrupt halt. One of them extended a wing, blocking the elf’s field of view.

“Hold, Guest.” The guard exchanged a look before both of them turned on their heels and looked at Taelian.

“Come. We must escort you to one of the other entrances.” The guards lowered their wings allowing Taelian a brief view of what lay ahead. It was an entourage of sorts. Standing, with hands resting lazily on the pommels of swords, were three armored Siltori elves, hale and hearty without the grime of Silfanore or the touch of decay to leave them gaunt or grungy. There were two males and a single female. Each of them possessed long black hair that was braided so as not to get in the way of their duties. In front of them were two women dressed in dark grey gowns with hoods pulled over their heads to obscure their faces. The group formed a half-circle around a man dressed in black and green escorted by others dressed in mirrored colors. He was holding the hand and speaking softly to a woman with her back turned to Taelian.

“Come, Guest. This way.” The guards once again moved to escort Taelian in another direction. They had taken no more than a few steps when a woman’s voice drifted over the winds.

“Stop.” The guards immediately halted. Both of them stepped to the side and half-turned their bodies so that they flanked Taelian and partially faced the woman. It was then that Taelian could see her.

She walked forward with a regal grace, her hands clasped before her waist in an almost prayerful gesture. Garbed in silver and white, crowned with a silver headdress that appeared to almost glow with light, her dark grey eyes settled upon Taelian and seemed to capture him there. Though her skin was pale, it held an almost silvery cast to it as though ghosted with a radiant frost. As she made her way forward, every courtier, servant and guard around took note of her and paid her reverence.

“You are far from home, Son of Silor.” Silvain flowed from her lips as easily as breathing. She stopped a mere foot from Taelian and was immediately flanked by what were obviously her personal guard and handmaidens, then. They made a point to be present but non-intrusive as they observed Taelian.

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[Taelian]

"My home," he said. "The usual place."

His removal began shortly after his words, though it was not a dramatic or hostile action. The two men were simply performing their duties, and did not appear to begrudge him, nor him they. As they began to escort him towards the bridge from the hall, and to a lift leading him back to the lower sections of the city, one of the men shielded his view with the extension of his wings. He was advised to hold, and the two of them shared an unspoken agreement, before guiding him a different way.

It was then that their route changed, and he began to worry. He knew of the Nobility and their schemes; what if Talon had just sent them some veiled word that he'd wished Taelian dead? He was completely at their mercy, unable to access his blade nor the Enkindling that came with it. He didn't even bother to look for any method of escape or fighting back, as the odds were far too stacked against him. In this place, like in Silfanore, his life and its ends were totally at the whim of those stood above them.

But as his defeated thoughts reigned, something almost spectacular came into view. Others like him, a few of them at that. Siltori -- he could see it in their elegance, in the patterns along the contours of their cheeks, the grey and ivory of their eyes and the modesty of their ears and brows. They were subtle and elegant, and to see them without the manifest rot laid upon them by Silfanore was to look almost into the past. Their armor and weaponry was decorated and exquisite, yet well-crafted in a way that served their militant purpose. He wondered what it would have been like to have been born at a time where this was a normative view. Siltori at the height of society, even though they were Ald'norai back then, rather than slumming in the pits of a forsaken land.

He wondered who they were with, or why. Were they always posted here, like this...? He supposed it was a distinctive possibility, given that--

This way, he was advised, or commanded. They wished to alter his route once more. Worry that had transformed into wonder, once again shifted into pure confusion. He did not understand their constant change of declaration.

But he listened. And in doing so, he heard a powerful voice, far more confident in its command than either of theirs.

He turned to the voice. It was... an immaculate view. A woman of radiance and wealth, a woman of class and all that came with it; the projection of power, of humility to those around her. One with untold influence on others, the power to arbitrate every facet of their being.

A Siltori. It had to be her: Sahfri, though he wondered how she had gotten to be here in this place, so high above all the rest. How had she ascended to the sky from her place in the mud?

Dumbfounded, Taelian almost missed what she said at first, though he snapped back to reality as it sunk in with what words she was speaking: Silvain. His tongue. Hers.

"As are you, Lady of the Darklands," he said back to her, referring to the home they had left. Neither of them had ever seen Silor; he often wondered if it wasn't better to forget it was ever real.

He bowed to the woman, because he was not a fool. He had learned his place well long ago and had no gripes in regards to facing authority. Though he wasn't sure if he had anything interesting to say to her that would have called her to speak to him now.

Except, he supposed, one thing.

"Are you aware of what goes on in our home? That is why I am here. To hunt the Dranoch in the Free Cities, to ensure they do not spread. It is a shame that no one will do the same for us."

He knew his place, but not always. Brilan Ald, the Queen of Atinaw, the Daizoku of Kalzasi... he had always asked himself the same question whenever their visage came to mind: why had they never come to their people's aide? Why had they left them to wander, Famished, and wilt?

[Paragon]

Sahfri observed Taelian as he bowed, giving the young man a nod as if this was her due. As soon as the man began speaking on the Dranoch, her eyes narrowed and she stepped forward. The woman took one of Taelian’s arms in her hands and made a shushing noise. With little more than an inclination of her head, she dismissed the two Avialae guards who bowed low to her. The Siltori honor guard flanked their mistress. Her handmaidens took up their positions silently.

“One does not topple mountains in a day.” Carefully she ushered the ebon knight along guiding him back in the direction of the palace. The lady seemed completely unconcerned with the fact that she was walking with a stranger arm in arm. She continued to speak in Silvain exclusively, perhaps from a nascent nostalgia for their shared homeland.

“Speak not of the bloodied ones so openly, Son of Silor. They have eyes and ears in even such lofty places as this.” Despite her words, the woman remained serene if observant. She waved cordially to either guests or staffers who acknowledged her.

“We know all of the Silver Elves who make their home within our domain. There are so few of us. Yours is not a face that we are familiar with.” She glanced up at Taelian then. Sahfri was not too much shorter than the ebon knight. Though her frame was lithe and filled with the regality of a born aristocrat, she possessed none of his outward strength and bulk. “You are new to the city then.”

“Tell us, what brings you to the home of our family?” Sahfri scrutinized Taelian then. Her grey eyes seemed to take in every detail. From his stature to the broadness of his frame, her eyes even lingering on his neck. There was neither judgement nor was there true apathy in her gaze. For all outward appearances the Lady of Kalzasi seemed utterly invested in getting to know the elf beside her.

[Taelian]

He was hushed. Taelian supposed he deserved it, expected it. Even though he spoke Silvain, there were others of their kind around, and one could never be certain of the loyalty of a Siltori when it concerned their brutalizing masters. Too many of them seemed to prefer the whip, though he could only wonder how the ones who had escaped that place - like him - viewed it all in hindsight. Surely, surrounded by such relative prosperity, they had to see the fallibility of their old Lords...?

Ushering him away, their bodies entangled partly through their arms, the woman continued to speak as she guided him towards separate Palace corridors. Within her words was the arrogance of prestige; the slow-speaking gaudiness the Nobles often mistook for poise. She spoke like a Dratori -- he caught that almost immediately. Carefully, in a comely tone, with forethought and 'wisdom' in her words. Wisdom. To him, the word had begun to become a taboo. The pragmatism of those with power began to wear on him. As many contentions as he had with Aldrin, he valued the man's revolutionary fire. If only others were so brave.

Still, he could not deny that he found something about her very approachable. Like he could be totally open with her, like she could be... trusted, somehow. In some strange way, she projected a motherly nature that extended seemingly beyond her son. As a younger Siltori, he could not help but feel caught up in the subtle guile.

Speak not of the bloodied ones... she began, and continued. He supposed that if even the Lady of Kalzasi was worried of their interception, Aldrin was not mistaken to send him here. They continued to expand their influence. He noted the casual manner in which she spoke, even as she spoke with gravity; the way in which she made her words seem harmless and small, maintaining an inconspicuous demeanor. Ebon Knights often had to act in the same way, as infiltration and secrecy was their key trade. Perhaps it was the skill of their people, he thought, more than magic.

"I am new, yes," he said quietly. Somehow, he felt overwhelmed. The intensity of her presence -- a woman so powerful, and one of his own kind -- wore on him. The nervousness of before, wondering what Talon would seek to do to him if he were aware of his presence, built in acceleration as he was pulled along by his mother. Why was she, someone so esteemed, interested in a Silfanore dreg like him? It made no sense. The only interest she could have possibly had, he thought, had to be negative. A mother defending her child from a viper in their nest -- someone who brought the potential for chaos and irregularity into Talon's life.

Maybe. He did not know.

But he could not lie. Concealment invited unnecessary ridicule.

"I'm here to see Riven, my lover," he confessed. "He's not here; they were going to escort me out. But I suppose they... did not want to intercept you. I don't know. I don't really understand my purpose for being here at present, if I'm being honest, my Lady. Your home is fair, and it is wonderful to see one of our own so suspended among the ranks of men. But I am here to serve Sil-Elaine, and I..."

Taelian furrowed his brow. "Do you intend to topple the mountain? I can only wonder. I've seen such opulence since I've arrived here, compared to the prehistoric grime of our home. I feel guilt as I tread through this place. I feel as if I've abandoned my identity. Does it not feel the same way to you, my Lady? I do not know if you were born, slumming in our streets, but surely you must have heard the stories. I feel wrong being in..." he looked towards the broad expanse of the Palace, "...these halls. Looking at those radiant, armored men with braided hair. It feels like we don't deserve to live like this. Not yet."

[Paragon]

The stroll between Sahfri and Taelian brought them to a pavilion. Simple though it was in design, it was comfortably cushioned and looked to be outfitted for afternoon comforts such as tea and sandwiches. The lady of the palace brought Taelian to one side of cushioned seats before taking up her position on the other. Though the pavilion seemed to be prepared in advance, the small delights arrayed on the modest table in front of them appeared fresh and inviting. Sahfri picked up tea cup and readied herself a cup of tea, pouring hot water into the cup to stir the flavor from leaves that gave off scents of jasmine and mint. She listened quietly to what Taelian had to say before seating herself.

“I trust you to help yourself.” She nodded to the array of foods and drinks before taking a sip of her tea while observing the ebon knight over the rim. After swallowing she lowered the cup, gazing at Taelian curiously.

“You are Riven’s lover?” Sahfri did not mask the curiosity or surprise in her voice as she observed Taelian. One of her eyebrows quirked slightly. The expression lingered on her face for several moments before smoothing out, the lady having considered a few things.

“I did not realize that he had taken one.” She murmured this, almost sadly. Her gaze shifted as she appeared to look distantly to somewhere else in the palace. Whatever her thoughts on the matter, she kept them to herself as she returned her attention to Taelian. As the ebon knight spilled his questions, Sahfri affixed the young man with an incisive gaze. Her tone, when she spoke, was a sharp rebuke of his thinly veiled accusation.

“We take offense to the accusation that we would abandon our people to the wretched fate that has fallen upon them.” She sipped her tea then quickly added.

“Does the mountaineer climb with their bare hands? Do they scale the colossal peaks with naught but the flesh of their skin exposed to the raw elements? No, boy. They do not.” She nodded to one of her bodyguards. “The mountaineer requires heavy clothing to shield them from the bitter cold. They require the tools to climb their mountain.”

Sahfri set her teacup down and folded her hands in her lap.

“There are those who are the climbers in this journey. Then there are those who are the clothier’s of those who must climb because we cannot. We are the eyes, the ears, the allies building bridges for you to cross on your way.” She narrowed her eyes as she stared at Taelian.

“So while you climb the mountain, I am the clothier ready to outfit you with the food to keep you strong, the tools to help you on the way. As I am for all who ascend such treacherous heights.” Though she was speaking in thinly veiled code, it was clear that Sahfri was implying she provided supplies and assistance to those who fought on behalf of the Siltori people.

“But tell me, is there but one mountain in this journey? No. There is an entire expanse to be conquered. Peaks of immeasurable complexity that can fell hundreds of foolish mountaineers who believe themselves impervious to the perils of their hazardous ascension. And what to come after the first mountain has been defeated, it’s challenges bare for the world to see? How terrible will the perils of the other mountains be? Will not friends and allies be needed?” Sahfri was leaning forward. Her eyes bored into Taelian, there was a slight mist to them, a determined fire burned in her gaze.

“Do not be so naive as to believe that this journey is one that can only be won with but pick and axe, boy. Some of the mountains that you would ascend have stood for millennia, such a feat is not achieved without reason to be feared.” Sahfri quieted then as she studied Taelian. Her voice never quivered. She never spoke louder than that of a stern and pointed orator, her voice still only loud enough to be heard by those immediately near them. Her posture was stiff but slowly eased back into one of practiced poise.

[Taelian]

Amidst their conversation together, Taelian took nothing. It wasn't because he was afraid to indulge in her offering, or out of any fear of sabotage, but more that he was enthralled by their conversation and anxious to miss even a word that she spoke. To a simple man, a woman like Sahfri was out of reach; an ascendant being of wealth and prestige, with whom one could never waste their capital. He wanted to learn of who she was, what she wanted, and why she had approached him and taken this time. It could not have been that she did this with every single Siltori -- he had seen more around than just himself. Perhaps it was the Black Sigil upon his neck. Perhaps the fact that he was Famished. It would've been difficult to notice, but not impossible. The delay in which his mind appeared to process emotions, and the calculation with which he handled his approach, could lend one to that possible conclusion.

He didn't know, though. The woman didn't make herself very conspicuous -- what she thought, what she felt. Even as she spoke of the mountainous journey, and her role as a clothier, she made no forward proposition. She offered only a thin strand with which to grasp, and nothing more.

Taelian felt that he was processing everything backwards. He didn't know what to make of... anything that she said. It was all so overwhelming.

The mountains... he thought to focus on those. What mountains were in this journey? The one before him was so tall, it blocked view of all those other things behind it. Or perhaps his perspective was too small to see far enough off Sil-Elaine's rotten soil. He thought of what insurmountable odds were before him now; the death of the Dranoch, the felling of their Court of Dusk. Then... another mountain behind that one; the restoration of Sil-Elaine. The return of the Elven Gods. A war with Daravin, a return of his people to their lands. The reunification of their race. The rebirth of Silor as a Kingdom.

There were so many things to want; so many myths to chase after. Each myth, to him, was its own mountain and he would climb them all if he could. She was right . . . he was a climber. And she, she was--

"I would like to be your friend and ally," he told her. "To climb these mountains. And so that you might smile, to see me so steadily atop them. I imagine that you would like to see these things done, too. Perhaps we do not dream of the same things, or in the same order, but I long for the restoration of my people. And I know how much we must do to get there," he nodded. Taelian shut his eyes, for a moment, and exhaled as he almost casually leaned forward. Perhaps it was immature to lean in this way moments before a confession, but it was not because he felt his voice needed to be hush, nor that he thought his secret was altogether interesting.

He did so because he felt that by making it clear that he was willing to speak to the woman in confidence, she would consider bequeathing him with even the lightest kindling of trust. Enough, perhaps, to consider adding him to her list of clients in need of warmth amidst their journey.

"I never saw the success of the Black Remedy as the final step," he admitted. "But we are powerless against this world. It's not just the mountain, or the cold; the skies open to pour molten ash upon us. We have suffered so much from chance. We... need to offer ourselves a foundation again. One of the reasons I came here, aside from Aldrin's commandments, was to seek out the Elven God, Ridhain. We need them all to come home, and serve our people again. To restore the land. Maybe there's a chance."

[Paragon]

"Perhaps you can be, Son of Silor. Perhaps you can be." Sahfri's gaze went distant. Her eyes grew soft as she seemed preoccupied with something before returning to the conversation at hand.

Just then, one of her handmaidens stepped forward after making themselves a non-entity for so long. She bent at the waist and whispered in the ear of her mistress. The Lady nodded. She reached forward picking up her cup of tea and taking another sip. One of her bodyguards produced a slip of paper and some ink. Wordlessly Sahfri scribbled something down on the paper then expertly sealed it within an envelope. She pressed the seal upon the envelope and then fixed Taelian with a stare.

"You've a long road ahead of you. But this humble seamstress can aid you yet. Visit the Skyforge in the Plaza of Jeweled Arches. Deliver this letter to the owner. He will forge a weapon for you. One well above the make of mere mundane steel." She extended the envelope to Taelian with a small smile.

"I think you'll find that you and he have much to discuss." Once Taelian took the letter, Sahfri rose to her feet. She studied the ebon knight carefully.

"You may yet find success in your goals here, young knight. Me and mine shall aid you, for as long as it is prudent to do so." A knowing smile touched her lips before she stepped away from the pavilion. Her entourage joined her.

"Travel well, Son of Silor. We will yet cross paths again." With that, the Lady of Kalzasi departed. As soon as she stepped away, a guardsmen appeared to firmly but gently escort Taelian from the palace grounds.