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The Flower
Posted: Sun Dec 29, 2019 1:33 pm
by Taelian
34th of Ash, Year 118
The night had been spent with... a disturbing amount of crying, yelling and other distressed sounds. Renfier had been in a lot of pain, and no matter how he tried to make it better, nothing appeared to work for him. They didn't stop for a single moment to rest, and by the end of their journey to Ciseperant's opulent capital, the Halamire-Knight had practically gone mad. Taelian's lips were curled down for half the journey; frowning, grimacing, reeling at the taxing displays of pain manifest by the brave warrior.
He had at least proved his own worth, taking care of the remaining Raiders who clamored to the city's borders at night, attempting to try their luck at robbing travelers and wandering peasants while the guard were asleep. At the end of the Imperial Badlands, the cracked desert charred into the soil, he noted that the transition to a warm and summery savannah was almost immediate. The fields were colorful and serene, barley and wheat blown quietly along the autumn winds. Renfier tried to explain to Taelian the way in which the Emperor had freed their society of the Sundering's effects, but it was unlike anything he had ever seen.
Taelian had never left the desolation of Sil-Elaine. The Badlands made sense -- they were all... barren. The whole world, he thought, must have looked something like that.
But now that they were in Daravin's Outer Marches, the Elf had grown swiftly emotional. To see his homeland like it was, unmolested... it brought him the worst and greatest of sensations. The sorrow, of course, at what had been lost... but the triumph that it still remained. Even if held in wretched human hands, it was still there -- and, perhaps the humans weren't so wretched after all. And perhaps the fact that a Siltori could rule these lands after all meant something great for his people. He...
Taelian did not know. One man displaying kindness did not excuse thousands of years of slavery, rape, genocide and persecution. Not by any means. In his mind, humanity was as the Dranoch were; an enemy, but one that needed to be tolerated for as long as they held the upper hand. When that strength fell beneath their feet, however...
"Rannoch," the Halamire called to him. "We will go to my estate. I have an artifact there that I can use to contact Lady Maven du Challamont, a healer of the Halamire Order. She has been gifted by Raella, you see."
"Raella?" the Siltori asked. "I thought she was a myth."
Renfier appeared offended, albeit confused. "How could you possibly....? Did you not know that she created your dodgy, bastard kind?"
The Ebon Knight frowned. "We're not dodgy. If anything, the only deception and betrayal I've noticed in any focused quantity has been from--"
"Nevermind that. How could you possibly think a Dragon God to be false? The impression they've left upon this world is--"
"Stop," the Elf half-yelled. He felt... belittled. They never spoke of these things, in Sil-Elaine. In the Black Remedy, sometimes Wraedan was given deference, but some of the Knights even felt that he was a myth. A lie that Aldrin stood behind in order to give his mission divine providence; to inspire the masses. Most believed that Aldrin was the font of his own power, and that Wraedan was -- if anything -- a delusion, or a very distant and isolated being.
Raella creating their species was something he had never heard of. As far as Taelian had been aware, Elves had always been. Since the dawn of their world. They were... intrinsic to Ransera, he had always believed.
Re: The Flower
Posted: Sun Dec 29, 2019 1:56 pm
by Taelian
"The Dranoch always told us that the Gods were fake. If they even mentioned them at all."
Renfier nodded curiously. "Liam told me something like that," he said, rubbing his thumb along the edges of his stubble.
"Liam?" Taelian asked.
"My husband," the Halamire clarified. Right. Spouse number three; apparently hopefully to be joined by another, if he did not lose his arm and therefore his career.
"Liam is not a very Elven name." They continued to walk, finally passing through the entrance to the quaint small-city and along the cobbled streets. Taelian noted that the buildings they passed were decorated with extravagant colors, and that their exterior were built from smooth, well-carved stone surfaces, almost like marble statues in the sheerness of their texture. The roofs were terraced with small clay tiles. From their windows extended useless rail balconies with flowers hanging from above, like vines.
This was a wealthy city. It wasn't fit for the peasantry; Taelian could already tell. What he'd seen in the Badlands was a level of squalor that could not even begin to compared to the level of pure wealth he was spying around him; the fountains adorning the centers of commerce, the glowing magical lights radiating the roads from tall lampposts... it was unreal. Even though the Palisade of Dusk held similar well-crafted opulence, it was still seething in the mire and decay of Sil-Elaine. This, like the fields outside of it, was untouched.
"I changed his name before we were married. Linvalorian Sil'Illidarinth was a bit gaudy for me, you see."
Taelian laughed. Their names could be... gaudy, he admitted. Though, one thing in particular caught his notice as the man spoke his prior name. "Sil? You have a Noble on your hands, you know," he pointed out.
"Explains his insatiable lust for wealth. Dodgy, I told you."
"Does he do anything to benefit in that aspiration of his?" Taelian inquired.
"Indeed," started Renfier. "He invests the excess of my earnings, and has recently launched a fashion manufacturing building in here Ciseperant. It's made us... a great deal of money. Those who wish to court the eye of Lady Lorraine, who favors Elven fashion, purchase his Daravin-appropriate Elven attire at horrendous prices. His business practices are shite, though. Has some kids working on his textiles like literal slaves. Other humans around here won't like that when they find out about it. We're already ruled by one Elf, we don't want our children being enslaved by more of them."
The Siltori pondered for a moment. "What would they do?" he asked. "If they found out, I mean."
"I don't know," the Halamire replied. "Nothing, maybe. Luckily, he's married to a human, and a Valran at that, so I can just say they're my slaves. He just... watches them to make sure they're not worked to death. Good spin on it, yeah?"
"I guess," he flashed a brief, unimpressed smile.
Re: The Flower
Posted: Sun Dec 29, 2019 2:15 pm
by Taelian
The two men came upon the entrance of Renfier's grand estate hall. The exterior was covered in fanciful beige-colored bricks with ornamented windows betwixt them. Ivy hung along a good third of the building, with the entrance decorated by two thick dark wood doors. The estate had to have at least twelve rooms, he thought, though he supposed he was uneducated for thinking on such terms. What, he wondered, did home experts use as their judging metric? Feet? Acres? Meters? The Elf bit his lower lip, his mind twisting at all of the things he had not yet been exposed to. In Silfanore, and especially in the Pyred Bedlam, everyone lived in a hovel or a bunk, or underground. Or on the ground.
They stepped inside. The ornamented interior was dimly lit, with an aristocrat's ornate wooden staircase. Immediately upon returning, he was greeted by the... little-clothed view of one of his wives, who greeted Renfier coyly as he returned, and in equal measure passed Taelian a suspicious and dissatisfied look. He supposed she thought he was a new addition to their household.
"Oh Great Ulen!" she screamed, and had she been holding something she certainly would've dropped it. "My love, what has happened to you? You must see a doctor at once!"
Renfier shook his head. "Patience, dear. I intend to conjure the presence of Lady Maven. She will come and heal me once she is aware of my -- condition."
"Lady Maven?" she inquired, rhetorically. "Oh, of course! I will power the converser, my Lord Husband," the woman referred to him. She had lengthy, silk-like black hair, brown eyes like him and fair skin. She was wearing, seemingly, a thin lace sweater as well as a chest-covering and dark undergarments. And that was all. It was her home, though, and he often wore much less in such a space.
"You're not actually a Lord, are you?" Taelian asked. "I thought that title was reserved for the Entente."
"Yes... well -- Leliana likes to refer to me as such. She was quite a peasant when I found her, after all. An abjectly settled serf."
The Elf nodded. It was just to flatter Renfier's ego, he could tell. By the looks she gave both men who had stepped through the door, her concern if anything was feigned. It was perhaps her very impoverished upbringing that had led her to value these conditions too much to give them up.
"There is an extra room for guests to sleep and recover. I will heal with Lady Maven. In the meantime, Ranno-- Taelian," he corrected himself, "...you may rest. Dismissed."
Taelian scowled. The man's return to his estate had certainly altered their dynamic very quickly. Still, he appreciated his generosity, and went to his bed to rest as he was advised to do.
Re: The Flower
Posted: Sun Jan 05, 2020 5:41 pm
by Paragon
Taelian
XP: 5/5
Magic? No.
Politics: The Daravinic Entente
Politics: The Halamire's station
Politics: Daravin's Siltori Elite
Survival: Accepting the generosity of strangers
Investigation: Noting subtle cues
Investigation: Spotting a disdainful glance
Comments: Please reach out to me if you have questions or concerns.