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It seemed that the nobleman had little issue with sharing different aspects of his life with a complete stranger. Perhaps it was the fact that he was Siltori that had led to Ela'Rannoch feeling such a compulsion to discuss the goals of his work, or perhaps it had something to do with the previous sharing of information about his parents that had opened up a well-spring of knowledge. Althalos found himself listening intently to his customer, suddenly intrigued by the prospect of having a potentially powerful patron as a recurring customer. There was less interest in the personal life of the man for the sake of charity and sympathy than for the opportunity at sycophantic social gestures, but curiosity too was a strong trait in his blood, and the drive to learn more was ever-present.
With a flick of his undead eyes, Althalos took notice of the scribbled shapes and drawings upon the parchment he had given to Taelian. A brief analysis of the shapes that he had manufactured seemed to indicate that his memory hadn't truly returned in its entirety. Some of them seemed almost half-formed, as though only a portion of consciousness had been dedicated to their preservation. Was it possible for a person to forget something as important as their own parents so easily? He bit at his cheek, recognizing his own failures in that category, though he excused himself from judgment with the broad claim of amnesia.
There was some mention about the corpse-elf's own origins and a hypothesis that he originated from the North. A brief smile creased across his face as he contemplated this response, offering a slight shrug of his shoulders. "Maybe." He said, absolving himself of the duty of informing the other fellow more about his origins without more specific questions. It was possible, of course, that he was from the North, but unless the other man wanted to identify his shattered signet ring, or else knew his face from somewhere, then it was as good as saying nothing at all. A dozen theories about his origin could be made, but without proof, there was little reason to pursue any of them.
The Siltori painter did find the discussion about the Bedlam to be fascinating. It seemed very much to be a ghetto of some form, a place designed to allow for easier management for transients and their barely-housed compatriots. He supposed there was some wisdom in gathering together the weakest members of society so that they could be cared for differently than others, but he wondered whether they were simply being exploited together for their labor, utilizing their desperation as a means to get whatever one wanted out of them. Unkindly though that notion was, Althalos could still understand some logic in it, but it seemed like it would make one's principle method of gathering an army rather weak -- didn't many countries use the average citizen to fight their wars?
There was further revelation about the nature of Taelian who made it exceptionally clear to him that he was a revolutionary from an organization or place called the 'Black Remedy'. Althalos stifled a smirk, biting down on the edge of his cheek at the implicit moodiness of the name. What were their enemies called: The Dread Force? The answer was made clear in his next sentence, making mention of a faction called 'Dranoch' who apparently served as rulers of the area, though whether by legitimate rule or de-facto rule by force, he could not be certain.
It seemed then that Taelian was simply an agent for his organization, dispatched here to embed himself in local politics. Had it not occurred to him that it might be best not to make his entire agenda known to those he met? What would prevent the painter from informing one of the local Finla's about the nature of this interloper, and his attempted infiltration? After all, was it in the best interests of Atinaw for there to be a revolutionary from another land devoting resources from home solely to support their crusade? By constructing this portrait of Taelian's parents, would he be complicit in the deception now that he knew the reason behind his gathering the trappings of nobility?
"Of course. I'll continue work here." He offered at Taelian's sudden retreat, watching with awe at the spectacle of the elf vanishing away into an ethereal doorway. Perhaps, he considered, as he turned his head back to the portrait, it would be best not to get in the way of the revolutionary mage. Or -- perhaps there was a great deal that could still be gained from further association. Thin brush in hand, he drew a line across the parchment, and in his mind's eye, he saw himself walking it.
Credit to Saej!
