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.
