23 Ash, 4621
"You know it's always this same song and dance..."
As if to accentuate her words, the salon music began to play from afar in the gallery, the two well-dressed magi gathered together in the hall. Eloise, always vibrant, wore her satin dress; long and vertical, she had eagerly embraced Lorien's forward-thinking styles. Taelian himself wore satin beneath a silk brocade vest, with long slacks, and proper finely-laced shoes. All around them lied industrial architecture but with a gothic tinge; stately, ornate, yet with the remembrance of older times. Perhaps better ones.
"I know it is, Eloise," he said, narrowing his eyes. "But this time I believe my connections might bear fruit. I've been speaking to Renfier via telegram, he's informed me of rumors of Lady Ash's interests. The way she eyes this northern conflict -- the way she believes it may play into her favor."
"And you believe that lecherous, facile man, Latham?" she questioned, a scowl attaching itself to the Half-Elf's lips. "And you believe inviting Daravin into our affairs could possibly do well for us in the end? That Empire is a nation of vultures, no better or worse than Von Rabe."
"I do," the man whispered. "Brilan wants more than her lot. More than the rudimentary schemes of the Entente. I know it. Everyone in the Empire of Rust knows."
"Nevermind this discussion," Eloise corrected him, eyeing Duke Galbrecht approaching from the foyer and passing him a blithe smile. "Present company begets us. Remember your cues, Lord Venger. And remember who it was that made you a Lord at all."
- - -
He awoke to a memory. One that provoked no shortage of unpleasant feelings, attached to the weight that woman had placed upon his back. You are among our greatest assets, she would whisper. A warrior we cannot afford to lose.
And she was right. The Covenant could not afford to lose him. They were crowded with enemies, now, a feature of the gambit they had decided to embark upon; to involve themselves in the construction of the Aether Cannon, and now, the fraught war they bitterly waged against the Kindred. A war that was total, that could not be shied or escaped from. Even if they fled Lorien, its fate against Von Rabe would only lead onlookers across the world to view their movement as a poison, led by a cabal of deceitful witches. They would be hunted by the Omen. Perhaps by those birds themselves.
Even the loss of one essential component, now, meant the death of them all. Each 'Thespian' had their part to play. Remember your cues.
"I can't stay here forever," he murmured. "Lorien needs me... all of those people... Essen." There was far more than the Covenant at stake. Their last defeat had come in the face of Von Rabe decimating an entire city, culling the population in a blizzard unseen before it through history. If they did not succeed, millions would die.
It was thoughts like these that kept him awake at night. And in the morning, they continued to creep through his mind. Within his tent, Taelian meditated, wondering what could be done. Better--better than the ones before him. What could he do that Aldrin could not? What was the key?
Reawaken the Divinity. That was what he always told himself. Become a Draedan again. Let the corruption seep in, or find a way to purge it. Don't let that gift wane.
He shook his head. Slowly changing his attire to more casual wear -- simple white and brown linen cloths -- he prepared himself within his tent for another long day. They would need to find a river, lake or pond soon for him to bathe.
Opening his tent flap, he called out to the other, curling his lips into what almost looked like an agitated frown. "Lux," he said firmly. "It's time to get moving."
