To A Thousand Warm Winters

[Zaros]

♅ Given the fact that the only parties I was ever used to were the ones we would throw at the village, this was a whole new ballpark even for me. The level of extravagance, the opulence of both the guests and the venue truly had me out of my element, if only for a while, as I found myself coming back into my own rhythm by my third flute of wine.

My father always said we came from old royalty and I was always enthralled by his stories of how things were before the Court of Dusk took over. It was truly amazing to see it for myself for the first time. I spent most of the night simply walking through the different groups, gleaming into their conversations in hopes that I would catch a piece, a morsel of information on the dranoch I had dedicated my life to killing.

As it turned out all I was hearing was idle gossip, but gossip that could be used during negotiations if I was in need of work from any of the guests here tonight. Soon, the sound of a woman's voice quelled the many conversations within the room as she began to descend the grand staircase that lead to her opulent throne. She was beautiful, something I regret thinking given the only other woman I found stunning was Aeryndal. As her speech, albeit short as it was, came to an end, the room went dark.

Instinctively, shrivenflame came into an orb in my hand, but I soon realized where I was and extinguished it. Such sudden changes and shifts like that were bad on my nerves. When the light poured back into the room only four other people remained in the room with me. It seemed that I was not the only one to receive this "special" Invitation. To my surprise, I saw the slave from Valtoria......Arkash I believe his name was.

I was starting to think he was no simple slave or that at least it was a cover for something. Regardless it was none of my business and focused on the Lady of Ash herself. Her words both perplexed me and piqued my interest. If she was truly what she was claiming to be, she was far older than she appeared, which meant at some point, I would have to end her if it came to light she was more than mortal. To claim to be the caretaker of this land since the fall of Silor was not something one would say f they didn't have evidence to back it up.

To add to my astonishment, she claimed the reason she called us was to help her find the location of a lost magic? Chronomancy? In all my study of magic, and Marks of Control, I had never heard of it, even if it was lost. I was starting to regret coming, but it was far too late and I doubt I would be able to leave her now that I had gotten this far. One of the special guests spoke up, voicing his concerns and addressing the ridiculousness of her words.

He held some points, and it was clear to me he wasn't too sure about this endeavor and the legitimacy of it all. He spoke of dying, that he was in fact dying and that the man her clasped his hand was a simple monk. Looking to the other two, I knew Arkash was more than he seemed but didn't have any inclination as to what the other elf was capable of, though I had to agree, looking at how he was dressed he did look like shit.

After the other male made his case I decided to throw my hat into the questioning ring as well. Before I could, however, Arkash spat his concerns next. Looking down upon the commonly dressed male I found his thick accent grating on my ears as it did upon our first meeting, but could make out the general understanding of what he was talking about. He too held points that I could agree with. But I also felt it was a bit too early to start making demands of a woman who could clear an entire room in mere moments.

I descended from the balcony as he finished his words, coming around to stand with the others. "Forgive my skepticism Lady Ash, but I too find this rather hard to swallow. My father spoke of the Ald elves, and not once did he ever allude to the fact any still remain. Though I am curious, I'm more concerned with sending five random people to retrieve something that we don't even know can be recovered." I began, my eyes staring the woman down.

"To add to my concerns, If you are indeed an Ald'norai as you say, the caretaker of the lands of our people, why haven't you aided in the efforts of freeing our people and land from the true threat. If you know who I am then you know who I speak of. I don't think I can trust your intentions without a proper explanation. A mage of your power and caliber surely would be a boon to the efforts of freeing our people from the scourge that now rules it."

If she couldn't give me a valid answer then this meeting would be cut short. ♅

---

"Common Speech"
"Silvain Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Jean]

What a strange night it was.

Jean was roused from his rest to the strange visitation of Lady Ash, beckoning for him by name. To be contacted personally and discretely outside of court seemed so… unlike the Montese. The woman was so busy, with so many enemies that even visiting her brother, Jean's father, seemed irregular to the point of bewilderment despite living a short jaunt away from the palace.

She knows, he thought. The danger of being found out, of being made pariah for his affiliations clung to the coat tails of his thoughts even as the nature of her visit was given some clarity. Execution at best would follow, and at worst he would have to live with the shame of being stripped of his titles. Why else would she choose him for a task, and not one of his elder brothers with far more experience and Marks than he? Surely there were more trustworthy members of her court closer to her aims… or perhaps that was the point. Plausibility in denial.

Sworn to secrecy, he was made to board the last train to Amoren by the dawn, embarking from the comforts of Ciseperant towards the lands of the Treveyn. His doubt festered as time wore on, but by the time he arrived he was determined to serve his Montese as a loyal member of her house. Even if she knew of the Black Sigil, perhaps this was a good thing.

---
Night of the Wintry Accord

Ardenserat twinkled between the stars of a thousand upscale Ententer homes. The bleeding edge nobility wasted no expense, and the very walk up the steps to the palace was laden with festivities. Doffing regal cloak and the battle-worn crease upon his lips, he retired towards the secondary building for the dressing room.

Were his orders to truly participate, Jean would have been unsettled by the events, but he was allowed the comfort of ambiguity by nature of the request: Lady Ash needed someone who could hold their affiliations close, and Jean had always been one with many secrets.

Molding his body into that of a tiger well before the masquerade began, Jean circumvented the need for the bulky and extravagant trappings of nobility; the servants of the fitting room braided his cheeks with golden, gilded beads, combing his fur and stylizing it into gel-slicked swirls upon the shoulders and haunches. His forehead bore a bronzed talisman of Ulen, fastened with a needle pricked painfully through skin and hide.

Strolling into the party, Jean attended later into the evening by request of Lierel. He stalked towards an extravagant table of gleaming onyx and lept upon it shortly before the dance, laying there lazily and hanging his sprawling limbs off the edge. His entire form took most of the available space—grandstanding Ulen's gift was a given among the Entente. For Daravin, such a sight was not unusual. Malformists flaunted their Templates as a form of divinity. The fact that the tiger was a mage was no secret, and a gathering crowd watched him not as a spectacle, but to harry those unfortunate few who mistook him for an animal. Watching this play out was a form of entertainment he shared in.

Few chose to communicate with Jean. Lack of any willingly shared information drew disdain, so they store their gazes and moved on like a breeze. Some had attempted to start a dialog, but his slow and careful communication through the gruff and wiry Integrated vocal chords only drew upon their boredom. For the better part of the evening, he listened. Every little rumor was useful as he spent so little time in court, and being a part of the scenery suited him in such uncharted waters. Being here was enough of a testament to his value.

Eyes glazing over, he watched the couples dance. His eyes followed their feet, picking apart their footwork. Jack drew his attention most, to him the man's footwork telling of a warrior's footwork more than a an art form meant to appeal. It was exotic, a novelty in its own way. He could tell the man was martially gifted, likely someone's Valran.

What's more, his skin was weathered like those from the Badlands. Were he not here to be discrete, he might have propositioned him for a private share of intel. Jean spent much of his time protecting the assets of his Montese in that Ulen-forsaken hell. Were he not a warrior, his form would have been ill-fitting for this event. His partner, however...

As much as they might have tried, Jean was surprised he hadn't heard rumors swirl about the gall a man might have to teach dance at the Treveyn's soiree. After all, he had seen this sort of fallout often enough. "Take classes, it might save your life," the Malformist mumbled to himself.

It was Lady Ald herself that broke the flow of this troublesome party. Jean blinked, and then navigated his way through the throngs of onlookers for a better view. Every word hung on the crowd like a fine knife, and she was easy to hear with the world quieting to her whims.

As he strayed beyond ass after noble ass, the host's perplexing manner of speech took over his thoughts.

The lights went out. Jean froze, fur standing on end as his posture lowered closer to the floor. Twisting around as the lights returned, he swiveled his head and spied the thinned crowd. His heart raced; this was the power of Lady Ald?

Gathering himself, Jean sat firm and listened when Brilan began to speak. Breathing in, he mirrored her countenance at once. It was wrong to wear his suspicion, and he hoped the woman hadn't noticed his fear over her antics. No, of course she did. But maybe that was her fun? he thought.

This wasn't about Pyromancy, or the Remedy.

It was about… Brilan, you haven't! Are you delusional? He wore a puzzled, concerned look upon his tigrine face. It betrayed his thoughts all too well, could one read the face of an animal.

Transparency. Loyalty. He let the others speak first, studying their responses to inform his own. Jean was of the opinion that lost magic had best remain lost. Silor fell for a reason, and he'd heard the stories of their hubris. Uncovering a magic whispered about in stories would draw the ire of countless enemies; Jean risked this to a lesser extent with his Black Sigil.

That warrior from before seemed reasonable, though his accent betrayed his origins even more than the skin. The—the creature that followed? Jean could barely understand an accent so thick, but what little he made out was crude. Jean's eyes widened, and then cringed at the sight, hear, and …smell of him. The man was at least a mage of some sort, but Jean didn't understand how Lady Ald could trust such a lowlife.

Ellasir was the most collected of the group thus far. Jean listened intently to what he had to say. At least this one spoke in a manner befitting their host.

"If I may be completely transparent as you have asked, my Treveyn," the tiger spoke up, cutting along the coat tails of Ellasir's questioning with the thrumbling, gravid voice of desert-scorched lungs tucked away beneath pounds of stocky flesh. He stood and paced before her, clearly irritated. She courted hooligans; what did holding back matter now? At first, he spoke in fluent Silvain. "Are you the only Ald'Norai in existence?" The follow-up question was delivered as he sat and stilled, lifting a paw while his tail flicked. "I thought perhaps the Black Sigil had done away with timelessness. If you survived, others might have, and such a thing calls into question the security of this nation."

Or perhaps her power eclipsed even the Sigil.

The next question was delivered in poignant Gentevarese, his tongue flipping between languages on a dime. "This story cannot be known... but then… Ah." He chuffed. "A Badlander and his partner nor a hooligan unfit for a brothel would be believed," he said aloud as his gaze wandered over them. He'd already made the connection that they were probably going to the Badlands given his experience with the region, and the type of thug she was prepared to hire. "What is to stop them from sharing the information with competing factions outside the Entente?" There was a dip between his words, trained mind measuring whether he should question her ability. Even so, this matter was so delicate to him that he would be clawing himself if he hadn't spoken his mind. He knew Badlanders. He knew Shitport, to a lesser extent. "You have my utmost loyalty, Treveyn. What I'm getting at here, is that I want countermeasures in place." He wasn't finished yet, even if he was sure these foreigners must have formed a poor opinion of him now. His low opinion of foreigners was obvious.

"Then there is the matter of uncovering this Chronomancy. If you really are a member of a race that was torn apart by arcane hubris, then you would know the danger of reintroducing a lost discipline meddling with time—Chrono, as in clock? We could consider enemies to the elves a square of the prior number if they ever caught wind of this. How will this serve Lady Ash in such turbulent times?"

[Amyas]

This was fine.

The revellers despised him, but this was fine. They gifted looks that could kill, but this was fine. They circled like sharks, spreading whispers as they waltzed, but this was fine. Amyas' pride was crumbs at best; disdain and disgust were things he could bear. Or rather, this being the extent of their malice was the best outcome he could ever conceive.

He would not relax, of course. Each step was a step that could cross a line, for him and his adorers alike. The night was long, after all. Who was to say they would slake their thirst with nothing more than barbed words?

Such a thought flashed in his mind as the thief felt a hand clasp his shoulder, tensing up as his heart dropped in his chest. The hand—whoever the hand was attached to—claimed Amyas just like that,

This man was death. It lingered in his expressions, danced in his breath, crawled across his words. It smiled when he smiled, turning those lips of his into razor blades.

Oddly enough, it was comforting. At least there was a face; at least there was no (or at least, little) pretense to it all. Perfume did not mask the scent of blood, flooding his nose with crimson roses. Instead it was simply singed by decay. Refreshingly imperfect in comparison to the chiseled ideals of the Entente.

“Huh? Oh, I was invited by, uh…” How was she to be addressed? He'd never had to address nobility before — at least, not in such 'polite' company. Turn to the letter then; what had she called herself?

“I was invited by her Fair Ladyship.” That sounded suitably fancy, at least. Although, wasn't everyone invited by her?

“Pleasure to meet you, by the by. Amyas Dal'Morian, at yer service.” He gave his name back, accompanying his introduction with a light bow. Friends it was, then—or at least as close as you could get in a place like this. He couldn't say Derek was company he could trust, but the other man was a damn sight better than most others at the soirée.

Then the lady of the hour took centre stage. The great opulence of her home twisted as she spoke, bending over backwards to give the heavens unto the Lady Ash. Then in decadence did they die, murdered and eclipsed with pitch, taking swaths of guilded guests with its resurrection.

The Treveyn's reassurances did nothing to still the racing heartbeat pounding in Amyas' breast. And still the darkness lingered in the corners, a stubborn stain that apparently could vanish you just like that.

Jumping at shadows.

It was… probably wiser he didn't speak. The ones who hadn't been swallowed by the darkness had plenty of words of their own, questions and complaints that seemed far more important than anything Amyas could vocalise. So Miss Ash, of Your Grace or whatever was was actually some incredibly old, effortlessly powerful elf?

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Ah shite, he hadn't meant to say that out loud. But that meant staying quiet was done away with, right?

“Well, yer uhm… Graceful Ashiness… 's meant to be a lost thing, right? Ch— uh, the time magic, I mean,” The Sil'Norai man continued, idly picking at the glass in his arm. “So, how are we s'pposed to find it? Sounds like the kinda thing that's been looked all over the place for. And uh… I dunno about them, but I'm not exactly… well, I dunno anythin' about magic.”

[Tyranny]

The woman's face kept stern and somewhat expressionless as Jacques spoke up, keeping a relative distance despite her beckoning. Arkash piped up not long after — he spoke in a lowborn Rien muck, though not one that particularly bothered her. His accent was of little import, and the way in which she calmly eyed him as he spoke made that clear. Her poise, throughout all, always remained. Brilan was elegant and statuesque. She stood like a true Highborn, the way that the people who invented Nobility would. As sun and moon continued to slowly circle around and above her, the shimmering patterns across her features shifted, but little else changed. She was almost... lifeless. No shift in her position, no twitch of her eye, and only rarely a blink.

"You will not threaten another guest again, Arkash," the woman simply said. "As for your 'compensation'... farthings have little value compared to what great things you might acquire here, take part in, and be witness to. I invited all of you here not to act as mercenaries, but as agents; arbiters of a greater story, one that will outlive us all. You all have many questions, I have noticed; questions of what that story might be, how you might be involved with it, what I intend to do."

She turned to face Ellasir, who spoke of 'the true threat'. She presumed he meant the Dranoch. Then, she faced Jean, whose curiosities in some ways mirrored Jack's, but with deeper insight, and the political angles attached. "Fortunately, most of your questions can be answered together, through a story of my own. If you are aware of Riala Elaine..." Lady Ash began. As she did, imagery appeared behind her; vivid, the form of a woman, donning a Queen's attire. Pale skin, golden eyes, light brimming from her features. In her hand, she wielded a gleaming blade, which radiated more and more as she looked upon its edges, twisting it within her hand. "Remember me as her companion. She brought the realms of Daravin together, building Silor from the corridors of Elaine Indorin to the Great Empire it became. Always, as she did this, I was there beside her. She was a troubled woman," said Brilan, turning her face towards the gilded floor.

"She was troubled by the waning of her life. She felt a duty to her kin. Brynshal Ilan, the only Chronomancer we have ever known, informed her long before their relations soured that he had witnessed a vision: of the fall of our Empire, the destruction of our race, the primacy of humans. She sought timelessness as an answer to the glances offered by time, and many followed her down that path. I and Riala's other closest advisor, Lord Levis, found our own way. We refrained from the rudimentary approach of her Necromancers, and all the vulnerabilities it offered. We sought a way that did not defy the Gods. Instead, we found a way that entangled with them; that used the same trough to breed a different beast. From that breakthrough, Levis and I are still alive," she said.

"...And Lieril," the Treveyn continued. "And Namira. The inventors of true timelessness — of Lichdom. To answer your question, Jean, I am not the only Ald'Norai left. There are three. We have already preserved our people from extinction, and we will proliferate them still. The blueprint to rekindle our kind exists within our bodies, our blood. It is for that reason — following Brynshal's visions — that we have kept ourselves alive at all costs."

Her features rose, the woman facing Ellasir. There was a pause in her words, though not a long one. "As for why I have not fought the Dranoch?" she questioned, the woman's lips curling into a frown. "Their emergence into our world coincided with a period of... great suffering, for us Liches. When it came, I was residing in Sil-Elaine, and I was struck directly by the blast. My body was ruined, every cell within wrought with mutation. I perfected myself for a long time. The Bleeding dealt great harm to me — tore me apart, changed me forever. After that, I receded from view... I waited, for a long while. I let my imperfections fester and grow upon me and then I sculpted myself back from memory. To what I used to look, be like — so long ago. Back before all this. Back when the Elves played in every field. Before we suffered the indignity of being owned by a race of thieves.”

Her expression hardened, lips slightly open, her face twisted with malice until that emotion ultimately faded. Her eyes spanned outward, as if into the void, not making contact with any of her guests. "The Dranoch are far from the true threat," she continued, her voice softening. "They may have escaped death, but they have eliminated one vice in exchange for another: the hunger, the one that compels them, so greatly. Hunger is the lowness of men. The Ald’Norai conquered that long ago, and conquered death not long after. We have no reason to fear them. The true threat are those who would attempt to grasp at our greatness, who would steal fire from our torch, feathers from our wings. Pluck-by-pluck, the men who occupy this land have taken our greatness, even rediscovering the path to Lichdom. How else do you believe that Ratheran has lived all of these years?"

The woman turned, facing away from the assembled guests. She brought her hands together behind her back, peering out towards the courtyard below. "None of you will be required to assist me, but all of you will swear upon the Mnara ad Felan. Once you do, you will not be able to speak of these things to any outside of this room. Of course, I would very much like for you all to aide me in this matter. I selected all of you for a reason; a man bent on destroying oppressive hierarchies," she referred to Arkash, "...a man related to my very own beloved," she referred to Midhir, "...a man whose life was destroyed time and again by the grueling nature of this Empire." Jack.

"A brother to our people, who has been forced to scour and struggle to survive." Amyas. "A trusted confidant of lovely Lieril, the cable that binds us all together." Jean. "And, of course, an Ebon Knight — a man who cares so much for our people that he has spent his life fighting for them." Ellasir. "I am here to rectify the wrongs of history; to shift the balance of Daravin and forever change its trajectory. 'Arcane hubris' is the least of what I seek. Chronomancy was lost not because it needed to be, but because one man wanted it to be. He was spoiled, wanting it only for himself. Wanting that magic to be his legacy, when Saryn meant for it to be the saving grace of our kind. Chronomancy can save us. It can bring this Empire to its knees, this... evil land. I am determined that it be so."

And, as she turned back to face them, Amyas offered his query. A softened smile gleamed from the corners of her lips, pleased that they might return to the point of their assembly. "I already know where to begin," she replied. "But first, I must know that you are all prepared to embark on this journey; that you are willing to take the risks necessary to divert this Empire's history. If you relent, or feel any manner of hesitation, then our transaction here will end. Have you any gripes?"

[Arkash]

Would he not? He would not threaten another guest, and he would not be paid, either? Arkash curled his nose and crossed his arms. No one else seemed concerned about being compensated for their service, either, so he kept quiet about it for the time being. He cast a glance to Jack before he donned his mask again, then paused.
The elephant in the room, or rather, the tiger, had spent its time in the back of Arkash's mind. He didn't acknowledge it as anything more than the queen's expensive pet, part of the scenery. Why would he think anything different? It was just a dumb animal, right? Wrong.
His eyes widened like saucers when the beast began to speak, and he leaned away from the creature with a degree of uncertainty. His gaze then drifted about everyone else in the room. Was anyone else as shocked as he was or were talking animals common in Daravin? Was necromancy the cause? Could one transplant a human tongue and put it in a tiger? Was it some other kind of magic? Could animals learn magic?
He barely even registered what the beast was saying. To any that met his gaze, he mouthed the words 'what the fuck' with a slight dip to his head and a show of his open hands, like he didn't know how to handle it.

Proceeding everyone's questions, he crossed his arms and settled his gaze on the one that had summoned them. His eyes drifted to the giant cat in the room and cast a glance to the lowborn, Amyas. Another pause followed. Had the queen called him by his real name? Immediately after he introduced himself to the beggar as Derek? he unfolded his arms, then looked to the space Ellasir occupied with subtle interest. Had the elf caught that?
No one else had his false name, it was only Amyas, Ellasir, and the queen that knew of his two names. Two of those three loose ends were easy enough to tie up, he supposed. But would he get the chance?
What was more, she'd called him by his true name even though he was in his humanoid form. She knew of his duality, the two lives he walked. His nose curled a little, but he'd suspected it was so upon receipt of the invitation. His gaze, under the eye sockets of his skull-like mask, settled on the queen. Had she given his name as a threat? Chirp up and see what happens?
He hated that. No more messing around, no more mister nice guy. He had to get serious if he was going to make it through the evening with his alter ego intact.

He listened intently for the rest of whatever she had to say. His arms crossed while he looked upon her, and kept his stance ready. He found the image of a woman, pale, shining light with a glowing sword. Brilan was her companion at some point, Riala Elaine was her name. He began to wonder what her significance was before Brilan introduced her as the ruler of Silor. She knew that the elves of Daravin would fall. He furrowed his brow, then looked to Ellasir. hadn't that elf said something about Daravin being his ancestral home?
Arkash put two and two together and found four. Humans had at some point, invaded and overthrown the elves of the region. They were greedy like that, he recognized.

Lichdom? "What's that?" he spoke, his accent more proper all of a sudden. When he realized what he'd asked, he glanced about the room to try and discern if everyone knew what a Lichdom was, or if he was the only one in the dark. Arkash was technically a mage, a powerful one, but his knowledge was limited to that of his mark's application, and its application alone. He barely even knew anything about the penalties of overstepping, as Raphael had instructed him to be careful with his expenditure outside of blight and leeching.
Again, he shook his head, then rubbed at an eye under his mask. What in Bel was going on? Talks of Dranoch arose, and Arkash looked between Ellasir and Brilan. He knew not who Ratheran was, Raphael spoke so little of the Omen; his only real well of information in Daravin.
The more the conversation went on, the more Arkash realized he was so very lacking in knowledge. He knew almost nothing about Daravin or its struggles. He knew nothing of the world at large or its history. Were those the types of thoughts that weighed on a ruler's mind? Their emancipation was only more justified, he assured himself. People were not supposed to rule people, just as people should not be ruled by people. If no one benefited from the cycle, why did it continue at all? Why didn't anyone else see that?

He clung to her talk of the Dranoch. Did she look at him at all? Did she know he shared that hunger she described? Did she know of the mark that was drawn on the back of his skull? Surely not... Only three others knew of such things. How could she possibly know that? She didn't, it wasn't possible.
What she said next perked his ears. His gaze focused intently on her while she spoke of Chronomancy... bringing an empire to its knees? Time magic? Could it stop time? Could he wander into any castle and cut the king's throat if he wielded such magic?
"...How would control over time help you bring down the empire-?" Arkash asked after Amyas asked where they would begin. His brow furrowed even further, and he shook his head before removing his mask. "-Hold on, why do you want to take down the empire? Aren't you sitting pretty drinking your wine? Throwing parties for all these posh pricks fucking about at the top?" he spoke with a gesture of his hand to Jack, whom Arkash had decided was undoubtedly noble.

Still, he found himself wondering just how much she knew; how much power she held over him. She knew of his anarchist plots and devices, such was obvious when she called him by his true name and only cemented the fact that she knew when she described him as a man who was 'bent on destroying oppressive hierarchies'.
What she hadn't mentioned was that all hierarchies were oppressive. There could be no system, where an individual was placed atop another, where all would be fair. There was always a fattened Celebrant and a starving nameless in every hierarchy. Its very definition was oppressive, and no one else saw that. if they did see it, it was because they were the starving Nameless or the fattened Celebrant, one was without the power to change it, and the other didn't want to. So why did she want to destroy the empire?
Arkash would look upon any answer she gave with intense scrutiny. He wouldn't so easily believe any ruler would willingly give up their position without a very good, understandable reason. "And while we're being transparent like you asked of us in the beginning, what comes after this empire? Another supreme ruler?"

None of what was being discussed sounded right. Never once had he dreamed a ruler would ask for his help in dismantling their own society? He could not believe it, his heart wished to hear that someone else thought as he did, that someone else knew the problem that was people ruling people, but even if that was what he was told, could he believe it?
"I'll help," he declared after his barrage of questions., and gave a deep exhale that flared his nostrils while he watched her. "...But I want immunity for however long this takes, hiding from the Argent Knighthood was hard enough; I don't want to be walking on eggshells around Halamire, too."

Image source.

[Midhir]

Midhir only felt more out of place as things progressed. The woman dropped names and history; some of it he recognized, but most of it was foreign to him. He didn't have enough parts of the puzzle to put anything together that resembled a thing he could parse. He was becoming more and more aware that ignorance could be deadly, but this had escalated so quickly that there was no preparing, no context, and no way out except Jack. The man had become more than any one person should for another, and he was aware of that, but this was, in fact, an existential crisis. The woman was too powerful, and he felt a twinge to bring her down, which was stupid, but he was Risen and it was a part of his Mark.

She claimed to know more of Midhir than he himself did, that he was related to Riala Elaine unless he had missed something or mistaken her meaning. Certainly, he was looking for similarities between the image of the ancient queen and what he remembered of himself in the mirror. There was too much for his mind to grasp then and there, so he just breathed, trying to keep his mind calm and open; if he survived this, his memory of it would be sharper and he would be able to figure things out more easily—unless, of course, her artifact robbed him of his memory.

There was so much wrong with this situation.

Of course, he was hesitating, but she hadn't banished him yet. He looked to Jack, who always had gripes. Jack would know what to do, might possibly even be clever enough to outsmart—whatever a Lich was, or at least keep their heads afloat. Even if he had a queen's blood in his veins, he hadn't been trained to leadership, but rather to solitude. He wasn't doing a great job at that out in the world, but it was more difficult to be self-sufficient among the interdependencies of society.

But as he waited and listened, he also wondered whether she had a hand in his sending to the Kullu Monastery. He had only the vaguest impression of parents, his only true memories of the monastic life. He had been schooled not to be curious as he would only find out who he was through introspection, not bloodlines. And yet...

[Jean]

Catching up to him like an echo as the shock faded, Jean recalled the Precepts--artifacts from another age belonging to the Treveyns. So, then, Brilan had brought them well beyond the reach of reprisal by spies and worse. The perfect tool for secrecy. To operate all these years, undiscovered and unmolested by all. The things that could be done with such an Artifact; Jean had long envied Resoners for their instantaneous travels across regions, but the Riftwick took that to unparralelled heights.

Riala Elaine...

The name didn't touch on any bells, until he remembered the history of Daravin taught to him when he was very young. She was the founder of Arlain, and one of the great progenitors of the empire. The Lorraines had done well to teach him the city rightfully belonged to the elves. So that's what this was about, in part...

Jean's eyes fell upon that same, gilded tile. His own reflection greeted him as he listened to her words, and for all his inexperience he still knew. Her revelation that she was a Lich troubled him, but if the humans had taken so much, then how could he keep to his Oath to Aldrin? If Malek had not struck her down, perhaps it was not his right to govern her. This form of Immortality she preached was so pure. Lichdom might have been an 'Addendum' of sorts towards whatever cosmic forces the gods were embodied, Jean came to understand. That made it a form of divinity in and of itself.

My aunt is a Lich.

The answers that flowed from Brilan were so uncharacteristic of the Candor. Here, it was utterly broken. Something about that was paralyzing, every little world-shaking piece of information a prize befitting murder in this world of court intrigue. For how fanciful it all seemed, Jean wholly believed his Treveyn. Her logic was sound, and he became convinced that much of his belief system in the Empire was flawed, predicated upon birthright and imperialism.

By the end of it all, some of the secrets of those around him were brought to light, and one stood out among the others. Ellasir was a brother of the Remedy. Jean looked to him as the words were said, but he set this aside for the moment and waited until the story had waned; he had questions of his own for Brilan Ald.
"This story, I believe every word of it, but each part of this story only invites more questions. Lierel may not be my aunt, then, as I doubt her parents still live to sire my brother. I am doubtful she would be so reckless as to make another of her court a Lich. Though I still consider her family, I wonder now who she is to me. Who is my father to her?"

Slowly leering, he carefully considered what he would reveal next. If this were a trap of intrigue set by Brilan Ald to suss out detractors, they would all soon die in the next few moments. They all stood within the boundaries of her weapon, that Riftwick cloying on his nerves. But then, every interaction with the elite of Daravin often felt as if they held a dagger to one another’s throats as they spoke.

"When Lierel sent me to Sil-Elaine to spy for her, and I saw what the Dranoch had done to the elves, I fell under a spell of wroth. I could not believe that the ancient home of my people was a farm for elven cattle. Those who had potential were slaughtered before they could be given their chance to even make the Choice. I must confess to you, I have joined the Remedy and now bare the Black Sigil and Malek's Pyromancy. However, I have made it clear to Aldrin Sejalus that I will always put my family first. I do not believe that serving a Lich would violate the Oath I took. I hope that when the day comes, the Treveyn and the Black Remedy could pool resources to excise the Hunger from those lands and unify the elves once more." Rolling his paw in front of him, he bowed forward.
"I pledge body and soul to your cause, Lady Brilan Ald. Beyond risk of heresy and treason. I will also soon swear this upon the Mnara ad Felan."

Jean knew in the back of his mind that he would remain brutal towards those against the grain of Daravin Imperialism. In some ways, he still agreed with the necessity for this harshness, but he was willing to say otherwise knowing the ideals of those around him, and the fact that the support of a rebellious Treveyn could elevate his House to new heights. It also mattered to him that Lady Lorraine was complicit in all of this; he was loyal to her, and his vision would always match her aims. Who was he without that loyalty?

Waiting until all had spoken their peace, Jean addressed each of them, the white beast lifting his eyes towards the pearlescent light above. The tiger had seemingly forgotten he was a creature, his uncanny elvenity nearly unsettling to behold. His voice rang across the mirrored stones.
"I am Jean Lorraine, raised to be a weapon by my House. I am willing to entertain Brilan Ald’s plot to undermine the empire in favor of going back to its roots. I envision a unified empire stretching from Couronne to Arlain and beyond, to the eastern edges of Sil-Elaine, free from Blight, gods who do not have our interests at heart, and the vision of this empire."

He turned to Ellasir, that tigrine gaze falling upon him.
"While we may not be cut from the same cloth, I believe that Brilan falls outside the boundaries of the Oath. If the Black Sigil would not fell a Lich, then it is beyond Malek's purview to arbit her death. Chronomancy and a unified elven governance could be a vital tool for the liberation of Sil-Elaine. If Aldrin Sejalus should ask us to betray one another, I only ask that a letter of warning be penned in advance."

To Arkash.
"Such oppression I am against, and on some level I wish Daravin were kinder to the lower classes. My belief is that they should be given more opportunities to make the Choice and seize their destinies or else invalidate the need for war through social harmony. Still, I know the importance of structure. I would fight with you until the trident of Anarchy and greed divides us. It would benefit you immensely to study our culture and effect change from within. No man alone can battle ten thousand mages in an imperialist meritocracy and hope to effect change, but speaking clearly in their tongues from a position of strength may bring enough beneath your banner to become a thorn in this empire.” He was conflicted on Arkash, but he saw a broken man who knew the people better than he ever could. Allowing his inherent biases to melt away, he conceded the truth.
“Perhaps as my Valran, I could help to hone you towards the potential seen within you by the Treveyn.”

To Amyas.
"I cannot claim to know the struggles you endure, but know that you have an ally in the days ahead."

To Jack.
"I could tell by the way you dance that you are a fine soldier, and that any Veiren should be honored to name a man summoned by the Treveyn as Valran.”

He pointed to Midhir.
"To have such a bloodline, I hope you can find pride and confidence within yourself, even within the deadliest court of this empire. When this matter settles, write to me. We should stay in correspondence."

[Zaros]

♅ Everything I was hearing was simply outrageous, though not at all beyond the scope of belief. I was content with her words, my eyes never wavering from the vibrant display of her explanation. I remember hearing my father tell these same tales if only vaguely. To add to the amount of what this Lady of Ash was saying, she admitted to being a Lich.

I found myself becoming agitated, to be at the call of a being with unnatural life. Though my joining the remedy was out of a selfish desire for revenge, I did believe in some of the precepts they taught. No one should live beyond their time, be it peasant or royalty. To add to that everyone else was making their cases, which gave me a lot consider. I listened to each one carefully, to consider their words if only out of respect.

I could only glare at them all as I considered my next move wisely. Out of instinct shrivenflame opened in my hand, something I did when I needed to think about things, it was calming. There was so much I didn't know about her, about her power and the power she wished for us to seek. After lighting and extinguishing the flame several times, I stopped pacing and turned to face our gracious host.

"Though it's against my better judgment I'll help you, but first I must have answers to a few questions." I began, taking a step towards her. "Whats our guarantee our lives will be spared once, if this magic even is recovered? Those three seem to be family to you but I doubt you would kill them, granted however this is Daravin, and even family are not spared from the Candor." I began.

"But for the rest of us what's our guarantee we will survive this endeavor. On top of that, what do we get out of this life risking adventure? Are we to be given a piece of this magnificent magic as well?" I continued taking another step closer to her. "Lastly why us? With all of your power and connections, you could have chosen any of your valran, but you chose us. Are we to be your scapegoats, easily tossed aside once you have what you wish? As I stated I will against my better judgment swear my loyalty, but if this turns out to be a foolish errand or you betray my trust, I will come down on you with all the might I can muster from the Black Remedy." ♅

---

"Common Speech"
"Silvain Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Jack]

Jack was... blown away, overwhelmed. There was a lot to follow -- so many words that meant so little to him, ignorant as he was to the richer history of their world. He knew what a Lich was, though, in theory. He had heard stories of Liches in the past; mages beyond all reason, the greatest of their kind. Some in the Omen viewed them as Prophets, people to be revered. Some claimed Ratheran was a Lich -- a fact that, he supposed, had just been confirmed.

And all of this about... Riala Elaine. The ancient history of their Empire; the 'thieving' of it. He had never quite heard this... side of events. The Ald'norai, to him, were evil warlords who had been felled by Ulen's great providence; struck dead in their sleep, their slaves rising up to break their chains. He hadn't heard what came next. Was genocide the next step? Did Brilan intend to pay the men who had 'stolen' their land with the same thing in turn?

A race of thieves. Her words stung. He was the only human in here, save for - perhaps - the man with the braids, slurring his threats. Jack could only assume he was not, wholly, the woman's intended audience... or her words were a slip of the tongue. An impassioned result of her stride.

Everything flowed through his mind so loosely. He imagined her reassembling herself from nothing; a shattered husk, destroyed by the Bleeding. How could she even do that? How could anything?

A man whose life was destroyed time and time again...

A man related to my very own beloved.

"Midhir?" he questioned, finally chirping... something out. For all of his 'pride' as a Badlander, his wings felt clipped in the face of this arcane behemoth. He was certain: Brilan Ald must have been one of the strongest mages to have ever lived. And Midhir -- Midhir was somehow the progeny of her... 'beloved?' Given the context, he knew. Riala Elaine.

"I would do anythin' to destroy this Empire," he said, narrowing his eyes. An unpleasant stare filled in his features, as the man peered aimlessly toward the Lich. "But I am no thief. I was born here. And I will die here. Sooner, rather than later, if you don' find a way to help me. Surely, you, of all people... must know a way to save my life from the Madness. Otherwise, I can't do shit to help you... Your Grace."

He bit his lip, looking around the room. Everyone was swearing fealty, even against their own morals. This all felt like madness. Who even were these people -- they were 'Ebon Knights'? What was that?

"I have no designs against your grand plan. I'll help you, if you help me. That's all this peasant asks; save his life. Do that, and I'll be your most willin' servant. I'll go to all the lengths you need me to. That's my 'haggle'. And sadly, it's not one I have a choice on; if I don' get help, I'm dead anyway, and my expertise with it."

He knew the woman must have invited him for a reason. He had to be good for... something, after all. Was it just his relation to Midhir? Maybe, but she didn't need to send for Jack, too. He fit into all of this somewhere. He would soon know how.

[Amyas]

Arkash. A false name, then? The thought brought the idea of a smile to Amyas' lips, the ghost of an expression muted by the sound of his heartbeat, endlessly beating in his ears. Were they anywhere other than amongst royalty, he would have called the pretense a good idea.

That pretense paled in front of the lies of Lady Ash. Ageless, limitless, beyond even the stars above… and every inch of her was identical to her court. Decrying a rotting carcass of a nation, her words fit it like a glove. No wonder all of these revelations seemed to be such a shock to those more in the know; her face was sculpted to wear the masks of the Entente.

“Yeah, I'll 'elp. Can't say I don't 'ave gripes, but… can't say I 'ave 'em either. Just make sure me and mine are safe—if it, uhm, pleases Your Most Ancient Lichiness—and I'll be 'appy.” Why should he care if Daravin were to crumble? He slept in the stone and mortar of the Empire, but not once had his heart belonged to it. Nor did he care much about the whim and will of Brilan, and her aims of elven superiority. A brother to her people, but never a brother to her. Perhaps his fellows would suffer under her, but had that not always been the case?

Amyas' allegiance was born of apathy. Provided the choice between two deific powers, naturally he would pick the one promising reward beyond riches—not to mention her being the power in front of him. Chronomancy, Lichdom, such words by and large soared over his head, though he grasped enough to know the Treveyn met each and every one of his fears. Strong enough to swat away a court, to swat away death… and now she wished to swat away time. So to speak.

Dwelling on it overlong would only give him a migraine. Better to focus on something more normal, like the giant cat who had tried and failed to sympathise with him. Or all the talk of some "Black Remedy", which was irritatingly familiar—something something, Sil-Elaine?