Not Another Drop

[Wand 1220]

Amongst the remaining Elven folk of the Caras Eldar, an unfamiliar plated figure rose to stand upon the dais within the closed court of the elven palace. It was at first to the confusion of many gathered. Soon, the figure became recognizable for not only his voice and posture, but by his recent armor.

 

Fëanor Sylvaeri had donned himself in darkened steel, decorated with the familiar scarlet of his House and sparse gold trim and paint. Those few who were prepared to usurp the throne by force for Awaiti, and several citizens recognized this as the armor which the elf had prepared in recent months.

 

This Son of the Almenodrim had prepared himself not for rebellion, but counter-insurrection, as were a few of his own normally bronze-plated soldiers, gathered at the corners of the room in the same armor as the elf.

 

The beloved Annilir would lift his visor, to reveal his own visage. Not only had his countenance been made stoic by the tense months prior to these events, but its youthful features barely disguised exhaustion and deep-set disappointment. Peculiarly, none of the Virarim at all appeared concerned by his behavior. They were familiar with their commander, after all.

 

However, by his even tone and the control with which he spoke, it was clear this elf had much to say. Nearby, a scribe had begun to record his words, perhaps documenting the speech for future use.

 

Good few of Caras Eldar. Scribes and Virarim.

 

I am Fëanor Sylvaeri, Annilir of Caras Eldar and the Elven Court of the Dominion. I am the son of the same elder House Sylvaeri, and throughout these deliberations I stand as my House has in the past -- a mediator in the face of discord, injustice, and needless bloodshed. So, I meditated and guarded this most recent moot, as is my Oath and my duty among the council.

 

A council accused of transgressions upon Elvendom; accused of corruption, apathy, absence and sloth, by the word of our new matriarch.

 

The elf glanced across the assembly of elves, calm as if observing waning tides. He was only upon the dais within the courtroom, yet he stood tall, and if not proud, ready for what was to come - as if prepared for a storm arriving by sea. Such was appropriate, for beyond the great tree of the throneroom, waves lapped against the roots of the royal palace.

 

To this, I say none at all in this court can accuse me justly of willful misconduct, least of all sloth, for those who would, you spit upon the earnest.

 

From the moment my service in the Virarim began, I have worked nearly every waking minute in these walls. Not a second of it for my own devices, gain, or pay.

 

At every sleepless hour I was urged to rest, yet still I labored. My very life, in a handful of encounters, nearly stolen away for the sake of justly defending Elvenesse, yet I suffered, I labored. Despite the utterly unjust duel in which only I dared speak in defense of my father -- a duel pitting some of the most Elite of the Dominion’s guards against a man who physically could not will himself to hurt Descendants and two who had sworn against it. Yet still I served, I suffered, and I labored until now.

 

Ask any honest, present elf. Ask any elf who was once present in these streets, this city, and they would attest. I am not slothful. To deny this indisputable fact is to spurn their word, my House, and the very Virarim who commit themselves as faithfully now in their service -- and worse, guard a mockery of a moot with one candidate, from which two elder Seeds abstained.

 

A moot which only occured because of my service to Elvendom. In the weeks before the duel, I reached far from the comfort of walls to marshall and rally a force which would halt the disgraceful duel with might. I need not name them, for they rest and retire away knowing that no blood was shed. They rest only because I asked Renn for another solution.

 

So I am inclined to ask, that in the hours and months before the duel, hidden away and waiting to fight until the last drop was spilled, was there any attempt made for peaceful resolution? Was it ever a possibility if not for my direct intervention?

 

By my examination of these events, not a single attempt was made. Not a single document or demand for reformation brought before Renn or the council at large.

 

Why?

 

Is it the ailing in the hearts of Elves, Awaiti Aureon, that you did not seek such a solution? Our people, divided in anguish and hatred. We both can relate, and it was not long ago that you sought and succeeded in the appeal for Aureon unbanishments. You did so directly, approaching Renn with intent to work peacefully, in hopes no more blood be shed.

 

Why, then? You could do so then, diplomatically, arranging a meeting, and only as a final means be willing to duel in honor. Why not now, when greater numbers of lives were at stake?

 

Was it not so simple now to speak with the Elven Court, instead of founding a duel and advocating violent insurrection on a bed of lies and cowardice? The possible spilling of Elven blood, further division of our Kin: shall it be solved blood for blood, division for division?

 

Not another drop.

 

Here, the Son of the Almenodrim cast his arms outwards, gesturing to the scarlet cloth of his armor. Those elves donning the same uniform as Fëanor now understood why the Annilir had chosen red.

 

I intervened. I spoke to Renn Calithil, and I would have spoken too to Awaiti, were I able to seek her personally. I did not have need to use force, because I exercised a restraint and confidence that Awaiti and Renn would come to an agreement.

 

I may exercise restraint. I may be youthful, the youngest of our Elven Court would ever see. Yet I am not weak because of it. I am not slothful, nor absent, or apathetic to my people. There is no strength in spilling needless blood, and no honor in spilling blood in the court. Not after our Mortal King, Abelas.

 

He would gesture on to the place where the beloved Mortal King had died. His features softened, to make obvious the deep remorse which he lived with. It was no wonder the elf had taken to donning the helm as of late.

 

To duel here needlessly would have spat upon the ethics of our people: our wounded, divided people; too easy to salt our wounds. Have we not all suffered enough in our separation? We are divided in body, in vote, and in our hearts, yet we are still united in but one desire for resolution and change. Many among us would do anything to see us healed, yet still we mourn and reject what has become of Elvenesse.

 

This is why I admit my fault, my silence until now in political matters. I do not make grand affairs of my regular duties. I grieve in silence, but I do not grieve alone. I would have rather walked the streets with my fellow citizens, rest where I could hear them. If wounded I tended to them or left them in capable hands. If ever they felt ignored, I heard them.

 

“lyun ito taliaman? ne, lliran. iheiuhii ito taliaman. kaean Mali welierae kento.”

 

The elf did not translate. The crowd might piece his words together in his momentary pause. The direct translation meant that the trees were not silent, but had breath. ‘We [elves] would hear [out] elves.’ It also implied the forest was not yet dead, that Elvendom was not entirely alone.

 

You who would fight for your people, Awaiti Aureon, I bid you answer to Caras Eldar, and enter into open cooperation with your remaining council and citizens in full. This is not a request, but needs of the people which shall be addressed if the city and its people are to survive.

I say remaining council. Henceforth, I bid my departure from Caras Eldar.

 

I cannot in good conscience serve a crown I no longer know, in which my family cannot ever be made whole again. It was this I attempted to stay for, to reunite Elvenesse, to reunite my family, but it has only proved futile. Instead, here in Caras Eldar the demands of the Empire and our pacts are held above our own elven needs. This I cannot serve or support.

 

I will not subject my soldiers to serve your would-be High Prince Artanis, even if he is the son of Abelas. I cannot allow a child to take command of my soldiers. In fact I find this insulting. It was only a few years ago when a regent was questioned you spoke that I of all people was too young. Yet Artanis is not even half my age, nor can ever match in my experience.

 

I bid the Virarim to depart Caras Eldar and disband, until such a time Awaiti Aureon might welcome you wholly once more and apologize for the offense done unto you, for by insulting me, one insults the Virarim. Should any soldiers wish to remain, they may find solace in service with Renn - if they choose to serve Caras Eldar still. If they do not, seek myself or Evar’tir.

 

As to my title, I will submit it only to Khaine Csarathaire. Command of the Virarim is his right, and there is no one else more fitting who would serve the city. I pale in comparison to his experience, and his wisdom moving forward into the future of this city will be invaluable. Mine will not. Seek no replacement but this Prince. Bring him back home, if he is willing.

 

To the rest of Caras Eldar, citizenry, veteran soldiers and council. I am still willing to hear you, but I am not beholden to this Crown. I have always given more to others than myself, and I urge you not fall to the same. Remember that there is always a new day, new lands, a new family to be made. Commit your life to nothing if you cannot even ensure it is there on the morrow.

 

Go and be at peace, or war. Whichever you all so desire. I am done here.

 

[Cat Evocation 3728]

“Well there goes the last good person in the Dominion.” Commented Sarrion.

[Auriel_ 652]

“Now it really has nothing good in it except for Evar’tiir and .. uh, the baker lady.”
Auriel pauses, moving off.

[Chase 3793]

“Berun Oerne Ullreh.” Evar’tir murmured beneath his helm plainly.

[Unwillingly 18123]

“Did he really?” Princess Cyrene asks as surprise crosses her scarred visage, before she’d let out a sigh. “A shame... I’ve watched the Dominion rise, and now fall. Once, even if short lived, a prosperous city with bustling streets and life that I had once lead and served, now abandoned, left weak and what it was before the time of Atlas. Maybe one day it will return into something more, perhaps something I will return to lead as well. I’m sorry.” 

[Guest]

A letter addressed to Feanor would be located on his desk prior to him disembarking.

 

My beloved nephew, you are like a son to me. You have displayed immense vigilance and maturity in response to the slings and arrows that were flung in volleys like a night in The Krag. We may not fight on the same side any longer, we may not be bound by creed any longer, but you have made me proud and I hope that someday we might be reunited when peace is attained and the terrorists, insurrectionists, and bandits are dead and buried. You have more mettle than the savages we are demolishing brick by brick.

 

As a commander, you have had little experience – but neither did I at your age. You claim Khaine is entitled to the Virarim, but nobody is entitled to anything in this world. It is conquering or be conquered; kill or be killed, outwit or be a twit. We will speak again, this I promise – just know that you are always welcomed in the hallowed halls of Gladewynn should you wish to visit me, Cassius, or your mother. 

 

With affection,

                                K.I.

[HazelWazel 463]

Delmira Aureon sits alone in her clinic, staring down at the paper she was due to finish. Despite the quill in her hands, she couldn’t seem to find the will to brush it forwards onto the paper. Her mind wasn’t with the work she was to do. Much has happened in such a short time, and there was much more left to do. Her eyes cast over to her cloak that hung quietly on a rack, and a small smile would grace her normally grave face. Her feet and body moved to a stand, grasping onto the cloak.

”... Unlucky together, who would have thought..”

[osumanduas 1442]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.