Madness

[Laeonathan 5889]

 

 

Madness
The depths below Luci’lin

☽ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻  ✯ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☾ 

☽ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻  ✯ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☾ 

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Raziel’s hammer hit the metal several times, and the echoes could be heard above and within the expansive underground workshop of this Talonnii. Small golems hurry around him gathering metal and stones of all kinds. “Nobility consisting of literal rats,”  The Father of the Second Principality grumbled. What would she think about it, he wondered? Expectantly, he turned to one of his golems as if it could answer for her.  But of course, the Golem could not answer. After all, it was not even sentient.

 

Usually, he would use his magical skills to form the metal. But he used a hammer and chisel today,  for both the stone and the metal, he used raw physical strength. Nothing he really possessed anyway, after all he was a weak mage. But his anger began consuming him; he knew that all too well, and it was the proper way to let some steam off. He hoped it would cool his frustrations. Why did they even go for all this trouble?

 

Thunk, thunk, thunk. Again, his hammer fell on the metal. “Elven Lords marrying human peasants,”  his next accusation was cast towards the metal. The next strikes with his hammer were far more imprecise than they should have been. The Golem core he was crafting was far too cool by now anyway, to be shaped properly. He realized that far too late. Once he did it it is best to move the metal into the heat of the flame, to let it get that perfect red to orange glow. Thunk, thunk, thunk. He shifted his focus back to his smithing, and progress soon paid off. The Servitor’s core was shaped at last, even if hammered in violently. With arcane precision, he finished the far-too-rough edges to ensure the sigils would have the perfect shape.

 

He washed off the sweat from his forehead and stepped outside. Had the war Anorhil had talked about started yet? He could not tell.  At least it had not advanced to Celia’nor yet, he would have noticed that. He opened his news box, nothing was in there anyway -  besides a letter of Jarad he had quickly stuffed back in there. The audacity Jarad had, he thought. What did he pay several thousand Mina for? What did he serve for his entire life? What did he found the winery for, if not to restore the Ibarellan dynasty? 

 

Not for some irrelevant newcomer to ask him to pay taxes, that was for certain. His answer to the letter was simple and factual. He was tax-exempt after all. A simple, but sufficient gift for he had given up the rule willingly to restore the de jure dynasty. What would’ve happened if he had crowned himself? After all, he has had two opportunities for it. But he only laughed. His Royal Highness, Prince Raziel of Celia’nor? By the Stars, no. He hated that sound as much as the thought of betraying her family. After all, Ivarielle had given him nearly everything. Or at least, she had taught him everything, to his knowledge at least. Her philosophy. How an elf should behave.  Even what eye colors would indicate an impure, to her mind. Was he growing too old and far too proud? Raziel could not tell. But he had not asked for much, had he not? His own land to be untouched and to stay untaxed? He did not take more than he had when he gave Celia’lin to Illyria. No, he was in the right there, surely. Was it meant to be an insult? Or maybe Jarad was just too uninformed? He waved off,  letting that man no longer distract him.

 

He stepped a bit further outside, and the sun quickly cast its rays into his face. He was not used to it, and it took a few seconds for him to accommodate the sunlight. He looked around for any missus or likes that would indicate the beginning of the war. He suddenly remembered that it had started already, but so far, it was only Númendil and the Papal States retaliating against the invasion of Haeseni Mercenaries. Only now, after reading up a bit on what was pinned on the notice board, he realized that the whole situation had escalated into a continent-spanning conflict. It appeared the old Celia’norian allies would get revenge for Winburgh and Breakwater. To this day, he was upset about abandoning those he had fought alongside since his childhood. But he stayed silent on the matter regardless.

 

“TRANSGRESSIONS OF THE CURIA,” He read loudly, already starting to laugh. Why did they have to capitalize everything? He just knew this was the one. But surprisingly, there were far more names on the missive than he had expected. Haense did not care when Aaun was turned into the Papal States. But now states had bonded together to defend those who had not cared to defend them. Ironic.

 

And Celia’nor, too. So it was true, they had joined Haense’s failed invasion attempt. Could they turn the tides? Skimming the other missives, he soon realized that the other faction had grown significantly as well. His friends, Valindra, Anorhil, and Callahan were fighting his Celianorian people. Because they decided to defend the aggression of Haense. A loud sigh escaped him.

 

But in the end, he stumbled over a few lines. “The Puppeteering of Cauróst & Defense of House Nullivari,” At least it wasn’t capitalized. What nonsense, he thought.

 

Again, he began moving inwards, locking the door behind himself. They knew just as well as he that those were far more Ibarellan than Nullivari, by Celianorian customs - even if they did call themselves Ílumrin. Falsely claimed titles and other idiocy. The defamation of one’s own history and family for the gain of power. Oh, how far they had fallen, he thought.

 

But in the end, one thing caught his attention. One thing that was the last drop of water that would bring his barrel to overflow.

 

“Lineal Descendant of the Silver Phoenix?” Had he missed something, and had her mother Illyria married her cousin? Unlikely. Or maybe Iryne had lied about her parents? That made no sense either. Why would she suddenly be of Ivarielle’s line and not Illarion's? Or did the word lineal get a new meaning while he was in the depths of this workshop? Was she not the opposite of exactly that?

 

He could not take it anymore, he tossed away the missive and went back to his workshop. Once more, the hammers fell onto the anvil. Thunk, thunk, thunk. But one question remained on his mind:

 

Had everyone in Celia’nor gone mad, or was it just him?

☽ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻  ✯ ⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻ ☾ 

Spoiler

Art by: Azat Orynbassarov

 

[Morigung-oog 5697]

Valindra reflected upon the events that had led to her ascension; the decades she had waited simply to be able to aid the Starlit city she had played an integral role in founding once more. She remembered the pleas to the Princess Illyria that had fallen upon deaf ears, the plans she had drafted to revive her noble house, disregarded. Ivarielle would have never left her behind, she thought. During that time she had felt so very alone..

 

Her mind wandered then to others; Laerdya and Akemi, betrayed by their ranks and left for dead. Ak'vei, while a controversial addition in her eyes were welcomed, only to be forced out elsewhere. Even while she had her differences with her kin, Galahad, the Prince of Caurost, she would be remiss to acknowledge that he too was ultimately let down enough by the Celian State to the point where he felt forced to depart and found his own.

 

One by one, she had watched them depart, thinking them utterly mad for doing so. 

 

Now she understood.

 

The Venerable Sohaer wondered what had become of Raziel, for a time, he was the posterchild of a future generation.

 

She knew Ivarielle would shudder at the state her beloved nation had been left in.

 

Would Raziel share in this sentiment?