THE PATH FORWARD

[Zhikarta 4064]

 

ðʊɦɮɛʅ ᵲɛɱɮ¤ʊᵲ

The path forward

♫ ♩ ♬♩ ♫ 

└─────────────────┘

 

Sometimes our principles evolve, and we stray from that which we once deemed to be the utmost priority in our lives. Sometimes, the very ideals which we swore to uphold are challenged by foreign influences. One such individual had found himself at a crossroads, facing a choice that would shape decades to come for him and those he kept near.

 

 

---

α single strike at the throat is what would set things in motion once again. Long ago, he swore to himself to rid the world of those he deemed impure, just like Velkyn. She was not alone in her conspiracies against all that is good in the world and the Ashen Folk as a whole, however. Neia, Quill, and all those who had begun to consider themselves accomplices to their wicked company would soon follow, that much he knew. Yet it was not the idea of her hanging with demonkind that upset him and led him to finally take a life he had sworn to long ago. It was the mutilation and humiliation of a Dark Elven child. A child with clipped ears so that they could grow up understanding the plight of their people.

 

It was as if this child had found him, a sign from the most High Will to show him that there was to be balance in his Path. If he were to aid his kin on their journey toward their former splendor, more would have to be done than preaching of faith alone. Action against those out for the destruction and dismantling of Maehr culture would have to be culled before there could ever be peace.

 

For the first time in decades, Aytheln once more felt that passion burn within him, that long-since faded desire to uphold the principles of his people.

 

ɛռᵲ¤ ȶɛʂʂ¤ ȶ¤ɱ α’ռαȶʊʅɮ

 

 

---

 

ȶhat which long ago defined him as a person had slowly morphed into an afterthought. Above all else Aytheln had grown obsessed with faith, unable to make room nor time for the well-being of his kin. His duties in the Union passed over, his family abandoned. Yet never once did he find himself in doubt of his actions. Aytheln had, however, become a man of extremes, with extreme devotion to his faith on one end and to his people on the other. Velkyn was not the one to change his mind; the sudden reappearance of his own kin was.

 

Deulara, a distant cousin, was the first. There was much unease between them initially. Aytheln could not truly believe her to be of his own blood, while Deulara held grudges still against the actions of their relatives, even if the Elder had nothing to do with them. She was the first to remind him of his blood and what it once meant to him, yet still it remained but an afterthought.

 

Beside her came forth old members and acquaintances of the Thyone Clan. An old House that once brought their people together beneath the banner of the Celia’norian principality, a place that Aytheln too once called his home. Old figures of renown and intellect, ready to spread their teachings throughout the lands again.

 

The Nameless Son, whom he had always held in high regard and who had been the root cause of his pious journey however, did truly remind him of that which he had lost. Aytheln heard through him how all the faithful would become One, and how his people, too, would join them with the Solitary God. Yet he could not help but wonder to himself what truth lay in those words? Was he, as instructed, to gather together the Ashen Folk under the banner of the Absolute? What use would it have if, in the end, they too would become just like all other mortal souls?

 

It was this very contradiction that had been plaguing his mind ever since. Aytheln had not, until this point, walked the middle ground, walking only the paths of Absolutes. Yet those recent encounters had gotten him to reconsider his choices, his manners, and his beliefs. A mutilation of his kin, the reappearance of individuals he deemed like-minded to some extent. Things were lining up once more, and he knew that perhaps now was the time to make real change.

 

Yet hidden deep within, something festered and had been for decades. A secret hidden in plain sight, a taint that had robbed him of one of the most blessed gifts of his people. Yet spread it he would, for sacrifices were to be made for the greater good, by all those who would set foot upon the path.

 

---

 

No longer did he find himself within the comfort of his home on Aevos. A new land surrounded him, although the Princedom he had come to serve still remained. A new home from where he would begin a new chapter in his life.

 

He had failed as a leader of his Clan, its many traditions having. Perhaps it was time to let it all go for good. Val’taelu and later Vel’obv were both mere attempts to quell a fear that had gripped him ever since leaving his homeland. It was his fault that his people lost each other. It was his fault that the name lost any meaning it may have once held.

 

---

[!] The following missive would be sent around to any Vel’obv still alive

 

ȶo those that still call themselves Vel’obv,

As the Eldest and only prominent member still present in Aevos, I hereby declare the dissolution of our Clan in name. Should any wish to lay claim to it themselves, you’ll henceforth be known as false despots, seeking to dishonour the last action of your Eldest. The consequences of such a claim you will therefore face in due time. Accept this decree, and we shall seek each other out to discuss our future. Only in name is the Clan dissolved. A new bond shall be established, one that transcends beyond the importance of blood alone.

 

Soon we shall find each other again, and all shall be made clear.
 

ᵲɛռȶʊ ɱψᛪչʊ ȶɛչʊ ʅψɛ ɠ¤ɮɮ ɮ¤ ʅαψɮʊʊᵲ, ɦ¤ռɦӄ ɱɛ ʊᛪ ʂɦαʅψʊ ӄψȶչ ɛռαɠ¤ӄ
 

αψȶɦɛʅռ

[F1F4 121]

The parchment's missive sat half-folded against her doorstep. She bent slowly to retrieve it. The ink bled through the page, and she could not help but scrunch her silvered eyebrows together. A letter already? She stepped back into her home, the door shut where her back now rested against. The letter's ink was entertained, opened by Deulara. Her initial confusion sharpened into dull irritation, and upon completion of the scripture, she slowly retreated to her wooden chair, allowing the missive to sit by the edge of the table. A faint sigh left her. Her fingers reached for her own parchment, a quill and an inkwell too. For what it was, her hands hovered to deliver a simple response:

"Oh, Aytheln. Do not fret. I hold no ambition to claim our name, nor to see sporadic unrest in it. We share the same blood; thus, your wishes are known, and you will hear no protest from me. As for this bond you speak of... I am devoid of knowledge of what nature it holds, though I do hope it is a gentle one."

"I am delighted your journey to our next realm has been safe and sound."
"Until then, Cousin."
 

[Holyland 3650]

 

A Son smiled.

"Doubt. Terror. Hatred of self. Suffering, ignorance, and confusion. These are the only honest ways to approach the God."