He had been gone years. Thexan’s journeys rested on the premise of Old Gladewynn. Such an elder and wise society could procure the answers and philosophies needed to reverse Elvenkind from a slow death - one of lust, sloth, and excess. He traveled leagues and far beyond into Atlas’ depths - mountainous ravines, perilous heights, and the forests forgotten.
Nursing the wounds of prolonged travel, Thexan found himself in no particular tavern at all. It was only another bench and another flagon of ale before his next trek. That was, until the bartender knocked for his attention. “Gladewynn elf, aye? Here - the rider brought it this morn.” He slid the notice to Thexan.
“KING KAIRN ITHELANEN VANISHED WITHOUT TRACE.
CASSIUS TO BE CROWNED WITHIN FORTNITE.
OF ALL ELVENESSE CORDIALLY INVITED.”
The elf lifted his head to the bartender. His face was silent and wracked with shock. The bartender finished Thexan’s words where he had failed to form them.
“King Kairn is kill.”
In an instant, he had gathered his belongings. Within the night, he was returning; bounding back towards Gladewynn on the sea’s most fortunate gales, and the best steeds gold could procure. At long last he had arrived to the throne room. The aristocracy flanked the sides of the lifted throne, and upon it, Cassius himself.
Thexan had been blessed to call the Prince a bro. Countless nights had been spent pouring over the literature of Old Gladewynn. Battles, trials, and the union of blood had made the duo super cool.
Now he witnessed the very crowning ritual he had uncovered, to which Cassius had finally lifted that sick crown upon his head. The elves rose, and Cassius proclaimed. He was Ithelanen no more; instead that of a royal ‘Atraedes’, now and forever. This, naturally, was lit.
Out with the old, and in with the new. Thexan was committed to achieving the epic victory royale with the new monarch.