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Despite the tense expressions of the four present, the Hinterlands hummed with their usual naturesong. The Warden keep rose over the treetops like a great obelisk, the eyes of those within peering out into the emerald ocean of canopy with regret held in their eyes. “You’re certain of this?” The ashen elf murmurs. The snowy locks over his brow dance in the firelight of the keep as he looks between his three companions. The crown above his head mirrors the watchful gaze of the Hound, High Prince Evar’tir. The bearded elder nods. Sevrel Valin’dar gave a sigh in disappointment, pity even - not for his comrades, but for the foolishness of the one that they spoke. The dark elven was the Bulwark of Elvenesse, yet it was still a distressing shock to know that his foes had come from within. “It seems that they have the support of the entire Puerokar Seed, and allegedly… the Tahorran kin.” Amaesil’s auburn head turns to Sevrel. The Young Fox was as cunning as his namesake, and his eyes reflected the confirmation of his suspicions. The Exarch had his hunches, yet it was still disconcerting to hear the truth unfold before him. “Any others?” he asks with his typical confident tone, but there was certainly a gnawing in his gut that he could not ignore. The lone silver-gold headed Aerendyl draws in a sharp breath as Sevrel responds. “An… undisclosed number of allied individuals.” The TimberWolf’s form shook with a nauseating concoction of fury and betrayal. He recalled the days when his House was supporting the Tahorran seed financially, and those adventures that he had with them upon the wild waters of the world. “Those craven snakes... ” he laments, his expression yielding a rare and genuine look of despair. “This nation is my family, my kin, brothers and sisters… my home.” Sevrel speaks up among the brief silence as the four came to terms with the information. “Valin’dar with with you all, for the titles and roles we have are nothing- it is for this family that I will oppose this scheme.” “You have my sword.” Amaesil resounds, the Young Fox leading a quiet rally between the four. “And my glaive.” Aerendyl echoes, turning his gaze too towards the High Prince and leaning upon his wolven-headed staff grimly. The cogs were in motion. The four Lords returned home. They returned to their beds, their family, their wives, and prayed for forgiveness for what must be done. Nobody expected the seats to be lined with so many interested folk... Ithalanen, kin of the Usurper, the Savoyard men, the Ichorians... "Rylleah, I have no doubt that you did not know what Tahlia had done without your permission. And for this, your life will be spared. The docks will be eliminated, and Tahlia is eternally banished." "500 mina for her alive, half for her head." the High Prince chimed in, just as the Puerokar seed was summoned to the center of the room. "Pancho Puerokar, you and your seed have been accused of high treason against the crown. Care to explain yourself?" he echoes throughout the throne room... just as a familiar face shows up from behind the Puerokar lineup. Sevrel marched in with a legion of Orenian lineman. He sternly looked up to the High Prince and pointed his longsword accusingly up to the dark elven Prince. "My Lords, it has come to my attention that there is a situation." The Dark Elf steps forward to the front and looks Evar'tir right in the eyes. "This man has lied to his people, betrayed our honour, and has no right to rule! Me and my lliran are here to deal with this tyrant, once and for all. My people are loyal to the cause, and I shall no long stand for this. You shall be put down!” He shouts, still glaring at the elves atop the platform. Then, he turns around to Pancho Puerokar, and points his blade towards the wood elf. “ARREST THESE TRAITOROUS DOGS!” Like the heartbeat of a great titan, the footfalls of the Wardens marched down the great spiral of the citadel down into the heart of the cavern. There, they halted in a methodical line before the manor of Puerokar. The distant memories of this seed pleading for help from a depraved member beating his son rang in their mines like a distant foghorn. Things could have been so much different… but the fires flew from the line of elves regardless, and with it their disgust and fury at the Puerokar manipulation. No more abuse, no more false cries for help, only the baptism of cleansing embers and righteous retribution. It was a shame. A damn shame, even. Stewards were of this seed, prospective Wardens of Hinterlands, even a capable commander… All to waste. As much as Amaesil, Aerendyl, Sevrel, and Evar’tir hated to be reminded of it, it wasn’t just Mankind who may fall to the desire for power. They looked on not with smiles, nor a glimmer of joy in their eyes, but with regret. This was no joyous celebration, but a memorial for a consuming rot that could have devoured their gladed home with a ravenous hunger. With the fires dying down, and the Green Priesthood already setting to work returning this portion of city to nature, the four Lords turned their eyes to the north shore. They marched to the docks.
