Tales of Redemption and Grief

Alexandria's University District, early evening.

The sun has just set on Alexandria, and a brisk wind drives patchy clouds across the starlit sky. The manalit streets are quiet, cold wind rustling in the trees, counterpoint to the clanking of Seldan's armor. Armored people in this part of the city are unusual to say the least, certainly one so heavily armored as he, and while it is not quite so loud as most armors of its apparent kind, it's not quiet, either.

These streets are familiar to Seldan, and he takes the time to fully compose himself on the walk back from the clearing he uses for teleportation, so that by the time he reaches to rap on the no-longer-familiar door on the familiar back street, it is with that usual steady sobriety that, this time, has somehow had a burden lifted from it.

Inside, the lamps are lit, the fire is stoked. When the knock is heard, there's the steady sound of footsteps, followed by the door being unbolted. Telamon stands in the doorway, dressed simply in a unlaced tunic and trousers and house slippers. "Sir Seldan," he says with a bit of surprise. "A Merry Yule to you, sir. Please, come in..."

The half-elf beckons the man inside, out of the cold that neither is particularly fazed by. "I'm afraid Lana is out at the moment -- my mother insisted the two of them step out for some chitchat and shopping." Telamon chuckles. "But, all is well. Please, let me take your cloak. The tea kettle is on and I suspect a hot cup will do you good."

The dust on Seldan's cloak says that he has been traveling for at least a little while. "Her light upon your path, Archmage. I would ask your forgiveness for the late hour, and am pleased to find you." He offers Telamon the cloak and shucks his various weapons, leaving them by the door. The bottom of the door itself gets a long look and a deep, slow breath, but in the end he turns away from it, leaving gauntlets with the rest of his traveling gear.

"Even as Zeke," he replies fondly at the mention of tea, genuine affection and amusement in the boyish smile. "Tea is never not welcome, though I shall not overburden your valuable time. I trust your Yule celebration was pleasant?"

Once Seldan is divested of his cloak and weapons, Telamon makes sure the door is shut and locked, before leading the paladin into the living room proper. "Absolutely. Mother insisted on coming down once Lana and I no longer needed to keep up the facade of 'trouble in paradise'." Tel makes a face. "I never want to do that again. Hopefully, I'll never have to. With that son of a bitch Legus'elain gone, he won't be haunting our family or Grandfather again."

Telamon takes a deep breath. "But you didn't come here to listen to me grumble." A tray comes floating out of the kitchen, bearing a kettle and two cups, along with honey if needed. "The last I'd heard you'd gone back to Bryn Myridorn with Zeke. I hope all was well?" The sorcerer tilts his head inquisitively.

Seldan's eyebrows go up at this, and he makes a point of carefully choosing the oldest and rattiest chair, settling into it carefully so that the armor he still wears does not damage or snag the wood or fabric. Tea is gratefully accepted, as is the honey, but he does not sip at once. "Naught have I heard of this," he murmurs. "I trust that all is well, now?"

Finally, he takes a sip of the tea. "All is well, now. I received word the day after Yule that -" here, he pauses, "her uncle had assaulted and injured Synonie. None in the family, save I, know the ways of the blade, and Zeke and I saw to the matter. The man had fallen from the Draco Solis' grace, and by Zeke's hand now does penance at Talkuatika Tepetl."

"He refused to admit, or accept, that he had done wrong, even after the Draco Solis turned away from him. I know not if the man is mad, or merely entirely closed to his own faults. He threatens the family no longer."

"As much as it can be. Legus'elain was... a monster even among the fey, a creature who delighted in not just slaying and devouring mortals -- hence his title of 'Corpse-Eater' -- but in ruining relationships." Telamon sips his tea, and shivers. "He had dogged the heels of Grandfather's descendants more than once. Lana and I took the opportunity to create a false tale to lure him out. It worked -- and he will never bother us, or any other lovers, ever again."

With that settled, Telamon listens, though his expression darkens dramatically at Seldan's tale. His eyes glitter with cold stars, though he subsides when he learns that Seldan's father has been removed from the equation.

"Talkuatika Tepetl? That's... that's the new settlement near the behemoth." He whistles. "That will be a penance indeed. But... he may not be mad, Sir Seldan. Just foolishly stubborn. Although one would think that as a priest, having one's god refuse to receive your letters would be a clue something was wrong."

Seldan, in turn, listens, and inclines his head in respect. "That was well done of the both of you - and no easy task. May Her face shine upon you for that." He takes a pull of his tea. "Sunblade," he corrects. "Still are you correct. He was utterly unable to admit he was wrong, or that he had in any way erred. Madness I doubt, but it matters little. He is under formal challenge, does he return to the family estate, or does the Draco Solis again find him, but I fear not the second. The Light will not return to him, does he not accept and admit his wrongs, and then will he seek me out to make it right. The first, I would ask your aid in ensuring never occurs, that he sneaks not into a teleport."

Telamon shakes his head. "He would not be the first to refuse to admit wrongdoing, nor will he be the last. I am sorry you had to endure dealing with it, but I am happy you've found some closure. As for him, well..." Telamon shrugs. "He will find redemption, or not. I can swear I will not transport him from that place. Nor will I speak of it, save with you or Zeke. Lana will have to be informed, but she is even less likely to retrieve him than I am." Tel shows his teeth in an expression that is not a smile. "Indeed, if she took him from that place, it would be to somewhere even less pleasant."

"Many have suffered for his behavior, and he will either mend his ways, or he will die," Seldan answers, with level, cool gaze and a chill in his Myrrish-accented tones. If anything, the accent is deeper than it was before, returned in force. "No longer does he threaten my kin. No more redress need I, than that. Would only that I had known the extent of the damage, ere now." His eyes drift towards the teacup in his hands.

"I had also wished to ask of you a thing, does it please you and you find yourself with the time. Little Synonie wishes to serve the Dreamer, even as I do, but I would know, now, whether she has the Talent or nay. Later did I learn of mine, and a pell was sacrificed to the discovery. She is - impulsive."

As though she were summoned--a neat trick considering the ward on Alexandria--the sound of a key jangling comes from outside the front door, and then there's the sound of the door opening as Cor'lana steps inside, a woolen cloak pulled around her with a wide smile. "You have lovely thoughts that are capable of informing quite nicely, Tel," Cor'lana says, before she gives a nod to Seldan with the shut of the door behind her, a flick of the wrist compelling the door to move and lock behind her.

"Hello Seldan, and a merry Yule to you," Cor'lana greets as she takes off her cloak and floats it into a cloak hook, stepping into the living room. "I am pleased to inform you that I do not yet have a track record of retrieving fathers unbecoming of the title from their arranged sentences, nor do I intend on starting." She smiles wanly with her words as she comes over to Telamon for a kiss on the cheek.

Violet eyes glance to Seldan. "Your cousin wishes to serve Ni'essa as well? A fine calling."

Telamon had already started to shift his posture in some undefined way, his lips curling up despite the seriousness of the discussion. "Well, Lana, it does save on time." He catches her hand after she kisses his cheek, and presses a kiss to the back of it in turn. "Welcome back, love. Let me get you a cup." He crooks a finger, and a third tea mug floats from the kitchen to the living room.

At Seldan's request, Telamon's eyebrows rise with interest. "As my lovely wife notes, to serve Ni'essa is a noble aspiration -- though as you say, she is impulsive and young. One does not need the Talent to serve Her, either -- there are paladins and priests, wizards and witches, who hear Her call." He taps his fingertips on his knee. "Still... sorcery can spring up in strange places. And better to -know- rather than have it appear unexpectedly. I know the techniques for an assay; and the Chalice does have a set of tools for the work. "

Seldan immediately rises at Cor'lana's entrance, setting aside his teacup and bowing politely. The level of information-sharing that is apparent takes him a moment to process, but he almost at once nods his understanding. "I see. A telepathic link." No other answer makes sense to him, but he seems to take this in stride. "A merry Yule to you as well, my lady, and it is well to see you well."

Not until she is seated with tea does he resume his and take up his own tea again, with a ghost of a smile. "Well do I know this. The Dreamer forbids not Her servants to make study of her gifts, and many of the Silver Guard take up such studies, even as I have done. Not all do. It is well that we _know_. Though, in such an assay would I have you make no mention of the little golden dragon, nor share her full name. For she appeared one night at dinner, and little Synonie promised her all the fish. I mean to see to it that Synonie has not the means to summon her at will."

Cor'lana grins as Seldan identifies it. "Yes, a telepathic link," she says. "Tel and I have a fixed one. Likewise, Seldan--I only wish well of you and yours for the new year. Excepting, of course, the man who might have counted for your conception but falls well short of the threshold to be called a father." She takes a seat and happily takes the mug as it floats over, filling the teacup with the usual tea blend of the Lupecyll-Atlon household.

She tastes it and nods a little, smirking at the idea of a little girl and Tanith getting into trouble. "I would agree. If only for the mischief that a little girl with big dreams and imagination can get into with our golden lady's will and whim." Her violet eyes dance a little for the thought in the light of the room. "I think Telamon would be helpful in determining if she has inborne magic--in addition to ensuring the lamentable man masquerading as a father does not slink back. If there is any way that I might be of aid in either of those, please do not hesitate in informing me, yes?"

Telamon looks slightly stunned at the revelation of Tanith's appearance. "Oh, gods," he starts to laugh at the image of the voracious little dragon appearing at a formal dinner. "No, no, I will be happy to take your guidance in this matter, Sir Seldan. But such an appearance... could also be an omen. That Ni'essa has her eye on the girl. I cannot imagine one of her most trusted servants appearing to someone simply because of her name being spoken."

He exhales. "Well, that is an issue for another day. I will be happy to test your cousin for Talent and magical aptitude. I can assure you it will not be painful or unpleasant -- I underwent a similar test when I was a boy."

"The fault is mine." Seldan's eyes go back to his teacup, and he remains, perched carefully on the edge of his chair, increasingly still as Lana makes her opinions known. "I have said, have I not, that the golden one saved Mother's life, twice over? We were speaking of that at dinner, and foolishly did I speak her full name. Grateful am I that little Synonie struggles yet with it, and demanded that I write it down for her."

"That have I done, but I have provided that, and all that I know of her, in a sealed letter given to her parents, that they might hold it in trust for her until she has spoken her final oaths. Only then would I have her be the keeper of such knowledge, for well might she need it in her service."

He, too, exhales then, although his eyes remain on the cup. "As did I - not to learn whether I had one, but its strength and nature. A swift thing only, and it is in my mind that they wished only to decide how dangerous I was."

"In your shoes, I would have done the same, Seldan," Cor'lana says with a gentle smile. "So if you are foolish, then we are shared fools--but foolishness, some would say, comes with being a poet or an artist of any sort."

She sips her tea and nods gently. "It is best for such a record to be handed down when she is ready," she says. "My mother, in a fashion, tried to do the same for me... Albeit muddled by her own tragic sense of paranoia at the time. You are preparing her for what may come, and while it would be a nice thing to tell it to her yourself--the work we do as those trying to work to aid the Light is dangerous. There are no guarantees in life nor even in death."

But then Cor'lana smiles. "On my earlier notion... You are an artist yourself, as I recall--have you done anything with it lately? I remember being in the market one day, quite some time ago, where you were in disguise and in the middle of art. I thought it was quite lovely then."

"I have found that time spent practicing mundane skills is not only good for the soul, it can teach you things. Attention to detail, creativity, flexibility. All useful things when you find yourself with the need to use magic." Telamon reaches out with one hand to take Lana's, squeezing it gently. "But yes. I applaud your foresight on this. If Synonie is marked for something greater, best to secure it for now, until she is ready to take up such a burden. No child should be tasked with that -- it is a fate and a duty -chosen- by those come of age."

Tel tilts his head. "I presume you've spoken to the family about this? I'd hate for us to pop in uninvited. Is there anything else I should bring, or remember to keep under my hat?"

"So have I, too, found. I was not encouraged to such pursuits as a boy, but the charcoal art has sharpened my powers of observation, a thing that yet serves he well." Seldan looks up, at length, and for a moment, he wears the look of a little boy caught out before smoothing his expression into polite thoughtfulness. "I have done little of it, of late, for I have been pursuing other matters, of which I have spoken little until I learned more."

He takes a pull of his tea, to steady himself, and when he looks up, he is very much his usual self. "I have. I shared with Grandmother that I knew one who might be of aid. We will need to call upon them, of course, on a day when Synonie is free from her studies. Do her brothers join us, I shall entertain them, fear me not."

Cor'lana smiles, but she looks thoughtful when Seldan mentions these other pursuits that have kept him busy. "These pursuits... Do they pertain to the matter that we helped you with some time back?" she asks. "In Charn."

It's a careful dance. Say just enough to lead it and hope that those invited pick up on the steps. "I am curious. But should we need privacy for the conversation, I have the appropriate scroll in the study that Tel or I can retrieve and cast." Cor'lana sips her tea. There's no need to tip off the Griever and his spies.

Telamon gives Lana a glance, but no more. She's wise enough to know when things should be said -- and more importantly, not said. He takes a deep breath. "Agreed. If we want to discuss -that-, we should secure the premises. Although..." His expression grows faintly amused. "I might have some new leads. But I'd like to discuss it with the two of you first."

He refills his mug, and the others' if need be. "It seems a hero's work is never done. But I won't begrudge it. There has to be a world to bequeath to our descendants."

Seldan's cup does, indeed, want refilling, and he holds it out for the same, continuing to perch carefully on the well-loved chair. "That is well," he agrees, "and I possess the means, though I fear I have left them by the door." A very small smile accompanies that. "I would indeed hear your thoughts, and I have many of my own, but it is in my mind that it is not my place to secure another's dwelling, unless you would have me do so."

Cor'lana smiles. "We have the means as well," she says. "If I remember correctly--the scroll that we have is in fact one that you gave me some time ago." She rises from the couch and walks upstairs.

Only a few moments later, she descends, holding a scroll and wearing the adventurer's robes that Seldan last saw on Cor'lana when they both went to deal with the behemoth in Charn. "These vestments allow me to use the magic of the scroll without consuming it," she explains to Seldan. "Although I may replace them with something else in due course."

She places the scroll into a slot on her robes, and quietly she draws forth the magic from it. The room darkens ever-briefly, but when the darkness clears, the windows have a sheen to them that hadn't been there before.

"There," Cor'lana says. "Private sanctum achieved." And then she sits back down to take up her cup of tea. "We are at ease to discuss."

Once the spell is in place, Telamon's expression lightens a touch. "Good. Some things don't need to be spread around." He looks at Seldan with a surprisingly humble expression, his eyes glimmering with that distant starlight.

"After Ivyhold, Sir Seldan, I couldn't shake the feeling I had carried something away with me from there. Oh, not from that thrice-bedamned void-monster. But Ni'essa's touch... it lingered. I dreamed of patterns, of an intricate circle, and a ritual to reach into the land of dreams and draw forth knowledge."

His lips curl up faintly. "Now, being the reasonably wise fellow I am, I didn't just rush out and try to shake loose the secrets of the universe. I -did- test it on something fairly mundane -- in this case, a dog rescued from Charnethi smugglers. The information gained was sufficient to point his rescuers in the right direction to bring the fellow home."

"So now I stand at a crossroads. Do I use this power to try and unravel our unhappy foe's plans? I don't know if he can counter it, so I would ask counsel before I start 'mucking around' as my father puts it."

Seldan is quiet and still as the magic is worked, and then listens, sipping at his tea thoughtfully, considering what is said before speaking. "Truly do Her blessings touch those who serve Her well," he murmurs reverently. "And She has blessed you indeed. To walk in dreams is no mean feat." He lowers the cup, then.

"Some insights may I offer, for I have pursued the magic of legends upon an item he had seized. I would subject none to the visions revealed, and yet did they offer information of value. It is my belief that the purpose of those artifacts we found was to frame the Sky-Singer for the death of Animus. To what end, I know not yet, but even the Star of Tears saw Eluna ascending to take it, and slaying Animus with it, and yet do Her servitors claim that it was not her. The artifacts within that place might well have provided sufficient magic to mislead the Star of Tears."

"In other words," Cor'lana says, frowning as her eyes go dark on her own cup of tea, "the memory of the Star of Tears was altered by the Griever to present a false image that would shake and unsettle Ni'essa's most ardent of defenders."

Cor'lana looks thoughtful for a long moment before she looks back up at Seldan. "So... You are more familiar with the Griever than I am. Does he serve any particular deity? Or does he have designs on godhood himself?"

"Consider the name: Griever. Why does he grieve?" Telamon taps his fingertips on his table. "That's a question I'd like to answer. Peel back the 'what' and look for the 'why'. His actions -- Sir Seldan, you mentioned he was also targeting followers of the Tempter. And I believe at one point, our discussions pointed to him desiring to overthrow the nature of things entirely -- to cast down as many gods as he could."

"Grief can drive a man to do foolish things -- we've seen that firsthand. And while this seems... an almost comical overreaction, it is still happening. And it needs to be stopped."

"It is unlikely that he is the first holder of that name," Seldan answers, settling into a meditative quietude, his teacup in his hands. "The first reference to that name appears some eight centuries past, among a group that sought independence from the Charnethi. It is in my mind that hate has been passed down through the generations, and if he be the original bearer of that name, then he is something vile indeed. Curiously, though, the legend lore shied from the man, did not speak of him, himself, only his words. His words desired the truth, and to end the 'little lying goddess' minions'."

"It is in my mind that you are correct, that he desires to throw down gods - and magic - itself. Why else would he target the three deities that once watched the Sea of Mana? To what end, I know not, but this do I know - that magic goes awry in places, deserting some and pooling in others. I would seek of Her another communing, to learn how came those artifacts to be in that place. For it is clear to me that they were stolen, and assembled by him."

"He would have to be very, very long-lived if that were the case," Cor'lana murmurs into her teacup before she takes a sip, nodding a little. Eight centuries is a long time for most mortal people. Even elves. It's a long span. Not far from an eon.

Violet eyes settle onto Telamon for a moment. "Whatever the case, the motivation will be hard to determine so long as the legend lore shies away from the man, only the echoes of his actions." She purses her lips in thought. "Are we sure it is truly one individual and not two or more people working in tandem under a psuedonym? It might explain the shyness of the legend lore spell."

Here she wrinkles her brow. "Conjecture on what the Griever is aside, I agree with a communing," she says. "Perhaps Telamon might be able to help you with the gift he was given by Ni'essa? While I know of it--as our thoughts are joined--I do not dare encroach on a gift given by the goddess to one person. Such a thing is sacred. It is a mystery that I can appreciate but not participate in myself."

Telamon shakes his head. "If he is that intent on overturning the table, as it were, a trifling issue such as extending his lifespan unnaturally will not bother him. Or, as Sir Seldan speculates, this could be a generational gambit -- though the devotion this family would have to such a task would be frightening."

A long pull from his mug of tea, before Tel continues, "I will of course do what I can. The ritual only functions for me -- no other." His lips quirk up. "I can sketch out the pattern, and the circle, but it appears to require a central locus to function: myself. For anyone else, it simply doesn't work."

He nods suddenly. "Let's tackle this from both ends. While I can't fault this fellow's loathing for the Tempter, his madness would wreak havoc in time, turning the Sea of Mana into an uncontrollable storm."

"Devotion to a single ideal holds great power," Seldan muses, taking a smaller pull from his tea. "Very well. I shall attempt the communing, to learn how came he by such items of power, and why they were in that place. I have one other task, for the item that he sent against the minions of the Tempter was vile indeed. A weapon forged by an ancient devil - Kintrilax, once a chain devil not now something more - forged in the Iron Hells of damned souls."

He stares into the mug of tea, and draws a deep breath. "A blade that was used to kill, and kill, until it was severed from the hand of its maker by a mighty celestial. It was then used by others, and killed until it took pleasure in killing, and compelled its wielder to kill and to torture. Hidden in the vaults of the Charneti, until the Griever drew it forth and placed it in the hand of a convict, sending him against the minions of the Tempter."

He allows silence to fall, then. "It is under ward, now, in Eluna's temple, while I seek a means of destroying. And, a means have I found, if I can but learn its location."

Cor'lana's eyes widen at the description of a blade that takes pleasure in the killing of others, compelling its wielder to maim and brutalize. It's an infernal thing, as infernal as its origins. "Shit," she murmurs, before collecting her breath. "My apologies. Sometimes I have no better word than profanity for... certain things."

She looks soberly at Seldan, a sudden disinterest in her tea. Maybe now's the time to start contemplating a harder drink... If the matter at hand wasn't so important. "I take it a blade such as that would not merely be disintegrated?" she asks. "Stupid question, really, but..."

Telamon's eyes widen at Seldan's description of the cursed blade. "Ni'essa preserve us." He shudders. "You read about such things in tales. Weapons that aren't merely awakened, but have -hungers-. I remember one where even death would not free the wielder -- the weapon simply reanimated him, forcing him to continue his bloodshed."

He looks tempted as well, the thought of stronger drinks a definite temptation. "Sadly, love, it's never that easy. Such things... as time goes on they become more and more a part of the world. Sometimes it takes something special to dispose of them. It might be as humble as breaking it on the anvil of an honest smith who's never shirked a day, or as exalted as bearing it to the heavens to beg for the use of a celestial furnace. This is what spells such as the lore-seeking are often used for -- to tease out the details."

He nods at Sir Seldan's remark. "You said you'd found a location. Do you have a name for this place where such a dark weapon might be disposed of?"

It is a moment before Seldan answers, and a shudder ripples through him. He exhales hard, then, and takes a long pull from his tea. "Had you made such an offer after I sought the vision, I might not have refused you," he remarks with ojne of those small smiles. "It is not a location that I have found, but a means, and I seek now its location. The Sunguards at the cathedral of the Draco Solis in Bryn Myridorn are working to narrow its location. A tomb, in which is buried the shattered remnants of a divine hammer, whose thunder might suffice. A relic of the Demon Wars, used to put down a horror and buried with it."

Cor'lana seems absolutely enthralled by the idea of a tomb in which there's a divine hammer. But... "A hammer... It doesn't seem like the type of weapon that a Daeusite might use?" she asks. "Unless it was a divine servitor of Reos? But maybe it's less about the form and more its purpose--to protect those who live in the Light from the instruments of the Dark."

She looks thoughtful. "This certainly counts as an instrument of the Dark, whatever its purpose," she says. "Will you need allies to go with you, should the way to this tomb be perilous? I would gladly come with you for it."

Telamon takes another sip of tea, to calm his nerves. "Hmmm. In older times, priests and inquisitors tasked with ferreting out fiends were sometimes called 'hammers'. It might have been the weapon of such a servant, whether of Daeus or one of the other gods of Light." He shrugs lightly, and grins. "Or perhaps its wielder preferred the hammer to the blade. Wouldn't be the first time."

"But yes, Lana and I are of one mind in this. If you need aid, Sir Seldan, do not hesitate to call on us. We've faced tribulations together -- and we are stronger for it. That is how we triumph over the Dark: we face it together, not individually."

"Even so," Seldan readily agrees. "And yet naught would I have you agree to, but that you hear the whole of my tale, and of this place, all that is known. For it entombs a song, a ballad, whose very hearing drove men, women and children to madness, dancing to their deaths. Living slaves to its echoes. It roamed among all unchecked until finally, the celestial with the hammer of which I speak rallied a celestial harmony into a broken and doomed silence, washing away its final echoes. In so doing, the hammer shattered, and both were entombed, the song utterly erased from man's memory that it never be returned. To walk in that tomb, we must be completely and utterly deafened, against the possibility that the song might linger in that place."

"Tell us," Cor'lana urges gently. Even with the horror that is promised, the horrible song that could enspell doom in the tomb--there are few things that a poet is not willing to plumb to. Light cannot be had without shadow. Art cannot be had without feeling.

It is a tale that will be told here in the Lupecyll-Atlon home: for three pairs of ears only on this occasion.