[Quenthalus]

Nestled in the close proximity of a picinic grove-- where sleek nobles and elegant scions wandered-- listening intently to his friends discuss about orcs, humans, and the Empire, Sy'aliande partook of their fine wine, tasting it's smooth elven sweetness with much joy. He glanced sidelong at Ery'endolen and Destrin but was more intent on hearing news of this part of the empire as Quenthalus narrated some thoughts of Imperia. He shook his head in disappointment, however, at the way the humans warmongering would displace and murder so many if conflicts were allowed to escalate, though it was no skin off his nose if humans died for no just cause.
"I believe that we should just ignore their actions, return to our ancestral lands, and let them kill each other off. There really is nothing in these lands worth saving, is there? I say kill the humans and be done with it!" Sy'anliande said nonchalantly before taking another sip of his wine.
"After all, they do nothing but destroy what they built but cycles before, and then seek our things to destroy once theirs are gone. Humans are loud, obnoxious, and quite dirty. I personally can't stand the smell of most humans, and I wish they would just die off. Unfortunately, they also breed like rabbits..."
"So, Sy'aliande, you believe we should just sit back and watch as innocent people are killed by the greed and war mongering people of their race? Let the women and children be massacred without so much as lifting a finger. To do such a thing is more cruel and evil than any act Humanity has ever committed on Telath. Very few humans are bereft of mercy or compassion, and to place such a stereotype on humanity is like saying the Vyssitchi are born murderers, and should be slaughtered and utterly annihilated from the face of Telath. Even orcs have surprised people before, though not often, with acts of mercy and compassion. Would you find it just to say that elves should be obliterated because we are elegant and wish to dominate? No you would not, nor would any elf, for it is not true. A man should be judged by his person, not by his race."
"To answer your questions, Destrin, however I assume they were rhetorical; 'yes', the weak of the humans should die at the hand of the strong, and 'yes', all vysstichi are born murderers. The only vysstichi I have ever met that did not wallow in blood and hatred were ones who have spent a majority of their lives among our own kind. We elves are truly the only beings suited to walk the face of this planet, because all other beings merely overpopulate it, under appreciate it, and destroy it! A genocide of the lesser races should be in order one of these days..." Sy'aliande grumbled, taking another sip of moonglow. "Quenthalus, what do you think?"
He regarded Destrin and Sy'aliande with a deliberate nod, hearing each members piece on worldly views, appreciating the source from which they arose. He thought of his own experience and considered suggestions, inserting a soft rationale. When Sy'aliande delivered his diatribe Quenthalus said nothing, taking that moment to gather his thoughts. He looked away, groping into the haze of Syl'rosya with empty eyes. When he looked back his gaze quietly lamented having to reconcile their questions. "I couldn't begin to offer you a worthy explanation, no matter how much I long to tell you there is another way, toror'amin." His voice, unbroken, and yet forlorn for an elf, spoke volumes in response. "Those of the Orders of Light will spend their eternal lives in a great struggle. They already know they fight a battle that is perpetuating, and quite simply, to stave off evil. But mistakes are made." He was no elf to defend the very empire he silently quarreled with, but his journey's had given him a great deal of worldly wisdom. What these two condoned struck Quenthalus as warped and clandestine interpretations of elven ethos. The solution never addresses the problem, it only works around it--. In this case genocide. He found enough nodes of true living spirit to be convinced that there were proactive alternatives. "Every warrior that spends a day killing someone loses a day building something. You have to innovate strategic and mindful ways of approaching something. Do it for the greater good." At least they addressed the real problems, and are aware of the consequences that come with absolute power. For this he was grateful.

"Before I lived in Syl'rosya there was a noble elf, august, ancient, and renowned for teaching the vysstichi a thing or two of terror. Lord Shan'tilarr of House Mithania. The entire House is dedicated to the eradication of the vysstichi. For some, especially those of you who know the edicts of the dark elven nation, you'd know the battle was a worthy cause. I won't be the first to admit I'm loathe to the company of dark elves, but my experiences with them in the past force me to approach them with immediate suspicion. What can I say about that? We know the larger dark elven societies are theocratic. Haya rules the majority. Better to error on the side of caution when dealing with them, though I won't deny credit to one of them, if they earn it. I have lost to dark elven hands. The majority of their culture is cruel and nightmarish. Many cultures come to Aelyria, and they become Aelyrians. They are driven by self interest, and a chance at new life, and this chance is available, even to a vysstichi. That is the Aelyrian way. Right of Meritocracy. But many are also still deeply rooted in their ways, and Aelyria is not impervious to the cultural overlapping. Dark elves are still notorious for bringing their dark ways into the Imperial world." He sighed to himself, looking to them apologetically. "Sorry. I'll finish the story." His lips pursed and he coughed, exhaling quietly. "He waged a private war against the Hayan worshipping dark elves, though neutral dark elves were often caught in the crossfire; it's a battle Lord Shan'tilarr has fought for almost three hundred eras." He sipped his moonglow, casually removing a leather case from some things piled near a bundle with cheeses, wines, and other accessories to an outdoor luncheon, then from it procured a slim wooden pipe. He stoked the kettle over a flame, drawing a languid breath in, then subtly discharging a conical nimbus. "He fought this battle because the dark elves had slaughtered his lover during the kithian assembly; a festive gathering when the Syl'rosyan Houses honor Silrosan - father of Moonstone ap Silrosan. Silrosan was the first king of Syl'rosya, and the first elf to ascend to demigod status. Hence the name of the city, Silrosia." He exhaled another bleary cloud, rolling his shoulders back and contentedly finishing the drink. "Shan'tilarr, like any good elf, was oathed to avenge the unwarranted murder of his wife. He, along with his sons (except one, Llorinal Mithania), spent countless campaigns pursuing the dark elven threat of Qu`ellar Xy`verm all the way into the caves, driving the dark kin back into the depths of the Great Mountains. I recollect on his story because his House is now convicted to the wholesale destruction of all vysstichi, and let's be honest, I wouldn't sway him. He is who he is, and as a worthy master and lord I stand beside his decisions, so long as they bear good logic, and serve the people in goodness. I only condone his clandestine war because he is a skilled adversary against the minions of Haya, yet many of the nobles and commoners of Syl’rosya know his inspiration comes from a dark realm of his heart. He kills for vengeance, and has no remorse. Pain, strife, and great evil brought him to this lifeless crux. The ancient spirit that coarsed through his body is extinguished now. Those that knew him know he never smiles, could never laugh from the bottom of his heart, or find a way to connect with his sons, and feel whole again. Something so banal consumes you when you hate like that. Shan'tilarr has his reasons though. So I have to ask, why would any of you wish to have that hatred within yourselves? It begins subtly, like now, merely exchanged over conversation, but don't you feel life slipping away? Why did we do all this fighting to begin with? For peace. But that's easily forgotten. Shan'tilarr has driven away most of his family, embracing the company of elves who live to kill, and only wait for absolution to consume them. For all its claims toward peace, the ritual embracing of this life affair obliterates their spirits - the very act becomes a mockery to the elven heart. And all those things that are elven, and that bring light to a dark world, they're lost. It's a waste." He could testify to that claim, long knowing Llorinal, the young noble for some thirty eras. It was Llorinal who taught Quenthalus the freedom of dance. "It's very elven of you to cherish the forest, and direct your disproval toward those that deserve it, but the ancients would frown upon one who thought themselves so low they could only expedite change through terror." He didn't know how they would take that, but he had long since stopped fearing what others might say. Setting his pipe aside, he gave a kindred hand, clasping it to Sy'aliande's forearm. He held him for a moment, eyes fixed to the elf, then let him go and offered a single nod.

He thought to answer Destrin about Imperia, but he kept the other elf’s questions in the back of his mind. It was best to talk serious in increments- he wasn't here to change anyone, and even if he felt like change was necessary, it was a path that all of them would ultimately travel alone. He admired all of their convictions, and their want of virtue. An elf like Sy'aliande would serve the people well delivering his angst to the orcish assembly, or the newly emerging dark elven cults of Haya throughout Centripax. Destrin and Ery'endolen, both seemingly drawn toward the destablization of the Empire through the re-emerging Elder Circle of Syl'rosya; so long as they lived he believed they could create an impact in the empire, and do some real good. He knew legends of northmen who would sacrifice themselves for a worthy cause. He too, would defend Trelore, but only as a final option. The land, and the system, and the oaths, they were all symbols that evolved a culture, but he would never place dangerous convictions before the lives of those he swore to protect.

Slender hands curled around his glass, drowning the last two sips, then empathetically turning to glance at each of them. He had ambitions, many of which were on the verge of climax. He wouldn't deny that a good majority of his recent company were all elves, but he sought like minded spirits, both to reinforce the desire to emulate the qualities of elvenkind, and to teach wayward elves about their people. It was his hope the elvish edicts, the beliefs which cause people to see elves as inspiring, exotic and beautiful, could be used to guide expansionists and power mongers out of their dark age, and into the real world. A world where you don't have time to worry about who sits on the throne. The system that was once used to serve the people has now become valued above the people it purported to protect. In this time it becomes paramount that individuals band together, bracing for survival in the wake of no leadership. While many busied themselves with fighting against whatever they could, he felt obligated to create those things that sustain, and live on. If killing ever commanded him, it would only be in the call of defense. But for Quenthalus it was time to expand that defense, and to this he purveyed the future heroes with high hopes.