Tel' Nim Ando. (Ethgan'tor's Gates)

[Maddyn]

Resplendent in all its glory at the very heart of the Forest of Light resides the elusive Esh’lahier City, Ethgan’tor. Spires of pure white marble rise to the heavens to peak above the forests canopy, all but invisible however from unwanted eyes due to enchantments cast upon the city in ages past to prevent any not ‘True’ to the Esh’lahier to perceive nothingness and woodland. Few however besides that of the Esh’lahier and those welcomed within the Forest of Light such as the Faeries, Nymphs and Dryads are ever seen within the city of Ethgan’tor, and none besides captives and Elf Friends ever pass through the hallowed Gate.

There is but a singular true pathway that leads to Ethgan’tor, despite the fact that there are hundreds of tracks that carve a lazy pathway to the Ivory city. Each one has its purpose; each one leads to a certain fate, as this is the first test of one seeking the Esh’lahier Capital, the final refuge against the hates and prejudices of those within Telath. As is taught from a young age, those paths of granite grant naught but wanderings and the delving into darkness. Hard of appearance and form, it is these pathways which lead to the darker area’s of the Forest of Light where ancient evils lie dormant, weakened, but never destroyed for the shadow is but another facet of light where balance much remain intact. It is thus most unfortunate that it is these pathways which appear the most friendly, the well worn surface fitting for carriages and carts alike… and it is unfortunate that it is these pathways which claim the lives of many every Era. The paths of broken obsidian prove false as well, for no path of the black stone shall ever lead to Ethgan’tor – but rather always twisting and turning to lead towards the North West, towards the Xet and into despair and decay. Those who wander those paths often suffer a fate worse than death, a prospect that the Esh’lahier themselves find of little concern. Those who travel the pathways of darkness deserve the darkness that they obtain in return.

The final two paths however, one of soft fine sand, and the other of apparently hard broken brambles and dense bracken are the only two which can truly be declared safe to travel. That of the soft white sand leads nowhere but outside the Forest of Light, the roads and pathways continually twisting and turning to remove those who wander these pathways outside once more and away from harm. Ever changing and whimsical, it is believed that the sands themselves actually change location at varying times of the brightening as no one has ever been able to make a map of the sand trails that wasn’t rendered useless within the next cycle. The final pathway, that created by the forest itself is the only true pathway that will lead to Ethgan’tor despite being most unfriendly at first sight, the only one that causes no harm to travellers unless harm itself is brought with those who intrude. Clear of shadows and despair, the Forest of Light lives up to it’s name for those who wander the final, singular and almost impossible pathway as always is the road bathed in light. Day and night, always the path is visible whether because of sun or moonlight or some force unknown, always is the path free of fallen branches and long fallen leaves of autumn gold after the first few kilometres of hardship. The path to purity is not without hardship, and the perseverance needed to press onwards rather than turn back reflects this element of the Esh’lahier. Should malice however walk this pathway and actually reach the very end… then it is dealt with at the Gates of Ethgan’tor.

The second tests and warnings are that of the Five Hundred Waystones that run alongside the pathway of the Forest, pillars of white marble traced with light pink veins that run along its surface in random patterns. Standing one meter tall and twenty-five centimetres in diameter, they are perfectly smooth all around it’s exterior and polished to a shine. At the foot of the Waystones, moss and lichen begins to climb the ivory coloured surface, always the purple wildmoon flowers grow at their bases and fill the air with a tantalising scent that in it’s own way is intoxicating as the most potent of wines. At the top of each way stone a single gemstone no bigger than a hens egg rests. There is no given colour for any of the stones themselves; all change depending upon the intentions of the ones that walk the forest path. Their precise purpose though was lost almost immediately however upon their creation after the Archmagi Carini’ituin perished in the subsequent creation, and unfortunate explosion of some unknown arcanic working she’d been working upon that resulted only cycles after their placement upon the paths of the Forest of Light. Whatever was the intent of the enigmatic Magi is unknown, though many have attempted to decipher her mind and divine the purpose of the Waystones, though with little fortune. As it is, no Waystone can ever be removed from their pillar by force or coercion, just as no pillar can be broken through the passing of time, nor force. All remain to this very brightening, flickering various colours - not unlike a Candarose’s petals. What the test is, none know, but there are many yet who enter the Forest of Light who walk the pathway of the forests who never reach Ethgan’tor, or manage leave the forest alive. Those who do survive however, but fail to make it to the all but mythical city are always changed in one means or another, mentally or physical.

The third, and final test granted to one who wanders the path to Ethgan’tor is when the roadway itself ends as the great evergreen and snow capped trees of the Forest of Light part to reveal a clearing that seems to stretch as far as the eye can see. Slowly though, for those ‘True’ to the Esh’lahier and bear no malice in their hearts upon the Children of Phedos the vision begins to flicker and solidify until the city itself lies before oneself. The road itself alters, perfectly fitting paving stones of white that interlock and join together so well that no means but that of Arcana could be used to pry the stones apart. Before though is where ones eyes truly linger. Running from side to side is a wall of dazzling white marble shot with light pink veins that stretch some twenty-five meters high and at intervals some two hundred meters across rest guard towers build within the walls themselves. Great bronze basins and torches run along the walls themselves, golden flames burning through the brightening and all through the night to allow any of the Esh’lahier, and those True to their cause to see the city bathed in light. The Esh’lahier may be considered Dark Elves amongst those of Telath, but that gave the puritanical Elves no reason to persist in such a concept and dwell in the undergrounds like their corrupted brethren, the Vysstichi Esh’lahier.

Spires of light rush to meet the sky, a hundred meters high, if not more so, each seeming to compete with each other in splendour and magnificence – but all pale in comparison to the Tower which rests at the very heart of Ethgan’tor, at the very heart of the Forest of Light. Standing at five hundred meters from ground level, it’s almost impossible to determine how this could not be seen from outside the Forest of Light and yet there it was. The final fortress, unused except to hold the Esh’lahier Noble Houses in current times and currently the seat of power for politics. The final hundred meters though none can see, shrouded in soft white clouds that cover the area around the great spire itself, and every now and again one might see the barely visible forms of the Pegasi Cavalry swoop around and drift upon the rising thermals.

The gates however, that which rests before those who have travelled the singular path that takes almost an entire cycle to complete from the edges of the Forest of Light stands forth where the pathway ends. The Gate Tower itself is an opening twenty-five meters across, on either side a pillar rising upwards before enclosing itself in an archway that hides with cunning workmanship a double gate built from pure adamantinum designed to hold back the unwelcome armies of others in the rare case that one brightening, war might come to Ethgan’tor. Never has the gates been shut since their creation, for never has there been any presence within Ethgan’tor that hasn’t been caught by one of the three tests of the Forest of Light. Walking forwards, a pair of Esh’lahier strides forth from the ‘Iylantian Levy’, each lithe figure moving with a precision timing that would make Imperial Guard Commanders around the Allerian Empire green with envy. Both were exactly two meters tall and had the Esh’lahier trait of skin like moonlight and alabaster hair that hung to their shoulders. Their features were beautiful, radiant…and yet, that was by Human standards. Each was garbed in white linen tunic and soft white brigga that ended at their kneecaps to be covered in light grey military boots. On their left hip a longknife sheathe was borne, though no conventional weapon such as a sword or axe could be seen. Wrapped around their shoulders, flowing free was a warm woollen cloak that bore the elvish runes for ‘Hope’ in the middle.

“Vedui’” stated the guard on the left with a warm smile as she glanced up at the gate tower before inclining her head in a slight nod before returning her gaze back down. “It’s my pleasure to welcome you to Ethgan’tor Mellonamin. Please could you state your name and purpose within the city of Ioannes’ virtue?” she asked, a serene smile playing across her pale features as her musical voice filled the air. The guard on the right, a man with a somewhat harsher features continually shifted his gaze to watch the pathways entrance or exit depending upon ones perspective as if expecting more people to follow yet.

OOC: Please read the Forum Info before posting here. Failure to do so may result in annoying the forum moderators.

Cheers, Maddyn

[Sharinya]

There was a time long ago (or so it seemed now) that she had been to the forest of light before seeking the Patrius Tree. Then it had been a challenge as it was to be for her now. This time she was seeking the way to Fae’rel; oh she had knowledge of how she was to get there, or at least one way. Kelrondar, a place linked to Fae’rel by bonds that were as tenuous as they were strong. One could not exist without the other.

So here she was again, this time she had the griffon and his mountain dwarf rider Niolg McDuff with her and Morsefel Pah her dear friend and faithful companion. There journey thus far had not taken long since the Griffon was a rather friendly creature who had allowed them both to ride on his back along with Niolg.

She still had the gold key that would gain her entry into Kelrondar if she were to place it in the knot of a tree; she could have done so in the Dolwoods but something stirred her to return to this place to find the right tree…

[Maddyn]

Moving above the Forest of Light, the forest below seemed no different than that of the Dolwoods or the Pegasi Woods...well, almost. Layered upon the dense evergreen canopy of the forest was a thich layer of white snow, touched with a gentle blue as light from Telath's suns struck against it and slowly caused the snow to melt. The sky was free of any great wind, reasonably good weather for flying, despite the fact above Sharinya, Niolg & Morsefal the sky blackened and was touched with grey as clouds threatened yet another storm or another few centimetres of snow in the darkening.

Twisting through the forest floor was tracks, snaking through the woods and if any of those above was to stare for more than a few minutes one would obtain the vague suspicion that some of the tracks were actually slowly shifting as if the trees were altering the pathways destinations. The majority of pathways were black and grey, easily visible from their altitude when contrasted to deeply with the fine white snow. The other two types of pathways however were harder to see. The sand and that of nature were covered by melting snow, causing the pathways to blend in to the forest and make things most difficult to percieve.

Breaking apart the monotony however of snow and roads was a singular blade, approximately twelve meters by fifteen and completely free of both snow and trees - a brilliant patch of emerald green where the winter failed to touch the landscape. Ringed upon the edges were aged Willows, their form rising higher by a good metre in comparison to the majority of trees within the Forest of Light and all were capped with snow. Uon the ground, ringing the foot of the trees grew wildflowers, tiny little faded purple flowers with six petals.

[Sharinya]

As they flew onward she was able to see that the suns were melting the snow on the tree canopy below allowing for glimpses of paths that led deeper into the forest. She was not really too sure just what she was searching for just that there was something pushing her onward to this place again. A glance at the sky gave rise to concerns that there might just be another snowstorm approaching and that they would need to find shelter. Just as she was about to suggest to Niolg that they drop lower and seek shelter she caught sight of a small glade…

”Look over there” she said pointing in the direction of the patch of greenery ”That looks like a place we could find shelter from the storm that seems to be brewing.”

[Morsefal Pah]

Morsefal nodded quietly. "Y-yes. I-I'll g-go check it out."

The fae cautiously went and examined the cave to make sure that it was safe.

[Maddyn]

Sharinya, Morsefal & Companions:

Thread continues here.

Cheers, Maddyn

[Anvael Andares]

Timestamp: Early Winter, Era X in the Age of the Darkening (Before Medonia)


The young elf had travelled through the Forest of Light for quite some time now, looking for the ivory city Ethgan’tor that was holy to his race. His grandparents in Ieffreon, the old elves who had raised him had told him about it, had told him about the tests he would have to go through before he could enter the city proper, but it was all so different from those stories.

None of the stories that his grandfather had told him on those lonely evenings on the beach could ever convey what it would really be like, to go searching for the one place where the pale skinned elves were always welcome. It was amazing, rendered him breathless. For the first time in many cycles the aspiring bard, mage and wannabe rogue was speechless – which was not a good quality to have for somebody who wanted to entertain, to actually make money with his art, for somebody that was supposed to be good with people.

The stones of the road fit so perfectly into each other that there was no way they could have been made by elven hands. The walls at the side were laced with veins of pink, something he had only seen in Ieffreon before, but not in that stunning beauty. Nothing could ever truly compare to Ethgan’tor. The city was practically bathed in light. The young elf stopped for a moment, shielded his violet eyes with a hand and looked ahead. Ioannes, what were the people like that lived in those towers? Were they elves like he or something special? He longed to climb one of those towers and took a look inside, for just a moment, discover all their secrets.

With a sigh he finally pulled his gaze away and walked on, towards the gates proper. The sense of wonder, of surprise that he had felt when he had first laid eyes on the city refused to go away. The gates were made from pure adamantium! Where but in Ethgan’tor would one ever see such a thing? As the guards approached him, the boy stopped abruptly and waited. They were dressed completely in white, as if they were made from pure light, had come straight from Aetheria, like angels. It was an incredible difference from his home city of Ieffreon where the people had dressed in colourful clothes, never in white or black.

“Vedui ...” the boy spoke and gave the guard a somewhat uneasy smile of his own. “I’m Anvael, of House Andares. I want to visit the city. I’ve heard so much about it ... I have never been here before ...” His voice trailed off, and he blushed lightly as if he found his words embarrassing, as if he had said something wrong.

The young elf, slender, white haired, purple eyed, with a face that still possessed the soft, innocent looks of youth simply stood there and looked at the much taller woman. With one hand he reached to the small pouch at his belt as if to remove his visa like he had done all those times before, then drew the hand away. She had not asked for it, had she? He shrugged his shoulders and pulled his blue cloak a bit tighter around his body. The moriquendi looked in all aspects that mattered like a somewhat insecure young man. Only the two daggers that hung at his belt did not fit to the picture of the innocent elven youth, not at all.

[Labyrinth]

Anvael:

The guard nodded with a gentle smile, clearly about to speak when a cough rang out from the gateway behind them, for a moment her flawless stance wavered, as if recognizing the sound, then with amazing speed she recovered her bearing, turning on her heel to face the figure from which the sound had originated. She appeared to pause, her expression changing even though Anvael couldn’t see it as the Moriquendi in question continued with smooth, measured paces to close the distance between the gate and the guard, both his hands behind his back, hidden beneath a thick purple cape, green eyes dancing with amusement as he took in the two guards and Anvael, his ponytail hair swinging lightly.

“Did I hear this right?”

The Moriquendi inquired with clear sarcasm, eyebrows rising in mock astonishment, his courtly manners not lacking however as he stopped a few paces from the guards but close enough to talk without shouting, hands not emerging from behind his back, eyes focusing on Anvael.

“House Andares eh? Haven’t heard that name in a while boy, you haven’t been here before you say.”

The richly dressed Moriquendi male continued, his conversation going too fast with too much insistence for Anvael to butt in, the talker keeping his voice loud and clear even if Anvael might try to interrupt.

“What say I give you the tour, then find you the place you need to be going Anvael? I’m local; I have a liking to helping out guests.”

He commented, to which the female guard who had so far been maintaining her composure growled a response, her body tensing as if she wanted to move and attack the man but the motion failing to materialize, something holding her back.

“Ariva.”

She muttered, the man – apparently named Ariva – turning to her brightly as if noticing her for the first time, arms still relaxed and invisible behind him, entirely in control.

“Var’yan.”

Was the brittle reply that rang with steel undertones, a command to be obeyed rather than questioned, his voice lacking the friendly quality it had exhibited to Anvael, noble arrogance redirected into surety of command rather than pose as he returned his eyes to Anvael, those eyes softening from the stones they’d become when speaking the guard’s name, the tone of voice once again dripping honey in the quiet of the gateway, no sound except the filtering bustle of the city audible through the gateway.

“What say you Anvael of House Andares? Will you allow Ariva to show you around the grand city of Ethgan’tor and answer your questions?”

He inquired, the guard waving to her companion and stalking past Ariva at a barely held marching pace, the stiffness of her back a clear sign of something rubbing off on her, although what it was Anvael could probably only guess at.

[Anvael Andares]

The young elf smiled back at the woman tentatively before he froze abruptly at the cough coming from somewhere behind him. It seemed as if she recognized the man. Unfortunately he could not claim the same of himself. He did not know what to think of her behaviour, if the fact that the man was approaching was a good or bad thing. As the stranger came closer, the boy turned around, hands hidden behind his back as if he wanted to mimick him and simply looked ahead. His youthful face held an expression of perfect calm that did not fit at all to the insecurity and shyness he had displayed only seconds before. He took it all in, the man’s purple cape, the green eyes – unusual for a moriquendi, the way he held himself.

He arched an eyebrow at the man’s first question, then just shrugged his shoulders and smiled slightly. He did not know what to make of his sarcasm, why he acted this way, what he wanted from him, but that did not matter, he’d find it out soon enough. “No, I have not been here before ... ” he replied and then fell silent, realizing that it would not make sense if he talked now. The man was going too fast, the conversation was moving at too high a speed. If he tried to interrupt and confirm the man’s suspicion that he was of House Andares, he would likely not hear it. Ioannes, what did the man want from him? Was it really nothing more than kindness that he had adressed him? He had never seen him before. The situation seemed to be a bit strange to him, more than just a bit strange, but intriguing.

The female guard seemed to be less than pleased with the man’s words. but he couldn’t figure out why. The man had only offered him a tour of Ethgan’tor. There was nothing wrong with that. She seemed to be about to attack him, then relaxed as if something held her back. Why? Was she afraid of him or was it something else? “Ariva ...” he murmurred, as if he wanted to burn the name forever into his mind. Who was Ariva? Which House did he belong to? What was his role in Ethgan’tor? He would find it out. He hated being clueless. Sooner or later he would find it out and solve the ridde that he had been presented with. The young moriquendi who was very clueless about the intricacies of Ethgan’tor and a stranger to the city would find everything out that needed to be found out.

“I would be honored if you gave me a tour of Ethgan’tor, Ariva. I’m a stranger to this place and unfamiliar to many of its aspects despite the fact that at least part of my family came from here”, the boy replied calmly before he cast another glance at the female. What was her relation to the man? He shrugged his shoulders and then asked another question. “I assume you are native to the city? What’s your part in all of this?” The question could of course be interpreted in many different ways, from a curiosity about the man’s House to his overall role in Ethgan’tor. He made a step into Ariva’s direction, as if he wanted to give him a sign that he was ready for the tour now.

[Labyrinth]

Ariva nodded thoughtfully, twisting slightly as his left hand came free of the cloak to reveal well-made leather gloves with no fingers, genteelly he gestured to the gate way, clearly expecting Anvael to follow as he began to walk, the hand falling back behind him. The way he walked had a somewhat relaxed attitude to it though, first one foot then the other falling in front, swinging as if the man hadn’t a care in the world as he took in the situation around him, the bright marble buildings sparkling in the sunlight, a slight cold permeating the air but oddly enough today, no snow on the ground.

“My full name is Ariva of House N’mora, not the most in important House in Ethgan’tor but one with some connections, connections are of course what makes the upper element of this city go around.”

Ariva said the first part with a certain pride, the second part having a somewhat wistful, remembering quality to it, as if Ariva was reminiscing on something in the past. Around them the smells of a city at work began to twitch at Anvael’s nostrils as they strode down the main street, burnt wood, baker’s bread, all the usual smells so intermingled that it was not really possible to tell them apart, although the city itself did have a subtle difference to it, some elements missing, some elements changed or gained although Anvael could hardly pick out which elements they were.

“Still.” He commented reasonably brightly. “At least down here I’m free of all that, for a while, so tell me.”

Ariva glanced back with an inquisitive expression. “What do you know about Ethgan’tor and about your house? You may have questions dear boy but I have more answers than the world has brightenings in an era.”

He finished with a slight, full laugh, the laugh of someone who could laugh and go on laughing freely, knowing he was satisfied.

[Anvael Andares]

The boy followed Ariva immediately, without hesitation, walked not more than a few steps after him. He noticed how relaxed the older moriquendi seemed to be, as if he did not have a care in the world, as if there was nothing that truly bothered him. Nobility, the way he held himself and his exquisite clothes did not leave a doubt. Anvael himself had none of these qualities yet, although he was of noble blood. He did not have the manners to go with nobility yet, the certain feeling of superiority. He was in many ways still a child, a diamond in the rough.

The cold bothered him slightly. There was no snow lying on the ground, but the young elf was shivering nevertheless and drew his warm, blue cloak tighter around his body. The boy was slender, bordering on thin, there was no fat that made him a little less prone to the cold, he had nothing in the way of muscles. In Iefreon where he had come from the climate varied little. It was always hot. The mainland with such wondrous things as ice and snow was completely alien to him. He felt every little bit of cold about twice as much as those around him, simply because he was not used to it. He was a child of the sun, of endless beaches and blue skies.

“And which connections would that be, Ariva of House N’mora?” he asked and cocked an eyebrow inquisitively. “If you don’t mind asking, that is.” He followed the older elf down the mainstreet, past stunning marble buildings that shimmered in the sun. A multitude of smells lingered in the cool air. There was the smell of bread, of freshly cooked food, the smell of elves, of animals – and somehting more. There was something subtly different about the city, but he could not tell what. It was different from his home, in a way he could not quite explain.

Ariva’s eemed to remember something, dwell on an event in the past. His words sounded strange, despite the bright tone to them. Free of what? Of what was he free? What had happened to him in the past? The young man decided not to ask, not yet. It was not for him to be that curious, to bother a complete stranger in such a way. Without a doubt Ariva would not appreciate an overcurious child that clearly showed that he had no manners, that he knew nothing, that was not worth the name he carried.

At Ariva’s questions the boy just shrugged his shoulders. “That depends. I know my House’s history, know a few names, but if you asked me about its exact role in Ethgan’tor – if it plays a role at all here – I have to admit, I’m fairly clueless, a circumstance that I intend to amend in time. I’ve grown up on an island far away from here and am not familiar with Ethgan’tor and its inner workings. I suppose that answers your question sufficiently. I’ve been told enough about Ethgan’tor that I arrived here in one piece, I did not get lost at any point, but please don’t ask me about local politics. I’m still trying to gain some knowledge in that field. Most of the things I know would be considered common knowledge among those of our race that have lived outside of the holy city for a fair while ...”

He glanced at Ariva in a way that suggested that he would like to hear something about that, that he wanted to find out who was important in the marble city and who not, what he had to pay attention to while he was here.

[Labyrinth]

Ariva yet again waved a hand around him, heading slowly around streets, seemingly going no-where in particular, even though the sights and sounds around him changed significantly to different areas of the city as Anvael knew it, his attitude never changing as he replied.

“Connections to people, connections to places and to organizations, any if you like although some are better than others. Ways to make others aid you, ways to dissuade some from getting in your way.”

Ariva explained without really going into too much detail, never the less willing to continue explaining things in general, the way Ethgan’tor worked for instance.

“Ethgan’tor is a city of politics my boy, a place where everything done by everyone who is even the smallest member of a household has meaning when it is seen by people inside and outside that House, if you sneeze it could mean something, if you hold a party or go to one then who you talk to, how you talk to them and the manner you act at that party all have meaning of who you are, what you want to get across and what you are intending to do – or trying to say you intend. Double cross, manipulation and backhand lies are all part of the package.”

Ariva seemed to enjoy that fact, a pleasant smile crossing his face that Anvael could see every so often when the man turned to him during part of his litany, his right hand completely free of his cloak now, waving to the words, accenting some and prodding the air at others.

“I can probably tell you something if your House if you like, mine however? Mine is N’mora and that is all that needs to be said really.”

Ariva commented without either visible pride or sarcasm, as if unwilling to divulge just where N’mora lay in the scheme of things just yet.

[Anvael Andares]

They were still walking through the marble city seemingly aimlessly, randomly turning around corners. The sounds around the pair changed slightly, the buildings and the people changed slightly, but the young man that was still so unused to Ethgan’tor, to the notion of nobility did not see a sense in it. Where was Ariva who was so enigmatic at times leading him to? He gnawed on his lip slightly as he tried to figure out that bit. It was impossible. He’d ask the man about it later, ask him whether they were just walking and talking pleasantly, going nowhere in particular, or if he had a particular desination in mind, if there was something in particular that he wanted to show him.

But for now he could not help wondering about the exact nature of Ariva’s connections. His comments were met with a light frown and an arched eyebrow on the boy’s part. “Ways to make others aid you and ways to dissuade some from getting in your way” probably involved blackmail and other rather interesting but slightly problematic things – probably, but he could not be sure as Ariva did not seem to be willing to go into detail as far as his House’s connections were concerned. Fine with him. It was another thing he’d probably find out on his own sooner or later if the gods were willing.

Ariva’s explanation of the way Ethgan’tor worked was met with a soft smile. In that context it did not seem that different from what he was used to. Intrigues spawned everywhere. It was probably the same in every city, in every place where nobles gathered, in every country of the world. All the nobles he knew – which weren’t that many – seemed to play that little dangerous and sometimes rather complicated game of politics that he had not even come to understand.

His companion seemed to enjoy that aspect of Ethgan’tor, especially that aspect of Ethgan’tor, the manipulation and the lies, and not for the first tim the boy wondered what he was besides a member of a noble house. “So?” he stopped to look at the older man and quirked a milky white eyebrow. “What would you be able to tell me about my House that I don’t know yet?” he asked. The curiousy in his voice was evident. He let the remark about House N’mora be. For now his own House and the things he might not know about it were more interesting. What could this stranger possibly know that he did not know?

“And where are we going if you don’t mind asking?” he continued. “You told me you’d give me a tour of Ethgan’tor in addition to some information ...” He shrugged his shoulders and resumed his walk at Ariva’s side.

[Labyrinth]

OOC: Credit for the temple description goes to GM Charybdis.

“To the Cathedral.”

Ariva replied tritely, slightly offended at the idea that his trust would be misjudged, he was after all the guide here and didn’t feel he should be questioned, as for the rest of the questions though he still seemed more than happy to provide information, even if that information was his version rather than anyone else’s.

“House Anvael.” He began, as if reciting from a script on the inside of his eyelids. “Is a fourth tier house with a significant inroad into both the military and political positions, even though it doesn’t own any major businesses it has many representatives in the city government and..”

Ariva gave Anvael a sidelong, conspiratorial look.

“It also has some more seedy connections that allow to protect itself well against aggression from the lower levels and sneaky attacks from above, to be honest the way it survives without any concrete leadership has always been a fascination to myself and my father, I must say that whoever’s caretaking the entire thing is a brilliant person, even more so since even my family don’t know their name or identity.”

The noble continued, letting the non-classness slip from his talk, hinting perhaps at the social standing he enjoyed as they turned a corner and saw ahead of them Tiri'yaana en Ethgan'tor, the bright temple.

“Behold.” Ariva commented, switching his focus, waving a hand. “Tiri’yaana en Ethgan’tor, the bright temple, a true masterpiece of city architecture. I must say although I don’t hold myself much to religion although it has it uses and the Gods are truly Masters of the great game this temple is amazing.”

He commented wryly, the pathway from street to entrance was paved with even slabs of marble; perfect rectangles fit together like a jigsaw puzzle before disappearing into a small, foot-high wall bordering each side. Large ferns covered the corner foot of the wall, extending their green foliage out horizontally, sending shadows upon the ground below. A few tufts of grass encroached upon the place set aside for the ferns, popping their tips out into the sunlight. The monotonous green followed from the feathers of the ferns throughout the rest of the front entrance, broken up only by a few randomly placed trees. A great green carpet of grass extended from the foot of the walls, spreading far to the edge of the Temple’s plot of land within the holy Moriquendi city.

Rising up from the well-kept lawns, the Temple itself stood over two stories high. Most of the building was hidden from sight. From the road one could see the entrance of the Temple and trace the walls of the wing as they extended outwards in the center, indicating it was built in a round shape, the tip of which faced the roadway. The tip of the wing was flattened, causing the walls to start upward as a rectangle and then round in a dome-fashion towards the top. Two matching wings jutted out from the central area of the building at precise angles, showing one horizontal wall and its far edge. The entire building was made from smooth, glassy marble, polished with great care. The outside walls, however, were showing a bit of their age. A few chips revealed the duller stone underneath the top layer, accentuating the hairline separation between blocks. Along the sides of the building, sunlight shone through deep, richly-colored stained glass windows, one wing holding a specific design while the other was yet another style. The glass caught the sunlight, making it dance around the lawn below. The deepness of the colors and the difference between the levels of light kept one from seeing what was inside. A few windows had a glaze of blackish soot in between the leaded fractures, indicating the Temple’s ancient age.

“What do you think about the Gods then?” Ariva inquired, switching the topic smoothly as he seemed to have noticed his earlier slip.

[Anvael Andares]

„The Cathedral?“ the boy repeated and gave Ariva a wide smile. It seemed as if the older man was trustworthy despite his more than enigmatic comments and did not intend to abduct him or do similar things with him. He was looking forward to seeing the cathedral. Without a doubt it would be wonderful. Ieffreon had had a temple of Ioannes, but it was probably nothing against what he would find in Ethgan’tor. Even though he had just arrived, he had already realized that the holy city of the moriquendi race was greater, more beautiful, better than his island home, better than anything he had ever seen before. In Ieffreon the houses were not made of the same shimmering white marble. Not all the houses were made of marble, only some. There were still buildings that were made of wood and stone.

“How many tiers are there?” the young man asked curiously. “If House Andares is a fourth tier house, is there a fifth tier? What is the difference between all those tiers? And where do those that belong to my House live?” It was apparent that the youth was as good as clueless when it came to the nobility of Ethgan’tor. He had grown up so far away from the marble city. His family had told him some stories, had told him how to reach Ethgan’tor, but they had never revealed all the details to him. They probably had not known everything.

That House Andares also had some more seedy connections did not really surprise the boy. It only confirmed what he had suspected. His own father, Astartus Andares, had been a womanizer and a rogue who had had one affair after the other, and as it seemed there were more of his kind in the family. At Ariva’s comment about the leader of the House the boy chuckled softly. He would love nothing more than to meet this person. Ariva did not know the name, but maybe he would find it out. He was an Andares after all, and there had to be other advantages to it apart from the circumstance that he could call himself Lord if he wanted. Since he was family, maybe those of his relatives that lived here would be inclined to tell him.

As he looked at the temple, all the questions that had troubled him disappeared from his mind. The young man had never seen anything like that before. The temple was beautiful, even if there were clear signs of its age. He admired the way the light shone through the windows, found himself studying the garden. The entire building almost seemed to be made of glass. The walls were polished so that they shimmered in the sunlight like a crystal. Maybe the natives were used to the building, but the boy stared at it wide eyed.

“It’s wonderful ...” he finally remarked and pulled his gaze away, turned to answer Ariva’s question. “I don’t know ...” he murmurred and paused for a moment. He had not expected to be asked such a thing. What did he think about the gods? “I follow Ioannes like every good moriquendi ...” he said. In actuality he followed Ioannes, law, order and justice mainly because his grandparents followed the god, because all the people he knew followed them, because he had been told it was the right thing. He was not very religious, he would never have complete faith in the gods, but he did not show that. He’d just be looked at strangely and accused of being too much like his parents if he admitted that he had doubts.

“But I’m not one of those deeply religious people. Some of the things the gods do just seem strange. Sometimes I wonder if they really care about me ...” His mother was a necromancer that followed Jorel and Haya, his parents had abandoned him when he had been a small child. Such a thing made almost everybody wonder about the gods, about how much they actually cared about their followers, but he did not say that to Ariva, did not confide in a perfect stranger, did not tell him how messed up his life really was.

“Sometimes I wonder if I really matter to them ...” he concluded and smiled faintly before a bit of blush painted his cheeks in a soft rosy color. He knew he should not have said this, should have pretended to be the most faithful moriquendi ever instead of admitting that some of the things that the gods did were just plain weird.