Of all the places to find elvhen, Talin didnt expect them in the Grand Necropolis. In the chaos of the battle, with magic and steel slinging all around them, he couldn't tell if they were ancients, as their armor would imply, or agents of Fen'Harel. The ambiguity troubles him, the possibility that he's killed fellow agents of the Wolf's will weighing heavy on his shoulders—though he can't imagine either truth would really comfort him. Whatever their purpose, whoever these elves were fighting for, they were kin, and having to fight them, even in self-defense...
Talin kneels next to one of the fallen elves, resting at their side in somber silence. Five years ago, he'd have been reciting a prayer to Falon'Din—now he can't even remember the words. Even if he could, Lethanavir won't be guiding them to their rest. Maybe silence is more honest. He lays a hand on the elf's shoulder, sighing—
and cuts his eyes sharply over to the human as he approaches an adjacent body, watching warily while the man returns the elf's weapons to their sheathes and gently shuts eyes left open. One of the Mourn Watch, he remembers, a warden of the Necropolis, tending the battlefield dead. There's no reason for it, the man's doing nothing wrong, but the bitter, uncharitable thought occurs to him before he's even consciously aware he's angry: Easy to show concern for the dead. The dead make no demands, they have no rage, no sorrow. No voice. Small odds this man shows half as much respect for living elves as he does dead ones.
Fen'Harel would hate that thought. He'd make such a face if Talin said it out loud.
That, more than anything, is what prompts him to actually answer the Watcher's question.
"Hard to say." His voice scrapes his throat, unexpectedly raw, and Talin clears it before he begins again. "Saw some signs there may have been a temple to one of the Creators here, once, and I've... heard stories of ancients waking from uthenera to defend such places when they're threatened. But if they're ancients, they should have vallaslin. Armor's right for elvhen, faces aren't.
"That leaves... City elves," though he sounds very dubious about that prospect, "who somehow made it into the Grand Necropolis without being tossed on their asses, got deep enough to find this place, have been here long enough to make or find hidden doors, and went undetected by the Venatori until now."
One of those things is improbable at best. All four?
They must have been agents of Fen'Harel. It's the only thing that makes any sense.
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Talin kneels next to one of the fallen elves, resting at their side in somber silence. Five years ago, he'd have been reciting a prayer to Falon'Din—now he can't even remember the words. Even if he could, Lethanavir won't be guiding them to their rest. Maybe silence is more honest. He lays a hand on the elf's shoulder, sighing—
and cuts his eyes sharply over to the human as he approaches an adjacent body, watching warily while the man returns the elf's weapons to their sheathes and gently shuts eyes left open. One of the Mourn Watch, he remembers, a warden of the Necropolis, tending the battlefield dead. There's no reason for it, the man's doing nothing wrong, but the bitter, uncharitable thought occurs to him before he's even consciously aware he's angry: Easy to show concern for the dead. The dead make no demands, they have no rage, no sorrow. No voice. Small odds this man shows half as much respect for living elves as he does dead ones.
Fen'Harel would hate that thought. He'd make such a face if Talin said it out loud.
That, more than anything, is what prompts him to actually answer the Watcher's question.
"Hard to say." His voice scrapes his throat, unexpectedly raw, and Talin clears it before he begins again. "Saw some signs there may have been a temple to one of the Creators here, once, and I've... heard stories of ancients waking from uthenera to defend such places when they're threatened. But if they're ancients, they should have vallaslin. Armor's right for elvhen, faces aren't.
"That leaves... City elves," though he sounds very dubious about that prospect, "who somehow made it into the Grand Necropolis without being tossed on their asses, got deep enough to find this place, have been here long enough to make or find hidden doors, and went undetected by the Venatori until now."
One of those things is improbable at best. All four?
They must have been agents of Fen'Harel. It's the only thing that makes any sense.