Ravenkeeper's Tidings

Colosseum, early morning

The Colosseum was not its usual busy self this early - but regardless of the cooling weather and the dark skies, there were always people marking their spots and challenging themselves. And speaking of marks, a large swathe of the area has been carved with lit lanterns hanging off wooden polearms.

Aelwyn takes in a deep breath and resettles himself - but soon his body is twisting and swaying to unheard rhythm, smacking the lanterns with his glaive in staccato fashion.

With the weather growing cooler, sometimes there aren't as many people here in the Colosseum. Either training, or watching. But some errands are not subject to the chill of winter or the absence of light. A slim form passes through the gates, clad in a broad-brimmed hat with a large purple feather stuck in it over a long fur and leather coat that hangs down around the man's ankles.

Telamon turns, his calm dark eyes sweeping the grounds, before his gaze lands on Aelwyn, and he begins to walk towards the diminutive (relatively speaking) makari warrior.

Aelwyn is not dimunitive. Everyone else is just too tall. The Dragoon slams the end of the glaive onto the sands, leaps into the air and swings his tail at the various lanterns; before with another excessively flashy twirl he lands and swipes the blade in a wide round arc. Burning bits of fire is left in a circular trail in the wake of his weapon.

Eventually he straightens, and like one always does, he feels a gaze on him and he turns. He gives a curious tilt of his head, before he flashes his teeth. "Ravenkeeper has come to practice?"

Telamon watches with calm appreciation, the gaze of someone who may not get the finer details, but who approves of skill when he sees it. The flames just make it even better, flickering and casting his face into planes of light and shadow for a moment. When Aelwyn stops, and addresses him, he shakes his head.

"No practice for me today -- and really? Ravenkeeper? That's a new one." Telamon doffs his hat, his eyes sparkling with stars. "No. Today I bring tidings, Sir Aelwyn."

Aelwyn hoists the glaive over his shoulder, then drops his other arm across the haft. "Ah, but that is how one is known to this one." His sharp teeth glint brighter. "Especially with that white raven."

At the words then, he clicks his teeth, and makes a bow of his head. "Tch, Sir. Still a word to taste." He walks over and drops his glaive down. "And what are these tidings then, that one has to come across the cold weather?" He gestures at the ring of fire he has set. "Unless one simply wished to see this one perform?" He rumbles in amusement, flickering his tongue."

A flicker of amusement over the sorcerer's mien. "No, you don't need me to bring tidings of the cold. I daresay you feel it already." Telamon sighs. "Would that my life was that easy. Predict the next day's weather." He shrugs, before bring his mind back to the task at hand.

"It is my duty and, I admit, pleasure to inform you that the fiend Koz'gon, who has caused you and so many others pain and heartache, is no more. He will not return. His road has come to an end. He is dead."

Aelwyn twists his lips. "This one would prefer if one would banish the cold, then predict the weather." He says, before he then listens to the news.

And the reaction is perhaps quite unexpected. Flat stare. Narrowed pupils; tightening of his hand around the glaive. If there was a way to radiate menacing intensity - that is how Aelwyn was doing it.

"How do you know?" He then asks, through gritted teeth, with a tone unlike him.

A duel of wills then, between the Dragoon's glare and the fathomless eyes of the archmage. Telamon does not break off from the gaze, his expression as calm as a lake surface in the early morning. Not a ripple to be seen.

"Because I slew him. He trespassed into my seat of power, Leca'fi Amdamu -- the Castle at the Edge of Waking. I knew of his penchant for stealing the years from mortals, and so I, with the aid of Navos the Historian, stole them back from him -- and destroyed him utterly in the process."

Aelwyn subtly straightens; and even if he looks up, it feels like he is looking down. There's a long moment of silence, as he takes in the words.

Finally, he speaks, "I should have been there." His thumb claw makes an audible sound as it moves to the next groove along his glaive. "I cannot tell my brother it is gone for good, if I had not been there." There's a flaring of his nostrils, a wild look in his eyes. "And every inch of my body and droplet of blood needed to see it to suffer and die."

Telamon's eyes glint. "Happenstances and serendipity play havoc with us all, Sir Aelwyn. If you wish, -I- will tell your brother. Or I will bring one who witnessed the fiend's end -- Core'thil, or Auranar, or Magpie. Or all three if I must. I would set your soul at ease, and your brother's as well."

The half-sil sighs. "It is not good to delight in suffering, Sir Aelwyn, though you have great reason to wish it so and I won't argue it. But his death was not quick, nor was it painless." Telamon's teeth flash in a hard grin. "He aged my sister in law prematurely -- stole years that were hers to spend with Auranar -- and that for me was enough to merit my wrath."

Aelwyn looks at Telamon for a time, then leans inch back and shakes his head. "It is not of delight, but a debt. A debt this shan't be able to pay. With that left, this one can never say the words and be truly sure."

Another moment passes, before the ruddy sith-makar waves his hand. "He will be happy to hear it." He waves his hand dismissively, then gives a cool gaze towards the half-sil. His fiery orange slit pupils are pinpoints.

"But your words will mean nothing to me. The doubt shall remain." Another step forward, before he juts himself up to stare at the half-sil up and personal. "If it had done what he had done to my brother to Cor'lana, I am sure you would feel exactly the same way were our positions reversed."

Telamon regards Aelwyn with that same calm expression. "You are right, of course. I would not be entirely content if I didn't have the opportunity to piss on his ashes. But... I have learned that sometimes life does not work out that way, and it is better for a thing to be done even if my hand is not at work."

"But would you trust me to -show- you what happened, Sir Aelwyn? I do not deceive my friends, nor would I give empty promises."

Aelwyn grits his teeth. "It is not of revenge. But to make sure." The Dragoon replies, "And I shall never now carry that certainty with me." He stares at Telamon for a time, before he relents. It was not the archmage's fault after all; and the fiend was dead.

The Dragoon then, stiffly, bows his head. "If one so desires."

Telamon reaches into his haversack, drawing out a scroll which he touches with a ring on his finger. That done, he says quietly, "You will see my memory, Sir Aelwyn." With that, he murmurs a soft incantation, before reaching out to touch Aelwyn's brow.

Tanith making a sound remarkably like a cat ejecting a hairball, and a monstrous, purple creature with blazing orange eyes appearing in a well appointed study. Telamon's heart pounding, as he reaches out with his magic, drawing forth a diamond prism. His wish, to rend the fiend asunder and restore all those stolen years, and the sense of someone else there, the Wise One, confiscating those years and returning them to the proper owners. And Koz'gon, the eyes dulling, crumbling into a pile of dust.

Aelwyn replays the memory in his mind, watching the twists and turns of what happened. Seeing the fiend once for what it truly was, and what it truly never will be.

Finally, he shakes his head, looking at Telamon. After a moment, he bows his head deeply. "I, Aelwyn, the one of Crimson Troupe, thank you." And he straightens. His eyes remain cool, and the embers in his body seem to have died none. "One can wish that there will be a day when this vision will be enough."

Telamon nods, his expression gentle. "In the end, it is better that Koz'gon is dead, and while you may lose some satisfaction at not being there... I think you will find peace knowing that it is done." He exhales. "As I told Simony: no more circles in skulls, and no more stolen years."

"Sir Aelwyn, if you wish for me to speak with your brother and testify to the fiend's demise with him, please do not hesitate to contact me. He has a long road to walk as well, I think; but if I can grant him peace as well, I will consider it an honor and a privilege."

Aelwyn shakes his head. "It is the peace I shall never have. But perhaps, I left that behind when I left Crimson Troupe," He bites his teeth, grinding them together. "-my family, into the hands of that fiend."

He looks towards Telamon. "Therefore, I hope you do not offer such hollow words to me." He gestures. "As for my brother, I am sure he will not turn you away. One can do as one sees fit."

Telamon smiles slightly. "Don't you know, Sir Aelwyn? My words are -never- hollow. After all, am I not a diplomat's son?" He places his hand on Aelwyn's shoulder. "Return to your training. Find peace in that. I am sure there will be other foes to vanquish, all too soon."

The half-elf bows, before putting his hat on. "Take care, Sir Aelwyn. I'm sure we'll meet again soon." With that, he steps away, his coat swirling around him in the morning breeze as the skies seem to lighten just a little bit. Perhaps a sign that things are a little better today.