An elven man in a long teal robe stands in a dark, overgrown temple with stained glass windows and ancient statues.

Tahlad looked around the great temple of Noi'sho'rah. It was quiet now. It would always be quiet now that it was official; now that Korthyr had finally declared the House of Faendryl its own entity. The separation was complete; there would be no going back. Korthyr, son of Molken who was in turn brother to Tahlad. Korthyr, who ruled the Faendryl now. He had taken the last step to ensure himself with his formal proclamation to the council. And now Tahlad, Shaman to the Way which already was fading for so many, saw clearly that all that the Elven had once been; all that they had known since the days when the Arkati had walked among his people, were slipping away like sand on the ocean's shores. He clenched his eyes shut and growled fiercely. He had tried to reason with Korthyr, make him see that he was about to shatter the Way. But Korthyr did not listen, did not hear. But Tahlad would not see it end this way. Not all looked ahead as Korthyr did. Not all looked to the future he envisioned. Some still knew what it meant to be Elven, to be part of the Way. He still held strength with the priests of the Faendryl families, still had the support of several strong families within the newly formed House. He would gather those that still believed in the old ways, those that had not been poisoned with Korthyr's dreams of displacement. The way of his people was dead for most, despite his stubbornness to accept defeat, he knew it could go on; that the old ways could be preserved. They Voir plus