One Last Time...[Open]

[Motito Gil'dae]

Timestamp: Beginning of the Second Month of Winter

His movements were no longer the fluid motions he'd had not even an era previous. Aeternia, not even a few months previous. The old soldier leaned heavily on his arcanic staff, as the sturdy, indestructable object bore more and more of his weight as the brightenings and months passed. Winter, he speculated, was always the worst for the sick and the dying. Bleak not only in weather, which made moving about more difficult, but also in atmosphere. Something about all the plants either dead or in hibernation that seemed to allow the spirits of people in the winter of their own lives to droop a bit.

Because of it, long hours and days of hard travel were out of the question for Motito Gil'dae. Luckily, it wasn't required of him. His perfectly healthy and sharp-as-ever mind allowed him to bend space to his will, creating a portal to his destination with little more then a concentrated thought.

Lucky him.

He'd approached the gates, but with a glance and the handing of an old military ID that clearly specified him as the retired Imperial Marshal and Minister of War, he was let past with a salute. The reason for his visit to the grand megopolis of Alleria Prime was simple and direct. Taking advantage of nostalgia one last time. Seeing places he knew, in his heart, he'd likely never see again. Finding familiar places and things that had once been important to him, if only to allow him to reflect on his life.

Unlike eras previous, he no longer bore his precious and beloved longsword--a present to his knew brother-in-law--not that it'd do him much good anyway. The dying Gil'dae was in no condition to go about brandishing and swinging a sword. Hell, it was a challenge for him to walk for longer then a candlemark or three without feeling abject, flaring, horrifying pain. Such pain was accepted in silence, however, for he refused to complain about his situation. He was a strong and proud soldier and elf, and showing such weakness was not tolerable.

And so, the aged ex-Minister walked about, every movement being made with a slowness usually associated with old age and the sickly, glancing at all the things that were both familiar and changed, smiling softly and sadly. Obviously, the Empire was getting by without him just fine. Perhaps his passing was for the best.

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

There was a certain undeniable comfort in the knowledge that facets of one’s life could be set into the unchanging stone of the past and be laid to rest without further adieu. People, places, events, memories, all the finer reminiscing of nostalgia… heartfelt condolences to old men who did little more with their lives than recall the glory of their youth.

The arrangement had been a business one. A simple visit to Prime, to review the progress of underhanded dealings beneath the table as well as a sporting drink with good ole Milo. Naturally, the unexpected would inevitably rear its ugly head like the bastard it’d always been to him, but Eren was more taken aback by the spectacle he now encountered as he turned around the corner of a small well-known jewelry store, spotting across the street a familiar face he recalled all too well.

One Motito Gil’dae.

If ever an antagonist had been developed throughout the many pages that comprised of Eren’s story, Motito Gil’dae was the most fathomable cast for the role. The stage having been perfectly set given the timid love affair between the Elementalist and Calairiel, subsequently insignificant given she’d gone into cahoots with his best friend, Motito had quickly transcended the mere mortal boundaries of a Syl’rosyian Elflord and had instead developed into an arrogant, self-serving, irresponsible prick who knew just as much about love as he did arcanomechanics. Which, surmised in Eren’s own opinion, was quite nil. And so Motito had become something of an obstacle to the younger Elflord, a physical manifestation of the troubles he had endured. The relationship with Calairiel, obviously, had not worked out so well. Nor had the tumultuous affair with Amaris, or even…

Eren bit his lip as he tried to think up her name, rolling his eyes in quiet exasperation. No Silas, he was not some variation of a manwhore, and simply because he couldn’t remember the name of the last person he’d slept with…

…well now. It’d been seasons ago irregardless.

“Doesn't this make for a lovely surprise,” the words spilled from his lips before his mind had caught up to the rapid pace in which they flew off his tongue. Eren did well to conceal his own surprise at the initiation of conversation, one hand haphazardly flying up to tuck back a few errant strands of chocolate hazel hair beneath his right ear as he glanced to the side, admiring the poor craftsmanship of…well, I suppose you could call it a shop, his gaze slowly flickering back towards the Master Sorcerer once more.

[Motito Gil'dae]

The last place Motito expected or wanted to see Eren was Prime. Well, that wasn't necessarily the case...he didn't really want to see him at all.

As Eren spoke, the passing Sorcerer eyed him with a maliceless smile. Erenthril singularly embodied all that was horrible in elvenkind. He was arrogant, he was self-important, he was condescending, he had cared little enough for his sister to break up with her on her lifebrightening, and he thought himself the be-all and end-all of charm when, in reality, everything except for his diplomatic skills were little more then a shadow of Aderyn's, as though he were chasing after an idol with such tenacity that he felt the best way to honor him would be to replicate his abilities in every possible way, albeit with less quality.

The two things Erenthril was not, however, was kind and charming.

...unless he thought it would lead him right into a woman's skirts or a profitable deal, in which case he'd wear the facade until it stopped being worthwhile to him.

So as he spoke to the former elflord, Motito bearing the knowledge that his lifespan was ever-shortening, made a stark realization.

This imperious and pompus ass wasn't worth his time, and he was in no mood to play the 'let's pretend we like eachother' game. Besides, Every time Tito had tried to play that with him and just let bygones be bygones, it usually ended with Eren badmouthing him and starting everything all over again because the little snot just couldn't let go.

"Serale. I'm sure you don't think that," he spoke with a warm smile, moving his direction...and walking right past. He just plain didn't have time to care about the stuckup Aderyn-wannabe, nor did he have time for the idiot's games. He had too little life left in his body to give a quarter of a damn about this child and what he thought of the dying sorcerer.

Idly, he hoped that any encounters he had in the future would be with people of whom he'd had good memories rather then sneering, greedy little children who tried to play grownup, like Eren and Chrys.

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

Eren made a rude gesture and left the thread.

Feth Tito, it wasn't like anyone cared anyways.

[Motito Gil'dae]

OOC: You need to make up your mind, please.

If this is an OOC comment, then come out and say it, and please refrain from personal flames and attacks based on IC writings.

If it's IC, then please correct. Eren can't 'walk out of the thread'...given that he doesn't realize he's in a thread as opposed to the Imperial Forum of Prime.

Thank you.

[Erenthril Mael'tharias]

OOC: Apologies for the delay. I see I got you some thread views though! Shall we continue?

Speaking of greedy little children.

Who was it that had departed from his House without so much as a tip of his hat to his sister? Naturally Eren would have been indisposed to stick around if he had his very own kinsmen rioting outside of his own manor, but then, Eren had lived and survived in the darker of the two worlds hadn’t he.

“Motito Gil’dae. Show some respect and quit acting like the sniveling little bastard you’ve made yourself become,” Eren barked out, brow furrowed in a quiet, brooding fury. Already he was drawing in the tendrils of clarity and reaching meditation, his fingers tightening noticeably around the pulsing blue aura of Phedos’ staff. There was something deeper here, something that Eren couldn’t argue with and wouldn’t bother trying. Motito had hindered him in almost every way since the very minute they’d met. He’d been disapproving, been unsatisfied, been constantly unimpressed with all the loops and holes the younger Syl’rosyian Elf had strove to jump through.

One of his free hands idly slid into his pocket.

“If you have a problem with me, how about you tell me your opinion instead of bumbling along like some bastardized version of Saran’tyr. You don’t think highly of me; here’s your chance to tell me why.” Eren spoke, genuine curiosity getting the best of his temper and leaning it away from outright assault – no, not yet.

[Motito Gil'dae]

A slight smile creased Motito's face as Eren spoke, and Motito did not react in the slightest to the blatant insults. Instead, he simply glanced at Erenthril, and watched as the young elf tried so dearly to appear as a greater elf then he obviously was. Things obviously fell into perspective when one neared the end of their life. Motito was dying, and so he felt no stain on his honor in the way the young, hotheaded Syl'rosyan tried so vainly to aggravate him.

"Young Eren," he began, sounding far too old for his age, "You are not important enough to me for me to spend as much time thinking on you as you obviously have me. I'm sure you see me as a villian and yourself the hero of some great and tragic epic, but to me, you are little more then a footnote." He chuckled and turned, departing from the presence of the young elementalist, slowly shambling away from him, then pausing for a moment, speaking over his shoulder.

"Don't worry, I'll be out of your life soon enough, young pup. In fact, I've tried to be such already, but you just can never leave one enough alone, can you? I tried to let you be, to walk past, but you had to draw this out, didn't you? You, your drama, your acting as though you're entitled to hear my story..." he turned to chuckle at Erenthril, and this one was full of honest mirth. "By the gods, its as though you think I wouldn't notice you drawing on the energies of this world? That you weren't preparing to 'make your move', so to speak? Am I really that important to your little drama that you feel the need to assault a dying man just to hold his attention?" He sniggered.

"Respect...why should I show respect to the boy who has done naught but act superior from the very moment we met?" He shook his head. "No, young Erenthril. You aren't worth my time." The moment the sorcerer felt any arcanomechanical reaction whatsoever, he would activate his ring, which he created even before the one Calairiel herself bore on her finger, upon which was hidden a Force Shield and required no use of energy whatsoever, merely a single thought. Meanwhile, while waiting for a reaction, he would slowly amble away, his movements making it clear that he was already on his way down. All Eren would have to do to outlive him--and not be tried as a murderer--was wait another era. Then he would be dead and gone and the younger elf could do as he pleased to the elder elf's corpse.

Until then, the elf wished for nothing to do with the arrogant child.

[Parreyon Syndicus]

TS: One Candlemark after Tito's run in with Erenthril

Parreyon enjoyed taking a wander around the city of Prime around the high suns candlemark to see the people in all their speldor ... and because it was the warmest part of the brightening during winter. He was amazed, as people went about their business, at how they could work as they did and see no problems with how life worked. Well, maybe they did because Parreyon only talked to those that stopped to say hello; not many people did that with a sixteen foot great panther at his side. The populace was well aware of Parr and Praaal but still had no desire to get close to the best ... just in case.

Parreyon's life had changed so much over the past three eras. He was still a knight and still 'retired' from the Order of the Black Rose. He no longer worked for the government and had no thrills about The Law. He had come to terms with his calling and now faithfully served his Mistress, Kaimelea, Planetar of Dreams and Mysticism, trying to learn all there was to know about the dream realm ... quite unsuccessfully. And he still loved helping people thus his reason for trying one last time to resurrect the Sacred Circle. He had held too many friends and had too many memories to let the guild die without a last fight for air.

As Parreyon walked, he noticed a long platinum haired elf from his past. He had to look twice to make sure because the Tito he knew had been full of life, a great sorcerer and militant leader. This elf ahead of him walked slow and looked weak, similar to that of an aged man. Was he one and the same? Only one way to find out.

"Tito!" Parr shouted to gain his attention as he and Praaal made their way towards the elf. "Tito, it's Parreyon!" and closed the gap standing in front of his old friend. He was pleased to see an old face but knew something was wrong. It looked like Tito but he did not think the elf that old to act as such. "It is good to see, tito. How've ya been?' The question had much more meaning behind it than normal ... something was out of place in the elf that stood before him.