Prodigal Son

"You've yet returned, my student?" The lithe figure clasped his hands together as he peered over the man that stood before him, clad in a tattered crimson hood and shoulder wrap. His trappings worn and weathered, clearly having seen better days but one object stood out from all the others. A shimmering brooch pinned upon his breast.



"I've come for guidance, as you are the only who remain. We are so few, and so many have fallen. So many, have gone left us."  The man replied, peering over to the elf who's hands slipped behind his back before he looked to the man with a knowing gaze. 

"It is true, our numbers have faded yet one still remains. The Iaurmenel knew who she placed her faith in when she brought you among our ranks, I remember when you first set foot in these halls. When your hand took up a blade for the first time." Cerythael responded with a faint smirk, stepping closer to look over the man who was once his pupil, placing his hands on his shoulders before embracing him in a hug.

The two embraced for but a moment before the elf released and gave the mans arms a squeeze. "It is good to see you, Cynraede. I knew you still find your way home, eventually. Now come, we've much to discuss and much work to be done. Let us find a nice cool rye."