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[sithiche]

[ Artemis appears to be reclining in his apartment, and when he addresses the communicator he sounds bored. ]

So. What's the deal with elves?

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[bloodspeaker]

We called ourselves the quel'dorei--meaning 'children of noble birth'. A little lofty, but we're elves; what can you do. Colloquially, we were known as the high elves. Our lovely, illusory society flourished for centuries. We interacted with humans and taught them how to use magic--they, in turn, brought us to the Light. We fought forest trolls. We had a lot of banquets. Et cetera.

And then the human prince, Arthas, lost his goddamn mind. He picked up a sword, a runeblade, named Frostmourne. The weapon stole his soul and turned him into a death knight with no goal except to destroy everything he and anyone else had ever loved. After ravaging his own fucking kingdom, he turned on ours.

[scowling as he continues, because here's where it gets sticky.]

He and his undead army--the Scourge--devastated Quel'thalas. I won't get into the whys or hows or we'd be here all goddamn day, but the point is this: when he was finished, there was almost nothing left. And he destroyed the Sunwell, too. A fraction of our population remained. Most of us lost our entire families.

[he says the last part with a bit less energy than before, and the coloration of his tattoos dims, too. But it's very brief, and then he's cleared throat, moved on.]

The survivors were in hell. Not only were we surrounded by the ruins of our homeland, we were all horribly, irrevocably sick. The Sunwell had provided us with a constant link to magical energy, and in its absence, our bodies began to wither, and suffer. We needed magic.

[rubbing his face, now. Ugh. It was all just so shameful.]

Our traitorous prince ... no. That's outside the scope.

Here are the brass tacks: we drank demonic magic, which is inherently tainted. 'Fel' is just a word for that corrupted energy. Our eyes changed from blue to green, the color of that disgusting magic. In light of everything that happened, we called ourselves sin'dorei--children of the blood. A reminder of everything that we had lost.

Some quel'dorei do remain, but they are even fewer in number than we are. They did not drink the demon's blood. Their eyes are still blue.

[the tattoos have shifted to a dark blue color, and their light pulses weakly. He looks away.]

And now you know.

[sithiche]

[ He's quiet for a long moment after Adrasteius is done speaking. It's all a lot to take in, and he's really not sure to say in response. Much of this is entirely new information to him, and other things he had picked up in his time in Exsilium are falling into place. ]

And he's here. The one who... [ he hesitates to choose a word ] attacked you.

[ He tilts his head, appearing to study Adrasteius for a moment. ]

Do you still need it? The magic?

[bloodspeaker]

The one who slaughtered my people and completely obliterated our way of life?

Yes, he's here.

[he's getting up to sweep back out of the room when Artemis asks his question. Adrasteius flinches; grits his teeth. He speaks with obvious reluctance.]

... yes.

[sithiche]

[ He's frowning as he watches Adrasteius turn to leave. ]

And what are you going to do about it now? Is the Initiative helping you?

[bloodspeaker]

[FROWNING SO DEEPLY, but he ain't the kind to dance around the truth. Reality is reality.]

They provide a meager ration, but this world does not have magic in its veins, not the way Azeroth does. Even what little they can offer is weak.

[he shrugs.] I don't know what I'm going to do about it yet. I will have to find some kind of source to ... [furrowing his eyebrows, because he just hates every aspect of this problem.] ... consume. Eventually.

[sithiche]

[ He nods. He's felt the lack of magic in this world himself, which is what prompted him to ask. ]

Well, uh. Let me know how that goes.

[ In spite of their past conversations, his tone is surprisingly earnest. ]

[bloodspeaker]

[raises an eyebrow. What.] I can tell you right the fuck now how it's going to go: not very well. But it's my problem, isn't it? I assure you that if I start to become a Wretched, I will vacate the premises.

[sithiche]

[ He rolls his eyes. ]

So you're going to... what, allow yourself to waste away before you swallow your pride and ask for help?

[bloodspeaker]

I don't know of anyone here that can help me, and I'm not inclined to press the issue, either. I took mana from inert elemental remains when I needed it, and I doubt many elementals are roaming around this world.

[he glowers at some fixed point on the wall in front of him.] I would rather waste away than drain another living creature. My life is not worth more than someone else's. My needs are not sacrosanct. I have never lived that way, and I never will.

[sithiche]

[ He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall from his position seated on the bed, giving the other man a considering look. ]

I don't know how magic works in your world. I don't know where the similarities with my own begin and end. [ He tilts his head a bit. ] But my powers are elemental. So it sounds like your guess is off right there.