((At this point of our guild roleplay I was getting sick of Eonthane being so cruel all the time and decided to force a turning point. Unfortunately, things didn't turn out like I planned and things only got worse for Eonthane... we're hoping to remedy that. Because a lot of our guild members were unaware of what was happening behind the scenes I wrote this up to give some insight into Eonthane. The prep for this is that Eonthane is arrested by the Silvermoon authorities.))

The man was his mirror image in many ways. The reddish-brown hair, the angular face that lent a feminine appearance to his expression. In figure, they were very alike. It was easy to tell they were brothers. Eonthane was the slighter of the two, shorter and scrawnier, as if worn thin as paper by too much exposure to a harsh wind. But standing opposite each other, both flanked by Silvermoon guards, there was not much resemblance beyond the physical.

"Akedas," Eonthane said softly, inclining his head in respect. He said nothing else. It didn't need to be said.

Why have you done this? Why send the guards you are allowed to order to come for me? Why betray your own brother into this situation?

Eonthane knew the answers. They were there, written on his brother's familiar features.

Akedas's eyes were harder than last Eonthane had remembered. He knew the look. In the past his older brother had always seemed worried, the cares of bearing the broken household of sa'Lara putting his face into grim lines of concern. He remembered that same concern when Eonthane knelt before the priests of Silvermoon and swore the oaths, when Akedas presented him with a token to remind him, always, of his new calling.

The pendant was under his robes. Renew, Protect, Give, Heal. And he had made a mockery of it. Perhaps that was why his brother regarded him as he did now, with a caged, dangerous look. Haunted. Akedas knew what it was he was going to do and how much suffering it would cause. It was tearing him apart and so he had grown cold, distant, and was mentally reminding himself of his loyalties, that this was the black sheep of his family, that Eonthane had brought it upon himself. That Eonthane DESERVED it. And Eonthane only looked up, tilting his head up just enough so that their eyes met, and smiled.

Let them do what they must. He was no stranger to pain and he knew that any suffering inflicted on him would only wound his brother that much more. Let Akedas suffer under guilt… and when he was damaged enough, then… then Eonthane would give them what they wanted.

"Your loyalty is to the Remnants of Honor, is it not?" Akedas asked, his tone detached and impartial. There was another Magister in the room, presumably overseeing the interrogation in case Akedas could not bring himself to harm his own brother.

"My loyalty is to myself," Eonthane replied, "Apparently yours is to Silvermoon. Did you suggest that I be brought in, blood of mine?"

"You only answer what we ask," Akedas said and gestured.

It was a signal to the guards that stood over Eonthane. One drove the hilt of his sword into Eonthane's sternum and the priest collapsed, unable to breath. He knelt there, trembling, trying to hold onto the pain for all it was worth. It focused his mind. Let Akedas see him suffering. For a brief instant his eyes flickered upwards to his brother's face. Yes. There it was… that cold, impartial look. He knew it very well.

"There are many reasons we have brought you in," Akedas said, "Your disloyalty to the family is not one of them for Silvermoon does not concern itself with internal affairs of blood. Turning your back on the priesthood is not one either, for they only teach and it is up to others as to what you do with those powers."

He paused for a moment.

"And what you have done is the reason you are here."

A half-truth. Eonthane stood, slowly, watching the guards warily to see if they were going to knock him to his knees again but they remained put, waiting for orders. So Eonthane pushed back his hair and again looked his brother in the face. Oh, it did matter that he had turned his back on his family and the priesthood. Perhaps if he were an obedient and loyal sa'Lara he wouldn't have been suggested for this. They would have taken another.

They did not consider his murders a crime. Not the ones against the Alliance… those were acts of war. But Eonthane knew what was in his heart when he killed them. It was murder. And only he knew about the one in the Ghostlands, when he'd first tasted what wild intoxication it was to take another life, to listen to the breath shudder out of someone in their last agonizing moments. He suspected they might overlook that one as well, for this went beyond just whom he had killed and why.

"No," Eonthane whispered, "You voiced my name because I gave up on redeeming the family name. Nevermind that our sisters have done little to help, with our dear youngest hiding with the rangers and pretending our parents will return home… nevermind you, I, and anyone else could have killed them as the Wretched are indistinguishable from each other… you voiced my name because you have finally realized there is no hope and wish to redeem us in another way. So you give me up for sacrifice."

"Enough." The other Magister stepped forwards. "Your insolence will not be tolerated here, Eonthane sa'Lara, even if it is kin that you address. You stand before the Magisters of Silvermoon for your association with the Scryers and the knowledge you hold about the Outlands and the activities of the Remnants of Honor. We give you one chance to cooperate – after that we will take what we wish to know by force."

And for a moment Eonthane saw a pleading look in his brother's eyes, as if he were on the verge of speaking. Silently begging him to cooperate. Sacrifice himself for his family. And Eonthane closed his eyes and remembered that time on the bank… with the Wretched dead on the other side and the realization that there was no hope, that his parents were truly lost, and that this was a foolish game he played. That the priesthood offered no hope.

He remembered how the holy light burned in his veins like fire now, so lost to the shadow he was. Nastin could not save him. Silently, he let go of whatever it was that was holding him so close to the surface of the river and let the tide carry him away into the depths.

"No," Eonthane said, "You'll only have what you want by force. I do not doubt I will tell you everything you wish to know but it will take some effort."

The Magister glanced between the two brothers, a bemused look on his face. He smiled softly.

"You subject yourself to this to spite Magister Akedas?"

And Eonthane laughed softly and finally Akedas had to look away. The overseeing Magister only shrugged.

"Have it your way. Guards, remove him of his robes and any other magically imbued armor he may have on him. I shall summon the priests…"

The elf walked past him as the guards seized his shoulders and yanked the ornate cloth off to hang loose at the belt around his waist.

"You aren't the only one to study shadow, Eonthane," he said, "There is no reason to subject yourself to this."

"Reason enough," the elf replied quietly, his gaze still fixed on his brother, who still could not meet his eyes.

If he had not been given to them by Akedas he would have nothing to hold him back. Let them know everything he did about the Remnants, about the Scryers, about their leader Nastin's own loyalties and weaknesses. They were trying to protect their precious city and their precious illusion and Eonthane knew he would be a fool to fight against that. The Remnants could be betrayed.

But this was a matter of blood now, and Eonthane would see that his brother's hands were sullied before it was over. So as the guards threw his robes aside like trash and bound his arms behind him, forcing him to kneel in the middle of a runic circle that dominated the room; Eonthane smiled.