The Asphyxiating Fetters, Ties Which Bind
Tradition is the paradigm which shapes the fraying threads that bind Sithican identity whole. They are both a noose which strangulates progress and a net which wrangles in the wayward from straying too far.
All of Sithican culture is shaped by an ancient hierarchy of castes which define equally one's socioeconomic standing and role. Migration betwixt the castes is virtually unheard of except in rare circumstances; from birth to death, one's purpose is decided from the moment of their inception. A select adventurous few, those mostly with nothing else to lose or nobility suffering from ennui, dare challenge the status quo. More often than not, they end up skulking back to their respective castes in failure. The exception to this strict adherence to the mold is the divergent arcane caste - the Order of High Sorcery - which welcomes dissidents and lore seekers without question.
The Aristocracy, High Nobility
At the top of the Sithican pecking order are the eldest of the noble families. Those who have been born to rule and always ruled over those of inferior standing. They are the most far removed from the other castes, sheltered in the minor luxury their wealth affords them. The nobility is liberated from and want may spend its time however it likes. Though like all Sithican elves, they receive little happiness from world pleasures. Most of their activities devolve into entertaining petty squabbles and grudges that have endured centuries. When push comes to shove, the nobility possesses the unique ability to mobilize the other castes into action. Typically, through a confluence of proclamation and greasing of palms.
Underneath their pompous guise festers an undercurrent of shame that impels them to maintain the crumbling vestiges of their ancient ways. The noble families were tasked by their Gods to depose the Black Knight. In this task, they failed absolutely. The unceasing suffering that the elves have begrudgingly swallowed is directly a consequence of their monumentous failure. It is a humiliation which rots their humanity and resolve. To acknowledge it is ultimate taboo within noble circles. When an aristocrat acts, it is because tradition dictates it must be done pursued as such. Even if the individual knows better. The Sithicans have endured millennia of tribulations this way. It is the only way to persist.
The Protectors, Minor Nobility
The most bellicose and forthright of the castes, the irregular forces of the Sithican elves are composed of the sons and daughters of lesser noble houses. Trained to navigate the treacherous and incomprehensible pathways of the Sithican forests, Rangers embody the martial power of the high elves. They are each capable of eking out a path to and from the perils of the domain's woodland, skilled in brand and bow alike. They truly shatter the mold of their dispassionate ilk, unrelentingly stern and professional in their duties.
Interestingly, the Protectors are the only traditional caste that invites others, even half-elves, into its ranks. Though they don't betray the xenophobic tendencies of their kind, it was the Har-Theleni Rangers that safeguarded the stragglers of the Veidravan mines as they sought refuge. They have proven an immovable bulwark against the increasingly common raids of salt shadows. Incredibly, such as in the outskirts of Veidrava, they maintain a permanent foothold against the vile expansionism of the fiends within.
The Rangers are the caste which chafed the most under Azrael's misanthropic rule. The elves were known to be cruel; their vertically challenged tyrant crueler still. Drak's mercurial reign was at total odds with their grim adherence to routine. Defense strategies they'd organize with his men would crumble into chaos as their diminutive master changed plans from one moment to the next. At the irrecoverable cost of elven lives. The expiry of one or many is no different to the Rangers - their weakness is universally unforgivable. If ever had Mason been afforded to overthrow Azrael, the Rangers would surely have demonstrated themselves half the backbone of his insurrection.
The Mystics, Students of the Arcane
The arcane caste is in a state of ever intensifying disrepair. Its exclusionary and secretive vision of magical study has impaired its capacity to successfully recruit new blood to replenish its ranks. Imperious and its ways truly amaranthine, the mystics struggle to grapple with the evolving political reality of the elves. Ages old tradition is the firmament of their stability and long lived as they are, very little undermines their innumerable contingencies. Until confidence in the traditions themselves waned. Even still, the elves continue to regard the enigmatic teachings of the mystics with equal fascination and mistrust. The arcane caste wouldn't have it any other way.
Their enmity with the Black Robes is a poorly disguised secret and petty conflicts between the factions are increasingly pervasive. It is an irony that neither caste has learnt to appreciate; their goals virtually the same though their methodologies greatly differ. Admittance to the arcane caste isn't achieved. It is instead "rewarded" (or rather, impressed upon) prospective students that demonstrate talent or simply catch the attention of high-ranking members. Pompous to an extreme, the hierarchs of the arcane caste send cryptic invitations to these potential acolytes, frequently devolving into labyrinthine games of cat and mouse. Those satisfy the nebulous requirements of their task discover themselves enjoined to the caste.
In contrast to the cutthroat practices of the Black Robes, the teachers of the mystics are known to form genuine bonds with their students. Though detached like the rest of their kin, discussions of sorcery inspire enthusiasm unusual for the elves. The opportunity to teach -- to impart upon others their knowledge -- breathes new life into them, albeit briefly. Though prisoners of their arcane traditions, the mystics embody passion for the craft and the desire to coexist with it, rather than to subjugate and master it. If they fade into obscurity, the Sithican elves will lose the heart of their magical prowess even as the Black Robes achieve ascendant might.
The Order of High Sorcery, "Black Robes of Nuitari"
Uncompromisingly secretive and few in number, the Order of High Sorcery is a peculiar caste. Its origins are somewhat of an enigma to the Sithican elves. In times long ago, perchance even before their imprisonment, the arcane caste was divided into three colors - red for neutrality, white for order, and black for chaos. Legend goes that Nuitari, goddess of magic, devoured her sisters and achieved supreme magical apotheosis. In her ascendance, her followers quelled the other schools of arcane study. Thus started the rule of the Black Robes and like all high elven tradition, it changed much in the slightest since. Whether any of this myth is true or merely a fabrication of the Order of High Sorcery to confound those delving too deeply into their past is like the story itself, totally uncertain.
The Black Robes are widely known to have their fingers in just about every element of Sithican society, particularly in Har-Thelen where their primary tower stands. They are a phantasmal glue that keeps certain things stuck together when it's beneficial to their schemes. While this influence is a greivance to the aristocracy, it isn't one worth broaching as their interests seem to have always aligned. To keep their threadbare society from total collapse. The arcane caste is unique in that it welcomes dissidents, outcasts, and the simply curious from all walks of Sithican life. Anyone that manages to breach the seemingly impenetrable walls of their tower is offered unusual hospitality; even non-elves have known to be welcomed. It is this exceptional diversity of talent which allows the Black Robes to so adeptly interweave themselves into the happenings of their brethren.
The Tower of Har-Thelen's current mistress, Archmagess Shadowlore is frequently witnessed at the heights of the structure, gazing into the sky with unknown purpose. She is known to be uncharacteristically inquisitive for a Sithican elf, frequently egressing from the safety of her tower to explore the domain and interact with interlopers. Her origins are, like her order, enigmatic. The lady of the tower possesses an intense displeasure for a former outsider pupil whom self-appointed himself the title Shadowlore, formerly afforded solely to her. Despite her vexation at his antics, the pair are witnessed cooperating for the betterment of their cause between bouts of vitrolic reparte. Before he vanished, the Lord Speaker Mason was known to have made strides in mending bridges with the Order of High Sorcery. What became of these efforts, if anything at all, remains unknown.
