<span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ffffff">He had met many such elves like Raida. Religion, unlike in many human realms, was not one forced on other Elves from those who chose to worship. It was a deeply personal choice for an Elf to choose to commune with the Mother Goddess and only a public occasion when a majority of the Clan agreed to make it so. Clan Is'alha had been one such Clan, their devotions to Mother Goddess primarily consisting of meditation and prayer in silence and then followed by rambunctious reveling well into the night where inhibitions were lowered and frivolity was required. However, that was only on the equinoxes and in other days worship was a private affair best left to each individual to find their own path in how best to proceed.<br/>
<br/>
Raida, among other elves, were atheists. A significant minority of elves, particularly those who who had no Clan or were Outcast, adhered to the belief that the Mother Goddess did not exist. For this belief, Ry'kanos could only shake his head and smile softly. He knew better than to question whether the Mother Goddess existed or not. He knew better.<br/>
<br/>
He had seen Her.<br/>
<br/>
He watched passively as Raida got the fire going with a few quick, efficient swipes of flint and steel. Rubbing his bare, scarred arms as the heat began to radiate from the fire, he moved from his perch on the rock near the edge of the rock wall and closer to the fire to sit comfortably on the blanket. As he quickly warmed by the fire, he slowly removed the breast plate and back plate of his armor, years of long practice after bouts in the arena. With a few clicks of the latches that held it in place, the armor fell away to reveal a long, lean torso as scarred as the rest of him as well as revealing the blue woad tattoos that covered his body. He was almost about to thank her for the fire before her wish to not be thanked over and over passed her lips and he simply nodded instead. <br/>
<br/>
He felt guilty as he watched her remove vegetables, fruits, breads, and cheese from her larder and began to toss pieces in to the boiling pot over the fire. Soon, a delicious aroma pervaded the cave and he breathed deep the smell, his mouth instantly salivating. Food as a slave had consisted of a watery gruel given sporadically, sometimes not for days. He had survived his treatment simply because he was a gifted warrior for a talent for bloodshed while those that had been captured with him had died over the years until only he remained. He could still remember the taste of the slop they served him, sitting in the dark dankness of his cell while the smell of the rotting corpse of a friend sat in the corner and accused him of being alive.<br/>
<br/>
He sympathized when he heard that her weapons and armor were the last of her family as he gave a second glance at the workmanship of both. He nodded appreciatively as the obvious mastery made in the making of both. His trained eye even believed it was of better quality than the work of his own people, the Is'alha. Before the War, the Is'alha had been woodworkers and farmers. Their metalcraft, while superior to what humans could replicate, were not of the same quality as the Clan in which she had come from.. Rather than upsetting him, this merely served to sadden him as both her Clan and Is'alha were no more. She soon revealed the name of her Clan though as the Inais and he nodded in remembering the name. The Inais were the only Clan to have practiced healing and it saddened him even further to hear that such an illustrious Clan was gone.<br/>
<br/>
He nodded a greeting to the wolf Slayer from where he sat in the back until he turned his full attention to Raida once more.</span><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#ff0000">"I knew the Inais. Our healers would travel to them to learn of their craft. I am honored to meet a member of such a great Clan."</span>