"I am also sure that not every story is black and white."
"The Angels are the ones that helped me obtain “this” as Aithne puts it,"
"Well then I assume you are the gray of this black and white matter."
"That is my blessing and curse, yes. They named me The Fallen Archangel."

The confession seems to make him settle more, speaking of the old names. Names that had been his back since the time after his birth, the name Samael given to him when he proved his loyalty to Baphomet, the name given him before Moladion when they waged war on those who were not worthy (both his pack and the first Demons who had killed much of his Angel family), and then the name that he had been given here. Samael the Archangel. The Fallen Archangel. Baphomet’s Berserker. The Fallen Berserker.

All the same thing, in the end, and nothing that the two sitting before him cared to hear tale of - if Aithne was anything to judge by. So he moves on, implying his “vacation” of sorts had led to a disconnect for him here in his land. He asks after the Demons he had once run beside as brother and friend, and the looks on both their faces prove he had indeed been gone too long. "It might help if we knew who your brother was," says the strange not-demon, "Your brother is called Baphomet, correct? That name has a familiar ring to it, but I can't say I know of him. Its possible i've heard the name somewhere before, maybe in Iromar, i'm not too sure... You say his men though, was he possibly an old ruler of one of the packs or possibly Iromar?" and the look on his face at that is utter astonishment and proof that the lack of knowledge had truly appalled him. "Baphomet, first King of Iromar, The Demon King of Moladion…"

He is utterly shocked and he seems even more weary than he ought to have felt. It is always the converts that believe truest to a faith, always the converts that follow the letter of the law, always the converts left wanting the promises that the naturalists skew to fit their own ends. He sits there in a state of culture-shock talking about his own homeland and it makes him tremble that somehow they had fallen away from their ideals in order to embody the hateful lies of the Angels who had originally made them outcast. "Not to sound rude, but just how long have you been gone from Moladion? The things you speak of, they aren't the same as the things now,"

"Too long," his voice falls just as his body slips to the ground and he is left even more exhausted than when he had first collapsed. "Far too long." He admits with a correction. Too long that he had not been able to temper the warping of his brother’s people. He had not only failed to kill the murderers… he had failed to keep Baphomet’s home, family, pack, whole. "I left to seek out those whose scents were around what was left of my Brother’s body… Two wolves of Glorall, the King and his Assassin. The wolf Jaidah had killed his brother-at-arms in Diveen, the Angel Queen’s imprint…. and I had assumed that they had come to kill her and killed him as price for allowing her to keep his body from being returned… I followed the King’s trail out to take a Crown for a Crown… only I suspect I was fooled and I spent too long at the mercy of those who have none… now I am back and the world is utterly lost."