Orkhan ad Portas [Ægis & Æden]

[Arvælyn]

ORKHAN AD PORTAS
16 Ash 122
The Village of Sentrium
Approximately 500 miles West of Solunarium Proper

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The Vastian village of Sentrium was an old settlement. In the Epoch of Aværys it was a city of note, heavily fortified and boasting a citadel overlooking the border between the Atraxian Expanse and greater Ecith. Today the city walls that once rounded the settlement were in ruins. The citadel, too, had eroded from a well-maintained fortress into an ostensibly ramshackle keep. Only the central structure survived, and served as headquarters to a regular Century of Præventores of the Golden Legion and a smaller complement of Silver Sentinels.

Aside from a noble Re'hyæan Præfect and several soldiers of its sitting military presence, the vast majority of the present day population was Vastian. Although contemporary Sentrium was nowhere near as populous as in its heyday, it was among the largest Solunarian settlements outside of the capital and Tertium with a population of roughly 12,000 souls. In the more cultivated parts of the realm, Sentrium was not highly regarded. It had a reputation for being a place to which the dishonourable and unscrupulous citizens of the realm often retired.

Sentrium was one of the few points of trade between the Commonwealth and the Kingdom. While Solunarium did not consider trade with their Orkhish neighbours illegal, it was frowned upon in polite society. One could profit from such an enterprise in coin only at the cost of one's reputation. But reputation wasn't as important in Sentrium- or at least not as it was observed in the capital.

It had been a great many years since the last time a member of the Unbroken Line had set foot in Sentrium, but today that would change. Word had reached the Crown that a delegation from the Commonwealth sought an audience. Her Divine Radiance would not deign to receive an official Orkhan envoy in the capital, nor would she scandalise herself by meeting with them personally. She did, however, take the request quite seriously. Enough so that she would send her grandson, His Serene Highness Prince Vrædyn (Who was widely seen as the Solar Sovereign's heir presumptive) to accompany the Silver Sentinel delegation who was to meet with the Orkhan representatives.

Few at Court were aware that this meeting was even to take place, but the matter had been discussed amongst the members of the Regium Concilium and eyebrows were raised at the implications of Vrædyn's involvement. This sort of mission would normally fall under the jurisdiction of the Silver Sentinels alone, as they represented the diplomatic wing of the Solunarian government. Sending a member of the Unbroken Line with no clear jurisdiction over matters of diplomacy, suggested several things. Firstly, that the Sovereign might be grooming him to succeed her and broadcasting her favour toward him to the Conclave of Electors who would ultimately select the next sovereign. Secondly, it displayed open distrust of the Sentinels and thus of their stewards: Gens Phædryn-Sol'Aværys.

Despite of all this and of the short notice of the visit, arrangements were made for Sentrium to receive these dignitaries. An advance team was sent ahead to prepare the old keep to receive foreign guests, and the usual complement of Golden Guardspersons was bolstered by a second Century of Præventores. Meanwhile, back in the capital the Solunarian dignitaries themselves prepared to ride West on Wyvern-back.

As a young Platinum elf of the Golden Guard was tending to his Wyvern, a stunningly beautiful elven woman of Sunborn stock walked by him, followed by two striking elven men of similarly golden stock- Both looked like statues of Aværys himself come to life. The youth was likely to recognise the woman as the infamous Materfamilias of Gens Phædryn-Sol'Aværys and Vigilia Magna of the Silver Sentinels: Princess Cithæra. The other two, were not recognisable as people of note.

"Vigilia Magna." A tall, dusky-haired Moonborn elf, turned from his silver-scaled reptilian mount to address the princess, and the guardsman would recognise him as Prince Vrædyn.

"Princeps Pontifex." The woman replied, tipping her head in acknowledgement. She glanced to one of the men flanking her- he seemed older, more assured and stoic than his counterpart, who looked somewhat nervous. At her gesture, the older elf took the younger by the arm and led him over to the Platinum guardsman.

"Val'Camillus Principalus." He began, his voice a rich baritone, "Sentinel Phocion speaks very highly of you, and recommended you for a special assignment. I am Val'Sorokys Kyrin and this is my son, Len'Sorokys Arvælyn..." Æden would know from the 'Len' prefix that Arvælyn was baseborn. "He was raised abroad by his mother, and only recently arrived to explore his Solunarian heritage. He will stand by as an observer of today's proceedings. His Vastian is limited and he's never ridden a flying mount. I understand you are both fluent in Common and a capable wyvern-rider, so I was wondering whether you might take him under your wing for the duration of the trip?"

"Ave, Principalus." Arvælyn offered, somewhat meekly- his golden eyes perusing the form of the Platinum Elf, as his mind swirled with the implications. He knew they were much revered in this culture.

When they arrived at Sentrium some hours later, the setting sun was at their backs- a purple background to the soaring wyverns in their descent toward the keep at the centre of the settlement.

Prince Vraedyn, donning robes of white and gold, dismounted his silver wyvern and was immediately flanked by members of the elite Aværyan Guard. Princess Cithæra and her companion, Kyrin, both wore robes of black and silver. They quit their mounts, and were soon followed by their sentinels. Arvælyn, for his part, looked over his shoulder tentatively and inquired in Common,

"How do you get down from one of these?"

[Aeden]

Æden was not one to play chauffeur. He was a guard, yes, and Sandworm was fully capable of carrying two — but he was not entirely enthused about what seemed to be a special assignment akin to babysitting someone who had lucked their way out of being a foreigner even in foreign lands. But it was true, his own Common was good, and even with internal reservations, there was no doubt that he would do it, and he would do it well. His eyes flit towards Arvælyn.

A special assignment. Flying hundreds of miles in the heat of day.

—

Æden walked to the front of Sandworm after dismounting, one leg swung over her side and landing both feet into the sand. He cooed at her in Vastian like one might to a baby, and with a bit of coaxing, she leaned towards one side, bringing that side of the guest-rider closer to the ground at a gentle tilt. Æden’s own wyvern was rather unremarkable in color, but she was eternally favored by him since hatchling-age. Her breed carried scorpion-like stingers for tails, but hers rested lazily in the sand.


The starborn elf returned to her side and held out his hands for the struggling Arvælyn. ”You swing your other leg over and trust the ground you’re landing on. It knows if you don’t, and you’ll twist an ankle.” He smirked. ”But I’ll catch you if you fall.” His Common was clear, despite his Vastian accent.


Before Arvælyn could make a move, however, Æden began channeling his rune, creating a series of negation wards based from the straps that wrapped around the Wyvern’s belly, tasked against leather. The Sunborn’s shoes were leather. He took a step back, and gestured towards the shimmering, slightly visible wards that formed a short staircase down her side.


”You’ll have to jump when we arrive back in Solunarium. Take a step.”

—

Æden had certainly been to Sentrium, but the Præventores had never dared consider station him in the backwater town. It was rather important for aesthetics, among other reasons, that his home was Solunarium. Sometimes these sorts of places were quaint, or even charming, but Sentries carried the distaste that came with their open trade agreements with the horrid northern Commonwealth.

[Aegis]

It started as a speck in the west, a dark spot against the bright blue skies over the dulled orange, distant sands. The speck was upon a crow's flight toward the designated meeting spot, coming along a direct line from Drathera for those familiar with such geography. The winds themselves were bringing in a bit of the humidity from Drathera, a chill, by the standards of the Atraxia straight to those waiting upon the Ecithian entourage.

The message, delivered personally by a scarred, middle aged Ork, was the first that Solunarium had received from the Commonwealth in over two decades, not since the Imperium landed upon the shores of the continent. And even while the Siege of Ailos was underway, while the Commonwealth was fighting for their very existence, they had sent word to Solunarium, asking if they needed help, if the Imperium was attempting to breach them too. The Commonwealth did not reach out often, but when they did, it carried a heavy weight. And this was no different.

The sun was setting as the entourage moved into close enough sight to make out details. From the vantage of the keep, they would be able to see the leader of the staggered V-formation. A large, earthen skinned Ork, bare-chested, glowing silver tattoos swirling and moving across his torso, astride a massive, silver dragon. A dragon who was known both in the Commonwealth and in Solunarium, for she was an Ancient, often traveling the continent. She did not influence government or policy in either state, in the modern era at least, and she was far older than either current governance. And she is known as Irrisyth the Mooncaller to both cultures. She was flanked to the right by two Orks, a woman in golden, sheer robes upon the back of a golden eagle, and an Ork man in a simple, white toga upon the back of a Ci'uvan. To her left, an Ork woman in hunting leathers upon a bat like creature, dark as midnight.

They flew down to the courtyard of the keep, landing in a practiced ease. Irrisyth landed first, her silver scales reflecting the fires of the setting sun off brilliantly, lighting up the entire courtyard. Her large companion dismounted and she shifted into her mortal seeming, a beautiful, silvery skinned elven woman, hair shimmering with a hint of the blues in platinum, in a series of intricate braids hanging over her shoulders to her waist. There was a light smile on her face as she whispered something to her companion, her icy blue eyes shining. She wore a robe the color of moonlight, sheer and highlighting her form. Her companion offered a massive hand to her, and the pair stepped to the side of the court yard. Now visible upon his back was the handle of a great scimitar, a crimson and golden blade, viciously curved, deep purple amethysts set into the hilt. Mingled upon his ever shifting, glowing tattoos were scars. Deep, deep scars penetrated a massive, muscular form that should've spelled the demise of any who received them, a series of three slashes from shoulder to opposite hit. Off to the side, they stood, as he crossed his arms , his dark dreaded locks tumbling about his torso, his yellow eyes watching carefully.

The Ork woman, a deep green, who rode in upon the golden eagle, stood at the front of the group of three that arrived. She wore golden sandals, straps that climbed up to her inner thighs, her golden robe hiding nothing from the onlookers. Her arms were a tapestry of tattoos, swirling and reminiscent of a kaleidoscopic river. Her ears and face were pierced in over a dozen places with bone and shells, and in the middle of her forehead, a tattooed eye, deep brown and moving, watching of its own accord. Her black hair tumbled loosely down her back, and a pair of bangles jangled on her wrists. Those who looked upon her would know in their minds that she was a Seer and she represented Galetira. Standing on her flanks, the crimson skinned Orkhan man, broad of chest, his body covered in tattoos of vines and flowers, adorned in the simple white tunic, short and flared about his thighs. Finally, the black skinned Ork woman, in straps of leather covering her breasts, pelvis, in riding boots, and carrying a wide assortment of knives worked into the leather straps, her hair fiery red, a grimace upon her face.

They trio stood patiently there in the center of the courtyard, their mounts stepping back toward Irrisyth and her companion, who began to gently pet each of them, bringing them calm in this unknown place. The Seer took a step forward. The missive had said that she was Seer Kova, a representative of Galetira's temple and a Senator of the Commonwealth. Additionally, Senator Chivu and Chieftain Xocada were expected, as well as a pair of bodyguards for security on the travel. Seer Kova waited patiently to be received and addressed, but the eyes of all the arrivals were high, no attempts were made to hide who they were or where they were from.

The delegation from Ecith had arrived.

[Arvælyn]

The flight over the dunes of Atraxia had been thrilling enough, but to be treated to such a deft and unconventional display of magic as that which Æden executed? That, for Arvælyn, was the cherry atop the most decadent cake he'd ever tasted. He grinned, delighted, as he descended the ætheric steps engendered specifically for his boots. The Golden Elf, for his part, was dressed in the black and silver garb of an initiate of the Sentinels. Simple, fitted trousers and a sleek, black shirt of sheer, silky fabric with subtle silver accents. The established Sentinels all wore robes though, by Solunarian standards, they too were subtly adorned.

As the wyverns were led away by seasoned stablemen, the delegates congregated for a clandestine conference out of earshot of Arry and the guardsman he came to know as Æden. From their observations, the exchange seemed tense but icily so. No voices were raised, nor teeth bared in anger, but the battle lines were clear. The white-robed Vrædyn against the black-robed Cithæra. Arry had learnt his fair share about the divide between their houses recently enough, and naturally had his own opinions, but his was not to opine here and now, but to observe.

A horn sounded from a watchtower to the Northwest, and all conversation ceased as eyes were cast skyward. As the entourage came into view, Vrædyn nodded to the captain of his Aværyan Guard, who shouted:

"Formatio!"

In addition to the complement of royal bastards who composed the honour guard to the Princeps Pontifex, members of the Golden Guard and Silver Sentinels adopted symmetrical positions around the major players of their delegation. The balance of the flanking guards seemed deliberate. They were positioned so that those who countered them were of similar uniform, height, proportions and even race. Gold across from gold, silver from silver. Only one of their complement was Platinum, and he, Principalus Camillus, stood central to the rear of the formation flanked by two golden-elves in black and silver garb. Arvælyn to the right, and another apparent Sentinel initiate to the left.

Arry was nervous, but he was a seasoned actor and, though the stakes were particularly high, he was playing a role. He might have wished for more rehearsal, but the show was going on whether or not he liked it. And he certainly didn't want to stand out in this particular chorus line.

By and by the approaching emissaries came more clearly into view. A voice to Arry's right somewhere whispered, "Draco!" But a sharp glare from the guard captain saw to it that no further unprofessional slips would be brooked. Arry was very glad of his training at the Golden Peacock of Kalzasi, when he was forced to keep his face stony and his expression flat even in the face of an approaching dragon.

The tension was palpable when Irrisyth landed, but the apparent reactions from the Solunarians was subtle and, in many cases, reflexive rather than conscious. A widening of the eyes or a setting of the jaw. The gesture was a bold one- that much was clear. But Arry, for his part, didn't know precisely what it implied.

At the centre of the courtyard, as Irrisyth transformed and approached with the others of the Commonwealth delegation, Prince Vrædryn, adorned in white and gold with a princely coronet rounding his head, stood at the point of a pyramid with Princess Cithæra to his right and Lord Kyrin to his left, each in black and silver. The stiff Western wind sweeping the fine hair of the gathered elves and their flowing robes accounted for most of the movement from their entourage.

Prince Vrædyn regarded Irrisyth in her stunning, elven form.

"Venerabilis Celsituda..." He placed a hand to his heart, and bowed at the waist. It was a rare thing to see a prince of the blood and scion of the Unbroken Line bow to anyone save their Sovereign, but custom demanded allowances for dragons- Even those who chose to abjure the grace of the Founders.

As their prince bowed, the others around and behind him followed suit, all bowing lower, save for the golden elven woman at his side who matched him in rank. Arry hadn't been briefed on the arrival of a dragon, and so he was just a hair out of step with all the others- but he'd been a chorus boy long enough to know how to match choreography with peripheral vision.

When he rose from his bow, Vrædyn looked to the others in this trinity with no such reverence. His gaze seemed reluctant to land upon the others, but he deigned to cast it towards she who had come on eagle-back.

"Seer Kova, I presume." It was more a statement than a question, delivered in Common rather than Vastian. Her magicks had done their work informing him of her identity, and he'd no doubt they'd been plied upon the others in his complement.

"Solunarium doth countenance thy presence." His baritone deepened slightly, adding: "Pro tempere." When last the Commonwealth had sent word to the desert realm over a score earlier, they had received no reply. That they were within Solunarian borders today betokened a paradigm shift of some sort.

"Wherefore come ye hither?" He urged.

[Aeden]

The drama of royalty was, as proper, the business of everyone else. Æden was dressed in his Golden Guard armor, his helmet off, and the wards he tethered to key points in the steel beginning to slowly wear off. As they waited, he did not watch the conversation he was no part of, and delicately began to reapply the wards that kept sand from getting into the nooks and crannies of his full plate. he wards that had been carefully applied and tasked during the flight instead had been charged to keep out the heat of the sun, which was one of his most frequent wards — and meant he didn’t cook alive in the golden metal. But as the sun was setting, and he was on the land, he no longer needed them. Negation was not the most fashionable magic, but Æden did not pick his skills based on trends.


Soon enough he would be free of the commissions he took on and be able to fashion his armor with more permanent, runeforged modifications. It seemed his spare time he spent at the forge was taken up with magicked jewelry, fabric, and instruments by those who desired to spend the uncharge he demanded for items he made. It was popular, then, for


It was a habitual ward-setting, and he was finished by the time they had been called to formation. Symmetry was exceedingly important to Solunarium, and Æden did not often have a symmetrical match — which led him to be frequently placed in the center.


Æden held no love for the Commonwealth, though there was a certain clench of his jaw when he saw the dragon. When everyone bowed, he bowed. Æden was here as a guard, perhaps a display — no more, and no less — but there was a very slight clenching of his fingers when he heard Vrædyn’s particularly outdated Common. Æden himself had learned Common from a more contemporary tutor. Still, his professionalism and propriety demanded he stay quiet.

[Aegis]

As Prince Vrædyn offered his rare, deep bow to Irrisyth, she returned it with a casting of her eyes upon the Prince's own, then a bowing of the head and closing of the eyes. As she brought her head back up, her eyes fell upon Arry for a moment long enough for any that were paying attention to notice before she returned to her position next to her large companion.

Seer Kova, in response to the assumption, gave a short nod as well. Then she spoke in Vastian, an overt signal that the official tongue of the land was welcome for such a meeting. "Prince Vrædyn, the Commonwealth thanks you for allowing this meeting and attending to it personally." Her voice carried a weariness in it, more so than that of simply traveling.

She kept her eyes upon the Prince's as she spoke, "I will be brief." She did not wait for permission or further process, "Three days prior, I was walking a Path of Destiny for a man, Tullus Urso Mercutius, a refugee from Solunarium." There was no judgment in her voice. The Commonwealth and Solunarium were both well aware of those that chose to flee the desert lands and the Commonwealth always welcomed them with open and waiting arms. It was, typically, an unspoken event. "His path of destiny crossed that of another, one who we seek to not gaze upon in such a way. However, following what was seen, it was decided that we must share the knowledge of what I witnessed there."

From a pocket within her robe's sleeve, she pulled out a sealed scroll, adorned in ivory and jungle woods. She held it out before her, awaiting for a Solunarium representative to take it. She made no move in the direction of them herself. "I have recorded, in all of your languages, what I witnessed upon this missive. Those who read it will find themselves witnessing what I saw, exactly as I experienced it. This the Commonwealth offers as a gift."

Once the missive was claimed, she would continue, "And with that gift, an offering. If Solunarium requires aid, in any fashion, that the Commonwealth may provide in regards to the contents of that missive, the Commonwealth is prepared to provide it. All that is required is to ask it of us."

With that, she folded her arms, stepping back into the triad formation, awaiting to be addressed or dismissed once more. Her duty, and the duty of the Commonwealth, was done now. But there was a heaviness in the air, one emanating from the large man standing near to Irrisyth, the other bodyguard. His eyes, proud, a head taller than the tallest of those in the delegation, were hard upon Prince Vrædyn. Irrisyth looked up at him, pressing a hand against his bicep, leaning into him, but his was an air that would not be stifled. Could not be.

But his tongue was held.

And the delegation waited.

Within the missive, a scroll.

[Arvælyn]

Arvælyn's eyes widened slightly at being regarded by the draconic gaze. Part of him wanted to look away, but something wouldn't let him. Prince Vrædyn tilted his head, bemused at the dragon's point of focus. He actually glanced over his shoulder and briefly met the golden gaze of the Subvigil to the rear of their party, who quickly averted his eyes from meeting those of the prince, returning his focus to the dragon in elven form.

Sentinel Kyrin's eyes trailed from Irrisyth slowly over to the largest of the Orkhan and his stark eyebrow arched upward. He cast a furtive glance sidelong to Sentinel Cithæra, who nodded ever so slightly in acknowledgement. It was abundantly clear that the Commonwealth was taking this matter very seriously and wished to impart that Solunarium should do the same.

The prince pursed his lips, inclining his head in response to her expression of gratitude in Vastian. Arry could see the fingers of the hands he clasped behind his back were twitching, ever so slightly, as she spoke on.

As she presented the scroll, the guards nearest the prince started to advance, but he parted his clasped hands and held them up to either side, causing the soldiers to stand down. He lowered his hands and used the right to accept the scroll.

"Very well." The prince replied, archly. There was much he misliked about this strange rendezvous, but nothing troubled him more than how cryptic it all seemed. Such was ever thus with Seers, in his estimation, and he was glad their Craft was forbidden in these realms. Were he not above the laws of Men, he would be risking his soul even to open the scroll, but as a member of the Unbroken Line, he need brook no such petty concerns.

He unrolled the scroll, stepping back to allow the Sentinels flanking him to look on over his shoulder.

[Aeden]

Æden remained quiet, and made no move to peek into the scroll uninvited. He was in now way curious enough to risk decorum or his job, which is what he would surely face if he did - regardless of his minor-celebrity status. It was bad enough they were meeting with the Commonwealth, but to look unprofessional would be a death sentence.

He wouldn’t look good in a volcano.

Æden’s gaze did reach the corner of his eyes, and from there reached Arry, as the dragon’s did. Perhaps he was right to have impressed him with the minor showing of Negation as he did earlier. Anyone receiving the attention of a dragon so conspicuously was one to keep an eye on, for good or ill.

He had little opinion or experience with Ecithian Seers. He had little knowledge of them or the other forbidden gods and gifted of the world beyond what was available to the Praeventores. In Kalzasi he had paid very little attention to their overt worship of their missing Prince, nor to the temples and shrines scattered throughout the city. Not a one had been dedicated to his gods, and he would tolerate no attention towards others.

Internally, he was tempted to gossip about the potential contents of the scroll, and why it had demanded so much attention, but he did little beyond raise an eyebrow once the prince had unrolled it, and only for a moment before he forced himself back into a neutral expression.

He had to remember that his participation here was as much a performance as it was for protection. The Commonwealth, if Æden would compliment them for anything, could not be so stupid as to attack Solunarian royalty in Solunarian lands. It was more likely to say he had been invited to serve as performer and chauffeur service. Not that he could - or would - complain about such an opportunity. He had been recommended by Phocion, after all.

[Pharaoh]

R E V I E W

Arvælyn:
Lores: 8
XP: 15 (No magic)

Æden
Lores: 8
XP: 15 (May be used for Negation)

Injuries/Ailments:
N/A

Loot:
N/A

Notes: Arry's first wyvern-ride followed by a very clever implementation of Negation by the Principalus. Kudos.