Fun Destruction

[Arvælyn]

"Your parents..." Arry grinned, chuckling slightly but not unkindly, "...star-crossed lovers." He wasn't sure if the term translated to Vastian, but he said it literally and hoped for the best. It seemed fitting, somehow, if Æros' life was to be deemed a tragedy. It made it sound grander and more beautiful to call it 'star-crossed'. As an actor, the Golden Elf had always favoured the heart-wrenching beauty of an avoidable tragedy, over the fickle, fleeting amusements presented by a comedy. Laughs came cheaply, but tears? Those took real work.

Arry took a moment to process the latter part of Æros' statement. 'Fetishisation' was a bit beyond his current level of Vastian education, but reflecting upon it in the current context he found it similar enough to a Common root that he was ultimately able to suss out his full meaning and, when he did, he let out a knowing sigh and nodded profusely.

"I too have been... regarded in this way. Boys like me are not common where I come from." Gods knew he'd been fetishised during his time working the stage and, naturally, the back rooms of the Velvet Cabaret in Kalzasi. They'd enjoyed highlighting his exoticism with skimpy costumes in Sol'Valen styles, and rile crowds up with the notion that he was some princeling from a far off land. The life of a chorus boy seemed more distant than Sol'Valen from Kalzasi, now... and in these new environs he was more exotic in some ways, and les in others.

Arry chuckled and shook his head, at the talk of language talents and ineptitudes.

"I apologise for my Vastian! I know that my accent is strong, but it sometimes is a disservice. Pronouncing well leads people to believe that I am more fluent. So, when I mix up words or stare blank at their heads, they think I am broken-brained." He shrugged and laughed at his own expense, hoping that he was making sense. Or that, if he wasn't making sense, it was at least funny. In this instance, linguistic mistakes might impart his meaning just as well as flawless diction, since he was really just saying his Vastian was quite flawed.

"My father, in the Sentinel Order, commands respect." He explained. Gens Sorokys was not terribly well known, but the Sentinels were a cagey bunch. It was one of the only organisations in Solunarium where caste was largely disregarded, and their espionage work rendered them quite secretive indeed. He didn't expect his neighbour in the podium to recognise his faux-father by name, and he certainly wasn't going to broach his actual mother.

"You should be pleased with your body." Arry confirmed with a firm nod, "Not many people I know have skin that is so, um... artful?" He gestured broadly, but he assumed it would be obvious what he meant. In case it wasn't, he added: "Stars in motion." He took in a deep breath at the question posed, but he did not shirk it. He was swapping a few things around, but substitution made for easy, retainable lies- if you could even call them lies.

"She died. I had to discover on my own... with help from a friend. I came to Tertium, and..." He shrugged, "My father was pleased to see me. I knew not what to expect, but I am pleasantly surprised. Life is, for me, better here." He paused for a beat.

"And your father. You have met him, or no?"

[Aeros]

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The connotation of the comment made was not lost on the Starborn. On his end, he found all manner of comparison to the heavens and celestial bodies to be flattering, enjoying them as one would the most flattering of compliments. In response, he breathed out a laugh alongside a generally pleased countenance.

“Mm, you could say that, yes. Less common are expressions like that used here, but I would say it’s apt, though the fleeting nature of their agreement was known from the beginning.” Æros spoke almost musingly, wondering what it would’ve been like had his father decided to stay here.

He absolutely did not blame the man for leaving, however. Apparently, he was naturally fairly transient, enjoyed the company of other Fæ, and well…the heat of Solunarium was not very appealing to his constitution, even down below. In some ways, Æros almost thought it was better this way. He could pretend that the two of them would’ve gotten along. Whether that was at all realistic or not was unknown, but he didn’t really care. The others that raised him showed him such little affection that it was nice to fantasize about that at times.

When Arvælyn replied to his comment about fetishization, Æros returned a curious expression and the slightest tilt to his head. “That so? Elves are always a bit of a rarity outside of their homelands, so I hear, and I assume that’s not from where you hail, then?” A question posed because he couldn’t recall if the other had ever said the name of wherever he was from northward.

“Oh, no apology necessary. My Common is atrocious; the way I was taught it focused almost entirely on reading and writing so that I could understand texts in the language. Speaking it is…slow and, honestly, difficult to understand, so it’s not as if I have any place to disrespect you regarding language.” It was also true that Æros regarded the language with disdain and would never make an attempt to improve his ability to vocalize it unless he absolutely had to for whatever reason.

When the subject shifted to the other man’s family and their role, he commented that within the Sentinel Order, his father was likely high in rank. Æros had heard that surname in passing at times but about the family itself he knew quite little, just that they were generally respected by the mouths of those he’d heard the name.

“Fascinating. I’ve always found the Sentinel Order to be intriguing, though I’ve never had any connections to it, personally, so I truthfully know quite little about their inner machinations, only surface level information. Tales of their exploits and rumors are all that have met my ears, otherwise.” Though he spoke with an interest bordering on uncanny, his tone was laced with admiration for the organization.

When Æros spoke of himself, he quite liked Arvælyn’s response. “Though I am, it’s always a pleasure to hear such a thing be reaffirmed by the lips of another, especially those of finer appearance themselves,” sentiment punctuated by light, impish laughter. Oh, how he loved praise.

To answer Æros’ more personal question, the other man didn’t actually appear to be that bothered by it, but he was rather vague.

“Ah, how tragic. Did her death have anything to do with your making your way back here?” Might be insensitive to push the subject, but the half-elf did want to know what it was that had finally pulled the man back.

“My father? Ah…no, actually. I’ve only heard stories. Many say I rival his beauty, though his presentation was more cold and crystalline compared to my starlit night.”

He actually knew this from more than just words, his mother had a portrait of the man made as a memento of their affair.

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

"Oh, no..." Arry shook his head, "I spent the, um... recent years in the land of-..." He couldn't for the life of him remember whether he'd ever learned the Vastian word for Avialæ. After stuttering for a moment, he just decided to describe them: "...titanic bird boys?" He watched Æros’ expression to make sure he caught the gist. He'd only seen one since coming to Solunarium, and Raithen was far shorter than those he'd seen in Kalzasi, but he knew they were famous for their paucity of females, so specifying their maleness seemed apt.

"Kazasi." He elaborated, in case the 'bird boys' didn't make that apparent. He recalled learning on his first day in Tertium that Vastians didn't pronounce the L in Kalzasi, which had fascinated him for an hour or so. He wondered whether the man misspoke, but after asking around it became apparent that it was a universal theme. For reasons he couldn't explain, he found it terribly amusing.

"You are kind to say so." The elf acknowledged with a grateful nod. His eyes turned to the crowd beyond. Across from where they sat, he could see the stadium was really filling up- A sea of faces lit bright by the false moons. His eyes darted to the royal box, but still- No sign of occupants.

"I will start quite small, um no... Low in the pecking order." He explained. "I have much to learn before I may be considered a Sentinel." It felt like a monumental task, in truth, trying to learn a language, martial arts, improving his old runes and acclimating to a new one. It was especially challenging for one who'd never had proper, formal schooling. He'd been educated at home by an alcoholic parent who'd left large gaps in his schooling, and then he'd gone out and learned a lot on his own based on whatever interested him for a spell.

To the acknowledge of his compliment and that offered him, he only smiled and nodded. He was growing a bit distracted by some activity in the arena before them, as labourers started to prepare the sands for the battles to come. The question about his mother (in truth his father) drew his eyes back to the man at his side.

"Yes... I lived alone for a while. I lacked... compass? Mm, no- Direction. That was when I moved to Kazasi. I chanced to learn about Solunarium and a friend found... Fuck, what is the word?" He rapped his fingers on his knee for a few moments and sucked his teeth once, "Clues! He found clues that led me here. My family met me at Tertium."

Martial, percussive music began to sound in the levels above them, perking the pointed ears of the elf and he sat upright, anticipating some activity was soon to begin. Still there were workers on the sands, so he didn't imagine things were set to begin any instant.

"Do you hope to meet him one day? You can, perhaps, as I did find clues." That word was known to him now, having fished for it moments earlier.

"Do you know who will fight this evening?" Arry had no frame of reference, but he was intrigued as to whether any of the combatants they were to see had any level of fame. If he enjoyed this style of sport, he would need to add it to the list of things he had to learn about.

[Aeros]

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Æros gazed back at his new companion with an odd, confused, yet very much amused expression at the mention of 'titanic bird boys.' He couldn't help but laugh a little, and though it took a second, recognition flashed in eyes of golden night.

"Oh, you mean Avialæ? Never met one myself, but I was taught about their existence in my schooling. I know what you mean," he chuckled.

The half-elf had never met a person nearing the high end of their supposed height spectrum and to be entirely honest, he didn't quite want to. Though he wasn't always the tallest person around, elves very rarely hit more than seven feet, and consequently he was more often than not one of the taller people in a room. Because of that, he found the idea of being dwarfed unappealing. Plus, imagine how much space they'd take up if they ever flexed their wings? A bit gouache.

As he thought about this, the other man finally clarified the nation of which he was referring. Æros had assumed as much, given what abridged version of history and geography he'd been taught. Questionable in terms of the biased lens through which he learned, but in terms of basic facts, he had been able to make that guess. Kalzasi seemed like an interesting place, though it was so far away that the Fæ very much assumed he'd never see it in his lifetime.

"Oh, Kazasi, hm? People have been finding fascination in the culture of that city-state, of late, so I hear…though my familiarity, personally, is limited. Did you like it there?" He was, legitimately, curious as to what the other man thought on the subject.

Upon accepting his compliment, Arvælyn looked out into the stands, distracted by the movement of the stadium's setup. It was something Æros was more or less prone to ignore, being familiar with the typical tidings which preceded gladiatorial bouts. He did imagine that such things made sense to grab the attention of a newcomer, though.

When the other spoke again, Æros smiled, something reassuring in the other's direction. "I imagine you do have much to learn, but I don't doubt you'll be able to succeed, hm?"

One might find saying something like this to a stranger to be odd, but Æros didn't seem to lack conviction in his words. The way his Mesmer had been pushed off felt like the warding of a master, and since he'd been able to read him for a moment, it had to be magic that Arvælyn himself possessed as opposed to an enchanted item. Such a thing spoke of at least some modicum of talent, did it not?

Æros continued to give the other man his rapt attention, happy to listen to whatever it was he said. He was an interesting fellow, at the very least, and his elocution was intensely amusing on its own. Of course, he didn't judge the man poorly for it, he just found it fun.

"Mmm, the funny thing about that is I've actually never been to Tertium. Not a fan of the desert, personally. My naturally given constitution does not…favor it. Almost my whole life has been spent down below," he spoke with a lilt most pleasing to the ear at this point, finding his rhythm in the conversation.

When the other mentioned a lack of direction, the sentiment resonated deeply with Æros, but he wasn't sure how to express this without speaking poorly of himself…so at least for now, he'd skip on commenting about that.

The question about his father caught him off guard despite the fact that it made sense to ask.

"Oh! Well…I wouldn't be opposed. I just don't know where I'd start. I know what he looks like and what he told my mother his name was, but I couldn't say with any certainty that it wasn't a lie. Of where a wandering Winter Fæ would find himself? I am unsure. I've always…maybe hoped he'd find his way back down here, make it easier," he laughed, "...but I am unsure if Solunarium stood out enough to draw him back. After all, I've made it past twenty summers and nothing."

The answer, actually, was very much yes he wanted to meet the man. The idea both mystified and terrified him, however, so he was partial to putting it off.

When asked about who would be fighting, "...not sure! I believe it's man versus man, however. Sometimes, they pit fighters against beasts, but I don't think that's the case tonight."

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

"Oh." Arry blinked. Of course Avialæ was a cognate. It even sounded Vastian. It had the little 'æ' they seemed to love so much and everything. He might have been embarrassed, but he just had to laugh along with his companion, realising how absurd his phraseology had been.

"Really?" Arry was surprised to hear there was any interest in his former home this far afield of it. He wondered whether Phocion's diplomatic trip had anything to do with it, but he hadn't time to ponder that for long before a question was posed.

"Kazasi was..." He'd have been searching for the words even if they'd been speaking Common, "...good to me. Better at least than other places I have been." He'd been able to reinvent himself there, even if it had taken a long time, a lot of work and more compromises than his dignity was keen to suffer.

"In some ways it mirrors Solunarium. Magic is accepted, but not as abundant, and there is a ruling minority. Avialæ, though, instead of Elves. In contrast, there are many, many races living under the rule of the..." He cracked a grin and revived the prior nomenclature with which he'd dubbed them, "...titanic bird boys."

"Mm." Arvælyn nodded, eyes still scanning the arena as he spoke, "I have a great deal of help in my, um... enterpri- No, endeavours. So, if I don't succeed, it will be entirely my own fault. I hate to be embarrassed, so I shall see to it that does not, to me, happen." The talk of Tertium drew his gaze back to Æros, as nothing of note seemed to be transpiring on the sands.

"I can understand that. Even having just been reared in, uh... cold land, heat is hard. Not like for you, naturally..." He conceded. "But we rode a barge up Vasta from there to here. Beautiful trip." He imagined there were portals as well, but he knew those and commercial Traversers could be prohibitively expensive abroad. It was likely so here as well. Perhaps even for a noble, like Æros.

"I understand. I was fortunate. In my case, the past me found. Er, no- The past found me. Sorry. Grammar hard." A fanfare sounded and an announcer stepped onto a balcony just below the royal box, and proclaimed that the fight was about to begin. Arry wrinkled his nose in disappointment that he still wouldn't get to see a member of The Unbroken Line.

"Ah, well I think we're about to find out!" The Golden Elf smiled excitedly as he watched and listened to the announcer run down the program for the evening. It seemed they were to start with a melee between gladiators new to this tier of arena. The last five to survive would move up the chain and battle against more seasoned gladiators who were masters of various disciplines. Mages, martial artists and everything between.

"This should be fun! These matches are, I take it, always to the death?" He didn't seem particularly troubled at the notion. The quesiton was posed matter-of-factly enough.

[Aeros]

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Æros listened to the other man speak of such a far off place, curious, though he was having trouble picturing it, exactly. Thus far, his life had been exceptionally isolated, he'd never even seen the biome within which somewhere like Kalzasi existed. Sure, simulations thereof existed within varying museums and other attractions put on for the entertainment of Solunarian citizens, but he couldn't imagine that was actually comparable.

The way in which he was referring to the Avialæ was just the right amount of odd to make him laugh as well.

"Really? A much more diverse population yet the yoke is still held nearly entirely by the birds? Interesting," he almost sounded surprised.

He always imagined that the less isolated a place, the more a system of governance would change over time, but he supposed many who held power were long enough lived to prevent this.

"It does sound nice, at least, when one compares it to the varying cities I've learned about that forsake magic. Life, I think, would be dull without it."

Such a mindset was formed and fueled by a life grown up around magic that fostered a passion for the subject within the Færie. And when one considers the fact that his very blood is the way it is from being touched by the magic of the Everwilds, the idea of living somewhere in which it was prohibited sounded…like a life not worth living at all.

"I do hope you enjoy your stay in Solunarium, all of that considered, then. I know little else, but…heat aside, I find my home to be ideal for anyone more magically inclined." There was no small amount of both pride and appreciation in his voice.

For as much as people anywhere can be chaotic and cruel, Æros' qualms with his life lay at the feet of his family, not the nation in which he lived.

When the other commented about his own climate adjustments, Æros smiled. For so many people here, the heat was normal and they were used to it. It was nice to know others shared even a comparable struggle to him.

"Ah, I've not seen the sea…perhaps, at some point, I should. I do wonder what northern climates are like…I imagine I'd like it yet more than the relative solace I find in the Umbrium," he spoke with a musing sort of lilt, as if he were thinking out loud more than anything else.

When Arvælyn commented once more about the past, the windup to the first match began. Æros paused and stayed silent to listen to whatever it was that would be going on, curious about the schedule himself since he hadn't checked properly beforehand.

"Your past found you, huh?" Æros responded, though delayed by the announcements. "...maybe finding my own won't be impossible, in time."

Though he says this and believes it, he was unsure if he will have the time, as he was…not one to have much faith in a future.

"But to your other question, there simply are no rules regarding death. One may kill their opponent or beat them until they lose the ability to continue– entirely up to the fighters themselves. Some are merciful, some are…very much not."

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

Arvælyn nodded.

“Indeed. Mind you, I don’t pretend to understand all the ins and outs of politics in my former city. I was equivalent of peregrinus there.” Far, far from any position of power in their government, unless the sway of his lover’s symphony dedicated to its prince could be considered such.

“It was not per se hereditary monarchy, but I believe the prior several Shokaze- this is what they call their monarch- were all of same Gens. Novalys.” He offered, in case the Fae was interested. “But I understand it to be a sort of electorate somewhat akin to your… or rather our Conclave here.” He would have to get used to thinking of himself as a member of this society rather than an outsider.

“Sorcery there is still quite regulated by the Solunarian standard, and mages are, I believe, fewer. Hard to tell- less likely to show off?” He wrinkled his nose. He really wanted to say ‘broadcast’ but was unclear on the Vastian term. ‘Show off’ carried connotations he didn’t intend. He unmasked a bit of his Symphony to help clarify the intent behind his broken Vastian, though digging beyond the surface of their discourse would be rebuffed by the Master mage.

“In the North they are less like to brook the risk of initiation.” He clarified. It made sense. The social rewards were greater here to complement the Craft, and after years of what was essentially eugenic selection, the surviving population had a higher rate of success than most.

“I’ll admit…” Arvælyn began, “I expected Umbrium be cooler. I forget, though… Volcano close.” He chuckled, turning his attention forward as the thunder of the rising gates and the war cries of over a score of gladiatorial hopefuls signaled the beginning of the melee.

He smiled and clapped his hands with boyish excitement. His very first foray into spectating one of Solunarium’s foremost pastimes. How fun!

“Oh interesting…” Arvælyn’s gaze was scanning the chaos of the battle- the flash of arcane fire, the glint of serrated steel. The crowd erupted in cheers at the first kill. Not far from their alcove in the podium, the arc of a khopesh parted a man’s head from the rest of him, sending a spray of blood into the air. Arry winced as the rain of red flew toward his face, but it disintegrated against an unseen ward before reaching him. He blinked and grinned, applauding the deft kill with the rush of adrenaline that coincided with his surprise.

“Well!” He had to yell to be heard now, “Whatever the whims of the combatants, the preference of the audience seems clear enough!” And, from the lowest castes watching from the rafters, to the nobles in their lavish boxes: Solunarium demanded sacrifice.

[Aeros]

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The Færie shrugged. Vote or not, power kept in the same family over and over based on tradition was as much of a blood-based monarchy as the one he resided within. Claiming that there was a vote came across more as a dishonest facade more than anything else; as if they were trying to pretend they offered more freedom of choice when those in power would work to maintain the status quo. At least in a traditional monarchy system, blood was blood and that was that. No pretending, no false hope.

Æros listened in silence as the other man continued to speak of the place, mentioning things both intriguing and off-putting as he went.

“Mhmm, I suppose that makes sense. I’ve heard that the constitutions of others are…weaker, I suppose, in terms of withstanding initiations. I know that especially those of elven ancestry are more likely to withstand such things, so you and I both have boons in that regard.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “I am not sure how the Fæ parts of me affect my chance of survival? For some reason, I never really thought about that…would you imagine it grants me some sort of resilience? Being touched by the mysteries of the Everwilds and all that.” Maybe. The thought was musing but he would like to think that was the case, considering the fact that he wished to collect several runes over the course of his life.

Granted, if he died in initiation, so be it.

“Yes…it’s easy to forget when you don’t see plumes of fire and molten rock. Dark and serene, down there– I wish it were a bit cooler, personally, but I can’t really complain. It’s better than spending time topside, at the very least,” he laughed a bit, but truely, he found the ingenuity and foresight of his people to settle down there to be an incredible boon in that respect.

Æros tilted his head and kept his gaze on Arvælyn for an extra tick or two just to watch his reaction. It was…cute how enchanted the other was with the concept of Solunarium's arenas. Such a thing had become so normalized for him that it was oddly refreshing to see somebody looking upon the sands of the arena with eyes so fresh.

Eyes of abyssal gold drifted on toward the pit when he heard the first clash of steel. He liked the magic most. Bolts of arcane crashing into bodies, mystical constructs used to dazzle and fascinating enchantments for control. The spill of blood was delicious, but the performance was the best part.

Hearing the crowd’s roar as first blood was drawn, Æros wet his lips and smiled, glancing over to his companion when he spoke. “Of that you are correct– society as a whole prefers death and sacrifice to mercy.” There was an odd gleam to the Fæ's eyes now, as if the spray of blood had brightened his countenance.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

"I have learned very much since here coming. I regret that I came so late to Solunarium..." Arvælyn cast a brief smile toward Æros. The smile remained and broadened as he sharply returned his gaze to the arena, where a Kineticist was executing a deft manoeuvre to off-set three simultaneous attackers with a large burst of æther that set them off balance. With a balletic pirhouette, the mage opened all three of their bellies with a single sweep of his scimitar.

"Fæx!" He exclaimed, wide-eyed, joining the applause elicited by the attack. The Kineticist basked in the applause, offering a flourishing bow to one side of the arena, as a Traverser appeared behind him and split his head down the middle with a hatchet, before winking to the audience and blinking to the other side of the sands. Arry was just as shocked as the late Kineticist had been. His smile faded a bit, as a traumatic recollection pierced the moment.

It was the quickness of the chaos that struck him. The violence in and of itself didn't appall him. As it had been explained to him, these people were convicted criminals or volunteers. Solunarium seemed nothing if not exacting, so he had more faith in its justice system than he might have in others. To him, whatever happened seemed like some sort of fatalistic comeuppance- Or so he was able to rationalise it to suit his amusement. It was all rather remote, as he'd never taken a life... At least not directly or by his own hand.

But the rapid assaults, the sneak attacks, the unpredictability started to bring to mind Talon's reception in Kalzasi. It was difficult to remember much of that night when he tried to, but in moments like these little shards of those memories would fall on him like sleet- Cold and sharp. He winced at the thought of Finn's face, fresh off his own trauma, as he reacted to the surgical strike of Kalzasi's assailants. The abduction of the prince, the death of the king... He had to shake off the effects of the memory to return to the present, hoping that his outward reaction hadn't been stark enough to strike Æros as odd. His smile returned, and he applauded- A bit less emphatically, now.

"Yes..." Thankfully, the words of the fae were grounding and he'd posed a question the focus of which could help bury those unruly, interloping memories. "I always understand fae are, um... stup... stip... Steeped! Steeped in magic, yes? I think it should help initiate." He nodded, sagely.

"How do you prefer to spend your time in Umbrium? My amatus performs there. He is musicus."

[Aeros]

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“Mmm, well suppose it wasn’t your fault, then, if the past was obscured from you. That, and unless you’re already rather old…you’ve got time to enjoy it yet, no?”

Æros spoke as he watched the Kineticist perform; a beautiful display of skill brightened with the blood of the fallen. Though his response was perhaps a bit more muted, he, too, applauded the performance– for that’s what it is. More than mere battle, the mage put on a show and stuck the landing. His eyes widened in surprise at the man’s ultimate fate, but he ended up with a half smile drawn on his face and a bit of a soft laugh. Suppose that’s what happens when one rests on their laurels too early.

But then, the Fæ couldn’t help but notice the strangeness of the other man’s reaction– he had been emphatic one moment, bright and jovial, but then when the other man was struck, it was like he froze. In that odd moment, Æros wanted to draw upon his magic, but refrained. It was as if Arvælyn were lost in his own recollection. Supposing that were the case, to what degree was it appropriate to dredge up a memory like that in a moment like this? Maybe if the two kept in touch, he’d broach the subject of the other’s past in more detail, but it felt invasive to poke at him even to one with as much callous curiosity as Æros.

It was better, then, that his words seemed to pull the other man out of his thoughts. His struggle with tripping over his words pulled a smile to the Fæ’s lips, too, finding it cute.

“So say the tales, indeed. We’d be elves as any other without the touch of the Everwilds, whatever exactly that did to us. Much as I’d love to explore the topic, I…wouldn’t have any idea of where to start. Perhaps in the future, but…” he trailed off, a bit of his own existential dread pulling at him.

What future was there for him, really?

Shaking his head, he transitioned the thought to the question he had been posed. “With…anything, really. It’s too hot up here for my tastes and there’s plenty to do in Umbrium. I find myself drawn to the nightlife as of late, but I used to spend quite a bit of my time on more erudite pursuits at one point.” He’s trying to dance around the fact that he’s pretty much dropped any of his old hobbies.

“Ah, so he’s a performer, too? I dance, personally. A variety of different styles, but honestly, things more risqué are often where I’m most popular, and such as things are, I go where I am wanted,” he laughed, but then a sudden realization hit him. “Actually, I spoke to a foreigner, called himself a bard ah…yesterday? I think it was. Said he was from Kalzasi’s vicinity, too. Human, kind disposition, Mesmer. Had a sweet countenance, too– fair of features and blue eyes. Ring any bells, hm?”

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"