"Toe the Line" [Æros & Dæmon]

[Pharaoh]

"Oh..." Vyxis countenance twisted toward a sneer as they began a slow clap, "Bravo, Dæmon dear, bravo!" They sniggered as their applause increased in pace, and they looked over their shoulder to their befuddled guards who, unsure of what to do, joined in and clapped along with their charge.

"You cheeky devil! You were just being a little coquette and making us wait for it, weren't you?" Their applause ceased abruptly, followed by a little stutter clap from the guards who seemed relieved to be able to stop. "Such an interesting application of magic. You're wasted in the arena, dear, imagine the coin you might rake in doing burlesque with those talents!" They chuckled at their own jest,

"...Just melting away garment after garment and, though you aren't my type, there's a formidable market for meat like yours. I'm simply not masochistic enough." With that said, they stalked over to give Mathias a proper once over.

"You're adorably reticent, aren't you?" Vyxis bit their lip, circling the youth with a sultry saunter and grabbing a handful of his rear. "Mm firm." They leaned close to whisper hot into Mathias' ear, "We would fain eat you first..." As they drew their face back, they paused at the sight of his earring.

"Ah!" They strutted back around to their spot in front of Dæmon. "Alas, you'll have to lose your jewelry as well, darlings. Bracers, earrings, all of it." Vyxis wrinkled their nose- their expression verging on apologetic. "I'm afraid we need you bare as you emerged squealing from your mother's womb. It's remarkable, the subtle ways people will conceal enchantments these days and, in the interest of the safety of the Crown, we must be passing thorough."

Vyxis slid between Dæmon and Æros, sliding their hand along to torso of the latter and smiling flirtatiously as they passed. They made their way over to the two veiled, black-clad figures standing ominously at arena centre. Standing between the two, Vyxis clasped their hands together and spoke:

"Magna Periti? Incipias opus tuum."
(Grand Masters? You may begin your work.)

Æros would be aware that this was very unusual, but given what Vyxis had said thus far, it sounded as though Dæmon was being considered to fight before the Solar Sovereign herself. Each of the royal cadet houses was expected to provide entertainment on the opening night of the Centennial Jubilee, and it was altogether possible Drævyn was planning to offer up a prize fight on behalf of Gens Danann.

The two figures began to slowly approach the Dæmon, Æros and Mathias, their ætheric potency palpable in the air around them. Each figure bore only one Cardinal Rune. They had been recruited young by the Vigilia Argenti and given a dedicated purpose. They'd devoted their lives to mastering a single discipline to serve their order, and ascertain threats to their realm before they could fester toward dangerous outcomes. It seemed Drævyn was sparing no expense in fulfilling his duty to the Crown, to hire two such powerful mages:

A Grand Master Sembler to inspect the auras of the men and items before them, and a Grand Master Mesmer to appraise their Symphonies.

"Quid deprehendes?"
(What do you detect?) Vyxis inquired, following behind the two Sentinels with a curious smirk on their full lips.

[Talon]

D A E M O N

“I might surprise you, Domine. I can be as gentle as I am imposing.” He allowed the barest hint of a smirk to touch his lips. Clearly silence was not the way to go in this instance as Vyxis interacted with them. His smirk however, vanished when the brat circled Mathias like a drooling vulture. It took every bit of his restraint to not grab the nobleman by the neck when he cupped a handful of Mathias rear. For his part, the young man flinched but did not otherwise retreat from the assault on his body. When the command to remove even their accessories was given, a thread of nervousness passed through him.

While Mathias could comply with such a command, with even the sprawling runic tattoo visible along his back and spine, Talon could not obey such a command even if he wanted to. He looked down at his bracers. Internally he cursed the Imperium. He cursed the damned fools who had sent him here so horrendously unprepared. He cursed that ridiculous prophecy for which there was no immediate answer. Mathias complied with the command and removed both his earring and his ring, now noticeably uncomfortable. He cast a glance at him and Talon sighed. He looked at the nobleman squarely even as he spoke his words to the two black robed figures. As he had yet to remove his own earring, he understood the commands given and now realized that these two were present to inspect them in alternative ways.

He opened up his own senses then. He inspected what was before him and while he could not immediately discern the nature of what they were doing, he could see the currents of aether that were in motion. He spoke then.

“I cannot.” Before Vyxis could throw a tantrum he clarified. He could not speak on them much. The Emperor had forbidden him from directly revealing his affiliation with the empire. He wondered if that would matter here shortly. “There is no mortal power in Ransera that can remove them.”

“I do not advise tampering--” Too late. He could feel the motion of the aether as it fell upon him. He could practically see the two black robed figures directing their full attention on him and that which he wore. Before he could stop them, before he could spare them whatever fate awaited them. It was as if time itself slowed in his perception and all he could do was watch it unfold.

[Aeros]

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Watching as Vyxis strutted about between the two other men was deeply entertaining for Æros, regardless of what sympathy he felt for either of them. Much as he did understand how patently absurd the administrator of this particular test was, at the very least, his request was a simple one and, if obeyed, his behavior was naught more than peacocking.

And yet poor Mathias– the half-elf was not oblivious to the precise level of discomfiture that ran through the boy when he was touched. While it was always a tragic affair to have hands laid on you without it being wanted, at the very least Vyxis' predations lacked the scathing bite of disgust being touched by somebody more boorish in both appearance and nature often came alongside. Æros had dealt with both at different points in his past, and while at this point he was able to shrug such things off with reasonable ease, he did wonder if the other could say the same.

Though on his end, the Starborn Fæ did not actually mind when royal's hand drifted over his body. Soft and uncalloused, Vyxis was a dainty thing he didn't think he'd mind taking on as a lover, in theory. It was the risk that came alongside doing so that he balked at. He returned their smile, the look on his own face having shifted to something more impish yet possessing no less allure. To this, he did not respond in more direct a manner.

Having been given the command to remove all other adornments, Æros moved to obey immediately, though it did take him a second given that he always wears quite a bit of gold. He had pieces on all four limbs as well as his torso and head, so removing everything was a bit of a pain, but so be it.

He did blink, almost as if surprised, at the mention of the term "grand master." The only reason they'd be looked at by eyes so discerning was if there were potential plans involving those of yet higher status than Drævyn himself. Such a thing could end up being an exceptional boon should all go well, but it would be here that any abnormalities Dæmon possessed would be revealed. The thought filled Æros with worry, confident as he was that the larger man was something far from mortal, yet he did not let such an emotion surface.

Yet when Dæmon spoke, his feelings did not wane, rather, they waxed higher at the man's insistence that what he wore could not be removed. For why? It made no sense to adorn oneself with something one could never take off. He understood the idea behind things that could only be removed by one's own hand, but he did find the notion of shackling oneself in this manner to be…odd. It made the Færie wonder if it was truly his desire to don the gauntlets, but at this point, such a supposition was nothing more than conjecture.

Such as it was, these things were out of his control. All he could do was watch the scene before him continue to unfold.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

Vyxis chortled at Dæmon's counter. Even without knowing the man it felt uncharacteristic for the stony-faced, witchmarked half-giant to jest thus. They turned their attentions again, briefly, to Mathias.

"Is he gentle with you, pet?" One need only look at Vyxis to know that they were fantasising about what that might look like just by the devilish curl of their smirk.

Vyxis whipped around and marched directly toward Dæmon as he displayed further disobedience- brazenly refusing to oblige their simple instructions.

"I certainly hope you are once again playing the coquette to dazzle us with another impressive display, because I cannot fathom why a creature who resorts to whoring himself out on the sands of a stadium would possess items of such puissance." They snapped, and turned sharply to the Sembling Sentinel.

"Potesne confirmare?"
(Can you verify?)

Vyxis stared at the black-clad sentinel, crossing their arms.

"Surdus es?"
(Are you Deaf?) They pressed, receiving no response. They pushed the shoulder of the sentinel, who tumbled onto the sands, inert. Vyxis blinked, instantly losing their air of supercilious confidence as the bad kind of surprise overtook them. They looked sharply, to the Grand Master Mesmer, and started backing away from the three under scrutiny.

"Quid agit?"
(What is happening?) They demanded. The Mesmer's hand shot out from beneath their robes and they grabbed Vyxis by the arm. Their gloved hand clenched with a savagely fierce from the end of a quivering arm.

"Immortalis est!" The Sentinel hissed.

"Dimitte me!"
(Unhand me!) Vyxis tried to pull away, their guards jogged toward the pair to pull the Sentinel away from their charge, as his cries echoed through the stadium.

"Immortalis! Immortalis!" The Mesmer screamed the word again and again, as Vyxis tumbled into a heap on the sands and lifted their head.

"Pater!" They wept, "Pater me adiuva!"

* * *

In that moment, in the council chambers of the Blazing Palace, Prince Drævyn stood bolt upright. The eyes of the Regium Concilium, which was in the middle of a session, all turned sharply to regard the Keeper of Coin.

"What is the meaning of this outburst, Drævyn Princeps?" The glistering golden eyes of the Solar Sovereign narrowed as her advisor's jolting motion interrupted her mid-speech.

"My blood calls to me..." He clutched his chest. "Vyxis... I sent them to..." Seeing through his child's eyes and hearing through their ears, the words echoed in Drævyn's mind as they did leagues away at the Fortis Lacerta Arena..."Immortalis! Immortalis!"

"O fæx, Your Divine Radiance..." Drævyn muttered through gritted teeth, "The fucking Orks were right." He turned to the Vigilia Magna:

"Cithæra Princeps. We have need of your Sentinels at the Fortis Lacerta. Straight away."

She nodded sharply, and shut her eyes to enter the mind of her eldest son.

"Phocion. Mobilise the Traversers and get a team to Fortis Lacerta. The fell moment is upon us."

* * *

Deep beneath the Palatium Furiarum, Phocion was seated in his office at the shadow twin palace of the Undercity. Sighing heavily, he replied.

"Acknowledged." And rose from his seat, "Fæx..." He muttered, before taking a deep breath and jogging out to bark orders.

[Talon]

D A E M O N

“Mathias?” The young man was shaking. He had gone a bit white with fear. Talon’s eyes softened. This was not a place for the young man. He had not wanted him to be cast into the middle of such a terrible situation. For his part, Mathias was still standing, doing his best to look defiant but Talon knew better.

“Mathias?” The young man started and looked at him. “Get dressed.”

With a jerking nod, the young man quickly tugged on his undergarments. He quickly slipped both the ring and his earring back on before moving to don the rest of his clothing. Talon sighed heavily and looked at the form of Vyxis on the ground. For a moment, his own eyes looked into Vyxis. He let some of the stoicism fall away to reveal the avenging rage that burned inside of him. He let the weight of his absolute fury and disgust with the crumpled form of the nobleman be reflected fully in the true resplendence of his mercurial silver eyes. Then he pulled back and passed his gaze over Vyxis with as much concern and regard as he warranted, which was to say none. Vyxis had earned his displeasure. He would let them figure out what to do with that for however much longer they yet lived.

He opened his senses fully and peered at the aether that was around them. He could feel…something moving. He closed his eyes and again silently cursed the Imperium for being so utterly poorly informed about the way Solunarium’s society operated. He also quietly berated himself for getting himself into this situation. There was naught to do about it now though except prepare.

“Are they going to kill us?” Mathias voice, surprisingly, did not shake. He was gripping his shirt tightly. Talon looked at Aeros.

“They may try.” He knew his own strengths. He knew what he was capable of. What he did not know, was what Solunarium was capable of. At the current moment in time, he was not willing to jeopardize the life of someone he cared about in order to find out.

“What are we going to do?” Mathias took a shaky step forward. “Daemon…”

The young man’s voice cracked. Talon stepped up to him. As he walked, his clothing returned to him as though it had never been out of place. Mathias stumbled into him and clung tightly.

“I-I’m not ready to die, Daemon. I’m…I’m not…” Talon squeezed Mathias tightly before he felt a stirring in the aether.

“Stay close.” Mathias nodded and pulled his shirt back on. Talon looked at Aeros with a wry smile. “I suppose you are going to get some of the answers you sought. Sooner than I had hoped, it seems.”

[Aeros]

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What happened next did not surprise Æros. He had hoped that Dæmon would avoid this particular form of screening, given the fact that the grandmasters were only deployed in rare and specific circumstances. It wasn't as if the Fæ actually had any idea what the foreigner was, but he'd had his suspicions since the very beginning that something was…off about him.

And it was when the Sembler hit the floor that he felt both vindicated and also deeply, deeply concerned. Not without empathy, it wasn't a welcome sight to see the man fall inert nor was it well received when the Mesmer began to shriek– but the words that they said? Now that filled the Starborn with dread. What had he gotten himself into? How tied together were their fates?

Æros would appear to snap out of a trance when Vyxis started to yell for his father, immediately moving to redress himself, much of a pain as it was with shaking, hurried hands. Though he did not look, he heard the interaction between Dæmon and Mathias; he felt sympathy for the boy as his voice quivered. A shame, really, since out of anyone here, it was Æros that was the most accepting of death. And even then, he wasn't sure what the protocol was for something like this. Would they kill him? If it were that simple, he'd welcome it. But to be imprisoned or otherwise punished? He had no desire to pay penance to his own home, knowing what he knew.

Nearly dressed, pointed ears perked at the sound of Dæmon's voice when the elven Fæ realized he was talking to him. The look on his face and the words he spoke filled Æros with conflicting emotions; fear and anger primarily, but there was also a certain satisfaction at being right on top of his curiosity regarding the divine's nature only rising. Interwoven, there was also the screeching annoyance that resulted from being outright lied to.

Æros himself was a man very familiar with lying and different types of lies, and to him, it was one thing to obfuscate the truth or lie by omission as opposed to a proper, firm denial of the truth. It was infinitely more irritating that the other had opted for the latter as opposed to the former. Though he was unsure, ultimately, how much it would've changed things, he could've at least provided some warning about the potentiality of this outcome should he have been properly warned at all.

The half-elf blinked as he finished up dressing himself, eyes narrowed from both distress and overall reaction to this situation.

"In a roundabout way, I suppose this is you giving me what I wanted from the very beginning, huh?" His words were pointed, yet spoken almost in jest, curbing the hostile undercurrents that rang through his voice. "I just wish you would've choked the life from me when I had asked rather than letting it come to this." Of this, however, he sounded deadly serious.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

As a large, high-profile venue that hosted many crowded events featuring dangerous entities and was often frequented by royals, there were many protocols in place for emergencies at the Fortis Lacerta Arena. Octavian Phædryn-Sol'Aværys Phocion Princeps, or in his capacity at the moment merely Vigil Phocion, had led many drills along these lines. Never had he needed to bring a vanguard century of Sentinels to tend to an actual predicament at the arena. For as long as Phocion had been a Sentinel, the dedicated staff at the Fortis Lacerta had always had their issues well in hand. Today was another matter.

He was already dressed in his sentinel blacks, as he was on duty when the orders came through, but he needed to veil his pale face and apply other necessary accessories. He ran his hand along his rack of personalised weapons, and paused it in front of a glimmering, pristine glaive with a magmatyte-lined blade. It had been forged in the Epoch of Aværys and been wielded by many of his kinsmen before being passed down to him. He gripped the polearm and stepped out to the courtyard where his men were gathering.

"Incipete." He ordered with a nod.

Pockets of black-clad figures began to blip onto the sands and stands of the arena- Each veiled, much like the grandmasters had been- Though some wore more practical, martial dress than the long robes donned by the crazed and the catatonic mages who'd arrived before them. Each group that appeared was comprised entirely of potent mages representing every major discipline- Some were armed with practical weapons, spell foci or both- Others were ostensibly unarmed. When all was said and done, the Semblers present would know that behind those veils were eighty human and twenty elven sentinels surrounding them on all sides, but at a distance of about thirty feet from Dæmon and company. The last to group to appear blipped into view directly across from Dæmon, and their central sentinel looked slightly different. The long, slender figure wore a thick-linked chain as a belt. It looked like the sort of chain that might be used to bind a prisoner, except that rather than rusty iron, it was gleaming silver. Atop the figure's head was a silver diadem holding their veil in place.

The crowned figure held a glaive with a blade that churned like roiling lava, which thudded into the sand as he settled into place. Vyxis and the Grandmaster Mesmer were blubbering and wailing respectively, but the sentinels were completely silent and still, waiting.

"I am Vigil Phocion of the Vanguard. May we approach and tend to our wounded and afflicted?" Phocion only raised his voice loudly enough to be heard over the whimpers of the terrified. He spoke Common in a flawless Kalzasern dialect. Vyxis leapt to their feet and rushed to Phocion's side.

"Fuge, consanguinee." Phocion suggested in a whisper, and Vyxis obliged- Running as fast as their legs could carry them out of the arena.

[Talon]

D A E M O N

“Perhaps.” He let one hand come to rest at the small of his back while the other remained placed in the middle of Mathias back, lightly touching his spine. He regarded Aeros just as a trickle of awareness filtered into his mind. His eyes flashed silver. The world around him became draped with shadow and sunfire as a mixture of brightest dawn and blackest shadow swam in his gaze. Briefly, very briefly, he recalled in that moment the visitation he had experienced. He blinked and let out a slow exhalation.

“I was not certain what awaited us here. I certainly did not expect this. I should have.” Again he felt a flare of annoyance at the decided lack of intelligence that had been at all accurate in his preparation for this journey. He was certain he would be reprimanded for this but there was no avoiding it at this point.

“I think today will yield much in terms of enlightenment. For both of us, Dominus.” His eyes came to rest on the spot directly in front of him just as the black clad figures began popping into the arena. A cursory glance over the auras gathered trickled information to him that he tucked away. He did not delve too deep, only kept his senses keyed for the priming of that which would bring about harm to him, Mathias and even Aeros. He watched as the aether flow in the air in front of him shifted, revealing the individual who was clearly the leader of the assembled. Mathias swallowed beside him, his finger idly twisting the ring upon it. At the speaking of Common, with the dialect of his homeland nonetheless, Talon arched an eyebrow.

He chose, in that moment, to drop all pretense of deference to any of the assembled. They clearly knew something very specific about him. Which meant they likely knew other things as well.

Great.

Pointedly, he stepped aside motioning as he did so for the assembled to tend to those who had so foolishly deigned to delve much deeper than they should have. His eyes narrowed slightly at the fleeing form of Vyxis but he made no move to bar the noble from their hasty departure. He was not there to kill. He was not there to destroy. He was in Solunarium to address a calamity that he knew frustratingly little about.

“You have been expecting me.” It was not a question. The mad ramblings of the mesmer and the rapidity with which they had responded combined with the assembled power of those present, he did not miss the obvious. Clearly the intelligence of Solunarium outstripped that of the Imperium’s in a way that the Inquisition and the Emperor had not foreseen. He looked to Phocion.

“Your people refer to me as Daemon. I think, however, you know me by another name.” Though outwardly he remained at ease, he continued to keep his senses attuned to the happenings around him.

[Aeros]

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Æros was…unaccustomed to things of this nature, and in his mind spun a tempest of emotion, swirling outward, thoughts thrown in myriad directions. Not a single person in present company helped, either. Vyxis? As he thought: a peacock. All show and bluster, but within? A defenseless bird. The grandmasters? Despite their consummate skill, one lies inert and the other, maddened. The guards? This was far and above their pay grade. Dæmon? While his overall opinion regarding this Immortalis was mixed, he was cagey, unsure, vacillating between innumerable conclusions but entirely unable to land on anything precise beyond the simple fact that he couldn't trust the man at all. And Mathias…? Young and scared. Cute as a kitten and just as useless.

And so the half-Fæ stood, cursing himself for being in this situation at all. He had even been granted an out some few days ago, one he now thought was likely the better course of action. But how was he supposed to have foreseen this?

And oh, how he hated this. He loathed feeling both exceptionally powerless regarding his own fate and at the same time, completely isolated. Nearly every fibre of his being wanted to fade out of existence and cease to be, yet alarmingly, there were threads that, just as desperately, wished for a favorable outcome on his end. Further, these glinting strands did not stem from a selfish will to survive, at least…not consciously. So uncharacteristic, it was, for him to be concerned about the mental state of another regarding his own actions. And yet, he could not stop his mind from flitting back to the night prior, wherein he, perhaps unwisely, made a promise to another that would sever at the cessation of his existence.

This was why Æros, as a general rule, promised nothing to anyone. But in those tender moments? It was…so very difficult to bar his emotions from flowing freely. A fool, he was. Both for saying what he'd said to the other boy and for being in this situation at all.

To Dæmon, he said nothing; in large part, this was due to his discordant emotions. He knew he wouldn't be able to parse through them quickly enough to find something productive to say, let alone eloquent enough for such a delicate situation. What difference would it make, anyhow?

Thus, he stood in painfully slow silence as a veritable army of Vigilia Argenti appeared before them. Each group blinked into existence one after the next until finally, one final group– this one spearheaded by somebody of apparent importance. Veiled as he was, Æros still recognized him as one of several princes dotting the royal bloodlines, yet he did not recall the man's name. So uninvolved in politics, the Starbon only remembered a few of their names, figuring he'd never see the day in which he'd interact with any of them, and yet…

Unable to take any solace in the presence of his own people, Æros stood with jaw clenched and arms crossed over his chest, expression stony and cold, saying nothing. For what power did he have in a situation like this, a conversation between royalty and divinity?

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

At Dæmon's gesture, Phocion nodded over his shoulder. A Traverser rushed to the two afflicted mages who had preceded the arrival of the Vanguard, and in a flash they were gone. The crying silenced, but for the lingering echoes that waned from the vast stadium. From out of the pursuant silence, rattling shrieks could be heard in the distance- far afield of the arena, but drawing closer.

"After a fashion..." Phocion replied. He was nervous, perforce, at being thrust into so momentous a situation with almost no preparation. His mother had briefed him on the outcome of the strange, clandestine meeting between the Orcani and a Solunarian delegation of which she was a member. He knew that it involved the forbidden practise of Foresight, and that Cithæra's rightful position as chief diplomat was usurped by the Sovereign's favourite grandson, Vrædyn Princeps. The Sentinels had, thereafter, been put on a tentative alert. They knew that something might transpire and to what it pertained, but they'd been stuck waiting for the other shoe to drop until now. So it was that Phocion, whose life could feel so scripted and preordained, found that his nervousness was less potent than his excitement at standing in this crucible. He didn't need to practise an illegal magic to recognise that he was standing on the precipice of a moment that would, for good or ill, alter the fate of the Kingdom of Light and Shadow.

It was an unlikely coincidence that Phocion currently bore Kalzasern speech patterns in Common- a souvenir from his recent visit to the northerly realm and reinforced by Finn and Arvælyn- the only people with whom he regularly spoke the language lately. Perhaps Dæmon would observe a thinly veiled note of surprise in his aura at the implication that Phocion knew more about him than he, in fact, did. He was keen enough a diplomat not to disabuse him of that assumption outright.

"What would you prefer we call you now that your presence has been marked? Please identify your companions as well, and enlighten us as to what purpose you have come to Solunarium to fulfill." Phocion glanced pointedly around the stadium. Mounted wyverns were beginning to alight on the upper platforms bearing riders in armour that glinted golden in the noonday sunlight. Those rattling shrieks from earlier, now echoed more loudly as their points of origin were perched above.

"Whilst I am aware our bloodsports are renowned across many realms, I find it doubtful you've come here for the sole purpose of competing in our lists." There was a bit of the brazen in his wry little jest. He was far from fearless, but he did appreciate a well scripted moment and would occasion to take risks for the sake of a better bit of dialogue. Talon's Semblance would indicate that the least of the surrounding mages far exceeded the best of those he'd vied against in the arena. Those had been hedge mages beneath the interest of the order Phocion represented.