"Toe the Line" [Æros & Dæmon]

[Talon]

D A E M O N

Talon made no move to intervene when the black robed individuals rushed forward to tend to the babbling mesmer and inert sembler. He wondered how far the injuries to their psyche would extend, if only because he regretted that they were injured at all. At the question from the Vigil Phocion, he considered his options. It was cause for him to truly examine himself in that moment. Split as he was between the service he gave to the Imperium and the piece of him that was missing, he was not the whole of himself.

He could not offer the name Talon. Not truly. He was not Talon, not fully. Nor could he offer the name Arcas either. Bound as he was to the Imperium, he was not free to be all of who and what that meant. At least not in the way he wanted. He reached up and touched the earring on his ear. The enchantment seated upon it flowed into his mind and wrapped around his tongue, granting insight and understanding. The words he spoke were in the native tongue of Solunarium. While his accent was still his own, the pronunciation was without error.

“Daemon will suffice.” He looked to Mathias who was remaining quiet but who was being as alert as his senses allowed him to be. “This is Mathias. He is my ward and trainee.”

He motioned to Aeros who was standing rigidly with his arms crossed. He did not blame the noble. This was not a situation that he had envisioned, nor was it one that he ever would have wanted for any of them. Still, it had happened and there was naught to do but face it with as clear a head as possible.

“This is my patron for these games that your kingdom is so fond of. A most loyal servant of Solunarium who has been a gracious host thus far.” He left it at that. He was not familiar enough with Solunarium’s customs to offer any other words than that. Navigating the intricacies of their social norms was something he was learning but had not yet had a chance to master. He worried that if he said more, it might worsen Aeros standing. It was better to let the man speak for himself. As he finished that sentence he looked around at the assembled. Even giving a superficial glance at the surface of the auras that surrounded them told him that those assembled far outstripped the practitioners he had battled thus far. It came as no surprise. That a nation’s governing force was filled with competent practitioners of their skills and craft was to be expected, especially in a state that so heavily prized magic and its association with authority.

“You certainly come formidably armed to exchange words with a humble gladiator.” He gave a pointed look to the wyverns and then to the assembled sentinels. “If it is an attack from me that you fear, you may put such a thing to rest. I think I have demonstrated in the arena alone that I do not care for merciless slaughter. Monstrosities is one thing but the worst wounds your kingdom’s fighters have suffered from me thus far, has been to their pride.”

He let that statement settle. He cared not whether any viewed it as weak. He knew his skill. He knew his power. He saw little to gain in the culling of those whose prowess was so far beneath his own.

“As for why I am here?” He leveled Phocion with a steady gaze. “Such words are not for the sands of an arena surrounded by swords, wyverns and spells.”

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Æros stayed silent as the two men made their initial exchange. But as they spoke, words of his own whirled through his head. What the Vigil said made sense and wasn't noteworthy– introductions were a formality as much as they were a bait for further information. For safety reasons regarding the royalty, the Fæ very much doubted the man was truly ignorant of who he was. Why would they have set up this meeting at all without having gathered all possible information they could beforehand? Vigilia Argenti were a thorough, exacting group if nothing else, and so to feign ignorance in that respect must be a deliberate choice to suss out to what degree Æros was involved.

And thus, what would be the appropriate reaction on his end? The Starborn Færie had several options– the most apparent was his continued silence. After all, he had not been addressed directly. To some of higher station, it was considered rude to say anything at all unless one had already been spoken to, and as of yet, he hadn't been. Others, however, didn't follow this line of thought, but it was still the safest bet to wait.

But then, where is the fun in that? Pernicious and cold as the veritable army that stood before him may be, fortune favors the bold, no? Or at least, some may claim that. Reality, Æros thought, was a bit different. Bold moves simply get brighter responses, for good or ill.

Only problem being, if he were to speak, what would be wisest to say in moments like these? Wisdom, of course, being something the half-elf lacked. Being both rather young and yet still riding on his eternal inebriation, would anything he came up with be wise? Ah, what a conundrum, indeed.

These thoughts ran in spiraling whorls as Dæmon responded to the Vigil. The warrior's words regarding the Fæ were vague yet positive, which was ideal, yet the declination of a proper answer to their would-be interrogator was…not ideal. What reason had he to be so stubborn in a situation like this? Was he unable to voice these things, speaking around a magical block of some sort? Or…what? It baffled him that the other would still choose to hold his tongue at this point, so there had to be a reason, and yet…what was it?

After Dæmon concluded, Æros opted to at least…say something. "Though I do not doubt the extent of your preparation for a meeting like this, for sake of formality, I am Endymion Len’Sælyan Æros," again, some were quite fond of formalities. "My discovery of this warrior was serendipitous out in the sands, and upon learning of his foreign origins, I thought it to be a unique opportunity– our arenas have very few northerners of any note."

He paused, if only for a moment, "...his duplicity was beyond my ability to detect, however, and for that, I do apologize, Dominus."

There was a risk in saying something like that. Some appreciated an admittance of failure while others considered doing so to be a weakness in and of itself. Master Mesmer as he was, he'd actually chosen not to brute force through the obfuscation of the other's Symphony. And seeing the state of the grandmaster? Of this, he did not regret. Æros wanted death, not madness.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

From the stands above where an increasing number of wyvern-riders were perching their mounts, as more still circled the skies above, the pristine, fresh, unbloodied sands of the arena looked like a seat of white speckled with so much black.

Phocion's eyes followed the gesture that preceded the foreigner's shift from Common to Vastian, and he caught the glint of the earring in the noonday light. So he needed outside assistance to speak- and presumably comprehend- their language. That was noteworthy. Nevertheless, Phocion continued to speak Common in response to the man's Vastian.

"Very well. Dæmon it is." Phocion did not attempt to mask his disappointment at the offered sobriquet, unsubtle as it was unhelpful. Slowly, the apparent leader of this century of sentinels stalked closer to the three who were surrounded, using his glaive like a walking stick. His pace seemed more leisurely than tentative, in spite of the tenseness of the situation and the brimming of his nerves beneath his many coverings.

"A humble gladiator?" Phocion let out an amused scoff, "Were you humble, you'd not have incurred the interest of the Princeps Consul, I'll be bound, and were you a gladiator you would not dishonour your audience or your opponents by allowing the latter to survive the disgrace of their defeat." He was now about ten feet from Dæmon, and he paused his steps as his glaive settled into the sand in front of his boots.

"But I am being pedantic." His veiled head turned sharply toward the sole Solunarian amongst this little band of misfits, as the half-Fæ spoke. Behind the veil he smiled. Would that he were indeed prepared for this meeting, but expediency had demanded instant action. His briefing had been... Well... brief, under the circumstances. Dæmon had only been scrutinised as a potential prize-fighter for Gens Danann-Sol'Aværys to present at the jubilee, he had not been under suspicion of anything further until mere minutes ago when Vyxis called out to their father.

"Non sum dominus."
(Not dominus)
Phocion corrected sharply in Vastian,
"Solus Vigil."
(Only Sentinel) And with no further discernable response to the words of the guarantor, he returned his attentions to the taller of the two foreigners and spoke his Kalzasern-accented Common.

"We are of one mind on your final point, Dæmon." He lifted his free hand to gesture at their surroundings. "These are no proper environs for us to have a friendly discussion. We might allow the bulk of these fine men, women and..." He glanced to the upper levels of the stadium, "Draconids to return to their routines, if you would allow me to escort you and your party to a site outside the city where we might speak in greater candour and in greater leisure."

[Talon]

D A E M O N

“Humility and honor are matters of perspective and cultural context, Sentinel.” He spoke pointedly, his tone inferring a clear correction to the bias inherent in the man’s words. Phocion might have considered such things pedantic, Talon did not. Details mattered in times of duress as well as in the exchanging of understanding between foreign parties. Solunarium found it honorable to subject people to the slaughter in sacrifice to their gods as part of the dynamics of its culture. From what he had seen, they saw it as the right and good thing to do. If the benediction from the fighting match that had earned him this audience was anything to go by, he was beginning to understand that they saw it as noble to be given up in sacrifice to their deities.

He possessed no such ideas with regard to the execution of opponents whose skill and power were vastly inferior to his own. For him, it was the height of dishonor to so wantonly engage in such an unfair fight. Indeed, in the right circumstances it could have been considered an insult to be pitted against such lowly opponents. Were it not for the fact that he understood his need to prove himself, he never would have gone up against such people.

Having now witnessed their bloodthirst firsthand and the implications it brought with it, he had begun to question the wisdom of entering the arena. By the time he began questioning it however, it had been too late. He would have to be more mindful of these distinctions in this oddly structured yet brutal society.

He looked briefly over the glaive that the man held in his grasp. It gave off an interesting aura but this was neither the time nor the place to inspect it more closely. He felt as though he knew it or rather, recognized something in it, the vague tug of something lingering on the tip of his tongue nagged at the edges of his thoughts. The response from the Solunarium authorities upon discovering his immortality was an interesting one. The overwhelming show of force in the current numbers indicated they viewed him as a threat serious enough to warrant an immediate and tactical response. The purpose of displaying such things was not lost on him. It was meant to intimidate and invoke fear.

It worked but perhaps not in the way they might have thought. Their presence did not concern him particularly, he was more concerned for Aeros and Mathias. He knew his strength and his power. Even before he had risen to the full awakening of his divinity, it had taken the Imperium ancient relics of incredible power and resources he did not want to think of, to restrain him. Further still, those methods had required ample reinforcement and renewal several times a day. They were only partially successful even then. More than once he had broken through their restraints, even if only for brief moments.

His thoughts turned back to the armor that whispered to him. By his own power and skill it bound him. In the end, that had been the only recourse available to the Imperium. Forcing him to bind himself had been the only means they could successfully entrap him. In the face of all of that, these fear and intimidation tactics only served to garner from him a single question:

If Solunarium wanted to inspire fear in him, what was it they were so afraid of?

That he supposed, would be an answer worth seeking.

“Lead the way, Sentinel.”

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Fæx– much as he tried to avoid such things, there it was, a single social faux pas: he'd used the wrong title. To be fair, how many interactions had Æros had with Vigilia Argenti, one might wonder? Zero, to be frank. At least none wherein he directly interacted with anyone of note in any official capacity. And thus, with such things almost never being on his mind, formalities and titles swam together in a mixed bag within his memory. At least he didn't appear to be upset. He imagined the man to have very good control over what emotions he displayed, though, so such a thing could be masked…but Æros didn't dare check with his own Mesmer.

With a subtle bow to his head, "Me pænitet, Vigil."

Beyond that, however, he was not acknowledged. On its own, this didn't bother him at all. What did vex him, though, was the fact that at the notion of changing the location of this meeting, two things were implied. One, that they would end up out in the sands, outside of the city. Two, the fact that his presence was still desired. At least he'd still held onto that crystal enchanted to regulate his temperature, lest he melt in the sun. The open arena, he imagined, wasn't much better than the open desert and the Winter Court Fæ didn't have much natural stamina for heat.

To be pulled away from the city was foreboding enough on its own. On top of that, his importance to this scenario was somewhat lost on him, all things considered. However, he had no intention to balk or protest, given the fact that he imagined that would reflect poorly upon himself, and…well, he was quite curious at the very least. Where would this discussion lead? Much as he had no idea where fate would drag him at this point, the drama of it all was undeniably delicious.

Desiring not to be redundant, Æros opted not to speak, simply regarding the Vigil with an amiable, yet expectant, expression. He'd go where he was needed.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Pharaoh]

"Noli commoveri. Communis error."
(Worry not. It is a common mistake.) Phocion offered to Æros, before arching a veiled eyebrow to the larger man and shifting his posture to face him directly.

“Cultural context is really the rub of all this, isn’t it?” Phocion mused, lips curling upward at the corners upon his fair, albeit silhouetted face. His tone was didactic, as he took a few paces closer- halving the gap between them to five feet or so.

“Though my culture has long been isolationist, it is customary for those of us who travel abroad to attempt to observe the decorum of the realms in which we stand as guests. What I endeavour to highlight, albeit perhaps in my own, winding way, is that you seem to have elected to pointedly shirk some rather stark elements of your current cultural context, which is…” He made a lazy rotation and gestured broadly into the air. “The heart of the Solunarian capital.” His languid movements did not evoke the sort of audacious display of Vyxis, but a much, smoother and subtler deportment. Phocion’s nerves were settling, and the ease he had been projecting was becoming earnest.

“For a creature of your obvious potency to arrive in our realm unannounced and to display what may be perceived as a wanton disregard for his present cultural context, well- It has yielded…” He rolled his head, and his eyes beneath the veil rolled with it, “All of this.”

Piecing things together as he was, Phocion was forced to take note of Dæmon’s dialect. His job was to be a keen observer and a deductive reasoner. He knew that accent well enough, now, as he’d adopted it himself for his trip back in Glade. It was Finn’s dialect, and it bled through Arvælyn’s affectations from time to time. Kalzasi. He pursed his lips as his ease began to give way to tension, once more- His body stiffening, as well as his grip upon the glaive. Kala had spoken much of their missing god prince… A man who, apart from being winged, very much fit the description of the unnaturally tall Dæmon who stood before him. Not unnaturally tall for a member of the Avialæ race, though. Fæx, Phocion thought. This had the possibility of waxing calamitous.

He let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding- a silent sigh of relief, after Dæmon obliged his request.

“Splendid.” He turned, and beckoned toward one of the robed figures who jogged over to where the four of them stood. Phocion lowered his voice, speaking to his fellow elf in Vallenor… The eyes behind the veil remaining fixed on Dæmon, seeking signs of recognition as he instructed his subordinate to create a Gateway to an outpost facility- the name of which was untranslated Vastian, and so all present would understand it to mean ‘Red Rock’. The Traverser opened a slipspace portal leading directly into a conference room with servi bustling about to prepare on short notice, under the watchful eye of black-clad sentinel guards.

“Please.” Phocion offered in Common and gestured through the portal, before stepping through himself and into a desert fortress over one hundred miles Southeast of the Capital. In the arena, the remaining sentinels of the Vanguard remained unmoving, and the Wyvern riders of the Golden Guard only observed from on high, preparing to stand down once the offending party was safely afield of the capital.

[Pharaoh]

R E V I E W

Lore: 8 each.

Experience Points: 15 each (May be used for the appropriate magicks)

Injuries/Ailments: 2 NPC mages with brainmelt and a very traumatized elven twink.

Loot: Æros was gifted a Bracelet of Protection, and Talon and Mathias each acquired an Earring of Tongues.

Notes: Well, that got epic!