The Art of the Possible

[Arvælyn]

"The Art of the Possible"
The Palatium Umbrarum
45 Frost 122

It had been centuries since a Moonborn Sol'Aværys sat the Argent Throne in the undercity, so even amongst the nobility, few alive had seen the inside of the Palatium Umbrarum. Under Phædryn stewardship during the Solar Courts, it had largely become an auxilliary facility for the Silver Sentinels to complement their prædium to its West. But things were different now and today the Palatium played host to representatives from the Solunarian senatorial houses who had seen fit to swear fealty to the Umbrian Crown in the early days, whilst most weighed their options with greater ambivalence. Indeed, the vast majority of the senate remained undeclared and, unofficially, the last day of Frost (and the 122nd year of the Age of Steel) was being regarded as 'Decision Day', when the royal ultimatum would have to be answered or consequences would be dealt out.

Such as things were, this would be an intimate banquet rather than a bustling ball. It hadn't been made clear to those invited exactly what the purpose of this gathering would be, but those who recognised the Phædryn hand in the matter would not be surprised by this ambiguity. They only knew that each senatorial house who'd sworn fealty to House Sol'Zalkyrion in advance of the invitation date was offered the opportunity to send their official representatives to attend a late supper at the Palatium Umbrarum. News of these invites, of course, spurred others to pledge their fealty after the fact in hopes of garnering their own invitations, but it was to no avail. It seemed this event was truly for the early adopters of the new Umbrian regime.

Upon arrival, the vast majority of the guests would be treated to their first glimpses of the palace interior. Though structurally identical to its counterpart above, it was Atraxian onyx and silver rather than marble and gold. The ornamentation was also wholly different. Where the Blazing Palace boasted artwork and relics of Aværys' conquests, the Shadow Palace was known to house more Varvaran artifacts and, thus, less ostentation. However, there seemed to be new pieces representing the draconic dynasty, which were noted by the few members of the party who'd seen the palace interior before, having served as Sentinels in their younger days.

Servi led them on a path that would feel strangely familiar for those with knowledge of the upper palace. It would feel like walking through a dream, where the steps were familiar but the environs altered in some bold and some subtle ways. Ultimately, they would find themselves in a modestly-sized, but gorgeously appointed banquet chamber lit by torches, chandeliers and candelabras all of which burned with blue light due to attendant enchanters. It served as a much better complement to the surroundings, after all, than regular fire.

A herald announced each guest as they arrived, and they were greeted with trays of Umbrian red wine as they were admitted. The table was set but unseated and, judging from the trays of hors d'oeuvres being brought out by beautiful servants in sleek livery, the seating would take place later. Toward the rear of the hall, two familiar figures were huddled in quiet conference. One was Princess Cithæra, whose wily eyes were scanning the door as guests stepped through. The other, though his back was to them, would be familiar due to the unusual protrusions that graced it: A pair of folded, draconic wings that arced above a blonde head circled with a platinum diadem.

"Come, Your Exalted Majesty..." Arvælyn's mother encouraged, "It is time to greet our guests."

[Aeros]

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It did not take long for House Saelyan to pledge fealty to the Umbrium. Æros had, frankly, made the decision immediately, but he waited to announce it until after discussing it with Janus. That in and of itself only took a few days, and, resultantly, they were one of the very first of the senatorial houses to do so. This decision was not made for loyalty points or anything in that regard; the Færie and his uncle were just confident in their choice. So when the two of them received an invitation to a gathering of some sort and the whispers began to percolate through other senatorial nobility as for the reason why, they were quite surprised…but most pleased.

However, Æros was to attend alone; Janus considered himself retired and, while the invitation intrigued him, he no longer considered it his place to attend these sorts of things. This was, after all, not even the senate he knew; it was the Umbrium's fledgling future, and Æros was in a mirrored position relative to his house. It's not as if the man wouldn't hear about it later, either.

The Umbrium's Shadow Palace had been mostly dormant to Æros' knowledge for his entire life. He knew on some level that House Phaedryn and the Sentinels must make use of it to some auxiliary degree, but exactly for what, he was not sure. Nonetheless, he had never set foot in it at any prior point. The outside was a thing of beauty all on its own and what he saw of the interior as he made his way in did not disappoint. It was elegant, opulent; it lacked the more extravagant, ostentatious flair that the Blazing Palace possessed, but that was something to be expected. The onyx that made up most of the palace's construction was particularly pleasing; there was something about the somber nature of darkness he found soothing, in a way.

As he followed the servii in charge of directing his path, Æros took further note of his surroundings. With what knowledge of history and his own culture he did have, he was able to tell the difference between what of the decor held more of a Varvaran, traditionally Solunarian influence versus what was most markedly draconic in origin. The Zalkyrion brood intrigued him, though his overall pool of knowledge on that particular lineage was, much to his current chagrin, rather shallow. He did hope to remedy this, in time.

Their path came to its end as Æros was led unto the upper palace and into a banquet chamber. He and the few others with him were the first to arrive of the senatorial class; Arvælyn, Cithæra and some others of more royal ilk were already present, however. Æros heard his own presence announced as he stepped through the threshold, accepting a glass of wine from the attending servus as he passed. Bringing it to his lips, golden eyes came to rest on the only one in the room with wings. The two had met by coincidence some time ago and had yet to meet since the other had shifted into this hybrid shape; beyond the obvious, the coincidence of their acquaintance was fascinating when one pondered the present.

As much as he very much wanted to approach the other and reacquaint himself, to do so was not his place. The star-touched Fæ, empyreal as he was by appearance, by magic, by nature, was simply not recognized to be of the same rank. He did not possess the required pedigree, at least, not to his, or anyone else's awareness. His parentage was ultimately an enigma, but nobody can give proper recognition to what is unknown, whether such a thing would ever be warranted or not.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

Arvælyn nodded, and paused to take a breath and shift his faint scowl into a wan smile before turning to open himself to the room and regard the incoming guests. A stream of unfamiliar faces and strange Symphonies, but he was glad the gathering had been kept intimate. In the midst of the unknown elements, he noted a familiar cadence cresting toward the rear of the room and the herald spoke the name even as the prince registered the acquaintance.

Æros was different than he recalled, after a fashion, but the same could certainly be said of Arvælyn. Some of the shifts were, of course, apparent to the naked eye... A pair of small horns sprouting from his brow and obviously the draconic wings that arced in such a way as to frame his crowned head. But there were other changes. His Symphony and Aura were shrouded. His Symphony was as faint as distant, indecipherable music and his Aura was blurred by a preternatural penumbra. But to make note of this shift was an ephemeral thing, for the same obscuring energies also dissuaded the observer from focusing upon the phenomenon. Æros might have fought the dissuasive urge with his Semblance, but he would have to make that choice consciously and exert effort that would surely not go unnoticed by its subject. Even without making any such incursion, he would find the fiery eyes of the draco-elven prince had found him in the crowd. There was recognition paired with relief in the churning gaze, though Arry's attentions were soon dragged to the receiving line forming before himself and his mother. A nomenclator whispered the names of these strange senators into his pointed ears as they greeted him with obsequies and pleasantries.

Over the course of the next twenty minutes or so, word would be disseminated that this casual cocktail hour would precede a more formal dinner service during which the purpose of this gathering would be exposited. In the meanwhile, senators talked small in louder voices and whispered of the larger themes at play in corners. Eventually, Arvælyn saw and seized upon the opportunity to approach one of the few people present with whom he had any familiarity, let alone affinity.

"Æros. I took note of you when I visited the Luxian curia a few weeks back. It would seem both of our lots of shifted since we met at the arena..." He smiled cordially, "All a bit overwhelming." Apart from all the other major changes, one could also say his Vastian grammar had improved by leaps and bounds, though his diction had always been impeccable even when the words he was masterfully pronouncing didn't make sense in the order he arrayed them.

[Aeros]

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Æros' eyes flit away from the half-dragon and 'round the room; of those who'd thus far gathered, he actually did recognize most of them at this point, though he was close with none. His knowledge of many of the other parties was, in large part, second-hand or acquired in interactions impersonal. It was interesting to see all the early backers of the lower city gathered in one place like this.

As of now, he stood still, gilded gaze discerning, open to the variety of the room's Symphonies. There was…markedly little of note. Some were more open than others, some little more than low drones, soft chimes– not entirely unexpected all things considered. Most were protected in one way or another, and, as of now, he did not feel a pressing need to try and dig any deeper. His own Symphony played a familiar tune to any who had listened to it prior, but now it was muted, diluted, distorted in its own way; a medley of both quirks and his own mastery of Mesmer. It would be extraordinarily difficult to get any useful information from it. His Aura, too– it was obfuscated; as masked as a master could muster.

After a brief beat of idly sipping his wine and perusing the attendees, Æros noticed Arvælyn had moved to approach him. Of course, this familiar face held one of the most quiet songs in the room. Again, given his status and circumstance, the Færie was far from surprised. Though nosy by nature, he didn't see the point in trying to pierce whatever it was that veiled the other with either Craft of his. It would seem that both of them would have to socialize with one another without magical meddling; how quaint.

With one arm resting across his chest and the elbow of the other anchored in the palm of the first, Æros greeted the royal with a subtle, cordial smile and slight shift of his hand. When Arvælyn spoke, the starlit one's smile broadened if only a bit as eyes creased ever so slightly from a faint spark of genuine joy. Clawed fingertips tapped the glass he held. "Indeed. Though, yours…?" His expression shifted; eyes narrowed, nose wrinkled and the smile on his lips turned somewhat mischievous if only for a moment as he made a point to look over the winged elf's silhouette. "...more so than mine, I think. Certainly, physically, no? Ever so grand, you look! And your words...you've adapted so very well." His voice was smooth, warm, and he spoke softly, like velvet.

"Blessed be, these last few months, exhausting as they've been for us both, I'm sure," Æros paused. "Your parentage has renewed my interest in my own...though I wouldn't have the faintest idea of where to start on that one," he chuckled. "...but for the present, have you been told what the evening's plan is? More of a social banquet, or shall there be more? I'm quite excited," the empyreal Fæ inquired with ample enthusiasm, though reigned in appropriately for the setting. He found his new role exhilarating by its very nature, and with the current novelty of the Umbrium Senate, the mystery of this gathering only made everything all the more interesting.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

The softer Symphonies were those that most perked the attention of the newly-minted Princeps Draconum, and Æros' simmered softly indeed. It wasn't the deathly silence that answered his ætheric ear in the presence of the Solar Sovereign or her pious nephew Vrædyn, nor was it the nebulous murk of Phocion's mark, but it was notable. It hadn't been thus when they'd first met, nor even at their latter meeting in the Umbrium, by which time the Fæ-kin had achieved greater mastery. There were novel nuances. It wasn't something he was inclined to explore ætherically, in the moment with Cardinal Rune nor Divine Emblem, but his curiosity did seep into his verbal reply to the man demure response to his opening remarks.

"I endure more than enough feigned modesty now that I am..." He smirked slightly at the first word that came to mind to suit his sentiment: "...exalted amongst men and elves. You need not demur with me in this matter. As for my linguistic pursuits..." His smirk became a smile,

"Our common Cardinal Rune bears many exploitable advantages when it comes to higher learning. The subtleties of Solunarian grammar come much easily when one is able to peruse sundry a Solunarian mind."

He chuckled,

"Indeed! For all we know, I am currently enjoying an audience with some long lost prince of the Winter Court of the Everwild. That being said, Your Potential Highness, this evening was devised by my parents in the interest of discerning the concerns of the early-adopters to Zalkyrian fealty. His Exalted Majesty wishes for the most loyal of his subjects to have a hand in building the foundations of the Senatus Umbrarum. We are testing the waters, as it were. Those gathered have already proven themselves to be none-too-attached to the status quo, in having forgone their traditional allegiance to House Sol'Aværys in favour of the Draconic Dynasty. We would know how far your want for evolution extends. More wine." Though his fiery eyes lingered for a moment on the man he was addressing, after a beat they would turn to a nearby servant who froze and slowly extended a quivering arm to refill his platinum goblet.

"Peace." Arvælyn soothed with preternatural urging that relaxed the servus enough to pour with a steady hand, as the prince's attention returned to the half-Fæ. "Were you given instructions by your uncle, or are you his implicitly trusted plenipotentiary at this point?" It seemed he had been, at the very least, briefed upon his current conversation companion's position in the Senate.

[Aeros]

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Feigned modesty. It was easy enough to imagine many an older elf, storied mages or politicians, had to exercise such a thing deliberately in the presence of younger royalty on a fairly frequent basis. For Æros? It was a bit more complicated; his self perception was always shifting in directions innumerable and the dust had yet to settle on the recent past. He also, genuinely, lacked awareness of his own ætheric potential and stood most unsure of what the future held for him.

"Oh, come now…it's not a feint. You've transformed quite a bit more completely. As far as I can tell, I possess only the same anomalies I always have," Æros laughed; light as he spoke, he didn't bother to hide curiosity nor subtler notes of admiration. "...most of my pursuits have been ætheric or academic and are, ah, less tangible." As such, they are far easier for the half-Fæ to overlook, as prone as he was to being unnecessarily high with his standards for himself.

As Arvælyn spoke regarding his use of Mesmer for linguistic pursuits, such a thing made a lot of sense. Given that he'd never traveled outside of Solunarium itself, Æros had never the opportunity to employ that technique in the context of learning a foreign language. He would, however, keep that in mind.

"Ah, what a novel idea…perhaps I'll do that when next I speak with those who default to Common," he chuckled, somewhat embarrassed with how lazy he was when it came to learning that one.

Further, what flattery his companion offered towards what unknown potential he might hold drew a more bashful smile to surface. "That would be funny, wouldn't it?" Æros would be a liar to say the idea didn't entice him. " …but given what I know about the curious and chaotic nature of Fæ-ethalan, I actually can't say I'd be surprised to learn of an ancient one who sires offspring so carelessly; perhaps doing so in a bid to leave pieces of themselves across the plane– though why, beyond that, is anyone's guess." He shrugged; from what he learned of his own lineage, Fæ, especially those who took after Winter, were capricious, arrogant things whose decision making and priorities were most fascinating in nature.

Prior to responding about the portents of the evening, Æros took a sip further from his own glass as Arvælyn collected a glass of his own. Polite, even, to soothe the rattled young servus he took it from. Poor thing really hadn't much to fear; Arvælyn was softer than most of Solunarian ilk. Not to say the other was a lamb, no, but northern sensibilities were notably less cruel, he'd learned. One might only make that comparison to Arry's lover, Finn, who was much slower when it came to adapting to this new stage. In many ways it was sweet.

"Ah…I find myself curious about others, too, regarding how far their particular 'want for evolution' extends. Mine…?" Æros trailed off, gilded eyes drifting to the side in thought. "Well, my blood has gifted me with a long lifespan, so I'm in no personal rush, especially with my relative newness to politics. I doubt my word has much sway at the moment." Much as he might wish that things were perhaps a bit different, he would tread delicately until afforded greater reach. "…but should an opportunity arise that excites me? I can't say I won't take it, or, at the very least, push with what weight I do possess." He winked, starlit features adorned with an expression somewhat impish, almost playful, contrary to the serious nature of the subject matter.

To answer the other's question, however, he continued. "He and I have spent more time together in the past few months than we have in my entire life; he does trust me at this point, so he says. It's…really rather flattering; I can't say I know exactly what he sees in my potential but I've no reason not to trust his judgment." That isn't to say he thought himself wholly unqualified. He'd been raised and educated for this potential, and once Janus had made his decision, such skills were further refined. He just…didn't quite understand why him over several others within his house, but he was never one to deny opportunity when it knocked.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

"Less tangible to some, perhaps." Arvælyn said, with a smirk, a wink and a sip of Umbrian red. He didn't linger further on the matter of their respective evolutions, content to move onto the matter of Mesmeric language learning.

"It's likely you're already doing it to some extent unconsciously. The real trick of it is focus. My pædagogus taught me that language influences thought more than we realise. The way a sentence is constructed can influence the way poetry and lyrics can be written... Can limit or open possibilities for rhyme, alliteration, assonance. Imagine what a language with more words for love might do to the culture that speaks it, imagine one with more words for loathing..." He trailed off, realising he was waxing didactic, or at the very least philosophical. Hardly appropriate cocktail hour banter.

"Apologies. I find linguistics fascinating, and can get carried away with my musings." Another sip of wine.

"I will confess I know little of the Fæfolk. I don't believe I've ever met a full-blooded representative, and my crash course in Solunarian studies has rather occupied me of late. I suppose I will need to become more worldly as I assume new roles at court, but for the nonce I am playing catch up and the Fæ, with my apologies, have not been a priority.

"If you do wish to pursue your paternal past, I can see whether I might get you access to some documents from the Prætorium Argentum's archives. Things are a bit hectic at the moment, with all the transitions, but in time I expect we could find you a spot of help." He shrugged, "If that appeals to you."

The goblet in his hand rested at the level of his sternum, and his other hand lazily trailed circles round the rim of the glass with his index finger. Pursing his lips he nodded,

"A long lifespan is relative, and most of your political contemporaries are of like longevity." Perhaps even greater, though he demurred from saying so outright. Elves were typically longer-lived than Fæ and, though Æros was half-elven, there was no telling how his particular blend would affect his lifespan. Gods knew what Arvælyn's would be, if he survived Solunarian politics long enough for that to be of consequence.

"That is to say, don't rely too much upon time. Time smooths stone, it doesn't sharpen it. These are sharp times... A brief burst of a chaos in a realm that loves order. This is the moment to establish to new order that will become the routine. Think well on whether you wish to be party to those decisions."

[Aeros]

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Æros regarded his companion's comment about the tangibility of his progress with a curious cant of his head and a slight, yet thoughtful, narrowing of his eyes. Was Arvælyn simply trying to flatter him, was he far too critical of himself, or did the other see something deeper that the half-Fæ himself had somehow glossed over? Impossible to say, for the moment, but the true answer was likely a muddled mix of all three.

Arvælyn's apparent passion for linguistics was really rather endearing to listen to; Æros' expression shifted into something warmer; a mix of interest, delight and further curiosity. "Oh, you needn't apologize! I've an adoration for the subject, too. I found the fascination when I was learning Vallenor as a child, through reading and the like, as well as in my more recent studies of Valasren; I just…am a wee bit lazy about Common, despite the objective usefulness thereof." He paused for a moment, finishing off what was left of his glass. "Personally, I'd love to speak at length on the subject; my admiration for those who weave words well runs rather deep, and if nothing else, you've at least a keen interest. Everything from sentence rhythm in prose to the sociocultural influences language has to the way our words evolve over time…I, too, could go on for a while, but alas...I doubt very much we've the time at present."

Regarding the Fæ-ethalan, "I can't really blame you, though, now can I? There's not a lot in terms of what one can verify as concrete fact. Many of the tales of us Fæ boil down to myth, legend, hearsay…and I have to believe that's, at least to some degree, on purpose. Then there's the fact that here, there's markedly few of us." When Arry offered to peruse the Prætorium Argentum's archives on his behalf, Æros' already golden gaze lit up ever the more vibrantly. "You would? I'm not sure how much documentation he'd really have, but for the moment, all I have is a single portrait of him; anything in addition would be a blessing. If it's not inconvenient for you, I'd quite like that." At this point, he did have to reign in some of his excitement.

The metaphor provided by the precocious prince rang true; he certainly had a point. "True enough…strike while the iron is hot and all that, yes? It's just…" Æros trailed off, his gaze drifting away in thought. Truthfully, he was a bit paranoid about making mistakes and the conceivable consequences thereof. Surely, he'd learned since the last time that happened, but given his recent luck, he was a bit afraid of pushing it. "...there is a time and place for patience, but I suppose that isn't the present, now is it? I do fully intend to flex whatever influence I do have, it's more that I'm not sure how much that is, hm? But if I can enact change…I will." He certainly craved power, influence, the like– but one must tread with some modicum of caution lest one lose one's footing.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Arvælyn]

"I don't blame you for neglecting Common. It hasn't been aptly named in this particular realm for many years. It's only now that you're..." Arvælyn blinked, remembering himself, "That we're participating more on the world stage, that Common is waxing pragmatic." He chuckled as the Fæ, like himself, gushed for a moment on the matter of linguistics, before demurring due to the setting of their conversation.

"I knew you before I met most of this lot. You're sort of... Well, grandfathered in. If you've no pressing engagements after we conclude the formal dinner, perhaps you might join me for a nightcap and more casual conversation." Arvælyn had to stifle his chuckle at the talk of documentation, lest it smack of overfamiliarity.

"Assuming you were sired here in Solunarium, I've little doubt that the Vigilia Argenti has some sort of record of a rare and mystical peregrinus who coupled with an elven noble to produce a child. That's a fair recipe to curry their attention if ever I've seen one. I'll see what I can do..." He caught the glance of his mother, who wasn't close enough to hear his hushed tones, but still she gathered the gist.

"Spoken like a true politician..." Arvælyn noted with an expression that suggested subtle chiding infused within the statement, "Do let me know when you've collected your thoughts as to what sort of change you would like to see. And be quick about it. These matters will be settled sooner than later." He downed the rest of his wine just as a gong sounded to herald the end of the cocktail hour and the start of supper proper.

"On to business, but do tarry after supper if you've the time. I'm sure I'll want for something harder than wine after an eventide practising politics."

[Aeros]

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While Arvælyn had a point that it did certainly make sense for him to shirk his study of Common in practical terms, Æros nonetheless felt some smidgeon of guilt about his postponement. His precocious proficiency and subsequent skills with both Vastien and Vallenor were sizable points of pride for him and thus did he feel such that his neglect of Common– and Valasren for that matter– were personal failings more so than anything else. However, circumstances being as they were, now was not the time to continue to deride himself on the matter; forward to fluency was really his only path.

"Waxing pragmatic, indeed," Æros responded, appearing pleased at the notion that he, too, stood upon this worldly stage. Yet for the nonce, the both of them stood within the Umbrium's depths; a new, clandestine stage, but it would become primary for both. "...and the honor is mine to share that stage with somebody so…" he clicked his tongue, gilded eyes flitting up and down the other's figure for emphasis, "...chimeric? Grandiose, majestic." These words could perhaps be interpreted as simple flattery, but the dragon prince truly was a special sight to behold by very nature. The starlit one did wonder, what power did draconic blood enlivened by their beloved by Founders' deep roots hold?

And as their dialog flowed further forward, Æros was happy to hear that, not only did the two apparently possess a similar passion for the art of language, but that Arvælyn thought more of the horned half-elf than what he'd incipiently presumed. This, of course, was a welcome relief— Æros himself hadn't been wholly sure, up until this point, what impression he had left upon the other.

To that end, "I'd be happy to adjoin again once what business the eve has in store concludes; there's so much I'd like to ask you." The platinum Fae was not quite sure how much the other could really indulge his questions, but he would gladly take the opportunity to ask regardless.

Regarding his parentage, the Fæ-blooded elf contemplated for a moment prior to swapping the glass he'd emptied for another, continuing to passively sip from it when his companion would speak. The servii were remarkably skittish when it came to serving either him or Arvælyn, but he supposed his own status in combination to his proximity to the prince served to intimidate. Even if they'd had experience with other nobility, outright royalty, especially in so novel a context, would be quite the experience for anyone. And Æros was not devoid of empathy– he, too, had to tread carefully among such prized people. As such, his use of Mesmer to assuage these very understandable fears was almost reflexive.

"My mother and I have never quite been on good terms and, as such, she and I avoid one another at present and have for awhile. That lack of communication means she's not told me much at all." Æros sighed. Much as it would be useful to be amiable with his mother, the woman was an irascible thing. "I've…been so busy with the head of my house, too, that I've neglected to ask him. Suffice it to say, my personal knowledge is only that I was, in fact, sired here. My mother, and, frankly, many others, were apparently spellbound by my father during his brief sojourn. Their tryst wasn't…intended to result in offspring, nor were his affairs with any others, and as far as I'm aware, I'm the only kin he left behind. I am ever eager am I to hear what you find," and such eagerness bled into what excitement one could glean from the half-Færie's tone.

When it came to his personal stance, Æros had been admittedly, intentionally opaque. He laughed at the other's gentle chiding in the comparison, finding such a thing flattering nonetheless. "What I'll say now is that I want to see Solunarium reign supreme in terms of magical potency and that, I believe, to do so we must adapt, evolve and reach now heights. Stagnation does not suit us. You are a fine example of what I'd like to see more of– a synergy of draconic and elven most harmonious. Both halves of your parentage reinforce and enhance one another, just like the platinum elf is superior to moon or sun alone; the twins better together than apart." Æros was unsure of how realistic such ideals were. Idealistic, indeed, he'd always been. His early mastery of Mesmer had shielded him from a lot of the unbroken line's more insidious indoctrination– insofar as he'd undo a lot of it in private– thus allowing the dreamer in him to flourish. Thus far, though, he'd ended up keeping the vast majority of his more heretical ideas to himself.

As the gong sounded and Arvælyn spoke once more, Æros smiled something subtle. "...and rest assured, I do have time– but honestly? Prior obligations would pale in comparison; more liquor and your company? I'd be a fool to say no." His curiosity for what they would speak of nearly rivaled what he held for the night's official business, too.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"