Saviour's Seed

[Pharaoh]

"Saviour's Seed"
1 Glade 123 Steel
An Oasis in the Atraxian Expanse
Far Southeast of Solunarium Proper

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The First Day of the 123rd Year of the Age of Steel was not unlike any other day for the Rex Regnum and his cupbearer. Aværys had spent the months of his liberation as a wayward wanderer… a pilgrim reacquainting himself with the energies of his realm, while rarely choosing to cross paths with its inhabitants. They’d spend the last two weeks at a remote oasis guarded by fruit trees and cacti standing sentinel.

Aværys filled his days and that of his attendant Avialæ with the imparting of knowledge. They conversed, they trained, they communed with their surroundings. Aværys would be free with his praise and cagey with information about the age that preceded Vastium, even if it was a particular focus of his in his meditations.

“I remember Me that this be My first New Year of the modern age unbound...” He observed, as his golden eyes snapped open and he unfolded his legs to rise from the sand. He glanced up to the second sun that bore his name. It glistened against his skin but never deepened his perfect, even tan. Completely unclothed, he stalked toward the water and stepped in— his bare feet sending clouds of sand to murk the hitherto crystal clarity.

“Mine Hunger doth wax and a new chapter must needs be writ.” He mused, turning to glance over his shoulder as he marched deeper into the water, the dimples on his chiseled rear dipping beneath the water’s surface as he trudged forth.

“Fly forth, Mine Archangelus. Let us ring in this new year with new yearning hearts. For too long the birth rate of Solunarium hath been My sole source of souls. Too languid a growth be this to slake a one such as Me.” He glances to the East.

“Hie thee thither, beyond the shore. Thither mark I the call of wayward spirits ripe for evangelisation and thou, Archangelus Meus, shall prepare My way. Tarry not.” He slunk further into the water. It was up to his neck now.

“Pray for Me when thou hast primed a population for Mine arrival.”

[Raithen]

In the weeks since he had become Chosen of His Divine Radiance Raithen had grown, if not used to the presence of the being he had spent his whole life in worship of, at least comfortable there. The oasis they made their way to was like any one of dozens he'd rested at while performing mercenary work outside the city, except more remote, more wild. Nothing would cause them harm there, nothing would dare, and building and maintaining a little camp for his Lord and himself felt good.

When his mother had commanded him to commit himself to his God he had worried that, from then on, he would spend all his time inside the city and most of it inside lavish palaces standing by to attend to whatever Avaerys might desire. That, instead, they had come into the desert to train, hunt, and grow to know one another had been a relief so great that it was as though Raithen had come back into himself.

The weather was seasonally hot but the Avialae was used to the heat of his home, loved it, and, really, what need had either of them of clothing in the desert with no one else for miles around?

When they were not training or providing for themselves they spoke of many things. There was much Raithen did not know, and, it became known over time, much Avaerys did not know about the world as it now stood. This made sense, in retrospect, and did not change any of what Raithen felt for his deity. He learned quickly when to cut off a line of questioning based on his Lord's body language, and what things should not be asked of at all. He learned much, soaking all into his mind as his body soaked in the sunlight. It was during this time that he realized that he had been trained to absorb any information given to him by those he respect, to pull it inside and memorize it rapidly and without repetition. Perhaps, while his siblings had been receiving specifically driven educations, he had been taught to be ready to be taught.

Most of the time it was as if he were any servant, or perhaps any slave, which suited him surprisingly well, and, once in a while, when the Radiance of His Holiness overwhelmed Raithen he was allowed to express his worship openly. The lack of protocol aided in his growing comfort and sense of stability, though he understood well that, when they made their way back to civilized places, protocol would return. Learning the wants and needs of his Master took some little time, but, by the time he realized the change of seasons was upon them it had become instinctive to do whatever he had found pleased Avaerys best.

The morning of the first of Glade was bright and beautiful, and more so for the full view of his God Raithen was allowed to bear witness to. When, in the afternoon, Avaerys began musing, almost to himself, Raithen listened, giving his full attention, for while everything His Divine Radiance said was of utmost importance, his tone was different from how it usually sounded.

When it became obvious that Avaerys was going into the wide oasis pool to bathe Raithen followed with oil soap and a comb for his hair. But once he arrived thinking he was to wash the perfect body, instead he was given a wholly new set of commands.

Looking in the direction that was pointed out to him did nothing to aid his understanding of where he was to go, of course, but he accepted that he would be led as the guidance was needed, with a simple deep bow and,

"I obey, Your Divine Radiance." He spread his wings and rose into the sky.

The soap and comb were left at their camp and Raithen donned a one shouldered tunic and pair of sandles, but that was all he took before taking again to the air.

Once the shore fell away he would know where he was going, and, with an excellent tail wind that he sent a brief prayer of gratitude back to Avaerys for, he soared.

[Pharaoh]

"Marvelous..." Aværys muttered to himself as Raithen took flight, smiling faintly as he watched the youth ascend and proceed ever farther until he was wholly out of sight.

Raithen would travel over a long stretch of empty desert once he passed the craggy hills that rounded the oasis they'd called home of late. The sands seemed to extend endlessly, with little in the way of life- flora and fauna alike. There were a few notable vistas to break up the monotony. Two smallish caravans of Vastian nomads, a pair of wild basilisks battling... or were they mating? It was hard to tell from so high. But there was little else remarkable before the sea of sand gave way to the true seas. He would pass over a cliff-face that dropped sharply down toward crashing waves, and would feel the rush of oceanic winds tinged with salt.

Perhaps he would pause to rest and enjoy the Atraxian coast for a spell, before trudging toward the uninterrupted horizon before him. Aværys had given him no time limit to his task, and it might have been better to rest before he got too weary, rather than finding himself exhausted over open sea. He would note that the Sceptre of Aværys' light did not drop off abruptly at the coastline, as it did with the border of Ecith. Its lustre beamed seemingly beyond the horizon.

When he continued in the direction of Aværys' command, whenever he chose to do so, it would be over another expanse with little in the way of landmarks. He would see the hunting of a wild wyvern, the breaching of a pod of whales, and watch the tide go from rough to smooth. The hues of the water also changed as he went. The dark grey blue of the Atraxian coast gave way to a light aquamarine as the cawing of seabirds heralded the nearness of land. The Solunarian Duke drew close to a small group of islands set there in the midst of it all. In the distance he could see darkness, but it was unclear whether a storm was brewing or if he had finally reached the end of the Sceptre's influence. Whatever the case, these islands were lit, as if by a bright, perennial afternoon.

Drawing closer, Raithen would see that they were settled, and rather densely for their size. Structures with brightly coloured rooves and awnings speckled the hilly landscape which was crowned by a five story tower that looked as though it might have been a temple or perhaps a town hall of some kind. Whatever the case, it seemed to bustle with activity. Particularly at the lower tiers where the land met the sea and there was quite a bit of activity in the water, as well.

As Raithen got closer, a few of the pale-skinned children playing below took note of him, eyes wide in surprise that he was not some great albatross, but a humanoid figure with the wings of a bird. The children shouted, which began to draw the attention of adults. A crowd began to gather at the shoreside to get a closer look.

[Raithen]

The first stage of Raithen's divinely mandated journey was not different from many he had made before. Flying over the desert that made up the majority of his homeland was as comforting as it was, eventually boring. Raithen enjoyed flying though, and he hadn't had cause for a long flight in long months. When he reached the place where his divine guidance crossed from sand to see he did land, eyes scanning over the seemingly endless coastline as the sun began to sink below the water's surface. He found a comfortable bluff to bed down on, curling himself in his own wings with no need to other cover or fire. His father's race came with certain perks and in his various professions, not having need of cover or fire had often been one of them.

When the light began to return he rose and flew low over the water until he spotted a school of fish. A quick flick of his Kinetics had three of them out of the water and floating after him as he returned to the beach long enough to cook and eat them. After the long flight the day before and the one ahead of him, he considered going back for more but, after a moment's consideration decided against it. A stitch mid-flight over the open water was one of his nightmare scenarios. While the air felt comfortable and safe in the same way the ground beneath his feet did, large bodies of water had the opposite effect. His wings grew heavy when wet, heavy enough to pull him under, and the movements of swimming did not come naturally to his limbs. There had been more than one incident in which he had been compelled by others to join in group swimming expeditions as a child that had ended in him panicking, and one in which someone else had been required to prevent his drowning. As an adult he had decided it was wisest to avoid deep water unless he could fly over it.

The prospect of flying far enough over open water that he could no longer see the land was not a pleasant one but he was God's chosen messenger, he would not falter merely because he was apprehensive. So it was, after he had kicked sand over the remnants of his small cooking fire, he launched back into the air. Raising his face towards the bright, warmth of the new day's sun he murmured prayers, both natural and the poetry of the formulaic praise he had learned as a youth. It was more than an hour before he came out of his trance-like adoration enough to really take notice of the fact that, for as far as the eye could see, there was only the ocean moving below him.

The distraction of his devotions had done the work of keeping the worry from his mind until it was too late to do anything but continue, which he was also grateful for. Taking hold of his emotional response and setting it firmly into a box in his brain as he had been taught to do from at least as early as he'd learned his prayers, the Avialae took note of the cardinal direction that Avaery's was leading him and then flew up as high as was safe for him to do so. Up so high the reality of the water was less pressing on his consciousness and the miles fell away.

When he spotted landmasses in the distance he let himself fall close enough to the surface that he was joined by several large seabirds, a circumstance that was amusing as it was relieving. Taking note of the settlements on the islands he took the time to find an air current that circled the islands in a wide arch and let it carry him lazily around so he could observe.

When it became obvious that his observations had not gone unnoticed he settled his mind, straightened his meager clothing as well as he could midair and adjusted his flight pattern so that he came to rest, lightly on his feet, on the first truly dry spot out from the ocean. Smiling he stood for a long moment, letting them see him, looking at them in turn.

They were odd in appearance, but did still look as though they were of elven stock, so he tried a few words of greeting in the languages he knew, waiting to see which, if any, were responded to.

[Pharaoh]

The small group that first took note of the approaching angel soon became a crowd, as more and more of the locals descended upon this corner of their beach. Raithen would hear a great deal of splashing from behind him, as yet more of the humanoid creatures with their pastel hues of hair emerged from the light blue waves. Many had hair to match the water and skin to match the sands, so they'd hitherto blended neatly into their aquatic surroundings.

With so much hubbub, it was difficult to discern much from their language, but a few things would become apparent with focus. Firstly, there seemed to be physical gestures that accompanied the vocalisations. Secondly, the vocalisations had a sing-song lilt. By and by, the bellow of a conch shell being used like a herald's trumpet would silence the clambering creatures as a path was cleared down the centre of the mob and some sort of ostensible leader stalked down the sands.

He was tall, young and handsome with a pale face and hair that looked, at first, like it might have suited a Solunarian Platinum Elf. Upon closer inspection, it was polychromatic with many shades of light blue and purple peppered amongst the white. His striking blue eyes matched their seaside surroundings and he bore tribal tattoos that might have been inferred to speak to his station amidst the tribe.

With things having quieted down, Raithen's attempts to communicate were actually audible and the apparent leader perked at his use of Vallenor. This seemed to relieve him, somehow.

Before replying, he turned back to his people and executed the gesture of a backwards arcing crescent with his left hand, accompanied by a tonal series of syllables. This elicited the beginnings of a few murmurs, but another, sharper gesture silenced those promptly, as he turned back around.

"Greetings, Windrunner." The chieftain replied to Raithen's prior use of Vallenor in kind, "I am Àkriel and we are The Vrónti of the Coast. We salute you, guest, and welcome you to our shores." Àkriel bowed at the waist, and his people all around Raithen replicated their chieftain's show of respect.

[Raithen]

While remaining outwardly relaxed and open, realizing that he was surrounded, and that the vast expanse of the ocean was at his back made the Avialae suddenly very glad that, though his skill in Traversion was still minor, he could jump himself thirty feet into the air to take flight if it became necessary.

Turning in a slow circle so he took in all of the people around him he made not of their oddities; their coloring, the webbed quality of some of their hands, the unexpected wildness of them. For all it was a harsh and exacting society, the people of Solunarium were civilized, perhaps more so even than most other places. These exotic features intrigued Raithen more than they disturbed him, by a wide margin.

As it became clear that gestures were a part of this race's communication, Rai carefully kept his limbs still when he did try to speak. Better to seem half mute than to inadvertently add unintended meaning to something. Their voices, the melodic nature of their speech was beautiful, as were they, however strange. He continued to try to communicate small things until the group was silenced and a new one emerged. He appeared male, but gender was harder to distinguish among them than he was for Raithen with his own people.

The platinum coloring of this new comer implied leadership to Raithen's instincts even before the implications of the trumpeting shell and the reverence the others showed caught up to his conscious mind. Offering a greeting, but not bowing or showing any other sign of subservience, for he was there representing Avaerys the Divine, he waited to see what would come.

When what came were words in his own language Raithen was relieved, and took a moment to turn slowly, acknowledging with his eyes the greeting of all the people gathered before finishing his rotation facing the leader once more. Here he lowered his head in polite acceptance of the welcome he was being offered and said,

"Fear not, for I bring good tidings of great joy. His Divine Radiance, Avaerys of the Burning Sun, has sent me, His messenger, to bring knowledge of his return. You are blessed, chosen by Him to be among the first to know of his coming."

Such speeches were unlike Raithen in his personal life, but ofttimes, when he was acting on behalf of his God, he felt not quite like himself. It was as if he were half himself, and half divine intention made manifest.

[Pharaoh]

Àkriel's light eyes darted across the features of the foreigner, though they lingered longest upon the most striking: His wings. If Avialæ had ever been to these shores, it did not seem to have been in living memory.

"You are..." He paused. There were many cognates between Nepthal and the mother tongue from which it sprouted amongst his people, and he needed to put conscious thought into distinguishing for Raithen's sake.

"Fterotós misó dráko? Uh... dragonkin with feather?" As the chieftain spoke, he seemed out-of-practise with his Vallenor. His accent was strange and lilting, as if he still had the impulse to distinguish tonal intervals between his words. Raithen might also notice he was very light with his consonants, making the words flow smoothly together. The legato lines made Vastian seem staccato by comparison. Unlike Raithen, Àkriel continued to gesticulate as he spoke and did so in such a way that it seemed he was purposely aiding the comprehension of his fellow islanders. It couldn't precisely be called translating, but many eyes were torn away from the fascinating figure of the angel to see what could be gleaned from their leader's gestures.

"Aværys of Burning Sun?" The repetition of that name, accompanied by a sweeping gesture, seemed to yield an audible, if muted, response... just a few scattered murmurs from the crowd.

"You seek, perhaps, the Ifaísteii... We are, uh... humble folk. No interest to great god. We only tend this island. No great magic, only what helps community. Hunters, no warriors, you ken? Not special, but... We are grateful for you, guest... and for attention. You will feast with us upon bounty of coast, yes?" He clapped his hands once, and turned to face the crowd behind him, raising his voice to speak Nepthal. It was clear he was instructing them toward the task of preparing a proper reception, as many moved inland chittering amongst themselves in excitement. It was not often that the Vrónti received guests- Let alone winged angels who were messengers from mighty gods.

[Raithen]

The suggestion that Raithen might of dragonkin struck him as ridiculous, despite the fact that one of his siblings was, in fact, fathered by a great wyrm. His laugh was thoughtless and easy as he shook his head, no hint of mocking to it.

"No, I'm no relation to the dragons," At least, not by blood, " I am Avialae." He said the word slowly, enunciating it so those gathered, or at least the Àkriel, could learn it.

"My people have wings, as yours have..." He didn't know the word, or if there even was a word for the webbed hands he saw on some of those surrounding him, rather than use the animal term and risk offending he pointed with one hand and gestured with his other, spreading his fingers to show what he meant. "Those. You are adapted to the sea, I to the air."

As he listened his own accent shifted in small ways, softening sounds where Àkriel did, almost without noticing himself. Mimicking the accents and habits of new groups was something he'd been doing for so long, and for so much of the time that he did it thoughtlessly. At times, mostly as a child, he had been teased for it by those claiming he was trying to imitate them.

Smiling bright enough to shame the sun he answered the suggestion that he had found the wrong people,

"God has chosen you, seen in you what pleased Him. I will gladly accept your generous hospitality until His Divine Radiance arrives." Maybe after that too but he had been told to come prepare the way, so that was what he would try to do.

As the people began to move away he let himself observe the island more openly. As he'd just been told, it wasn't huge, not even enough for what might be properly called a city but large enough to support the population, it seemed. Farming was probably not something they engaged in, or... maybe underwater farming?

Noticing that several children were watching him behind the legs of the adults he smiled at a few, winking or giving little waves even if they darted away when they realized he had noticed them.

Stepping up to stand closer to the one who had greeted him he said, "Àkriel, are you the chief of your people?" It might be the wrong word, but hopefully his meaning could be sussed out.

[Pharaoh]

"Ah." Àkriel seemed to understand the allusion Raithen posed. Perhaps he was even a bit relieved that the visitor distinguished himself from dragonkind so. "Avialae." He repeated the unfamiliar term as Raithen pronounced it, and nodded. Wings were but fins for the sky, he supposed, and the efforts to find common ground seemed to assuage a bit of the initial tension that was natural in a first contact situation.

"We are... humbled. We do not shun the gods, but nor are we used to their attentions. We are at peace, we are not smote, we are content, yes?" With that, Àkriel was leading the way off of the beach and onto the boardwalks that served as roads leading up toward the homes and other structures on higher tiers of the small island. Some of these plank roads elided into wooden staircases leading to higher levels, whereas some homes seemed accessible only by climbing rope ladders that hung from upper tiers.

They made a winding path, which featured inclining roads and a few staircases but no ladders were necessary (not that Raithen would have required such a thing regardless). The path was well trod and it would be promptly apparent that they were heading to the highest point on the island.

"I am Archigós, yes." Àkriel confirmed at Raithen's question regarding his status amongst his people. "And you are Harbinger of Aværys of the Burning Sun? Please forgive our, um... lack of wisdom. We know this name is hallowed in the lands to our West, but we have little contact with the world without. I hope you will educate where we are ignorant." The chieftain glanced over his shoulder, where an impromptu parade of curiosity seekers trailed behind them on the winding path. It snaked all the way back to the beach upon which Raithen had first alighted. Àkriel smiled, seeming more amused than vexed by this incautious interest.

[Raithen]

The youth nodded, a smile splitting his face, these people seemed to appreciate simple things. Raithen appreciated things being as simple as they could be also. The reason why his god had sent him to this strange place in the middle of the perils of the ocean began to make a little more sense. Of course, if Avaerys had commanded it, there were reasons, no doubt as to that had ever entered him, but it was nice to sometimes know some of the why behind His Divine commands.

The circling and rising tiers of the settlement were far less worrisome to him then was the sea itself, in fact, the higher they went, the more comfortable he became. Rope nor ladder would proved issue for the athletic Avialae, should he need to use them in the future. It seemed more polite to literally follow Àkriel as they climbed, even when it was obvious where he was going, even if it would have been easier to take to the wing and wait for him at the top. The charismatic leader was more than pretty enough to interest Raithen, but without any idea of the customers and prejudices of the culture he refrained from showing the sort of interest that he might have had they met in a ballroom, or a tap room. While his baser instincts were strong, they did not control him unless he chose to let them.

"Harbinger," Speaking the word under his breath as though tasting it, seeing how he felt about it, he nodded after a moment. "I am His messenger."

Turning his attention back to the Archigós he looked around from the vantage of their new heights and said,

"I see wisdom here. Your people chose the life the suits them, there is wisdom in that. They choose a leader who is brave and open to new things, there is wisdom in that also. I will be happy to teach you. Perhaps you would be willing to teach me your wisdom as well?"

Raithen also seemed amused by the winding parade of interest he had incited, stopping to offer greetings as best he could to those who had stayed in the houses but now came out or peered out as they passed.