Deep End

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

“Deep End”
Somewhere Off the Coast of Sol’Valen
72 Glade, 124

A flurry of bubbles blubbered to the surface as matter was displaced below the surface of the waters of the Crystal Sea. Seabirds cried as three figures rose from that aquatic anomaly. The central figure was a fair-faced elf with light blue hair that was almost camouflaged against the pale blue waters from which he’d risen. Flanking him, were two Neptori with darker blue skin, freckled with pale constellations, their royal blue hair braided tightly and resting against their backs like reptilian tails. Beneath them, their cetacean mounts chittered and sang with excitement.

As his eyes adjusted to the air and light, Tyrann regarded the sprawling city in the distance. He hadn’t expected to have any particular emotional response to seeing the landed city, but in the here and now he found that some part of him was awed. He knew, intellectually, that this place was a parent realm of sorts to his own, but that hadn’t hit him until now. He supposed he expected to be underwhelmed, as he had been by the other landed cities he’d witnessed on his personal pilgrimage. This was the first place to make him feel like a pilgrim in earnest.

He rose higher as his mount lifted the bulk of his slender body above the surface, as to take in a breath of salty air through its blowhole. He clucked his tongue and patted the dorsal fin of his dolphin, setting the sea steed to darting through the waves toward his destination: Silfanore.

The three Neptori sped through the rolling waves, rising and falling with the motion of their mounts and Tyrann’s hair soon went from soaked to damp. They would proceed apace into the harbour, until such time as anyone saw fit to stop them, but any with the skill to Semble would recognise the children of the sea had come in peace. When they finally reached shore, they sent their dolphins to play, and stepped onto the land in scaled armour made of a metal that had been treated toward a pliancy that moved with them like a second skin. Their bodies were completely covered to the wrist, ankle and neck by this gleaming enchanted mail that seemed to refract light in a way that almost camouflaged their bodies to the naked eye. One might infer that this effect would be more pronounced underwater.

“I am Tyrann, Lord of the Surf and ambassador of The Empire Beneath the Waves. On behalf of the King of Tides, I request an audience with the Crown of Sol’Valen.”

[Hekatos]

The wards of Sol'Valen were not uniform, and the port of the Crown City was well regulated. Tyrann and his posse passed them underwater without a problem, but there were inaudible alarums. The first thing they saw was the modest Port City of Limánia, though parts of the city proper were visible to the northwest, where the Makrýs guarded the road up into the Kókkina mountains.

Stevedores stared, and a couple of nobles paused in their consumption of raw oysters and sparkling wine on a restaurant's balcony to observe. The harbormaster strode forward, flanked by soldiers. Her more quotidian attire was shrouded in flowing robes, all borrowing their colors from the sea and the sky from obvious blues, greens, and grays, to the subtle use of bolder colors in cloisonné accoutrements.

"Welcome to Limánia, Hinyar," she said. There was a brief pause, and then a portal opened behind her, irising outward to a size that would allow Tyrann and Co. to walk through three abreast without squeezing or breaking stride. The harbormaster and her guards stepped to the sides of the stone quay to allow them through.

"The royal palace awaits."

Crossing the threshold sent them two leagues to the northwest, whereupon they were greeted by a serene elf in an elegant, comfortable room whose open windows let in balmy sea breezes. He pointed out the comforts available to them in this room while they waited the king's schedule to open up.

"Would you like any refreshments brought up while you wait, Hinyar?" he asked. Though their visit was unannounced, Hytori hospitality was the best in the world, at least by their own estimation. In any case, the king would make time for them, but in his own good time, though they couldn't know whether he had yet been made aware of their presence.

Politics.

At least they would be made comfortable in the meantime.

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

Silver-white eyes appraised the surroundings, from beneath the stark, dark eyebrows and the platinum circlet uncrusted with cerulean gemstones. On terra firma, Tyrann stood tallest of his party, though not particularly tall by Hytori standards at 6’3. Without so much as a gesture, his sea soaked hair seemed to dismiss the bulk of the moisture that matted it down, and fell like soft silk against his shoulders as the water turned to mist and dissipated into the air.

He inclined his head to the unidentified figure, even as his eyes darted to the bystanders and onlookers that his appearance seemed to have diverted somewhat. Then there was a portal and his attention shifted to the vista beyond its ring. He stepped through, unconsciously retracting the webbing from bare hands and feet as the latter touched cold tile.

He took a moment to observe the surroundings, wondering at how old this place was. He was no student of architecture landed nor subaquatic, so whatever guesses he made internally were informed more by assumption and knowledge of elven history than they were based on craftsmanship.

At the offer of refreshment, he nodded firmly.

“I would welcome the bread and salt of your land.” In truth, Ambassador Tyrann didn’t know whether such guest rites were observed in contemporary Sol’Valen, but he certainly expected the insinuation to be inferred that he’d come in peace and sought the protections of a diplomats.

“And if you expect the wait will be protracted, I wouldn’t say no to a carafe of wine.” He noted with a playful smile and dancing eyes. He looked to his honour guard, executed a series of hand gestures, and all three seated themselves.

[Hekatos]

A table was soon laden with bread and with salt, with fruits of the land and with fruits of the sea, cool water from mountain springs, a pot of tea, and yes, plenty of wine. Music meandered in through the open casements, faint enough to be ignored as pleasant ambiance, but if attention and appreciation were paid, it would seem to swell in volume and clarity such that it could be better appreciated.

The room was, in fact, perfectly comfortable. However, as the Ambassador of the Tides hadn't come with news of war or similar catastrophe upon his lips, the king's schedule had been shifted, but his meeting with Hytori luminaries hadn't been truncated. By the antique clock, it was little more than an hour and half before the elf returned to lead them out of the room and into the royal presence.

Ailuin Sol'Eilran awaited him in a modest audience chamber. His throne-like chair was substantial, seemingly carved out of one piece but also made of several media--stone, wood, bone, coral, among others. Even the keenest eye would have to draw near to appreciate the intricacy of the carving. Perhaps some beauties were meant for royal eyes alone. The king himself was a pale flame limned in gold, green eyes dreaming even as they gazed upon his submarine guests. A younger elf with some striking resemblance stood behind and to the side of his chair, hand resting upon the back as if he meant to bend down and whisper in his father's ear. Diverse others were present, though not enough to cramp the room.

"Your Majesty," intoned their guide in a sonorous voice, "may I introduce His Excellency, Sir Tyrann Xekourássi, Lord Ambassador of the Tidal Nation and Knight Aquatic of Caerulia."

The elf on the throne seemed quite comfortable there, and his gaze gave the impression that he saw too much, though he was engaged in no active magical assessment of them insofar as they could tell.

"Be welcome, Your Excellency, to the Crown City of Silfanore."

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

"It is not as I expected, here..." Tyrann melodically mused in his native language of sing-song words complemented by physical gestures. He spoke softly and used Alteration to mask the the dialogue to some degree, though if any local observers were, for some reason, actually familiar with the Nepthal language, his arcane efforts would not shirk their ken. This was a conscious choice, on his part, but his eldritch efforts extended to his companions as they replied.

"What is that creature quietly wailing nearby?" Elios inquired, his dark blue brow knitted in concern, as Tyrann blithely broke off a bit of bread, sprinkled it with salt and dipped it into a dish of herbed oil.

"Surely the cry of some land leviathan..." Heronas surmised, eliciting a smirk from Tyrann.

"This is the music of the land... The Dirtdwellers have instruments that operate by pushing air through the mechanisms, and strong lungs with which to use them." Tyrann had spent more time amongst his Coastal kin than his full-blooded Tidal guards. Such music was not so alien to those who split time between sand and sea, though this was far different to any he had heard hitherto this occasion. The three Neptori did indulge, though only modestly, in the offered fare, though only Tyrann partook of the wine. He nursed just one cupful for the entire wait, only downing the last of it upon being informed that it was time for his audience.

Rising, Tyrann felt a strange and relatively unfamiliar sensation roil in the pit of his stomach. This was a passing rare occasion, but as he pondered whether he was reacting poorly to the refreshments, he recognised it for what it was: Nervousness. This feeling only burgeoned as he padded into the throne room and regarded the strange, imposing scene before him. When his people had been landed themselves, they had been subjects to this very seat of state. He felt like a child stepping before their estranged Archontas for the first time as an adult.

Tyrann bowed.

"Your Majesty." He said, his awe unaugmented by any theatrics for there was no need.

[Hekatos]

"To what do we owe this rare pleasure?" he asked.

There was no recrimination in his voice, but merely curiosity. The Hytori were notoriously aloof, and the Neptori were not exactly promoting tourism. The closest to a permanent envoy was a mysterious figure that Tyrann might meet at some later date were he to remain long enough, or perhaps the ambassador from Auris.

The king's wasn't the only curiosity to be sated, though his was the most important. The Phoenix King's presence was not augmented by any discernible magic; perhaps that was why his majesty was the more overawing. Even his lowliest subjects might make eye contact with him at a public feastday, but sitting upon this lesser of his thrones, he was the prince of princes, sovereign of the bounded empire and only he knew how many of the ancient secrets of their ancient people remained in his keeping.

Ailuin Sol'Eilran seemed to embody the stories of the Age of Dreams, perhaps because he was also the dream king, a known oneiromancer. The magic was rare enough that one might assume he kenned the dreams of all; certainly, he was not forthcoming with the powers and limitations of his Craft.

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

Tyrann lifted his head, if not his eyes, and parted his lips to answer the king's question in a full voice with a gravely serious expression.

"I come on behalf of my esteemed parent, Tryvic the Enlightened, King of Tides, High Chieftain of the Tidal Nation and Grand Steward of Caerulia... Descended of Trimander, heir to Nepthalia and bearer of the Caerulian Sceptre." With all that out, he cracked a wry smile.

"I think that's everything." He dismissed his amused expression, to reply in earnest: "We of the seas have long stood aloof of the landed folk... Occasionally our peoples might cross paths amidst the waves, but whatever exchanges, for good or ill, have always been isolated to those involved. Our official policy has been avoidance. My people covet not your realms, nor have we feared that your empires might make incursions into ours... inhospitable as they are to the bulk of the landed population.

"I was designated as the emissary for I am of the belief that there is, nevertheless, value to be found in exploring relationships with the great powers of the land." Tyrann hadn't the audacity to say, outright, that this entire exploit was his personal passion project... He would give all official credit to his Archontas, the king, and yet the truth of it was that he had persuaded his doting parent toward this end, rather than being assigned the mission as he'd implied. He'd fought for it. He would, however say:

"I have been granted a great deal of freedom in how I pursue this path and with whom I initiate dialogues. I will freely confess that, in my research and preparations, I have found this realm to be among the most formidable of the Landed Realms. I hope you will regard our envoy as a compliment to your state." He noted, with a flourishing bow.

[Hekatos]

"Then we accept it in the spirit with which it is given," he acknowledged with a gracious nod. His smile lingered; the mantle of multiple titles could indeed grow cumbersome. The king of Sol'Valen knew that as well as anyone.

"Yea, we too have kept aloof from our cousins in the deeps, as well as the other races. To each their own sovereignty. We can assist in finding a place for an embassy suitable to your needs, and I am certain you would be welcomed in the courts of the other princes should you so desire."

In fact, this was already in the works behind the scenes, the better to shock and awe their submarine guests—one of the nicer villas in the Enclave, complete with an impressive salt water aquarium and a salt water swimming pool, which ought to make them feel more at home.

That said, the sovereign rose elegantly from his throne and stepped down from the dais. He was quite tall, with an presence that unnerved many a steel-willed suppliant. His son, the red-headed Sorononar followed with an ancient ceremonial rhyton carved and adorned from the horn of some fabulous beast.

"You have partaken of our bread and salt, now let us share wine." The younger prince placed it in his father's hands. Ailuin nodded to Tyrann, drank deep, and held it out to the foreign lord. His lips remained a touch darker for the dark, robust wine. Murmurs ran through the assembled; silence was not required. But their king was showing great hospitality to a foreigner. It wasn't wrong, but it was remarked upon, although too quietly for the envoy to hear.

Likely they would hear about it later.

[Tyrann Xekourassi]

Tyrann arose from his bow. He was rather tall himself, significantly more so than his honour guard whose skin and hair were of darker blue hues. Tyrann's complexion was of a pearly pallour that might have suited a Siltori, but for that subtle tinge of aqua that glinted in certain light. His hair was a miniature seascape with rolling waves of light blue that seemed to flow from the beach of his brow.

"It is not lost on me that we are descended of this place... Before the former empire was boundless, we were her colony and after she was once again bound, we were altered by the strange realm we called home and took to the waters. Perhaps the bonds are too distant to bear significance after so much time, but we are, after a fashion, cousin cultures and many of the old ways are upheld beneath the sea."

Tyrann inclined his head in gratitude at the offer of an embassy,

"That would be most generous. While I am better built for lengthy landed stays and my guards have conditioned themselves toward more time in the open air, the bulk of our people rarely leave the waters. I've no doubt Your Majesty's people have encountered many members of the other Neptori Nations, but we of the Reefs and Trenches have additional challenges." The which he was working to overcome, but that was not something he was prepared to broadcast for the moment.

Tyrann seemed no less surprised than the courtiers, when he was approached by the monarch. If he'd been given any instructions as to the expected decorum by the attendants who conducted him into the presence chamber, he'd have been certain to execute them to the best of his formidable abilities.

"Μεγαλειότατε." He replied, accepting the rhyton into both hands and lifting it to meet his lips. He was nervous to tip it back, and yet he did, drinking a few, hearty gulps in hopes of smoothing out the fears that this place imposed.

[Hekatos]

The ritual complete, Ailuin took the rhyton and handed it back to his son. There was scattered applause, and no doubt the buzz of conversations were wondering what this could portend. The king was mysterious to his own people even when he walked among them, smiling, kissing babies, and the like. The mystique of the Dream King was a sort of strength the elves relied upon.

He made small talk with Tyrann and the tides of elven bodies closed up around them. Perhaps they wondered whether Ailuin intended to bring their salt-blooded cousins back into the fold somehow; perhaps they wondered whether this was a bid to speed up access to lost Daemora; perhaps they wondered what other schemes beyond their ken the king might be about.

Some important introductions were made, and wine had been passed out among those there gathered. Eventually, Tyrann was entertaining other notables and the king withdrew to observe from his throne, his son holding quiet conversation with him. Even Tyrann's companions were welcomed. Questions were asked, compliments given, and perhaps they did feel as though they were long lost relatives being brought back into the family.