Bearing an Olive Branch

[Finn]

The Ecithian Border
1st of Glade, 124 Annus Ferro

If it was strange. The Eclipse had passed. Finn could only guess at the conversations happening back in the population centers of Solunarium, in the halls of power, on the streets, but none of this had postponed his mission. At dawn, he had saddled Kherdroth and flown west along the valley of the mighty Vasta. Beneath his hand and, at times, his Command, the wyvern had taken him to the border, which was visually muddled now, though he could feel the edge of Aværys' dominion on a soul-deep level.

Kherdroth landed for a time, resting while Finn surveyed the strange sight. He knew that some parts of the border had been penetrated by Ecithian flora and fauna, moving toward the light of Aværys' Sceptre. But here, the Ecithian river was a mere trickle of its former torrent, and the swamps were dry. Not Solunarian by birth, he bore no ill will toward the Orkhan, and felt a pang of compassion for their year of struggles. Perhaps their Holy Trinity had interceded on their behalf as the Divine Twins had for the Re'hyæan elves and their Vastian subjects.

Perhaps it was his Kalzasern mother-culture that made him the appropriate Sentinel for this diplomatic mission.

Kherdroth arose once more into the air, beating sand into the air. They flew down into the valley and landed just short of the border. He removed saddlebags and saddle, sending the wyvern off to hunt. For himself, he set up a sun shade, drove a portable flagpole into the sand. It bore the standard of the Umbrian crown, as well as a flag requesting parley. Orkhan patrols along this section of the border were numerous in normal times; he hoped they would not have fallen into disuse during the Eclipse.

Beneath the shade, he pulled out a small zither, plucking out random melodies with the butterfly picks Hilana had gifted him, waiting. He had a week's worth of rations. If no one came to speak to him in that time, he could open a portal to the larders for more supplies, and then he would cross the border and fly to Drathera, hoping his flags would be respected.

A Sentinel faced danger undaunted.

[Finn]

This Sentinel waited, making music for the borderlands and any ʿafārīt who might be listening from the sun-blasted desert winds. It was good to practice with nothing else demanding his time and attention but waiting and watching the horizon. Some had marveled at how quickly he picked up the zither, the lyre, and other stringed instruments. Certainly, he would always be more facile with the lute, but other instruments of similar design might be tuned different, their technique slightly different, but they were close enough that he could manage.

It would be another matter if he were to pick up a reeded instrument or attempt percussion. His mouth was accustomed to making noise without an instrument, though he understood rhythm and could probably pick up most percussive instruments with relative ease, as well, albeit not at the same level of expertise. He had been hinting to Arvælyn that he would like a proper pianoforte; his husband had a dragon prince's coffers at his disposal, after all. And he was going to master that sacred pipe organ one of these days.

He wondered which instrument he should expose Syrena to first. Perhaps he could even instruct her alongside Ciarán, who had asked him recently which instrument would make him look 'sexy,' which Finn took to mean he wanted another means to get laid, though he didn't seem to have much trouble doing that given his relation to the husband of one of the Umbrium's luminaries.

Eventually, Kherdroth returned, sated. He even brought some of his fresh kill for Finn.

"So thoughtful," he purred, knowing tone of voice carried more meaning to the wyvern than the words themselves. He caressed the creature with his Mesmer, and rubbed at difficult to reach places behind its horns to make him purr in response.

Finn pulled the necessaries from saddlebags, and soon had a fresh steak sizzling on his camp stove. Kherdroth watched, curious. His kind preferred meat raw, but that didn't stop him from accepting seared treats from his rider. Not knowing whether an emissary from Ecith would appear at any given moment, he was careful to eat like a civilized human, envying his mount for being able to snap treats out of the air. He augmented his entree with vegetables and pita from his packs, and cleaned up after himself. He wouldn't leave rubbish out to mar the pristine austerity of the desert, though he did throw a few inedible scraps into a nearby thatch of scrubby brush and grasses. There might be scavengers who would enjoy fat and gristle.

The Sentinel stood, stretched, and walked over to the precipice to gaze under his shadowing hand toward the green jungles beyond Atraxia. Kherdroth watched, wondering whether Finn was going to leap and attempt to fly on his own. But when he sighed and returned to his sun shade, the wyvern settled in for a nap, cat-like in the sunlight.

The sketchbook he used for his map making was getting full. Given this time, he tried to lay out what he had seen on the flight here. The visual arts were not his forte, but his cartographic shorthand worked well enough for the time being. He would compare his sketches to more professional maps in the Sentinel archives, using those to correct himself and hopefully increase his skill. He could also alert people if he had seen anything that wasn't on the map in case it wanted further investigation.

That didn't happen often, but it did happen. If he saw something, he would say something.

When he had mostly plumbed the depths of his memory for the trip, he began to sketch what he saw from his high purchase. He thought perhaps he was a bit better for the drawing of maps. His hand was bolder, surer, now that he had taken chances, learned to make mistakes and then fix them rather than make no progress at all. A piece of paper felt a bit more permanent than notes lingering in the air, but he had tried to parlay his native talents and learned skills into new things: writing music to drawing maps to attempting amateurish landscapes; blacksmithing at his mother's side to wrestling flesh to his will rather than steel to dancing with swords. He certainly wasn't the man Arvine Venasyr had met in Kazasi—or Kalzasi; he was so used to hearing the Solunarian mistake now.

He laughed to himself. Kherdroth snoozed, offering a little snort in his sleep.

When the sun finally began to flag, falling toward the western horizon, he took out a small compact and opened it to a mirror. Into its reflective surface, he wove the threads of the slipspace until a portal for images opened and he was able to open a line of communication between him. At first, he had only been able to see through them. This would have been sufficient as there were hand signals used to pass information between Silver Sentinels. Thankfully, he had learned that the point of connection, the plane between here and there could be manipulated into vibrating. Voices, all sounds, were mere vibrations. Thus, he had managed to work out how to speak through his windows.

"Sentinel Finn reporting from the border with the Ecithian Commonwealth," he said. "I have been here, flags displayed, for over six hours now. I saw patrols, but they would not come to me. Shall I cross the border without an invitation?"

"Salve, Viator," came an androgynous voice from across vast distances. "You should return to Solunarium. Your orders have changed. If they will not answer a flag of parley, then other arrangements must needs be made."

Finn wanted to ask questions, but he knew better than that. Instead, he nodded.

"I come."

"We wait."

With that, he passed his hand over the mirror and dispelled his little enchantment.

"Wake up, Scales," he said to Kherdroth, twining a bit of Mesmer into the beast's symphony to gently rouse it from sleep. It didn't take him long to pack what he had laid out—his sun shade, zither, papers. Everything went carefully into the saddlebags, and he replaced the harness onto the patient wyrmling.

"Don't worry," he said. "Moons won't cast enough light to make the long flight home worth it for surveying and surveilling. We will take a shortcut."

The beast nuzzled at his hand, and then he hoisted himself up into the harness, securing himself and then silently commanding flight.

Kherdroth shambled toward the edge of the precipice and jumped, wings spreading like sails not to catch the wind outright, but to angle the dive into a graceful dip and then back up, flapping for altitude. The canny creature found and caught a thermal current of air and everything was easy. They turned toward home, and Finn reached out to it from this side of the desert. Far ahead, he connected a point with a point on the outskirts of the Luxium, and a portal tore open the sky.

Unfazed, the wyvern flew to it, through it, and then they were flying over the city walls.

It wasn't a failure, but they would pause and reconsider. He didn't know if he would be called upon for the other arrangements, but it didn't matter.

Only Solunarium mattered.

[Hekatos]

Review

Ecithian-Solunarian relations have gone in a different direction and now Aegis is MIA, so 8 xp in solo points are yours!