Legend of Ransera

“Assuming we leave on the thirtieth,” Phocion reiterated, “Your deadline to finalise your team is…” He paused, as if actively seeking to heighten the drama of the moment, though his muted expression lacked any inherent theatricality. “…the thirtieth.” He day back in his chair, his posture relaxing somewhat.

“You understand the parameters of your assignment. Anything I have not made clear in this briefing should be detailed in the dossier you will receive upon departing. I will not micromanage your endeavours. I have faith in your capabilities. And if that faith proves to be misplaced, you will be supplanted by another who is more deserving.” He tilted his head to one side and there might have been a glint of playfulness in his silver eyes.

“But I doubt it will come to that.” He lifted a hand from his lap to gesture broadly to the surrounding office.

“If the dossier yields any further questions, I am at your disposal.” The gesticulating hand closed into a fist and fell lightly onto the desktop. “At least to the extent that my other tasks permit.” If the Principalus sought too much hand holding, it would not bode well for their future collaborations, after all.

“Ah.” The hand that was visible on the desk relaxed and then tightened its grip in a slow, steady pumping motion.

“You were recommended for this assignment by High Sentinel Cithæra.” So weighty a name to be uttered so blithely. Æden would know that High Sentinel Cithæra was none other than Her Serene Highness, the Master Sembler. It was merely one in her arsenal of titles and, being as it pertained to this particular order, even a member of the princely class just below Her Divine Radiance, was afforded no further honorific than ‘High Sentinel’. It was, in fact, the only rank in the whole of the Silver Sentinels aside from simply ‘Sentinel’. At least as these things were understood by people who were not Sentinels themselves.

Æden nodded as Phocion further elaborated the parameters, of which there were none — his deadline was the day they left, which meant he was trusted to prepare and select the guard himself completely. He had ultimate faith in himself, and he knew he was capable of the assignment. A smug smile crept on his face as Phocion said the very same thing aloud. He would not be supplanted, because he knew he was the best choice for the endeavor.

That he had been noticed by the Master Sembler herself was both surprising and hardly a surprise at all. He knew, as Starborn, he was more prevalent in the public eye than the average member of the Golden Guard. There lay the fact that he was held to a higher standard by the populace than most anyone else, and he held himself to a standard more strict than even that. Of course he was known by those who held more status than him; it was only sensible that an eye was kept on the Platinum. Still, to hear such a fact so casually caused no small amount of his ego to swell. It meant he was doing well enough to be chosen specifically. If there were someone more deserving of the task, they would have surely been given it. He, however, said none of his thoughts on the revelation aloud.

"If that is all you require of me, I will take my leave." Sentinel Phocion may not have dismissed him directly, but he was also part of an entirely separate entity. He seemed efficient, at the very least, and he doubted the man would take offense to him leaving when their conversation was ended. He moved the chair back and stood up, allowing little time for Phocion to say anything more before he left.

Silver eyes scanned that hallowed visage. To his gaze it seemed so open. So legible. So young. Phocion was quite young himself by Elven standards, but he’d never felt it. The weight of expectation had aged his soul early on, and he brooked a bit of wistfulness at the guileless response Æden projected- as clear as the North Star on a clear, Atraxian evenide. Would that he could know the sense of pride that this boy felt. Personal ambition eluded one whose fate was so carefully designed. He’d already read his own story from cover to cover. This trip to Kalzasi would be a welcome deviation but one that he expected to be, on the whole, unremarkable.

“As you wish.” Sentinel Phocion inclined his head in acknowledgement of the request. He stood and pushed his chair back. It might have looked as though he would walk the Principalus to the door, but instead he pivoted and returned to the spot at his window- looking out over the Undercity. Could one call it a skyline in a realm with no sky?

His hands were at his sides, fingers rolling like little rockslides- pinky to index finger again and again until he heard the door shut behind Æden, and then his fidgeting stopped abruptly. The conceit was no longer necessary now that he was alone.

Both hands shot up to the glass and he pressed his palms against the cool surface, clenching his eyes tightly shut and grinding his teeth. It was exhausting to temper so tempestuous a heart as Phocion’s at length. Managing every utterance… every twitch of the eye and clench of the fist. He envied this Æden. Born with a single distinction and committed to work under the light of the blessed sun, whilst Phocion was resigned to shadow. Playing out the pages of his script, as the Vastii would say, ‘ad infinitum.’

End

Lore:

Æden:
(TBD)

Experience Points: 15 (Not for magic)

Injuries/Ailments:
None

Loot: Dossier on diplomatic mission to Kalzasi with reference materials on the local culture there.

Notes: It seems that Æden has garnered the attention of the Princeps Sibylla.