out of the fire

[Talon]

D A E M O N

A person did not walk down a path of such misery on their own. He recalled the first remarks that Aeros had spoken to him upon waking. They were not comments of gratitude or shock. They had been the words of man imploring him to finish what the beasts in the wilds had started. What kind of life had this man led to coerce such a request out of him in a moment of open vulnerability? The hollow look in Aeros eyes said more perhaps than his words did.

“Strength is found in surprising places for those with the will to find it.” It was not a commentary on Aeros personal strength, though he might have taken it as such. Talon simply reflected on all that he had seen. He had seen ordinary men do incredible things. He had seen good men do selfish things. He had seen scoundrels perform selfless deeds. People were seldom completely what they seemed and possessed depths that could be surprising. He hoped he would not lose sight of that as the days progressed.

“Wise words.” He gave the hint of a smirk as Aeros made his commentary about balance. “I suspect you will see most of my gifts as we progress toward the more impressive matches.”

He listened as Aeros spoke on the perspective about magic. The expectation that many people should have a rune of magic was surprising to him. It was a stark contrast to most views in even some of the most liberally arcane societies in the north. Even there, magic was something treated with a severity of opinion as to be less loved and more cautiously respected. As a result, it was far considerably more rare among the common populace who still benefited from its use. At the offer to indulge him, he did not miss the playfulness in Aeros tone.

“Hm.” He gave by way of affirmation of the playfulness. He listened as the man spoke on his fluencies. He knew that Vastien had elvish roots or perhaps he was confusing that for another Solunarian dialect? His reading into the language had not been entirely clear as to its origins. Vallenor and Valasren he was familiar with.

“Vallenor, I am familiar with. Vastien is the predominant language here, yes? If you would share it, I would like to learn it. If you are willing to…indulge me. I am certain that your skills will make for an excellent teacher but I am a fast learner as well.” He looked back to the beach as the sound of more elevated breathing reached his ears. Mathias returned to them, very much wet and looking much better.

“That was wonderful.” He plopped down onto the sands, sending water droplets everywhere. He brushed some of his hair out of his face and looked at the circle that Talon was stretched out in. As soon as he saw it, his eyes brightened.

“Scrivening?” Talon nodded as he resumed his more meditative pose. He motioned for Mathias to seat himself more directly in front of him. He then gestured for Aeros to join as well. As soon as both men were in front of him, he brushed his fingers over the sands and one of the symbols rose up from the earth. It hovered in the air as a collection of the sands.

“This is called a Mirror. Its purpose is to absorb magic directed at it, copy it, and reflect it back in the direction it came.” Suspended as the sands were by his manipulation of aether through elementalism, he had no compunction about demonstrating. Gesturing lightly with one hand he sent a small dart of flame into the symbol made from his arcane sands. The sands were illuminated by the fire for a moment before the symbol absorbed it and then spat the small flame dart back out. It flew back to the palm of the hand that Talon had cast it from. The flames landed in his palm. He closed his hand extinguishing them.

“It is a basic symbol of Scrivening that helps form the foundation of its broader concepts.” To Mathias he spoke. “You already know that pictographs require that they be awoken to the presence of aether, the ability to manipulate the forces of magic. This is achieved through the use of either a sorcerer’s own aether or a tool imbued with the ability to do so. Sorcerer’s Sand and Spellwright’s Ink are examples of substances already awoken in this fashion and are thus primed for use in magical writing.”

He was not certain what Aeros knew so the brief summary of one of Scrivening’s underlying principles was harmless. If the man already knew it, it was a refresher. If not, he had learned something new.

“What I have not explained is that the shape of the symbols you draw with pictography are irrelevant. The symbols are made magical based on the intent the wizard drew them with and in the manner they are awoken to the presence of aether.” He nodded to the Mirror symbol. “I drew this with the intent for it to be a Mirror and awoke it to the presence of aether with that intent. Thus, that is its purpose.”

Mathias looked momentarily confused.

“Then…how do I read something like a magic scroll?” It was a good question.

“Those who are in possession of the Runes of Magic can channel their aether into motion allowing them to tap into the aether of Scrivening sigils and glyphs. Upon doing so and after careful study, the meaning behind the symbols will become clear as your aether harmonizes with the aether of the symbols. This will impart understanding in time. Those not in possession of a rune of magic can either utilize an aura reading tool, trust the word of the scroll maker or find out the exciting way. That is a reason why reputable scroll makers often advise taking time to study their works before using them.” He made a lifting motion with his hand and caused another sandy symbol to rise up from the earth.

“This is called a Path. It is exactly that. A pathway constructed for aether to follow, giving it a new direction as opposed to simply reflecting it back in the direction it came.” Again he demonstrated by joining two pathways to the mirror he had created so that they were pointing downwards. He flicked another dart of flame at the symbols. It was promptly absorbed and instead of bouncing back to his palm it passed through the sands and was deposited onto the ground. The flames spread out in a small ring before Talon passed his hand over them causing them to dissipate.

“Questions so far?”

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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► Show Spoiler

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At first, Æros' eyes narrowed at the comment Dæmon made with regards to strength, but he forced himself to pause and evaluate facial expression and vocal tone. The half-elf was so very used to people demeaning and belittling him that the moment he stepped back to think about it, his companion lacked any ire, malice, mockery, condescension, arrogance, annoyance, impatience or any of the other emotions which bore fangs. Perhaps the comment was meant to be…encouraging? Or perhaps it was merely meant to say that when forced to one's limits, desperation can uncover hidden strength. Either way, the Fæ's expression relaxed, realizing he had not been spoken down to. It was nice, at least, that he was able to resist the urge to snap react to his initial emotions.

Breathing out, he responded to the comment with a subtle smile, features softening. Though he did laugh a bit when lauded for his wisdom; he'd been told before that he gave good advice– his problem was simply that he ignored pretty much all of it when it came to himself. The irony was as funny as it was sad.

"I do hope to one day see all you have to offer," a comment made with expression fox-like and an impish sort of mischief in his voice.

Æros observed carefully the other man's features as he spoke, trying to glean what he could from what little was offered in terms of emotion. Oh, how he missed simply being able to feel what another felt through their Symphony. He could be a lot lazier when it came to utilizing his own perception that way, but alas.

However, the Færie's smile did grow just a bit brighter at the acknowledgement of his flirtatious commentary; even the most subtle of reciprocations are meaningful from people such as this. It's the small victories that count, as some would say.

"Correct, Vastien is the primary language, though nearly every elf you'll meet speaks Vallenor and many of our human population do as well," at first, he spoke informative.

And though he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, he nonetheless finished his thought, "...and like I said, I am more than happy to indulge whatever whims you may have," voice having dipped into something more flirtatious, weaving a sort of faux innocence into his words that made him come across coquettish, even.

Mathias likely heard him, yet Æros regarded the boy with a smile whilst maintaining his facade of innocence, as if he meant nothing by the comment when he very clearly did.

At Dæmon's suggestion, the half-elf also moved a bit closer to the ring in the sand. He gave the demonstrations his rapt attention, always happy to learn from another mage, provided they were an amiable teacher. Which, from what he could tell, the man before him was.

In the past, Æros had learned most of what was taught; however, that was…several years past by this point. Having the information repeated was nice as it resurrected those old memories and served to cement them anew. This time, he hoped to be able to actually start picking up the skill himself before the sands of time started to wear anything away.

When asked if he had any questions, "no, actually, your clarity has brought back memories I thought were long dead. It's just as interesting this time as it was back then, too." Well, the information was. And this time he had a prettier instructor– how could he complain?

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Talon]

D A E M O N

Whether Mathias heard Aeros comment or not, he seemed to keep it to himself. The lesson continued as Talon spoke on the concepts of a Convergence, a Continuum, the Vortex and finally the culmination of varying forms of pictograph symbols brought together through Scrivening, the Glyph. As the lesson drew to a close, he let the sands fall back into place and after watching Mathias draw a few of the symbols in the sands, then guiding him in how to awaken them to aether, he was satisfied that the basic concepts were at least in the young man’s grasp. He floated between assisting Mathias and encouraging Aeros to participate where he saw the desire to.

“Excellent. When I am confident in your grasp of Scrivening, we will move on to the basics of Alchemy.” Talon looked up to the skies and upon seeing that the sun was dipping lower in the horizon, he knew it was time to go out in search of the underground fighting rings.

“Isn’t alchemy brewing potions? As in, with a cauldron or something?” Mathias looked both intrigued and perplexed by the prospect. Talon chuckled.

“Alchemy is the transmutation of substances. Potions are part of it but there is a much broader scope of what alchemy can perform.” He hopped to his feet and with a wave of his hand, the sands in the ground shifted, dispelling the circle he had created. With a flick of his thoughts, his sandals returned along with the rest of his attire. Mathias drew on his clothes and Talon grabbed his cloak along with other belongings. When it seemed all of them were ready to go, he looked to Aeros.

“By your leave, Dominus.” He gave a slight bow at the waist then followed along as Aeros led them to the meeting place discussed earlier in the day.

---

It had looked to be a warehouse of some sort when they arrived at sundown. Stepping into the interior of the building had revealed that the inside was largely open space. Three floors looked down to a central fighting ring that was cordoned off from observers with rope. The fighter’s pit was filled with sand that looked to be freshly raked. Men and women both were clambering over each other to get a closer look at the two fighters who were entering the ring at that moment. One of them was a bear of a man with thick muscles, a layer of hair over his body and a beard that was unkempt. He was going up against a younger man who was not as thick but who looked built more for dexterity than anything else.

When they had arrived, he had received more than a few looks. Whether that was because of his size or other attributes, he did not know nor did he truly care. He was not there to dwell on the thoughts of the crowd more than he had to. He watched as the leaner man had successfully tripped the bearlike man and was know grappling with one of his arms. There was a sickening pop and snap as the sound of breaking bone drifted to his ears. The bearlike man howled in pain. The crowd roared in excitement.

“Looks like they take the “blood” part of blood sports seriously.” Mathias commented, his tone laced with mild worry.

“Yes.” There was a slight frown on his face. He did not quite know how he felt about seriously injuring opponents who he already knew were going to be far weaker than himself. When they had arrived to the booking table, he had let Aeros do the talking.

The bookie had taken a long look over him, from head to toe, and had blinked before telling Aeros that since he was clearly a mage, he would be fighting in the mage bouts. They were going to be fought toward later in the night as a few precautions needed to be taken that went beyond the normal fights. He had been more than amenable to that. It would give him a chance to observe. He watched as the dextrous man was slammed onto the ground, then kicked in his side as he scrambled to his feet. There were cheers. There were cries for more brutal displays. Those calls were answered as the leaner man managed to jump onto the bearlike man’s back and begin choking him from behind. He watched as the bigger man struggled to breathe until finally he went down and the crowd roared. The lean man had won.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Now is time for the hour you’ve been waiting for!” People began moving away from the central fighting ring as the staff began setting up a wider perimeter. He watched them stick what looked to be various lamps in a wide circle. A cursory glance revealed them to be ward lamps. They were creating a containment field. Magic would not cross the threshold but it would not interfere with the casting of it within that perimeter.

“Looks like you’re up.” He felt Mathias nudge his arm. Talon looked at Aeros, giving the man a nod.

“Dominus.” He bowed slightly to Aeros then squeezed Mathias shoulder before stepping forward. The announcer in the center of the ring gestured to not one but two fighters approaching on the opposite side. Two. That had not been expected. Not that it mattered to him. He would deal with them all the same.

“Returning tonight are a pair of crowd favorites, put your hands together for Lycaer the Windfury and Nikopol the Infernal!” Talon eyed the two entering the ring. Based on their introduction he took them for elementalists. Lycaer was a leaner man. There was a jagged scar across his torso that also glowed as though it were a bolt of lightning. Beside him was a dark skinned man that was more muscular. Around his left forearm there was a marking that looked to be tongues of flame.

“And now, a new challenger!” He stepped forward and nimbly hopped over the rope of the ring, landing lightly in the sands. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Daemon!”

He reached up and took off his cloak, showing his face and features in full for the crowd to see. He saw a brief widening of eyes from Nikopol. Lycaer frowned. He heard more than a few gasps from the crowd as his silver-white hair, elven features and the silver-white markings upon his body were revealed.

“Now, remember fighters, give us a show!” The announcer jogged off the sands, raised his hand, then dropped it. “Fight!”

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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Dæmon was both a knowledgeable and patient instructor, so it would seem. Æros appreciated this since it allowed him to comfortably ask questions without the concern of being treated like an idiot for not instantly understanding something. While he actually had few teachers do that, his family certainly did, and thus he was particularly sensitive to being spoken to that way.

Regarding alchemy, "a friend of mine plies that trade. He does have potions but from what I recall, one has many more options in how their product manifests than that." Alchemy was fascinating, really, serving as a bridge between magic and chemistry in infinitely useful ways. Æros spoke with no attempt to hide his delight at the subject.

After wiping away the pictographs in the sand, Dæmon summoned what pieces of attire he had sent away and spoke, indicating his readiness to leave. With the sun drawing low in the sky, Tertium's evening activities would soon begin, indeed.

…….

As the party of three entered their destination, Æros paid no mind to his surroundings. Though he did not choose to spend much of his time in fighting rings, he nonetheless saw them as a normal facet of life here and passed very little judgment on the ways in which they were run. However, he did notice all of the eyes that they attracted as they wove through the veritable sea of onlookers. Such a thing was not altogether unexpected, all things considered. Æros, being Fæ-ethalan, always drew attention to himself due to the strange vibrance of his appearances and he kept peoples' eyes as they saw the hints of his elven blood dotted across his features. In this case, he stood beside a veritable giant who, for all intents and purposes, looked to be one of high standing as well due the elven traits he bore. Their eye-catching attributes together as they walked alongside one another made the trio as a whole a very odd sight, indeed– especially in a place like this.

To Mathias' comment, "do they not elsewhere?"
Æros would find such a thing odd. Wasn't that part of the point?

However, he was not able to dwell on the thought as the group neared the booking table. Stepping forward, Æros engaged the man in Vastien, conveying the fact that he was here on behalf of the very large man that stood behind him. More specifically, to vouch for him as he was not a native of Solunarium. The bookie quirked a brow at both men, perplexed by how odd they both were, but he didn't make his opinions on the matter known.

With the mention of his family's name and a display of the signet upon his ring, the man would appear to nod as if in understanding. Then, he stared at Dæmon with a bit more conviction before he notated something on a sheet of paper in front of him, writing a few sentences total. As he did so, Æros made a comment that pulled hearty laughter out of the bookie and the elf grinned.

Though he'd opened himself to the other's Symphony, his only cast was Overture. Conveniently, this man was amiable enough and was willing to talk and hear out his requests without having to meddle with his mind. He held no qualms about using magic when necessary but it was always simpler if somebody was easy to talk to from the start.

Once their conversation ended, he turned back toward his companions, "...so! As I expected, they have mages sorted to fight with one another. And as far as I understand, most of those scheduled tonight are endowed with magic. Thus, we needn't wait long. They'll alter the arena for the transition and," pausing for effect, "...congratulations! You're the first bout of the night for the mage group."

With that, Æros moved to lead the others nearer to the edge of the ring, thus granting Dæmon a shorter path, and one less crowded, to the ring when his time came. One nice thing was that people naturally would appear to move out of their way; since both of them looked like men of status, most of the spectators afforded them the respect such a thing warranted. That's before one accounted for the fact that the stature of a man who has surpassed seven feet tall is…very intimidating to most, too.

Looking now towards the two fighters currently in the ring for the first time since entering, Æros stared forward, expression impassive. As he did so, he slipped a hand into his pocket, acquired something and then consumed whatever he'd collected before bringing his arms to rest across his chest. He did this so casually that it would be easy not to notice if one weren't paying attention.

Eyes of gold scanning the room, he would want to find something to drink, too. While he'd topped himself off earlier, it's definitely something that he ought to refresh a couple times throughout the day.

However, this thought was interrupted when the larger combatant hit the floor. Both parties being removed from the ring and the anti-magic field set up, Æros glanced towards Dæmon and smiled.

"Have fun," he said with a playful sort of musicality, punctuated with a wink laced with something devilish.

As the other man moved to take his place, so too did his opponents. Of course, Æros had been asked if his dear companion could handle more than one, to which he had said yes. Rather, he invited the challenge, speaking with great admiration towards the other's skill. Among other colorful comments, he had endeavored to set Dæmon up for a match that would be exciting, something that would help him make an impact immediately from his debut. The bookie said he'd do what he could, and while he didn't have anyone truly dazzling in an establishment such as this, there were strings he could pull, things he could shift around.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Talon]

D A E M O N

A hush fell across the warehouse as he squared off against the two elemental mages in front of him. He opened his senses to the aethereal and brought their auras into focus. Even at a cursory glance he could tell that among them, Lycaer was the more powerful of the two. His aura was bright with electrified energy that spoke to him about the powers that the man wielded. He was as his moniker implied, the Windfury, a wielder of air and lightning based magic. He could practically smell the plasma on his aura. Beside him, Nikopol had an aura that was burning with the heat of a forge fire. It was not the most intense heat that he had ever seen, he himself wielded flames that burned far hotter than anything a mere mortal could conjure. Something was off however. He could not quite put his finger on it but the circumstances simply did not sit right with him.

“Daemon!? Ha! I will show you the true fury of the fires of hell!” Nikopol gave a boisterous full-belly laugh. He then adopted a pointed stance.

“You will be nothing before my storm’s power!” Lycaer widened his position so that he and Nikopol took up much of the opposite side of the ring. He said nothing in return as he searched their auras for what was making him feel so unsettled.

He did not get much more time to process the feeling he was experiencing as he saw a swell of aether gather within both of their aura. They were preparing themselves for an attack. Nikopol lumbered forward and quickly threw a bunch that became laced with fire. A blast of flames came surging forward but the expulsion of the fire blast seemed…sluggish to his eyes. He felt no threat from the flames that were cascading his way. Not only was fire his arche but fire fell within the purview of his influence. Regardless, the magic that he saw threading its way through Nikopol’s aether seemed decidedly lackluster for a man referred to as “the Infernal”. In his peripheral he saw Lycaer sprint forward, sparks of electricity lacing his movements and coloring his aura. While the manifestation in his aura was stronger than Nikopol’s it was a tad confusing. Again, it seemed lacking for what he would have expected from a man referred to as “the Windfury”.

“The new challenger is stunned by the power of our returning fighters! Lycaer and Nikopol’s trademark infernal cascade and lightning net have caught him completely off guard!” He listened to the announcer excitedly comment on his seeming inaction. He had not been surprised. The two men’s auras had broadcasted their movements and arcane intent loud and clear. He was simply…confused as to how or why the two in front of him were wasting so much aetheric energy so spectacularly. As he stared at the wave of fire and net of lightning that were hurtling his way, mere seconds away from slamming into him, he almost wanted to scratch his head.

There had been no subtlety in their casting. There was certainly little in the way of actual power behind their maneuvers.

Was he missing something? Was there an aspect of the fight that he was not seeing?

“Oh! I can’t watch, ladies and gentlemen! It looks like Daemon is about to be scorched beyond recognition by a direct hit! Fear seems to have paralyzed him into inaction at the mighty display of awesome power from the Windfury and the Infernal!” The fire, when it hit him, completely covered him, kicking up dirt and enfolding him into its warmth. It caressed his skin and burned away the dirt that was in his hair making him, if anything, cleaner than when he had walked into the warehouse. He could make out the shapes of his opponents beyond the flames but he felt no pain nor danger from them. He did not even feel mildly scorched. When the lightning hit him, it sent a tingling sensation across his body but little else. He did not even feel thrown off balance by the impact.

“Daemon has been consumed by the dual attacks of such powerful mages! Just look at those flames! I can only imagine how he is convulsing in pain from that lightning!” He had to wonder if the announcer was in on some private joke. “But wait! What’s this!? Can it be!?”

Alright. That was enough. He supposed he would have to get to the bottom of this feeling gnawing at the back of his mind. He extended his influence into the aether pathways around him and sent a pulse of force rippling outward from his body. The result saw the flames and lightning blasted apart and away from him in a ripple of wind. Nikopol and Lycaer brought their hands up to shield their eyes from the dirt and sand.

Talon stood at the center of a scorched circle with bits of glass in the blackened sands from where the fire and lightning had mixed. His body was unharmed. A single strand of hair had fallen out of place. He blew it out of his face then looked to his opponents.

“What!?” Lycaer exclaimed with wide eyes. Talon moved then. He enacted both Seeming and Acceleration to propel his movements to heightened speeds. In a blink he was in front of the Windfury elementalist who went pale right before Talon thumped him in the chest with the flat of his palm. He held back. He restrained his strength. He struck with only enough force to knock the wind out of the man’s lungs but to his surprise the man went flying back and was sent sprawling onto the floor, sliding across the floor until he bumped into the opposite wall where he crumpled, looking completely dazed.

“You bastard!” Nikopol charged forward, raising a fist that became wrapped in what, to him, appeared to be the bare minimum of flame manifestation. He was finding himself annoyed at such a sloppy manifestation but he supposed it had to do with whatever charade was going on. Nikopol lumbered forward with a brawlers grace, which was to say none. His first sailed through the air with that same sluggishness that was baffling to him. With an almost painfully slow movement for him, Talon knocked the man’s arm aside with a tap to his forearm. He then caught the bulky man by the throat. As large of a man as Nikopol was, he was still much shorter than himself. Talon lifted the man up off the ground with his one hand. Nikopol’s eyes went wide, bugging out of his skull as he gripped his forearm. Lightly, as lightly as he could without breaking something, Talon thumped the man on the side of the head. Immediately Nikopol’s eyes rolled back and his body went limp. Talon deposited the man on the sand in a heap then looked at the announcer who was staring at him with this dumbfounded expression.

Silence reigned in the warehouse.

He looked at the still dazed Lycaer and the unconscious Nikopol on the ground. It struck him then what the feeling in the back of his mind had been. He had been expecting a much tougher fight. Especially with two mages up against him.

“Uh…I can’t believe it ladies and gentlemen. Lycaer the Windfury and Nikopol the Infernal have been defeated by Daemon!” There was no accompanying applause. There was still shocked silence.

He stood there a moment, still a little surprised by the quickness of the match himself. Then he turned and exited the ring.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
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► Show Spoiler

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Æros stood on the edge of the ring, watching with a blank, almost analytical expression, curiosity glinting beneath his features. Would this pose a challenge at all? Frankly, the Fæ doubted it, but he did his best to make it interesting, at least. Well…he hoped it’d be interesting. With one arm crossed over his chest and the other’s elbow resting in that hand, he tapped his chin and stared at the two men meant to fight his, ah…investment. Maybe he’d be a friend, eventually? Although, the payout of his success would always be Æros’ primary goal– not just monetarily, but he needed the reputation save rather desperately.

They didn’t seem like anything special. Two hotheads with runes…bah, bland.

He just wanted them to move already. Hurt each other. Break a little.

When the two pit fighters moved, the half-elf canted his head just slightly, just a bit of bloodlust sparking behind golden, predatory eyes. Dæmon did not react. Æros was no fool; he knew the other man had Semblance, Negation…so on. What the fuck was this going to do?

Absolutely nothing, that’s what.

Dæmon’s brazen display of null reaction made the half-elf crack a smile, nearly sneering, eyes wide– clearly entertained. He very much doubted that the warrior had any intention to come across nearly as arrogantly as he did…but oh, it was so perfect. There is so much beauty in just shrugging off the blow of an enemy with a blank expression, or better yet, this dumbfounded stare written on Dæmon’s face. As the two enemy mages wove nearer in a frenzied dance of flame and spark, they neared, nearer...nearer...and then, impact.

However…there was no writhing. There was no screaming. Not even a shake, a ripple, nothing! There was just…a stationary flame, flecked with lightning, dazzling in its natural brilliance– red, orange, purple, blue…but it might as well be the luminescence of a light show courtesy of Masquerade. The other man stood strong and bold underneath it all, his frame didn’t even flinch through the blaze. Yes. Perfect.

The absolute joke of it all was the announcer. He didn’t know if the bookie at the table told the man anything, but Æros himself had told the bookie everything. That this man could wreck a city. He’d illustrated and embellished the burned paintings of his memories for the guy, told it to him like one would speak of a god, all reverence paid and everything. And for what? If the message had been passed from bookie to announcer, then that would mean the announcer knew damn well that absolutely nothing was happening beneath the roar of those flames and was lying boldly through his teeth. It took everything the elf had not to laugh.

Next, dissipation. Dæmon crafted a force from within; the whip of wind rang through the arena as the torrent of elements blasted outwards, painting the two opposing men in debris, scorching their skin, blinding their eyes. Colors shocked in a swirling radius around him as heat dissipated, as sparks cracked into nothing. From the center of the gale stood his pit fighter– just as shining and clean and glorious and gold as before. Unscathed. A work of art, really; in combination with the anger and dismay scrawled across the features of his opponents, he really was a thing of beauty.

In the blink of an eye, before the audience could register what he'd done, Dæmon’s figure appeared before the thunderstruck man and with feather light touch, the larger of the two sent the other flying, tossing him away like the garbage he was. The grace of palm to sternum was all it took to accomplish such a feat. To Æros, this level of strength was a cosmic fantasy; that strike contained the force of a dragon’s tail swipe yet Dæamon moved with a dancer’s elegance and a warrior’s poise.

Æros quirked a brow at the choice of the remaining mage; for…what reason was he using his fists? Was he stupid? Was he blind? Had that attack exhausted their reserves of aether? What? That’s so pathetic it’s almost vile. Disgust was added to the mix of emotions the elf bore.

Oh, this was so very pitiful…the other moved with all the control and polish of a besotted camel. Where had he trained? Had he trained? The smile drawn on the Færie’s face only grew wider and more wicked as the unwitting fly dove straight into the spider’s delicate web. Blow parried, then countered, he was now held up by the neck, helpless…so weak, so sad, so hopeless! Æros drank in every bit of this man’s embarrassment.

And then, knock out! Only it wasn’t nearly as grand as one would think. Simple tap to the head and lights out! The warehouse was silent…but only for a moment.

Æros had the self control of a starving carnivore looming over a fresh kill. A shriek of laughter rang through the warehouse, echoing up through to the very ceiling. Oh, gods, he’d seen ring fights before but nothing quite this miserably one sided. It was so ludicrous in nature that he couldn’t help himself at all! He stood doubled over with his hands on his knees, riding out his own euphoria. Just who the hell was the man he’d found out in the sands? At this point, the elf couldn’t possibly care any less about his identity– his only goal was to make sure the two of them were tied together for his own benefit.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Talon]

D A E M O N

The sound of Aeros laughing broke the spell of silence that had fallen on the warehouse. There was a mixed reaction from the crowd.

“Unbelievable ladies and gentlemen! Daemon has proven that he is indeed a demon of a fighter! Behold your winner!” There was raucous cheering. There was laughter from how impossibly swift the fight had been. There were those who shouted their displeasure at how easy he had been on his opponents. He returned to the company of Aeros and his squire.

“That was…unexpected.” He took a seat with his back against the wall and rubbed his neck. It was less from strain or stress and more to simply clear his head at the conundrum of being faced with fighters and mages who were far from his equal. Mathias snorted and laughed.

“Unexpected? Have you seen yourself, Daemon?” Talon blinked at Mathias. “You’re over seven feet tall of rippling muscle with enough power in one finger to level a building. Even without using your powers, everyone can see you possess a lot of it. It's in the air around you. It's in the way you walk, the way you carry yourself.”

“Yes, well, I had thought…I am not sure what I had thought. A normal fight, I suppose.” Mathias shook his head, laughing more.

“Normal? Daemon, normal for you is very, very, very not normal for the rest of the world.” He made a low hum of acknowledgement to that statement. His perspective on the subject of what was normal was perhaps a bit skewed.

“I suppose.” He was accustomed to knocking boots both in combat and in the bedroom with the likes of Rickter and his husband, Aoren. Both of those men were extraordinarily powerful. Combined with his trials in the Warrens, facing the hordes of monstrosities that lurked there and undead dragons, he supposed that was not normal. There was also the fact that he was a demigod. Overall, he was realizing just how exceptionally powerful the people he had surrounded himself with actually were. Having studied under the likes of the sorceress Lyra and his own mother along with Circle of Spells Sages, he was having difficulty grasping just how far he outstripped the bulk of the masses when it came to feats of might and magic. He leaned back, one arm draping over the back of his chair as he looked to the fighting ring. Lycaer and Nikopol had been collected from the ring and ushered off to elsewhere.

Two women were facing off in the ring and while to the eyes of the crowd he was certain that what they were doing was impressive, to him, it seemed very…basic. He was going to have to restrain himself. Far more than he realized. That was going to frustrate him to some degree. The tactician in him understood it as necessary to propel himself up the ladder and garner the attention of truly more impressive fights. The warrior in him frowned at the idea of withholding so much of his skill in combat that was not meant to train a student. It was one thing for him to withhold his might when training his squire or teaching Aeros something about magic. It was quite another thing to constantly lower himself so that he might put on the illusion of a challenge in the fighter’s rings.

“Were you entertained, Dominus?” He glanced over to Aeros in order to gauge the man’s reaction. “I hope that I did not bore you too terribly.”

[Aeros]

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The party had walked away from the bulk of the crowd to a more sequestered area of the building along the perimeter; there was seating against the walls, and it was here that Dæmon decided to sit. For some reason, the very first thing from the man’s lips was a proclamation that the outcome was unexpected. Æros scoffed. Was it true? Had this man been so blind to his own power? Whom did he surround himself with? It got the Fæ thinking, the gears in his mind spinning about what storied life the warrior must have lived. The idea that the stranger was far from mortal once more floated to the forefront of his mind, although since that was such a…touchy subject, he’d keep his mouth shut about that conclusion unless it was broached by the other or forced out of him.

The elf stood in silence, arms crossed over his chest once more, as Mathias expressed his wonder and appreciation of Dæmon’s strength. He did not interject, but the younger man’s response only solidified his previous assumptions. ‘Normal fight.’ Okay. And what, pray tell, did that mean? Another question that Æros would keep to himself. Very suspicious.

Only affording the next two fighters a passing glance, the Færie’s eyes drifted back towards Dæmon when he was addressed directly.

“Bit of a sense of humor, after all, huh?” He knew damn well the entire room had heard him laughing. “Whatever did I do to earn such a blessing from you?” sentiment spoken from the lips of a liar with bright, golden eyes glinting, saccharine and spellbound. Æros spoke with a voice enamoured yet dosed heavy, dripping with sarcastic hyperbole bordering on the theatrical– he’d almost managed to sincerely sound lovestruck, gestures matching the rhythm of his words, but intentionally falling just short from genuine, making his jest transparent in its insincerity.

For the briefest of moments, he debated giving a blunter account of exactly what was on his mind. Fortune usually favored his boldness, but the man before him was a bit of a different beast than the ones he usually encountered. If one’s usual mannerisms don’t elicit the response one wants, then one is free to try a different course. But would he?

Dropping his facade entirely and returning arms across his chest, he closed his eyes briefly and smiled, opening them again when he spoke. “In a society so steeped in magic as this one, I know a strong mage when I see one. They were reckless….” as he spoke, so too did he move, drawing nearer to Dæmon.

Æros sighed, “...unrefined. Weak. Some would say, bottom of the barrel. And you? So stark was the contrast…” he trailed off, something like joy appearing on starlit features, “...so effortless were your strikes,”

Unbinding his arms, he moved one forward and, hand palm up, very delicately placed fingers beneath Dæmon’s chin, drawing his face upward, looking the other directly in the eyes.

“...and though the flexion of your power was paltry, the way you moved, how you carried your weight and your strength with such grace and restraint– everything I need to know is settled. Thank you.” This time, he sounded genuine, entirely sincere…but he would not elaborate.

To shrug off a shock of elements like that so easily, to then swat one like a fly and another with a simple tap. How many runes was he in possession of, people would wonder. How many of those were mastered? It was a rarity for somebody to even master a single rune in their lifetime…so to Æros, before him sat a man with multiple, and before him sat a monster in a mask. A mask he cared not to remove.

As if realizing he forgot something, “My deepest apologies for questioning you at first.”

Tone drifting from admiration to something teetering on the edge of annoyance, he continued, “...and oh, we in Solunarium are a superstitious bunch. Zealous in our faith…subtlety, decorum, performance, playing one’s part, the art of blending in…are required for a life well lived. Required for a life lived at all.”

Laying it on thick, the Fæ was illustrating Dæmon’s utter failure to conceal his immortality. While he knew not what this fine specimen of magical mastery, physical prowess, and masculine sublimity may actually be, anyone with eyes and a brain would be able to tell he was otherworldly in nature. The majesty of his strength left many awestruck, certainly! Æros, too, found himself falling victim to the larger man’s magnetism. But…there was one mistake. He catastrophically failed to act normal, to give a convincing facade of mortal limitations.

Leaning closer, faces mere inches apart and with a voice low and quiet, “...you are going to get me killed. That would be a blessing…but I won’t be the only man to bleed. My entire house will fall like a house of cards should, whatever you are, be sniffed out by the blue bloods. Struck down, lower than chattel, for heresy. Now…I would rejoice. But is that your goal? To wipe out an entire family?”

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Talon]

D A E M O N

Aeros assessment of his opponents was one that he agreed with. They had been weak and unrefined. He suspected that part of their strategy had often been to simply overwhelm their opponents with a brute force combo from the beginning of the fight. Had he been anyone else, a mage of lesser skill, such a tactics might have worked on him. As it was, he had been completely unphased by the assault. It was a glaring reminder that he would need to limit himself even further if he wanted to be known as both a skilled fighter and an entertainer in the ring. Success in these gladiatorial matches was balanced with both skill and flare. As Aeros fingers caught his chin, prompting him to look up into the man’s eyes, he remained focused on the nobleman.

Aeros leaned in until their faces were mere inches apart. He listened to the man’s words. They rang with the lilt of suspicion lingering on the edges. He kept his face blank. Gently, he reached up and removed Aeros hand from his face.

“I am a warrior. Nothing more. Nothing less.” He did not rise to the bait. It was clear that his overt display of superiority had aroused some manner of suspicion though he could not imagine why. Had they never seen a powerful mage before? Did he so outclass the caliber of wizards in Solunarium that his display was so out of the ordinary? Again, he was forced to reconcile his own personal life’s experiences with that of others. He had routinely gone up against exceptionally powerful forces. Immense power and resources had gone into containing him and binding him. The clarity of realizing just how out of touch he was with the vast majority of people in the world who never experienced such things was becoming clearer by the second. He was reminded of how he and Mathias had first interacted and every interaction since then. While he was proud of his abilities, he thought of them as part of him, things he did as naturally as breathing.

Every time he revealed a new secret or displayed something that was normal for him, his squire was awestruck, as were many other people around him.

“I do not know what ruin you think I will bring to your household, Dominus. If you fear such a thing, then you need only say that my services are no longer required and I shall leave you be.” The match going on ended and he heard the bell calling for his next bout. He would endeavor to make this one last a tad bit longer than his first. Rising to his feet, he sidestepped the man with a slight bow.

“I am certain the stronger fighters in the coming matches will prove a greater challenge.” He turned on his heel and began making his way back to the ring. He would really need to hold back. It was going to be painfully annoying but he would do so if it meant gaining more favor as opposed to losing it. As for Aeros speech, he spoke in a dance that made little sense to him on the surface. Time would tell what that yielded. For the moment, he focused on the fight ahead and not ending it in a matter of two moves.

[Aeros]

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Irritating, nay, infuriating as it was, this response was one that Æros had expected. Austere and stone faced, Dæmon reiterated his claim that, at this point, the Færie knew was a farce– utter nonsense. Ripping emotion from this man was proving so difficult that he no longer knew how worth it it even was to try. The conundrum with that, however, was that the vast majority of entertainment and pleasure from social interaction for Æros lay entirely in reading, and experiencing with Mesmer, the reactions and emotions he stirred within others, weaving his responses in with theirs like a game, but with this particular individual? There was…nothing. Certainly, he must not actually feel nothing, but whatever did stir within was suppressed so greatly that the half-elf could not parse the information with any certainty.

His own fury swallowed, he pressed his lips into a hard line, stepped back when his hand was pushed away, and took a deep breath through his nose. In some ways, the other's response felt disrespectful– very little acknowledgment towards his lack of decorum and poorly thought through behavior in a society he clearly knew little about. Per their arrangement, it was his family that was at risk and he could free them of that risk by withdrawing from this situation...but that would not solve the core of the issue. The issue that was the presence of the masked monster that sat before him. If Æros walked, what then? He'd find another sponsor, and should he make more mistakes, ruin another house?

The Færie, by some odd twist of logic, actually preferred it be his house that burned as opposed to anyone else's. Sure, there was ample corruption in any society and Dæmon could stumble upon another family warped and devoid of morals to help him perhaps, erasing them instead. However, there were several things that compelled the elf to stay. For one thing, his own death would sadden nobody and, whatever glorious beast this stranger was, falling on the sword at his side would be a death with enough fanfare to satisfy him. Second, he hated his house sans a select few individuals and their sacrifice, while sad, was a fair price to pay. Third, his own insatiable curiosity and lust for knowledge kept him anchored to the stranger's side. If absolutely nothing else, he served to grift information off of this man, be it magical or otherwise. Fourth and finally, if everything worked out, his life would become something akin to the most euphoric of dreams.

Arms crossed over his chest, his eyes closed and he shook his head, reopening them shortly thereafter. "You are out of touch with mortality. Admit nothing if that is your want, but understand that here, conspiracy and rumor are both as unpredictable and wildly powerful as entropic magic. People and their words can be as destructive as the volcano, Sorokyn itself. This much is important." He spoke with force, some manner of authority in his voice in regards to the nation within which he lived.

Æros sighed, "...but no, it is not my wish to part ways. The potential for mutual benefit outweighs the risk should you, at very least, listen, whether or not you acknowledge my words. I'm not here to argue who or what you are, merely to ensure that your behavior facilitates nothing nightmarish happens to my Solunarium, this precious jewel wherein we stand." Any levity in his voice had drained, as applied to any emotion at all, for the matter. Though his voice had weight, there was little else. He didn't see the point.

Æros' expression was as cold and steely as the face his mother often uses when regarding him, and should he have actually known that, it'd have made him feel quite ill. Resembling that woman in any fashion was something he very much loathed.

He stood still and quiet until Dæmon stepped past him, now on his way back to the ring. Æros followed after him, as did Mathias, and when the two found their place to stand without and Dæmon found his within, the Færie directed his gaze to the boy beside him.

"Mind one's step here. Solunarium is as cruel as it is wondrous." An ominous warning, but it was one given devoid of any sort of intent or emotion.

He said this because he didn't know if Mathias mirrored Dæmon's obliviousness, but if he did, he really wanted both of them to understand just where they had wandered into.

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"