Legend of Ransera

"Oh..." Vyxis countenance twisted toward a sneer as they began a slow clap, "Bravo, Dæmon dear, bravo!" They sniggered as their applause increased in pace, and they looked over their shoulder to their befuddled guards who, unsure of what to do, joined in and clapped along with their charge.

"You cheeky devil! You were just being a little coquette and making us wait for it, weren't you?" Their applause ceased abruptly, followed by a little stutter clap from the guards who seemed relieved to be able to stop. "Such an interesting application of magic. You're wasted in the arena, dear, imagine the coin you might rake in doing burlesque with those talents!" They chuckled at their own jest,

"...Just melting away garment after garment and, though you aren't my type, there's a formidable market for meat like yours. I'm simply not masochistic enough." With that said, they stalked over to give Mathias a proper once over.

"You're adorably reticent, aren't you?" Vyxis bit their lip, circling the youth with a sultry saunter and grabbing a handful of his rear. "Mm firm." They leaned close to whisper hot into Mathias' ear, "We would fain eat you first..." As they drew their face back, they paused at the sight of his earring.

"Ah!" They strutted back around to their spot in front of Dæmon. "Alas, you'll have to lose your jewelry as well, darlings. Bracers, earrings, all of it." Vyxis wrinkled their nose- their expression verging on apologetic. "I'm afraid we need you bare as you emerged squealing from your mother's womb. It's remarkable, the subtle ways people will conceal enchantments these days and, in the interest of the safety of the Crown, we must be passing thorough."

Vyxis slid between Dæmon and Æros, sliding their hand along to torso of the latter and smiling flirtatiously as they passed. They made their way over to the two veiled, black-clad figures standing ominously at arena centre. Standing between the two, Vyxis clasped their hands together and spoke:

"Magna Periti? Incipias opus tuum."
(Grand Masters? You may begin your work.)

Æros would be aware that this was very unusual, but given what Vyxis had said thus far, it sounded as though Dæmon was being considered to fight before the Solar Sovereign herself. Each of the royal cadet houses was expected to provide entertainment on the opening night of the Centennial Jubilee, and it was altogether possible Drævyn was planning to offer up a prize fight on behalf of Gens Danann.

The two figures began to slowly approach the Dæmon, Æros and Mathias, their ætheric potency palpable in the air around them. Each figure bore only one Cardinal Rune. They had been recruited young by the Vigilia Argenti and given a dedicated purpose. They'd devoted their lives to mastering a single discipline to serve their order, and ascertain threats to their realm before they could fester toward dangerous outcomes. It seemed Drævyn was sparing no expense in fulfilling his duty to the Crown, to hire two such powerful mages:

A Grand Master Sembler to inspect the auras of the men and items before them, and a Grand Master Mesmer to appraise their Symphonies.

"Quid deprehendes?"
(What do you detect?) Vyxis inquired, following behind the two Sentinels with a curious smirk on their full lips.

Vyxis chortled at Dæmon's counter. Even without knowing the man it felt uncharacteristic for the stony-faced, witchmarked half-giant to jest thus. They turned their attentions again, briefly, to Mathias.

"Is he gentle with you, pet?" One need only look at Vyxis to know that they were fantasising about what that might look like just by the devilish curl of their smirk.

Vyxis whipped around and marched directly toward Dæmon as he displayed further disobedience- brazenly refusing to oblige their simple instructions.

"I certainly hope you are once again playing the coquette to dazzle us with another impressive display, because I cannot fathom why a creature who resorts to whoring himself out on the sands of a stadium would possess items of such puissance." They snapped, and turned sharply to the Sembling Sentinel.

"Potesne confirmare?"
(Can you verify?)

Vyxis stared at the black-clad sentinel, crossing their arms.

"Surdus es?"
(Are you Deaf?) They pressed, receiving no response. They pushed the shoulder of the sentinel, who tumbled onto the sands, inert. Vyxis blinked, instantly losing their air of supercilious confidence as the bad kind of surprise overtook them. They looked sharply, to the Grand Master Mesmer, and started backing away from the three under scrutiny.

"Quid agit?"
(What is happening?) They demanded. The Mesmer's hand shot out from beneath their robes and they grabbed Vyxis by the arm. Their gloved hand clenched with a savagely fierce from the end of a quivering arm.

"Immortalis est!" The Sentinel hissed.

"Dimitte me!"
(Unhand me!) Vyxis tried to pull away, their guards jogged toward the pair to pull the Sentinel away from their charge, as his cries echoed through the stadium.

"Immortalis! Immortalis!" The Mesmer screamed the word again and again, as Vyxis tumbled into a heap on the sands and lifted their head.

"Pater!" They wept, "Pater me adiuva!"



In that moment, in the council chambers of the Blazing Palace, Prince Drævyn stood bolt upright. The eyes of the Regium Concilium, which was in the middle of a session, all turned sharply to regard the Keeper of Coin.

"What is the meaning of this outburst, Drævyn Princeps?" The glistering golden eyes of the Solar Sovereign narrowed as her advisor's jolting motion interrupted her mid-speech.

"My blood calls to me..." He clutched his chest. "Vyxis... I sent them to..." Seeing through his child's eyes and hearing through their ears, the words echoed in Drævyn's mind as they did leagues away at the Fortis Lacerta Arena..."Immortalis! Immortalis!"

"O fæx, Your Divine Radiance..." Drævyn muttered through gritted teeth, "The fucking Orks were right." He turned to the Vigilia Magna:

"Cithæra Princeps. We have need of your Sentinels at the Fortis Lacerta. Straight away."

She nodded sharply, and shut her eyes to enter the mind of her eldest son.

"Phocion. Mobilise the Traversers and get a team to Fortis Lacerta. The fell moment is upon us."



Deep beneath the Palatium Furiarum, Phocion was seated in his office at the shadow twin palace of the Undercity. Sighing heavily, he replied.

"Acknowledged." And rose from his seat, "Fæx..." He muttered, before taking a deep breath and jogging out to bark orders.

As a large, high-profile venue that hosted many crowded events featuring dangerous entities and was often frequented by royals, there were many protocols in place for emergencies at the Fortis Lacerta Arena. Octavian Phædryn-Sol'Aværys Phocion Princeps, or in his capacity at the moment merely Vigil Phocion, had led many drills along these lines. Never had he needed to bring a vanguard century of Sentinels to tend to an actual predicament at the arena. For as long as Phocion had been a Sentinel, the dedicated staff at the Fortis Lacerta had always had their issues well in hand. Today was another matter.

He was already dressed in his sentinel blacks, as he was on duty when the orders came through, but he needed to veil his pale face and apply other necessary accessories. He ran his hand along his rack of personalised weapons, and paused it in front of a glimmering, pristine glaive with a magmatyte-lined blade. It had been forged in the Epoch of Aværys and been wielded by many of his kinsmen before being passed down to him. He gripped the polearm and stepped out to the courtyard where his men were gathering.

"Incipete." He ordered with a nod.

Pockets of black-clad figures began to blip onto the sands and stands of the arena- Each veiled, much like the grandmasters had been- Though some wore more practical, martial dress than the long robes donned by the crazed and the catatonic mages who'd arrived before them. Each group that appeared was comprised entirely of potent mages representing every major discipline- Some were armed with practical weapons, spell foci or both- Others were ostensibly unarmed. When all was said and done, the Semblers present would know that behind those veils were eighty human and twenty elven sentinels surrounding them on all sides, but at a distance of about thirty feet from Dæmon and company. The last to group to appear blipped into view directly across from Dæmon, and their central sentinel looked slightly different. The long, slender figure wore a thick-linked chain as a belt. It looked like the sort of chain that might be used to bind a prisoner, except that rather than rusty iron, it was gleaming silver. Atop the figure's head was a silver diadem holding their veil in place.

The crowned figure held a glaive with a blade that churned like roiling lava, which thudded into the sand as he settled into place. Vyxis and the Grandmaster Mesmer were blubbering and wailing respectively, but the sentinels were completely silent and still, waiting.

"I am Vigil Phocion of the Vanguard. May we approach and tend to our wounded and afflicted?" Phocion only raised his voice loudly enough to be heard over the whimpers of the terrified. He spoke Common in a flawless Kalzasern dialect. Vyxis leapt to their feet and rushed to Phocion's side.

"Fuge, consanguinee." Phocion suggested in a whisper, and Vyxis obliged- Running as fast as their legs could carry them out of the arena.

At Dæmon's gesture, Phocion nodded over his shoulder. A Traverser rushed to the two afflicted mages who had preceded the arrival of the Vanguard, and in a flash they were gone. The crying silenced, but for the lingering echoes that waned from the vast stadium. From out of the pursuant silence, rattling shrieks could be heard in the distance- far afield of the arena, but drawing closer.

"After a fashion..." Phocion replied. He was nervous, perforce, at being thrust into so momentous a situation with almost no preparation. His mother had briefed him on the outcome of the strange, clandestine meeting between the Orcani and a Solunarian delegation of which she was a member. He knew that it involved the forbidden practise of Foresight, and that Cithæra's rightful position as chief diplomat was usurped by the Sovereign's favourite grandson, Vrædyn Princeps. The Sentinels had, thereafter, been put on a tentative alert. They knew that something might transpire and to what it pertained, but they'd been stuck waiting for the other shoe to drop until now. So it was that Phocion, whose life could feel so scripted and preordained, found that his nervousness was less potent than his excitement at standing in this crucible. He didn't need to practise an illegal magic to recognise that he was standing on the precipice of a moment that would, for good or ill, alter the fate of the Kingdom of Light and Shadow.

It was an unlikely coincidence that Phocion currently bore Kalzasern speech patterns in Common- a souvenir from his recent visit to the northerly realm and reinforced by Finn and Arvælyn- the only people with whom he regularly spoke the language lately. Perhaps Dæmon would observe a thinly veiled note of surprise in his aura at the implication that Phocion knew more about him than he, in fact, did. He was keen enough a diplomat not to disabuse him of that assumption outright.

"What would you prefer we call you now that your presence has been marked? Please identify your companions as well, and enlighten us as to what purpose you have come to Solunarium to fulfill." Phocion glanced pointedly around the stadium. Mounted wyverns were beginning to alight on the upper platforms bearing riders in armour that glinted golden in the noonday sunlight. Those rattling shrieks from earlier, now echoed more loudly as their points of origin were perched above.

"Whilst I am aware our bloodsports are renowned across many realms, I find it doubtful you've come here for the sole purpose of competing in our lists." There was a bit of the brazen in his wry little jest. He was far from fearless, but he did appreciate a well scripted moment and would occasion to take risks for the sake of a better bit of dialogue. Talon's Semblance would indicate that the least of the surrounding mages far exceeded the best of those he'd vied against in the arena. Those had been hedge mages beneath the interest of the order Phocion represented.