Legend of Ransera

Arvælyn gripped the bicep of Finn’s unwounded arm at his clarification. A sweet melody of surprised gratitude snaked from Arry’s Symphony to Finn’s and he smiled warmly.

“Wait.” He blinked, his soft smile giving way to an expression of wide-eyed revelation. “It’s called ‘marshmallow’ because it grows in a marsh???” His eyes widened further, “And it’s a PLANT?!” Arry was today years old when he learned that little tidbit and it was enough to momentarily break him out of the awe of having just been graced by divine attention. A clear of Cithæra’s throat was enough to promptly return him to the present.

The Vigilia’s head turned sharply to the foreign as if to say “Et tu, Finne?” But instead she only said:

“Indeed…” Her head straightened out as Finn posed his question. “Alas, I have yet to render unto Her my sacrifice. Anon, anon…” She looked to the statue, then to the Vastian girl expressing her gratitude.

“Thank not me. It is Her Will I do seek to enact. I am but a Vigilia… a grain of sand in the vasty desert.” It was a common phrase of humility that all of them would have heard more than once by this point.

For the desert was no desert without its sands, but would not lose that designation with the removal of a single grain or even entire dunes worth. They were legion and they were disposable. This perspective was promoted as another way in which they sought to distinguish themselves from pride or personal gain, while donning the uniform of a Vigil. The order was as good as their identity.

“Now, then. I know it has been a long day for the devout and the newly introduced alike…” This last seemed to be directed to Finn. “I must tarry, but you should rest and meditate on all you have seen and wrought, for it is increasingly clear we now stand at the precipice of a new dawn in Solunarium.” She glanced to Arvælyn,

“The timing of your arrival has proven more auspicious than anticipated.”

Arvælyn still seemed awed by the news that those puffy little confections he'd enjoyed as a boy were named after a plant from the marshes. Stranger still, there were various types of mallow that grew in other settings. It was little more than trivia for him, though the other two seemed focused on the practicality of its uses. Ever having been a city boy, the type of survival to which Arvælyn was accustomed had little to do with foraging in the wild, and more to do with getting things out of people.

In any case, there wasn't much for him to do with this information, trivial or practical, and as Cithæra spoke again, Arry's attention returned to the momentous moment at hand. The veiled Vigilia inclined her head to the group and uttered:

"In light or shadow, go in grace." And with that, stalked away, seeming to disappear into the latter as the rounded the statue toward the rear altar. Thoughts of marsh flora fell by the wayside as Arry's golden gaze followed her and regarded, once again, the imposing statue of the matron goddess of Solunarium.

"I think we've earned a spot of wine." Arry agreed with a nod. They'd been woken early for the Radiant Mass, and now that they'd offered their Waning Prayers it was fast approaching midnight. These days, he wasn't accustomed to being out this late when wine wasn't already part of the equation. Would Solunarium change him to the sort of person who stayed out all night for the sake of devotion rather than inebriation? He hoped not. Although he wasn't as fundamentally opposed to blood sacrifice as Finn, he did much prefer a drink to a grisly rite. And yet, still...

"Kaladon." He repeated the name of the mount, as they started toward the exit. It had been the setting of scenes in the final act of Aværys Eternal, and he'd tried to catch a glimpse from the airship when they were passing over Auris, but the cloud cover had disfavoured the endeavour.

"How does one get to Kaladon? If it's on a bloody Wyvern, I'm going to need a sight more practice. Even if I'm only a passenger."

"That would be nice..." Arry replied to Finn's notion of a portal. The Aurisians had the only embassy he'd seen in Solunarium, so he supposed it wasn't not out of the question, but likelihood was another matter entirely. Whether or not the Solunarian holy site was in their land, the matter of sovereignty was ever a delicate one- Or so he'd learnt in his brief time with the Vigilia Argenti.

Arry arched an eyebrow at Finn's talk of wyverns.

"More practise riding?" He tilted his head, "Have you ridden astride a wyvern?"

At Hilana's clarification, he nodded, smiling. The matter of distance was not to be dismissed, nor was the issue of the continental divide between Ecith and Ailizane. Arry and Finn had passed through Auris on their way here, but even if they hadn't- He knew his Solunarian history from Aværys Eternal well enough to know that the Founders had been felled fighting their conquerors' war. That was part of both the honour and the disgrace of their doom.

"I suppose even Hayima'el has his limits..." He conceded, "And the Crystal Sea is a markedly different terrain than the Atraxian Expanse." He chuckled, slightly amused at his own jest. He let Hilana enter Finn's chosen venue, before following after her, albeit with a tickle to Finn's obliques as he passed.

"So it is." Arry smiled faintly to Hilana. This was not his first visit to the Noctis Æternæ, though it was likely the first time he'd visited without the intention of seeing Finn perform. This time he would enter at Finn's side. He wondered whether the handsome human would be recognised by the patrons. He was both talented and handsome enough to warrant such attention, Arry knew.

"I'll order a bottle for us." The Golden Elf knew that he would be the fastest served, even if Finn was noticed, and so he sidled up to the bar and ordered a bottle of red. It was more popular in the Umbrium, and seemed particularly appropriate, given today's sanguine focus. After a minute or so, Arry drew up to whatever table Finn and Hilana had claimed with a bottle and three glasses.

Arvælyn drew up to the table his companions had selected in time to catch the tail end of Hilana’s comments on their recent sacrifices. He was a bit struck by the fervour that brimmed under her words. Although Varværyn religion was infused in everything here, it hasn’t been a regular topic of conversation he’d often encountered. Those with whom he’d discussed the Faith had mostly been members of those hallowed castes who were best served by believing. It would be difficult not to favour a religion from whose gods one descended.

Since learning such was true of him, Arvælyn hadn’t noticed anything different about himself. He didn’t get sick, but he’d always attributed
that to his Hytori background. He had no radiant halo and, while his magicks were potent, they were no more so than most mortals. Perhaps the purebred of the Unbroken Line enjoyed more apparent benefits, but if divinity dwelt in Arry’s blood it must have been dull or dormant.

He shook his head and sniggered at the minstrel’s comment.

“Finn the Flatterer plies his art again!” He placed the bottle down first, then used the newly freed up hand to pluck the glassware out from between the fingers between which they dangled by their stems. As far as noble elves went, Arry had an ease about him with service that came from experience working spare shifts at the Velvet Cabaret to supplement his performer’s income.

“Aye.” He replied to Finn’s question, “Sanguis Draconis.” He noted, as he poured for Hilana, Finn and finally himself. He cast an appraising glance to Finn’s face, gauging his response to the toast, before letting his golden gaze turn back to Hilana.

“Pro Deus et Domina.” He answered, before lifting his glass to greet hers and sipping, as he considered the lessons of the day. Public and personal sacrifice. Splendour and subtlety. Light and shadow. Their lessons in Solunarian religion had only just begun…