Legend of Ransera

Posted: **Fri Sep 30, 2022 4:02 am**

TIMESTAMP: -
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The concept of honesty was mentioned more than a few times as the three of them spoke. Yes, Æros was prone to spinning tales himself– but it dawned on him over the course of this encounter that despite this fact, dishonesty in the face of circumstances so grave would serve him no benefit. It was great fun to lie and play games when there were no stakes, when absolutely nothing mattered, but here? None he would tell. So was he an honest man? No, but arguably, he was, in his own odd way, trustworthy– the capricious Fæ might not care about the feelings of another but regarding Solunarium as a whole, he was wholly devoted to the nation’s best interests.

And oh, what arrogance! Æros was, in truth, baffled by this reaction from the Vigil, failing to hide his emotions this time as eyes widened lips curled into a sneer. Nonetheless, he was silent, and his expression neutralized as quickly as it had broken. The Starborn was, in truth, just as impressed by Phocion’s decision making skills as the man was with his own and it pained him that the organization had somebody so painfully incompetent so very high up. A fool’s gambit, it was, to offer so amiable an exchange with Arcas of all figures, and further, it was even more narrow minded to insist that he make his leave with haste.

It couldn’t possibly be that the dusky elf was sweeping so wholly over his advice from bias against him, was it? For if that were the case, that speaks to a far deeper level of emotional incompetence than simply coming to the conclusion Phocion had done on his own. Petty, really, it would be, and in matters like this…there was no room for pettiness. Yes, Æros knew full well that he’d made a mistake but to write away any further input based upon one singular lapse in judgment was…questionable. To him, it illustrated that Phocion was quick to make decisions and didn’t think very hard about them, which was a flaw in and of itself.

However, one thing that stuck out in this conversation above all else was the mention of mount Kaladan. First by Arcas, and then the ominous mention by Phocion. Æros found it odd that all he'd bothered to say was that he went. It made him wonder what, if anything, the other found. If he found something of note, would it not be something one would take as a point of pride? Arrogant as Phocion was, Æros doubted the man would hold his tongue if anything truly remarkable had happened. With that in mind, was there anything there at all? Why, at this point, would Arcas lie about such a thing? These swirling thoughts served to ignite Færie’s own insatiable curiosity and, for good or ill, he would find himself making the pilgrimage to that mountain in due time.

Looking to Dæmon, “...my statements had no ill intentions, trust me. Rather, my intent was to offer something not dissimilar to what Phocion has concocted, just kept under a stricter watch and the goal wouldn’t be to sweep you away as fast as possible. Rather, my goal would’ve been entirely different and, I assure you, included no harm- nor imprisonment- to you or your dear Mathias, but I suppose the point is moot, no? You heard the Vigil– I am not to be trusted,” the Fae punctuated that sentiment with a soft smile, carrying his words with an almost musical lilt to his voice the entire time he was speaking. His tone, too, was far more cheerful than one would expect for the reaction he’d been given by either man. In spite of this, with consummate skill did he mask his true feelings, warping the sound of his own Melodies to mirror the vibrancy of the emotions he was showing on the surface.

Of course, this was not without reason, but such justifications for his true emotions were not something he intended to share with anyone here. It was so very rich of Phocion to call the divine arrogant in spite of himself, and then there was the fact that Arcas was a monster. At this moment, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with either of them, but who knew what the future would hold for all parties present?

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

Posted: **Fri Sep 30, 2022 12:50 pm**

D A E M O N

“You lace your statements with petty jibes and hurl slights at me as though I am to simply be content with them. You cast blame for the downfall of your people upon me as though I appeared from a nightmare and actively sought to bring about the ruin of your empire. Framing your views as though I made it a personal vendetta to conspire against your gods when all I did was meet them in battle in a foreign land, ending a war they brought. Now you are aggrieved at the fact that I have the audacity to rebuke you? When you were not even there?” He blinked at Phocion, arching an eyebrow.

“And you call me arrogant?” He shook his head. “I am Arcas. I know what happened, Sentinel. The truth. Not the fantasy you have fed yourselves.”

Talon shook his head at the Sentinels' words, again not missing the undercurrent behind them. Phocion was insulted. While he regretted that such a thing had come to pass, he would not simply accept the man’s views of him as the truth of what and who he was. It was apparent to him that Solunarians hated, above all else, a challenge to their view of the world. That fell in line with their extreme isolationism and the rigid manner in which they approached hierarchy and decorum. Phocion viewed him as lesser, as wicked, as unclean and thus unworthy of regard. While that did not matter to him on a personal level, he would not simply accept such a thing without addressing it directly. Solunarium would have to deal with Arcas, the real Arcas, not the phantasm they had spent millennia blaming for every ill that had befallen them.

“I believe my master believes that a great calamity is upon you. I lack context and clues to determine the truth of the matter. However, I agree. It will be better to work with you than without you.” He folded his hands together, thinking heavily.

“And if in the process I find a means of freeing myself, perhaps, with my full strength returned to me, then I may be convinced to set right a wrong that your people cry out to be corrected.” He looked up at Phocion from where he sat, his senses expanding out to parts of not just this area but stretching across the Atraxian Expanse. It was a stronger call in some areas than in others but it was there. Justice for the loss of Avaerys and Varvara. While he questioned the wisdom of seeing such gods returned to the world, it was not his place to deny them their place in the pantheon of gods across Ransera. That was for his Father to decide. He looked to Aeros as he spoke, nodding to the young nobleman.

“I did not come here to bring harm to Solunarium.” He ran a hand through his hair. Mathias' posture lost some of its stiffness. “I accept these terms.”

Posted: **Fri Sep 30, 2022 1:41 pm**

Phocion had to smirk at the heat of Æros' response to the dismissal. His ire was writ as plain as the stars on his face, and his words to Dæmon spoke of a shifting of priorities that would not bode well for one already under scrutiny for such questionable choices. It was a pity, as he'd been doing so well at the beginning offering detail where the other was reticent. Then he'd forgotten his place in these proceedings. He'd overstepped and threatened to put Phocion and Solunarium in general into a very uncomfortable position, lacking the prerequisite knowledge that guided the Sentinel's actions and making unwelcome and untenable suggestions. But as he spoke on, Phocion's smirk melted into an icy grimace. On his last point, the sentinel nodded.

"Magis magisque."
(Increasingly.) Æros was clearly no politician, nor had he a natural talent for diplomacy, it would seem. To broach strategy directly in front of a potent enemy... to breach decorum so brazenly. Perhaps, in one regard at least, Æros was correct in the supposition that Phocion had been foolish. He had, after all, allowed Æros to sit in on this meeting and disrupt it.

He shifted his attention to Arcas, now and listened to his grievances. His nerves had gone down again along with his hackles. He pinched the bridge of his nose between gloved fingers and sighed.

"It keeps coming back to perspective and cultural context, Arcas." Their masks, both literally and figuratively, were now off and if the ancient foe was to identify by his cursed name, then Phocion would join him in so doing. "Sharp words are common here. In the heat of the bone-bleaching sun, one grows blunt of tongue, but yes. I call you arrogant. That seems to me an objective truth. I, too, am arrogant. But I understand and accept the rules of this realm, and lack the dangerous potency you wield which, and do forgive my sunlit bluntness in so saying, does not seem to be completely within your grasp based on what I am told of your bouts in the arena." Phocion wished he'd had more time to be briefed on this. He could have taken weeks to better prepare for an encounter like this, but so much of the art of diplomacy was improvisational.

Phocion arched a brow. Now they had come to it. His heart skipped a beat and he sat upright, eyes fixed ahead. Brusque though Phocion's delivery had been, it seemed Arcas had not missed the mark of his intent earlier.

"I will discuss this with the Crown upon the conclusion of our meeting, but if you will vouchsafe to free the Founders of Solunarium, I believe it may be possible for us to put our ancient and potent magicks to use toward the goal of removing your tethers. It is not ours to end your ancient feud with our Gods, but we might call armistice for a time, until we are able to confer with them directly" Phocion actually smiled. More than a smirk, it lit up his pale face and he rose to his feet. This was a holy mission. Would he be named in the history books for holding the negotiation that would usher in a New Epoch of Aværys?

"Then we are agreed. In this first set of terms I am plenipotentiary, and may ratify the terms straight away. On the other matter, I must consult with the Crown." Phocion rounded the table and stood behind Dæmon's chair.

"Please rise and embrace me to seal our understanding per the Old Ways." He extended his arms, shuddering slightly. When this custom had been conceived it clearly hadn't been with the intention of embracing so cursed a one as Arcas, but it would not be binding unless he brooked his touch.

"Æros?" He glanced down to the other, still seated,

"Separatim ad te paulo ante loquar."
(We shall speak separately anon.) The words sounded more matter-of-fact than foreboding.

Posted: **Fri Sep 30, 2022 6:44 pm**

TIMESTAMP: -
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Æros was no politician, though his family might have tried to raise him to resemble one in some fashion or another. But only in some ways, really; they wanted him to be skilled in far too many things and it was this that ultimately broke him. These...overbearing expectations that he had to learn and do well in a great many fields at once with no sympathy for any semblance of failure. And as a result of this break and the last year or so he's spent unraveling, his social skills in rather serious settings have begun to bleed.

Bleed, yes, but he is also emotional, young, and drunk– through the casual consumption of what was available here on top of what he'd had prior to showing up, he was able to stave off sobriety. To his dismay, however, he could feel his high beginning to wane and this was not the most appropriate of places to fix that. A crying shame, that, because this situation was awful and the Færie wanted nothing more than to leave.

Pieces of him regretted the last thing he said and yet other fragments simply did not care. Or…he didn't care until Phocion indicated that the two of them would speak later. This was not stated in a way of threat, no, it was stated simply as fact but that didn't help the matter at all. On his end, Æros would much rather never clap eyes on this man again, and so to then be told that another meeting would be inevitable? Oh, he simply wanted to die. This, of course, was an option…but he'd have to act fast to find somebody to grant this wish since yet still, he was too prideful to harm himself directly.

Having regained control over his face and Symphony, he would appear unreadable at this point despite the potency of his despair. To help with his own unease, he used his magic to shift his emotions in a calmer direction, not wanting to let the high tension of this scenario get the better of him again.

It was a shame he hadn't made the point to suggest the offer Arcas had made prior to him voicing it himself, but there was some solace to be had in the fact that he came up with it himself– to Æros, his amenability to the idea in the first place was a blessing. The divine's identity, specifically as Arcas, had struck fear into him pretty immediately. Fear not for himself, but for Solunarium at large, as having anything akin to a repeat of history would likely stomp what remained into dust. He was still cagey about the man, but at the very least his judgments were fair in this incarnation thus far.

To Phocion, he simply nodded, accepting the man's words as he knew he had no choice.

And then as much as it pained him to suggest this, he looked to Arcas. "Though it was not my will to guide your steps across the ocean and onto our sands, nor was I aware of who you truly were, I served as your guide once arrived– might I still maintain this role? I shan't be able to repay a feat anywhere near to the gravity of freeing our Founders, but should that offer prove to be genuine, I do pledge whatever resources I may possess to assisting you in regaining your freedom." He spoke cordial, tone holding threads of hope interlaced with a certain earnest severity he'd never used in the divine's presence prior.

The Starborn's expression was much the same, just on the edge of being pleading, yet not quite so. Close to desperate, but just shy. He wanted to convey the gravity of his request without showing much vulnerability in front of the Vigil– he had zero context for what the other man wished to speak with him about but it couldn't be good, could it? Æros did not feel as if he had made a good impression. So in a way, this request was deceptive; it was a selfish lifeline borne out of fear of the unknown. He did not wish to linger in the presence of a creature that terrified him, no, not even a little, but what choice did he have right now? He would, genuinely, rather die than submit to whatever mess Phocion would come up with should he fail whatever test their next meeting would hold.

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'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

Posted: **Sat Oct 01, 2022 6:21 pm**

D A E M O N

He was not blind to the predicament that Aeros was in. He had, unwittingly or not, guided the sworn cultural enemy of all Solunarium into the heart of their kingdom. Whether he had come with good intentions or not was irrelevant. If he had learned anything about the authorities of Solunarium it was that they were not going to smile kindly upon the escorting of their sworn enemy into the heart of their country.

“I accept your services.” He looked to Phocion. “While I am certain that the authorities of Solunarium have a plethora of assets at their availability, there is something to be said for an individual who is so conspicuous. He draws attention to himself in a wanton way that could prove to be advantageous, especially with his powers as a Mesmer. They could be refined, perhaps, but useful.”

He would give them the opening. However, he was not the master of Solunarium and held no authority except as a power unto himself and Mathias protector. Aeros was a citizen of Solunarium and would ultimately have to contend with what that meant for him.

Talon rose to his feet. As he did so the air in the room shifted. The sunlight that filtered through the large window, overlooking the Atraxian Expanse, it shone brighter. The light sought him out, cascading across his skin like a mantle of aethereal power. He reached inside of himself and drew out the potency of his divinity, at least as much as he could in his current condition. The veil of his mortality fell away. The silver-white of his hair, of the runic markings upon his body, and the mercurial silver of his eyes all became luminescent as they shone brightly with the light of the dawn itself. Any facade at being mortal dissolved as he straightened to his full height. Crowned by a corona of light, his divine nimbus asserted itself, dispelling any notion that he was mortal.

The very walls of the citadel themselves almost seemed to become a translucent crystal, hinting at a place of otherworldly paradise. His divine realm was reaching for him and though he could not at present cross the threshold, that did not stop it from drawing nearer whenever he asserted his divinity. Feelings of tranquility, piety, purity and justice emanated from the light of his nimbus, inspiring whatever it was that mortals in his presence were moved to feel when touched by his portfolio. The one thing lacking, however, was the dominion of Hope, the piece of himself he had divided for safekeeping.

He looked into Phocion’s eyes, his own burning with the heat of Dawnfire. He penetrated the shell of the man’s body, gaze piercing through flesh, through sinew, through bone, down to his very soul. He beheld the souls of every person who was in the citadel and even into the village beyond it. His light shone up what they would have kept in the dark parts of their souls. The light of his fire burned away all shadows and in his eyes, there rest Judgement itself.

For the Light was his, and no others. Just as Justice was his. As it always would be.

“You stand before me, mortal, a proxy for you and yours. For yourself and for your people. I who am Arcas, King of the Dawn, Divine of Light, Lord of Justice, and Prince of Dragons, accept your terms for the time being. I will allow you to discuss them further with your Crown, understanding that this embrace, is a temporary one. When your Sovereign has spoken Her mind fully, then will I enjoin you and your people in a bargain that is more fitting for the road ahead or release you if She decides otherwise.” He held up a hand by way of caution to the Sentinel. “Know this, and know it well, I am Justice itself. Break your vows to me and Judgement is mine for you and for those people you speak for.”

He stepped forward opening his arms, giving Phocion the opportunity to pull away or change his mind but he would have it known, Solunarium was not dealing with a mortal power. They were dealing with a god. Chained though he was to the will of his slaver, he was still a being of the divine realms and they had demanded honesty from him in their dealings with him.

They would have it.

Posted: **Sun Oct 02, 2022 1:00 pm**

Phocion arched an eyebrow, detecting the feint in Æros gambit. Further binding himself to Arcas was a bold move, but not without merit. The Vigil had spoken ominously enough that he might have feared the possibility of being disappeared by the order. This move, while risky, at least had the potential to delay that eventuality. Phocion might have pressed the matter, had he any strong feelings on it, but in his mind Æros remained more a variable than an overt threat. If he was loyal to the realm and to their common faith, there might be benefits to keeping him close to Arcas. But that was what he intended to broach with the man in private. He pursed his lips,

"Would you like me to set you up with quarters here at the citadel, or will you be making the commute from the capital?" He let the question sit for just a beat to make the man wonder if he would be expected to find his own means of travel across the hundred odd miles of desert between Solunarium proper and Red Rock. But ultimately, he clarified: "We can transport you via our order's Prætorium in the Umbrium, if you wish to maintain your present lodging."

He stepped back as Dæmon rose to tower over him. Glancing up the length of the man's form he had to smirk at the recollection that this creature had attempted deception when, even before he washed himself in luminescence, he demanded attention by merely being out of place. A 'rara avis', one might pun. A dove among the serpents.

As Arcas drew forth his light, Phocion instinctively averted his eyes, turning his face away and casting his gaze to the red stone of the floor beneath his boots. Solunarians were no strangers to spectacle, but Phocion was a creature of the Umbrium and an adherent of the Silver Path. While he, as a Solunarian and a prince of the blood, had often basked in the brilliance of Aværys' radiance, he was more comfortable blanketed in Varvara's shadow. Blinking away the initial discomfort, he lifted his gaze to meet the orbs of dawnfire that peered at him. Beyond his icy eyes as Arcas looked through them, he would see traces of the familiar foes he once cast down. Divine, but very distant and dim, the eyes of Phocion's storied ancestors seemed to look back at him, and their scion's sneer was as their own.

He pursed his lips as the divine diatribe was delivered, and his mind returned to the original and prevailing theme of their entire interaction: Perspective. With so much certainty and so little subtlety, Arcas was, to his eyes, just as he'd been depicted in scripture and sermon for as long as Phocion had been able to process such complex themes. Not, as he had titled himself, a dæmon per se, but a misguided agitator who spread misery unintentionally as a side effect of his gargantuan hubris. His instinct as a diplomat and a faithful servant and scion of the Founders was to verbalise and argue these points, but this was not his fight to wage. And if all went well in this endeavour, the Founders would be able to press their own points directly.

"That is all well and good." Phocion replied, forcing a mildness that no sane being could feel with any veracity standing toe-to-toe with a demi-deity. "But when all is said and done, we'll have contracts drawn up as well. A copy for you and one for us, the which will burn to ash if either side breaks the covenant, thus alerting us to the nullification thereof." That said, he stepped forth and lifted onto tiptoes as he snaked his slender arms around the thick trunk of the massive man. He turned his face as his cheek nestled into the valley between his bulging pectorals and quietly sighed at what a strange image they must have cut. Phocion looking so small, slim, fragile and dull as the much larger creature, bathed in light, seemed to consume him. For the cold sentinel, affection was a rare thing and this embrace stirred odd feelings. There was a certain timid comfort in the warmth of strong arms despite the awkwardness and melodrama of the moment. After a trice, he stepped back onto his heel and backed away, clearing his throat.

"Well." He straightened out the front of his garment, and returned to his side of the table to collect his wine. "We shall have chambers arranged for you here. Feel free to remain and enjoy the refreshments while things are set up. Æros, if you wish to remain here for the nonce, just inform the staff if you find yourself in need of a return trip. Otherwise you may travel with me and we can get our little chat out of the way forthwith."

Posted: **Sun Oct 02, 2022 8:42 pm**

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Æros was awash with relief at both Arcas' response and Phocion's acquiescence thereof. So much so that their words to one another fell on deaf ears– he was barely listening to either man at this point beyond the keywords that pertained to him and his own fate. This was even despite the fact that the two had approached each other and the idea of these two gentlemen hugging, in any other context, would be a particularly precious type of comedy.

To Arcas in response to his agreement, "you have my thanks; should you have need of my presence, you may freely call upon me." He spoke with a genial sort of smoothness, steady cadence despite what unease lingered within.

However, upon Arcas' reveal of his divinity, the Færie's shadowed gaze found itself immediately upon him, pointed ears perked to listen for his words. Ah, yes, of course! The relief he had felt was then, immediately, tainted with a sort of abject terror he then did his level best to reign in right away. Æros did not trust Phocion whatsoever, so to know that Arcas then intended to punish the entire nation should one man betray him…well…deity of justice or not, such a thing most certainly did not sound fair to him. Both of them filled the Færie with a sort of unease powerful enough to have churned his stomach and made him feel ill…if he were sober.

The embrace of slender elf and demi-divine was precisely as absurd to behold as he'd thought, but again, the divine comedy thereof was muted by the ample potency of his unease. The star-crossed Fæ was desperate to leave. He wanted to slink back to his home and drown himself in his vices until his mind slipped and consciousness was lost…and just when he thought he'd be able to, Phocion looked to him and suggested they have their meeting forthwith. Æros cursed the idea internally, but he knew that it would be better to simply get it over with apace– that way, he wouldn't have to rot in worry.

He hesitated, if only for a moment, yet he didn't shy away from meeting Phocion's gaze. "I'd prefer to return to the Umbrium, and, as such, accede to the convenience of having our meeting anon." Of this, he spoke politely, though face and voice were devoid of his usual theatrics or any emotion at all, for that matter.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

Posted: **Sat Oct 15, 2022 10:16 pm**

D A E M O N

Phocion’s reply made clear several things to him.

Firstly, that he did not grasp nor truly understand the depths of the bargain he had just struck. It was either that, or he was playing ignorant. The agreement made had been done in the light of his divinity and thus was binding within the realm of the Aetherium itself. As the god to whom the agreement had been made, Daemon could not break it. It would have been an affront to both the Dragon King and the Masked Queen to do so. There was also the Goddess of Bargains herself, Myshala who did not take kindly to gods going back on their word. Regardless, his own godhood would hold him to its terms for the time being. While the mortals now sworn to the bargain had the option to circumvent it, to do so would subject them to his divine wrath. He doubted that Solunarium had an interest in betraying him so directly at this moment in time. Certainly not when he had offered them something that likely meant more to them than literal mountains of gold or even his head on a pike.

Secondly, it told him that for all of their bravado in shows of faith, they had very little dealings with actual divine beings. That did not surprise him. Even the Triumvirate of the Orkhan did not make a habit of meddling directly too often. The age wherein they ruled as God-Kings they had allowed to pass, gifting sovereignty to their people and acting only as guides when sought. It was a careful dance that had to be taken when dealing with mortals from the halls of the divine, especially in the realm of bargains. This meant that either Phocion knew and did not care about the consequences or he was ignorant of what he had just done.

For their sake, he hoped they did not go back on their word.

For what it was worth, he allowed Confidence to flow outward from his nimbus. They had no reason to be afraid of him for he was not there to bring fear or destruction down upon their heads. At least, not at the present time. Whether they received that confidence was up to them but it was there to ease some of the tension that had bled into the forms of those who were in the room.

Daemon stepped back and allowed the veil of his mortality to fall back into place. The light blessed paradise drifted further from the material realm and the walls of the chamber began slowly to fade back to normal. Briefly he turned his head in order to see the beauty of his holy realm for just a brief moment, a restrained longing passing over his features before the vision of it faded. The light exuding off his form dimmed until the markings upon his body returned to normal or at least, normal for him. He looked to Aeros.

“I will. I expect I will need your insight in other matters soon.” With that, he nodded to Mathias who stood up from his chair. “If you have nothing further, Sentinel? It is time for Mathias sparring lessons.”

His squire looked momentarily bleak but hid it. Daemon smirked. He would not skimp on the young man’s training simply because of a precarious matter of diplomacy.

Posted: **Mon Oct 17, 2022 6:59 pm**

R E V I E W

Lore: 8 each.

Experience Points: 15 each (May be used for the appropriate magicks)

Injuries/Ailments: Æros wounded pride. Phocion's humiliation at having to embrace Arcas.

Loot: Æros earned the suspicion of Phocion, Phocion earned the contempt of Æros, and Dæmon has his run of a swanky new citadel.

Notes: A divine covenant has been forged. More politicking ensues.

Legend of Ransera

"A Game of Confidence"

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Re: "A Game of Confidence"