The Ides of Wither [OPEN]

[Finn]

The foreign bard bowed as he had been instructed by Cithæra's tutor of Solunarian etiquette, surprised that he managed to lose himself in the music even here, but so it was. He recovered quickly. He followed the choreography provided and took up his place beside one of the Sentinels, though he wasn't wearing black himself, not today. He stood beside Cithæra's camerarius, Leukus Val'Sorokys Kyrin—Arvælyn's ostensible father. His symphony was familiar, as he had heard it often, and yet unfamiliar for he had never truly made a connection with the stiff-lipped man.

There were other songs in the surrounding music. Some he recognized, like the powerful tone and timbre of Talon—or Dæmon in Solunarium; others he didn't, like the jangle of Cetus' nerves nearby.

"I don't know if Arvælyn has brought it up," he said quietly, voice pitched for Kyrin's knife-shaped ears alone, "but you are the spitting image of Deus Aværys."

His eyes were on the pageantry, Cithæra leading her family's procession toward the Queen, but his "ear" was on the elf beside him. He didn't really know what he was asking, what he was expecting, but it was a detail that had struck him back on Kaladon. It was entirely possible that the blood of his forebear merely sang strong in his veins, but with Moritasi involved—and a Draegir in attendance now—coincidence seemed unlikely.

Finn was weary of knowing too little too late, of being a pawn on the chessboard. Aværys had crowned him, apparently upon the advice of Varvara. In some ways, it felt like Varvara's chains in his blood.

Did his brow burn when Thalya revealed the identity of Raithen's one-time lover or was that his imagination. He didn't rub at it, but maintained his posture, the golden lyre framed in his arms to catch the light. Presentation was so important in Solunarium.

"Well, fuck," he murmured.

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

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Standing amongst his kin, the starlit Fæ wore an outfit that left little to the imagination and yet was grand all the same. The largest things he wore consisted of a deep blue subligar similar to his skin tone in some places, a pearly, gossamer shendyt, gilded pauldrons white gold pauldrons and caligæ of a similar metal. In addition, Æros also wore a large variety of jewelry on face, neck, torso and all four limbs; a mix of gold and white gold. The pauldrons were adorned with bright, coruscant feathers of white and secured to his body with white gold fetters. Using Masquerade, he’d added several subtle enchantments to his body and ornamentations. His entire body was encased in a pearlescent sort of veil, the already reflective metals bounced more brilliant, colorful light than they otherwise should, all of the metal on his form radiated a soft, whitish gold glow, and a shimmering, gorgeous wreath of translucent gold bay laurel leaves framed his head from behind. On top of all of this, Æros made use of his Mesmer rune’s innate abilities and his quirks to make himself appear all the more empyreal and alluring.

The mastery and artistry employed by the Euterpæ accompanying Finn, in some ways, made the contrast of his deliberate lack of magical use ever the more stark. True to what one ought to expect from musicians born and bred within Solunarium, their brilliance stole the show for Æros. To him, it was all the more a shame that Finn opted to not cast; to have been here this long and still abstain? That sent a message, indeed. In this scenario, as with a great many, however, Æros’ judgment was, unfortunately, not one that carried much weight.

While Æros fared better than most when inebriated in terms of maintaining his mental faculties, on a day like today he had been particularly indulgent. Suppose, then, it made some sense that he somehow did not notice the approach of the veritable behemoth of a creature that one would call Arcas– no, Dæmon. Standing tall with one hand on his hip, the Færie’s expression had been placid as his gilded gaze looked towards the performers out in the sands, but after it had finished, when Dæmon spoke, he was pulled from his thoughts and back to reality. For a second, he thought that the divine’s presence was a fabrication of his inebriation. As such, his response was delayed for a moment as he attempted to blink the man out of his vision. When the other man’s formidable form did not vanish from this plane of existence, however, it dawned upon him that he really was, indeed, there.

“I-...yes, how could I not?” Æros’ surprise was quickly eclipsed by an odd sort of amusement, given the abject absurdity of everything that had happened and everything that was currently happening around them. “...but are you? I was told that your contract had been completed; I thought you’d then make haste to return home.” He clicked his tongue, eyes shifting around the other’s figure in a way one could perhaps consider lurid. “Oh, but I can’t blame you for sticking around; Solunarium is brimming with things that could capture the eye, capture one’s attention– my good self included.” Punctuating this sentence with a wink, the subtle slur to the starborn Fæ’s words betrayed his inebriation clearly enough if his overall reaction hadn’t done so already.

Before either of them could add on anything else, Æros’ attention was stolen by the words of the Solar Sovereign; apparently, she had an announcement. As she spoke, the half-elf immediately felt the magnitude of her Mesmer, but he did his level best to maintain his own emotions using all of the tools that he had at his disposal. In this scenario, that would include the natural resistance his own Craft of Mesmer allowed him, active casting to continuously undo the alterations that were being imposed upon him, whatever help his Semblance could provide, and a thin, almost invisible barrier sitting close to the skin provided, coincidentally, by the very bracelet that Arcas himself had bestowed upon him. While the barrier was comparatively weak to the potency of the magic wielded around him, it was more than nothing, working in combination with what he already had.

It wasn’t necessarily that he was doing this in some strange act of defiance. No, he simply preferred to form his own opinions about things of this nature, and while he could not force out all of the magic that would warp him, he maintained enough presence of mind to still think for himself. The announcement of a Starborn heir was not what he was expecting, but it was one that held interesting implications for the future going forward. Knowing how much fate can change in a moment, he held no predictions, no suppositions– only curiosity and wonder.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Talon]

D A E M O N

He did not miss the displeasure that sparked in Thalya once she took note of him. At her gaze, however brief, he offered the barest nod of his head. He then brought a goblet of wine to his lips and took a drink, a hint of a smirk on his features as he regarded the spectacle playing out in front of him. There was, to some extent, something invigorating about the edge that existed in this den of arcane snakes. Even without his strength and power as a Draegir, he knew his worth as a sorcerer and the element of prestige and competitiveness that existed in the mage class of Solunarium had its appeal to him. It was a wholly different dynamic than that of Kalzasi, where magic was used to reinforce their independence and survival as opposed to being employed openly and en masse in the game of politics. The Northlands of Karnor already tried to paint his homeland as den of depravity and magical abuse. He wondered what his opponents would have thought of Solunarium.

“I am here to celebrate.” He took another sip of his wine as he answered Aeros question. The ostentatious flare of the Fae’s attire was as impressive and regal as he would have expected. It possessed all the flare and enchantment that was signature among Solunarian nobility. To think, he had once thought House Veyl was heavy handed in its opulence. They looked conservative by comparison.

“I am also here to bestow a gift upon Solunarium’s Sovereign.” He eyed Aeros steadily. He took his time surveying the nobleman from head to toe. There was no judgement in his gaze nor was there any apparent lust. He had been spending his days recuperating in the Republic of Cathena with his husband. Robbed of their honeymoon, the two of them had been spending practically every waking moment making up for lost time and separation. Aoren understood that the bulk of Talon was still missing from him. His dragon had chosen to love him anyways and for that he was infinitely grateful. He needed the solidarity and comfort that his partner provided. Lacking that, he could have seen himself inviting Aeros to his bedchamber.

“Indeed.” He turned his head at the sudden stirring of aether rippling outward from the Queen and amplified by the cohort of Mesmers at her disposal. He had learned early that he had to guard his mind and his aura in Solunarium, lest it fall prey to the whims of the legion of mind mages that resided in the kingdom. Following his ordeal with the empire, his efforts to protect himself from such manipulations had doubled. When the ripples of arcane influence brushed against him, they were met with a veritable fortress that worked subtly to shield him from unwanted influence. The web was woven together through Negation wards, compounded with the masking of his aethereal presence through Semblance, and augmented through various Scrivening schema that were drawn along the length of his spine stretching up to the base of his skull. The result saw the core of his personal thoughts as his own. He still felt the magic. He could feel the emotions being woven into his symphony. His own power and protections afforded him the luxury of recognizing the difference between thoughts and emotions manufactured versus ones that he possessed of his own volition.

As she made her announcement, he quirked an eyebrow. He lacked the context to truly understand the implications of what this meant. He did however understand that the Queen was making a pointed announcement if the efforts to sway the public were anything to take note of.

“Interesting.”

[Læbirius]

♅ 75th of Ash, Year 122, A.o.S ♅
Company: His father| Thoughts: So extravagant| Mood: Intrigued

☠ The young necromancer felt his father's hand rest on his shoulder, causing him to look to the older mage. He was concerned as his father held a gaze of discomfort as he looked at the exchange between the Princess and her majesty. Just what was happening, what was going on that he couldnt see, but his father could. He would then feel the movement within his own symphony, She began to stir as his symphony was being tampered with.

They play, they play with the emotions. her voice, the woman he often saw in his dreams whispered playfully in his ear as the Radiant one spoke. Her words seemed to be pointed, directed, but he couldn't place who at. As he listened to the words of the woman he fell under the sway of the mesmer magic wafting over the stadium. He found himself compelled to find pity for the plight they had to go through it seemed to protect their child, hiding them away in another country. There was so much about this place he didnt know about, but he was trying to learn and this seemed to add to the many customs and legends, and history he was still needing to catch up on.

Læbirius couldnt help but find similarities to his own situation compared to the new Starborn prince. He looked to his father as the queen finished her announcement, but as he did, he saw something most fascinating. He couldnt believe his eyes at first but the harder he looked the clearer the person became. In all his years living in Kalzasi, one couldnt forget the stature and profile of an avialae. Excusing himself he ventured over to where the Avialae sat, taking in his appearance, noting the silver of his wings, and the paleness of his skin.

He wondered just what an Avialae was doing in the Solunarium. Was he a diplomat for this occasion, though that couldnt be as from what he remembered, the borders were closed to the outside world for the most part. He was curious to know and without thinking approached the silver-winged male. "Hello my lord, I am Phozenzia Len’Nagarath Læbirius. I was not expecting to see an avialae here of all places. I grew up in the area outside of Kalzasi before being brought here by my father. How long have you been in the kingdom." he inquired, noticing the blue elven male.

"Forgive me, my lord, I didn't notice you. I was wrapped up in my own curiosity. I'm still new to the customs here." he whispered bashfully as he bowed to the other male accompanying the Avialae. Just then the woman from his dreams giggled in his ear. They know us, yet they know nothing of us, how strange. He found her word to be cryptic and wondered what she could mean by that. ☠

---

"Common Speech"
"Vastian Speech"
"Vallenor Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"

[Pharaoh]

“Interesting.”

"Do you really think so, Dæmon?" The voice came from behind him, as would the pull of a novel presence. ""I find it all rather pedestrian." The figure who voiced these musings was leaning over from the stadium tier just behind the foreign demigod. It was a step up, but the additional height wasn't sufficient to prevent Dæmon's wings from obscuring a significant part of the smaller man's view.

His full lips were slightly parted and his golden gaze fixed on what he could see of the arena in the foreground. Like many of his golden ilk, his sun-bronzed complexion seemed to offer a glittering cosmos in answer to the arcane sun that staved off the dark mark of eventide. The stars in his skin didn't swirl like the galaxies that painted Æros'. They seemed to remain still where they shone. If they moved at all, it was as slowly as those ancient celestial dots that mounted the firmament of an evening. His garments glistered also, composed more of precious metal than fabric they were some hybrid of clothing, jewelry and perhaps one might regard the golden bracers and chest-plate as a sort of armour.

As another figure drew up to the avialæ, this one retreated- leaning back in the comfort of his own tier to regard the ongoing pageant before them as more began to unfold.

The Euterpæ Ensemble had cleared the sands by the time the Solar Sovereign bade her cousin to proffer her fealty pledge, but Finn had been bidden to remain with Cithæra's envoy of relations and attending sentinels. He might have wondered whether it was due to his recent Kaladonian gift, but Cithæra was cagey as ever, dismissing any desire for details with: "It shall all become clear in the fullness of time."

► Show Spoiler

Kyrin canted his head toward Finn as he was addressed. They were close enough that the minstrel could see the faint outline of his face behind the veil. Even with the man's vexingly illegible Symphony and his visage veiled in sheer black, Finn would notice a broader smile than he'd ever seen this stoic, statue of a man don- illuminated by eyes now aglow like swirling pools of lava.

"When we met He was the most beautiful elf I had ever seen. In His absence, why should I choose a lesser face?" Kyrin countered.

Cithæra bowed slightly at the waist and tipped her head in greeting to the newly-introduced prince.

"Your Serene Highness." She acknowledged, before returning her attention to the Solar Sovereign. "I am here to render my pledge of fealty unto the Sacred Crown of Solunarium..."

Thalya IV Imperatrix let out a quivering sigh of relief. Perhaps her gambit had finally been enough to unsteady the Princeps Sibylla.

"...but not yours." Cithæra completed her thought and a hush fell throughout the Fortis Lacerta Arena. Her Mesmeric manipulations were unconsciously infused with her seething, quiet rage.

"If you'll excuse me," Kyrin whispered, nodding to Finn, "This is my cue."

Kyrin stepped forth and removed his veil. Dæmon and those around him might note that the man now baring his face appeared identical to the figure sitting in the tier just behind the Avialæ, who'd spoken to him moments earlier. Kyrin stood before the Princeps Sibylla, who knelt before him. When she spoke next, it was in classical Vallenor peppered with Vastian titles:

"Your Exalted Majesty Zalkyriax Zalkyrialis Rex Draconum, Vigil Vulcani et Pater Atraxiæ, by sceptre and scourge..."

Two of the other attending sentinels peeled off from their formation in opposite directions, their garments beginning to glow with fire that seared the uniforms as they were torn apart by the sudden, rapid growth of their occupants. In the place of those sentinels two full-grown Atraxian dragons leapt into the air and soared up to claim perches atop the stadium opposite the royal box as cries of awe, reverence and terror alike burst forth from the assembled below them. The Solar Sovereign, now more alarmed than angry, dropped her Mesmeric influence entirely- her mind reeling with too many thoughts to maintain any semblance of peace in her own Symphony, let alone that of so many others.

"...by crown and chain..."

Another two of the sentinels metamorphisised before the eyes of the onlookers and with steps that quaked the earth and shook the foundations of the only venue in the Luxium large enough to house five full-grown dragons, and soon it would. For Kyrin would not accept this pivotal pledge in this elven seeming. The Crownwyrm made his transition more slowly than the others, so that none would miss a moment nor take it for an illusion. Cithæra, Finn, Cetus and the other Sentinels still upon the sands, were now standing amidst the towering figures of three ancient dragons as two more stood sentry from their perches above and behind them.

"I do hereby swear upon my faith, my blood and the blood of my children, that I will observe homage and fealty to thee from this day until the end of days."

The voice of Zalkyriax boomed as he replied:

"I accept the fealty of House Phædryn in gratitude." He inclined his great head to Cithæra, before lifting his long neck until his vast visage was on a level with the royal box and the heat of his breath was warming those who occupied it. Prince Vrædryn was the first to kneel, but Prince Drævyn soon followed, until all but Thalya IV and the newly minted Prince Arkænyn were standing.

"I hereby assert the rights I have long forsaken. A new age is upon us, and dragons will once more take part in the governance of Solunarium." A grim smile curled the lips of the Crownwyrm, "I greet thee, Arkænyn Princeps. Allow me to introduce your counterpart:" He turned to look behind him, over his wing, where someone was emerging from the holding area across the sands from the royal box. Gold of hair and of wing, half elven and half dragon.

"Phædryn Arvælyn Princeps Draconum of House Sol'Zalkyrion."

Striding forth with newly grown wings folded at his back, and a set of horns crowning his brow, Arvælyn glanced about the stadium through vertical slit pupils set against whirling pools of lava. His transition was complete. In some cultures, the blend of his elven and draconic features might have come across as demonic in appearance. Whatever the case, Arvælyn's eyes found Finn and softened. He looked apologetic more than anything. But his attentions were soon drawn away from his amatus.

"My son." Zalkyriax rattled, and his siblings bowed as the half-dragon passed them to take his place between Cithæra and his colossal father, at long last revealed.

"Mine heir."

"Now this..." came the voice from behind Arcas, "...is interesting."

[Finn]

Well, fuck,—that had been an understatement.

Kyrin smiled. Kyrin revealed. The revelations kept coming.

Leukus Val'Sorokys Kyrin was the Crownwyrm and he wore Aværys' face and form when walking on two legs among his people. He was in fact Arvælyn's father, and Arvælyn... a prince of two bloodlines, two royal houses, and transformed into something new. But even so, the look he gave Finn felt entirely familiar.

Finn's jaw dropped. Cithæra's game played itself out before him, and everything fell into place. It was unexpected, but everything made sense now. No, he didn't doubt that Cithæra's game continued—plots within plots—though he didn't know how the Solar Sovereign could trump this. Then again, politics wasn't his game of choice; he only wanted to survive it intact. Perhaps he should have worried for himself, for how this would make him a target for intrigues and blades, but instead he worried for his amatus.

He had always been Finn's prince; now he was Solunarium's prince—crown prince. Finn could only react like a commoner, who knew that people whose heads rose too high too quickly were the ones decapitated. Bells, whistles, and alarums rang in his head, thrummed through his blood, but, for the first time since the Twins pulled his Rune out of him, he actively channeled through it. His song crept quietly into Arvælyn's—his counterpoint, his accompaniment—like reaching out to hold his hand.

Half-dragon, half-elf, Arvælyn was at least part of the massive change the Twins foretold. Finn might have felt a pang of worry for their relationship, but they had spent so much time with their symphonies interwoven, that he knew things between them would be all right. If he was Arvælyn's conscience, the golden elf was his muse. Finn might stride far, but the lines of the slipstream would always lead him back to Arvælyn's side.

[Hilana Chenzira]

Hilana looked on at what was going on down on the sands of the Arena floor. Had she watched Dominus Æros with the Avialae a bit longer, perhaps she might have seen a face that she did in fact recognize from a few short weeks ago. But her attention was back on the Royal cousins. Princess Cithaera didn’t seem surprised or even bothered by this, if Hilana could guess at her body language from where she sat, but then again, she was a study of control. She could probably give birth and no one would know from the look on her face. That was admirable; Hilana was trying to do better at containing herself, and she and Phocion had been good examples to try to work towards. But as the Princess Sybilla addressed the Imperatrix, the girl was silent, glad for once of the layers of her sari. She appreciated Tiaz’ comforting, reassuring weight around her shoulders, and one hand came up to touch his side, her fingertips against the smooth, soft skin.

She had enough understanding of Vallenor to understand what was being said, and her mouth fell open in something akin to shock and amazement. Her dark eyes leapt from figure to figure, and Tiaz shifted his weight in order to press his head against her chin, making the girl close her mouth before she could start catching flies. Her Wildness surged and all but screamed within her with excitement as Sentinels became dragons, looking from one to the other. But as Kyrin began to transform, Hilana automatically bowed low in her seat. Tiaz moved with her, staying where he was around her shoulders, his head still underneath her chin, taking comfort in her warmth and giving his own. She could feel the pressure of the Mesmer that had been being worked through the crowd releasing, and her reactions and emotions felt more like her own again.

She watched the Royal Box, searching through the lenses of her mask to see the chains on each as only the Queen and her newly-announced Platinum son remained standing, Hilana’s eyes as wide as they had ever been. Bold, so very bold. They had considerable stones to refuse to bend the knee to the ancient Dragon. She followed the mighty Crownwyrm’s gaze towards the holding area, much calmer than the rest of the crowd around her was about the newly-arrived presence of the Dragons. She had met the Crownwyrm on her birthday and survived it, after all, and had left on good terms with an invitation to return when she was a friend to flame and able to take the heat on her own. But when that form came out... Tiaz’s head pressed against her jaw again, because she was gaping once. Arvaelyn!

....Arvaelyn??

But he wasn’t... entirely as she remembered him. As he had been. He looked different. Prince Phocion had said that he would be changed, but how, he hadn’t known. Had he known this? That this was entirely a possibility? So that was why. Or, at least part of it... but... she glanced at Finn. What did this mean for her friend? For them? Shock and relief melted together as Hilana let out the breath she had been holding, though she felt tension in every part of her, her lowered drink utterly forgotten. But she was soon brought back to what was in front of her, as she had to pull her sari away from the spilled drink of the Sunborn Re’hyaean beside her. Really, now...

[Aeros]

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

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A man of stone, exactly as Æros had remembered, Arcas was. The Færie did tend to prefer people of more pliant personality, those with more tangibility to their emotions, but there was still something undeniably fascinating about those who held themselves as this divine did. It was beyond mere avoidance, beyond being a bit defensive, the man was a veritable magical fortress when it came towards getting a read on him through means not mundane, too. The starlit half-elf had only swept a cursory glance, a featherlight, cursory brush of his æther, over Arcas' being. Beyond simply being physically hard to read he was a bastion of magical defense within; Æros was met with utter silence for Symphony and a blank slate as an aura. If nothing else, this was an impressive arcane feat– one that the Fæ would be hard pressed not to find admirable. Still, he did wish the man would talk more.

"A gift?" Æros found himself suffused with copious curiosity. "I do so wonder what that could be," and while his voice was rich with emotion to a nearly theatrical degree, he said little more. If the divine intended to bestow a present upon the realm of Solunarium on this day, all he would have to do is wait, much as he did not desire to do much more of that. He certainly hoped that such a gift was a proper thank-you for one such as Arcas, of all entities, to have been freed of his fetters.

After the queen's announcement, Æros himself was silent and the Avialæ beside him uttered but one single word. Before he could add his own commentary on the matter, his lips parted but his ears perked to the words of another before he himself could speak. A stranger, one which he'd never seen before, one who did not speak with the accent of a native, had approached them. Frankly, Æros found this rude considering he and Dæmon were, by proximity and exchanging of words, engaged with one another. Secondarily, for one to utter the words, 'I didn't notice you,' to him of all people, especially with his various enchantments and the quirks of his Mesmer, was shocking to such a degree that it tiptoed over the border of insult.

The Færie's eyes narrowed and expression sharpened, but again, before he could say a word of a reply, another voice met pointed ears and oddly, it was one he recognized, one he quite liked the sound of. And yet, he could not immediately understand from where he remembered the voice; thoughts rapidly shifted through his head as he tried to remember before landing on one thing: the memory, the place from which he'd heard this voice, was not actually borne of his own experience. When he and Hilana had first reunited since she'd acquired her mark of Elementalism, he'd used his own newly minted craft to trace the Echoes of hers. He wanted to know from where, from whom, she had been bestowed the mark. The scene he'd plucked from her memory was one out of a grand tale, for Hilana had been granted the mark by the very man who owned the voice he'd just heard: Aværys, one half of Solunarium’s two divine Founders. To be frank, he was more than a little envious of her having met with him and walked away with suchs gifts, but he did not let such a thing spoil his happiness for her gain.

This realization took but a second to dawn on Æros after the Solunarium divine had spoken and, in a moment of disbelief, he turned his shoulders and head back to view the figure that owned the voice. Utter shock would be visible within the Fæ's black-gold eyes for just a moment before he very sharply composed himself with an influx of æther through his own Craft of Mesmer, for the figure he now beheld was, indeed, the very same Aværys depicted in both centuries of Solunarium artwork and the memory he'd peered into within Hilana's mind. He was free? Here?

Æros now stood in the presence of not one but two divine beings, and though very, very drunk, he was at least blessed to some degree due to the fact that he was both somebody used to being under the influence and offered further boons by blood and quirks. Recognition, disbelief, and then reverence rapidly cycled through the Færie's eyes as he did his best to mute his physical expressions of emotion.

He didn't know what to say or how to properly respond, but the moment was quickly stolen again by further developments in the sands. Cithæra had started to speak, addressing Thalya IV once more. Her words prompted the starborn to turn his gaze back towards the arena floor, much as he was reluctant to tear his eyes away from so pretty a face. The interaction that played out before him perplexed him. One of the Princeps Sibylla's sentinels had stepped forward, now in front of her, and upon removing his veil, looked quite similar to the Imperator that had been leaning over behind him. Yet before he had time to ponder this fascinating development, Cithæra spoke again, introducing the sentinel with the title of an ancient dragon.

With his apparent title stated, so began a dance of dragons. Thalya IV's Mesmer dropped as four further figures moved; they, rather swiftly, lost their shapes and revealed themselves for what they truly were: dragons. The fifth, the one named, made for a far slower and grander transformation. And then, one final announcement: a half-dragon revealed in counter to the full-blooded starborn. A half dragon Æros recognized, funnily enough. In some ways, the Fæ wasn't all too surprised; there was something odd about Arry and his serendipitous arrival back to his homeland from the very first time the two had met, yet he couldn't place it. This was…almost fitting, in a way.

As he took all of this in, the gilded voice of the Imperator rang once again from behind both he and Arcas, immediately drawing Æros' attention away from that which had just been revealed.

Tilting his head up and back to look up at Aværys once more, "...far more interesting than expected of a celebration for Thalya IV; so many unexpected actors hidden amongst cast." It was clear from the way he'd said this that what Æros had expected was a memorable, yet ultimately frivolous celebration; a party. If one were to perceive the unspoken, though Symphony or Aura, one would note that while that which transpired upon the sands was exhilarating and impossibly exciting on its own, the divine radiance and breathtaking beauty of the apparently freed entity that stood sequestered behind Arcas' wings galvanized Æros far more. The gravitas of this day would be hard to match going forward.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

[Talon]

D A E M O N

“You will see soon enough.” He offered Aeros a half-smirk. He was about to return his attention to the festivities when a person approached them. His attention was momentarily drawn to a young man with beautifully sun-bronzed skin. He appeared not altogether in the right place as he was approached. He could see the curiosity in the young man’s eyes.

“Daemon.” He offered. Before he could press further, a voice, one that he knew quite well, entered the conversation. He did not turn fully to regard the golden elf behind him. He merely brought his goblet of wine up to his lips and took a drink, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

“There you are.” Swallowing his wine he became focused on the events unfolding in the arena. When Cithaera made her utterance, there was a hush that fell upon the crowd. He could feel the proverbial intake of breath that accompanied such a bold statement. One of the Royal Houses of Solunarium not pledging fealty to the Solar Sovereign? That was a development he had not been expecting. It all began to make sense however as the various figures around the arena revealed themselves for who they truly were. As the words flowed from Cithaera’s mouth, a realization came to him.

“So that is what became of him.” The words were spoken mostly to himself but they were, in part, a sharing of insight that perhaps only the golden elf behind him could know. He was afforded many things as the Son of Eikaen among the realms of the Divine. While he was not at his full might to make use of most of those things, there was still some measure of insight to be gleaned as the Prince of Dragons when the opportunity presented itself. Staring openly at the mighty ancient dragon that was Zalkyriax, not enshrouded by the veil of a mortal guise, and not distracted by constantly trying to cling to his own sanity, he could see the whisper of something ancient and familiar about him.

When Arvaelyn came into the arena, his eyebrows raised in further surprise. He did not know Arvaelyn well enough for it come as more than just the novel surprise of seeing a half-dragon enter the arena. He had heard of dragonborn before but they were rare. They were beyond rare in the Northlands of Karnor. The only place where he could think of that might have seen them with anything close to regularity was the City of Antiris. The integral presence of dragons among their people out in the open was cause for there to be dragonborn there in greater numbers. Even so, he had never met one in person.

“You are right.” He brought one arm across his chest, the other holding onto his goblet as he smiled in amusement.

“This…” He took another sip of his wine. “...is interesting.”

He had to wonder what would come next.

[Læbirius]

♅ 75th of Ash, Year 122, A.o.S ♅
Company: His father| Thoughts: So extravagant| Mood: Intrigued

☠ He was about to ask another question, but between the man acknowledging him with his name, another elf appearing, and the revelation of dragons and a noble house's fealty to them, he had no chance. A sense of awe and wonder wrapped around him as he watched the dragons morph and form before his very eyes. He was in such awe that he found himself moving to the edge of the box and leaning forward to gaze upon them.

In all his years alive he had never seen one of them before, a dragon, and to be this close he felt as though his heart could stop. It seemed that the arena was becoming just that, and arena for the royals to fight it out amongst themselves. He almost began to worry if the civilians and lower nobles would be caught in the crossfire between two powerful figures. From what he knew of Solunarium history he could somewhat piece two and two together, but it wasn't much, and turning to the group of men behind him, he figured on of them could better explain things.

"I ask you to forgive my ignorance, but I don't think I understand what is going on here. Both nobles seem to have presented an heir. Just what does that entail?" he inquired, looking to the one being who appeared as if the cosmos themselves dwelled beneath his skin, as well as the golden elf that appeared not to long ago. "Again I am new here, and I am still learning the ways of this magnificent place." ☠

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"Common Speech"
"Vastian Speech"
"Vallenor Speech"
"Self-Thoughts"