Legend of Ransera

The nearest accessible entrance to the Umbrium was The Via Pulveris (or 'The Path of Dust' in Common) a plebeian-class entry point Southeast of the Luxian Forum. The Via Pulveris gatehouse loomed like a temple, or perhaps a minor keep- the architectural distinction between the martial and the mystical could be nebulous in Solunarium. Before the gatehouse, the glister of golden armour under the light of the Sceptre was difficult to miss. This part of town was not haunted as thoroughly by the Golden Guard as the neighbourhoods closer to the mount, and thus the stately Palatium Furiarum, and the armour was infused with a preternatural essence of authority that was enough to intimidate most of those who dwelt this part of the city.

There were several queues of Solunarians being assessed for admission by the attending sentries. Each queue seemed to be prioritised according to caste, though on first glance it would certainly appear to be racial segregation with elvenkind being accorded faster and easier entry than humankind which seemed to have the edge over the peregrini and slaves who were held under far greater scrutiny than proper Solunarian citizens.

Drawing closer, the dark shadows that wove between the glow of the Golden Guard would come into view. At first they might have seemed like simple, civilian attendants assisting the Golden Guard, but that was an arcane feint. As the armour of the sun soldiers emitted authority, the simpler, darker garb of these individuals was infused with an aura of dissuasion that urged those subject to its effects to pay little heed to them. Talon's Semblance would read a far more byzantine tapestry of enchantments infused into both the golden armour and the black robes, but nothing that seemed pertinent outside the context of a hostile encounter.
The guards did not seem to take particular note of Hilana, Talon or Aoren, though a few of the citizens queueing up for entry did seem taken aback at the sight of the imposing foreigners. One Vastian child, wide-eyed, pulled at his mother's sleeve pointing at Talon and whispering: "Mater, ecce! Dæmon ex arena!"

Before the party could approach the forward guard who seemed to be directing the few people who didn't know their place in the hierarchy, Talon would sense a surge in the Slipspace. A portal materialised beside the forward guard, who jolted away from it, reaching for his weapon in alarm.

"Pax, locumtenens." The weight of his heavy glaive preceded his first step from Umbrian to Luxian terra firma, as the Sentinel regarded the approaching peregrini and his gaze lingered on she who led them. He lifted a black-gloved hand to remove the veil that hitherto concealed his moon pale countenance.

"Cur non miror?" Phocion mused, through half a smirk and half a sigh. He turned his pale gaze next to Talon. "Dæmon. You're back." His smirk fell away like an act curtain.

"Why?"

Phocion nodded in answer to Hilana's address, and considered her explanation and request as Dæmon replied to his direct query. It took him a moment to process the Synskrit, as it was a language in which he only briefly dabbled in preparation for his Kalzasern exertion the prior year. He hadn't had cause to use it since, and so it took him a moment to process the sentiments espoused.

"I see." The Sentinel replied, shutting his eyes and seeking the mind of his mother through the power of their Re'hyæan consanguinity:

High Sentinel, Arcas is-...

I am observing, Sentinel. Cithæra's sending interrupted his own projection, Permission granted. I am en route to the Prætorium.

Acknowledged.

Phocion's light eyes snapped open and he turned to glance over his shoulder through the still active portal via which he'd arrived to regard the veiled Vigil Viator (or 'Sentinel Traverser' in Common), who maintained the arcane pathway.

"Follow." He said to Hilana and her foreign guests without looking at them as he pivoted to step back through the portal and onto the marble tile of his office in the Vigilia Argenti Prætorium. The clink of his glaive echoed through the high-ceilinged chamber with its great floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Umbrium without.

"Come." He gestured, as he headed from his inner sanctum to its antechamber and then the corridor without. A conference room would be more suitable a venue than his office, and he could let his mother know wherever they landed once he'd secured one.

"Now, to be clear, do you wish to speak with Her Serene Highness Cithæra Princeps, or High Sentinel Cithæra?" He rounded a corner, and led them into a chamber with an obsidian table with silver etchings inlaid upon its surface in an intricate design. The silver etchings glowed, as did a similar pattern on the shiny, black ceiling overhead- serving as the light source for the otherwise pitchy room.

"Either way..." Came a female voice from the doorway, "She is here. Gratias, Vigil. Licet relinquere." Phocion bowed to his superior, and left the room without a backward glance to the guests.

"You have, perhaps unwittingly, stepped into a complex, political mire with this matter you seek to address. Please..." She gestured, stepping toward the table. "Be seated."

"Naturally you are aware of Solunarium's general political state..." Cithæra conceded, "But, with all due respect to Your Highness, I do not believe you have the context to comprehend the political situation pertaining to this particular issue." She said this with no apparent malice or judgment in her tone. If anything frustration showed through it was about the situation itself, rather than Talon's entirely understandable unwittingness to the same. And, if any frustration showed through, this was intentional.

That the same people who created the Sceptre of Aværys and mounted it in the sky were posing requests to the general population to aid in maintaining it might have raised more suspicion in a populace that was not as well conditioned as Solunarium's. But here they were, and the summons had been released- By the Elven Court, not the Draconic. This was an easy distinction to overlook, given the fact that the artificial sun hung over the Luxian sky, rather than the Umbrian which was perpetually lit artificially and had been for millennia. There was far more to it, but Arcas-Dæmon-Talon seemed more focused on the mechanics of potential solutions than the cause for any delays from those who might mend the matter from within. She did not begrudge the demigod this focus. In fact, she welcomed it.

"The Eclipse was a fascinating phenomenon, at first, albeit an inconvenience. A side effect of conflicts that had naught to do with us, which we brooked blithely for as long as we could. That time has passed."

"In the aftermath of Sub-Sentinel Finn's misadventures abroad of Atraxia," Cithæra began with a glance to Hilana, "His Exalted Highness has seen fit to devote vasty resources toward the matter of the Eclipse. The Court of Gens Sol'Zalkyrion is disinclined to devote copious resources to the battle of sustaining the Sceptre of Aværys, for we are now focused upon the war of ending the Eclipse altogether." She turned her eyes from Hilana to Arcas.

"If you would aid the Luxium in upholding their unnatural half-measure, we will not begrudge you the endeavour. But if you would, instead, work toward bolstering the expeditions we are sending abroad to consummately undo this calamity, then The Umbrium would be downright grateful."