All About Arvalyn - Acts IV & V

[Arvælyn]

Act IV
The Golden Peacock, 45 Frost 121

“I was reborn as retribution’s son
To grant Re’hyaen children recompense.
First I did cleave Caelian’s dynasty,
But they were not the first to wrong our kin.
I muster now the instruments of wrath
And gather forth my wyverns and my wyrms
To rain Sorokyn’s fires down on the North.
Let them who cast us out be hence cast down,
For they were the inventors of our woe
And did design…” Wylan paused.

“And did design…” He let out a heavy sigh, and shook his head. “I’m sorry- Line?”

“Godsdamnit, Royce, that’s the third time you’ve called for a line in the past fifteen minutes. You were supposed to be off book weeks ago!” Borys slammed his script down on the table before him.

“And I’ve been trying, I really have! It’s just a beast of a role, is all. I promise I’ll get it before-...”

“Company, take ten!” Borys clapped.

“Thank you, ten!” The company chanted back in unison.

“Royce. My office. Now.” Borys shot up and stormed out of the auditorium.

Wylan could feel the tears welling in his eyes as he turned them toward Arvalyn.

“I just… don’t understand. I always know the lines when we’re running them just you and me, but then when I get to rehearsal it’s like… I don’t know. Some kind of block.”

“It’s a lot of pressure in a big room full of people judging you…” Arry patted him on the back.

“I guess so, it’s just never been a problem before, so I don’t understand it.”

“ROYCE!” Borys’ voice boomed from the back of the house, and the startled leading man leapt down from the stage to dash toward him. Arvalyn frowned after him and sighed. He reached down to shift the cuff at his wrist and noticed that there was a warmth around the Rune there. He furrowed his brow in confusion, as he hadn’t been consciously engaging it… Perhaps it was just passively engaging because of the heated emotion that exploded in the exchange between Borys and Wylan.

The company had been rehearsing for weeks. The rehearsal process for this project was longer and more intense than most, because of the technical aspect. There were dangerous stunts and complicated combinations of practical and arcane effects to bring Ancient Solunarium with all its dragons and deities to life. Borys had been growing increasingly frustrated with Wylan’s memorisation issues, but they kept coming up rehearsal after rehearsal. Arry felt for the man, but all his efforts to help seemed to vanish in the rehearsal room. It was as if-... Arry frowned and turned his wrist up to regard the Rune there.

“Oh no…”

“ARVALYN!” Borys’ voice sent a chill down Arry’s spine. Had he done this to Wylan with his magic? Did Borys somehow know? “Arvalyn! Come on back to my office!”

He felt unsteady as he rose to his feet and hopped down from the stage. It felt like a death march down the aisle to the back of the house, where he made his way out into the lobby and off toward the administrative section of the building. In the corridor, he was nearly knocked down as Wylan stormed out- tears streaming down his cheeks. He halted abruptly when he saw Arry.

“I got fired, Arry.” His voice was breaking, and all Arvalyn could do was stare at him blankly- Terrified. “Thank you so much for trying to help me. I told Borys everything you did. Thank you. I just… I have to go.” And with that he darted off, leaving Arry stunned in silence until Borys shouted his name once more to break him out of it.

“Sit.” Borys gestured across the desk as Arry entered the office and the elf obliged. “I had to fire Wylan. He was a good actor once. Maybe he will be again if he deals with his issues, but… We’re too close to previews, now.”

Arry looked on, bemused.

“He told me you helped him with his lines and that you know the show in and out.”

“Well… I’ve probably read it cover to cover about three hundred times, now…”

“All right, kid, you’re getting what you wanted.” Borys stood up, “I’ll add Phaedryn to Kaz’ track and, if you think you can handle it, I’ll move you up to the title role.”

Arry blinked as the terror and guilt that had afflicted him were washed away like so much soot and ash. He felt cleansed of it all, as the rush swelled up in him like a volcanic eruption… Like the Apotheosis of Aværys- when he launched forth from the fires of Mount Sorokyn astride the great wyrm Zalkyrion and went from slave to god-king overnight. That was how this small time actor felt getting his big break.

"So?"

Realising he hadn't answered, Arry just nodded effusively.

“I’m going to send everyone else home and we’ll run through all your blocking to make sure you’ve got it down. Tomorrow, we’ll pick up where we left off today with you as Aværys. Congrats, kid.” Borys got up from his chair and swept around his desk to head out into the corridor, leaving Arvalyn to bask in the news.

[Arvælyn]

Act V
The Golden Peacock Mainstage, 60 Frost 121
"Opening Night"

“This war we wage… It endeth not with us.” The golden light that shone from Aværys was starting to dim, as was the silver glow that emanated from his sister, Varvara, as the spouse/siblings knelt in a lonely cave. Thunder boomed without and flashes of purple lightning lit the mouth of the cave in fits and starts.

“This wheel will turn and turn until we win,
For our opponent lacks what driveth us
To righteous frenzy and salvation’s fire.
They bear not the mettle in their souls
To break a paradigm for victory.
For mercy is a weakness of the will,
When foes are left alive- Later, they kill.”

The cavern began to quake as the ground beneath Aværys and Varvara began to glow with red, yellow, orange heat. They embraced, as they began to sink into the lava forming beneath their knees where they knelt. Music swelled from the orchestra pit as the pair were consumed in their own vengeful fires and the curtain went down on the scene. Applause erupted in the theatre as the stage was set for the epilogue and Arvalyn helped his co-star up out of the trapdoor before following her out.

As they made it back into the wings, they embraced once more- No longer in the mournful manner of their characters, but in celebration at having made it through their opening night performances triumphantly.

“You were incredible, Faella!”

“You too, Arry! We totally killed it up there!”

Onstage the curtain was rising on a scene back at the Solunarian Court, where the surviving scions of Aværys received the news of their founders’ doom. It was a brief, but touching scene in Arry’s mind, so he waited and watched the epilogue play out.

“Then we are doomed, forsook- Soon o’erthrown!”

Arry’s former cue line stuck out to him, and he smiled- mouthing the words along with Kaz, who now portrayed the role of Phaedryn Sol’Aværys in his stead.

“What they call justice hath been meted out
Against the ones who wrought th’offending deeds.
Our armies in the North they blithely route,
Ignoring us- Born of those vengeful seeds.
Our founders’ sins, to them, are not our own
So, though our hearts are turned t’ward their decease,
They’ll grant us leave to draw blood from the stone
Until we dare to break their fragile peace.
So let us foster hatred in each son,
Until our pow’r and numbers wax to more
And we may see our Father’s will be done
When scions come of age to wage a war.
If we do bide our time and patient be,
In time once more we’ll know supremacy.”


The curtain fell on the epilogue, and Arvalyn could tell straight away that they were a palpable hit from the thunder in the audience’s response. The whole experience from the first scene to the curtain call had been such a swell of emotion it felt like he’d floated through the whole thing on a cloud. He couldn’t remember much of what had transpired along the way- As if he was merely a passenger in his own mind, having given up control of his body to the character.

The house was too big for him to make them out as he took centre stage for his bow, but he knew his loved ones were amongst the crowd- likely leading the cheers that now swept through the large auditorium. However he’d gotten here, didn’t feel like it mattered in the scheme of things. He was here. That was what was important. At long last, he was here.

[Pharaoh]

R E V I E W

Arvælyn:
Lores: 6
XP: 8 (Mesmer or Masquerade)

Injuries/Ailments:
Dead competition.

Loot:
The role of a lifetime! Portraying Aværys himself! I wonder how that'll pan out for him.

Notes: Passively sending out suicidal impulses into the Symphony of the competition? That's one way of getting to the top!