Legend of Ransera

The Free City of Antiris
20th of Glade, Year 122 Steel

Kalzasi was a mess.

As one of the public faces of the Golden Peacock Theater, Aurin had been called to help maintain order after the debacle on high that set airships afire and then the political and social landscape. The ban on travel had been lifted and the Skyharbour repaired, and the Iron Queen was now the Iron Queen Regent—authoritarian order had been established so he felt his people were safe enough for him to fulfill a promise he had made to one of his people.

It felt a bit strange to be back in Antiris. He had been back since Arvine Venasyr swooned into his arms and began to construct Arvalyn Val'Cithaeron from whole cloth. Now he was back specifically to search Arvine's roots. Using all the information Arry had provided him, he found the building he had grown up in until he joined the little army of ragamuffins. The human-dominated ghetto made him think of Brenner Dornkirk's insinuations last season—it felt so long ago, but wasn't quite. Asking around yielded little, until someone remembered a Ruslan Venasyr and the bar he used to make a sad showing at on the regular, swimming in his own piss and vomit from the sound of things. Aurin frowned. He didn't hate the man he had never met, but he wished he had done better by himself and his son, even if that meant Aurin had never met him.

Walking those streets, he half expected to feel an inexpert hand in his pocket and to turn and see those frightened, calculating golden eyes under a knit cap. He wished he had done better by Arry, but things seemed to be treating the half-elf better now. He had survived several sad excuses for men.

When he found the bar in question, he didn't quite look himself. He was dressed for the crowd, though perhaps trending toward the more prosperous of the neighborhood. His seeming trick was played to turn red hair gold, his complexion to complement, and his features blended toward Arry's. He might have been a brother or a cousin, though his ears were rounded. He wasn't Aurin Kavafis, nor Darus of Haqs, nor even Oren Cavafy.

He took a seat at the bar and ordered a drink, quiet and observant, not causing any problems. If a bartender got chatty, all the better. If not, he would try to suss out who had been here the longest and see if he couldn't ask some questions. Or hells, their memories might draw a line from his face to Arry's to Ruslan's, and the words might just come pouring out. Aurin did like to make things easy.

Aurin nodded at the bartender, thanking him for the drink. It wasn't the rotgut, but it was certainly cheap. That was all right, though. Life in Kalzasi had finally become champagne wishes and caviar dreams, but he could remember times in his life where he would have killed for something off of this menu. Or perhaps he had; there were periods of his life he didn't like to examine too closely, preferring them as a dim blur.

"I'll have a sandwich," he added. But seeing as the man had just sat down to his own supper, he quickly followed up with, "Whenever you're done. Not starving at the moment; don't want to starve the barkeep." He smiled the commiserating smile of someone who had worked in the service industry, but didn't pester him. Aurin could play the long game, and bartenders usually knew a thing or two, or knew who had long memories.

This didn't seem to be the sort of place where he could barter with news of the brewing war in Kalzasi, though perhaps he was wrong. The demigod's sister was a dragon rider here in Antiris, or so he had heard. Blood could call blood into war, and these were the sort of people who might be conscripted. The man couldn't stay in the city for long; he would have to get back to make sure his excuses excused his employees from conscription. He didn't know if the Queen-Regent was the sort to value the good little propagandist he could be at the helm of a cultural and artistic institution, and he didn't know if she realized he was at the helm or thought it was Yserloo because of his wings and his title.

He wondered if this might have been a place Arry gravitated toward if his father hadn't died quite so early. Perhaps he would have followed his father here, then picked up a job, married the young woman in the kitchen, or even the man who had to be her brother. But his father had died early, and Arry had survived picking pockets instead. He liked to think he had given him a better life, or at least given him the opportunity to get one for himself.

Aurin smirked good naturedly. He appreciated good service whether it was polished or not; the best ones made a person feel welcome, not like they had better not touch anything.

"Best eat while the eating's good," he agreed. There was no attempt to ape the dialect; he just went with what was true: a bit of this, a bit of that. There might have been hints of the depths of Cathena City's river in there, but he had traveled Karnor for years. Arry used to eat like that, like it might be taken away. Mists, Aurin used to eat like that.

Ah, to the point.

"Things are bad in Kalzasi," he admitted. "Looks like war with Zaichaer. Don't know if the princess who came here to ride dragons will fly them over to help..." He shook his head. If someone had kidnapped Arry and his lover, Aurin wouldn't start a war. He would just track them down, kill everyone, and take Arry home. No need to involve anyone else. "Anyway, cousin of mine came to stay in Kalzasi a while back. Now wondering if we all ought to head back Antiris way if war's coming. No disrespect to the Avialae, but no idea if they are biting off more than they can chew in the Brass City. He said he used to live in this neighborhood, least until his father was in a bad way."

He shrugged.

"Figured I'd ought to see for myself before considering a move. Beat the wave, you see? Wars always make refugees. Don't want to wait too long and find gates barring my way."

Some true kernels, some license with that truth; he waited to see if the handsome man took the bait. The best bartenders were often chatty.

"Mm." He eyed Vadim as if the thought occurred to him that the eating might be good. Aurin laughed where appropriate, but not so much as to seem unctuous. The man would have gotten a job at the Velvet Cabaret if Aurin was hiring; Mists, he would have given him a job at the bar in the theater if he applied, but this was a family establishment and there was a pride in ownership that he could respect.

"Oh, aye? Well, if it's Arry you're speaking of, he's a half-elf. On his mother's side." He shrugged. "He decidedly don't wanna come back, which..." He shrugged again. "I can understand bad memories. If I knew where his ma had gone off to, but..." He shrugged yet again, then rubbed at his face like he was exhausted. "Ah, well."

Nodding along, he spoke to the other points. "Aye, I've read Hard in Hightown. Refugees don't even get a lick of spit when they're getting fucked. People aren't desperate yet, but they're scared. And aye, bit of a merchant, I suppose. Mostly above board, but have to make money one way or another to live. Even tended bar myself, though never owned one." There was a hint of admiration in his eye and his voice. "Might could do better than this neighborhood. Might could do worse. Someplace like this, I could help, though. Had to get Arry into some kind of community so as to make Kalzasi home. Dunno if the trouble he got into here has up and left or is waiting for him like he fears."

He glanced toward the door to check on his food, but he wouldn't starve if he had to wait a minute or three. There was ale, anyway.

"Arvine Venasyr," he supplied. Then he laughed and shrugged. When races mixed, what came from them was unpredictable. Arry certainly looked more like an elf than a human, but to Aurin, it was more in those beautiful golden eyes.

"Thanks," he called after the scarlet-bodiced wench, enjoying the sight of her walking away as much as the sight of her walking toward him. Mists, but Antiris bred pretty people. His eyes swung back to the male sibling, who didn't seem to be entirely sure Aurin was on the up and up. Perhaps he ought to have invested more time in a cover story, but he hadn't expected this to be quite so serious as one of his inquiries back in Kalzasi.

"Arkady," he supplied. "Share the mustard?"

There was a bit of a smirk to his smile. While he had found Ruslan's old watering hole, it seemed Arry's mother had left little trace. At least Vadim and his sister were interesting; he wondered if they would be worth the trip or whether he ought to cut his losses after his lunch and follow up on a few other possible leads. As fun as a dalliance might be, he wanted to get back to Kalzasi quickly so he could keep an eye on Arry and the rest of his people. The theater wouldn't burn down without him for a few days, but he knew everyone would feel a bit more secure if he was there to make decisions in a tumultuous time.