Legend of Ransera

15 Glade, 122 It was not a common occurrence in this day and age for the majestic Golden Guard and the shadowy Silver Sentinels to be charged to work together. The former were the face of power in the kingdom, resplendent and glorious as their founding God, Aværys. The latter wielded a subtler form of power- more silvery serene and silent, like their founding Goddess, Varvara. Where He had been radiant and rowdy in his glory, she had been demure and disguised. For many years the Golden Guard and the Silver Sentinels, like the Deities they evoked, worked in tandem. But wounds had been dealt in the prior century that had yet to heal. The rift forged by Alcineus the Platinum still sundered the House of Phædryn from its sister branches, though their public faces told a story of unity. It may have fooled the commonfolk, but few amongst the elites who dwelt the higher hills were deceived.

"Strange." The Centurion scanned over the missive once more to make certain he hadn't misread. "Huh..." He hadn't.

"Principalus Val'Camillus!" Centurion Val'Kyorin was nearly a hundred. He'd been born in the first year of Her Divine Radiance's reign, though to human eyes he wouldn't have looked much older than thirty. Like most centuries of the Golden Guard, theirs was segregated. Unlike most centuries of the Golden Guard, theirs boasted one of the sacred- With their helmets doffed, Æden was a shining image of platinum set apart from the sea of gold that comprised the rest of his century. Val'Kyorin still felt strange being in command of such a one, but duty was duty and the young Platinum Elf was a good soldier, if a bit vain. The boy knew and respected the chain of command, but Val'Kyorin pitied his so-called peers. As the beautiful boy approached him, Val'Kyorin inclined his head in acknowledgement.

"Principalus, you have been summoned, by name no less, to the Palatium Umbrarum." Both of those things were passing strange. That a member of the Praeventores, whose province was the sky, should be called to the realm beneath... And moreover that one of their number, and one of nominal rank, should be singled out for that distinction.

"The missive is from the offices of the Master Sembler herself." A divisive figure in Solunarian culture to say the least. Some believed the Golden daughter of Alcinaeus the Platinum ought to have been slain alongside her rebellious father, and others believed hers was the chosen line of Aværys from whom the Crown had been unfairly wrested. Whatever the case, Her Serene Highness Cithæra was a formidable figure who had contrived to expand the power of her Sentinels and convinced the Crown that for Solunarium to approach its former glory again, it must renounce its isolationist ways and improve its relations with the greater world.

"And you are to go immediately." Centurion Val'Kyorin shoved the sheet of papyrus into the Principalus' hand. "You are dismissed."
Whether or not he'd ever actually been there, Æden would know the way to the Umbrium. Everyone did. You simply made your way toward the starkest landmark imaginable- The massive, volcano exuding plumes of black smoke in whose shadow the Upper City sat. There were multiple entrances, the largest and most trafficked of which was at the foot of the Palatium Furiarum- The Blazing Palace of the Varværyns.

The letter in Æden's hand would afford him the privilege to skip the queue of people waiting to step onto one of the large platforms that conducted people from the Luxium to the Umbrium and back. He and about fifty others crowded onto the hexagonal dais, which was guarded by conscripts from the Imperialis Vigilia- a sister branch of Æden's own arm of the Golden Guard. When the platform was full, one of the conscripts let out a call and it began to rumble as it slowly descended into the depths below the mountain.

Many were surprised to find the Undercity was warm. Heated by the magma not so far behind the walls that had been excavated when the Forgotten City was first discovered in the Age of Aværys. Even knowing this was the case, it was another thing to feel such heat coupled with such darkness.

The Shadow Palace, like its blazing twin aboveground, was impossible to miss. It was a stark simulacrum of the Palatium Furiarum, but in greyscale rather than golden lustre. A guard at the gates would inspect Æden's letter and direct him to his destination within the palace.

Upon arrival, he was met by an attache who informed him that he was to meet not with the Master Sembler herself, but with another agent of the Sentinels. He was led into a dimly lit office where a slender, dark-haired figure stood with his back to the door- Staring out a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the Undercity where the shadowy cityscape loomed and little silver lights seemed to dance in the distance.

"Enter..." The voice was quiet, but just loud enough that one needn't strain to hear it. As if the least possible effort was being exerted.

The room was austerely decorated by Solunarian standards. It was customary for those who favoured Varvara to shirk the ostentation of those who preferred to bask in the light of Aværys. "Please." The figure at the window turned, and gestured to a seat on the other side of his desk.
"Won't you be seated, Principalus? We have much to discuss."

Aeden was not unused to being singled out. It was a natural response to who — and what — he was, and even if the cause was entirely unrelated to being a true mixed-blooded elf, it did little to phase him. He respected the Silver Sentinels for their duty to Solunarium, even if their methods were more suspect than not, though he had little reason before this very missive to interact with their number. He stayed quiet as Centurion Val'Kyorin explained, performed the customary Solunarian salute, and left immediately, as instructed.

His mother had a sister in the Silver Sentinels, and he had been taken to see her where she resided in the Umbrium before. The heat from the magma was much unlike the heat from the sun, and he found the underground too humid for his liking. The dry heat of the Luxium and the desert beyond was far more favorable, especially when one could hide in the shade. The Umbrium was all shadows, and even though he was able to see through them, they provided no sanctuary from the heat. In the heavy steel plate he wore, that made all of the difference. The light that was available in the underground reflected off of his armor, making him hard to miss and all the more prominent in the shade. If his armor didn't catch the eye, his appearance did. Without his helmet to make him anonymous, he was an obvious blend of Silver and Gold that, to most native Solunarians, could only mean one thing.

Aeden reveled in attention, but he didn't spare the time to bask in it. He found his way through the Shadow Palace and, eventually, to the office of an agent of the Sentinels. While he had some small hope he would have met with the Master Sembler, the fact he had been summoned at all was enough. He scanned the room, his grey eyes reflecting the little light like a cat in the night, and then he sat in the chair.

"Sentinel."

Although he'd invited- Perhaps even encouraged the Principalus to sit, he remained standing himself. He leaned back. The room was so dim that one might have expected him to tumble backward to his doom, but it was only that the glass was so smoothly polished and there was so little light reflected to remind one that there was glass at all. He crossed his arms over his slender chest and eyed the hallowed, rarefied features of the Platinum Elf before him. His gaze did not hold the reverence to which the soldier was likely accustomed. It was more appraising... scrutinising.

"Now, then." His languid stare slithered back up the length of the boy to rest upon his face. "As you may be aware, the Crown has recently endorsed a campaign to broaden the reach of the Solunarian voice throughout greater Ransera." That knowledge was commonly known enough, as it had been disseminated to the merchant class who rejoiced at the opportunities promised by new relationships that would doubtless lead to new trade routes.

"What you likely haven't heard is that a storm gathers in the realm of Karnor far to our Northwest." News from so far afield of the capital was not particularly widespread. Only recently had the Crown publicly expressed any interest at all in treating with other nations except to the extent that was required to acquire necessary resources and keep up with the changing times.

"Our agents abroad have sent word that a vicious attack was dealt to the Crown of Kalzasi. Their king lies dead and his heir presumptive is missing. The queen has rested control of the government and lays the blame on the neighbouring state of Zaichaer." He uncrossed his arms and clasped his moon pale hands together in front of his sternum, where they fidgeted slightly as he continued.

"They are ideological arch-nemeses, with Kalzasi relying primarily upon the arcane arts and Zaichaer upon the technological sciences. The Sentinels have been instructed to court invitations from both realms and, if they are amenable, to send emissaries." His silvery white eyes darted down to his fidgeting hands and, as if caught in some unbidden act, they froze in the line of his glare.

"I have been tasked to serve as the Solunarian emissary to Kalzasi." His eyes snapped back up to meet Æden's. "And the Crown demands I be accompanied by an Honour Guard." The Royal House was famously focused upon appearances, so it would be no surprise that they wished for the flashier display of their Golden Guard to accompany the more muted tones of a lone Sentinel.

"And you have been recommended to lead it."

Æden rested one leg over the other, ankle resting on armored thigh, and held his arms crossed. He met the Sentinel's scrutinizing gaze with his own. The man seemed difficult to impress, but clearly saw some merit to him to invite him here. He was quiet still as he exposited the reason for his summons, but even that was unclear until the end. Æden knew his geography, he had seen the maps of Ransera, but the concerns of Karnor seemed so very far away. Kalzasi and Zaichaer were so far north that he found it difficult to understand why it mattered, but the Crown held new desires and it wasn't unbelievable that they would pounce on the opportunity to pick one or both sides in the conflict and feel out their interests. He doubted that most would have even heard of Solunarium. As much of a jewel in the desert as it was, they were isolationist for so long that even Aeden wasn't deluded to their international status.

"I see." Came his response, finally, at the end of the explanation. He tilted his head to the right, his long hair — tied into a ponytail for convenience —following suit. For all his knowledge of geography, Æden had never left the deserts of Solunarium. Most, he realized, had not. They had yet to get into a conflict in his time with the Praeventores that required leaving. "I'm not surprised. They want to present their best." He left it unsaid that he was one of their best.

Æden knew better than to assume that just because he was recommended he would be picked, though he had no doubts that he would. This was more than an informational meeting, it was an interview, and this Sentinel seemed he had yet to be convinced. He had no idea what to expect from Kalzasi, aside from their arcane practice. To treat with mages seemed like a matter that would require mages in return, but he was as much a politician as he was a diplomat — that is to say he had no practical skill in either. He was a man dedicated to flashy displays of power, which he assumed were exactly what they wanted to lead the Honor Guard accompanying him.

"There is no doubt that they wish to impress Kalzasi as much as they wish to protect you, and I have no doubt in my ability for both."

The Sentinel didn't really come into this meeting with expectations as to how the Principalus might react. Expectations created internal biases in one direction or another that could cloud reality. Whether the Golden Guardsman was excited, cavalier or anything in between, the Sentinel would assess and respond accordingly. The reception he ended up observing was rife with conceit, and of that he took note.

"Indeed." The Sentinel replied flatly, with nary a smile or a grimace to clarify his reaction to the Guardsman's certitude.

"Your self-assuredness is to be commended." The Sentinel noted in a tone so mild and quiet that it may have been taken for sarcasm delivered under his breath. And yet, his silvery white eyes remained fixed on Æden's and there was nothing in his expression to indicate that he was being insincere. After a lingering gaze, he pushed off of the glass and stalked forward- extending one of his slender arms and pulling out the seat he had been neglecting since before the Principalus' arrival.

"The selection of Praeventores is, of course, economical as well as traditional..." The other two branches of the Guard almost never left Solunarium outside of wartime and it had been so very, very long since the kingdom had brooked a foreign war.

Slowly the Sentinel took his seat.

"Kalzasi is quite a distance, so we will need experienced Soldiers Caeli who are both practised on their mounts and trained in ground combat. Our knowledge of these foreigners' ways is limited, and so security will be crucial. It would be most humiliating to the Crown if harm was to come to one of Her Divine Radiance's emissaries so soon after starting this diplomatic campaign." He spoke as if his wellbeing had no merit of its own apart from how it reflected upon the Solar Court.

"I assume there are soldiers in your century who you might recommend to fit the bill?"

Æden nodded, though of any reaction that the Sentinel could have given to him, almost no reaction was perhaps the one that threw him off. He liked knowing that he was polarizing, and he did not know how to react to neutrality, especially in the face of something like this. The damn Silver Sentinels tended towards hard to read, but he seemed to take it to an extreme. He stared back at the man, and his eyes followed as he sat down.

"There are," He said. Even without an obvious reaction for Æden to read from the Sentinel, he did not need one to know that he did his own job well. He lay a critical eye on his brothers-in-arms and with that judgment came an idea of who and who would not be suitable for the task at hand. He found it curious that the man seemed to harbor no concern for his own security. The decision to bring guards was clearly not his own, but he couldn't tell if that was another strange Sentinel habit or if this man was uniquely pragmatic.

"I can name three soldiers with a suitable command of their mounts and their bladework to recommend for a foreign guard." Three felt small, but he did not just consider their skill but also the display of their skill. "Calys Val'Rassa, Alkaios Val'Termeia, and Halcyon Val'Charis." They were all Dryadalis Aureum, Sunborn elves, an intentional contrast to the Dryadalis Argentum in front of him and, of course, himself. "Val'Charis is the most skilled with her blade, but they are all commendable, with sharp eyes and keen awareness." He considered for a moment how many guards would actually be required, but too many would certainly be a threatening amount of overkill.

"No harm to you nor humiliation to the Crown will come under my guard," Æden asserted, again, though he said it as if he had to expound the Sentinel's own well-being to him in response to his lack of care for it. "But I will need to know more about Kalzasi before we leave."

“Good.” The Sentinel replied maintaining the air of blankness he’d clearly established.

“I believe your century consists solely of Aureae apart from yourself?” He did not wait for a response to a question to which he already knew the answer, but continued on apace.

“For the sake of symmetry, you will please select three Caeli Argentae from a sister century who roughly match the builds and talents of the three Aureae you’ve already mentioned. With you standing at the centre of such a complement, it should be most pleasing to the eye.” And there was inherent power in aesthetics. So many cultures ignored this singular privilege as they focused overmuch on the might of class and blood. Those held a place as well, but when it came to foreign policy beauty was also important. It was natural to be at ease in the presence of beauty… to want to please and impress the beautiful. For that reason, the Sentinel saw the merit of an Honour Guard to complement his own beauty with a stark, awe-inspiring spectacle of the otherworldly nature of Solunarian comeliness.

To the assurances offered by the Principalus, the Sentinel seemed to pay no mind, but he nodded in response to the practical question that ended Æden’s thought.

“Of course you will be provided with a dossier before you leave the Umbrium, but I shall synopsise…” He clasped his hands in front of himself on the desk and, once more, they almost immediately began to fidget as if independent entities about whom their master had suddenly forgotten.

“Kalzasi is ruled by Synnekar Avialae. Though they would balk at my saying so, their laws of succession operate much like our own. An electorate. Their rubric is not, as I understand it, as focused upon magic as ours, but the Synnekar House of Novalys has ruled unilaterally for many generations.

“Their population is significantly more diverse than our own. Even a melting pot like Tertium would seem comparably homogenous. This has resulted in what I would deem to be a rather…” His fidgeting paused for a beat as he focused on searching for the word, “…chaotic culture.” And the fidgeting resumed.

“Magic is infused into their everyday lives but, based on my interpretation of our intelligence reports, it does not seem that their ruling class has figured out how to optimise and organise it’s implementation. There is too much…” His clasped hands tightened, as if his mind suddenly became aware of the fidgeting and sought to crush the offending fingers that disobeyed his bidding. “Liberty.” He drew his hands back and down onto his lap out of sight.

“The most notable revelation from recent reports is that their abducted prince was deified and is a thrall of Arcas the Accursed, desecrated be his name, the ancient enemy of our Divine Founders. Were he still in play, a diplomatic endeavour of this nature would, of course, be quite impossible.”

Symmetry. Æden, too, was aware of the practicality of beauty. It was practically Solunarian doctrine, at least among those who mattered, to be beautiful and to perpetuate beauty. Anything else was anathema. He did not know the standards of appearance in Kalzasi, but if was as chaotic as the Sentinel claimed, perhaps they would appreciate the desert kingdom's very intentional weaponized aesthetics.

"Then I will find the three Caelie Argentae." That would take some time in and of itself, but it was no chore for a matter like this. The responsibility bestowed upon him outweighed any annoyance he might have felt with the work it required. There were few Avialae in Solunarium, but he knew them to be tall, winged men. There were no female Avialae, but they were now ruled by a queen, which Æden surmised to mean that it was either not a hard and fast rule, or that the death of the king and disappearance of the crown prince — the thrall of Arcas — was enough of an extenuating circumstance that she was able to seize power. Commendable.

The Sentinel's stoicism seemed more deliberate than natural, or at least, he had some measure of nervous energy that escaped through his cool demeanor. Perhaps he was nervous about the appointment as diplomat. Æden was nervous, too, but he was calm through overwhelming self-assuredness. He was nothing if not good at what he did, and being nothing was not an option.

"I will take the runes of the soldiers into account," He started, "For a diverse, but cohesive, guard." The soldiers he had already selected were also skilled in Mesmer, Elementalism, and Reaving respectively. If they were going to a land of chaos and magic, Semblance would be necessary. He moved a hand to his chin as wheels turned in his head and he considered the circumstances. Most elves in Solunarium possessed various runes of magic. Æden himself was only skilled in Negation, for now, but he had found it an exceptionally versatile magic to have. He uncharactersitically espoused the flashier magics for Negation as his first choice, but that was not to say he didn't desire the rune of Elementalism or Reaving for himself.

"And, Sentinel, it seems you know who I am but I can't say that I know you. What is your name?" Æden was still struggling some with the man's intense pragmatacism and lack of reaction to much of anything, but he hoped to grapple with the unexpected trouble by introducing some familiarity to the mix. Not to mention that knowing who you were soon going to be tasked to guard was rather important.

"You have a bit of time." The Sentinel offered mildly. "The earliest we will depart is Glade the Thirtieth." He glanced down to a sheet of papyrus spread out on his desk. It was a copy of the letter that had been sent to the Kalzasern Queen Regent whose response was still pending. It was possible that this meeting would prove irrelevant if they were to decline, but the Sentinel's assessment was that, at least on paper, Kalzasi had more to gain from Solunarium at the moment than vice versa. If the Synnekar were wise, at least, they would be actively courting allies for the coming war, and Solunarium would appear to be an obvious rival to the Zaichaeri ideology. All things considered, it was a prime opportunity for the Re'hyaens to gain a real foothold in Ailizane for the first time in millennia.

At the mention of Æden's consideration of magical diversification amongst the Honour Guard the Sentinel, for the first time since the Principalus' arrival, smiled- albeit so faintly as to be barely perceptible unless one was actively searching for emotion on that oh, so placid countenance. But the Sentinel knew well that, by this point, the Platinum youth would be doing just that. Seeking something to read amidst the illegible.

"You may call me Phocion." Sentinel Phocion, of course, though he didn't feel the need to exposit the obvious. It was customary amongst the Silver Sentinels to use their given name along with their uniform title. Only the head of the order was accorded a distinct title- at least amongst outsiders. Everyone else was simply 'Sentinel'. It was believed that the surname bore greater gravitas than the given, and so it was omitted. Their work would be harder to execute if the weight of formality needed to be applied, and so the simple designation of 'Sentinel' superseded all rules of formality. Commoner, noble or even royal were one and the same when a Sentinel worked in their official capacity.

Æden did not realize how deeply he had been searching for any sign of any emotion or approval until Sentinel Phocion smiled so faintly. It was unlike him, but it was also unlike anyone to act so impassive towards him. Awe or hate, he aimed to inspire emotion in others, regardless of their standing and rank in greater society. But he was fine, or so he told himself, and he did not necessarily need Phocion's immediate approval when he could show his expertise in the actual assignment. ANd yet he noted the smile, unaware whether or not it was purposeful.

"Sentinel Phocion." Æden repeated. "By what date do you need the other three guards to be chosen?" It was the 15th, and if they were to leave on the 30th at the earliest, that would give a total of two weeks for preparation, and it would mean he would want to choose the guards sooner rather than later so that they would have their own time to prepare. He also couldn't rush in choosing them like he could so immediately name those from his own century, and they had to meet the stricter requirements for both effectiveness and aesthetics. It was dreadfully complicated, but not outside of his ability. He moved his hand from his chin and adjusted his position in the chair, moving both feet to the floor before resting his hands in his lap. He didn't want to leave without being dismissed by the Sentinel, but he wasn't sure what else there was to say either. He leaned forward,

"Who recommended me for this?"