Legend of Ransera

Vinicius Nykara Khyan had been born in a social sweet spot: The top of the middle. Ostensibly human, he didn't draw undue attention from strangers unless he sought it out. Elves, with their more hallowed place in Solunarian society, were under a constant scrutiny of which Khyan was free. He did have elven blood and, though it wasn't apparent in his features, it was enough to lend him a bit more mystique than many who might otherwise deem themselves his peers. Particularly, because his grandfather had been of the Platinum race...

His family was filthy rich and powerful, with a storied pedigree that dated back to the age before the Epoch of Aværys, but they hadn't the weight of responsibility that weighed down the lives of many of their social betters. They weren't dragged down by the weight of any crown, and their notoriety was niche enough that they could move freely about the city without much trouble. But recently the fame of Gens Nykara was on the rise, albeit for fell and spurious reasons.

Khyan's father was standing trial for sedition against the Crown- a charge which promised to directly effect Khyan's life as well... Possibly even to end it. The gravity of the charges leveled against the Nykara had been enough to curry the attention of the human public and even some of the elves had taken interest. Khyan's face was becoming known to a whole new stratum and, despite of the grim reasons for the attention, he was relishing it.

The sundown sky glowed in colours that all looked like different varietals of wine to Khyan's eyes, as he sat upon a tabletop at a posh little bistro on the border between the Aurecine and Sorokyne Districts of the Luxium. He drew a cup to his lips, the contents of which were a deep red that resembled the lower end of the spectrum visible in the skies above. He lowered both his cup and his eyes, regarding the small audience he'd accrued who were eager to hear stories from behind the scenes of the courtroom.

"Anyway." He said with a sigh, "The case against us just isn't there." He lazily shrugged one shoulder, and placed his cup down beside his bum on the table. "I can't imagine the trial will linger much longer..." And Khyan sounded almost disappointed in so saying.

Æden was, a touch ironically, little a fan of those with inflated self importance. He felt he curried distinction in his own way, for his own reasons, his lauded birth only making him more distinguished. He also knew when to use his status to his advantage, and he was at a little bistro that had been notable in giving him food — fee of charge, even — in hopes that a Dryadalis Platinum visibly eating there would inspire other patrons. He took them on their word, and in a point in his favor, it had become rather fashionable in part because of his attendance, even as it was close enough to the human-dominated Sorokyne district. Some of the other elves felt that being seen so close to the human-dominated neighborhood was unsightly. Æden appreciated free food.

He didn’t recognize Khyan, but he knew the Nykara name and story from rumors that had wound their way through the Golden Guard enough to identify it as one and the same. Some guard had been stationed at the trials, and it was not long for their own stories to weave through the grapevine. He eavesdropped — if it could be considered eavesdropping, considering the crowd that had gathered — and only felt himself growing further annoyed.

Æden slowly finished his small meal (a light dinner was good for the figure), and he wove his way through the thinner crowd that congregated behind the boastful human man. The part of Æden that pitied the man using his family’s impending demise for his fifteen minutes of fame caused him to sit on the bench that was the intended seating for the tabletop that he sat on. Æden had his own cup of wine in one hand, and he leaned back, arms along the table edge, his face upturned towards Khyan.

”You’re confident of that?” He asked, bending his arm at the elbow to take a sip of wine. ”Do you savor your wine?”

Khyan had paused his monologuing to drain his cup of lacrimae draconis- A lovely, dry white wine that was so pale in hue it barely bore a hint of yellow. Not unlike the hair of the one stalking behind him, as he placed his cup down on the table at his side. Khyan knew all too well that the white wine was better in the Luxium, and the red in the Umbrium- yet it was getting late enough that the latter began to resemble the former, and a craving for red was on the wax in him.

He glanced up and took a breath, regarding his little audience- and knitting his brow as he noticed their attention had turned from him. Some were wide-eyed and others whispering about how far Khyan's notoriety had, indeed, taken him that he'd garnered the attention of a starborn elf. Khyan, of course, heard none of their mutterings. It was the louder voice behind him that pricked his ears. He arched a brow at the first query, but smiled and answered the second without deigning to cast a glance at the probable heckler. He woke the Semblance Rune at the back of his neck, just enough to gauge whether the interloper bore violent intent toward him. Sensing none, he elected to ignore the first question and favour the second jovially.

"I ought to savour 'vino', my praenomen is Vinicius." He offered with a chuckle, "And I wouldn't say no to a cup of sanguinis draconis, if you're buying?" It was only after casting his snark over his shoulder that he troubled himself to follow it up with a glance. Shit.

"But..." He took a sharp catch breath, and broke into an obsequious smile as he shot up from his seat on the table and pivoted round to deliver a graceful bow. "Of course I am in jest, Your Grace! Are..." His eyes darted down to the cup in the stranger's hand, "...you ready for another round? I am, perforce, buying." He said with another dutiful bow of his head.

Æden swirled the cup of his own white wine, exuding patience as Khyan “joked”. He had a smug smile on his face, and really, it was worth the shock that spread among the closer crowd.

“Sanguinis draconis? Here?” He laughed. ”Your praenomen is wasted on you.” But as the sun was setting, some denizens of the Luxium tended to migrate to Umbrium clubs for their wine and music. The Luxium had little bistros and sometimes live music, but the Umbrium had real clubs. And Æden was in a mood.

”But red wine does sound appealing…” Æden spoke quietly enough now that Khyan could hear him, but only if he was leaning close enough. Only those in the audience who had particularly sharp ears would pick it up. ”You know, I was going down to Gemmatum Calvariae before I was distracted. If you’re buying, maybe you can make it up to me with an Umbrium red?”

He was still smugly smiling, but there was no punchline. It was a serious offer, a serious invitation to The Jeweled Skull — a club that Khyan would not normally be able to find himself in. It was nominally elf-only, but with enough prestige, looks, or money, you could convince the bouncer to let in a few non-elven guests with you.

In some way, Æden felt bad for him. The man was clearly lacking in attention he so desired, and his idea of claiming that attention was not through skill, looks, or power, but through his family’s downfall. It was a mistake, and one he could very well end up dead for. Though he himself had hidden away from the public eye for many years as he was growing up — his parents did not want him to be corrupted by attention — Æden found it had immediately sprung upon him as soon as he had a more outward presence. Not everyone was so lucky. It was not much effort to share his prestige with a dead man.

Æden finished the last few sips of his white wine and stood up, leaving the cup on the table, and he started walking through those that gathered (and those that parted for fear of finding themselves in the way of a starborn.) It was rare he felt so charitable. Maybe he would even see it that way.

"I know, I know..." Khyan flushed at being caught out with a faux pas he'd never have made had he been aware of the heckler's class. The blush was deep enough to be stark even behind an olive complexion made bronzer from so much time of late under the direct sunlight of the Solunarian High Court. He'd seen about sunburn Negation ointment, but not so strong a blend that he didn't at least yield the benefits of a tan for all his time beneath the blazing orb.

Vexing that he should go from holding court to scraping courtier in the blink of an eye, but such was life in Solunarium. Had they been deeper into the Aurecine District, rather than here at the border, he might have been more cautious. Probably not, given the amount of wine he'd already enjoyed, but it wasn't outside the ream of possibility.

Khyan's downcast eyes darted up, when he registered that the Platinum One was not merely announcing his intention to quit this place for a more exclusive venue. He was tacitly inviting Khyan to join... albeit with the understanding that he would buy him a doubtless exorbitantly overpriced drink. A slight smirk tugged at the left side of his lips, as his fortune shifted once again at the blink of an eye as it had moments earlier.

"Of course, Your Grace." He turned to his little audience of Patrician and Equestrian lads and inclined his head in a slight, dapper nod of acknowledgment, "Vale, amici!" He offered amiably, tossing a few Aværyan Avens down on the table before jogging to catch up with the Platinum one.

"My cognomen is Khyan, by the way." The young human offered, as he fell into pace behind the slightly taller elf. He was excited, and it showed. He'd never been to Gemmatum Calvariae before. Back in his days at the Academia, he'd hinted to Raithen a few times that the royal bastard ought to take him, but the well-meaning Aværyan had never picked up what he'd been putting down, and he'd barely seen him since he took the guarding his better-blooded cousins of the Unbroken Line.

"If Your Grace gets thirsty en route to the Umbrium, I do have half a skin of left of a passable white. Still cool." He patted the vessel at the braided belt rounding his finely hewn blue and gold tunic.

“Æden.” He offered in return. He had seen the rune on the back of Khyan’s neck, and some part of him wondered if he could convince this stranger to initiate him into the magic before he died. It probably wouldn’t take much effort, but his mother would be appalled at the thought that he would acquire magic from a human, especially one with such grave accusations towards his family. Even while his own reputation was stellar, and Platinum did not tarnish, his mother fretted over such things. It was just a passing thought, anyway. Semblance was of great use in his forgework, but he hadn’t been able to acquire it yet. His status had the negative effect that no one was confident enough to mark him with a rune when there was a possibility of failure. No one wanted to face the consequences of such.

Æden spent most of his time in the Luxium, even with his mixed heritage. Some distant Siltori family of his chose to reside in the Umbrium full time, and his parents even had a villa below-ground, but it was not their primary residence while solar court was in session. But in the Umbrium, it was apparent that even Starborn, he seemed to favor his Moonborn parentage. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, and he had particularly strong night vision. The intricate, extensive rune of Negation on his arm too was an obvious showing of Witchmarks. But none could deny that his golden skin was evidence of his Sunborn mother.

—

The outside of the club was remarkably plain, which only seemed to make it more fashionable, more deserving of its reputation. The faint sound of music from magicked instruments could be heard, and a line had formed in front of the door. If he were alone, it would not have been nearly so much a risk, but Æden cut in front of the line anyway, and approached the bouncer directly, a Silver elf with the witchmarks from his rune of Kinetics visible on his shoulder. Upon seeing the Platinum approach, he almost immediately moved to allow him in — but the human behind him gave him pause.

”I want to give a dead man a breath of life, my friend. This is Khyan Nykara.”

The bouncer looked between them, only his eyes giving away equal parts confusion and astonishment that a duo of Platinum elf and member of the rumored traitorous family were, for some reason, looking to enter together. But as the feeling passed, they were allowed into the Jeweled Skull and the music grew that much louder.

Khyan was no stranger to the Umbrium- that land of eternal gloaming with its neighbourhood of perennial night spots. It was, after all, always night but still the busiest times were those hours when even the Luxium was graced by the subtle glow of Varvara’s grace, as Aværys lustre descended to rest.

His family, too, had a formidable domus in the Undercity. Before his recent suspension, Khyan’s father had held the highest civilian position attainable to a human. Their family had been rich in the Epoch of Vastium and had retained and built upon that wealth by betraying the Cælian Dynasty and promptly swearing fealty to the newly minted Deus Aværys. The family’s repute had never fallen so low, but they were too well entrenched and formidable to be erased altogether. In the event of their loss, a lesser cousin branch would be made primary and claim Khyos’
seat in the Senatus Minor, if not his consulship.

Khyan followed the man, who identified himself as Æden, obediently. This happy happenstance served his recent aims quite well. He was truly attempting to live as if death was fast approaching. Each night was spent haunting his favourite spots or trying to breach the social boundaries to glean those experiences he’d yet to enjoy. Thanks to this Æden, he would do both tonight.

He wrinkled his nose at the humiliation that greeted him at the door. He’d rather hoped the Platinum One rated high enough in the pecking order to be above critique, but it seemed the Nykara reputation had fallen even further than he’d thought. He glanced over his shoulder to the queue of elves awaiting entry, and quickly turned his gaze to the floor as he pursued Æden inside.

“I hope my company doesn’t sully your glister, Dominus…” He gestured toward the bar, “What would Your Grace like to imbibe?” Khyan was both eager to get back to drinking and also to pay his debt to Æden in all haste.

One of the last things that Æden was worried about was his reputation. It was not that he didn’t care about it — he did, greatly — but he had a resounding security in himself. He was well behaved, even obedient, when he needed to be. He was a member of the Golden Guard, and the Præventores at that. His family was respected, and he rarely felt embarrassed. Embarrassment, after all, was frequently imparted by the reaction to the act. Æden simply did not care if he did something that could be considered risky to his reputation, and he did not acknowledge it as such. He would never go so far into treason as the Nykara had, but it had not been Khyan who had done so.

In the long-lived Elven families, it was important to not only continue your lineage, but to improve it — and not just because your mother would be alive for quite long enough to judge you if you did not. Humans did not live for so long, but if Khyan was not executed for his family’s crimes, he understood that the human had the opportunity to rectify the issue. Æden had no personal stake in the matter, of course, but it was a fact of life.

Æden did not share these thoughts, even as they had walked to the club, and he did not share them as they walked into it, but they had occupied him in between idle chatter as they had come to the Umbrium.

”No, Khyan. Platinum does not tarnish.” He paused for a moment, his vision pointed to the bar, and then he looked at Khyan. ”But it does drink. They have the good reds here It’s why we came, after all.” Æden drifted to the bar along with Khyan. He was his guest, after all, and a human with no chaperone was easily removed. But his presence may also invite a discount, or at least… negate whatever surcharge the bartender may have wished to inflict on him. When he had the attention of the one serving the drinks,

”Sanguinis draconi, what you may recommend. And the same for my friend.” He made a small hand-wave gesture towards Khyan.

Khyan's eyes darted about the room, scanning for familiar faces- His Semblance sought out recognisable Auras as well, and he was glad to come up empty. It came as no surprise, really. He knew a few elves and half-elves- Even the one Aværyan, but not enough that he ran into them frequently. And with the admittance restrictions of this venue, it was unlikely he would run into many other humans, which was also to his benefit.

As his attentions drifted from the people to the décor, Khyan knitted his brow. Had he actually been here before? It wouldn't have been the first time he'd spend an evening or two in a new venue only to have too much fun and forget in the aftermath. There was something about the ornamentation that struck him familiar, but alas... It might have been mere déjà vu.

He was glad the Platinum One joined him at the bar. He was much quicker to garner the attention of the attending barkeep than a human, and the staff was tacitly obliged to serve the elven club members before any guests- And Khyan was very clearly a guest.

He chuckled and nodded, turning to regard the barman with a nod- watching as he moved to see about pouring their cups.

"You're passing kind to bring me along, Dominus..." Khyan mused, the expression painting his visage betraying a bit of the bemusement he bore about the queer invitation. "I've actually always wanted to see the inside of this place..." Though now he wasn't altogether certain he hadn't previously achieved that goal and proceeded to drink away the recollection, "May I ask what inspired you to invite me?" He was momentarily distracted by the return of the barkeep, and he turned to see about producing a few Aværyan Avens to place down on the bartop.

"Gratias." He indicated, bowing his head slightly. Even the serving staff looked as though they outranked him here. With the transaction aside, Khyan returned his attention to Æden, impossibly curious as to his answer to the question at hand.

A thin smile formed on Æden's lips at Khyan's question. "I felt like it." It was an unsatisfactory answer, but he didn't have much to offer. He thanked the barkeep as well, and took the wine from the counter. Perhaps it was too unsatisfactory of an answer. Æden stepped away from the bar and to side of the venue that was just less populated. He flipped his long hair over his shoulder.

"I think it was pity." He expounded, "You speak much for someone whose father makes the same mistake." He tilted his head. "Or so I heard. Idle Vastii guard gossip, I suppose. I don't usually pay much attention, but I suppose this one struck me." Æden listened to gossip more than he spread it, usually, with the ancient art of keeping ones mouth shut. Vastian incidence didn't usually matter to him, but it had burrowed itself in his memory enough for him to realize that the man bragging was the man in court. It was a bit sad that he didn't realize how unfortunate they were — the kangaroo courts felt an open secret. It was also disappointing that he suffered for his father's mistakes, and for whatever feathers had been ruffled for his father's actions.

"But I feel that you should not always suffer for that mistake. It is still in court, after all. You may as well be able to enjoy yourself if you face death." Æden swirled the wine in the cup, and then took another sip. "Red wine is much better in the Umbrium. I'm glad we have come."

Æden didn't check to see if he recognized anyone in the club. Though he knew people, elves and otherwise, the truth of the matter was that his friends were few and far between, and he told himself it was a matter of protection. Sometimes people grew jealous, and jealousy bred resentment. In the past, some had attached themselves to him simply to say that they were friends. His kindness was given sparingly and with thorns. He preferred it that way.