Legend of Ransera

Posted: **Fri Sep 02, 2022 9:46 pm**

TIMESTAMP: 13 Cinderfall, Ash 122
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

- - -

As the fine night-oriented establishments of the Umbrium's Sanctine district began to close, so too began the transition from night to day. Not that it was incredibly easy to tell down here regardless, but the rise of dawn meant that for Æros, it was time to retire for the day. Still completely wasted, the man began to journey back to his abode.

Upon his arrival, he immediately found his way to bed and promptly allowed his body to fall into the fine fabrics that adorned it. Curling up into the luxurious nest he'd created, he closed his eyes. It felt as if only a second had passed when there was a loud, heavy knock at the door.

Bolting upright, such a thing was certainly a cause for abundant alarm. Nobody bothered him during the day. Nobody. Not a single soul!

He had been asleep, right? For how long? The sound reverberated through his skull as the tell-tale weight of a hangover had already begun to set in. Maybe…the knock wasn't on his door, but a neighbor's. Yes…that was it. Back to sleep he goes…

Except, no. The knock came again, this time twice in quick succession. Okay, whoever was there was definitely here for him. Much as it pained him, he dragged heavy limbs and spinning consciousness out of bed and onto the floor. His steps were as fast as he could manage, heart pounding in his chest as dread welled in his stomach.

Opening the door, he saw two familiar faces. Familiar and unwelcome! Lovely.

The pair of women who stood before him were none other than his mother and one of his sisters. He blinked in disbelief, desperately hoping they would just disappear, haunting apparitions as they were. They did not.

"Even your stars are dim." Her voice was austere and disapproving, expression cold, and arms folded across her chest. Oh, how very nostalgic!

Though condescending and dripping with judgment, his mother was not actually wrong. He felt...not great and the luminescent glow of the stars adorning his skin was, legitimately, dimmer at the moment.

Mustering what little energy he had, he took a breath, put on the fakest possible smile, and replied thusly, "...why yes! Their unending light is such a nuisance; thank you for noticing all of my hard work!" A voice laced with venomous, hyperbolic sarcasm meant to badly mimic appreciation.

His sister looked sheepish, almost apologetic, but incredibly uncomfortable. She said nothing.

Selena, his mother, scoffed. "You are coming with us; we've need of you." Delivered in the same icy tone as before, that's it. That's all she said.

That's all she needed to say. He was well aware that if she had deigned to show her face in this scenario, the consequences of resistance would be dire. His sister's presence, however, he didn't understand.

"Would you kindly allow me to gather some few of my possessions should you intend to whisk me away for any modicum of time greater than a day?" Though he put on a polite overtone, the overwhelming bitterness in the undercurrents remained perfectly audible.

"You have five minutes," she replied, still as a statue, unamused.

He rolled his eyes, let the door fall shut, and moved to dress and collect whatever items of import could fit in his bag.

….

The tension present during their journey upwards was painful in its weight. Once in the Luxium proper, the light of day stung his eyes and the sun's rays felt like they burned his skin through the fabric of his cloak. Prior to leaving, he'd indulged himself just a bit to push back the jaws of his withdrawals that would inevitably begin to bite at him on top of everything else.

Few words were spoken. Æros did ask where he was being taken, and when that answer was denied, he tried to ask why and received the same result: more silence. Their transport finally slowed to a crawl and the party of three stepped out. Colour drained from the galaxies that made up half-fæ's skin as he realized where they were.

Located on the outskirts of the Luxium, they'd arrived at a transport depot of sorts where citizens and tourists alike came and went to and from their fair city. Those were the only two reasons for being here: to come or to go. Since he had been told nothing, the idea of going anywhere outside the city's walls terrified him.

Tapping his sister on the shoulder, "Say your piece, direct him, and let's be on our way." Selena spoke with little patience and a dearth of empathy before walking away.

His sister, Luna, noted the panic on her brother's features and the fear that gripped his body. Her countenance bore no shortage of emotion; she donned an apologetic mix of sympathy and empathy before shaking her head, mumbling an apology and sighing.

She pointed towards a caravan not too far away. "Over there," words spoken with a voice still fractured.

Jaw clenched, he turned his head and saw a small caravan. Two drivers to direct the animals of two wagons and a few armed guards. Golden eyes shifted to them, then back to his sister, then to the golden sands that stretched out before them. It now dawned upon him the purpose of this. He felt nothing but disgust and rage. However, this was definitely not Luna's will, so in an attempt to not take it out on her, he turned to walk towards his fate without a word.

As he did this, she dug through her bag for a small parcel. Only managing to have fished it free right as Æros took a step to leave, she lunged to grab his wrist.

"Wait-..!"
The desperate plea of her voice stopped him, though he simply stared without any input of his own.

Turning his hand face up, she placed the parcel in his palm and uttered one last thing:
"Happy birthday, Æros."

…..

The caravan had been moving for two days. Two days, indeed, and nothing but sand, sand, and more sand. Though he'd accepted his sister's gift and placed it among his belongings, he hadn't yet bothered to open it. The mere thought of doing so caused his throat to tighten, his mouth to dry, and made him feel ill. Since he already felt terrible, there was no need to make it worse!

On a cushion within one of the wagons, he sat with his head in his hands which rested atop his knees while the weight of his body leaned heavy against a box of provisions. At least the vittles his family had so graciously paid for were plenty and of high quality, right? In his head, however, there was naught but static and the valiant efforts to ignore the withdrawals. Of course, this was not possible. There was very little else to do and nobody around sans the driver; he'd sequestered himself in the supply wagon away from the guards to maintain as much peace as he could find, hard as that was when it felt like his body had begun to rot from within.

And then, he heard the beat of wings overhead and the panicked voices of those in charge of their transport. Wyverns, apparently.

At this point, Æros felt fleeting sympathy for those who had been damned to accompany him to wherever the hell this accursed journey would end up. Then, his wagon abruptly swerved as he heard the guards in the adjacent cart scramble to their feet. They must've leapt out the back, intending to intercept the draconids before they could reach the carts and strand them all by killing the animals.

After the initial shock of the swerve, the carts eventually slowed to a crawl, not wanting to fully abandon their only form of protection just yet. Æros fell onto his side, but he didn't move. At this point, he was almost happy to die.

From what words had been said and the sounds he could hear, there were two wyverns. If he could hazard a guess, the guards had succeeded in catching the attention of the beasts, but their chances at successfully repelling them were ambiguous at best.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

Posted: **Fri Sep 02, 2022 11:28 pm**

D A E M O N

The heat of the Atraxian desert invigorated him. All around him he felt the element of Fire. It sang to him happily and adoringly. In every dry breath, he felt caressed by the light of the sun and intoxicating warmth of the flames that had chosen him as their own. It had not been until he’d set foot in the desert expanse that it occurred to him he could be comfortable in any environment but the cold winds of the north. The quiet revelation that it was only natural he come alive in the heat of a desert land became self-evident once he had arrived. He was the Lord of Light, the King of the Dawn, the Fire of Justice. So he felt blissfully wonderful there in the warmth and heat of the desert as suddenly many things about himself that he had forgotten, clicked into place.

“Can…can we rest for a minute?” Mathias looked up at him. Talon stepped down from the rock that he had been perched on. They had been walking for about half a day from one of the Solunarium villages along the River Vasta. He was reminded that while he might feel alive within the desert, the same could not be said for his squire who was from a more temperate climate. He landed nimbly, finding his balance easily as he walked through the dirt and sands. They had been on the continent of Ecith for a little over a week and during that time he had been focused mostly on getting his bearings in the landscape. Allowing his companions to acclimate to the environment so that they could safely travel had been the focus, that and learning some things about the locale had been his priority.

“Of course, Mathias.” He stepped up to his squire, taking out his Fountain Jug. Extending it to the young man, the human took it gratefully. Uncorking it, Mathias drank deeply from it.

“At least we are getting close.” The young man nodded toward the distance. Talon looked to where he directed. There was a caravan making its way lazily in the direction of Tertium, the same place that they were headed. The sight of other travelers on the road was a welcome one. It meant they were going in the right direction.

“Where did A--Kieran go off to?” Talon caught the almost slip. He and his companion were going by different names while they were traveling in the southlands. It had taken some getting used to, and evidently was something that needed to be more carefully emphasized.

“He is scouting. He will be joining us soon.” He had just finished his sentence when the sound of wingbeats drew his attention. This followed by the panicked shouting of others made him turn his head in the direction of the excitement. He watched as two wyverns swooped down and began attacking the caravan that was not far off. He tensed as his natural instinct was to simply dart forward and join the fray. Years of fighting creatures, of facing down monsters had his muscles flexing and his stance naturally shifting into one that was ready for battle. It appeared, however, that the caravan guard were adequately dealing with the threat. He was about to dismiss the quarrel when the ground ahead of the wagons suddenly burst in a shower of dirt and sand.

From beneath the earth arose a giant scorpion. It looked…wrong. While he could not make out the details from his current distance, the appearance of the scorpion combined with the wyverns and it did not take a genius to know that the caravan was going to be slaughtered.

“Mathias?” His squire held on to the enchanted water jug with a firm nod.

“I know, I know. Stay here.” Talon smirked slightly.

“And?” The young man held up his hand to show one of the enchanted rings that Talon had gifted to him.

“Use this to protect myself. Just like you showed me.” Talon reached out and gently squeezed the young man’s shoulder. With that done, he turned and took off in a sprint, his feet pounding against the dirt as he ran. Since adopting his new mortal guise, he had done away with his wings in order to blend in a little better. Truth be told, he found the challenge of adjusting to life without them to be as invigorating as the desert heat he felt around him. Even without the wings, he moved with incredible speed, closing the distance between himself and the encroaching beasts. With a flex of his thoughts, he summoned his Reaved bow and an arrow. As he closed the space between himself and the first wyvern, he leapt into the air Varnishing his arrow with a bit of kinetic force and releasing his arrow. He took hold of the aether of the arrow and guided it. The wyvern had just enough time to release a shriek of anger as it turned briefly before the arrow flew directly into its eye and exited out of the other side of its skull. The spray of the beasts gore splattered against the ground as brain and blood burst from its skull in the wake of the kinetic impact from the arrow.

Talon turned in midair, dematerializing his bow and arrow in order to summon his blade. He affixed an anchor of Negation to his forearm, expanding the surface of the shield into a circular shape. He gave it a simple task to simply block objects from passing through it. That was all he had time to assign it in the heat of the moment. Talon landed on his feet, facing the second wyvern just as it tore through one of the caravan members, sending blood and viscera spraying across the sands. He did not hesitate, rushing forward with his shield raised. The wyvern dropped down, opening its mouth to spray a stream of liquid at him. Talon raised his shield. The liquid splashed against his shield. As it struck the dirt around him, he heard the pop and sizzle of acid melting things around him.

He sprinted forward, rolling out of the way as the wyvern lashed out with its tail, smashing into the ground, narrowly missing him. Talon jumped to his feet, raising his shield as one of the wyverns wings came down on him. He felt the strain of his muscles as the beast’s strength pressed into his shield. Calling on his inner strength, Talon shoved the wing away then darted forward, slashing with his sword, hacking into the wing, slicing it in half with that single swing. The wyvern shrieked in pain, lashing out with its tail. Talon blocked it with his shield, then swung his sword, slicing off the tail. He then bolted forward, plunging his blade into the wyvern’s skull. He raised a foot and kicked the wyvern off of his sword then turned to face the giant scorpion that was plunging its pincers into another of the poor caravan guards. Before Talon could act, the man was ripped in half, sending gore splattering across the sands.

Talon sprinted forward and with a swing of his sword, sliced at one of the scorpion’s legs. As he did, the blood of the creature sprayed. The smell of rot and bile filled his nostrils, immediately prompting him to raise his shield. He felt both the impact and the corrosion as soon as it touched his Negation shield. Opening his senses, Talon recognized the touch of the Dread Mists saturating the ooze spewing out of the scorpion’s leg. That momentary distraction was enough for the scorpion to swing around, slamming one of its pincers into Talon’s shield. He was sent sliding back but a quick application of his Kinetic Seeming saved him from falling onto his back.

“Well…” He flourished his sword. “This just got interesting.”

He dismissed the Negation shield that was slowly being eaten away by the corrosive blood. As the shield crumbled, he quickly affixed a new one to his forearm. The scorpion reared back. Talon crouched lower. The scorpion charged and Talon rolled out of the way. As the scorpion moved, more of its ooze sprayed over the ground, causing the dirt and rocks to melt.

Glancing at the caravan, he spotted the surviving occupants. Seeing that there were yet people still alive, he resolved to end this swiftly. Bracing himself, Talon leapt back into the fray.

Posted: **Sat Sep 03, 2022 12:49 am**

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

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Much as there were cleaner ways to die than to the fangs or acid of a wyvern, oh well. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he had no desire to resist and no ability to do so regardless. All of his senses were screaming in an agonized cacophony all on their own anyways, so would it even be possible for his body to hurt more than it already did?

Actually, yes! Yes it is. Almost as soon as this query manifested in his thoughts, the ground beneath his stalling wagon shifted and his breath caught. A pit welled in his stomach and his impaired senses were ill equipped to deal with this shit, but it would appear another challenger had approached.

Though the wagon wherein he resided tried to slow down, it failed to do so in time. From beneath the sands, a monstrous creature the half-elf could not see burst forth and all of a sudden, he felt himself twisting, falling. The full weight of the creature's carapace had crashed into the wagon. Such a blow in combination with the wagon's own speed and force sent the whole thing flying. In some small twist of merciful fate, the other wagon managed to avoid this disaster entirely and now moved to create distance, preserving itself so that on the off chance anyone survived the fray, it could circle back and collect whatever was left.

Golden eyes widened in confusion and terror as this happened, system shocked and unable to keep up with this living nightmare. On impact, the contents of the wagon and its own frame broke and tore the fabric cover, spilling everything within onto the warm desert sands. Unfortunately, the driver's neck snapped and he died as soon as he hit the ground. The pack animal that had been pulling the cart suffered a similar fate.

Ever more unfortunate was the fact that Æros still lived. The initial strike of his body against the earth shattered his already cracked senses and left him in a state of delirium, barely able to process a single thought. Entirely unable to register the extent of his own injuries, he held onto a flicker of hope that they were severe enough to kill him in due time.

There was some relief to be found in the cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins his body had just been spurned to release, but such a thing did nothing for the man's cognition. Laying on his back and only half conscious, Æros could still hear the combat around him over the pound of his heart and the rush of blood through his ears. He'd been thrown some small distance away from the wreckage that became of the cart, various containers dotting the ground around him while his bag landed near to his left leg.

As for his remaining senses, the sun's glare blinded him; naturally, the fæ was already photosensitive and his withdrawals weren't really helping with that. Consequently, he refused to open his eyes. Additionally, the only thing he could smell or taste was his own blood.

To his utter dismay, he heard the wyverns actually die. Among their death rattles were the screams of men, the splatters of gore, the breaking of bones, the tearing of flesh, the sounds of bodies impacting bodies and broken pieces hitting the earth. It was a nauseating symphony and he desperately just wanted everything to end.

Unknown to him, two of the three guards and one of the two drivers were dead. As for himself, several of his ribs were broken and the shoulder he'd landed on alongside
the surrounding bones were laced with fractures. On the same arm, skin had been ripped away leaving muscle exposed to the open air. From his abdomen protruded a stray spike of wood, blood pooling around the wound. Lastly, he was likely concussed. In shock, he felt little, and of what he did feel, he could barely place. The worst part at the moment was that he felt as if his head might explode, though this was likely to do with the overwhelming nature of these circumstances as opposed to swelling or bleeding of the brain.

The only thing maintaining this fight was a total stranger; it was this person's serendipitous arrival that was the sole reason he still drew breath, tachypneic as he was.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

Posted: **Sat Sep 03, 2022 2:13 am**

D A E M O N

Talon rolled out of the way of another slam of the scorpion’s pincers. He felt the dirt and debris pelt his skin but it was of little concern to him. He jumped to his feet, slashing at another of the scorpion’s legs, dismembering it as with the first. He raise his shield just as the spray of the scorpion’s internal fluids came gushing out. Again he felt the corrosive and corrupted nature of the creature eat away at his Negation magic. He was about to dive back into in order to hack away at the creature when its tail swung and caught him in the abdomen sending him flying back. Talon felt the wind get knocked from him as he was caught off guard. He landed squarely on his back, the air rushing from his lungs in a pained gasp. His sword went flying from his hand. He lay there for a moment, dazed.

That single moment was all it took for the giant scorpion to dart forward. With one of its pincers, it grabbed his foot and swung him up into the air. He felt the armor of his boot flare, the protections laced into its structure coming to life in order to protect him. He flailed for a moment until his arm was grabbed by the other pincer. The gauntlet covering his arm flared with its protections, preventing his arm from getting crushed. Talon was raised high into the air over the scorpion’s head as it tried to crush his arm and leg. He was grateful for the power of the armor he wore in that moment and as soon as it became clear, he was not going to be crushed in the jaws of its pincers, the scorpion began pulling. Talon flexed his muscles and strained as he felt the strength of the beast begin tugging at his body in opposite directions. He roared in exertion as his godly strength was tested. His own strength and that of the scorpion proved to be a match for each other. It raised its tail, Talon spotted the drip of poison at the tip of the stinger. His eyes went wide.

The crack of thunder split the air and a bolt of lightning slammed into the scorpion’s side. Talon was released, sent flying from the scorpion’s grasp. He activated his kinetics, catching himself so that he righted his body. He landed in a crouch, sliding across the ground as he slowed his momentum. He stretched out his arm, hand open and summoned his sword back to his outstretched palm. His pact blade soared through the air, returning to his hand. Though his muscles were a little sore from the tug match with the scorpion he was still in good fighting shape. He looked up to see Mathias with his hand outstretched, sparks still lacing his fingers after he had released the bolt of lightning.

“I thought I told you to stay back!” He shouted. Mathias shuffled back, away from the scorpion that was now picking itself up.

“Uh! You looked like you could use the help!” The scorpion got back to its feet and rounded on Mathias who went a little pale at seeing its eyes staring at him. The young man stumbled back. That motion drew the scorpion’s attention and it charged forward. Talon immediately teleported in front of his squire. As soon as his feet touched the earth, he launched himself at the scorpion, wrapping himself in a barrier of kinetic force. He slammed into the scorpion, sending it flying back. Landing on his feet, Talon growled out.

“Mathias?” The young man darted off toward the wrecked wagon nearby.

“Yup! Moving!” He watched the young man out of the corner of his eye before turning back to the scorpion that was getting to its feet. It was time to end this. He firmed his grip on his sword, sprinting forward, not giving the scorpion a chance to recover. He varnished the blade with Kinetic fire and as the scorpion swung one of its pincers toward him, he sliced it off. Following his momentum, Talon twisted his body and hacked off the second pincer as it came down toward him. The scorpion stumbled back. Talon felt his skin burn where the creature’s sludge coated him. He ignored the pain and leapt up into the air, propelling himself with his kinetics to somersault onto the scorpion’s back. Utilizing seeming, he balanced his feet upon its back so that he would not fall off. As the scorpion’s tail flailed, he brandished his sword, slicing it off. The scorpion reared. Talon swung around and with a forceful thrust of his blade, pierced through the scorpion’s head.

The scorpion staggered, its body collapsing. Talon kept his blade in place, driving it deeper still just to make sure the thing was dead. As it fell to the earth, he wrenched his blade free, with an exertion of his godly strength, decapitating the monster. Talon heard the sickening plop of its head landing nearby. He was breathing heavy. He stood there for a moment longer before straightening. Taking in a deep breath, he allowed a sliver of the light of his nimbus to infuse the witchmarks and runes upon his body. He felt the corrosive mist twisted corruption be purged from his form as his skin healed. It was not enough to fully manifest but it was enough to spare him from the acidic poison. It caused no more than a brief flaring of the markings upon his body and his eyes to flare briefly with silver light.

“Over here!” He whipped his head in Mathias direction. His squire was near the wreckage of the wagon. He quickly jogged over. The young man was kneeling next to a person who…well…they did not look well.

“He’s still alive.” Mathias looked up at him. Talon narrowed his eyes. Opening up his senses to the aethereal, he examined the body in front of him. It took only a quick glance to see that this man was worse for wear.

“Can you help him?” Mathias knew that he had many powers. Unfortunately, healing was not among them. He shook his head.

“No, but we can get him to the city. There should be healers there.” Looking around he spotted the remaining wagon and its driver and guard. Both of them looked shell shocked as well as injured. He frowned.

“You! Come quickly!” He spoke in Common, as he did not know the native tongue of Solunarium. The guard shook himself and hobbled forward. “How far are we from Tertium?”

“A-an hour or two.” He frowned. That was a fair bit of time. He had only a few poultices and basic knowledge in first aid. It would have to be enough.

“Bring the wagon. Now.” The man signaled to the driver who brought it in short order. “Your cloak. Give it here.”

The guard did not question him as he handed it to him. Talon tore off a strip. He handed the remainder of the cloak to Mathias who followed his lead. Carefully, very carefully, Talon began binding the wounded man’s chest in order to prevent the bones from grinding and puncturing anything. It would restrict the man’s breathing a bit but that was better than the alternative. He then created a sling for the wounded arm. Once he was done, he gently lifted the man in his arms and carried him to the wagon where he situated him.

“Are you coming with us?” Talon looked at the wagon driver who was staring at him with an almost pleading look. He nodded as he took his place beside the driver. To Mathias he spoke.

“Keep an eye on him.” His squire nodded and climbed into the wagon and was followed by the single remaining guard.

“Thank the gods you arrived.” Talon simply grunted. The irony of that statement was not lost on him.

“Go. He needs a healer.” The driver did not wait any longer.

----

Sundown had come and with it the coolness of the arid desert lands. He felt none of the chill. He never did. Mathias was fast asleep, turned on his side, facing away from the other bed that was in the room they had chosen to stay in. They had arrived in Tertium roughly three hours after the battle in the desert. He could have teleported them all there faster but he had no working knowledge of the city’s exact location within the aethereal pathways of the Slipspace. Now he did. They had gone to the nearest inn and tavern they could find and had immediately sent for a skilled healer to see to the injured man. It had been a fair bit of time since then after the healer and her assistant had arrived. Most of the other patrons were gone to bed. He remained awake, a mug of water to keep him company. Mathias had passed out not long ago after eating his fill and drinking plenty of water.

He was leaning against the wall, staring out the window over the foreign city. A change in someone’s breathing drew his attention. He looked to the still unnamed man who had received the healer’s attention after their arrival. He said nothing as the man awoke, merely waited for him to get his bearings.

Posted: **Sat Sep 03, 2022 4:17 am**

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

- - -

What he heard was a struggle. He knew not the fate of what remained of his caravan, but by sound alone, he could only hazard a guess that two creatures of truly divine strength were at war with one another. Any time he opened his eyes, the light stung in the worst way, making his head ring in turn, a frequency he loathed. The few images he managed to collect of his surroundings were unfocused, sun spotted and otherwise unreliable. Actually, he genuinely thought he was losing his mind or experiencing hallucinations.

Any clear images he got were of a man fighting toe to toe with a scorpion of truly unholy proportions. What nonsense was this? Though he had no doubt the man was using magic to add force to his strikes, probably a Reaver and Kineticist at the least, a mortal's physical fortitude had no place matching that of the monster that he'd seen. At one point, he beheld a ridiculous image of a bolt of lightning hitting the beast as it attempted, and failed, to rip the stranger in half. Oh yes, his end was nigh. There was no way this was real. Finally, he'd be at peace.

Except his consciousness would not fade. Two voices rang in his ears; the combatant was not alone. Footsteps approached, though Æros was unable to perceive from where. The clash of blade against chitin reverberated through the air, each hurting the wilted færie evermore. What a sensory nightmare, this was. He could hear the chitin shred as pieces of the tainted thing were shorn away; strike after strike continued to shake the very earth before finally, the thing's carapace cracked one more time, a blade wrenched further, something hit the ground with a wet thud and then…more voices. Calls to action.

No. Oh no, no, no. From where he lay exsanguinating in the sand, heaven-touched skin tainted with sickly reds and greenish purples, he wanted to keep bleeding. Though his processing was heavily slowed, eventually he realized the survivors had noticed him laying there and wanted to help. A young man's voice spoke to a superior, and in response were orders delivered by somebody who possessed just the right amount of urgency, unbending to the heavy pressure of the situation.

The rumble of the surviving cart neared as it circled back, vibrations causing blooms of pain to radiate outward from all over his body. Some few more words were exchanged, and then, Æros gasped, breath stolen when the stranger began to bind cloth 'round his chest. With eyes now open wide and feral, he wanted to scream and kick the man away but there was no strength left. Not that such a thing would even work– the person handling him was absurdly large. It would be the equivalent to kicking a mountain wall. This felt like a fever dream.

So instead, he hissed through grit teeth and set jaw; a vain attempt to silence himself. The movement of broken and fractured bones, tragically, succeeded in overwhelming him quite a few times, actually, each notated by sharp, pained cries. By the end of this rushed triage, his distressed features were marked by tears. Æros despised this. Yes, it was very much the worst pain he'd ever felt in his life. On top of that, however, was a layer of agonizing vulnerability and another of humiliation the likes of which he'd not felt since a choice memory from his childhood. Should this stranger succeed in saving him, he prayed he'd never see his face again.

Fortunately for the ones trying to save him, the stubborn half-elf lacked proper control of his faculties at the moment so his ability to resist was minimal. With broken pieces bound, his auspicious savior lifted him into his arms to carry him away to safety. When holding this celestial fæ, the stranger would notice the soft, feather light brush of the stars that danced just above the surface of Æros' skin. Though he had zero control of this effect, it was a result of his aether bleeding into his very flesh and was a very tangible phenomenon.

Being carried like this was yet another thing every fibre of his being hated and wished to resist. Alas, the elf could do nothing but seethe quietly, tension held fast in every muscle, limbs stiff and fingers bent like claws. Much as he wished to speak, his mind found no words to string together.

With haste, the one remaining guard grabbed the Æros' bag and then caught up with the two strangers as the whole group boarded the remaining wagon. He'd been told to guard the fæ's well being with his life, and feeling like he failed, he felt like this act of kindness was the least he could do for the bloodied noble.

……

For the journey, Æros would appear to fade in and out of consciousness multiple times, finally letting go when he was delivered into the hands of an actual healer. Some parts of him still clung to life after all, it would appear. Skilled with Necromancy, she stitched the noble back together. Recognizing the name of the family told to her by the surviving caravan members, she knew she would be able to demand proper payment and thus had no qualms making ample use of what supplies she had been able to transport on short notice.

Now repaired but still quite bruised, Æros was left to rest in the bed of an inn within Tertium, a city he'd never actually been to. Eyes drifting open, his unfocused vision saw little in the dark. The primary emotion he felt was confusion. Where was he? What of the garbled images and experiences imprinted onto his mind were even true? Why the fuck was he alive?

Slowly, he pressed the palm of a bent arm into the mattress beneath him. Sitting up only halfway, he looked around the room after taking a moment to check that he was truly corporeal. Most distressingly, he was. Even more distressingly, he still felt the weight of being without his vices crushing him from all angles.

Eyes of gold drifted over the sleeping figure facing away, harboring no memory of his company. Further confused, he continued to pan the full breadth of the space laid out before him. When his gaze landed on the man leaning himself against the wall, his breath caught. Then, recognition. None of it was a fever dream or even a hallucination. Not only was he alive, but there really was a man who appeared nearly a foot taller than him that had, in fact, demolished a monstrous scorpion.

Under other circumstances he would probably find such a stranger intriguing in more ways than one, but reality was…as it was.

Defaulting to Common as that's what he recalled the man speaking, "I am begging you– please tell me this isn't real and I'm somewhere in Solunarium's capital," his voice was heavily accented, musical and rather pretty in nature, but he applied none of his normal tact or charm, words ringing with tones far more raw than he would ever normally speak with.

"And if that is not the case, then undo the mistake you've made and kill me," he sighed, clearly exasperated. "You should've left me to die out in the sands." Bitterness and sorrowful anger ran heavy through every word of the latter sentiment.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

Posted: **Sat Sep 03, 2022 2:02 pm**

D A E M O N

He reflected on the fact that the name of the man he had saved had brought swift action when the caravan guard and driver had spoken it. Though he knew next to nothing about the customs of Solunarium, it was apparent that the name held weight. That was something he understood. He brought his mug of water to his lips and took a sip as he ruminated on his thoughts. His eyes followed the movements of the stirring form on the bed. He opened his senses up to the aethereal, focusing his attention on the aura of the man on the bed. He had a vibrant skin tone that reminded him of a velvet purple midnight sky. Stars glittered on his face. His hair was long and under other circumstances, Talon would have considered him exotically beautiful. As the man’s golden eyes fell upon him, Talon stared steadily at him.

Leaning as he was against the wall, he was bathed in moonlight. It caused the silver-white of his eyes, hair and the markings upon his body to glisten softly. In his mortal guise, he resembled a half-elven man. Without the distraction of his wings and other divine features, the evidence of his elven heritage was more prominently on display. Three gold earrings pierced one ear, each of them bearing runic inscriptions that he had carved himself. Simple scrivening to hold spells he could quickly access. He was wearing attire that matched that of a Solunarian warrior. His arms were covered only in a pair of plated gauntlets. His left shoulder had a shoulder pad, a leather strap crossing over his torso. Several throwing knives were strapped across it. He wore armored sandals upon his feet.

Talon quirked a brow at the man’s exasperation at still being alive. Of all the emotions he expected to come from the battered man, sorrowful anger and bitterness at still drawing breath had not been among them. Something ailed the man who was in the bed and it was not just the bruises of his injuries.

“Apologies for sparing your life, then.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. His voice was deep, matching his broad frame. It carried a distinct accent that was very noticeably not Solunarian. His Common, while fluent, was enunciated pointedly as though the words took him a moment to translate in his head. Common was not his native tongue either. Tipping his mug back, he finished his water. “However, I will not be killing you. I am not in the business of killing people indiscriminately.”

He was under no illusion that the empire would demand he perform a great many things he fundamentally disagreed with. That would eat away at him. He knew it would. However, he looked at the dilemma with an almost detached air. He had to. If he lingered on his circumstance too long, he would lose himself to a sour mood and he was not presently interested in dwelling in his own misery.

Clearly the man in the bed was miserable enough for both of them.

“We are in Tertium. It is nightfall of the same day your caravan was attacked.” He offered that bit of information. He had woken up from injuries disoriented and confused often enough to be able to give answers to some of the more immediate questions that rose to mind.

Posted: **Sat Sep 03, 2022 3:09 pm**

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

- - -

Of course, asking this stranger to waltz over and choke his breath away, impale him, or snap his neck was a bit of a reach, but he had to at least suggest the stranger end his disgrace of an existence. Upon being declined, he scoffed, closed his eyes, shook his head and took a deep breath. Then, upon being informed that he was, in fact, in Tertium, he outright groaned in a flagrant, unabashed display of his displeasure. Such expressions only agitated his ailing body, however, causing him to physically wince afterwards.

What's truly funny is that he's had a death wish for a long time, but his pride and what little remained of his ego barred him from ever intentionally taking his own life. Because of this, he would instead put himself in precarious positions by taking risks, but despite doing so he'd managed to cheat death over and over. Even now, he managed to skate by in a truly outlandish situation and come out the end with his heart still beating.

Except, that's not even the biggest joke. Æros often made sarcastic remarks that he only lived through divine intervention, some god or some such enjoyed tormenting him or something, and while up until this point such a sentiment was entirely a thing he said in jest, this time, it was actually true. Though entirely ignorant to this fact, the man across the room was, literally, a demi-god. His life, already a circus, had become a divine comedy in the span of a day.

"Not interested in killing indiscriminately, huh? Want me to give you a reason? I'll happily do so– you need only say the word." He was dead serious and the wild look in irises of bright gold put emphasis on this fact. His cadence was a little odd when speaking Common and sometimes he paused, questioning grammar or searching for words internally.

In the room's somber lighting, the half-fæ produced his own glow from the coruscating little stars that glided languidly over his form. By normal standards, he was tall and sturdily built with the proportions of a dancer; a bit more size to his legs and more lithe tone to everywhere else. Many found his natural luminescence to be rather enchanting, but the discolorations from his bruising and the brusque, vaguely animalistic panic that currently gripped his posture and overall demeanor made him more of an eldritch thing, still beautiful but leaning far more into the strange and perhaps foreboding. The black of his sclera, antler-esque protrusions from his head, points of his teeth and the claws he did bear further pushed him away from the familiarities of his more mortal features on top of looking generally disheveled and utterly drained of any positive emotion.

Yet steady did he hold his gaze on the stranger. He had no qualms with eye contact or the like, and frankly, the being that stood before him was a welcome distraction from his circumstances for whatever that was worth. Æros had pinned him as some type of half-elven warrior on the surface, but there had to be something more. He recognized the glint of magic on the accessories he wore, but that could not account for the fact that such a scantily clad individual was able to face off against that scorpion and come out bearing not even a single bruise. It was fascinating, disconcerting, puzzling, extremely alluring, and just a little infuriating all at once.

"You won't even hurt me just a little bit? Maybe tear an old wound and I'll bleed out– can pretend it wasn't your fault; that'll escape any kind of punishment at least." Though very likely futile, he just had to ask one more time.

"...but if you won't grant that wish, then at least spare me of my own thoughts. Tell me, who are you? Your accent is new to my ears. You are no Solunarian." Æros paused, though briefly, realizing he had more to ask. "...care to explain your purpose for arrival? If I am to be stranded and forced to draw breath in this hellscape and you lack employment, I wouldn't be against pulling funds to remedy that if only for my own protection," and of course, amusement. Æros did absolutely nothing that wasn't incredibly self-centered in nature. At least, not at this point in time.

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

Posted: **Sat Sep 03, 2022 4:26 pm**

D A E M O N

All he could do was quirk a brow as the man in the bed lamented his own existence. It was a curious thing to him. After spending months in chains, cut off from the outside world, and forced into servitude to a cause he had not believed in, the lack of passion for life was absurd to him. He let his eyes roam over the man, opening his senses to the aethereal in order to focus on things that may have been out of sight. As far as he could tell, there were no physical ailments beyond what he had already seen. The healer had been diligent in her work.

“You are a curious man.” That was putting it mildly. He was baffled by the open desire to be hurt. To be murdered. He wondered if perhaps the ordeal in the desert had damaged more than just the man’s body but his mind as well. He kept such thoughts to himself however. He met the strange man’s gaze unflinching. His silver irises a contrast to the man’s gold ones. Then came the questions. He considered them and how he should answer.

“Daemon.” It was the name he would give while he walked this land. He could not help the subtle pull of a smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. He had studied some of what the Solunarian’s worshipped and believed from what he could gather in the Imperial Academy. While not much, he had found enough to know that they considered him a demon icarnate as he had brought about the downfall of their ancient gods during his first life. The vague hint of a memory played on the furthest edges of his thoughts. When he had the time, he would have to meditate and explore what memories he had of this matter. He was certain they were buried and would take some concentration to pull up.

“I came from north of here. For the moment, I am just a traveler. A traveler who happened upon your caravan when the need arose. I came to Tertium in order to…” He searched for the right words. Reaching up he ran a hand through his hair. “...to make a new life for myself.”

At the offer of a job, he quirked his head. Clearly this man had some manner of pull. He knew ultimately that his goal was to get close to the royal family. He needed to investigate a coming calamity as he had been bidden by his sovereign. Exactly what he was looking for however, he did not rightly know. He needed more information.

“I could be persuaded.” Signing on to serve as protection for a man of influence, even if it was only a small bit of influence, could prove beneficial. “What are you offering?”

Posted: **Sat Sep 03, 2022 5:11 pm**

TIMESTAMP: -
NOTES: -

► Show Spoiler

- - -

A curious man. Æros clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes at the comment. He’d been called all manner of things before and usually when others kept their words brief, it was done with deliberation. He wanted to know how the other really felt, but now was not the time to press or even to pry with magic. Not only was he weak, but his senses were fried and he wasn’t sure with how much precision he could even wield aether. Nor was he sure it was even a good idea in the first place; this man was a mage, a powerful one at that, and Æros did not yet know the extent of his power. For all he knew, the other would smite him with divine might should he have the audacity to–

Wait. That’s perfect! Exactly what he wanted, and if Æros had nothing else, it was ample audacity. Fuck it, then. However, he had been correct with his assumption regarding the channeling of aether in this state. It was downright painful to do, but he didn’t care. With his Overture, he attempted to open himself to the symphony of the other man regardless of what risks being invasive like this posed. In doing so, he felt…bewilderment. The other man was genuinely shocked at how much the half-elf genuinely craved escape from this mortal coil. This revelation made him laugh in a sort of self defeating way, complex emotions of his own stirring in response, and by the gods did he feel sick.

Though distracted both by his casting and how bad he felt, he did hear the name given. Daemon? If that name was given by a parent, that was…deeply comedic in an almost sad way. If it were chosen, that was yet another mystery he’d want to unravel should the other agree to his offer.

A traveler from the north here to find a new life, apparently. Whatever the hell that meant, it was so preciously vague that Æros almost didn’t want to believe it. A man with the power that this Daemon wielded had to have acquired it somewhere, and given that, under what dire circumstances would one just up stakes and leave for an entirely new continent? Æros was not stupid, and while he knew there had to be more to this story, he was also fully aware he would not get answers by brute force needling somebody with questions.

But ah, the elf felt the familiar reverberation of interest in his response to his offer. Excellent.

“That depends, what are you seeking in this new life of yours? My family has no shortage of resources, influence, power…” he trailed off. This would also finally get his family off his ass if he personally brought more prestige to his house by using this serendipitous stranger to his own benefit. “Our coffers run deep and can be yours should you find some way to impress me.” Æros spoke with a fox-like expression, switching gears somewhat to a vocal tone that was more normal to him, though not quite there.

“And as an idea, you could try your hand at the arenas? Solunarium prides individual talents of all types. For example, I receive plenty of accolades for my talents in dance, a privilege shared by any other type of talented enough artist. Mages are often revered for both their power and their creativity. Masters of the mind praised for ingenuity, innovation and the like. Those in possession of more physical strength can find their calling in sport, blood or otherwise. Pick a path and I’ll pave it for you…” pausing for effect, “...provided you impress both me and whatever onlookers abound.”

- - -

'Thoughts'

"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"

"Vastien Tongue/Speech"

"Valasren Tongue/Speech"

"Common Tongue/Speech"

Posted: **Sat Sep 03, 2022 6:20 pm**

D A E M O N

Talon narrowed his eyes as he felt the familiar brush of Mesmeric influence touching the surface of his thoughts. He was very accustomed to the touch of telepathy and mind-magic. Between a life lived with the beauty of the Bond, an ache that remained constant in his chest due to its absence, and a family with several Mesmers, not to mention Lyra, he had learned how to discern when his symphonies were being touched. In this instance, it had not been particularly difficult to notice. The hand that touched his mind was rough and undisciplined. It was nothing compared to the masters he was accustomed to dealing with. The feel of it, uninvited, even if to just take a cursory glance at his thoughts and feelings was not something he wanted. Grasping hold of his aura he wrapped his aura around himself tightly, suppressing the symphonies of his thoughts. He then tapped into his Negation and affixed a ward around himself. He tasked it simply with disrupting the symphonies around himself so that his thoughts were further shielded. He then set his mug down on the window shelf and folded his arms over his chest.

“I suppose slaying two wyverns and a giant scorpion were not impressive enough.” He gave the man a pointed stare. With that said, he did listen to what else the man had to say. The concept of arenas was not new to him. The Proving Grounds in Kalzasi were popular, though lethal combat there was uncommon and certainly not against other people. Beasts acquired from the Warrens were often the highest stakes placed in that ring. The stadium in the Imperium was popular from what he gathered though he had not had the chance to see any major event take place there. He knew that he was a warrior of both formidable strength and a sorcerer of considerable power. The acquisition of fame and fortune within the bloody ring would perhaps be one way to garner the attention of influential people beyond this one man.

“If fighting for the masses is how I can make a name for myself, that suits me just as well.” It was not exactly what he had in mind but it would work. Renowned fighters amassed glory and influence no matter what culture they came from. If his cursory readings were anything to go by, Solunarium had a fondness for the blood sports of the arena. It was a refined, if savage, culture from what he had gleaned thus far.

He knew there was an art form to fighting in the arena. Simply defeating challenge after challenge was not enough. The masses demanded entertainment. It was not something he had much patience for but he could learn. His life had been a series of performances, whether in the court rooms of his family’s palace among the nobles or speaking to the public. He would have to figure out what suited these foreign lands and their tastes.

“Point me to the ring. I will fight for you, provided the coin makes it worth my time.” He gave a smirk. If he was going to put on a performance that he was seeking a new life, why not make it one where he was seeking fame, fortune and glory?

Legend of Ransera

Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Re: Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Re: Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Re: Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Re: Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Re: Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Re: Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Re: Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Re: Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]

Re: Hic Svnt Dracones [Talon]