Legend of Ransera

With a score of years worth of catching up to do, Arry was being run ragged trying to acclimate himself to the strange structures and strictures of Solunarian culture. The laws, the language, the lineages and the list went on. It was mentally exhausting for the Master Mesmer. Even recreation was a lesson. The only times he felt as though he could take a mental break were the moments he could steal to be alone with Finn. They could catch up in their native tongue, or make music together- literally or figuratively.

This evening, however, Finn was practising his Craft in the Umbrium and Arry found himself with naught to keep him occupied. He recalled that Phocion had recommended at some point that he explore the popular Luxian pastime of a gladiatorial bout. He’d said the evening fights were considered to be the Luxium’s sole advantage over the Umbrium, when it came to eventide diversions.

The golden eyed Golden Elf donned a robe of burgundy trimmed with gold and a matching belt to complement his hair. The fabric was thin, but granted enough coverage to guard against the cool evening breezes- while offering the added benefit of flowing beautifully in the same. The robe had been tailored to hug his form and it’s golden hem fell to the soles of his soleæ, just above the floor without quite gracing it.

“Where are you going, Dominus?” One of the domus guards inquired, as Arry made his way to the door.

“The arena.” He replied, “Fortis Lacerta?”

“Allow me to arrange for an escort.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Cræxus.”

“Forgive my boldness in so saying, Dominus, but I assure you it is. The evening matches are wildly popular. You might not gain access at all at this hour- Let alone claim a respectable vantage. We can see that Your Lordship gains access to the lower podium to be amongst his social peers, rather than slavering rabble.”

Arry sighed.

“Very well.”



Flanked by two strapping guards bronze of complexion and standing at matching formidable height, Arvælyn appeared at the grand Luxian coliseum. He arched an eyebrow at the large queue of snaking round the huge building like the tail of a Wyvern.

“This way, Dominus.” Cræxus gestured toward a separate entrance with more guards than guests, and they made their way over.

As they approached, the guards bowed and Cræxus spoke up on behalf of his charge:

“Dominus Arvælyn Sorokialis.” Coin was exchanged, “Aditum podium petit.”

The gate guard nodded, sternly and replied:

“Obvius concessus. Praelio fruere.” And stepped aside, as the Golden elf and his attending guardsmen stepped through the large archway toward steps leading up into the seating and standing areas of the lower podium.

As they crested the top of the stairway, Arry gaped at the air above the arena, which was awash in the silver light of two self-illuminating moons making slow revolutions as if in orbit of one another. The larger was silvery white and the smaller was bright red- a hunter’s moon, in his own culture. Though of course a fraction of the size of the true moons looming in the distance that they emulated, they were large enough to fill a great deal of airspace and fully wash the arena in their manufactured light.

Cræxus cleared his throat to break the foreign elf from his awes stupour before anyone else clocked it. He cast an apologetic smile over his shoulder, and made his way over to a sparsely occupied alcove that housed a row of marble benches. His guards moved to stand at the wall behind the seating area, as Arry sat down and scanned the arena before him with excited eyes of gold. The architecture was predictably grandiose- particularly the golden royal box, which was currently unoccupied. He took in a breath and felt awash in the sundry Symphonies surrounding him. So much anticipation was a heady, contagious thing.

Transfixed as Arvælyn had been with the stunning décor all around him, he didn't notice the approach of the stranger. The guards marked him, however, and both Arry and the stranger might note a shift in their Symphonies as one employed a Rune of Semblance to assess whether the interloper was a threat. Satisfied that he wasn't, they settled back against the wall and observed as the man addressed their charge.

"Hm?" Arry looked up, his eyes bright with the enthusiasm the accompanied a novel experience. "Oh, no. Never." The boy's Vastian was flawlessly pronounced. One would take him for a native speaker for how artfully he replicated the diction of a local.

"This is my very first time at a real blood fighting match." Then there was his syntax. 'Blood fighting match' was a weird way to word it, and rather redundant. Not the sort of thing people with greater fluency would say. "Have you been often here before?" Despite of the impeccable pronunciation, the Elf was also using such simple, basic language- It was like speaking to a child, except that he was clearly no simpleton.

His Mesmer sprung to life, as he found it helped him to communicate in his new environs and, sensing another who bore the same Rune, he masked elements of his own Symphony as he dipped in to explore that of the stranger.

"You are..." Arry tilted his head, eyes roaming over the form before him curiously. He'd never seen such a creature- Even in Kalzasi where the population was far, far more diverse. The closest thing he could imagine was: "Lysanrin?" He hadn't even met many people in the Forum who diverged from the Elven, Human majority, and he certainly hadn't expected to find any such person in one of the more elite sections of the stadium.

"Hm?" Arry tilted his head, confused as to whether he was misunderstanding some nuance of the language or whether this fellow was jumping to conclusions he wasn't following. He supposed he might have said something that bore implications or connotations of which he was unaware. He grimaced at his failure, and grudgingly admitted.

"I am new to the city."

The elf's frown deepened as he sensed the shift in the stranger's demeanour as he masked elements of his own Symphony. He was attuned enough to the other man's that he could glean the source of the annoyance. It felt like an emotion that was passing familiar to him. He shook his head, not wishing to dwell on it. He would dig no deeper that the stranger did. Finn had been emphatic that he should be more respectful of people's boundaries and, in this realm that bore fewer such restrictions, he tried to abide by his lover's wishes- Within reason.

His expression softened back to neutral, then even a faint smile painted his lips as he nodded in understanding.

"Ah, very interesting. I did not know that Platinum could present in mixed bloods!" Arry was not alone in that, and there were those who didn't believe it truly did. To the great vexation of the Race of Re'ha, Platinum blood was not predictable in its inheritability. Even when paired together, Platinum parents were no more likely to beget Platinum children than Moonborn and Sunborn parents. It occurred to Arry that a Fae... Particularly one of the so-called 'Winter Court' might bear features that evoke those of the Platinum elves. He'd even heard that Fae could shift their features and, in a land such as this, it might favour one to highlight that which was hallowed. Rather than judging the man poorly for this possibility, he rather hoped it was true. It would have been as daring a gambit as some he'd taken with his identity. Though he supposed with the preponderance of Semblers in Solunarium, it might have been difficult to uphold in the higher echelons that were granted access to their current environs.

"In any case, the combination, in you? It seems very, um..." He searched the air for the word, "Becoming." There it was. His eyes trailed back toward the moons orbiting above, as he'd caught a glimpse of them again while pondering Vastian vocabulary. After a moment his golden gaze turned toward the golden box, still empty of spectators.

"Do you believe that the royalty will today appear?" He mused aloud.

Arry's attention was drawn back by the compliment. He forsook the moon in favour of the stars that danced along the face of the stranger. After a beat he realised he was also forsaking eye-contact, and their golden gazes met once more.

"Oh, I am certain!" Arry replied promptly, hoping he hadn't blundered into offending the fellow. "I did not mean to cast auspices... er... aspersions?" He shook his head, "I did not intend to offend." He amended in terms on which he had a better grasp, inclining his head in a slight display of deference.

"Not at all. I am in sooth." The Elf offered, firmly. There was still a bit of excitement about being able to communicate in this new tongue. It was frustrating, at times, and he often wished he might just snap his fingers and be understood by all, but he failing that, he was at least improving markedly. He felt, every now and again, like he'd crossed some sort of linguistic threshold. It was promising that this man wasn't speaking slowly or loudly or offering other languages with which he might be better familiar. He knew that part of this was that his time as an actors and, preceding that, his time as a liar had instilled in him a fascination with and devoted focus upon accents and dialects. He'd become masterful at mimicking lilts and recreating sounds that were alien to his native tongue. That was why his 'elocutio' so exceeded his 'grammatica'.

"I was raised distant. North." He seemed to have no hesitation in responding to the questions posed, despite the man's disclaimers. "I am known as Len'Sorokys Arvælyn." He was starting to grow accustomed to the practise of announcing his bastardy along with his name. It had been some months of vexation, but the reception had confirmed what his hosts had said on the first day he took the name on- Bastardy was not the burden in Solunarium that it was elsewhere in the world. He was, after all, still seated in the podium alongside trueborn heirs of elven houses, whilst humans were crowded above him like livestock- fighting to peek over the heads of their neighbours for a better view.

"And what of you?" He gestured, hoping that the Platinum Winter Fae might share a bit about himself. "You are, I take it, Luxian?"

A wan smiled painted the lips of the golden boy as he glanced down, considering the words. Arvælyn understood what the starry fellow had said well enough, but he needed to focus to compose his own thoughts on the matter and translate them into his latest tongue.

"This is, I hear, a happy, um... mélange?" He paused a beat, "People like a taste of exotic, but not often a whole meal of it." He knew that he hadn't imparted his thoughts in the most efficient way, but as they tumbled out he found that he actually appreciated the poetry his linguistic limitations had inadvertently fostered. He would have to remember the turn of phrase and bring it up with his pædagogus at their next lesson.

"I am sure that you are no stranger, yourself, to this notion..." The man beside him was even exotic by Kalzasern standards for his Fae lineage, but his Elven features were enough to ground him with something familiar so he could enjoy the best of both worlds- At least when he wasn't suffering the worst.

"Æros." He repeated, with an acknowledging nod, "Well met. Gens Val'Sorokys has, as well, homes in both halves of the city. My father is a Sentinel, as I am training to be. I was raised to speak Common and I am fluent, also, in Mythrasi, so it seemed meet that I should aid the Vigilia Argenti." They did, after all, represent the diplomatic wing of the government as well as serving as its intelligence agency.

"I have, yes. The Umbrium is lovely. My father lives, mostly, there and I go often to the Vigilia's Prætorium as demanded of my training." He winced, thinking that sounded wrong. "For my training." He amended, after a beat.

"My... parents were estranged. My mother hid from me much." He lowered his gaze, as if anguished by this. "I was unaware of this heritage. Of Solunarium... believeing I was Hytori all those years." He was marrying truth, half-truth and untruth- but it was well-trodden ground for a well-seasoned dissembler. Even had he not been masking his Symphony, it would have been difficult to read outward deception there with all the understandable self-deception that was also in play.