Legend of Ransera

Punctuality mattered in Solunarium but, as in many affairs, it was dependent on ones position in the hierarchy. A magnatus would not brook the tardiness of his inferior, but would demand their patience when it came time to wait for him. Such was the case on the occasion of Dæmon's appointment at the Fortis Lacerta Arena. It was a far cry from the reception he'd received upon the prior evening's final victory. No crowds met him with cheers as he approached the gladiator's entrance with his noble sponsor at his side. Only two, stony-faced human guards. Their faces were bronze beneath the balmy sun, now approaching its zenith.

"You are he called Dæmon?" The senior guard inquired in thickly accented Common of the quite tall, silvery-haired man who fit the description he'd been given in advance, "And you hees guarantor?" The man turned his eyes toward the Platinum-accented Fæ, narrowing his eyes slightly. "You have I seen." He gestured to Mathias, "Who thees keed?"

He appraised them all with his eyes, and each was adept enough at their Crafts to note the subtle sweep of a Journeyman Sembler perusing what he could of their three Auras.

He grunted, satisfied by whatever he'd gleaned and nodded.

"You may enter. You weell patience bear een vestibulum where yesterday you await fights. Comprehendis?" He waved them off, "Vade." The gate was opened for the guests, and they were admitted entrance to a stadium that, while far quieter than the day prior, was bustling with the activity of attendants of various disciplines preparing the arena for the battles to come.

When they made it to the antechamber beneath the royal box, the room was empty- Dark and quiet. The stone slabs that passed for seating would be far beneath the expectations of one such as Æros, but that was the extent of the amenities afforded to their group as they were left with ample time to await the arrival of those they had been summoned to meet. If the figuratively stellar combatant's literally stellar patron had yet to impart all the advice he wished to relate prior to this all-important meeting, he would have plenty of time to do so before the Magnati would appear.

“You really have no grasp on the term subtle.” Mathias finished pulling on his shirt after Talon had reapplied and improved the structure of the protective wards drawn along his spine. He looked over at his squire, fully understanding what the young man was referring to.

“In hindsight, I likely should have made the match last longer.” He put away his spellwright’s ink and tools, wiping off his hands with a cloth. He examined his handiwork through the lens of Mathias aura. Over the days leading up to his participation in the arena fight against those monsters, he had found time to slowly expand and update the protections laden upon his squire. The longer he was in Solunarium the more he was beginning to contemplate granting Mathias request for an initiation into another rune of magic. Talon knew he would not always have the opportunity to layer into the weave of the young man’s aether the protections that this spare time afforded. Barriers against the manipulation of the mind. Barriers against some forms of injury, all of them woven into the design expanding outward from the rune between his shoulder blades and extending along his spine. All of them carefully buried into his aura in order to avoid immediate detection.

“I get that we’re here to get close to them for some reason. Don’t you think that maybe it would have been smarter to, I don’t know, take a little while longer?” He understood the young man’s worry.

“Truth be told, I do not know if we have that long. Which is where you are going to come in.” He placed his belongings back into the featherlight bag.

“What do you mean?” Mathias leaned against the nearby table, folding his arms over his chest.

“I do not know what the meeting today will yield. There is so much that we do not know. So much that is simply left to mystery that it has been hard to know where to begin. With that being said, what I am going to need is a set of eyes and ears to be where I cannot.” He looked at Mathias pointedly who was nodding. In the weeks and months since stepping into the role of his squire, the young man had come a long way. It was time to start putting some of that training to use.

“How though? I still don’t speak Vastian. That…will make it hard to blend in.” He quirked a brow.

“Have you examined the details of your earring yet?” Mathias blinked at him. He reached up a hand to brush his fingers over the simple gold piercing that had been bought for him in the runeforging shop just the day prior.

“Uh. No. I, uh, haven’t.” Talon shook his head, the tug of a small smirk touching his lips as he reached up to touch his own.

“This is a test, isn’t it?” He nodded to his squire who sighed and brushed his fingers over the earring. “Okay. I will study it.”

Satisfied with that answer, Talon ushered them out of their room in order to accompany Aeros to the meeting that awaited them. As he did so, he touched the earring on his own ear in order to activate the enchantment upon it. The first he activated was the ability to Speak Vastian. The second was the ability to Translate and thus understand what he heard spoken.

---

He did not speak as Aeros handled the interaction with the guards. He had not had the time to inform the nobleman of his acquisition of the enchantments he and Mathias were now in possession of. He contemplated the wisdom of doing so. While he was certain that whoever this royal was would undoubtedly be in possession of either powers or staff capable of discerning enchantments placed upon objects, he had found in his brief time in Solunarium that discretion was proving to be the better part of valor. As it were, Talon kept his aura in tight check. He allowed enough of it to be immediately visible so as to give off a middling level of competence but kept the underlying layers of true power hidden tightly next to the core of his soul. To the casual observer, he was a decently learned mage of perhaps upper end of Journeyman. Only a master who was actively looking for the deeper layers would perhaps be alerted to the true depths his aura might reveal. Even then, they risked blinding themselves in the attempt. When they stepped into the waiting area, he was unsurprised at the tardiness of the royal.

He, more than perhaps any of them there, understood the nuance of a royal court. He had grown up at the pinnacle of one his entire life. Even in his current state, he was still expected to abide by the decorum afforded to royalty. From what he had seen of Solunarium, etiquette and protocol when interacting with societal elites was extremely rigid. While he did not yet know all of the nuances, deference was not hard to perform. The Imperium had ripped away any sense of ego he might have once possessed that may have caused him to bristle at the thought of bowing and scraping to others. Some part of him did not know how to feel about that. Nevertheless, as those thoughts lingered in his head he found himself drawn into a conversation with Aeros.

The half-Fae’s mood had been difficult to decipher as of late. Irritation. Anger. Apathy. Annoyance. He had seen flickers of those things scattered across the man’s aura. From his tone, he did not need to be a Sembler to discern that such things were still swirling in Aeros head at that exact moment. Talon sighed heavily, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose and rub along the septum. Mathias took a seat on a bench nearby.

“Oh boy. I know that sigh.” He did not immediately respond when his squire commented.

“You are displeased, Dominus?” He remained standing, regarding the other man intently. “Perhaps, if this engagement is a beneficial one, we can pursue an errand that pleases you.”

He extended a hand to Mathias who knew without prompting what he was reaching for. Mathias deposited into Talon’s hand a simple but elegant bracelet. Stepping forward, Talon extended it to the nobleman.

“I know not what vexes you so, but perhaps this will help.” The bracelet was designed in such a way as to compliment the half-Fae’s complexion and attire without being overly gaudy. “It is a bracelet of protection.”

He examined Aeros for a moment before speaking.

“You asked me not so long ago whether or not I am here to bring ruin.” He could reveal little but he could at least do his best to allay some of the man’s fears, even if he did not know them. “No. I am not.”

With that, he straightened and considered the man’s question.

“I know only a little of your customs but the protocol of royal greetings is not lost on me. Deference. Speak when spoken to. Answer questions as they are asked, succinctly, politely.”

After another long while, the churn of gears presaged the prelude to their meeting. A familiar clangour for both Dæmon, because he'd heard if several times last night from this very vantage, and to Æros because he'd been to enough events at this arena to recognise the groan of those old gates as they were lifted. Had they ever been replaced since the Epoch of Aværys?

As the three guests regarded the arch leading onto the sunlit arena floor, two figures stepped into view from either side. They were standing at quite some distance, mid-arena, and each was clad in a long, black robe with a thin, chain belt rounding their waists, and silvery adornments starting at their shoulders- similar to epaulets, which fed seamlessly into a collared, half chest plate. To a local it would be apparent, at a glance, that these were Sentinels of the Vigilia Argenti. This would immediately raise flags for any number of reasons.

The detail which Æros would note was the cause for the greatest concern, however, was the fact that both figures wore veils over their faces. Sheer, black lace speckled with what appeared to be tiny gemstones that glinted in the harsh noonday sun like the stars that painted Æros' own skin. The half-Fæ would know that Sentinels typically only appeared veiled in very particular scenarios- most of them lofty, ceremonial and/or diplomatic in function.

To a Sembler or a Mesmer it would be equally apparent that their garb was heavily warded by a masterful practitioner of their Craft against incursions. But whether they wished to press further beyond the cursory was for them to decide... They paused across from each other as the faceless shapes seemed to face the gate and the guests behind it.

"Oh, Dæmooooon!" A sing-song falsetto voice intoned, then a bit deeper into the chest: "Dæmon, darling! You're meant to step through the gate. You can tarry in awe once you've clapped eyes on me, but first let's get a look at you." The voice, which was speaking Common, was not coming from either of the black-clad Sentinels, but from above.

As the guests of the arena, stepped onto its freshly raked sands, they would see labourers bustling about in the stands around them, but as they came into view of the royal box it was there that they would see the source of the voice. Perched, ostensibly precariously on the the balustrade just overhead, rather that within the safety of the box proper, was a grinning, Golden elf behind whom stood a pair of uniformed golden guards and the Stadium Master of the Fortis Lacerta. Donning a revealing, lavender sari with gold accents and accessories and kicking their legs, which were dangling over the balustrade, they offered a dainty wave as gazes found them. After a beat, they glanced over their shoulder to the obviously anxious Stadium Master and whispered:

"Do the thing."

The man quickly cleared his throat and raised his voice to announce:

"Regard: Their Resplendance, Drævos Val’Aværyan Vyxis Dux, Descended of Aværys, Scion of Re'ha!"

Æros would likely recognise the figure looming above them- a Duke in the Solar Court and baseborn child of Prince Drævyn. Their reputation was both storied and dreaded. A mercurial, capricious creature, who seemed capable of serving the Unbroken Line adeptly, in spite of their reckless attitudes toward their lessers that were displayed prominently on their downtime.

"Apologies for that half-arsed announcement." Vyxis rolled their eyes, before turning them back toward the visitors. "My herald stuttered last night, so I slit his throat with my Waning Prayer... May he serve Domina Varvara better than he served us." Their accent was pronounced, but not thick. They were clearly both educated and practised in the Common tongue.

"My, my, my Dæmon... You are a big one, aren't you?" Vyxis squinted and leaned down so far that the guards behind them seemed anxious they might tumble from their perch. "Your eyes are a bit close-set... Like two star-crossed lovers longing to be one in matrimony. Are you half-Cyclops?" Suddenly bursting into high-pitched laughter, they sat upright and the guards poised themselves to catch them if they tumbled backwards, but they maintained their balance aptly through the peels of their amusement.

"We are in jest." They settled into stillness once more. "You may undress, whilst we speak...." They noted, as blithely as if they were offered a drink to a guest in their home, "I am so, so sorry I missed the first match last night. My royal father spoke of it with awe, and that elder twink has been coming to the arena since Sundering..." A flash of annoyance crossed Vyxis' countenance, as they sharply clarified:

"Yes. All of you. Undress straight away." The irritation vanished as suddenly as it appeared, and Vyxis continued unabated, "I did get to see your subsequent bouts however, Dæmon... And I've been briefed that you're a foreigner, which is why I'm addressing you in this clunky, artless tongue, but I must say I disappointed in the way you ended your matches... The whole crowd was, really. It's a blood sport, darling. We want to see alllll of the blood. Surely you know where the juiciest arteries are? What's the point in being such a showoff if you can't seal the covenant with a proper sacrifices to our beloved Founders?" Beat.

"Oh." Gesturing, "You may speak now."

"Alas!" Vyxis knitted their brow, extending their arms in a melodramatic display of woe, "Perhaps my Common fails me!" They tilted their head sharply, then.

"But, no... No, that cannot be it." They tapped their index finger against their chin, in an exaggerated show of befuddlement. They looked from Mathias on one side to Æros on the other.

"Clearly the other two understood me, Dæmon. Are you bashful, dear? That is adorable, but in faith, my sweet semi-Cyclops, you flatter yourself. You've nothing to worry about if you fear our lascivious interest. The other two?" They winked at the supple, young Mathias and ran their tongue over their top lip, "...They are much more my speed. I'd need a bloody step-stool to have my way with you, and you look as though you could pinch off my prick with a flex of your ample buttocks. No." They wrinkled their nose in distaste at the notion. "We shan't be having any of that." Vyxis paused.

"At any rate, please allow me to clarify, lest another of our potential cultural differences prove confusing to you, Dæmon. When I say you 'may' undress, I really mean you 'shall' undress. And do take a lesson from this one..." They gestured to Æros and grinned as their eyes perused his form, "Here is a proper showman. He made a meal of his disrobing, and we shall be inquiring after his availability for dinner as our schedule permits, if he continues to entertain thus." A well manicured brow arched as the half-Fæ addressed them. It was brazen without being indecorous... Forward without being disrespectful. They smirked.

"Postea dicendum est..."
[We must speak later...]

Sensing further reluctance from the statuesque foreign mongrel, Vyxis sighed loudly and dramatically, before pushing themselves off the balustrade to the shocked concern of their guards. It was quite a drop, but just before reaching the sands they released a Kinetic blast to soften a their landing as they alighted into a crouch with both hands and one knee gracing the ground.

The Semblers amongst the group might note that Vyxis bore three Cardinal Runes, the strongest being Mesmer, with lower tier Elementalism and Kinetics also at their disposal. By Solunarian standards they were not the most ambitious of mages. No efforts were obviously being made to conceal their magic or anything else within their Aura or Symphony. There was inert illusory magic in their sari, but it seemed to be some sort of ornamental effect that wasn't currently in use.

Sensuously they rose to their full height- Dwarfed by Dæmon and diminutive even to Æros, they sauntered forth. Above their guards looked at one another, perplexed, before both ran down the back steps to make their way down to the arena floor.

"We assure you, Dæmon. Our interest in your form is entirely clinical." Their eyes danced askance to catch a closer, lingering glimpse of Æros' endowment. "Bloody hells." Returning their attention to the largest of the group, they strutted over until the toes of their soleæ were an inch away from Dæmon's, crossed their arms over their narrow chest, and spoke on:

"You must understand that we Solunariani are only just growing accustomed to foreigners showing up on our doorstep unannounced, and when you lot make such an impression as you did in vying with the chimæri, the um..." They searched the skies for the word, "...Mutants, I believe is the word in Common? When such an impression is made, due diligence must be exerted. Particularly," They held their palm up to their mouth and added in a stage whisper:

"When you are being considered to participate in an exhibition bout in front of some of our highest and most celebrated elite!" Their whisper gave way to a squeal, "Are you not EXCITED?!" They clapped their hands rapidly and hopped up and down a few times, before dropping the giggly act and going completely still.

"Now lose..." Teeth clenched, "...the fucking..." Hissed, "...clothes."

Finally, their guards appeared behind them and rushed to their side in front of Dæmon.