Legend of Ransera

It was a strange day in Solunarium. One which would change the realm evermore, if some rumours from above were to be believed below. Sun had fallen and moon had risen in the realm above, though such celestial events were obscured from view in the Umbrium.

The Temple of the Blazing Sun in the Luxium had been constructed in praise of Aværys millennia ago. That might be considered ancient in some cultures, but it was nowhere near as old as the Templum Mediæ Noctis Matris. It was the seat of an old, dead religion that once thrived on the site of present-day Solunarium in remote antiquity before memory for even the Draconic Dynasty. It hadn't been built in praise of Varvara or Aværys- in fact the latter had been one of the mining slaves who'd helped excavate it before His ascent. It had been the sight at which he'd found two mysterious amulets that played a part in unlocking access to divinity. Only the most devoted scholars knew to whom this temple once belonged or what it represented, but this was a place for such people.

Though grandiose in size and scope, the Temple of Midnight's Mother was a shadowy, quiet place when compared to its sunlit counterpart in the Luxium. There were no awe-inspiring implements blazing overhead, only cold stone and faded carvings depicting an ancient war between forgotten cultures led by extinct sentient races. No one flaunted glitz or glamour as the congregants gathered for the final Waning Prayer before the Equinox. The attending clerics wore simple robes of black, and most of the congregants didn't concern themselves with garb. The devotees of Varvara were less concerned with ostentation than those who held her brother-husband in highest esteem.

The great hall of the temple held a shrine erected to Varvara during the Epoch of Aværys. A great statue of the erstwhile god-empress was carved from magically reinforced obsidian and ornamented with silver mined from closeby. Worshippers bore candles to place at the feet of the statue, as they whispered their private prayers. Priests and priestesses were present, should any seek their guidance, but no formalised mass or sermon of any kind would be offered in a public fashion tonight or most evenings. Those who followed the Silver Path tended to be more private, or at least more intimate with their faith than those who worshiped in the Platinum or Golden fashion.

The temple would be active throughout the evening, as people queued up and brought forth their sacrifices to be made upon the altar before Varvara's shrine. Animals, though never reptiles, had their throats slit quietly- their blood pouring into the spillways of the altar and in some unseen chamber somewhere below the great hall. Humans, too, were put forth as offerings- their blood mingling with that of the other creatures sacrificed to the Founders here. Some were slaves, or others subjects of Lex Agni who would hear the prayers of argent ardent whispered in their ears before a silver dagger kissed their throats to pour liquid rubies into the artfully carved spillways.

"I am pleased that you decided to join us, Finn." Cithæra inclined her head to the human. She donned her Sentinal black with the veil lowered to cover her fair face, leaving her features little more than a silhouette. Despite Arry's concerns about being underdressed after the morning's 'Radiant Mass', Phocion had urged him not to don anything too extravagant for this outing. He was relieved to find that Phocion had not been putting him on and was glad he decided to wear his sentinel uniform, albeit sans veil.

"This... is very different from this morning." He noted quietly.

"Indeed." She nodded once, "There are many ways to observe The Varværyn Faith. What you saw at the Radiant Mass was the more populist approach- Glamour, gold and glory. It is easy to understand for even our simplest citizens, and it reinforces their commitment to the Founders... Shores up the covenant that ties the Vastian Race to the Chosen of Re'ha." She gestured around them,

"But this place is frequented by those who recognise that not all power inspires awe. That some of the mightiest tethers that bind our souls are unseen. Did you know that Phædryn was the favourite child of Varvara? She called him her 'Child of twists and turns'" One could almost hear the smile behind her veil.

"This is why so many of Phædryn's heirs over the years have followed the Cursus Argentus." Entering the great hall, she gestured to the shrine and the bloody altar upon which sacrifices were being made.

Arry looked to Finn, checking in as to whether he was all right with what was transpiring before them. Sensitive to his lover's comfort, he inquired:

"It is always blood that must be sacrificed?"

"No." Cithæra tilted her head, "But blood is a potent thing in this world and that is not lost on She of the Bound and the Binding. But anything of worth may be sacrificed... Except the lives of reptiles. This is an old tradition and signifies our deference to the Draconic Dynasty, who do suffer us to rule without asserting their claim to this realm... Leaving it in elven hands until the Founders reawaken," She paused, "Or they change their minds."

Arvælyn looked to the silver altar and the patterns upon its surface. A goat bleated its last as the spillways ran red, and send rivulets of blood down circuitous paths down to some unknown terminus point.

"Of course, pet." Cithæra placed a gentle hand upon Finn's upper arm and stroked there twice with a ginger touch. "When I am veiled, you may call me, simply, Vigilia. I know that our ways are byzantine to foreigners, but there is intention behind these details." And she had purposely elected to veil herself as not to draw attention to Finn or Arvælyn. Barefaced, hers was a face that most would recognise and not all would look favourably upon those who kept the company of the tacit head of the Immaculist Faction.

She slowly drew her hand away, as Finn spoke his quotation. Arry, furrowed his brow, only able to glean a few words that were cognate or at least similar to their Mythrasi counterparts, but Cithæra's posture softened and what could be seen of her expression through black mesh seemed moved.

Her gloved hand rose from his arm to his face, and she sought out his light blue eyes peering deeply. Beyond the surface and into his very depths.

"There is grandeur in this way of life..." She offered, tenderly in Vallenor, drawing her fingers down his cheek. "Repeat these words until they are scrivened into your blood, and you will see that our gods are no crueler than any other. They are only more honest." Withdrawing her hand from Finn's face, she placed it on her son's shoulder.

"I wasn't sure what to sacrifice, but... I found a cart in the Forum that sold toys. Just like the ones papa used to make." He unslung his pack and withdrew a little, enchanted airship. The Grand Master Sembler's eyes could see plainly enough that it was capable of actual flight, or at least hovering a bit. "I lost everything I had of his long, long ago, but... This felt symbolic enough that I thought it might serve."

"You would sacrifice your childhood, Arvælyn?" She smiled behind the veil.

"I am a man, now." He nodded. "Is there a place to sacrifice something like this?"

"This way." She inclined her head to Finn, as he excused himself to the altar queue and led Arry to another altar on the other side of the statue. It was warmer, there. The air above the ground looked warped from the rising heat and it felt hot on boots as he made his way closer. There was another queue, but it moved quickly enough and the Vigilia Magna gestured. "There."

He stepped up to this altar and found that it was designed like a well. There was a surface, but it was a ring and orange light rose from deep down. Heat washed over his face as he drew up to it, and peering into its depths he saw the source of the light and warmth. Magma. He glanced over his shoulder to his mother,

"I didn't know the volcano's core went this deep under the Umbrium."

"Spillways." Cithæra replied. "Now, pray." She urged, and Arvælyn nodded. He placed the little toy down on the edge of the ringed altar, and looked up at the statue. It seemed it was built with a face on either side, mirror images facing away from one another with the same, stoic stare.

Even when I did not know you, I think my heart was yours. Tethered as I was by circumstance, I knew you and longed to know your brother withal. You hallow my blood. Through you I have survived, and for you I will thrive. Take this symbol of my childhood. I have since been baptised in blood and have renounced the original sin that is innocence. Take what remains of it. In your name, I offer this prayer, oh She of the Scourge.

He pushed the toy forward and for a moment it hovered in place, before slowly descending- catching fire before it even reached the churning magma beneath.

Meanwhile on the other side of the statue, human blood was being spilled- foreign and fresh. As it poured onto the altar, it seemed to defy the laws of physics- spreading beyond where gravity would take it and coursing down several spillways, steaming and bubbling with sudden heat as it was drawn down as if being sucked through a straw, and then Finn's blood was beneath his feet. As his eyes fixed on those of the statue they seemed to flash with moonlight as they regarded him, and a whisper entered his mind, speaking only one word.

Kaladon.

At the same time, the same word entered Arry's mind as he gaped in shock at the flash of silver in the same statue's eyes.

Cithæra took Arry by the arm, as the cleric aided Finn offering a cloth to hold against his wound. The three reunited, but Arry was still staring blankly at the statue in disbelief- dumbfounded.

"This has been a year of great bloodshed." Cithæra observed. "They grow stronger." As these three conferred, another was approaching the first altar with a sacrifice. The goat's blood filled the spillways and gushed down toward the terminus beneath. Just like Finn's blood, it was drawn downward until nothing of it remained on the altar but warm vapour wafting up. When the beast was wholly exsanguinated, the altar was dry and clean as it had been when she'd approached.

I watch.

The words were in her mind, not her ears. They felt somewhere between foreboding and entreating. A threat or a challenge... Or both?

When she drew away and joined the others, acolytes attended to the removal and disposal of the goat corpse. Cithæra stood aloof, regarding the statue. as Hilana approached. But Arry smiled, still awed by his experience, and looked to Hilana without greeting her. His thoughts were in places beyond such a pittance as small talk.

"Did she speak to you?"

Arvælyn had really been asking both Finn and Hilana whether they'd been spoken to, though it was only Hilana who replied. He supposed it was less likely that Finn should have received answer to his sacrifice, which Arry was just noticing now...

"Gods! Did you cut yourself for Varvara?!" Though exclamatory, the question was whispered, the environment being as quietly reverent as it was. He blinked down at the bloody cloth he was holding to his arm, and placed a hand on his back as Hilana moved to attend to it.

Arry was well and truly shocked by this gesture on Finn's part. The human minstrel had his doubts about the Varværyn Faith. He found it severe. But Arry was severe, and Finn still loved Arry. Perhaps he was coming around to Solunarium as well. He was sorry for Finn's pain, but grimly proud of him for making the sacrifice.

"It is allowed in the cities, as well." The voice behind the veil spoke up, as Cithæra regarded Finn with furtive interest. "To give Her all your blood is to make another sort of sacrifice... promise another sort of service, but what falls not with intent is no concern of Hers. When he stepped from the altar, the Covenant was complete." The sentinel nodded to Hilana's interpretation, and then looked to her son.

"You never answered the girl, Arvælyn. Did She speak to you?"

"She said, 'Kaladon.'" He replied, though his attention was still upon Finn and Hilana's dressing of his wound. Still, he would feel a surge... a thrill in Cithæra's typically guarded Symphony.

"Then the next epoch is at hand." To those with no Mesmer, the comment would have sounded just as stoic as anything she'd said prior. But to the two Masters present, the potency was palpable. Long had she and hers striven toward aims passing close to fruition. The hour was nigh, and it seemed the burgeoning strength of ancient powers was calling out to some.

"Valæra returns from Auris in a few weeks. After that, it is high time you returned to Ailizane, Arvælyn, to the site of the Rending. Our long-reticent Founders have broken their silence and given voice to a summons. It must needs be answered." It was no surprise that Varvara should whisper like a shadowy seneschal, while Aværys stood aloof. Even when he was cast down in the flatlands, the mountain had risen to meet him to serve as his monolith monument. He didn't call Kaladon, it merely came because it was time for it to come. The veiled sentinel regarded the daughter of the Vastii.

"And you, Vastiana. You may join the pilgrimage party, if you wish. If She of the Scourge would cast her eye toward you, then so should we."