Legend of Ransera

Once the blazing bright orb expanded to consume the three remaining Pilgrims, they would find it was no longer blinding within. But there was another world inside the light of this simulated sun and not all of them had arrived on the same plane of it.
Before Hilana’s vision returned to her, she would be struck by the smell of salt and the lapping of waves against wood. It would take a moment for her footing to return to her, as the floor seemed to shift beneath her stance. When her sense of sight returned to append the findings of the other senses, she would find herself on a small rowboat alone at sea. As more details emerged to her acclimating eyes, she would see that up ahead was a familiar harbour. And overhead towered the familiar monument that welcomed all who came to Solunarium by sea. The Colossi at Tertium.

The massive monument depicting Solunarium’s two Founders as unassailable titans was synonymous with Tertium. There wasn’t much the coastal city had on the capital, aside from a more diverse populace and these two, colossal sentinels flanking the only entry and exit point to Port Tertium’s harbour. They were the largest depictions of the Founders in the world, and even visiting Luxians would gape in awe in their shadow. Hilana had seen the statues on many occasions, but unlike any other instance during which she’d regarded the colossi: this time they were looking back at her.

“Child of the Sands.” Boomed the colossal exemplar of Aværys. “Thou wouldst fain toil with tinctures… potions and poisons.” Slowly, the titan crouched and extended its massive hand to scoop the little boat from the tides and gazed with an eye that might have been a planet from Hilana’s vantage. “But what doth compose thy soul, Hilana Vastialis? Be it formed of an healing herb or a vile venom?”

The colossus of Aværys rose to its full height, holding Hilana’s little boat in His palm out so that His sister-wife-statue could get a better glimpse.

“Thou wast marked by another, Vastiana.” Varvara’s voice was velvet, even at this volume. “You know of whom We speak. Tell us hence. Why shouldst thou have been singled out by such a one? What marketh thy soul that doth summon chaos to Our realm of structure?”

The Colossus of Aværys tilted its gargantuan head as Hilana spoke of the balance between healing and affliction. With a creaking of stone against stone, dust crumbling from the places where joints would have been on a creature, albeit not a statue, He turned His titanic body inward toward Tertium. With Hilana in her little boat in the palm of his right hand which was closer to the exemplar of His sister-wife, he stepped down from the pedestal and into the water. Even this far out, the colossus was large enough that the waves only lapped at His upper abdomen as He began a slow march into the harbour.

The other statue would descend into the sea as well, to join the languid procession.

“If thou seekst equilibrium betwixt healing and harming, We would invoke thee more oft t’ward the latter. Thou art not bereft of bloodlust, as thou didst display upon the path up the mount. Thou hast hungers too long neglected. Nourish thine Atraxian soul and do as thou dost vouchsafe. A sacrifice to Us requireth no altar. The apothecary may be thy temple and thine alchemy the sacrificial blade. Wield thy craft in Our honour, and We might append it.” Aværys thundered, as He stalked farther into the harbour.

As Varvara lumbered beside Him, Hilana might note the jewelled spider of her sacrifice skittering from Her neck to Her shoulder, looking no larger than a common house spider against so massive a frame.

“Thou know’st that We were rebels once. Born to unjust and unnatural bondage ‘neath the boot of Our lessers. My brother toiled in darkness, abjured from the Sun that blazed to herald His birth, whilst I was forced to serve at the beck of ignoble nobles in palaces built on the backs of Our ancestors.

“We ascended to correct this ill-starred and unjust hierarchy. Our goal was ever order. The brief period of chaos that ensued in the wake of Our rise was a means to the end We did uphold for centuries thereafter.”

“Is it not natural for a father to rule o’er his children?” The Father of Solunarium mused pointedly. “It is the order of things that a child doth place hefty weight upon the word and will of their parent. The child who heeds not the instruction of their guardian, might dabble with danger and die for their ‘rebellion’. Is it not the parent who doth bide their progeny against playing with fire or taunting the venomous viper?

“As the Elf is the elder and wiser race who spared thy species a thousand extinctions, so is the daughter beholden to the sire. What hath thy father wrought that thou wouldst defy nature itself and speak the accursed tongue of insurrection against him?”

As the colossi made for the middle of the harbour, their faces were both tilted inward toward each other- the better vantage by which to see the mortal in the palm of Aværys. He listened to her verbal responses and observed her physical ones.

[glow=blue"If thou dost understand the righteousness of the path We took, then mark the breadth of the offence brooked by the Race of Re'ha ere We ever did suffer to erupt in the chaos of 'rebellion'. In Our epoch no deity did deign to adopt that ephemeral mantle. Ere thou dost treat with alien influences, marry, cogitate upon this." [/glow]

The statue of Aværys donned an appropriately stony expression in answer to Hilana's defence of her quarrel with her sire. Stoic stone was doubtless preferable to the pernicious alternative of a scowl, and His subsequent words would doubtless serve as further consolation.

"I will grant that not all fathers are fit. However... Thou wast incautious to speak plainly of thy whims and wishes with one who did starkly identify themselves as an agent of chaos. To tell 'Rebellion' of thy insurgent desires is to part a portal's gates through which fell things might flood. Dreams are no bulwark against the forces of chaos." He boomed.

"You speak in the language of bondage, Vastiana, a tongue in which I coined many terms... Your father's 'boot on your neck' may feel oppressive, but to seek freedom is a self-deception. There is no such thing as liberty, child... Look at Us. Uplifted to celestial heights, still have We been interred lo, these several millennia, bound by the wills of others. E'en when We walked the earth, We were yoked by the strictures of Our own domains. There will always be a Master." The tarantula skittered over Varvara's eyeball and paused to rest upon the pupil staring down at Hilana, its jeweled exoskeleton glinting in the light of the perfectly centred sun above.

"It is not thine to rebel against the Master thou hast, but to supplant Him with a greater master who might help you o'erstep him in the hierarchy. These are, in our reckoning, virtuous Hungers."

"So, then." Varvara spoke up again, "Matsi Chenzira Hilana of the Vastii..." Even with their slow steps, their massive steps were broad enough to be closing the distance to the delta rather rapidly. "The other did not ask thee what thou sought, but like a succubus did prompt thee toward his own ambitions. We will pose a more scrutinising question. We will not prompt thee toward Our disciplines. Thou know'st those. Instead, We ask you this... What, in all the world, dost thou desire most? And prithee speak to thy personal ambitions. There is no need hence to flatter Us with piety."

As the long strides of the colossi continued into shallower water, the dearth of the additional obstacle represented by the tides diminished and their gait increased in speed. At the mention of Zalkyrion, the creaking of stone heralded the curling of a marble mouth into a crooked smirk on the visage of Aværys. He glanced to Varvara whose expression did not answer His. Something cryptic was exchanged between Them. Perhaps it was the wordless language of Twins enhanced by divinity and the sundry centuries of solitude spent together. Whatever the case, They reserved their reply until after she had completed her series of thoughts.

"Hilana of the Vastii." The Rex Regum began, "Thou spak'st the language of My Sister-Spouse and now dost thou speak in My tongue withal. In thine oratory, hear Mine ears the dulcet dialogue of Ambition. Glorious and grandiose be thine aims... hungry thy heart." There was reverence in the thunderous voice for the qualities He espoused Hilana to have exhibited in her response.

"Truly art thou born for alchemical study, for thou hast parleyed the quondam short-sightedness of past folly into hallowed high-sightedness that doth vindicate the faith We bore for the prospects of thy Vastian race." Varvara added, as Her stony soles sunk into the shallow sands of the Vasta River Delta's banks. Their next steps would be on terra firma, and would quake the very earth below. The city sprawled out in its true scale, but no signs of life dwelt below... like a massive, empty diorama.

"We would fain send thee upon a quest, Vastiana. An hallowed and holy endeavour which may take thee to distant mausoleums housing sacred reliquaries ne'er broached by mankind or to horrid, fetid domains which thine hungry heart will doubtless dread. Perhaps thou shalt find thyself in the desert's depths or even abroad of Our realms in the lands of the ancient foe of the Vastii in The Respublica Ecithianæ." The colossi were now striding on either side of the mighty Vasta, crushing estates underfoot with cavalier unconcern.

"But for the risks and pains of this exploit, wilt thou know rewards withal. And ere thou dost return to the Sacred City, We would each confer upon thee a gift to aid in thine endeavour." Varvara's visage adopted a cool, but almost maternal smile. Finally, the colossi halted Their gait in a spot that would be familiar to the Vastiana. Casting vast, foreboding shadows over the Chenzira estate, and far into the desert beyond Hilana's view, both deific exemplars turned inward toward one another. Hilana in her rowboat was held between them as Varvara raised her hand to cup that of Aværys, as if in some joint moment of prayer.

"For the first leg of thy journey shalt thou need to withstand greater heat than mortal man was born to bear. And thus do I, Aværys Imperator Transcontinens et Rex Regum Incomparabilis , bequeath unto thee, Hilana Vastialis, the Cardinalis Sigilius Elementalismi." Hilana would, at that moment, feel a searing pain at the palm of her dominant hand- it burned as it she was being scalded by the glowing hot metal of a brand. Intense as the pain was, it was gone in an instant. If she looked at her palm, there she would see the mark.

"If thou wouldst accept My gift and thy quest, this Rune shall return with thee unto the mortal coil. If thou dost reject Our quest and My gift, the latter shall melt away with this world thou dost inhabit, when We return thee to thine own."

"Mark thee that this exploit is Our suit, not Our command. Shouldst thou decline to risk life and limb for Our rewards, we shan't begrudge thee thy temperance. But neither shall We hold thee in any particular esteem, as We might if thou shouldst elect to embark upon it."

"Very well." Aværys, ever accustomed to acquiescence, seemed pleased to have His expectations met by the Vastian youth. "The other mortals who did travel to the mount with thee shall perforce aid thee through thine initiation, but thou shalt brook no blights ere thou dost depart Our presence. Thou'rt well built to bear this sigil and, though it may go hard, thou shalt endure it in the end."

In unison the two mighty colossi began to slowly descend, each dropping to one knee over the estate of Gens Chenzira, so the human could look down at the courtyard where her father or some simulacrum thereof gaped up, aghast.

"The gift of My brother-husband shall aid thee on the first leg of thy journey. I shall offer thee a boon to use later in thy quest, and when thou dost see fit to walk in shadow." The jeweled tarantula crawled down Varvara's arm and along her wrist, before climbing onto the same hand that bore Hilana and her little boat.

"Behold." She intoned, as the creature emitted a rattling hiss before the sound was supplanted by the loud, sudden cracking of its exoskeleton as it suddenly seemed to implode in on itself. The cracking continued as the form lost its shape, warping inward like some sort of exoskeletal puzzle box. Finally, the shining shell took the shape of an oval a little larger than a human head. It looked like an ornate artist's depiction of an egg that might adorn the foyer of some princely palace. Until it cracked open and the remnants of the spiders crumbled to dust, revealing what lay beneath.



"The Mask of Midnight's Mother." The bone white base of the mask seemed to glow like the paler of Ransera's two moons behind ornate patterns forged in delicate silver inlay. "Thou shalt acquaint thyself with this gift on thine own time and, in learning to master its pow'rs, perhaps shalt out withal learn novel crafts which might aid thee in thy lofty ambitions."

"Don the mask." Aværys encouraged, "And look through its scrutinising eyes to regard thy father as he truly is." The colossi lowered their hands just over the highest peak of the highest roof on the estate, so she could get a good glimpse of her father. And if she looked through the lenses in the eyes of the Mask of Midnight's Mother, she would see how very many chains bound him from above, below and every side. Chains spanning across great expanses of desert and high into the sunlit sky beyond where human eyes could see. Bound by more tethers than any marionette was he... like a fly in he web of some celestial spider.

"E'en the boot upon thy neck, child, doth conceal a heavy-laden, shackled ankle. Ne'er forget thee that the closest mortals may e'er broach to freedom, be in knowing the masters of thy masters."

All at once, her father was gone along with his estate. Tertium, too, was abruptly absent and even the great hands that held her aloft were gone. Hilana tumbled onto the open stands, and found herself before a small oasis. Aværys, now no larger than a typical golden elf, lounged at the edge of the water, laying on his side with his ankles crossed, his chiseled form bare but for golden chains that hung from his shoulders and his slender waist. He was staring down at his own reflection in the waters, and Varvara stood beside him, a warm breeze causing her raven black hair to dance across her moon pale face in concert with the whipping of her silken black robes, rounded by barbed chains of silver. Her form largely hidden, as her brother's was largely bare.

"Ours is only to set thee upon the first leg of thy quest, Vastiana," Varvara noted, "Where thou shalt deliver a message on Our behalf to Our oldest of friends." She produced a scroll case, platinum forged and seeming to have been smelted shut with no discernable opening from which to draw out the missive that presumably lay within.

"Take thee this message unto the Thalamum Draconum in the Umbrium's depths. Deliver it unto Zalkyriax Zalkyrialis, and take further instruction from the forkéd tongue of the Crownwyrm."