Legend of Ransera

The First Day of the 123rd Year of the Age of Steel was not unlike any other day for the Rex Regnum and his cupbearer. Aværys had spent the months of his liberation as a wayward wanderer… a pilgrim reacquainting himself with the energies of his realm, while rarely choosing to cross paths with its inhabitants. They’d spend the last two weeks at a remote oasis guarded by fruit trees and cacti standing sentinel.

Aværys filled his days and that of his attendant Avialæ with the imparting of knowledge. They conversed, they trained, they communed with their surroundings. Aværys would be free with his praise and cagey with information about the age that preceded Vastium, even if it was a particular focus of his in his meditations.

“I remember Me that this be My first New Year of the modern age unbound...” He observed, as his golden eyes snapped open and he unfolded his legs to rise from the sand. He glanced up to the second sun that bore his name. It glistened against his skin but never deepened his perfect, even tan. Completely unclothed, he stalked toward the water and stepped in— his bare feet sending clouds of sand to murk the hitherto crystal clarity.

“Mine Hunger doth wax and a new chapter must needs be writ.” He mused, turning to glance over his shoulder as he marched deeper into the water, the dimples on his chiseled rear dipping beneath the water’s surface as he trudged forth.

“Fly forth, Mine Archangelus. Let us ring in this new year with new yearning hearts. For too long the birth rate of Solunarium hath been My sole source of souls. Too languid a growth be this to slake a one such as Me.” He glances to the East.

“Hie thee thither, beyond the shore. Thither mark I the call of wayward spirits ripe for evangelisation and thou, Archangelus Meus, shall prepare My way. Tarry not.” He slunk further into the water. It was up to his neck now.

“Pray for Me when thou hast primed a population for Mine arrival.”

"Marvelous..." Aværys muttered to himself as Raithen took flight, smiling faintly as he watched the youth ascend and proceed ever farther until he was wholly out of sight.

Raithen would travel over a long stretch of empty desert once he passed the craggy hills that rounded the oasis they'd called home of late. The sands seemed to extend endlessly, with little in the way of life- flora and fauna alike. There were a few notable vistas to break up the monotony. Two smallish caravans of Vastian nomads, a pair of wild basilisks battling... or were they mating? It was hard to tell from so high. But there was little else remarkable before the sea of sand gave way to the true seas. He would pass over a cliff-face that dropped sharply down toward crashing waves, and would feel the rush of oceanic winds tinged with salt.

Perhaps he would pause to rest and enjoy the Atraxian coast for a spell, before trudging toward the uninterrupted horizon before him. Aværys had given him no time limit to his task, and it might have been better to rest before he got too weary, rather than finding himself exhausted over open sea. He would note that the Sceptre of Aværys' light did not drop off abruptly at the coastline, as it did with the border of Ecith. Its lustre beamed seemingly beyond the horizon.

When he continued in the direction of Aværys' command, whenever he chose to do so, it would be over another expanse with little in the way of landmarks. He would see the hunting of a wild wyvern, the breaching of a pod of whales, and watch the tide go from rough to smooth. The hues of the water also changed as he went. The dark grey blue of the Atraxian coast gave way to a light aquamarine as the cawing of seabirds heralded the nearness of land. The Solunarian Duke drew close to a small group of islands set there in the midst of it all. In the distance he could see darkness, but it was unclear whether a storm was brewing or if he had finally reached the end of the Sceptre's influence. Whatever the case, these islands were lit, as if by a bright, perennial afternoon.

Drawing closer, Raithen would see that they were settled, and rather densely for their size. Structures with brightly coloured rooves and awnings speckled the hilly landscape which was crowned by a five story tower that looked as though it might have been a temple or perhaps a town hall of some kind. Whatever the case, it seemed to bustle with activity. Particularly at the lower tiers where the land met the sea and there was quite a bit of activity in the water, as well.

As Raithen got closer, a few of the pale-skinned children playing below took note of him, eyes wide in surprise that he was not some great albatross, but a humanoid figure with the wings of a bird. The children shouted, which began to draw the attention of adults. A crowd began to gather at the shoreside to get a closer look.

The small group that first took note of the approaching angel soon became a crowd, as more and more of the locals descended upon this corner of their beach. Raithen would hear a great deal of splashing from behind him, as yet more of the humanoid creatures with their pastel hues of hair emerged from the light blue waves. Many had hair to match the water and skin to match the sands, so they'd hitherto blended neatly into their aquatic surroundings.

With so much hubbub, it was difficult to discern much from their language, but a few things would become apparent with focus. Firstly, there seemed to be physical gestures that accompanied the vocalisations. Secondly, the vocalisations had a sing-song lilt. By and by, the bellow of a conch shell being used like a herald's trumpet would silence the clambering creatures as a path was cleared down the centre of the mob and some sort of ostensible leader stalked down the sands.


He was tall, young and handsome with a pale face and hair that looked, at first, like it might have suited a Solunarian Platinum Elf. Upon closer inspection, it was polychromatic with many shades of light blue and purple peppered amongst the white. His striking blue eyes matched their seaside surroundings and he bore tribal tattoos that might have been inferred to speak to his station amidst the tribe.

With things having quieted down, Raithen's attempts to communicate were actually audible and the apparent leader perked at his use of Vallenor. This seemed to relieve him, somehow.

Before replying, he turned back to his people and executed the gesture of a backwards arcing crescent with his left hand, accompanied by a tonal series of syllables. This elicited the beginnings of a few murmurs, but another, sharper gesture silenced those promptly, as he turned back around.

"Greetings, Windrunner." The chieftain replied to Raithen's prior use of Vallenor in kind, "I am Àkriel and we are The Vrónti of the Coast. We salute you, guest, and welcome you to our shores." Àkriel bowed at the waist, and his people all around Raithen replicated their chieftain's show of respect.

Àkriel's light eyes darted across the features of the foreigner, though they lingered longest upon the most striking: His wings. If Avialæ had ever been to these shores, it did not seem to have been in living memory.

"You are..." He paused. There were many cognates between Nepthal and the mother tongue from which it sprouted amongst his people, and he needed to put conscious thought into distinguishing for Raithen's sake.

"Fterotós misó dráko? Uh... dragonkin with feather?" As the chieftain spoke, he seemed out-of-practise with his Vallenor. His accent was strange and lilting, as if he still had the impulse to distinguish tonal intervals between his words. Raithen might also notice he was very light with his consonants, making the words flow smoothly together. The legato lines made Vastian seem staccato by comparison. Unlike Raithen, Àkriel continued to gesticulate as he spoke and did so in such a way that it seemed he was purposely aiding the comprehension of his fellow islanders. It couldn't precisely be called translating, but many eyes were torn away from the fascinating figure of the angel to see what could be gleaned from their leader's gestures.

"Aværys of Burning Sun?" The repetition of that name, accompanied by a sweeping gesture, seemed to yield an audible, if muted, response... just a few scattered murmurs from the crowd.

"You seek, perhaps, the Ifaísteii... We are, uh... humble folk. No interest to great god. We only tend this island. No great magic, only what helps community. Hunters, no warriors, you ken? Not special, but... We are grateful for you, guest... and for attention. You will feast with us upon bounty of coast, yes?" He clapped his hands once, and turned to face the crowd behind him, raising his voice to speak Nepthal. It was clear he was instructing them toward the task of preparing a proper reception, as many moved inland chittering amongst themselves in excitement. It was not often that the Vrónti received guests- Let alone winged angels who were messengers from mighty gods.

"Ah." Àkriel seemed to understand the allusion Raithen posed. Perhaps he was even a bit relieved that the visitor distinguished himself from dragonkind so. "Avialae." He repeated the unfamiliar term as Raithen pronounced it, and nodded. Wings were but fins for the sky, he supposed, and the efforts to find common ground seemed to assuage a bit of the initial tension that was natural in a first contact situation.

"We are... humbled. We do not shun the gods, but nor are we used to their attentions. We are at peace, we are not smote, we are content, yes?" With that, Àkriel was leading the way off of the beach and onto the boardwalks that served as roads leading up toward the homes and other structures on higher tiers of the small island. Some of these plank roads elided into wooden staircases leading to higher levels, whereas some homes seemed accessible only by climbing rope ladders that hung from upper tiers.

They made a winding path, which featured inclining roads and a few staircases but no ladders were necessary (not that Raithen would have required such a thing regardless). The path was well trod and it would be promptly apparent that they were heading to the highest point on the island.

"I am Archigós, yes." Àkriel confirmed at Raithen's question regarding his status amongst his people. "And you are Harbinger of Aværys of the Burning Sun? Please forgive our, um... lack of wisdom. We know this name is hallowed in the lands to our West, but we have little contact with the world without. I hope you will educate where we are ignorant." The chieftain glanced over his shoulder, where an impromptu parade of curiosity seekers trailed behind them on the winding path. It snaked all the way back to the beach upon which Raithen had first alighted. Àkriel smiled, seeming more amused than vexed by this incautious interest.