Legend of Ransera

...continued from here.

"I look forward to tales of the Terror of the Præventores," he said, smirk deepening. Perhaps he would get Dænymon to turn down his pillow later as well, and perhaps bite it for him.

Proteus' meal came and passed without the proprietor's return. When he did, it became clear that he meant to walk the city with him rather than share his meal, but Proteus was amenable to that, as well. He could get the Blond Basilisk talking, perhaps drinking, and his stories might lead somewhere, if only to bed. But all that came to a halt when they were faced with a Silver Sentinel at the door.

Sensing Dænymon and sensing absolutely nothing from the Sentinel, his hand fell to the small of the half-elf's back as his other hand reached out for the strange missive.

"Gratias," he said. When she had nothing else to say, he watched her go, wondering what was underneath all that armor. Then he smiled at the pale-faced proprietor. "Thank you for protecting me." Upon opening it, he showed the man his invitation. "I suppose we ought to find a proper costume while we are out, hey?"

Of course, whatever he purchased would merely be the base upon which he glamoured his masquerade for the ball. He tucked the invitation into his pocket, then nudged his host toward the door. He ought to open it for Proteus, after all. An invitation forwarded from the Prince-Regent by Arry's princess mother who was also the head of the secret police. In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed.

But now, at least, he could ask some questions and be certain Dænymon would likely answer with the utmost honesty, lest Proteus' friend, the Vigilia Magna, come down upon him.

"Tell me, Dænymon, do you know the name Davion?"

At the mention of High Sentinel Cithæra, daughter of Alcineus the Platinum, Weaver of Webs and bane to the Solar Sovereign, Dænymon swooned. He might have swooned his way right to the tidy floor of his taberna’s foyer, but for the hand at his back. Blinking, he was faced with the realisation that his all-important guest, was far more important than he’d realised. Perhaps his strange accent and broken Vastian was because he was a Sleeper Sentinel who’d served abroad for the bulk of his days.

Whatever the case, he was quick to dash forward opening the door and bowing as he waited for Proteus to pass through.

“Of course, Dominus! I’ll show you wherever you’d like.” He eagerly offered, stepping ahead and making for the upscale markets. There was splendid stuff to be found at the dockside bazaars at much cheaper cost, but it wouldn’t do for an associate of Her Serene Highness to be seen in such common venues.

“Davion?” He knitted his brow, thinking on that. “Hm, well I shared space in the barracks with with a Davian, but I don’t think—… Oh, not unless you mean His Excellency, the Aurisian Ambassador to Solu-… I mean to the Luxium?” If Proteus didn’t interrupt him, he’d nod.

“Aye. He used to spend a lot of time in the Luxium, but now that his embassy boasts a dedicated portal to his homeland, I’m not sure how much time he spends there… though I suppose that could have been so in the past as well if he used Traversers. He probably used Traversers, I forget about Traversers.” Such a convenient Craft, that. It almost seemed like cheating, but to each what they deserved. If Aværys seemed some people worthy of universal shortcuts, then Deus Vult in his reckoning.

"Pax, Basiliscus," he urged as they walked toward the market. His senses were opened to the ebb and flow of aether around him, but specifically upon his companion. Proteus wasn't going to have anything short of the best service Tertium had to offer now, a thousand thanks to Arry's mother and her reputation.

"You aren't in any trouble. I've stopped here in Tertium to rest from my own Traversion, and I merely want to know what I have missed in my years abroad. Any intelligence might be good intelligence, so share as you will. 'Tis my job to sift through the information, and I wouldn't want to kiss the Princess' hand at the ball without having anything of value to bring her. You understand?"

Proteus could look mysterious as well as beautiful.

"Now, I don't suppose much Aurisian traffic passes through Tertium, then." Golden eyes glanced at the half-elf for confirmation. It made sense the powers that be would have permanent gates. Given a day or two, Proteus could open his own back to Aur'arnis, to Zaichaer, to Kalzasi, or even to Cathena City, Antiris, Haqs. Eventually, perhaps, he would able to do such things with impunity, but this sort of travel was new territory for him. Kalzasi and Zaichaer, at least, were warrens of well-known slipstreams.

He had half a mind to make a permanent portal for Arry to escape should the need arise, so he wouldn't have to rely upon anyone should there be a coup or similar. Desert politics were even more cutthroat than most. That much he knew.

The red-gold elf flashed an encouraging smile that seemed to promise to keep him safe if only he cooperated to the best of his ability - and perhaps beyond.

"That was an invitation, then?" Far be it from dutiful Dænymon to read over another man's shoulder. Least of all when the letter had been delivered by a Silver Sentinel. Like as not another one had slipped in with the first, invisible to the eye, and scoped out any possible transgressions.

"For that Masquerade the Platinum Prince is holding? Ahh, the Luxian Crown is holding a lottery. His Serene Starlit Highness is inviting some humbler folk to the ball that way. I, uh... applied? But I doubt they will invite many Tertians." He cracked a grin, "Don't suppose you get a plus one?" With a wink, he shook his head.

"I kid, I kid. Uhh, Aurisian traffic? You would, maybe, be surprised. It isn't as though a single portal in a posh embassy is going to replace the old trade routes. They use that, I think, for pilgrimage to Kaladon. We still get a lot of Aurisian visitors. Maybe they just like the beach, huh?" He chuckled.

By and by, they reached the ritzier commercial district. It was the opposite direction from which Aurin had initially come. It was beyond the docks and piers, where open sand beaches of white sand spread out to their left, and increasingly stately homes to their right. Straight ahead was a neatly ordered shopping plaza. A central fountain could be seen sending aquatic designs into the air above it- intricate little scenes playing out. Elven children swept their hands through the watery wings of dragons and giggled at the casual magic. The music of a bard swept through the streets between the shops and those foolish or destitute enough not to be warded against higher tier Mesmer, would find themselves inclined to spend liberally no matter their financial straits.

"They are always invitations, my dear Dænymon," Proteus said with just the right note of inherited pretense. He let the man recover and move on before pressing the attack once more. "Perhaps after we shop, you can show me the beach, and we can see if you are worthy of being my plus-one."

Proteus chuckled. From the instructions upon the invitation, it seemed as though they wouldn't run into each other if they were separated, and so it wouldn't require babysitting on Proteus' part. If he could reward those who helped him, it was only good business practice.

But he was musing over Aurisian traffic while Dænymon digested his flirtation. One could never tell from the wrong side of the class divide. He was also aware of the Mesmer being plied upon him, and while he could sense it, that didn't entirely negate its pull. Once they had purchased the foundation of his costume, he would have to see about something to block that. Now he regretted not demanding Arry's trick in exchange for his own. Perhaps the little prince would see fit to give it, else he supposed he could pull favors among the Zaichaeri covens when next he traveled there.

Some purchases were made. He would go as an Orkhan tribesman with a nod to Solunarian racism, exoticizing himself. People liked that in their lovers, sometimes. From what he understood, they didn't mind quite a bit of skin, especially at a masquerade ball.

Proteus wanted to see Arry's skin again, as well as the draconic changes that he had only known via their long-distance chats. Perhaps he would paint Dænymon in Arry-like glamours if they did ply the sheets of his bed ere long. Of course, he knew things could never go back to how they had been before. Much like knowing he was being Mesmerised, however, that didn't change the pull.

"Let's get you something pretty as well..."

“Heh… It is a lovely day for the beach…” Weren’t they all, though? It was easy to glean from
Dænymon’s reactions to the more posh talk and his nervousness about stepping into this area before the Mesmer relaxed him, that the innkeep wasn’t exactly mounting the hierarchical pyramid. Half-elves were regarded the same as full humans by the majority of aristocratic Re’hyæans. It was only amongst the Vastian population that they were regarded with any additional grace. This is, of course, excepting those blessed with the Blood of the Founders.

Whatever the case, he was not immune to the urging of the Mesmer and found himself considering his own purchases even before Proteus broached the notion aloud.

“That’s an… interesting choice!” Dænymon offered politely at the proposed theme of Proteus’ masque costume. “I’ve no doubt it will get people talking.” He seemed to have more thoughts on the matter than words, as a man who liked to think he knew his place one which seemed to be well beneath his guest.

“I have to admit, there were a few pieces that caught my eye on the way in…” He half turned to glance over his shoulder back toward the road by which they’d come.

“I never come down here on my own, unless I need posh regalia for a rite or some such rare occasion.” He was lucky that his family was small enough that such frivolous expenses were few and far between indeed.

When he made his selections, Dænymon would not presume his guest was offering to pay for his haul. In fact he would insist on paying unless the guest invoked his status as a noble or Dænymon’s status as his host.

When things were squared away, he smiled to Proteus.

“I can have our purchases delivered to the inn, if you’d like to visit the beach.” He offered, gesturing to one of the teenage couriers stalking the forum for coin and custom.

Proteus didn't need his sembling to read Dænymon's reactions. Eventually, though, purchases were made, and he insisted on making pretty gifts of the purchases for the pretty innkeeper. And he did semble; here it was allowed, even expected and encouraged for one of his pretended status. He also sembled them one of the teenagers whose aura spoke of an eagerness to curry favor with the affluent more than to steal from the affluent, so their purchases were sent to the inn without delay.

Soon enough, they were heading toward said beach. Proteus had vague memories of it from years gone by, but now that he had his in with the Luxian court - and no doubt Arry would make a show of it there - he figured he deserved a holiday. Sunbathing with a pretty man who thought him superior for the vagaries of his glamours seemed relaxing enough.

He was imagining chaises longues, umbrellas, and cold drinks brought by pretty young things. It didn't seem as though he was in a position to gather much in the way of intelligence while in Tertium - Dænymon wasn't well connected enough, and the Silver Sentinel hadn't offered more than the Vigilia Magna's missive.

Proteus shared general news from Auris in exchange for general news from Tertium, and he wondered what the Aurisian angle in Solunarium was. That the Luxian queen had hidden a trueborn son there was a known quantity, but he wanted to bring something of value to Arry. He wanted to be valuable. When he was honest with himself, he felt the void of the little shit in his heart, in his life.

"Tell me more about yourself, my dear Dænymon. You are proving a diamond in the rough."

This was Solunarium, so naturally even beachgoing had its political elements to consider. Fortunately, Dænymon was savvy and eager enough to do the legwork for Proteus. His guest was, he knew, ambiguously aristocratic with apparent ties to the Umbrium, which narrowed things down a bit. Heading too far South the beaches tended to be private property and, if Proteus had friends or kin with stately homes along the Golden Shore, choosing to stay at Dænymon's inn was a telling enough choice. Up north and closer to the docks were the poorer public beaches known as Cormorant Cove. It wasn't as if the smell of the fish markets permeated them in the present day, but perhaps that was where the longstanding aristocratic aversion to that part of the shoreline derived. Central, and blessedly not far from the forum they'd just quit, there was a lovely middle ground. Maintained by well-to-do merchants in a marriage of self-promotion and public service, the Redsand Strip was populated by people of some means, but not means enough to sequester themselves from their supposed lessers. From its dunes one could see the packed beaches to the north at Cormorant Cove and the empty sands of the Golden Shore to the South. The city loomed on its hilly rake to the West, and one could not miss the Colossi at Tertium standing sentinel at the harbour gates.

The beach itself was very clean, with a mixed population predominantly of the Equestrian class. A few elves basked alongside the Vastian majority, and a small minority of other races less common to Atraxia could also be seen sunning themselves beneath the Sceptre. Most of the beachgoers were nude, though some bashful Solunarians used clothing or magic to obscure parts of their bodies about which they were uneasy. Dænymon was not such a one, and began to disrobe as they crested the dune leading down toward the surf.

"Pressure makes diamonds, eh?" He quoted with a wry little grin as he shrugged off his shirt. "There is not much to tell. I am two times a half elf... That is to say both of my parents are half-elves. They owned the inn under another name before they retired. It used to be called The Sandpiper which was, you know..." He let out a heavy sigh, "Emmmbarrassingggg, so I changed that. I did a few tours with the Præventores, mostly patrolling the river on wyvern back. When my service was done, mum and dad were keen to retire and I was keen to hang up my wandering shoes and settle down back here. I joined up more out of duty than a sense of adventure... I wanted to do my part to serve the Sovereign, keep the realm safe from corruption. Nothing groundbreaking. What about you? You must have an interesting life to be hand-delivered royal invitations from Silver Sentinels."

Aurin would notice, but Dænymon would not, that as he mentioned the Sentinels, one of the beachgoers, an older, bearded Vastian a few yards off raised his eyes slightly to look at the innkeep with interest. Aurin would sense the use of Semblance. It shifted from the half-elf to the faux-full-elf, and the old Vastian seemed to recognise something in Aurin that caused him to quickly turn his attention away and back to watching his ostensible grandchildren building sand citadels.

As soon as Dænymon began to doff his clothes, so did Proteus. When in Tertium...

Proteus got the sense that this was a "safe" beach. That was all well and good for him; he wouldn't know what to say to a proper Val'Ænything, and the beaches full of the working class would likely involve a lot of children and that just made him want to not go at all. But glamour aside, he knew it wouldn't take too long for his fair skin to burn, so he didn't intend to spend too much time in the buff before Avaerys' phallus. Once they were both well and fully nude, he handed his clothes to Dænymon and stretched in the welcome heat and light. His senses caught a Sentinel at work and he just winked at the old man.

The Vigilia Magna, Arry's mummy, had her eye upon him. So be it. If she wanted him dead, he likely would be by now, or would've come close enough to an assassin's blade that he would have blinked back to safety. Best to keep on gambling.

"Hm. Quite the blond basilisk you've been hiding. A bit gauche and on the nose to name your inn after your cock, though, wouldn't you say?"

Proteus smirked. "Duty is admirable. So is walking away once it's fulfilled. And now you are a businessman being admired on the beach. I suppose life could be worse."

His hand fell to Dænymon's waist as they walked closer to the surf.

"We are being watched," he said, his voice audible to Dænymon, but stolen from anyone else by the surf. "Whatever interest my kin have directed toward me, you should know that. I don't think you have anything to fear; you are an honest businessman, a veteran of Solunarium. I don't have anything to fear. Unless my family has made enemies." His hand fall to cup Dænymon's derrière. Perhaps the half-elf enjoyed being watched. Proteus didn't know.

"Bah, you wound me!" Dænymon protested, clutching his bare chest in mock umbrage, "You've been too long away from the motherland to mistake my cockatrice for a basilisk." He broke into a smile, winked and shook his head as his own gaze darted down to the new frontiers revealed upon the landscape of Proteus. He bit his lip as his guest waxed physically affectionate, and padded through the sand toward the surf where he was led.

He arched an eyebrow, shrugging at Proteus' observation.

"Of course we're being watched," He dismissed, "Look at us!" He chortled to show that he was in jest, but his expression flattened out as his guest elaborated. Aurin would detect neither surprise or concern in the young innkeep. He was Solunarian, born and bred, and thus no stranger to surveillance. Beyond that, as the man had implied, he had nothing to hide.

Feeling a hand on his bum, he smirked a bit as he shifted his gaze to regard the handsome Sunborn whose interest suddenly seemed starker. Nudity did have a way of clarifying such things, he supposed. His own was currently revealing that Proteus' interests were not altogether one-sided.

"I think I'm flattered..." He mused, hazarding to extend the nearest arm to drape over Proteus' shoulders. "And, for the record, sex is not one of the usual amenities offered by the proprietor of the Blonde Basilisk. Usually guests have to order out for that kind of thing, but..." He winked, "For you, I'll make an exception... back at the inn, ideally...." Beach sex was never worth it in Dænymon's opinion, for the amount of sand that tended to find its way into the most inconvenient of places.