Legend of Ransera

Palatium Umbrarum
3rd of Frost, 123 of Steel

(...continued from here.)

The ceremony had been fucking ineffable. So many years ago, following a hunch and flicker of compassion, he had offered a young pickpocket an helping hand. He hadn't imagined the wages of that sin would be his attendance at that lad's wedding in a divine realm. He was beginning to trust those instincts, though. Arvine Venasyr had become Phædryn Sol'Zakyrion Arvælyn Princeps. Torin Kilvin had become a Kalzasern kozoku and grandmaster runeforger. The naked elf in the Midden had become Dhruv Val'Esdraelon, marked by time magic and eager to repay his debts. Even Rivin was an investment already paying off and likely to continue to do so...

While he was a bad man, his odd good deeds, all tempered with selfishness, seemed to be the ones that defined him. Of course, he would have rutted in Arry right before he made his vows to the minstrel had he been able to sweet-talk the desert prince into it. Mists, he would have claimed jus primae noctis on Finneas the Fantabulous right in front of Arry had he been willing to pay the price.

Call it caution, but he was behaving himself more or less. The initial reception in the realm of Deus Aværys had become a reception at the Palatium Umbrarum, and people were already speaking about continuing the revels in the Noctis Æternæ. Apparently, Arry's winged half-brother had led the charge.

Only half-listening to the slurring jest of some senator's son or another, he laughed appreciatively, drained his cup, and slapped the man companionably upon the knee.

"Need to find the most scantily clad slave to refill my drink," he said. "Back in a bit."

Aurin wouldn't be back in a bit, though. He hoisted himself up and meandered off, playing more tipsy than he was. That was a habit of his since before even his tenure at the Velvet Cabaret, disarming those around him into thinking he was less capable than he was, less prone to remember secrets shared. He loved secrets.

When his eyes fell on the Vastian woman, a friend of Finn's, he stepped up to greet her. There had been a brief introduction, he remembered, but they hadn't actually spoke.

"Hilana, isn't it?" he asked, his apparent tipsiness mostly fading away. She hadn't seemed like the type to stay up late and debauch. Finn had said something about her menagerie? Her store? Perhaps the day was a local holiday, however, their crown prince being married under the eyes of their gods.

"The one and only," he agreed, "praise be to the Gods."

His self-effacement was sharpened with a touch of a smirk, which was rather ever-present, though she couldn't know that yet.

"Although, Finn the Fantabulous is the closest of the three of us to being Kalzasern. He grew up, I believe, in a village on Lake Udori. I met him in Kalzasi. I met Arvælyn Princeps in Antiris where, I believe, his mother sent him for safekeeping. I was born, if my parents weren't lying, somewhere in Cathena."

Aurin had dispensed with formality. His embroidered silk coat of Kalzasern cut was draped over one shoulder, his empty drink in the opposite hand.

"I would greet you properly, but my hands are full—oh..." A servus gently took the empty glass from his hand and waited with a tray of fresh drinks, waited patiently now that a desire had implied. "May I?" he asked, offering her his hand. He took her hand firmly, but gently, and bowed over it, kissing her knuckles.

His breath had a bit of the heat of the desert in it. Some called him the Fox in Kalzasern, though Portions for Foxes had been named for the face of the keiretsu, Ashoka Lomri, a fox rathari. Here, some called him the Jackal, perhaps because of his mask at the ill-starr'd masquerade.

"'Tis no wonder Solunarium has isolated itself so long," he continued, releasing her hand and taking a drink from the servus. He paused to thank the man, a Kalzasern habit, took a sip, and continued his thought. "They want to keep all their treasures to themselves." His eyes rolled over her, not lascivious, but certainly admiring.

Then, apropos of nothing, "So His Exalted Highness tells me you tried to murder his husband?"

Hilana seemed down-to-earth, but also willing to play at verbal sparring. No wonder she vexed Arry; she probably saw through his carefully constructed persona, although he did seem to be becoming the dragonborn prince the longer he was immersed in the sands of Atraxia. And he wondered whether the princeling was jealous; while Finn was a loyal lad, he had eyes.

"River cities have things in common," he noted, though the first thing that came to mind was mosquitoes, second that he was glad he hadn't grown up dodging crocodiles. He rather meant that they had things in common, and not just Arry and Finny. And while he had considered bedding Finny just to get Arry's hackles up, there was something about him now -- he was bigger, stronger, more confident, and there was something about him, which he later sussed out as being god-touched. People seemed of two minds about that: Avaerys' will versus long-standing elven supremacy.

Well, good for Finn and fuck those who didn't like it. Then he wondered if Finn and Arry fucked their gods; he had fucked a god back in Zaichaer and it was chef's kiss.

But... Hilana had the face and body of a goddess, anyway. He smiled.

"Good, good. If Arry loses his lover -- ahem, husband -- he would go positively volcanic." He considered that for a moment, too. Hopefully the boys were off erupting in each other right then and there. He could check via the strange entanglement of his showing trick with Arry's, but while he was incorrigible and sometimes self-destructive, he didn't want to die.

"Ah, plunder... I suppose it could be seen in that light, although seduction is more fun." He offered his arm. "May I escort you to the after-after party? We can decide later if we want to wrestle."

The thought crossed his mind that she might make a good contact in Solunarium. Now that he had safe and open passage through Tertium to the capital, he did want to consolidate some information gathering there. Arry tossed him morsels, and he was considering installing young Castor Green, who had long been looking for new scenery, but a smart local would be even better. Perhaps they would have some interesting pillow talk.

"I have always drawn bad hands, so I have learned to play dirty," he assured her. "And that includes wrestling as well."

Aurin didn't drain his drink right away, but carried the glass with him. He didn't know about public intoxication laws here, but he figured he was safe given he was part of the crown prince's wedding revels. Having a drink for the road was just proper party etiquette to his mind.

He supposed that, despite the vastness of the Umbrium, magic was employed to keep the air from growing stale and--well--cave-like. The walk was refreshing after the closeness of the air with so many revelers, some growing hot and heavy.

"Anyway, I am certain we could teach each other a thing or two..."

They chatted aimlessly as their feet carried them with accurate aim toward the Eternal Night. They spoke of foreign lands, and he promised her that they did indeed have marshmallows in Cathena. With so many people in Solunarium warded to the gills, he was enjoying the challenge of reading people entirely on mundane cues and his own intuition. Best not let it atrophy, after all. One never knew when another Eclipse-type of thing might neutralize magic.

That was yet another reason he preferred to have magic tricks without being a mage.

...and it didn't seem as though either of them would need the mesmer trick to get each other naked. That made every touch, glance, and word feel like foreplay.

While quite clearly not of Vastian stock or of the local culture, Aurin did seem to have made some wise clothing choices. The materials were light and flowing, allowing for air flow to wick away perspiration, and the way the fabric was styled, it managed both to create interesting silhouettes, falling pleasantly, as well as offsetting his rangy frame and whipcord muscle. He was a stranger who had quickly adapted—not a desert fox, but perhaps a jackal.

He answered her questions truthfully and replied with thoughtful ones of his own. Mostly, he steered his own story toward the time it had aligned with the grooms'. Before Kalzasi, he offered tidbits of truth, but far less of the whole story. His banter was playful, and he played perfectly into what stories Finn had told her, though Finn knew him far less than Arry did.

When she asked about specific clubs, however, he glanced at the party goers whose steps he had been doggedly trailing. He had already done some reconnaissance in the debaucherous neighborhoods, but was open to following her lead. In any case, there were clumps of party-goers and they weren't all going to the same place. There was no requirement to stay with any particular group. In any case, they wouldn't see dawn down here, but it was about time to focus on where he wanted to spend the night—and with whom.

"Take me where you will," he said. "An innocent lamb to the slaughter." His smirk wasn't innocent, though—not even a little bit.

Aurin was suitably impressed by Equinox. There was an attempt at grandeur in everything they did in Solunarium and they had achieved a mastery of their aesthetic. While that aesthetic was somewhat alien to him, the primal thrum of life was not. There were those on the dance floor, connecting via rhythms and beats, all but rutting on each other. There were others circling the large room like predators around a watering hole. Intoxicants and ambiance concentrated the urges underlying the omnipresent Mesmer.

"What does a nice girl like you do in a place like this?"