TIMESTAMP: 34 Frost, 122
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NOTES: -
► Show Spoiler
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Æros’ interest in Reaving came across as odd to many who knew him. It was, out of any available magical Craft, the one whose purpose was purely martial. And what was Æros? Pampered nobility– a patrician, an aesthete, an artist, a dancer, a performer, a politician, a hedonist, and so on. He was many things, many of which were commendable– though some? Not so much…but, alas! A warrior he was not. While he had been living with reckless disregard for his own well being in the recent past, that was at his own hands. He was not putting himself on any frontline nor was he was engaging in warfare of any sort, and, really, he’d not picked up a blade at all in the past. His mother didn’t see the necessity thereof. Their family, after all, were not warriors; the glut of his kin were artists, with some notable politicians throughout. So what, exactly, about Reaving caught the horned hybrid’s eye? Nobody could really say.
Regardless, Æros’ interest was sincere, and with his sincerity came dedication. For as temperamental and lazy as he could sometimes be, if the man had a goal, he’d pursue it and pursue it to perfection; though often dysfunctional, he was a perfectionist at heart. Knowing that the rune required some modicum of skill with one's weapon of choice, the first step was to learn how to wield a blade without risking self-inflicted harm. Luckily, given his status and connections, this would not prove to be a difficult task at all.
The next step was to find somebody to grant him the rune. Ideally, Æros sought to find somebody who'd pushed themselves beyond mere mastery for this task. High standards, maybe, but in truth, part of the reason for doing so was that it would give him additional motivation to push his own skills. After asking around for such a person, he was introduced to a storied commander and consummate Reaver through association with a friend of his. That friend, Hilana, had informed him of the other, Commander Asim, as she, apparently, would assist in caring for those who endured, and succeeded, in their own Reaving initiations. Upon learning this, Æros wondered, truly, if the woman ever slept– busy as she already was.
Nonetheless, her recommendation was a good one. Æros’ initial meeting with the man was semi-formal, consisting of him visiting the training camp alongside Hilana, there to observe the initiations of others, and, afterwards, treat with the Commander– as well as a further few officials– over a meal. It would be a lie to say that the patrician did not enjoy the rapt attention he was given due to his lofty social status on top of the actually rather lavish feast, but the main takeaway of that meeting was that he did, in fact, wish to pursue the rune. It's just…he had only recently begun his earnest efforts in learning bladework.
However, Æros did have some advantages which served well to expedite his aforementioned endeavors. For one thing, he was a masterful dancer, and, one could argue, bladework had ample artistry to it in and of itself. Another boon of mastering such an art was simply that it gave him a lot of foreknowledge on movement, bodily awareness, grace, fitness, finesse, and control, on top of many other things that one might just find useful on a battlefield. Most of this, though, it soon became clear, gave him a lot of defensive and utilitarian benefit, but markedly little in terms of offense. Not that this was bad– a strong foundation of any kind was, surely, a blessing to possess.
Further, he could, to some degree, crutch on his size. Though Æros was often reluctant to strike, opting to wear down opponents by making them chase after him for, sometimes, obnoxious periods of time, when he did finally land a blow, the sheer force of his weight alone could easily knock an opponent off guard. He was quite tall compared to most of Vastian ilk and, though some elves were taller than him, he, near to always, outmatched them in weight. He was not shy when it came to taking full advantage of this, for both his size and figure were incredibly intentional, what with his ability to augment himself by nature of being Fæ-ethalan.
Once he'd achieved some competence with his swordwork, Æros took it upon himself to follow a rumor he'd heard regarding a cave out in the wilds of the desert. Not wanting to make this venture alone, he brought along his ever so adored slave, Khyan. Perhaps it would have served him better to have pulled the trigger on this venture after actually getting Reaving…or, perhaps, the experience he gained from it would end up proving instrumental in saving his soul from becoming an artefact…one cannot exactly say. Either way, he did not regret the endeavor; nothing ventured, nothing gained, so they say.
Nonetheless, what injuries he did receive spurred him to seek out Commander Asim in order to spar with the fellow prior to risking his very soul with Reaving's initiation. Having already set the date for such an initiation, it only felt proper to do a rehearsal of sorts, anyhow. And, of course, the man was all too happy to accommodate this request. Though Æros was used to the deferential treatment he received from most Vastians, from Asim, it almost felt alien, in a way, because the young mixed-blood elf looked to the other as a mentor of sorts, and so it would be more fitting for the formalities to be reversed. However, Solunarian social norms necessitated that things remain as they were.
From this, Æros would have a week to recover before he was to undergo what trial yet loomed. Historically, the Færie wasn't exactly a morning person, but when treating with others, he would prefer earlier appointments than those in the afternoon if he were meeting anyone in the Luxium. That way, he could escape the day's heat– though now, with the Sceptre of Aværys hanging in the sky, it was always both warmer and brighter than he would consider ideal, time of day notwithstanding. Because of this, he was very pleased that he'd moved back down to the Umbrium…but alas, for meeting with Asim, he had to venture above ground.
As Æros emerged from the underground depths of the lower city via portal, he sighed, dark eyes blinking at the desert's brightness. The trek from the nobleman’s home in the Umbrium to the outskirts of the city wasn’t incredibly long, but it also wasn’t the shortest of sojourns, and while it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant one, Æros was…somewhat lazy. Given that, he’d poked at another member of his house to craft a portal for him. They, however, had never been to the military encampment; they’d only been in the vicinity. As such, he still had to walk, though much less than he would have if he had been entirely unassisted.
At least in the open air of the Luxium's outskirts there was a breeze, and that it was one strong enough to stave off some of the suffering caused by the heat, yet weak enough that it did not throw sand in one's eyes. He dressed light, with clothing that gave him the ability to move yet provided support in all the necessary places. Though for now, he was cloaked, a bit, for the purpose of protecting his skin from the sun. He could somewhat adapt himself to weather the unrelenting rays of both suns via natural means, too, by lightening the hues of what galaxies composed his skin in order to absorb less of the sun's light. And, for the sake of practicality, he lacked the majority of the jewelry he was so very fond of wearing. By default, however, he always managed an appearance most empyreal.
Upon entering the military encampment at approximately the appointed time, Æros was quickly greeted by a young man, who, per his own account, had been stationed there specifically to greet and guide the peculiar patrician back to where Asim would be awaiting him. The youth was the pretty Vastian fellow who's initiation the horned hybrid had watched and, apparently, found himself quite enamored with him. Æros was not really surprised, for he caught the eye of many. Rather, he quite enjoyed the attention, even if he was used to it. He did so love flattery, vain as he was.
Regardless, Æros’ interest was sincere, and with his sincerity came dedication. For as temperamental and lazy as he could sometimes be, if the man had a goal, he’d pursue it and pursue it to perfection; though often dysfunctional, he was a perfectionist at heart. Knowing that the rune required some modicum of skill with one's weapon of choice, the first step was to learn how to wield a blade without risking self-inflicted harm. Luckily, given his status and connections, this would not prove to be a difficult task at all.
The next step was to find somebody to grant him the rune. Ideally, Æros sought to find somebody who'd pushed themselves beyond mere mastery for this task. High standards, maybe, but in truth, part of the reason for doing so was that it would give him additional motivation to push his own skills. After asking around for such a person, he was introduced to a storied commander and consummate Reaver through association with a friend of his. That friend, Hilana, had informed him of the other, Commander Asim, as she, apparently, would assist in caring for those who endured, and succeeded, in their own Reaving initiations. Upon learning this, Æros wondered, truly, if the woman ever slept– busy as she already was.
Nonetheless, her recommendation was a good one. Æros’ initial meeting with the man was semi-formal, consisting of him visiting the training camp alongside Hilana, there to observe the initiations of others, and, afterwards, treat with the Commander– as well as a further few officials– over a meal. It would be a lie to say that the patrician did not enjoy the rapt attention he was given due to his lofty social status on top of the actually rather lavish feast, but the main takeaway of that meeting was that he did, in fact, wish to pursue the rune. It's just…he had only recently begun his earnest efforts in learning bladework.
However, Æros did have some advantages which served well to expedite his aforementioned endeavors. For one thing, he was a masterful dancer, and, one could argue, bladework had ample artistry to it in and of itself. Another boon of mastering such an art was simply that it gave him a lot of foreknowledge on movement, bodily awareness, grace, fitness, finesse, and control, on top of many other things that one might just find useful on a battlefield. Most of this, though, it soon became clear, gave him a lot of defensive and utilitarian benefit, but markedly little in terms of offense. Not that this was bad– a strong foundation of any kind was, surely, a blessing to possess.
Further, he could, to some degree, crutch on his size. Though Æros was often reluctant to strike, opting to wear down opponents by making them chase after him for, sometimes, obnoxious periods of time, when he did finally land a blow, the sheer force of his weight alone could easily knock an opponent off guard. He was quite tall compared to most of Vastian ilk and, though some elves were taller than him, he, near to always, outmatched them in weight. He was not shy when it came to taking full advantage of this, for both his size and figure were incredibly intentional, what with his ability to augment himself by nature of being Fæ-ethalan.
Once he'd achieved some competence with his swordwork, Æros took it upon himself to follow a rumor he'd heard regarding a cave out in the wilds of the desert. Not wanting to make this venture alone, he brought along his ever so adored slave, Khyan. Perhaps it would have served him better to have pulled the trigger on this venture after actually getting Reaving…or, perhaps, the experience he gained from it would end up proving instrumental in saving his soul from becoming an artefact…one cannot exactly say. Either way, he did not regret the endeavor; nothing ventured, nothing gained, so they say.
Nonetheless, what injuries he did receive spurred him to seek out Commander Asim in order to spar with the fellow prior to risking his very soul with Reaving's initiation. Having already set the date for such an initiation, it only felt proper to do a rehearsal of sorts, anyhow. And, of course, the man was all too happy to accommodate this request. Though Æros was used to the deferential treatment he received from most Vastians, from Asim, it almost felt alien, in a way, because the young mixed-blood elf looked to the other as a mentor of sorts, and so it would be more fitting for the formalities to be reversed. However, Solunarian social norms necessitated that things remain as they were.
From this, Æros would have a week to recover before he was to undergo what trial yet loomed. Historically, the Færie wasn't exactly a morning person, but when treating with others, he would prefer earlier appointments than those in the afternoon if he were meeting anyone in the Luxium. That way, he could escape the day's heat– though now, with the Sceptre of Aværys hanging in the sky, it was always both warmer and brighter than he would consider ideal, time of day notwithstanding. Because of this, he was very pleased that he'd moved back down to the Umbrium…but alas, for meeting with Asim, he had to venture above ground.
As Æros emerged from the underground depths of the lower city via portal, he sighed, dark eyes blinking at the desert's brightness. The trek from the nobleman’s home in the Umbrium to the outskirts of the city wasn’t incredibly long, but it also wasn’t the shortest of sojourns, and while it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant one, Æros was…somewhat lazy. Given that, he’d poked at another member of his house to craft a portal for him. They, however, had never been to the military encampment; they’d only been in the vicinity. As such, he still had to walk, though much less than he would have if he had been entirely unassisted.
At least in the open air of the Luxium's outskirts there was a breeze, and that it was one strong enough to stave off some of the suffering caused by the heat, yet weak enough that it did not throw sand in one's eyes. He dressed light, with clothing that gave him the ability to move yet provided support in all the necessary places. Though for now, he was cloaked, a bit, for the purpose of protecting his skin from the sun. He could somewhat adapt himself to weather the unrelenting rays of both suns via natural means, too, by lightening the hues of what galaxies composed his skin in order to absorb less of the sun's light. And, for the sake of practicality, he lacked the majority of the jewelry he was so very fond of wearing. By default, however, he always managed an appearance most empyreal.
Upon entering the military encampment at approximately the appointed time, Æros was quickly greeted by a young man, who, per his own account, had been stationed there specifically to greet and guide the peculiar patrician back to where Asim would be awaiting him. The youth was the pretty Vastian fellow who's initiation the horned hybrid had watched and, apparently, found himself quite enamored with him. Æros was not really surprised, for he caught the eye of many. Rather, he quite enjoyed the attention, even if he was used to it. He did so love flattery, vain as he was.
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'Thoughts'
"Vallenor Tongue/Speech"
"Vastien Tongue/Speech"
"Valasren Tongue/Speech"
"Common Tongue/Speech"
