In Quærente de Tempore Deperdito

[Finn]

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Outside the Temple of Raxen
84th of Frost, 124 Annus Ferro

cheer up!
'cause nothing really matters when you look up into outer space
it's a great big world and there's no need to cry.

After parting with the Great and Ancient Witch, Finn had taken Karmordi to the Temple of Raxen. He knew there were healers there—there would have to be for how seriously they took their martial training—and gave explicit instructions as to his care and feeding direct from Innogen herself. That had carried some weight with them, which was good to know.

Once he was certain that Karmordi would be fine, he released his hold on the man's consciousness. He was still in a healing coma when Finn departed, but he would come out of it naturally when his body was ready. Clothes and all left behind, Finn would check on him and only tell him what Innogen had said when he was well and truly on the mend, lest he think there was a clock running out on completion of her tasks.

The next day, he checked on Karmordi—still comatose, but in a good way—and then repaired to the pavilion where he had met Innogen not two days previous. The necessary guards were far enough away to give them privacy, but close enough to reach his side quickly if they felt he was imperiled. Finn could order them to stay at the Prædium Solunarii, but if he did that too often, he knew Phocion would have words for him. Worse, it might get back to Arvælyn, and even if an angry dragon loved you, they were still an angry dragon.

Finding he was early, Finn took a casual, comfortable seat and just began to play. He wasn't using the instrument Varvara had transformed and returned to him; that one was fraught here. Instead, he played an antique lute, a small part of a growing collection he had.

He still wasn't certain what song to play for her, but perhaps when she arrived she could give him more direction. In the meantime, he played a whimsical song he was working on. It did make him nostalgic in some ways, recalling times in his life when the world had seemed so complicated and overwhelming—long before it actually became complicated and overwhelming.

[Imogen]

The grand plaza at the top of Drathera, which bore the Senate building and the three temples of the Triumvirate, had surprisingly good acoustics. This high up, exposed to the elements, with nothing but field and polished marble, one would have expected sound to carry far but poorly, but the bard and duke found the melody seemed to gain in volume and body both. Perhaps it was a blessing of Syren? Or perhaps it was just cunning masonry.

Either way, his playing garnered a crowd of interested onlookers. Sudden outbursts of music were not uncommon in the city--this was the dwelling of Song herself upon Ransera--but the style and sentiment were both unusual. Orkhan of every age gathered at a respectful distance to listen, parents restraining their curious children while the musicians in the crowd pulled out pens and paper to take notes on the style.

Still, all of that was surely something which Finn was used to. What happened next was not.

As his hands worked another roundelay, the air about Finn grew still. A sudden sense of threat pervaded his senses. Though he was not seeking to gather information from the symphonies of his audience, there came a sudden, piercing note which carried effortlessly through the wonder and amusement which surrounded him. When he next looked up, the source was obvious:

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The woman was vaguely orkhan-shaped, though taller than even most of the big Orks of Drathera, pushing seven and a half feet if she were an inch. Unlike her smaller brethren, this one did not bear patches of vestigial dragonscale, but was entirely covered in them- and her scales were not green, but burnished iron. A dragon, certainly, rather than one of their lesser cousins.

And this dragon was staring directly at Finn.

There was nothing particularly unusual about seeing a dragon, out and about. Drathera especially was home to many red dragons, and the Green Dragonflight was likewise in evidence about the central Commonwealth, having various hunting grounds throughout. But these were mostly younger dragons. This one, she was old, and she wore the strength of her Craft like a cloak, and that cloak was a threat.

The iron dragon made no threatening move, but doubtless Finn's guards were already on high alert. The breed was famously fickle, aggressive and violent, and her fixation on the musician doubtless had some cause other than appreciation for the arts. At any moment, she might-

"Dere-dere, there you are!"

Out of the corner of his ear, Finn heart the Great and Ancient Witch's cheerful Zaichaeri accent. The old iron dragon turned her attention away from Finn, watching the witch as she approached. Next to the dragon, Imogen did in fact seem small.

"I was afraid you had blown me off."

"The young are governed by impulse." the dragon responded to Imogen, quietly, "I am no longer young. I will hear you out, even though you have chosen to inflict this upon me."

The conversation was oddly clear to Finn, even though the dragon and witch were no closer to him than any of the other murmuring people in the audience. Witchcraft? Acoustics? Hard to say.

"Inflict? What, you don't like the song?" Imogen's voice was bright and innocent. The dragon's reply was unamused.

"You know what you have done, and I know there is no point in chastising you. Why are we here?"

"Well, actually... I need to borrow you, Deravaecia. I'm heading back to Ailos and Karnor for a season, and I need your help for a spell." It wasn't clear whether Imogen meant 'spell' in a colloquial sense or not.

"You drag me to Drathera against my wishes; thence to some frigid northern hell?" The first sign of real emotion entered Deravaecia's voice, raw annoyance. "Wherefore? I have no desire to go there."

"I know- I know. But I need to wake your mother."

[Finn]

The crowd was not alarming; the sudden thrill in their collective symphonies was. For good or ill, though, Finn had developed a bit of a resistance to the atavistic fear of dragons that most people rightly contained in their blood memory. His husband was half-dragon, and so half of his in-laws were dragons of the platinum variety. They weren't so very different from the iron dragonflight insofar as he understood them. Perhaps it was also the emblem of Aværys writ upon his soul, the nigh invisible crown etched into his brow that blazed to life with the God's own majesty when Finn channeled His grace.

When the one song ended, his voice died but his fingers kept playing, modulating into something that he knew his platinum in-laws enjoyed insofar as they deigned to enjoy anything. But he wanted to listen and, surprisingly, he could hear. It was easier to be in her presence when she wasn't looking at him like he had kicked her dog. (Finn would never kick a dog.)

Deravaecia. He would ask Alikhandrian about this one, and certainly, she would feature in his next report, which he knew would get to Zalkyriax.

The whole situation was certainly interesting, but he was merely a bystander, so he stood by, playing a musical underscore to the scene, and waited to see if Innogen would introduce him to the terrifying dragon or would just have a post mortem with him once she flew away.

[Imogen]

The dragon stared at Imogen for a time, her face entirely inscrutable. She had not given much thought to the Greatwyrm in a long time; even in her nostalgic musings on Ailos, which Norani had so rudely interrupted, she had mostly pined for more recent days. That matter had not reared its painful head since shortly after the days of Raxen's ascension, when he had begun his grand conquests.

Still, it was useless to ask Imogen how she knew something like that. The witch was very good at learning things which nobody ought to know, even when nobody wanted her to. "An you know she lies aprison, you must know why. It would be madness to rouse her."

"The times change, and we change with them." Imogen responded, unbothered, "But you should understand that this isn't my call to make. The directive comes from upstairs."

Deravaecia's mien seemed to sour even further, if such a thing were possible. "They don't care or understand how much trouble these decisions cause. If Raxen knew-"

"Who says he doesn't? And even if he did, consider my oath. Consider our oaths." the witch swept an arm wide to encompass the crowd, none of whom were really paying attention to them, "I understand why the greens had to do it, of course, but it's an affront to the laws of Ecith."

This all might as well have been code, for it seemed that while Imogen intended Finn to overhear, she had little care if he understood. In fact, the witch wasn't even looking his way, and at this point the dragon was too intent on her conversation.

Just as it seemed that the bard's presence had been completely forgotten, however, he felt a soft weight bump up against his calf. Down near his legs, shielded from Deravaecia's sight by Finn's body, the lithe black form of Kitty crept carefully out of the shadows, nudging the Solunarian duke gently. The big cat had a bit of parchment clenched in its teeth, and he craned his neck upward, so that Finn could see the words scrawled on it in a spidery hand:

Play something sad fr her- THX

"They did it because she could not be saved." the dragon responded, flatly, "Why do you think we would fare any better? Are you prepared to suffer the consequences of millennia of corrupted aether, freed from its quarantine?"

"Well that's the easy part." Imogen said, shrugging, "But I need your help so as she doesn't go mad and start killing everyone after."

[Finn]

Finn was not born and bred a political animal, but he had been a quick study when it became apparent that he would need to be to keep himself and his Arvælyn safe. He could only assume that Innogen wanted this interaction to be reported back, else she would have hired some local bard to do this.

Finn would memorize it with his eidetic memory, and ask Alikhandrian questions. It would feature in his reports which, no doubt, Phocion would forward to Zalkyriax. Anything to do with dragons would end up on the desk of the dragon king. He might even speak to Achaka given Raxen was mentioned. He couldn't be witnessing things that might be important to the leaders of Ecith and not be forthcoming; that would undermine his efforts to build bridges with them.

While he wasn't using Mesmer on ork or iron dragon, he did send a skirl down to caress Kitty's symphony since he couldn't spare a hand. He nodded, and gradually, his music shifted to something more stately, more lacrimose. It lacked some of the grandeur it owned when he directed an orchestra and choir in the Templum Solis Radians, but the bones of its glory were there. And when his voice soared over it, it ached.

"Lacrimosa dies illa
Qua resurget ex favilla
Judicandus homo reus

Huic ergo parce Deus
Pie Aværys, Aværys Domine
Dona eis requiem."

[Imogen]

Finn's song, soulful as it was, had a most unexpected effect on Deravaecia. The dragon went from annoyed in one moment to enraged in the next, turning away to glare at the bard, her teeth bared. She restrained herself only by an obvious effort of will, practically leaning into the empty air. She rounded on Imogen, her face set in an angry snarl.

"Do you see that? Do you hear that? They invoke their devils on holy land, and you want me to leave now?"

Imogen stared blankly at the dragon. "Invoke... what, the song?"

"Aværys!" the dragon hissed, practically under her breath.

The Great and Ancient Witch looked powerfully confused. "Well that's... what, a character from that show they played up in Kalzasi a few years back?"

The two scaled women stared at each other, bafflement momentarily overwhelming every other emotion as the one slowly realized that Imogen didn't know who Aværys was and the other began to rapidly suspect that perhaps the musical had some kind of historic or religious roots she'd never bothered to learn anything about. Surprisingly, Deravaecia broke first, the confusion having apparently smothered her draconic wrath as rapidly as it had built.

"The Solunarians-" the Iron Dragon whispered, her voice still filled with quiet venom, "Spread like a poison across the face of Ransera. Their damnable armies overran a hundred noble peoples, putting them to the sword and soaking the earth of Ecith in an ocean of blood not seen since Malgar himself strode the land. They were driven back at a cost which dwarfs the skirmish your people fought with the iron devils of the north. And if I had my way, they would never have been permitted to retreat back to the desert fastness and breed-"

Imogen watched the dragon carefully as she glared at Finn, this handsome bard whom she'd never met, noting the flickers of strange emotions playing across it. Her eyes narrowed as she watched each twitch, slowly connecting the tale to the shadows of Deravaecia's past she had viewed on Ailos.

And then Imogen smiled, recognizing her opportunity. She reached out and placed a gentle hand on the dragon's iron-scaled shoulder.

"And that was the question which cut to her core; 'If no-one is strong enough, who was it for?'"

The old ex-general looked like she'd been slapped. She turned back towards Imogen, eyes wide. The witch gestured towards Finn with her free hand.

"You already learned that lesson, Dere-dere. You couldn't pay the price to go down that road, and you can't ask anybody else to do it, either." Imogen shrugged, "The people you fought with then are gone, dead before any of them were ever born-" (Actually, some of those were Hytori so she couldn't be so sure of that, but it sounded good) "-and if you let the past poison the future, you'll be doing the very evil you swore to fight."

Deravaecia's face was inscrutable, her thoughts turned inward. "So. You would have me leave Drathera to their tender mercies just after you dragged me out here?"

"Sorry!" The witch didn't bother saying anything else. She could tell from the dragon's demeanor and tone that Deravaecia understood that she was right- and no matter how it chafed at her, the iron dragon would do what she felt was right.

The two remained there, in silence, for a few more moments as Finn played on, then Deravaecia silently turned and stalked back towards the main plaza. She'd agreed to nothing at all, but Imogen allowed herself a triumphant little smile.

~~~

After Deravaecia had left and the crowd had begun to disperse, Imogen approached Finn. She yawned and stretched as she made her way over, glancing up at the sky to track the sun's progress through it and guess at the time. Naps were never far from the Great Witch's thoughts.

"Well! Sorry about all of that; I hadn't expected her to snap like that. Still, all's well that ends well, innit?"

[Finn]

Though he had faith in Aværys, he also knew that the faithful were put to ever more dangerous tests. One was granted more and more Power, which made one's fall all the more spectacular if it came. He didn't flinch at the venom in Deravæcia's gaze, for which he was proud. She was terrifying, but if she had turned on him in fact, he could have been elsewhere just as quickly as his reflexes allowed. His guards wouldn't even need to engage. Arkænyn could give a dragon a run for its money, but Deravæcia was quite old and he knew for a fact that dragons grew more powerful with age rather than wasting away as did mortals. It was entirely possible Finn could take on a younger dragon at this point, though it was more a point of academic interest than a true desire to kill a sentient being.

But while he could intuit a little of the context behind this conversation, he daren't decide he knew enough to draw any conclusions from it. If anything, he now knew that Deravæcia understood Vastian and had fought the last time Solunarian had spread its borders by the sword. It was possibly of interest that she blamed the Gods but not the Platinum Dragonflight, or at least the platinum dragons were not the first to come to mind and voice when her rage was stoked.

Finn also managed not to mutter a prayer to Vhexur for the good luck. That was a Kalzasern habit and, while harmless, would surely not please Aværys.

When Innogen finally approached him, his fingers had found a more relaxed melody and his voice was wordlessly accompanying it. He stilled his voice if not his fingers.

"Being the maiden chained to the rock is certainly an exhilarating experience," he noted. "Did you get what you needed from her?"

[Imogen]

"You weren't in any real danger, not here." Imogen jerked her thumb over her shoulder, to the Temple of Raxen brooding behind them, "The Commonwealth has few legal protections for non-citizens, but even an angry dragon won't spill blood on ground consecrated to Raxen without a duel declared."

Beyond that, of course, she'd had a very deep look into Deravaecia's soul. For all her hard edges and ancient grudges, she was ultimately not the sort of creature who was willing to simply deal death to anything which annoyed her; not any longer. The spell she'd cast to revive the insensate dragon a year ago had returned life and vigor and intention, but centuries of agonizing self-reflection had still worn smooth the contours of her mind. Even when the song's lyrics had hit her, the iron dragon had been far from losing her self-control.

Still, the truth was the truth. She hadn't expected the dragon to react quite so badly, and she certainly hadn't expected the dragon to turn so much of her forceful, palpable attention towards the bard. The witch felt bad about that, and no mistake.

"But in the spirit of Raxen's dogma, I'll come clean- I didn't expect her to be quite so angry at you. She fought in a lot of old wars, I didn't realize she took that one so personally."

Deravaecia hadn't been all that interested in talking about any of them. It had been a surprising thing to learn, really. The dragon had served as officer for a dozen antique chieftains, god-kings and demigods, most of whom Imogen had never heard of, and yet there was no sign that she'd ever actually enjoyed war. Frankly, the witch couldn't say for sure that there was anything that Deravaecia actually enjoyed doing, other than being a constant downer.

"I did get what I was after, thanks to you. She didn't make any promise, but she will undoubtedly join me when I leave the city tomorrow. Can't say for how long, exactly, but I expect it's better for your affairs that she not be hanging around talking to people." Frankly, Imogen couldn't understand why exactly the Senate was even considering the concept of becoming the protectorate of another nation, especially since there had been no real evidence that these desert elves could actually cure the ailment which had so ravaged the Dragonflights. Still, she was absolutely sure that Deravaecia's intervention in politics, at this point, wouldn't make anything better for anyone. The iron dragon might not like fighting, but she certainly seemed blind to the alternatives in most cases.

"Now, I imagine you're wondering why I wanted you to hear that conversation, and really... I couldn't tell you." the witch sighed, "My order's policy is absolute confidentiality whenever possible. But in this case, my clients have directed me to 'beg the pardon' of the lords of this continent before I proceed, and since I'm not planning to set foot in that desert again I figured you were the next best thing. Naturally, I've already notified Achaka."

[Finn]

"Oh, there was the atavistic fear of any animal in the gaze of a predator," he assured her, grinning, "but intellectually I wasn't worried. They don't call me Farstrider for nothing, and I am confident I could have been hiding in the attic of the Templum Solis Radians before she actually got to me. I'm common-born, so while I know the value of valor, I am also keen to run away and live to fight another day when outmatched."

Some might call him coward, but he didn't really care. He couldn't afford to die. There were people who needed him.

"You are forgiven," he added with more formality, in case that was required.

"I am curious as to where you are going and what you will get up to, but that is none of my business, I suppose. In any case, you have my forgiveness for the draconic ire, but I don't know that I can, as a Dux Vastiana, offer plenary forgiveness for offenses against the Lords of Atraxia." If she felt the need to follow up on that, he would talk about it, but otherwise... "You would make an excellent politician. You say things that only leave me wanting to know more. That might make you an excellent bard, as well."

Some Ecithians had taken umbrage with Solunarians calling him a bard. They said a bard was only something Syren could make. He had made gracious apologies and let his people know not to use that word in Ecith. There was no way he could become a bard by that definition, certainly. Aværys did not share his toys. But he had been called a bard on two continents with no connotations of Syren's will going any which way.

"I don't know which order you speak of. If you are a Zaichæri and a witch, then I can assume it is not the Order of Reconciliation, but rather one of the covens themselves. I do not need to know which, though I have no love for the Order and would never betray a witch to them." One didn't need to be a Mesmer to sense that Zaichær aroused intense feelings from him, but he didn't share them. "But if you are returning to Zaichær and have connections with the covens, I would ask a favor: my grandmother was a witch.

"I do not know that she was aligned with one of the Zaichæri covens. 'Tis possible she was merely called a witch because we were in a small village and she was strange. She was certainly a skilled herbalist a healer, but not a physician. She could read the weather and sense omens. I don't know that she had any Rune inscribed upon her soul, nor a Craft taught her by an alchemist or similar." He shrugged and smiled. "But when she died, she left me instructions to seek out a certain mage in the Tower of Lore who immediately offered me my first Rune, and was my first instructor in magic. He has never been forthcoming, but I have learned that he is my grandfather so even if he keeps mum, I know she had connections to people with runic magic. It is a great personal mystery for me, but I am not welcome in Zaichær to investigate it."

[Imogen]

Imogen laughed as Finn--carefully, with many caveats--offered her forgiveness.

"Ah- well, I appreciate it, really I do, but rest assured that I am innocent of any grave crimes requiring a royal remission. I am merely the messenger, and I can't even reveal who the message is from, much less what it was sent for. I get the sense that my clients are apologizing in advance, though for what exactly I could not say. It's truly none of my business."

The Sunsingers' code drew an extraordinarily fine line when it came to the matters of clientele. A coven of Zaichaer couldn't afford to pry into the business of those who would do business with them, for every one of the witches had secrets they did not dare to reveal, even to allies. On the other hand, an order dedicated to truth and justice could hardly turn a blind eye and accept jobs from complete unknowns. The Order of Reconciliation might have been the greater evil than any of the witches they oppressed, but that was not to say that every outcast had the good of the nation at heart.

But although she had not revealed to Finn the precise contours of the strange contracts she had accepted in Southern Ecith, she was certain that the elementals had no ill motives in whatever they were doing. They had very little understanding of mortal society at all; and that was probably for the good. She shuddered, almost invisibly, as her memory went back to Birchend, and the spirit who had loved her too well.

The witch's train of thought was derailed (as it so often was) as Finn began to relate his personal history. None of it was familiar to her, exactly, she was sure she'd never met the people he was describing, but it was all very much the sort of story you would expect from Zaichaer. Pre-explosion, at any rate.

"Seeking the legacy of a single witch in Zaichaer is not unlike looking for a needle in the proverbial haystack." she cautioned, "But you have been helpful to me, these last two days, so I will do what I can to return you the favor. Have you some token or name for any of these people or places?"