Legend of Ransera

"Well, if they would like a fuller forgiveness and believe I am the one to give it, they are welcome to contact me at the Prædium Solunarii. As an embassy, it is legally the sovereign territory of the Dual Thrones of Solunarium, but as my guest, they would enjoy diplomatic immunity. I would not use legal loopholes to extradite someone coming to me in good faith."

That was all he could promise on such limited context, but it was not nothing. Whether Innogen had magical or divine means to discern his sincerity, or could go with her gut, it was there.

That ball now being in her court, hers to deliver to her clients or not, he turned to his more personal matter.

"The village where I was born didn't really have a name, nor did we have family names." He smiled in self-deprecation. "We were that small, and far enough off the main roads, we only saw the occasional merchant. I only really know her given name because, on occasion, my father was formally called Mabon son of Modron. Nobody called her Modron. If they were kind, she was 'your grandmother' and if they were unkind, 'the witch.' I always found that strange. We were sort of remote, but we were still under nominal control of Kalzasi, where magic is well-respected.

"Now, with more knowledge about magic in general, I can deduce which magics she might have practiced and which she most likely did not. At this point, I could force information out of her former lover, my grandfather, Zef Mirlind, who is a skilled, but not exceptionally powerful Mesmer. But that is not my way. If he does not want to share, that is his prerogative. But it is my prerogative to investigate on my own. Or enjoin someone to investigate on my behalf. I do not know that I will ever be welcomed in Zaichær. I'm chosen of a God and married to a dragonborn."

He laughed.

"Throw in the detail that my grandmother may have been a witch and I am either a bogeyman to frighten their children or, at the very least, persona non grata."

Finn paused before outlining the details.

"A woman, possibly going by Modron—or, if she was a linguist as I have become, Matrona or Matrŏna—most likely born around the thirty-fifth year of the Age of Steel. Possible practitioner of necromancy, alchemy, and/or summoning. Or even elementalism. Most others I would deem less likely if only because I never saw evidence of them. I wouldn't if she practiced Semblance. I find it unlikely that she practiced Mesmer or she might have initiated me herself when I showed musical inclination, rather than leave it in Zef's hands. And I think she would have been better liked if she could have nudged people toward accepting her oddities. Her detractors might accuse her of Affliction and I must leave the possibility open, though I knew her and she was not vengeful. I never saw what I would call scrivening, though she could have hidden it. She didn't have the equipment necessary for runeforging or artificing. And her equipment, such as it was, would not have allowed for incredibly complex alchemy.

"I know it is a long-shot," he said. "And if you don't turn up anything, I won't be any the worse off for it. But I do thank you for making the attempt. I can write all this down for you, too, if you wish."

"Well, then, you have probably met the man who turned out to be my grandfather," he said, marveling at how small a world it could be. His God didn't control the threads of fate; that belonged to One higher on the Divine Pyramid. Still... "I suppose I should send him a letter and see if he would like to visit while I can afford him the means."

But he nodded, well aware now of some of the possible significance her use-name held. His education had been basic until he petitioned Great House Zatrian for financial help to pursue an education at the Kalzasern Academy. Linguistics had been one auxiliary course of study he found helpful.

He nodded again as she described the witches of Zaichaer with more nuance. Some of this he knew. Some little more he had garnered from the Sentinels, who had sent a delegation to the Brass City even as Phocion arrived in Kalzasi so long ago now.

"Well, I don't expect you to mount a full investigation into my genealogy, but I would appreciate you asking a few questions. If you find anything of note, you can send word to me at the Prædium Solunarii. I should abide here for a while. Opus longum, vita brevis."

And as for her jest, he did smirk, though his smirks were more inclusive than most people's.

"I am certain I could get myself into the city, though I might need directions and a safe place to sleep once there. Hm, and warmer clothes than I own anymore." He laughed, recalling the harsh winters of Karnor. Innogen likely wouldn't actually want the platinum dragonflight in Zaichaer, however. That would mean an invasion. Of course, the witches could do well under Solunarian rule if they wanted to.

"That High Sentinel of yours is rather clever with his wards."

Thankfully, he had managed to get in, get Lyra's daughter, and get out without being captured, though his escape plan had changed to a route through the Warrens.

Finn tucked all that away. He had his own prejudices toward the powers of Zaichær, but he tried not to let them rule his mind. He needed to be able to provide balance, unbiased intelligence to his masters. He rather thought the covens would do well in Solunarium, either as members of the Vigilia Argenti or just enjoying the status their magic earned them. While he didn't long to see his homeland brought under Solunarian rule, he did believe it would be preferable to what the Zaichæri suffered. Then again, there were rumors that quite a bit had changed there, covens cooperating with the Order rather than fleeing it.

Perhaps Innogen would prove to be a source of inside information, though an ork ought to be careful in Zaichær even if she wasn't a witch...

Finn observed her fashioning the coin. It did feel vaguely familiar. His grandmother hadn't conjured fire, exactly, but she had once mixed a powder that turned out to explode when heated. There was something of the ritualistic about how she had created her cures.

In any case, he sensed no malice or hidden agendas in her symphony, so he accepted it. In any case, Decius would give it a proper scan before he put it somewhere for mail where another viator wouldn't be able to hear sensitive discussions.

"A pleasure and an education," he agreed, offering a similar bow in return.

Finn flipped the coin in the air, caught it, and tucked it away. It was time to check on Karmordi.